What app/software/writing engine do y’all use for your works???
I don’t want to write directly on Tumblr because I’d like to house it elsewhere and move it when completed.
I’ve considered Docs and Word but 1) I heard Docs let’s AI root around your works and I don’t like that and 2) I really don’t want to pay for a Word subscription (I’m telling my age but I remember when you could just BUY Word and actually own it, NOT pay monthly for the crap)
I have said it before on many occasions but it's worth reminding people that Sylus is a WHORE. And I love it.
He gives major fuck you in the bathroom on the first date before dessert arrives energy.
Think about it.
In his vampire myth, this man was ten seconds in from meeting MC and had every single intention to kill her and he STILL made out with her. Zero memory who she is, ready to impale her to death after bleeding her dry and has the audacity to be like “hold on, give me a kiss real quick,” LMAO!
In his dragon myth when MC was sneaking him, and she started acting like she was trying to fuck cause she feels bored did you see the look on his face? He was down!
I'm convinced if it wasn't for her hating his guts on sight in main story, because despite that she does admit he is hot as fuck so I KNOW he would have taken her amnesia having ass to base and slutted her out regardless. All she had to do was say when.
Nobody can tell me otherwise.
Sylus is easy. And I love that about him.
Fake sleeping so he can get handcuffed to his bed wearing nothing but a silk robe.
Just stamp the words “Fuck me whenever” on your forehead Onychinus leader cause we all see you're about that life.
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
—⊹ this work was originally commissioned and given consent to be shared (personal details about the commissioner had been edited out)
MDNI 🔞 You come across a very interesting article about Lemurian biology and reproductive system of deep-sea humanoid species. It makes you think of what exactly Rafayel hasn't been showing you while having sex, so you conduct your own little research on your boyfriend. After all, what could go wrong?
⋆. — content warnings: canon-compliant, established relationship, mc gets a bit too curious, use of aphrodisiacs, lil dubcon (?) only bcs raf doesn't know at first that she uses the aphrodisiacs on him, everything is consensual after, alcohol consumption, teasing, makeout session, basically rafayel is in heat, heavy dirty talk, fucking in a bathtub, two-cocks penetration, breeding kink, mention of breeding & egg laying, oviposition
a/n: sooo like i'm not the best at monster fucking or any type that involves two cocks and eggs but... damn, i just had a lot of fun writing this one. so sorry for all the inaccuracies, if there are any, pls ignore them ^.^ anywayyy yeah now i need a 5-star or secret time of raf fucking us full Lemurian mating ritual style...pls infold
It never really crossed your mind before.
Sure, you and Rafayel were quite active in the sheets, always chasing intimacy from one another. Love, sex, pleasure—all of them were things you sought from one another, and it was one of the many important things your relationship was built upon.
Sex with Rafayel was amazing every time. Sometimes it left you so blissed out that the world outside of his warmth on top of you was inexistent for a few heavenly moments.
Whether it was his graceful hands or skilled mouth, he knew how to play your body like an instrument, like the true artist that he was, until you were singing for him, giving him the sweetest sounds. He never left you unsatisfied, nor did you him.
Still, in all those months you’ve been dating and ravaging one another in the bedroom, you never stopped to ask yourself if there could be more. Your sex life was quite active; much more active than most, if you were honest with yourself. And there weren’t any problems when it came to fantasies, either.
You and Rafayel shared most, and they weren’t quite vanilla, either. Ropes, wax, blindfolds—these were what you would call a usual round of daily sex with Rafayel. You tried plenty of spaces too, because he was adamant to take you on every piece of furniture he owned.
But he never stopped at those, either. It was his mansion, the beach, his cars. Even when attending events with him, he would find a way to cheekily sweep you away in a restroom or a secluded corner and turn your legs to jelly, make your makeup run down your face, and your mouth hang open in soft moans you tried to keep at bay in fear of being overheard. He was very amused watching you try.
So why would you think of more? You were beyond satisfied with how things were going for you two, so your curiosity was satiated enough.
Or so you thought. Because curiosity is a dangerous feeling to have, and your curiosity about your boyfriend in other aspects of his life was still burning bright. Now it just shifted perspective.
It started, as most dangerous things do, with a question you shouldn’t have asked.
You were currently on Rafayel’s couch, legs draped across his lap while he scrolled through something on his phone with one hand and traced absent circles on your ankle with the other. The evening was warm and salt-laced, the way it always was when the tall windows were cracked open to let the breeze curl through the curtains.
You stopped scrolling some minutes ago.
You’d found the forum by accident, really. A thread about marine biology that had spiraled into Lemurian mythology, then into a university lecture someone had transcribed and posted, something about the reproductive biology of deep-sea humanoid species.
The language was academic and dry, full of clinical terms and speculative footnotes, but the content was… well, quite specific. References to diphallia structures in oceanic bipedal species. Egg-laying triggered by environmental and chemical stimulus. Heat cycles distinct from illness or weakness, tied instead to arousal and a biological imperative to reproduce.
Your curiosity was instantly piqued, eyes glued to every word like they held all the answers in the world. It was quite strange how rapidly and tightly the article held your attention, but you supposed it was something every human that came across it would be. Or at least some.
The subject wasn’t really something you could casually ask him about. Rafayel tended to be hard to crack open about certain subjects. It was true he would never keep something important hidden from you, but there were still quite a few things you didn’t get the chance to know about him. Especially things that had to do with his Lemurian nature. More often than not, he would just redirect the subject lightly to something else, or he would occasionally indulge you and tease you with crumbs of information you greedily stored away in the special part of your brain where every little thing you learned about Rafayel went.
You glance up at your boyfriend.
His face was illuminated by the warm light coming from the lamp beside his head, and you couldn’t help but stare a little bit, your mind already trying to piece together information you don’t have. You must look so stupid right now, with your eyes probably a bit wider than before, looking like a deer caught in the headlights at the new information registering in your brain.
He has two. It should not have come as such a big of a surprise, so why were you ogling at your boyfriend from across the couch as if this was brand new information? It shouldn’t have been, and you mentally scolded yourself from being so oblivious to it.
He is not human, so of course his biology would differ from one of humans. That alone sent a subtle shiver down your spine, mind already conjuring up an image you were unfamiliar with.
You turned your head back to your phone, scrolling through the article some more, trying your best not to tense your leg muscles where Rafayel’s fingers were knitting softly at your calf.
The information rushed in with renowned speed, your mind filing it away for later. You didn’t even notice you were biting your lip until Rafayel’s chuckle echoed softly from your right, and you inevitably turned your head towards the sound.
“What’s got you so entranced over there, cutie?” he cooed, and you knew he was amused and intrigued at what went on your screen. “It must be something good ‘cause you’re giving no mercy to your lip. You always do that when something’s got your full attention.” A slow, almost knowing smirk graced his pink lips. “You might draw blood from it if you don’t stop soon.”
You felt your throat work softly as you swallowed, right before giving him an easy smile, closing your phone and putting it face down on the couch.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just came across an interesting book and got a little too curious.”
If you wanted to know more, you had to play your cards right. So, you pulled your legs from his lap before climbing over the soft cushion, hand traveling up his torso before you settled your body on top of his, nuzzling his neck.
“Mmm, you smell good,” you hummed against his skin, pressing a slow kiss to the spot just beneath his jaw, feeling the vibration of his laugh travel through his chest into yours.
“Flattery’s not gonna distract me from the fact that you just hid your phone like you got caught watching something you shouldn’t,” he drawled, fingers already threading into your hair with a laziness that contradicted the sharpness in his voice, tipping your face up to look at him. “C’mon. Spill.”
“I told you, it was a book,” you murmured, holding his gaze and keeping your expression even despite the warmth creeping up the back of your neck, tracing a finger down the collar of his shirt. “Since when are you so interested in my reading habits?”
“Since you started biting through your own lip over them,” he countered without missing a beat, thumb brushing across your bottom lip as if to prove his point, eyes half-lidded and glittering with amusement. “What kind of book makes my girl look like she just discovered fire for the first time?”
“An academic one, actually,” you offered with a shrug, letting your fingers drift lower, walking them down the center of his chest in a slow trail, watching the way his eyes track the movement before flicking back to your face. “About marine biology… Lemurian mythology... Reproductive habits of deep-sea humanoid species and all that stuff.”
The circles on your back stilled.
It was so brief. A fraction of a second where his fingers froze against your spine before they resumed their lazy pattern, and if you weren’t pressed chest-to-chest with him you might have missed it. But you were, so you didn’t.
“Huh,” he breathed, the syllable light and careless but the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that told you he knew you were onto something. Still, would Rafayel still be Rafayel if he didn’t pivot your little questioning? “Sounds boring.”
“It wasn’t,” you countered, resting your chin on his chest and letting your eyes go wide and innocent, the way you know gets under his skin, tilting your head just enough to sell it. “It was actually really... thorough and specific. It even offered some additional readings.”
“Specific how?” his voice dipped into something lower as his hand slid from your hair to the nape of your neck, fingers curling there with a possessiveness that made your throat work around a swallow. It always did when his touches became more intentional.
“Well,” you started, tracing a slow path over his collarbone, keeping your tone light enough to pass for casual but pointed enough that he’ll feel the edge of it. “For example, did you know that certain deep-sea bipedal species have dual reproductive anatomy? Two of everything, apparently.”
You watched his face carefully, looking for some kind of answer there, gauging if he would actually offer you something or pivot again. To your dismay, only his pupils contracted for a split second before they dilated again, just as the flush started at the tips of his ears, faint and pink, before he smothered it under a grin so smug it bordered on insufferable.
“You’re asking me if I knew that,” he repeated, voice dripping with honeyed theatricality that would have been convincing if his thumb wasn’t pressing a little too firmly into the pulse point at your neck, feeling your fast heartbeat. “About deep-sea species. Academically and definitely not because you wanna know all my secrets, yeah?”
“Academically, I promise.” you confirmed, nodding once with a solemnity you absolutely did not feel, and let your fingers drift to the side of his neck, tracing the tendon there with featherlight motions.
“Cutie,” the word rolled off his tongue like warm honey, slow and sweet and entirely a weapon as he tilted his head back against the cushion, watching you from beneath those thick lashes with an expression that was equal parts fondness and warning. “If you wanna know something about me, you could just ask.”
Your heart kicked behind your ribs, hard and fast and almost suffocating. Still, you had to push through.
“Okay, yeah.” you whisper, pressing up on your elbows so your face hovered above his, noses nearly touching. His breath caught against your lips when you closed the distance to something almost dangerous, your voice a slow, innocent purr. “So how does it work? For you, I mean.”
The silence that followed was warm and thick and charged, felt it hum between your bodies like an ocean’s current.
His hand moved from your neck to your jaw, cradling it and tilting your face so the lamplight caught in your eyes. He studied you with something flickering behind his gaze that you couldn’t quite name, because Rafayel had this specific look in his eyes whenever he was debating something. Then his mouth curled very, very slowly into the kind of smile that had ruined you more times than you cared to count.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Miss Bodyguard,” he purred, dragging the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone, and you swore you could feel the warmth radiating off his ears from here, betraying every ounce of composure that smile was working so hard to sell.
“Yeah,” you breathed firmly, not backing down, holding his gaze even as your stomach flipped. “I really would.”
You saw in real time, the smugness flickering for a moment into something rawer, something surprised and pleased and a little undone, before he caught it and tucked it back behind that insufferable grin.
“Wow,” he exhaled on a laugh, his fingers trailing from your jaw to your throat, resting there like a dare for you to continue your little innocent act. “My bodyguard’s doing species research on me now? Should I be worried or flattered, cutie?”
“Well, that depends,” you turned your head just enough to press your lips to the inside of his wrist, feeling his pulse jump beneath your mouth. “On how honest your answer is, baby.”
He watched you kiss his wrist with an expression that went briefly, beautifully blank, lips parting on a breath he didn’t quite release, before he let out a huff, dropping his head back against the cushion.
“This is what I get for dating a curious little Hunter,” he announced to the ceiling, but his free hand easily found your hip and pulled you tighter against him, fingers pressing into the curve of your waist. “Reading weird academic forums and then crawling into my lap to interrogate me about my anatomy.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” you pointed out, pressing another kiss to his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, punctuating each one like a period at the end of a sentence he can’t escape.
“And I’m not gonna,” he hummed against your lips, catching the last kiss and holding you there, close enough that when he spoke, his mouth brushed yours with every word. “Not tonight, at least. Not because you found some sketchy forum and got all curious and doe-eyed on my couch."
The smile on his face was soft at the corners but sharp in the middle, the kind of smile that held a secret behind its teeth.
“Buuut I’ll tell you this much for free,” he added, voice dropping to something warm and private, fingers tilting your chin up, “Whatever you read in your little article? Doesn’t even come close, baby.”
Then he kissed your forehead, gentle and lingering before he casually reached for his phone again as if he didn’t just set fire to your brain.
You settled back against his chest, heart hammering, and the subject closed. For now. But you could still feel the heat of his skin beneath your cheek, a degree warmer than usual. The way his fingers on your hip were tracing patterns that felt less like absent habit and more like a language you haven’t learned yet.
You were gonna find out what he meant by that.
True to your word, in the next couple weeks since your little chat on his couch, you made it your silent mission to gather as much information about this as you could manage. You went to libraries, bookstores, even deep-dived the internet until you ended up on the most questionable websites.
Each of them pointed you in a specific direction, like a map following a hidden treasure you were sure to find at the end of it.
The mythology was, expectedly, vague. Lemurian texts were rare and fragmented, scattered across old maritime archives and folklore collections that treated the entire civilization like a fairytale rather than the breathing reality you slept next to every night. Most of what you found was speculative at best, contradictory at worst, filtered through centuries of human interpretation that had no business trying to explain a species it barely believed existed.
But there were patterns. Threads that kept weaving through the noise, consistent enough to feel like they meant something.
Heat cycles tied not to seasons or to Ebb Day, but to stimuli. Botanical compounds derived from deep-sea flora that could coax a Lemurian body into a heightened state of arousal, something distinct from regular desire, more primal, more consuming. References to mineral-rich waters activating dormant nerve pathways along the spine and neck, places where scales would bloom first. Specific points of contact that could trigger the shift from human presentation to something closer to what they truly were under the innocent surface.
You sat cross-legged on your bedroom floor one night with your laptop balanced on your knees and three tabs open, cross-referencing a botanist’s field journal from the 1800s with a digitized scroll fragment someone had uploaded to an obscure academic database. Your eyes burned from the screen’s glow and the hour was embarrassingly late, but you couldn’t stop. Every new detail slotted into place with a click you could almost hear, building a picture you had no reference for but wanted desperately to see.
The reality of what you were doing hit you in odd moments. Standing in an apothecary shop downtown, turning a small glass bottle of sea kelp extract over in your fingers, reading the label with such focus that made the shopkeeper eye you with mild concern. Sitting in a university library with a thick, leather-bound volume of oceanic mythology open in your lap, your thumb tracing an illustration of a Lemurian figure half transformed, the artist’s rendering of scales blooming along a throat and chest in patterns that looked like living jewelry.
Your stomach had flipped at that one. Not from discomfort. From want.
You thought about Rafayel’s skin. The way it caught light wrong at times, or right, depending on how you looked at it. A shimmer along his shoulders after a swim that he toweled away too quickly. The faint iridescence at the hollow of his throat on humid nights that you’d attributed to sweat and lamplight but now recognized for what it was.
You’d been sleeping with a Lemurian for months and somehow managed to miss the details that were, quite literally, right beneath your fingertips.
The guilt of that realization was brief but sharp, replaced almost immediately by a curiosity so consuming it bordered on hunger.
Your shopping list grew quietly. Sea mineral bath salts from a brand that sourced high concentrations of magnesium and oceanic elements. A bottle of blue lotus oil that a mythology forum swore was derived from the same deep-water flowers Lemurians used in bonding rituals. Dried saffron and passionflower, referenced in three separate texts as having mild aphrodisiac properties specific to aquatic species. A packet of black volcanic salt that smelled like the ocean floor and cost more than you were comfortable admitting.
You kept everything in a bag tucked in the back of your closet like contraband.
And through all of it, Rafayel acted none the wiser.
He didn’t mention the conversation on the couch again. Didn’t tease you about your late-night reading habits, didn’t raise an eyebrow when you showed up at his studio smelling faintly of essential oils because you’d been testing combinations on your own wrist during your lunch break. He painted, he complained about Thomas, he kissed you hello at his door and pulled you onto his lap with the same ease he always did.
It was almost convincing.
But you knew him. You knew the way he watched you when he thought you were busy with something else and not paying attention to him, the way his gaze lingered for quite a while when you emerged from the bathroom at his place, the way his nose twitched, almost imperceptibly, when you leaned close and the new oils on your skin met the warm air between your bodies.
He knew, you were sure of it. Or at best, he knew intuitively you were up to something. He was one of the few Lemurians you knew, keenly aware of his own biology, and everything you were piecing together from old books and internet rabbit holes, he carried in his blood and bones. Your research was guesswork dressed in academic language. He was the primary source, and he was watching you fumble around the footnotes with such quiet, cat-like satisfaction.
It should have frustrated you. Instead, it lit something competitive in your chest, a stubbornness that tasted sweet at the back of your throat.
Fine. If he wanted to sit back and watch you work for it, you’d give him a show worth watching.
The plan came together on a Thursday evening, while you stood in your bathroom staring at the collection of oils and salts and dried botanicals lined up on your counter like ingredients for a spell. You picked up the blue lotus oil, uncapped it, and the scent hit you in a wave, something sweet and dark and aquatic that made your pulse quicken in a way that felt almost sympathetic, as if your body already understood what this was for even if your mind was still catching up.
You thought about his bathtub. That ridiculous, beautiful, oversized thing in his bathroom, the one he claimed was essential for his creative process but mostly used to soak for hours after painting all day, water lapping at the edges while he hummed old melodies you didn’t recognize but were very curious about. You’d shared it with him before, your back against his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head, his fingers making lazy trails through the warm water and occasionally up your arms just to feel you shiver.
The bathtub was the key. Warm water, enclosed space, the minerals and botanicals dissolved into something he’d absorb through every inch of his skin. And you, close enough to touch, to watch, to press your fingers into the places your research told you would matter most.
You packed the bag carefully that weekend. Rolled the glass bottles in a soft cloth so they wouldn’t clink together, tucked the salts into a pouch, layered everything under a change of clothes and a bottle of wine so it looked like you were just coming over for the night.
Which you were. You were just also coming over with an agenda.
The drive to Whitesand Bay was shorter than usual, or maybe it was your own excitement making you drive faster to finally see him and spend some time together. You were swarmed with Wanderer missions upon missions in the past week, so you barely had time to meet in person. Of course, that didn’t stop Rafayel from whining through text and facetime.
He opened the door before you even knocked.
“Took you long enough, cutieee,” he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and his bottom lip jutting out in a pout so practiced it should have lost its effect on you months ago, but it hadn’t, and he knew it. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting? I almost withered from being denied my cutie’s presence.”
“Rafayel, we saw each other on Tuesday,” you reminded him, but you were already smiling yourself, already stepping into his space and pressing up on your toes to kiss the pout off his mouth. He melted into it immediately, arms unfolding to wrap around your waist and pull you inside in one fluid motion, the door swinging shut behind you with a nudge of his foot.
“Tuesday was forever ago!” he whined softly against your lips, punctuating it with another kiss, then another, short and warm and a little bit greedy, his fingers already slipping beneath the hem of your jacket to find the warmth of your lower back. “I counted the hours. Almost called Thomas to complain about you, which I’m sure he wouldn’t have appreciated.”
“About me?” you laughed, pulling back just enough to look at him. The sight of him this close made your chest do something soft and involuntary. His hair was slightly damp, curling at the ends the way it did after a shower, and he was wearing a loose linen shirt that hung open at the collar, exposing the line of his throat and the beauty marks scattered there like a constellation you’d memorized with your mouth plenty of times before and were still greedy to do it a thousand times more.
“About you,” he confirmed, taking your bag from your shoulder and setting it down without looking, his eyes never leaving your face, thumb stroking along the curve of your waist. “For being cruel. For having a job that demanded all of your attention. For not living here permanently so I can look at you whenever I want.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you scoffed at his exaggerated pout, cupping his face in both hands, watching as his eyes fluttered shut when your thumbs traced along his cheekbones, tilting into your touch with a contentedness that made him look younger, softer and pliant for you to do whatever you wished.
“Mm. Ridiculously in love with you, maybe,” the words were casual and airy, but his hands tightened at your waist possessively, pulling you flush against him like he needed to verify you were actually there, solid and warm and his for the entire evening, finally. He thrived on physical touches, so you knew there was no chance for you to not be within his grasp at all times tonight. Not that you wanted to, anyway.
You spent the first hour the way you often did on nights like these, tangled up in each other on the makeshift nest of blankets he’d spread in front of the fireplace; the kind of setup he always pretended was spontaneous but clearly carefully arranged before you arrived. The wine was good, and you shared it between lazy kisses that tasted like dark fruit and warmth.
You sat sideways in his lap with your legs draped over his thigh, one arm looped around his neck while the other held your glass. One of his hands was on your knee, stroking the bare skin there with a thumb that moved in slow, hypnotic circles, and that made the hair at the base of your neck stand up in a pleasant sensation. The fire crackled low and amber beside you, casting everything in shades of gold, and when you turned your head to say something about the wine his mouth was already there, catching yours in a kiss that was deeper than the last one, slower, the kind that made you forget what you’d been about to say.
The second glass made him handsy. The third made him aroused.
His cheeks had gone rosy, the way they always did when he drank, a flush that spread from the bridge of his nose to the tops of his ears and made his eyes look impossibly warm, half-lidded and glittering in the firelight. He abandoned any pretense of subtlety, pressing his face into the curve of your neck and leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your throat, each one wetter than the last, his breath hot against your skin and his lashes tickling your jaw.
“You’re so warm,” he mumbled into your pulse point, voice had gone syrupy from the wine, vowels stretching and consonants softening into something almost melodic. “S’not fair. You always feel so good, wanna keep you in my arms forever.”
You giggled, tipping your head to give him better access despite yourself, fingers threading through the damp curls at the back of his head to guide him closer. He made a low, satisfied sound against your skin that vibrated through you, before his hand slid up from your knee to your thigh with confidence, purposely keeping his touch light, knowing it’ll make you crazy, make you meet him halfway.
The heat between you climbed the way it always did, in increments you barely noticed until the air felt heavy and your breathing had gone shallow and his mouth had migrated from your neck to your collarbone, tongue tracing the dip between the bones in a way that made your fingers tighten in his hair as pleasure surged through you, slow and warm.
“Raf,” you breathed, prompting a hum against your skin in response, a sound that loosely translated to I’m listening but mostly meant I’m busy. You laughed softly, tugging his head up so you could see his face. The sight of him, flushed and wine-soft and looking at you like you’d invented color, made your heart stutter. “You’re warm too. We should cool down.”
His brow furrowed in faint protest.
“Why would we do that when this is so much better,” he countered, chasing your mouth with his, and you let him catch it for a moment before pulling back with a grin.
“Let’s take a bath,” you suggested, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, watching the idea land behind his eyes, the slight narrowing of his eyebrows followed by the slow curl of a smirk that he couldn’t quite suppress even through the haze of the wine.
“A bath,” he echoed, voice dropping a register as his gaze dragged down your body and back up again with a hunger that made your toes curl. “Together. To cool down.”
“Mm-hm.
“Sure, cutie,” the smirk plastering his kiss-bitten lips widened into something knowing and warm as he pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Whatever you say.”
He let you go with visible reluctance, fingers trailing along your arm as you climbed out of his lap. You felt his gaze on your back as you grabbed your bag from the entryway and disappeared into the bathroom.
The room was already warm from the steam of what you assumed was his previous bath, which he must have had hours before your arrival, yet the haze still lingered. You set your bag on the counter before turning the tap, letting hot water pour into the oversized marble tub. The sound of it filled the space like white noise, covering the small clinks of glass as you worked.
You pulled the cloth bundle from your bag first, unrolling it with careful fingers. The blue lotus oil went in while the water was still running, a few drops that dissolved into the stream and released a scent so sweet and dark it made the air feel thicker. The sea mineral salts followed, a generous handful that fizzed and shimmered as they hit the surface, turning the water faintly opalescent. You tucked the passionflower and saffron into the pour from the tap, letting the heat steep them like tea, their fragrance layering beneath the lotus into something heady and oceanic.
The black volcanic salt went last. You poured it from the pouch and it sank through the water in dark ribbons before dissolving, and for a moment the entire bath looked like liquid midnight before the minerals diffused into something softer, an iridescent, pearl-like sheen that caught the bathroom light and scattered it in ways that reminded you, with a sharp pull behind your ribs, of his skin.
You rolled the empty bottles back into the cloth and tucked them into the bottom of your bag beneath your clothes, then added a capful of the unscented bubble bath he kept on the shelf, enough to disguise the color and cover the surface with a thin layer of foam.
Rafayel appeared in the doorway just as you straightened up, shoulder leaning against the frame, shirt already unbuttoned and hanging loose on his frame. The flush from the wine was still painted across his cheeks, and his eyes were heavy-lidded as they tracked you with a warmth that made your breath catch.
“Smells good,” he noted, tipping his head back slightly and breathing in. You watched keenly as something in his expression shifted, subtle and fleeting, his nostrils flaring just barely before the lazy smile returned. He crossed the bathroom in two strides and pressed himself against your back, arms winding around your waist, chin hooking over your shoulder. His lips found the nape of your neck as he left a slow, damp kiss there that made you shiver.
“New bath salts?” he asked against your skin, voice casual and curious, muffled by the fact that he was already trailing another kiss below your ear, then another along the side of your throat, his hands splaying warm and wide across your stomach
“Picked up a few things,” you managed through a shaky breath, tilting your head as his mouth found a spot that made your knees soften. His smile pressed into your skin, smug and fond and a little drunk.
“Mm. Spoiling me,” he murmured, swaying you both gently while the water continued to run behind you, filling the tub.
You turned in his arms and kissed him, slow and intentional, hands sliding beneath the open panels of his shirt to settle against the warm skin of his waist. Your thumbs pressed into the muscle there, kneading in small, firm circles which had his mouth faltering against yours as a low, throaty moan spilled from his chest into your mouth, his hips pressing forward into you on instinct.
“That’s cheating,” he tutted between kisses, but he didn’t stop you, didn’t pull back, just kissed you deeper as his fingers found the hem of your top and dragged it upward with a slowness that felt punishing, knuckles grazing your ribs, your stomach, the underside of your breasts, each inch of exposed skin met with a brush of his fingertips that made you gasp softly against his mouth.
The top came off and his hands were already on your bare waist, pulling you closer, making the kiss turn harder, wetter, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a way that pulled a keen from somewhere low in your throat. He swallowed the sound with a hum of satisfaction, tongue soothing the place he’d bitten while his fingers worked at the clasp behind your back with such ease that would have been annoying if it didn’t make your thighs clench together.
You pushed his shirt off his shoulders in return, palms dragging down the planes of his arms, the fabric pooled at his elbows before he shook it off impatiently, mouth never leaving yours. His skin was hot beneath your hands, hotter than usual, and when you pressed your thumbs into the divots of his hips above his waistband he groaned breathily, the sound vibrating through your joined mouths and settling in the pit of your stomach like something molten.
The rest of your clothes came off in pieces, traded between kisses that grew deeper and more breathless with each layer that fell to the tile. His fingers hooked into your waistband and dragged down with a patience that contradicted the hunger in his mouth, trailing fire down your thighs, your calves, thumbs pressing into your ankles as he knelt to pull the fabric free. You tugged at the drawstring of his pants as he stood to let them fall, and for a moment you both stood there in the warm, fragrant air of the bathroom, bare and flushed, breathing each other in.
His eyes were hazy. The wine sat heavy and pretty in the flush across his cheekbones, and the steam curling up from the bath behind you had dampened his hair at the temples, the purple curls darkening and clinging to his skin. His brows were furrowed faintly, a soft crease between them that you’d learned to read as the space between confused and overwhelmed, but before he could examine it too closely you stepped into him, cupped the back of his neck, and pressed your mouth to the side of his throat.
He melted.
A shudder rolled through his entire body, his head tipping back to give you room. You kissed a slow, wet line from the hinge of his jaw to the hollow beneath his ear, letting your breath fan across the sensitive skin as you marked the pretty skin with your love bites. His hands found your hips and gripped, fingers pressing crescents into the flesh, soft needy moans spilling from his lips that had your clit throbbing in need.
You guided him backward. One step, then another, your mouth still working at his neck until his calves hit the edge of the tub and he took the cue, sinking into the water with a hiss that was half relief and half pain from the difference in temperature. You followed, settling between his legs with your back against his chest. The water was warm and fragrant, the minerals and oils you’d dissolved into it lapping at your skin with every small movement.
His arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you flush against him, having you feel every line of his body pressed to yours, the rise and fall of his chest against your back, the firm warmth of his cock already half-hard and nestled against the curve of your ass exciting you. You tilted your head back against his shoulder and turned, half-twisting so your hand could travel up the wet plane of his chest, fingers tracing the dip of his sternum and the line of his collarbone, before threading into the damp hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss.
He groaned into your mouth, a sound so low it was nearly subterranean. You took his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging gently before releasing it to press a trail of slow open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. When you reached his ear, you closed your teeth around the lobe and bit down softly. A breathy, broken whimper that cracked in the middle was the delicious response, his hips jerking up against you while his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs beneath the water with a grip that made you moan.
He was getting harder. You could feel him, pressed tight and insistent between your bodies, twitching every time your mouth found a new spot on his neck, every time your fingers dragged through the wet hair curling at his nape. And beneath the haze of the wine and the breathlessness, something else was settling into him, something slower and much different than his usual aroused self, that you could feel in the way his breathing changed, the way his chest expanded and held before releasing in shaking exhales that stirred the hair at your temple.
The oils were working.
You felt the way his body transformed in real time. The way his grip went from firm to bruising, fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to make you gasp, then harder still, pulling you back against him so there was no space left between your bodies. His hips had started to move, subtle at first, then less so, rocking up against you in slow, shameless rolls that dragged the length of him along the cleft of your ass and made your breath hitch on every upstroke.
“Mmh shit, baby,” it came out shakier than you intended, because his mouth had found the junction of your neck and shoulder where you were extra sensitive and he was sucking a mark there that made your vision blur and would probably last for days.
He was panting much harsher now. Different from the lazy, wine-warmed breathing from before. It was more ragged, and when you moved in his lap to turn and look at him, the sight of him stole the little air you had left right from your lungs.
His eyes were dark. Not the warm, half-lidded drowsiness of a few minutes ago but something consuming, pupils blown so wide the pink and blue of his irises were reduced to thin, iridescent rings. The flush had deepened too, spreading from his cheeks down his neck, and his lips were swollen and parted, each breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls that made his chest heave against your back.
“What did you put in this water?” his voice was a rough rasp, way different and a bit unrecognizable, but the smirk that followed was pure Rafayel, slow and dangerous and dripping with a smugness that had no business being there when his hands were trembling against your skin. “Because whatever it is, cutie... it’s doing something to me.”
You turned in his lap fully, facing him now as your knees bracketed his hips, the motion pressed you together in a way that made you both groan in pleasure. His hands slid up your thighs to your hips, gripping with a roughness that sent heat flooding through your pussy, making your clit pulse harder, begging for some attention. You watched his jaw tighten as he fought to keep the composure his voice was pretending to have.
“I might have done some shopping,” you cooed, tracing a finger along the wet line of his jaw, followed by a smile so sweet it was enough to rot teeth.
“Shopping,” he scoffed, eyes narrowing, dark and glittering, as his hands traveled upwards from your hips, dragging slow and heavy over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, until his palms settled over your breasts and squeezed with a pressure that pulled a sharp gasp from your throat. “Wanna be more specific, princess?”
“Aphrodisiacs,” you moaned, arching into his palms and seeking more of him, your fingers curling around the back of his neck to keep yourself steady. “Lemurian ones, specifically. From every mythology text I could get my hands on.”
His thumbs found your nipples and rolled, slow and punishing, and the moan that tore from you made his cock twitch hard against your thigh.
“Sneaky little thing,” he groaned, low and approving while his mouth found the curve of your neck and sealed over a spot that made your vision swim. “Drugging your boyfriend in his own bathtub with shady things you find on the internet. That’s bold, even for you.”
“You would’ve never told me yourself,” you countered breathless, tugging at the wet curls at his nape, and his teeth scraped your throat in response, a warning that made your hips buck.
“Tell you what, exactly?” he cooed against the bruise he was sucking into your skin, one hand sliding from your breast down through the water, fingers trailing fire over your stomach, lower, lower, until they settled between your thighs and pressed against your clit in slow, devastating circles. “What did all that research tell you, hm? I wanna hear it from your pretty mouth.”
Your head fell forward against his shoulder, a whimper catching in your throat as his fingers worked you in lazy, practiced strokes that had your pussy clenching in need of attention, which was why he was silently punishing you by keeping his touch extra light.
“It said,” you started confidently but the words fractured as his thumb pressed harder, your nails biting into his shoulders. “It said that... nghh, t-that you have two cocks? And it made me curious because you’ve never…”
The circles stopped when you trailed off. His hand stilled between your thighs, and you felt him inhale, sharp and deep, his chest expanding against yours. The silence held for one charged, breathless second before his exhale came out shaking, hot against the wet skin of your neck.
“Never what?” he rasped, and when you lifted your head to look at him his expression made your stomach drop. His eyes were blown black, the thin rings of pink and blue around his pupils shimmering like oil on water, and his lips were parted and swollen, each breath coming in shallow pulls that moved his whole chest.
The flush had spread from his cheeks down his throat and across his collarbones, and beneath the waterline you felt him throb against your thigh, hard and insistent and clearly he was imagining bending you over the tub and taking you hard and raw.
“Never shown me,” you whispered, cupping his face as your thumbs traced the sharp line of his jaw tenderly, holding his gaze even though the intensity of it made your pulse roar. “You’ve never let me see all of you. The real you, I mean. It didn’t bother me at first, but I can’t deny I’m not curious now…”
Rafayel’s intense gaze had you faltering for a splitting second, something cracking open behind his hazy stare. A flicker of rawness, surprised and hungry, that he smothered under a grin so filthy it made heat pool low in your belly fast as lightning, had you dripping on his thigh underwater.
“You want both of them, cutie? Real question is, can you handle both?” his voice had dropped into something so sinful it had your eyes roll back at the mere thought of being stuffed so full by not one, but two of his cocks.
On the good days, you took him like a champ, greedily swallowing him inside your warmth, demanding more and more as he gave into your every demand. On other occasions, he had you whining and begging for mercy, pounding you into the surface he laid you on and controled your pleasure like a puppet master.
A low purr vibrated against your sternum as his fingers resumed between your legs, pushing inside you with a slowness that made your mouth fall open and a sinful moan spill from it, obscene and loud in the tiled room. “Wanna see with your own eyes what your boyfriend’s really packing? All you had to do was ask, beautiful.”
“I’m asking now,” you managed breathlessly through a whimper, clenching tightly around his fingers and rolling your hips into his hand. The friction pulled a groan from him that sounded like it was dragged from somewhere deep and involuntary, which made you squeeze your eyes shut and grind harder. “Won’t you show me, baby?”
His forehead dropped against yours, and you felt the breath leave him in a shudder, his jaw working like he was swallowing something too big for his throat. His fingers curled inside you, pressing against his favorite spot, the one he loved to bully, the one that had your spine arching and a cry tearing from your lips, all while he watched your face come apart with an overwhelmed expression.
“I don’t think you have any idea what you do to me when you talk like that,” he groaned, his free hand gripping your jaw rather harshly and tilting your face so his mouth hovered over yours, close enough that you breathed each other’s air. “Sitting in my lap, taking my fingers so good, asking to see my cocks like you’re ordering dessert. Are you that greedy to be fucked senseless over this bathtub, huh?”
“Nghh—fuck, oh fuck,” you whimpered, because his thumb had found your clit again and was circling it in tandem with the fingers inside you. The euphoric sensation was making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything except hold on and shake like a leaf.
“What else?” he demanded, pulling his fingers out slowly, dragging them through your soaked folds until you were trembling and empty and whining at the loss. His hands gripped your hips, lifting and repositioning you against him so the hard length of his cock pressed directly between your folds. His hips rolled up, coating himself in your slickness causing a groan to rumble through both your bodies. “Tell me what else those books said. C’mon, I wanna know what my girl’s been studying about me.”
“Eggs,” you gasped, cheeks burning in embarrassment but you held his gaze, fingers fisting in his hair. “The texts said... during the heat, with the right partner, you’d...”
His hips stuttered, bucking the tip of his cock against your clit, his eyes going wide for a fraction of a second before they narrowed into something so dark and possessive it made your breath stop.
“Yeah?” he rasped, the word coming out guttural and raw, his grip on your hips tightening until you could feel each finger like a brand. He pulled you down against him, grinding his cock against you with a deliberateness that made you cry out, your hands scrabbling at his chest. “They told you about that too, huh?”
“Told me enough to be curious,” you whispered, biting your lip and rolling your hips into his, matching his rhythm, and the sound he made was barely human, a choked groan that broke in the middle and left his mouth hanging open.
“Curious,” he echoed, and the laugh that followed was breathless and dark, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his hips snapped up harder, rougher, chasing friction that made you both moan. “My bodyguard read some old books and now she’s curious about taking my eggs. You’re something else, you know that?”
He lifted his head, and the look in his eyes was ravenous, all teeth and heat and a hunger so consuming it made the air feel thin. His hand came up to wrap around your throat, gentle but present, thumb resting against your pulse, and pulled you close until his lips brushed yours with every word.
“Lemme tell you something those books didn’t cover, princess,” he murmured, his voice silk wrapped around a knife’s edge, low and intimate and dripping with a promise that made your thighs clench. “When it happens, and it’s gonna happen tonight because you went and started something you can’t stop... it’s not gonna be gentle. It’s gonna be a lot, and you’ll cry and beg me in that sweet voice to either stop or give you more. Oh, but you’re gonna take all of it for me, aren’t you?”
Your breath left you in a rush, your pulse hammering against his thumb. You enjoyed rough sex with Rafayel, having him leave bruises on your skin that would last for days after your heated love-making was something you looked forward too, knowing he could break you like that any time he desired. But you suspected this was much more different than your usual dynamic, something more primal and animalistic. Something you went ahead and awaken in him with all this stuff you prepared, and you weren’t gonna back down now.
“Yes,” you moaned against his neck, arching your back to brush your nipples against his chest with every movement, loving the friction.
His smile was slow and devastating and sharp enough to cut.
“Such a good, obedient girl,” he purred, and bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to sting. “Now hold on to me. ‘Cause whatever those books told you doesn’t even come close to what I’ll do to you tonight.”
In a swift move, he hauled you with your back to him, prompting you to grip the edge of the bathtub for some sort of stability, bending your back and arching it until it almost hurt, but giving him a gorgeous view of your ass spread open and a peak of your pussy leaking into the lapping water.
He chuckled behind you, a sound rather mocking but sweet at the same time, a purr that traveled down your spine and settled in your throbbing nub.
“She’s so swollen already… tsk. Are you sure you want this, beautiful? Last chance to back out.” he tutted behind you, fingers parting your folds and rubbing between them with enough pressure to have you chase his hands. His voice was so sweet, so innocent and almost tender, but it was far from that, really. You knew as much when he pushed three fingers inside your clenching hole, making you hiss and moan in pleasure and pain. It only made him chuckle and caress your ass as he fucked the fingers in and out of you slowly.
“Very tight, cutie. Not to brag, buuut… if you struggle to even take my fingers, you’ll be a mess when I stuff you with my cocks.” he curled them inside you as he spoke, a smirk present in his whispery tone, a little smug, “… You’ll cry, cutie. But you’re so desperate to be fucked, so I’ll indulge you if you really want it.”
“O-oh, oh fuck, please I do! I do… Feels good, j-just… give me a sec?”
“We have all night, cutie. Don’t think you’ll leave this bathroom until morning.”
The tone of his voice had gone a lot lower, and you only fully registered it when his fingers curled deeper inside you and you forced your eyes open to look back over your shoulder. The breath you took stuttered in your chest and stayed there.
He was beautiful.
Iridescent blue scales had bloomed across his collarbones and the sides of his neck in patterns that looked like jewelry that grew from the skin instead of being placed upon it. They scattered down his chest in a constellation that thinned out across his ribs and disappeared beneath the waterline, and smaller, finer scales decorated the high points of his cheekbones, just under his eyes, catching the bathroom light and refracting it in pearlescent shimmers every time he moved.
His eyes glowed, the blue of his iris turned luminous, like seafoam catching moonlight. His pupils were still blown wide, his lashes still damp with steam, and the flush across his nose and cheekbones had spread to color the tips of his ears in a deep rose.
He smirked at you with lazy confidence while his free hand stroked himself in slow, languid pulls beneath the water, his cock thick and flushed in his grip, and your mouth went dry watching it.
“Oh, you’re so gorgeous,” you breathed, twisting fully to drink him in, and the words came out hushed and tender almost, your fingers itching to touch him all over. “Raf, you're stunning like this.”
His hand stilled on his cock. His jaw worked, just barely, the smirk slipping into something more vulnerable for a half a second before he wrestled it back into place, stroking slowly down his shaft.
“Yeah?” he managed, voice scraped low, and the casual lilt in it didn’t quite cover the way his throat moved when he swallowed. You knew how your praises touched him, and found him cute trying to cover it up, “Don’t get all sappy on me, cutie. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
“What reputation?” you teased, reaching back to drag your fingertips along the curve of his jaw, tracing where the scales blurred into skin, and he tilted into your touch despite himself. "The one where you pretend you don’t get needy and hard when I tell you how beatiful you are? I’m not buying it, baby.”
“Oh, you're not buying it,” he echoed, and you watched the smirk sharpen into something dangerous as his fingers slipped out of you in one slow drag that made you whimper. His hand came around to grip your throat from behind, thumb pressing against the corner of your jaw, tipping your head back against his shoulder until you were arched and open and entirely at his mercy. “Lemme refresh you on my reputation real quick, then.”
He hauled you up by your hair.
The motion ripped a gasp from you, sharp and surprised, your knees scrambling to bracket the outside of his thighs in the water. His chest was hot against your back, the scales there warm and faintly sharp beneath your shoulder blades, meanwhile his other hand slid between your bodies, lining himself up before he hauled your hips down with a single, uncompromising pull that drove him into you to the hilt.
The sound that tore out of you was obscene. A broken, drawn-out moan that bounced off the tile, your back bowing as your hands flew back to grip his thighs for any kind of purchase. He didn’t give you a second to adjust.
“There we go,” he purred, the smugness back in full force, his hands settling on your hips to lift you and drag you down again, setting a brutal rhythm that made the water slosh in waves against the edges of the tub and had you clench around him desperately. “That’s the face I wanted. Look at you, all dazed and pretty for me. Where’d that smart mouth go, cutie? Hm?”
“R-right here,” you panted, twisting your head against his shoulder, lips brushing the line of scales along the side of his throat. You opened your mouth and licked, slowly dragging your tongue along the iridescent ridge from his collarbone to his ear. You didn’t read all those books for nothing, right? You had to make the best of your newfound knowledge.
His hips lost their rhythm for a fraction of a second, a strangled noise punching out of his chest, and you felt his whole body shudder beneath you. His cock kept twitching inside you, and you moaned at the feeling.
“Fuck,” he hissed, the word ragged and spit into your ear, his grip on your hair tightened. “Cutie, don’t... shit.”
“Don’t what?” you purred against the wet shimmer of his neck, sealing your lips over a cluster of scales and sucking gently, before scraping your teeth across them. “You don't like it?”
The noise he made was not designed for human ears. A low, almost rumbling moan that vibrated against your tongue, his cock twitching hard inside you, and his head dropped forward against your shoulder for a beat too long.
“I hate you and your little naughty schemes,” he breathed, but his hips snapped up into yours with a force that made you cry out, his teeth finding the side of your neck and biting down hard enough to bruise, a direct reminder of who was in charge. “Such a brat. Reading your little books and figurin’ out exactly where to touch me. Think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
“I think I'm right,” you gasped, reaching back to thread your fingers into his hair, tugging hard as you turned your head until your mouth found the corner of his, peppering small kisses. “Tell me I’m right, baby. Tell me you like it.”
“I’m not telling you shit,” he rasped against your lips, but he was kissing you between every word, sloppy and open-mouthed, his tongue dragging along yours with a hunger that wasn’t subtle. His hand released your hair to wrap around your throat from the front, fingers splaying wide, thumb pressing just beneath your jaw. “Stop talkin’ before I shut you up.”
This back-and-forth was familiar between you already, the push-and-pull that made everything exciting when you gripped and pulled and ravished one another while having sex. You knew how to tick him off, and he knew how to handle you just as easily. Which is why the next words left your mouth in a slow, unhurried purr, one that went straight to his cock and had it twitch in pleasure inside your g-spot.
“Make me.”
His laugh broke against your mouth, breathless and taunting. He kissed you harder, deeper, teeth catching your bottom lip and pulling until it stung and almost drew blood. His free hand slid up your stomach to your chest, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger with a sharpness that made you sob and eyes sting with real tears, your hips bucking down into his with a wet, slick sound that made his next groan come out shaking. You wanted him to fuck you faster, but he controled every move of his hips despite you being above him.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he purred against your jaw, dragging his tongue along the spot beneath your ear, knowing it’ll make you shudder and clench around him. “All bark, my cutie. Bratty little thing pretending she can keep up with me while I’m splittin’ her open.”
Your laugh was a broken thing that crumbled into a moan as his fingers rolled your nipple between them without mercy. You twisted in his grip to mouth at the scales along his throat again, sucking harder this time, letting your teeth scrape along the iridescent patterns the way you’d read about.
His whole body locked up. A guttural, choked-off sound spilled from him, his hips stuttering through the rhythm he’d been setting, and you felt his thighs trembling beneath yours. He was so fucking gone, it made you smirk pleased against his scales as you licked again.
“Cutie,” he warned, voice cracked clean through, and his grip on your throat tightened just slightly, the pad of his thumb pressing into your pulse. “I'm gonna lose it comletely if you keep doing that, and I won’t show you any mercy for the rest of the night.”
“But isn’t that the point, my love?” you breathed against the wet shimmering skin, lapping at it with the flat of your tongue, “Won’t you fuck me like you always dreamed of? You always fucked me as your girlfriend, won’t you fuck me as your mate, too?”
You reached one hand back and down between your bodies, finding the place at the base of his spine where the texts said the scales would be most sensitive. You pressed two fingertips there and dragged them up slowly, tracing along the ridge.
He made a sound you’d never heard before.
A low, wrecked whimper that didn’t belong to him, one so unfamiliar that it surprised eve you for a second, a sound so animalistic it had you even more excited to push him more. His forehead crashed forward against the side of your neck as his hips snapped up into yours with a force that knocked the breath out of you.
“You little...” he started, and the rest of it dissolved into a groan that vibrated against your skin, his teeth closing on your shoulder to muffle it. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, dragging you down onto him with rough, fast, uneven thrusts that betrayed how close he was to losing the act entirely. “You read about that too, huh? Knew exactly where to touch me. Knew exactly how to make your boyfriend want to fuck you senseless in a goddamn bathtub.”
“Mm-hm,” you hummed, pressing a slow kiss to the scales beneath his ear before licking a stripe along them. “Wanted to know all of you. Every inch of you needs to be loved, don’t you agree?”
“F-fuck,” he breathed, and he sounded actually gone, his free hand abandoning your breast to slide down between your thighs and find your throbbing clit. His circles were a lot rougher and faster, no rhythm to them whatsoever, and the coil low in your belly snapped tight in seconds. “Yeah? Wanted to know me like this? Wanted to wreck me, baby? Is that what your little research project was about?”
“I wanted to be wrecked by you,” you sighed, turning to catch his mouth in a sloppy, open kiss. He groaned into it, deep and helpless, slothing his tongue with yours in a sensual dance.
“Fuck, you say things like that and I can’t think straight,” he hissed, his pace turning punishing, his hips grinding up into yours with a relentlessness that had your eyes rolling back and vision whitening. His fingers on your clit didn’t slow for a second. “Gonna cum for me, cutie? Gonna cum on my cock ‘cause I told you to?”
“Y-Yes,” you whimpered, your hand still pressed to the scales at the base of his spine, dragging your fingers along them in a slow stroke that made his hips buck violently, hitting your g-spot. “Oh fuck, yes, ‘m gonna cum s-soon…”
“Then do it,” he rasped against your ear,his thumb pressing harder against your throat, his other hand working you faster, sharper, meaner. “C’mon, baby. Show me what a smart girl you are. Cum on my cock and I’ll give you the other one.”
The orgasm tore through you with the kind of speed that left your ears ringing. You cried out loder than ever before, your nails dragging crescents into his thighs as you clenched around him in pulses that made him groan against your neck, his hips stuttering through your aftershocks. He fucked you through it, slower and deeper now, his hand abandoning your clit to wrap around your waist and hold you steady as you shook.
“Ride it, baby. Just like that,” the softness that bled into his voice was sudden and disarming, his lips finding the side of your neck and pressing a kiss there that was almost gentle. He kissed up to your jaw, your cheek, and his hand cupped your face to turn you toward him, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that was deeper than it needed to be, slower than the rest of him had any right to be.
You knew that kiss. You knew what it meant.
It was Rafayel’s quiet way of asking, the question he never spoke aloud because saying it would mean dropping the act. You okay? You want to keep going? Should I stop?
You smiled against his lips, and the way his shoulders relaxed at it told you he’d been holding his breath without realizing.
You turned in his lap on shaky legs, water sloshing over the rim of the tub, and settled facing him with your thighs draped over his. His cock slipped from you with the motion and you both groaned at the loss, but your eyes had already dropped, drawn down through the water by something new.
There were two now.
The first you knew. The one you’d been wrecked on a moment ago, thick and flushed and slick with you. The second was unfamiliar in the most beautiful way, pressed alongside it against his stomach, marked with faint iridescent ridges that caught the light when you tilted your head. It was the same shade as his scales, that dark blue that seemed to shimmer when he moved, slightly slimmer than the first but no less substantial, the head of it gleaming wetly above the waterline.
Your breath caught in your throat, stunned and mesmerized at the same time.
You reached down with both hands, shaky as you traced one fingertip along the underside of the second cock from base to tip while the other wrapped lightly around the tip. The ridges were softer than scales, almost velvety, and they pulsed warm beneath your touch.
Rafayel hissed harshly, his head dropping back against the rim of the tub with a thud, his hips jerking up into your hands.
“Fuck, cutie...” he choked, voice stripped down to something raw and shaking.
“It’s very beautiful,” you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his sternum, dragging your lips along the line of scales that scattered there before working your way lower. “Raf, you’re so beautiful like this. I could look at you forever.”
“You can’t just say things like that so easily while your hands are wrapped around my cock,” he gritted out, but his hands had come up to fist in your hair, like he needed something to anchor him through your touches of his most sensitive, intimate parts.
You kissed lower. Across his ribs, along the soft trail of scales that led down his stomach, and his muscles twitched and flexed beneath your mouth in a way that made his next breath leave him in a stutter.
“Do you like that?” you licked a scale, glancing up at him through your lashes with a smile so sweet it should have come with a warning label. “When I kiss you here? I read it’s sensitive.”
“I’m gonna kill whoever wrote that book,” he groaned, head falling back against the rim again, glowing eyes squeezed shut, throat bared in a line that made your mouth water and ache to kiss again.
“Mm. Should I stop, then?”
“Never said that.”
A please laugh came out, and you bent to press another kiss to his navel, your fingers still tracing the ridges along his second cock with featherlight intent. He twitched in your grip and a broken whine spilled out of him, his hips lifting off the bottom of the tub to chase more.
His hand shot out and grabbed your jaw.
The grip was sudden and harsh, snapping your face up to his, and the glow in his eyes had brightened, the smile on his lips no longer lazy. It was sharp. Predatory. You should have felt in danger under such a gaze, but it only made you wetter.
“You absolute brat,” he purred, his thumb pressed past your lips, dragging across your tongue. You opened your mouth for him on reflex, your eyes hooded and your breath hot against his skin. “Kissing me all sweet, askin’ if I like it, touching me like you’ve got me figured out. You think you’re in charge here, cutie?”
He pushed two fingers into your mouth, replacing the thumb, and pressed them down on your tongue. Your jaw fell open. Drool gathered at the corners of your lips and his eyes tracked it with a hunger that made your thighs clench around his.
“Suck them,” he commanded, low and almost gentle, and you obeyed without thinking, closing your lips around his fingers and laving your tongue along them, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked slowly. The groan he gave you was unsteady, his hips rolling up beneath you, his free hand coming up to grip your waist with a force that would leave fingerprints. “So compliant. Such a filthy little mouth, now stuffed full.”
He pulled his fingers from your mouth slowly, dragging a string of spit with them, and used the wetness to trace a slow, deliberate line down your chin, your throat, your sternum, until he was cupping your jaw again.
“My pretty, perverted girl,” he murmured, and his voice was velvet wrapped around something that made your stomach drop. “Greedy little cunt couldn’t even let me catch my breath before she was already lookin’ at the second one. You really wanna know what a Lemurian mating ritual feels like, hm? You begged for it. Researched for it. Drugged your boyfriend in his own bathtub just to find out.”
His thumb pressed against your bottom lip, and the smile he gave you was sweet and sharp and absolutely ruinous.
“So I’m gonna give it to you, baby. Both of ‘em. Stretchin’ this little cunt out ‘til you forget what it felt like before me. And you’re gonna look at me the whole time, cutie.”
His tongue came out to lick his own bitten lips, eyes dazed and a mile away, probably already imagining the fucked-out expression of your face when he’ll finally slip inside.
“You don’t get to close your eyes. Wanna see your face when I split you open on both, yeah? Wanna watch the second you realize you’ll die without ‘em the second they’re inside you.”
His fingers tightened on your jaw, his glowing eyes burned into yours.
“Use your words, baby. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” you breathed, the words coming out rough and a bit desperate, tongue still tingling where his fingers had pressed it down. “Show me, Raf.”
His pupils dilated until they nearly swallowed the glow.
“Yeah?” he purred, the smirk spreading across his lips was slow and cocky, all teeth and trouble. “Lemme hear you ask for it properly, cutie. Pretty mouth like yours, oughta beg for what it wants.”
“Please show me,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss the corner of his smirk, mouth dragging slow along his jaw. “Show me how a Lemurian fucks his girl, baby.”
His breath punched out of him. A real, audible exhale that he tried to mask under a chuckle but couldn’t quite, his fingers tightening on the back of your neck.
“Yeah, that’s more like it,” he rasped, and the smirk turned into something wolfish. “Gotta admit it, cutie. You’re gorgeous when you beg me.”
He moved with a speed that left you dizzy.
His hands hooked under your thighs and lifted your body, water cascading off your skin as he stood and pivoted in one fluid motion, settling himself against the slanted back of the tub where the marble curved into something more like a chaise than a wall. The water lapped at his hips and he positioned you straddling him, knees bracketing his thighs, your hands flying to grip his shoulders for balance.
“Hold on tight, beautiful,” he tutted, smirk flickering with anticipation as he reached down between your bodies. One hand wrapped around both cocks, lining them up, the heads pressing together against your entrance. The sight of it made your stomach drop and your mouth go wet, heart beating so fast from the anticipation.
“Raf,” you whined, eyes flicking up to his. You let your voice go small and breathless on purpose, knowing exactly what it would do. “Be nice to me.”
You saw his jaw flex while his other hand slid up your spine to grip the back of your neck, possessive and firm, followed by a smile so sweet and sharp and completely insincere.
“Nice,” he echoed, savoring the word like a piece of candy. “She wants me to be nice. After everything she pulled tonight. C’mon, cutie. You really think you earned nice?”
“Mm. Maybe not,” you admitted, biting your lip. You rolled your hips down just enough to drag the heads of both cocks against your entrance, slick and ready for him. “But you love me, so.”
“I do love you,” he agreed with a hum, voice dropped to something low and lethal that had your toes curl. “That won’t stop me from fucking you like I don’t. After all, you asked for exactly that, yeah?”
He lowered you onto him.
The first inch ripped a gasp from you. The second made you sob. He went slow, agonizingly slow, his hand on your hip controlling every fraction of the descent, and you watched his composure splinter in real time, his lips parting on a stuttered exhale, his glowing eyes fluttering before he forced them back open. He wanted to see your face. You wanted to see his unraveling. Every inch of him was so delicious, not very painful because even like this, he made sure you weren’t uncomfortable. But it soon turned into agonizing pleasure, making your breath shallow.
“Eyes on me,” he rasped, even as his own threatened to roll back. “Don’t you dare close ‘em, cutie. Wanna watch every second of this, paint it later.”
“Don’t close yours either,” you breathed back, tracing your thumb along his bottom lip, holding his gaze even as your thighs shook. “Wanna see how good I make you feel, baby.”
A choked sound left him, and his hips twitched up beneath you involuntarily, sinking both cocks deeper in one rough jolt that made you cry out. He went so deep you saw stars behind your eyelids, biting the inside of your cheek.
“Fuck, shit,” he hissed, jaw clenching tight. His hand was gripping your hip with bruising force, sure to leave purple blooms across the skin. “Stop talkin’ like that, cutie, I swear to god...”
“Or what?” you taunted, smiling against his mouth and went ahead and clenched around him on purpose, just to watch what happens.
His head dropped forward against your collarbone with a wet thud. A low, broken groan rumbled out of his chest, and then his teeth closed on the skin there, biting so hard it made you shake against him.
“Or I’m gonna fuck this attitude right out of you,” he muttered against the bite. “Keep runnin’ your pretty mouth and find out, cutie.”
You eased the rest of the way down, the stretch unbelievable, the burn of it edged with a fullness that pushed every coherent thought out of your skull. By the time you were fully seated against him, hips flush and both cocks buried so deep inside you that your vision went white at the edges, you were both panting like you’d run a marathon.
You knew it took great force for him to keep still and not fuck ruthelessly into you, that thought made your chest ache sweetly. He knew to fuck you like you wanted but he always made sure you remember he still silently sought out your comfort at all times.
“There’s my good girl, welcoming me so nicely,” he breathed, lifting his head to look at you, with a smile that broke across his face in disbelief, fond and absolutely wrecked. “Sittin’ on me and looking so pretty. How’s it feel, hm? Better than your dusty old books told you?”
“There were no b-books,” you panted, finding the strength to smile against his lips, dazed and sincere. “Nothing in this world could’ve prepared me for how you’ll feel, Raf.”
His eye actually rolled back. A full, slow flutter of his lashes, his head tipping back against the marble behind him, and a wrecked groan rumbled out of his throat. He was so easy to dismantle.
“Princess,” he gritted, hips twitching up and pulling a sharp cry from you. “Sometimes you don’t need to be so honest, y’know…”
“Is it wrong for me to admit how I want my boyfriend to fuck me? I thought you wanted us to be honest with one another,” you breathed and leaned forward, dragging your tongue along the line of scales at his throat, sealing your lips over the them and sucking until he sobbed.
His hips snapped up hard. A strangled noise tore out of him, and his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back to bare your throat. It tingled on your scalp, pain and plasure shooting through you, smiling through lidded eyes.
“You really are askin’ for it tonight, huh?” he growled, his mouth finding the curve of your neck and biting down hard enough to make you yelp. “Touchin’ me like that. Lickin’ my scales like you wanna eat me alive. Where’s all that come from, cutie? Hm? Did your little research project teach you how to drive your boyfriend insane too?”
“Mm,” you hummed, smiling against his ear as he sucked another bruise into your throat. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
His laugh broke against your skin. Breathless. Disbelieving.
“So it’s like that, then.” he purred, and his hips finally moved. A slow drag that pulled both cocks halfway out of you before slamming back in, the water sloshing in waves against the tub. Your eyes rolled back so hard it had you see spots behind your eyelids, “I’m gonna make you regret every smart thing that ever came out of that mouth.”
He set a rhythm that was slow at first but so fucking deep, every thrust pulling you apart and putting you back together, the water sloshing against your skin with each grind. His hands never let go of you, one fisted in your hair, one gripping your hip, guiding and lifting and dropping you onto him like you weighed nothing. You could only let him.
“You’re so compliant,” he cooed, voice gone honeyed and mean. “Stretchin’ so pretty around me. All it took to shut your pretty mouth was filling you up, tsk.”
“Mm, baby,” you moaned, fingers digging into the scales along his shoulders, scraping lightly. “You feel so g-good. S’big. Filling me up so much I can barely breathe...h-hahh…”
His glowing eyes squeezed shut for a beat, his breath shuddering out of him in a broken wave as his pace stuttered.
“Stop bein’ sweet to me while I’m tryin’ to wreck you…” he whined weakly, but his hips snapped up harder.
“Why?” you whispered, leaning down to press your mouth to the cluster of scales over his sternum, kissing along them and sucking gently, dragging your tongue across them. “Don’t you like it when I’m sweet? Or you like it when I tell you exactly how good you are at this?”
A helpless whimper left his mouth, hips losing their rhythm entirely for a moment, and you took the opportunity to slide one hand down between your bodies and press your fingertips against the base of his spine where the scales were thickest, dragging them up slowly along the ridge.
A strangled groan ripped out of him, and his teeth sank into your shoulder so hard you saw stars.
“Cutie…” he started, the rest dissolving into a curse, his hips snapping up into yours with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. “You read about every single sensitive spot I have, didn’t you? Mapped me out like a goddamn treasure hunt.”
“I wanted to learn how to please you,” you breathed against his ear, then closed your teeth around his earlobe and tugged. “Every part of you, Raf. Worship you like you worship me.”
A real, helpless sob escaped him, his head dropping forward against your shoulder while his hips drove into you with a desperate rhythm.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he gritted, even as his hands gripped you tighter, even as his cocks throbbed inside you. “You’re not allowed to say shit like that right now, cutie. I’m tryin’ to be mean to you and you’re makin’ it impossible.”
“So be mean to me,” you challenged, lifting your head to meet his eyes, giving him a seductive smile, “C’mon, Raf. Show me what you got. Tell me what’s gonna happen now, what you’re gonna do to your sweet bride.”
The smile that returned to his lips was slow and sinful.
“Yeah?” he purred, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “You wanna know what’s gonna happen, cutie? You wanna know what kinda ritual you started?”
“Teach me,” you whispered, kissing the pad of his thumb.
“Lemme paint you a picture, baby,” he breathed, his hips ground up into yours in slow, filthy circles that made your back arch. “Right now? This is just the warmup. I’m gonna fuck you on both my cocks ‘til you’re crying. ‘Til you forget your own name. And then, when you’re so gone you can barely keep your eyes open...”
He paused, tongue dragging along your jaw and smile widening against your skin, making you tremble.
“... that’s when I’m gonna breed you, cutie.”
You clenched around him so hard he choked.
“O-oh, fuck,” he laughed, breathless. “Oh, you liked that, huh? My pretty little hunter likes the sound of bein’ bred. Tell me, baby, did your books cover that part too? Did they tell you what it’s like when a Lemurian fills his lover up?”
“S-Some of it,” you struttered, rolling your hips down to meet his, riding the slow grind of him until you both groaned. “Not enough… they weren’t d-detailed… Mmm, will you tell me?”
“Tell you, hm?” he mused, his hand sliding up from your hip to wrap around your throat, thumb pressing against your jaw. “You sure, cutie? You scared yet? ‘Cause I’d understand if you were.”
“Not scared,” your eyebrows knitted, holding his gaze. “Tell me.”
His smirk turned vicious.
“Eggs, baby,” he rasped, hips snapping up to punctuate the word, mouth hovering over yours. “I’m gonna fill this tight little cunt with my eggs. One after another... Deep... Where you can feel them. Where you’ll feel them for days.”
You moaned, your eyes rolling back and nails scoring down his chest.
“Do you like that?” he cooed, mean and delighted, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “You like the thought of being so full of me you can’t even sit straight? Walkin’ around tomorrow with my eggs inside you, knowin’ I put them there?”
“Y-yes,” you whimpered, and you couldn't help it, you couldn't stop, you ground down on him harder, seeking more friction, seeking what he was telling you he’ll do. “Yes, Raf, please.”
“Such a pervert,” he cooed almost fondly, cupping your face. “My sweet, perverted girl. So curious. So greedy.”
“H-Have you,” you breathed, cupping his face back, holding his glowing eyes with yours, “have you ever thought about it before? Be honest, baby. Ever dreamed about doing this to me?”
Something cracked behind his eyes. Something wild and exposed.
“Cutie,” he warned, voice splintering.
“Don’t avoid it,” you whispered, kissing him softly, dragging your tongue along his bottom lip. “Have you imagined it, Raf? Filling me up? Breeding me? Watching me take all you have to give?”
“Yes,” he hissed, and the word seemed to be torn out of him, his whole body shuddering against yours. “Yeah, more times than I can count. Thought about it every time I came inside you.”
“Then do it,” you whispered against his mouth, kissing him deeper, sloppier, your tongue dragging against his. “Do it. I want it, too.”
His arms wrapped around you and crushed you against him.
His pace turned brutal. Desperate. His hips drove up into you with a ragged, uncontrolled rhythm that made the water slosh over the tub’s edge and onto the floor. His mouth was everywhere, your throat, your jaw, your collarbones, biting and sucking marks into your skin that you would feel for a week, if not more.
“You want it, baby?” he panted against your skin, voice broken open. “You want me to breed you? My greedy lover, asking to be filled up by her boyfriend’s eggs?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you babbled, clinging to him, mouthing at every cluster of scales you could reach, dragging your nails down his back. “Please, Raf, please, please.”
“Yeah?” he laughed, breathless, “Gonna take all my eggs for me? Gonna let me stuff this cunt full and then fuck you anyway? Gonna let your boyfriend ride you with his eggs inside, baby?”
“Yes, Raf, yes.” you moaned, eyes rolling back with every hard thrust, almost giving you a headache.
“Tell me how full you’re gonna feel,” he commanded, lifting his head to look at you, glowing eyes locked on yours and thumb pressing against your bottom lip. “Lemme hear it.”
“So f-full,” you whimpered, your tongue laving over the thumb pressing into your mouth. “So full of you, baby.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he purred, mean and tender at once. “So full you won’t be able to think. Won’t be able to walk. Gonna keep my cocks inside you the whole time too, cutie. Gonna fuck you until you pass out on them. And when you wake up, baby? I’m gonna do it all over again.”
“Yes,” you sobbed, clenching around him, your forehead falling against his. “Please, w-wanna cum…”
His hand slid down between your bodies and found your clit, working it in tight, brutal circles, and the third orgasm built fast and sharp and impossibly close. You could feel him changing inside you, the second cock swelling slightly against your walls.
“It’s comin’, cutie,” he warned, voice gone guttural, eyes burning into yours. “Stay with me, baby. Look at me. Don’t you dare look away.”
“I won’t, I won’t, I’m here, Raf, I’m here—”
He pulled you down onto him in one final, deep press, both cocks buried to the hilt, his hands clamped to your hips like he was holding the world together. A pulse, then another, the second cock swelling slightly inside you, a fullness that built and built until you gasped.
Something gave.
A pressure released, and you felt the first one. Small, rounded, smooth, sliding deep inside you, settling somewhere that made your mouth hand open and your spine arch. Then another. And another. Each one drawing a broken, helpless sound from him, each one pulling a high, breathy yes from you, mindless and dazed.
“That’s it, that’s it,” he panted against your throat, his arms wrapped around you so tight you couldn’t breathe. “Take them, baby. Take them all for me. Such a good girl, fuck, you’re shaking so hard…”
“Yesyesyes,” you babbled mindlessly, clinging to him while mouthing nonsense against his ear, tears at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming fullness. “H-hah, ‘m so close… Raf, ‘m so full…”
“I’m gonna fill you up after,” he rasped, his hips still thrusting upwards, his voice cracking around the words. He was as lost as you were. “Gonna come inside you, cutie. Stuff this cunt so full it’ll leak out of you, you hear me? Gonna mark every inch of you mine.”
“Y-yes,” you sobbed, and the third orgasm crested and broke through you in waves that left you crying, your body shaking with it. The fullness inside you a strange and beautiful weight you’d never felt before.
He came with you. A long, broken groan against your neck, his hips pressing up into yours one last time, both cocks pulsing as he spilled into you in waves that felt impossibly warm, impossibly intimate. You felt the slow leak of your shared passion as his cocks twitched through the last aftershocks, his cum spilling out of you around him, joining the water that lapped at your hips.
The only sound was the two of you breathing, foreheads pressed together, hands still clutching skin and scales and hair like neither of you wanted to be the first to let go.
if you liked it, you can buy me a coffee here! it would be very appreciated<3: https://ko-fi.com/zaynessbeloved
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When THEY accidentally send you (p)🌽 link... (part 2)
When YOU accidentally send him a (p) 🌽 link....Here (part 1)
CW: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh fucking. Deep throating. Breeding kink. Masturbation. Praise kink. 🔞 MDNI 🔞
There are about 20 open tabs on your phone and a half finished list of new plushies you’ve been eyeing. It’s a problem. Your collection is already getting a bit out of hand, but there’s something about a new squishy companion that just makes the stress of your last mission melt away.
You’re scrolling through your favorite site, debating between a pastel jellyfish or a round, grumpy cat, when your phone buzzes with a text from Xavier.
Xavier: Found something. Thought it might look good on your bed.
You tap the link eagerly, expecting a picture of some ridiculously soft, oversized penguin or maybe a weirdly cute dragon. You’re already mentally carving out a space for it on your bed.
The link loads. You blink.
Then you blink again.
Your thumb freezes mid scroll. It is not a penguin. It is definitely not a dragon. It is an explicitVIDEO that makes your entire face turn red in approximately 0.5 seconds.
Just as the girl in the video lets out a soft moan, your phone vibrates again. This time, it’s a frantic succession of messages.
Xavier: Wait, did that go through?
Xavier: The link?
Xavier: Please tell me you didn't click that yet.
You look at the video one last time before quickly locking your phone and pressing the cool glass against your burning cheek.
🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟
He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The look in his deep blue eyes is heavy, dark, and entirely unapologetic.
The transition from his accidental text to both of you completely naked in your bed happens in less than 10 minutes. Because you’ve only been intimate for a few weeks, there’s still this electric, terrifying novelty to it, the way your heart hammers against your ribs when his hands touch your skin.
He’s behind you, his body acting as a warm, solid anchor. His skin is hot against yours, a seamless fit that feels like it was designed by the universe itself. But it’s what he’s doing, the agonizing patience of it that is pushing you toward the edge of madness.
He isn't fucking you. Not yet.
He's doing exactly what you saw on that video. He’s sliding his cock between your thighs, the slick, heavy length of him dragging slowly against you. Every single time he thrusts, the tip of him catches the little hood of your clit before dragging the lenght of his cock across your most vulnerable spot with a precision that feels soooo good.
"Xavie..." you moan, your voice breaking, a plea you can't quite finish.
"Shh," his breath is hot, uneven, smelling faintly of mint. His lips brush the sensitive curve of your neck. "Just breathe, bunny. Let it build."
He pulls back, nearly losing contact entirely, only to slide forward again, with enough pressure to make your eyes roll back.
"I've been thinking about this," he whispers, his lips brushing your earlobe, sending a violent shiver down your spine. "For months"
You let out a choked sob, head falling back against his shoulder. "You're so beautiful when you're desperate, you’re close, aren't you?"
His voice vibrates against your skin and the smile you can feel against your pulse point is nothing short of predatory. He knows. He’s always known exactly where you are, even when you’re too lost in the haze of pleasure to find the words.
You try to answer, but your voice is trapped somewhere in the back of your throat, drowned out by the thrum of your heartbeat. You don't speak, and he thrives on that silence. To him, your quiet isn't an absence, it’s an admission. It’s the honest, raw truth of a body that has been pushed past its limit and is now screaming for a release it can't quite grasp.
His hand slides down from your ribs to settle firmly on your waist. His grip is certain, unyielding and controlled anchoring you to the mattress so you can’t squirm away.
He presses a kiss to your neck. Once. Slow. Then again, lower, his lips grazing the curve where your shoulder meets collarbone. The heat of it enough to make you arch backward, your spine curving into him, while the dirty intent of his touch makes you clench around the empty air.
"Ask me, bunny," you try to find your voice, but all that comes out is a breathless hitch in your lungs. Seeing your struggle, he doesn't let you off the hook. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in your hair to gently but firmly tilt your head back toward him. He never breaks the rhythm, he angles his hips with precision, pressing the length of his cock harder against your clit, forcing a loud moan from your lips directly into his mouth.
"Use your words," he insists, his eyes dark and hooded, watching the way your expression fractures.
The words tumble out of you, wrecked and desperate, "I want to cum, Xavie... please..."
His lips crash against yours, but the sweetness is gone. He kisses you like his patience has finally grown teeth, hungry and sharp. His hand moves to your thigh, pressing down firmly to maximizing the friction, ensuring every single nerve ending is on fire, making sure you feel every bit of what you asked for.
The world simply ceases to exist. You both break at the exact same moment. You’re gasping, your hands instinctively flying to your own breasts, squeezing them as you chase the peak, your fingers digging into your skin for any extra stimulation you can find.
"There you are..." he whispers against your lips as he spills over your thighs, your cunt, and the damp sheets beneath you. He holds you there, pinning you to the moment, letting the aftershocks roll through you until your muscles begin to tremble into stillness.
When the world begins to drift back into focus, a languid warmth settling over your limbs, a realization begins to dawn on you. He didn't just give you an orgasm. He found a hidden part of you, the part that craves to be unraveled, the part that wants to be ruined slowly and meticulously and he taught it to answer to him, and him alone.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz
Caleb [14:22]: Found a recipe for a honey glazed salmon. Reminded me of that place we went to last week.
You’re supposed to be working on a pile of halfway finished reports on your desk but he’s been rambling about dinner for the past hour.
Caleb [14:23]: Let's try it tonight. Let me know if it looks okay to you.❤️
A link follows.
You tap it, expecting a colorful food blog or maybe one of those YouTube tutorials with a soft acoustic soundtrack. Your brain practically short circuits.
A VIDEO loads instantly. It’s not salmon. It's a girl, sprawled out on a bed, and there’s a man, looming over her as he... well, he's fucking her face. The girl is looking straight up at him, eyes glazed and heavy lidded, completely lost in it. The sound of the video starts to play before you can find the volume button.
"Oh my god," you whisper, frantically trying to close the tab.
Was this a joke? Or maybe a very, very subtle hint? Did the great Colonel Caleb actually just fumble the most embarrassing mistake of his entire life?
Bzzzz
Caleb [14:26]: Pips. The link was wrong. Ignore that. It was supposed to be a cooking blog. Please delete it.
You could pretend you didn't see a single thing and let him stew in his own embarrassment all day. You could let him suffer.
But then again... he did say he wanted to try something new tonight.
You type out a quick reply, heart racing just a little bit.
“The recipe looks good. Do you think we have all the ingredients?😉"
🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎
The dim light of the bedroom catches the violet of his eyes, making them look entirely too satisfied. He’s hovering over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world, leaving you in a private universe where the only thing that exists is his weight and the heat of his cock.
His hands frame your face. "Look at me, baby,"
He guides himself to your lips and begins to slide in. He moves slowly, testing your limits, watching your eyes widen as you try to adjust.
"God, you look so good like this," he breathes, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "With your mouth so full of me..."
The praise makes your head swim and your throat tighten.
"I should have done this sooner... I should have stopped playing the gentleman and just taken what's mine."
His slow pace breaks, and he thrusts deeper, a sudden surge that hits the back of your throat. Your eyes water instantly, an involuntary gag catching in your chest when your body tries to protest the sudden fullness.
"Silly girl," he coos, not pulling back. He stays right there, buried deep "Don't fight it. Just breathe through your nose"
He waits until he sees your nostrils flare, until you take a shaky, shallow breath through your nose, eyes locking onto his.
The moment you manage it, the tension in his shoulders melt "Theeeere we go," he whispers, giving you one more deep, slow slide, making sure you feel every inch of him. "Such a fast learner. My perfect... fuck... perfect girl."
The need to see just how far you can push him takes over and instead of just taking him, you begin to draw him in, sucking your cheeks in slowly, creating tight pressure around him.
A groan rips from his throat and his hands, which were previously just guiding your head, suddenly dig into your hair, fingers knotting into the strands with a force that almost hurts.
"Fuck, Pips..." his head falls back for a split second before he snaps his gaze back to yours "I didnt teach you that..."
He loses the battle with his own restraint and his hips begin to move with punishing speed. Every time the tip of his cock hits the very back of your throat you can feel the involuntary reflex of your throat tightening and saliva begins to pool at the corners of your lips. It’s messy but it’s exactly what he wants.
"Look at you," he pants, reaching down to catch a stray drop of saliva and smearing it across your chin "So messy for me. You're dripping all over yourself because you can't get enough. You want it all, don't you?."
Your lungs are screaming, your chest heaving in search for oxygen, but you don’t care. The burning in your throat is nothing compared to the sight of him right now, his eyes blown wide, his jaw locked, his face twisted with a kind of agony and ecstasy that he’d never show anyone else.
He’s on the edge. You can feel it in the way his thighs are trembling and he starts to pull away.
Your fingers dig into the hard, tensed muscles of his ass and with a sharp tug, you yank him back inside, slamming him against your face.
The sudden change in pressure snaps the last of his restraint. He doesn't fight you, he doesn't even try. He just collapses into the sensation, his entire body shuddering as he finally lets go.
You feel the first hot, thick burst of him erupt in the back of your throat, a sudden flood that makes you choke and gag, eyes watering.
"Fuck, I can't.. I... " he's shaking all over, his fingers bruising your scalp as he rides out the waves of release.
When he finally pulls away, he doesn't move far. He lingers, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his eyes searching yours.
"You really won't let me have anything for myself, will you? he whispers, his voice rough and ruined. "You just have to take it all."
Your workday has been a total slog. Between the endless briefings at the Association and the exhaustion of keeping up with Wanderers, your brain feels like it’s been through a blender. All you can think about is getting home, kicking off your boots, and maybe if you’re lucky getting a moment of peace.
Until your phone buzzes in your pocket.
You pull it out, expecting a tactical update or maybe a nagging message from your supervisor, but it’s a text from Rafayel.
Rafayel: "My darling, my muse, my precious bodyguard, don't you dare go home and sleep yet” the text reads, followed by a string of dramatic, pouting emojis. “Remember I have an exhibition today! It’s a secret location, very exclusive, very avant garde. You simply MUST come by after your shift. It’s going to be breathtaking, just like you. Don't be late, or I might actually die of loneliness. Here is the location!" 👇
LINK
You smile, a little warmth spreading through your chest despite the fatigue. He’s so much, truly, but he has a way of making the mundane parts of your life feel colorful. You tap the link, expecting a Google Maps pin or a sleek digital invite to a high end gallery in Linkon City.
Instead, your screen loads a video.
You aren't looking at a gallery. You are looking at a naked woman perched on a chair, looking entirely too comfortable, while a man, in front of her, puts on a very intense performance. The camera zooms in just as he reaches the grand finale, a messy orgasm that ends up all over the woman's legs, stomach and breasts.
You stare at the screen. You stare at the ceiling. You stare at the wall.
Did he... did he just send you a porn link?
Your phone vibrates again. A second text. Then a third. A fourth.
Rafayel: “Did you see it? The lighting is so evocative, don't you think?”
Rafayel: “The composition of the colors is quite striking.”
Rafayel: “Wait. Why aren't you responding? Are you mesmerized by the art? It's okay, take your time, it's quite a lot to take in"
Then, a final text arrives, and the tone shifts instantly from "pretentious artist" to "absolute disaster."
Rafayel:"Don't look at it! Close it! Close the tab! Throw the phone into the ocean! Forget everything you saw! It was a glitch! A spacetime anomaly! A Wanderer attack on my phone! "
You can’t help it. A snort escapes you, followed by a full blown fit of giggles that makes your coworkers glance over in confusion. You quickly type back a single, teasing reply.
You: “The lighting was lovely, Rafayel. Very... evocative.”
The "typing..." bubble appears immediately. It stays there for an agonizingly long time.
Rafayel: “I am literally dying. Bury me in the sand. Don't you dare come to the exhibition. Actually, come. But don't look at me. I'm never leaving my studio again.”
🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧
The exhibition was a triumph, of course. Rafayel was the star, basking in the praise of the elite, playing the part of the brilliant artist to perfection.
But now, the doors are locked, the lights are dimmed to a soft, amber glow and you aren't looking at his paintings anymore. You’re the centerpiece of a much more private gallery.
You’re perched on the edge of chair, your wrists pulled taut behind your back. He’d used a length of fine, crimson silk to bind them, tight enough to force your shoulders back and arch your spine, thrusting your chest forward, the cool air of the studio grazing your skin, making your nipples harden.
His hand is wrapped around himself, moving with a slow rhythm "You're staring, cutie," a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth "Is the view to your liking?"
You nod, looking up at him, licking your lips.
He lets out a shaky breath, his knuckles white as he grips himself. "I’ve spent my whole life trying to capture beauty on a flat surface. Trying to trap light and shadow and emotion in pigment and oil. But it's never enough. It’s always... static. It doesn't breathe. It doesn't react."
He moves closer, the heat from his body finally making contact with your open thighs. His gaze drops to your breasts, tracing the curve he’s forced you to present to him.
"But you..." He swallows hard, a low groan escaping his lips as he watches the way your chest heaves with every breath. "You are the only masterpiece that matters. I want to treat your skin like my finest silk and use your naked body as my own living canvas..."
He looks almost pained by need, his eyes wide and dark with a hunger that goes far beyond simple lust. He’s not just looking at a lover, he’s looking at his salvation.
"Every blush on your cheeks, every shiver that runs down your spine... that's the only art worth making."
His free hand moves to one of your breasts, thumb sweeping over your nipple with a pressure that is both worshipful and demanding. He watches the way your eyes flutter shut, memorizing the exact shade of your arousal.
"God, you're so beautiful it hurts," he whispers "Tell me you want it," the hand around his cock moves faster "Tell me you'll let me finish my work."
You don't make him wait. You lean forward as much as the silk allows, your voice a breathless rasp. "Fiinish it, Raf. Show me what you can do."
You can’t look away. You wouldn't even if you could.
A bead of translucent precum swells at the very tip of his cock, glistening like a misplaced jewel under the lights. The skin there is flushed a deep, angry rose, pulsing with the force of his arousal. His head is thrown back, his throat exposed and taut as he bites his lower lip to stifle the needy whimpers that threaten to spill from his lips.
He looks beautiful.
He’s close, so painfully close to the edge that you decide to push him.
Even with your arms bound, you find a way to arch your back further, thrusting your chest toward him in an unspoken invitation. You offer yourself to him, presenting your bare skin as a landing site for his release. "Give it to me. All of it."
The sound of your voice, the invitation in your tone, is the final blow to his crumbling resolve. His body jolts with the force of his release and you watch as the heavy, hot ropes of him arc through the air, splattering across the expanse of your breasts. The heat of it is startling, a wet warmth that makes your skin tingle.
The moment the tension snaps, the strength drains right out of his legs. There is no grace in it just the heavy, unceremonious thud of his knees hitting the floorboards right between your thighs.
He stays there, head bowed, hair falling over his eyes in a dark, damp mess. But then, slowly, so slowly, he lifts his gaze.
His eyes, blown wide and shimmering with liquid heat, find yours at the exact same moment your tongue sweeps out to lick a drop of cum from the corner of your mouth.
When your eyes finally lock, you see the exact second his breath hitches again.
His pupils are so dilated they almost swallow the color of his irises, and a fresh wave of heat, a visible crimson surges up his neck and into his cheeks. He stares at your mouth, watching the way your tongue retreats, his gaze tracing the wet glisten you left behind.
"God..." he groans, the word a broken fragment of a thought "You're going to ruin me completely."
The vibration of your phone against the marble countertop is enough to make you jump. You’ve been nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee for the last twenty minutes, trying to shake off the lingering chill of the Linkon City winter, when the screen lights up with his name.
Sylus
[Sylus]: There’s a private auction tonight. High stakes. It starts in an hour. I’ve been tracking that specific protocore for weeks.
[Sylus] : I’ll send you the catalog link. Take a look. Tell me if the energy readings look as tempting to you as they do to me.
You tap the blue hyperlink, ready to nerd out a little and give him the professional opinion he wants from you.
The video player loads, and you nearly drop your phone.
It isn't a protocore.
It's a VIDEO of a man sprawled across rumpled sheets, his chest heaving as a woman jerks him off. She isn't looking at a camera, she’s looking at him.
The sounds hits you next, the wet friction of her hand, the groans the man lets out, overstimulated.
You bite your lip, a nervous, hysterical little laugh bubbling up in your throat. You can almost see his expression if he knew, that slight, elegant tilt of his head, the way he’d probably pinch the bridge of his nose in a rare moment of genuine embarrassment.
With trembling fingers, you start to type a reply.
You: Sylus... unless this protocore is incredibly well endowed and prone to making loud noises, I think you sent the wrong link.
The silence that follows is agonizing. You stare at the "read" receipt, your thumb hovering over the screen, half expecting the phone to burst into flames from the tension. You’ve spent months navigating his moods, his riddles, and his terrifyingly intense presence, but you’ve never quite known how to handle a moment where the power dynamic shifts so abruptly.
The little bubbles appear. He’s typing.
Is he going to ignore it? Is he going to double down with some devastatingly smooth line that will make you want to crawl under the rug?
A moment later, the notification pings.
Sylus:It seems my finger slipped. Or perhaps my subconscious is simply being more honest than my conscious mind intended.
A few seconds later, another message follows, one that feels much more like the man who watches you sleep with predatory tenderness.
Sylus: I'll be at your door in twenty minutes. Let's not bother with the protocore I think we've found something much more interesting to bid on.
You’ve been at this for thirty minutes and your already obsessed.
There is something intoxicating about the power you hold right now. You never realized that teasing a man like Sylus could be this much of a rush. His entire frame shudders, his muscles coiling like a spring about to snap. He’s right on the edge, his breath hitching and just when you think he’s about to break, you pull away.
Your leg is hooked firmly over one of his heavy thighs, a grounding weight that keeps his legs spread wide for you, exposing him completely to your whims. He’s using his Evol to wrap around his own wrists, binding his hands so he can’t reach out and grab you. He’s forcing himself to endure the torture you’re inflicting, all because he wants this. He wants to feel every second of the ache.
He also looks wrecked. It’s a sight you don't get to see often. Fine beads of sweat are beginning to glisten along his hairline and his eye is glowing a dangerous crimson, tracking your every move.
You lean forward, your hair brushing against his stomach, and as your mouth latches onto one of his nipples he throws his head back against the pillows, his entire body vibrating with the force of his loud groan.
You lift your hand, slowly, dragging your tongue across your entire palm in a long lick just to make him watch, just to make him feel the anticipation. Then, you slide your hand down, finally wrapping your fingers around his cock again.
His eyes roll back into his head when you return your mouth to his nipple, sucking with punishing pressure.
“Please... fuck... Please, kitten. Put me out of my misery.
You feel him tense again, his muscles turning to granite beneath your touch. You stop again.
The sudden absence of your warmth makes him let out a frustrated sound, but you aren't done playing yet. Instead of a full stroke, you just use your five fingers to tease the very tip of him, dragging your fingertips over the sensitive head, over and over again.
“You’ve been so good, Sy,” you coo, your voice a honeyed purr against his skin. “Do you think you deserve to cum?”
“Please, sweetie,” he chokes out. You can see his knuckles turning white as his fingernails dig deep into the palms of his hands “I’ve been... so good...”
He’s lost. The great Sylus, the man who sees everyone's deepest desires, is currently a slave to his own. He probably doesn't even realize he's begging.
"Should I keep you like this all night?" you ask, watching his eyes widen, pupils blown so large they swallow the iris. "It's what you wanted, after all, wasn't it?"
He opens his mouth, the words of a fresh plea already forming on his lips, but you don't give him the chance to speak. Your hand suddenly drops, gripping the thick base of his cock with a firm hold, and you begin to stroke him fast, hard, and relentless.
“I won’t, though,” you whisper, leaning in close so your breath fans over his ear, your voice dripping with a playful, dominant heat. “Because you've been such a good boy.”
The moment the praise leaves your lips, something in him snaps, his entire body arching off the bed in a violent, beautiful spasm.
Even when his muscles quiver with the aftershocks, you keep your hand moving, stroking him to overstimulation, pushing him right past the edge of pleasure.
The energy bindings that were holding his wrists apart simply vanish, dissolving into thin air when his willpower finally snaps.
The air is knocked from your lungs as your back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and suddenly, the man who was just begging is the man who is commanding.
He’s over you, his large hands pinning your wrists to the pillows on either side of your head.
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" his nose brushes against yours, his breath smelling faintly of the cherry wine he loves so much. "Playing with me like a toy. Testing how much a man can take before he loses his mind."
His heavy, still sensitive cock slides between your thighs, a blunt reminder of exactly how much you just put him through. He looks absolutely lethal.
"You've had your fun, kitten," he murmurs, his grip on your wrists tightening just enough to let you know he's in total control now. "Now its my turn to see just how much you can take."
Zayne had been obsessing over that new bakery just a few blocks from your place, the kind of place that smells like heaven and costs way too much. He was mid text, rambling about the sourdough starter and the specific crumb structure of their croissants (of course he was), but he mentioned he’d send over the full menu link so you could decide on a weekend treat.
"Wait, let me send the link. They have a seasonal pastry list you'll love"
LINK
You tapped the blue link eagerly, expecting pictures of glazed danishes or maybe a list of gluten free muffins.
It was not a muffin.
It was a very loud, very explicit video of a man wrecking a woman with backshots, pulling out only for her to rip the condom off his cock so he could fuck her raw.
You: Zayne, there are no pastries in that link! There is only... a man. And a girl. And a very missing condom!
Zayne: ...
Zayne: Oh.
You: “Oh”? That’s all? You just sent me a full blown porn video in the middle of the afternoon!
Zayne: Stop. Please. I am currently in the middle of a ward round. A nurse just tried to look at my phone.
You: [Sends a laughing emoji]
Zayne: I'm coming over later. We are going to that bakery. And we are not talking about that "menu" until we have had at least two espressos. To settle my nerves.
You: Are you bringing the condom? Just kidding! Don't kill me!
Zayne: 🙄
🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺
The bakery was a lost cause. The sourdough was forgotten, the espresso was unbrewed, and the only thing "rising" in your apartment was Zayne's cock the moment he walked in and saw the way you were looking at him, flushed, eyes hazy, and, quite frankly, a mess.
Now, you were bent over the edge of your bed, your fingers digging into the mattress as he held you from behind.
"Zaynie, please!" you whimpered, your voice cracking. You were desperate, begging him to just stop being so careful, to just let go and give you what that video had promised. "Just... Take it off, Please!"
His hands gripped your hips with a strength that promised bruises. "Just because you’re on the pill doesn't mean the statistical probability of a mishap is zero. It’s... fuck... it's about risk management."
"Even in a committed relationship," he continued, his words punctuated by the rhythmic, wet slap of skin on skin, "one must account for... ah, god... hormonal fluctuations and the ... the unpredictability of the human reproductive system. It's not just about pregnancy, it's about...shit...it's about hygiene, and the prevention of... of unnecessary... fuck, you feel so good."
He was losing it. The doctor was losing the battle against the man. He was supposed to be lecturing you on biological safeguards, but the way he was cursing under his breath low, dirty words that he’d never say in the hospital halls told a different story.
"You're being... so difficult," he groaned, his fingers moving to your waist, pulling you back harder against him. "Trying to... to bypass all the... damn it... the precautions. Do you have any idea what you're doing to my concentration?."
He leaned forward, his teeth grazing the nape of your neck, his voice dropping to a commanding whisper. "Stay still. Let me... let me take care of this properly. Fuck, if you keep making those sounds, the condom is going to be the least of our worries."
"Who cares about the... the statistics, Zayne!" you gasped, your forehead pressed against the cool sheets. "Just... fuck, just give it to me! It’s just us, isn't it?
You were rambling, throwing out half baked excuses about how you will feel "more connected" or how the latex was a "distracting from the sensory input" basically using his own medical vocabulary against him just to get what you wanted. You were cursing, too, your language losing all its usual politeness as the friction and the heat drove you toward a breaking point.
Then, suddenly, the fullness vanished.
"Why did you stop?" you demanded, your voice small and wounded, eyes searching his. "Zayne, why did you... "
He was hovering over you, his chest heaving, his hair mussed in a way that was entirely uncharacteristic of the composed man you knew. He looked down at you with an expression that was almost exasperated, that specific, "are you actually serious right now?" look he gave you when you forgot your keys or ignored his health advice.
He didn't need to say the words. You lunged for it, your fingers trembling as you gripped him, ripping the condom off.
The moment he slid back into you, skin on skin, the sensation was nothing short of transcendental.
" Fuck!" you breathed out.
"God, finally," he growled back.
The sight of your cunt clinging to his cock was enough to shatter even the most disciplined mind. Zayne, the man who could maintain a steady hand while repairing a human heart, lost his grip on reality. The friction, the warmth, and the intimacy of being inside you without any barrier sent him over the edge far faster than he ever thought possible.
He stiffened and with a few deep thrusts that felt like they were reaching your throat he broke. A sound between a moan and a curse escaped him as he collapsed against you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck.
When he pulled out Zayne wasn't looking at your face. He was staring, almost hypnotically, downward. His gaze was fixed on the junction of your thighs, watching with a quiet, intense fascination as the evidence of his release, thick and pearly, slowly leaked from your plump pussy, tracing a slow path down your skin. He looked mesmerized.
"You know," you said, voice dripping with playful sarcasm, "for a man so obsessed with 'risk management' and 'preventative measures'..." You paused looking at his flushed face. "Your breeding kink is really showing, Doctor."
You're a six foot Sylus main and sad because MC stops at his chest? Guess what? He is actually seven foot one and you also stop at his chest.
You're bigger and worried Zayne's shirts won't be baggy when you put them on?
Yes they do fit. And you drown in that shit like a toddler putting on their parents clothes.
Caleb can lift you. Like it's nothing. Dude's evol is gravity don't you dare come here quoting weight.
Oh wait... you're spending money money on the game? Then they are exactly what the fuck you say they are! Canon be damned. It's your mother fucking money!!!
Your main is whatever the fuck you say it is. Why should your delulu have limits when you're paying for it? Absolutely the fuck not. You earned that shit.
"He would never"
YES HE WOULD. AND DID.
Don't let that skinny, short heffer put pressure on you (im sorry MC you still my baby girl lmao).
Which is ironic coming from my short self but at least I got some thickness going on okay. My ass fat.
The point is, dont get sad if your body doesn't look like hers. Adjust the pixelated men's specifications to suit your needs. Infact, if you like a short king and less abs, then the sea god has a dad bod and is five foot seven and no one is allowed to tell you otherwise. Not even Infold. Not on your dime honey.
You think they'd be better as women?
Ok then your AU is deepspace fluctuations and they all become mommy.
Reality is already pressure. We are not gonna do that in the fictional world too. Nuh-uh. You're already obsessed with a fictional dude, don't suddenly hop off the delulu train now. Commit to that shit.
I believe Zayne gets flirted with quite a bit (I mean look at him), but he has a habit of brushing it off politely but firmly.
But sometimes people just don’t take the fucking hint, like right now;
Your eyes narrow as you come back from the restroom to see someone sitting a bit too close to Zayne, clearly trying to flirt while he just ignores the innuendos, not responding to their advances.
He’s visibly uncomfortable as the woman (dressed in a especially tight blazer, you note) persists, and your final straw is when she attempts to grab his biceps in a seemingly friendly gesture, but you know it’s anything but.
The vein in your forehead pulses (what? yes you are possessive over your man🙄) as you saunter over to him, casually sliding into his lap and planting a kiss right on his lips.
And he responds, his big, warm hands on your hip cushioning you on to his thigh. Risqué in a way no one had ever seen Dr Zayne being before.
You detach your mouth from his with a coherent smack and smile- a smile Zayne knows means trouble “Hope you didn’t miss me too much, handsome.” you wink before turning to the lady, who looks shocked at both your boldness and Zayne's response to you, as if just registering her presence.
Your eyes give her a casual once-over that’s even more dismissive than outright hostility.
“Who’s this, baby? A colleague of yours?”
The woman's hand, still hovering where she'd tried to grab Zayne's bicep, retreats like it's been burned.
"Ah- no, I'm from the... we were just discussing the-"
"She's just a medical rep." He says it without looking at her, his focus entirely on you. His thumb has started tracing small circles against the curve of your waist, absent and intimate all at once.
Ouch. You almost feel bad for the woman.
Almost.
The woman's painted smile freezes. "I- well. I see you're... occupied."
She gathers her things with shaking hands and flees.
The moment she's out of earshot, Zayne exhales- a quiet, controlled sound that's the closest he ever gets to a sigh of relief. His forehead drops briefly to your shoulder.
"You're a menace," he murmurs, planting a quick kiss to your shoulder.
"And you love it."
He lifts his head. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. His eyes, contrary to his rebuke, are mirthful- he was enjoying this.
"I do," he admits, so low only you can hear "But next time, a warning before you sit in my lap in the middle of a ballroom." He shifts and you freeze, feeling the very large problem throbbing under your ass.
"Naughty Doctor...you enjoy acts of public indecency huh?" you grin and he groans.
"You just love making me suffer don't you?"
"I do." you grin "You look hot all panting and sweating."
"You'll pay for this." his voice is a pained rasp and you giggle even more, knowing full well that he is not bluffing.
Xavier gifting you a dildo made by his mould because you complained you miss his dick when he is away on long missions.
"It's not like you can mail it to me." You had said at the time.
Then also immediately being a little irrationally jealous when he calls you for phone sex to talk you through it.
"Is that toy better than me?"
He huffs while his hand works his own length in time with your panting and whimpering. He knows how close you are just by the sounds of your pleasure alone.
"N-no bunny, of course not. Nothing.... fuck.... nothing is better than you."
That bit of stuttering wrecks him and he decides to let it go. For now. But those moans are nothing like the other times he's called you to do this and that fake dick is why.
"Push it in deeper. Just like I would if I was there. Don't hold back,"
his animosity is forgotten in favour of you singing in his ear and he fucks his own hand faster and faster to chase the climax with you.
"When I'm back, I'll prove it to you."
He will remind you the real version is always best.
"Xavier!"
Hearing you hit your peak makes him follow you there.
oh god I have more thoughts with dragon!sylus and merman!rafayel...
♱⋅── nearly 2k of absolute monsterfucking filth
♱⋅── MDNI WARNINGS: pwp, cw monsterfucking, overstimulation, oral, uhh eggs mentioned, sylus (double d, marking, fighting as foreplay, freakishly long tongue,) rafayel (double d, thalassophobia, dubious consent, cw breeding). inspiration from this post by @mintmatcha, photo credit to @xxsyluslittlecrowxx
dragon!sylus
what is a dragon if not power incarnated? as such their mate needs to hold that same fire within them.
as it gets closer to the rare season when dragons can actually mate, you find that your little arguments and snappy comebacks make sylus pause, wings twitching as he simply watches you with a crooked, fanged smile. a worthy mate snarls, pushes back, bares their teeth despite knowing they are smaller. a good sign indeed.
sylus brings back larger and larger kills, watching you roast them over the fire as he looms behind you, purring in contentment when you lean back against him, nestled perfectly underneath his bulky, scaled form.
you have been saying yes for months. your raised chin. your easy sleep against his warmth. Your exposed throat, your racing pulse, the way you reach for him without thinking, the way your heart rate climbs in his presence and you do not run from it. he knows your body is not deceiving him, he knows that you are ready.
sylus doesn’t want to scare his poor human mate, but if you’re to take his clutch and raise his brood, then you’ll need to be prepped. no worries, he’s more than happy to make sure your body is able to withstand the mating ritual, even if you haven’t realized what you’ve agreed to. but surely you want this right? all of your preening, your increased heart rate around him, you willingness to show him your neck and exposed belly. you want this.
during the late hours of the night when you’re already half asleep you’ll sometimes feel his fangs bite—ever so gently, just enough to leave an indent for now—into the crook of your shoulder or plush of your hips or thighs, something deep and ancient rumbling in sylus’ chest as he pulls away, letting his rough, forked tongue lave over the raw marks.
not even a week after it turns possessive, sylus pinning your sleeping body to the floor of your shared nest as his massive wings surround the two of you, rutting the swollen heads of both his cocks between your ass as you whine in your sleep, unaware of the way sylus begins to lick and nip at the back of your neck, practically drooling at the thought of finally sinking his teeth there. soon.
he’s not as careful as he could have been, sloppy in his desperation, and one night you wake to him above you, his clawed hand pinning down the small of your back as the other is four knuckles deep in your soaked pussy.
“sy-” a moan, and you thrash despite yourself, completely immobile under his weight. “sylus, what the fuck are y-oooh- you doing?”
you’re gasping, keening as you’re feeling yourself regain consciousness and rise towards another orgasm.
sylus doesn’t even act like he’s noticed you’ve awoken, narrow-slitted gaze completely focused on the stretch of your cunt as he forces his clawed thumb in as well, spreading you wide despite your protests.
god, you have no idea how long he’s been at this, but you’re soaked enough to have already cum twice, pussy throbbing and sore from his relentless ministrations.
in a flash of anger and embarrassment, you blindly kick out behind you. your heel strikes sylus’ shoulder, and he freezes with a low, thunderous growl, glowing red eyes locking with yours. he doesnt budge.
his tongue briefly flashes across the wide expanse of his fangs.
“again.”
his nose drags along the back of your neck, inhaling deeply, the pinpricks of his teeth gliding against the delicate skin making your skin crawl. “my feisty little human, always fighting back, always demanding.”
a pleased growl vibrates through him.
“good mate.”
before you can even question what he means, his fingers pry you apart with more force than before, allowing your juices to trickle down his scaled arm as they stretch you out just enough so he can lean down, licking a long, wet strip up your pussy. Circling your clit once, twice, before dragging all the way up until his draconic tongue curls inside your cunt.
You buck against sylus’ face despite yourself, sleep drained from you as your back arches violently at the intrusion, screaming at the delicious press of the long, long muscle writhing against your gummy, sensitive walls. too much, too much!
too bad the sight of you fighting him only makes it worse.
the dragon’s instincts completely take over, and your refusal to take sylus’ eggs unless he proves himself worthy isn't the resistance you think it is. it speaks to the fire raging in every dragon’s heart, a wordless acceptance of his ritual as you challenge him, and you force him to show you he deserves it.
and he will show you.
sylus’ wings spread. his fanged smile does too.
the clawed apex of his wings comes to your shoulder blades, pushing your upper body against the floor as he drags your ass further up, giving him even easier access as he rips the rest of your nightgown, burying his face into your open, sloppy pussy. your struggle is futile against your dragon, and as soon as your whines turn into moans sylus knows you are ready.
his fingers thrust back in, careful so his claws don't scratch you even as all five spread you out, knuckle deep, tongue now flicking against the entrance of your cervix, leaving his saliva's natural relaxant until he feels your cunt loosen around him. your poor pussy is drooling around his tongue, sylus greedily swallowing everything he can as his claws force you into a deeper arch, tongue somehow getting longer as you babble incoherently into the floor.
"good girl," sylus purrs, the low sound humming from his lips and into you, deep and loud enough to echo up your spine as you sob from the vibrations. "good mate, accepting me. accepting my brood, my eggs."
you panic despite yourself, shaking your head and bucking your hips even though you could barely feel anything between your thighs except for overwhelming, numbing pleasure. "e-eggs? no, no..."
"shhh, fight and i'll make it hurt more than you want it to."
sylus' tongue finally curls out of you and you moan, the rough length tracing the sweat-slicked arch of your spine as he mounts you, wings cocooning the two of you in as you feel the unmistakable pressure of both his cock heads press against your numb entrance.
his fangs bite into the back of your neck, claiming you as he breaks skin, feeling the sweet scent of your blood coat his fangs as he purrs.
"you've fought well, now take everything I give you."
merman!rafayel
rafayel is the storm, all tempest and raging waters, ancient as the ocean itself, so his choice in bride is not one he’s taken lightly. after all, that would make you a goddess, and your heirs next to rule the sea.
he’s already brought you to lemuria in preparation for your betrothal ceremony, merfolk blessing this brave human vessel who will bear their future, all while you laughed and swam among them with a smile rafayel will paint again and again in reverence. the merfolk never ask if you’re staying. they ask what you need, what you’d like, as if the staying is already settled and only the comfort remains to be arranged.
there’s no need to worry you with the specifics of the ceremony. after all, he is now your god, your mate, it is his duty to worry about the specifics of consummation while you simply enjoy connecting with his world, his people. your people now.
it complicates things when you begin asking to go back to the surface, but rafayel is always gentle with you, taking you back to your old world when you ask, never quite letting you out of his sight before coaxing you back into the ocean.
and when you hesitate? he sings. a siren song, his webbed hand outstretched as he draws you to the beach again, cold water splashing at your ankles but your body unaffected as the lullaby weaves into your brain, soothing, loving, drawing you closer and closer still. you walk into the water smiling and he is already there, waiting, like he knew the exact moment your feet would find the shore.
after all, rafayel can’t have you running away again. you are lemuria’s queen now. you were their goddess the moment he decided you were, which was long before this ceremony, which was perhaps before you were born, which is the sort of thing he will tell you gently, later, when the permanence of it has had time to feel like home.
you don’t remember swimming out to the middle of the ocean. the waves are calm, a deep endless blue all around you as your kicking limbs all disappear into their depths. something brushes up against you. first, a scrape on your calf, circling you, but there is nowhere to hide. scales, rough and cold, wind against your legs, an even colder pair of arms wrapping around your waist as your body is completely ensnared in his tail. “shhh, I won’t hurt you cutie.” and then the song starts, and you forget once again.
you awake with sand under your skin and the soft lapping of waves, but there is no beach in sight.
no, it is just you and jagged rocks surrounding you. the waves are only the calm lapping of the pool in the center of the gilded cave, the one and only exit leading deep into the water, and lemurian territory.
your mating cove has been in preparation for months. the merfolk decorate it as they would a temple, soft things dragged in from shipwrecks, sea glass worn smooth, bioluminescent moss cultivated specifically for warmth and light. every piece chosen with the future queen in mind, and their future heirs. for your stay here is mandatory until the sea god’s brood takes. but surely you already knew this when you agreed to be his mate?
“what do you think, cutie?” a splash, and rafayel surfaces into your cove, razor-thin fangs gleaming up at you as he takes in the sight of you kneeling before the altar of his people. “not bad for a species of artists.”
“rafayel,” your voice is trembling, and he immediately coos at you. “please, take me back to shore. to land.”
you keep pleading, but the sea god ignores your cries. that isn’t what you want anymore silly, can’t you see? you’re the bride of the sea god, the next mother of tides, what your body and mind crave now is him. fully, completely. your poor human biology wants to stop you from fulfilling your role, but it’s okay. rafayel is more than happy to mate you as many times as you need for it to take.
he sings, hauling himself up to the sandy bank of the cave as his voice coaxes you into the water, bare legs splashing into the pool beside him as the first few feet of his enormous tail drag up onto the sand. soft, pillowy, a good bed to take you without risk of injury.
rafayel has done all your human rites of marriage, now it is time for you to do his.
once again you find yourself restrained underneath his powerful tail, your upper body still thankfully resting on the solid ground, but hips and under dragged into the pool as rafayel looms above you, squeezing and coiling his tail around your legs.
“t-tight, you’re squeezing me raf–” your legs thrash, however in doing so you only end up straddling the thick expanse of his tail, a low chirping sound echoing from deep within rafayel’s throat as he feels your wet, soft heat grind against him.
as soon as he feels you rub against the slit of his tail he keens, thrusting forward as the weight of all ten feet of him pins you down onto the sand.
“impatient,” rafayel laughs, and you tremble despite yourself at the sudden sharpness of his teeth. “don’t worry cutie, i’m impatient too.”
you feel it then, something protruding out from the slit as he continues to grind against you, the rhythm of the waves helping him forward and back, reaching a webbed hand down as you feel something curve and grow against the entire length of your stomach.
panic, red-hot and violent, seizes you as you look down to see his cock-no, two of them-lying side by side against your sternum, one already leaking copious amounts of slime-like substance on your skin while the other appears almost barbed, swollen and impossibly heavy at the shaft.
“shh, it’s okay.” rafayel is already soothing you, voice a melodic lullaby as he gently guides your chin up to look at him, just focus on him, don’t worry your pretty little head about making them fit. that’s his job. “that’s it baby, relax. sweet thing, beautiful mate, you’ll be the perfect host for my clutch, won’t you?”
you can only nod.
rafayel preps you for one at a time, his bigger cock already drooling relaxant all over your thighs and cunt as he grinds it over your little clit, allowing the head to hit it several times, your body becoming more and more pliant as he spreads the gentle venom. as soon as your soft breaths turn to moans he knows you’re ready, and drags you just a bit further into the water, enough so one powerful thrust is enough to have his first cock rammed right into your sweet spot.
it’s white-hot pleasure, your cries broken by a sob as rafayel speeds up, restless as he feels you tighten around him, cunt sucking him in further, accepting his first knot, driving him fucking insane with the way your moans sing to him like a mating song.
you’re perfect, already cumming around him as he feels his second knot swell, the pressure of his eggs rising as his instincts beg him to finish claiming you as his own. soon. soon, he can’t rush your poor, delicate human body, he can't risk breaking you.
the slight prick of fangs against your nipple makes you arch off the sand. it’s all too much, the feeling of being so impossibly full, rafayel’s tongue laving and squeezing your chest, his fingers thumbing at your clit and prodding at your already-full entrance, it all has you dizzy with need.
“more,” you’re begging in spite of yourself and your fear. “please, more.”
of course your god will provide.
the muscle relaxant his first cock has been pumping out has swelled within you, and with his spare hand he can begin to finger you open alongside his knot, curling against all the spots he knows make you sing. he then lines his second cock up with your entrance, and begins to push.
you whine, fighting it, hips bucking wildly, but the sheer weight of his tail keeps you pinned. the second cock is thicker than the first, rigid as it catches onto your fluttering entrance and squeezes past the first knot, copious amounts of his relaxant and your juices squirting onto your thighs and into the ocean. rafayel hums sweet nothings, petting you to soothe you, lips going back to swirl and bite at your nipples as you cum for him once more. he squeezes your breasts and wonders if you’ll still produce milk if you don’t have human babies. he hopes you do.
“pretty mate,” a low clicking sound, almost like whalesong fills the cave. he’s close. “wife, all mine. mine, all mine again.” rafayel gasps as his cock bullies yet another inch in, his egg sack bloated and heavy, waiting to be given to a worthy mate, and yet stuck until he can force the last few inches of his knot inside you.
desperate, a powerful slap of his tail drives him forward, slamming his hips into yours as both knots force their way into your cunt. the waves roar, spraying against the cave's walls as your vision whites out.
the pressure and stretch are overwhelming as you sob into the sand, cries turning into moans as rafayel’s fingers never ease up on your clit, numbness seizing your lower half as rafayel’s entire body begins to convulse with the press of the first egg into your womb.
You had been a brat all day. You couldn't help yourself, really. Zayne was always so composed and you wanted nothing more than to see him snap. You'd started off small, just a couple pictures of your naked body that "accidentally" got sent to him. He'd left you on read. Next was a voice note, detailing just how bad you needed him.
Again, left on read.
By lunch, you were getting frustrated. Surely it couldn't be that hard to make him snap. Even a single, tiny crack would be better than nothing. You'd picked up your phone one last time, typing a filthy paragraph about how you wanted him so deep in your throat that you couldn't talk properly for days after.
He'd sent you a thumbs up.
By the time he was home, you hadn't given up. You'd watched him go right into his office without so much as a glance in your direction, so of course, you'd followed a minute later.
As you walk in, he's sat behind his mahogany desk, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, seemingly absorbed in a surgical report. You, however, are absorbed in him. Dressed in nothing but his crisp, white button-down shirt, you stop right in front of his desk. The fabric was far too big for you, the hem easily hitting your mid-thigh. You'd rolled the sleeves up to your elbows, but that didn't stop the fabric from falling off your shoulder slightly.
"Those files are boring." You whine as you lean across his desk, purposely invading his personal space as your fingers slowly undo the top three buttons of the shirt. You feel pretty damn smug with yourself, assuming Zayne would drop everything just to see you naked before him.
"They are necessary." He replies, not even bothering to look up from his reports, though he can see you. He can see how badly you're trying to get his attention, but he's not in a playing mood today. Your texts had only made it worse.
"Your shirt is unbuttoned. Fix it and go find a book. I'm busy."
You let out a sharp gasp then, mildly irritated that he'd dismissed you so easily. Mildly turned on at his composure. You don't leave. You step right around his desk until you stand right next to him, leaning down to press light, open-mouthed kisses just under his jaw. You're determined to shatter that calm, cool persona of his.
"You're no fun. All work and no play makes Doctor Zayne a very dull man, indeed."
You barely have time to get the words out.
Zayne's hand shoots up, his fingers firm as they grip your chin, tilting your head so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. You try to muffle the small, excited whimper that leaves you, but Zayne catches it. He always does.
"I told you to behave." He warns, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to remind you of the strength he could easily use on you.
"Make me."
The shift is instantaneous. You hear the screech of the chair against the floor as he shifts, and before you can blink, your world is tilting. He pulls you across his lap, one hand tangled in your hair while the other hikes the hem of his shirt higher up your body to fully expose your ass to him.
The first strike is heavy, a solid crack that echoes against the quiet of the office. You gasp, your hands grasping onto the fabric of his trousers. Instantly, your skin stings, heat blooming across your ass. But you like it. You like knowing you've pushed him to this point.
"That is for the photo you sent during my morning consultations." He says, his voice low. "I had a patient's chart in one hand and your indiscretion in the other."
Crack.
"Two. For the voice note. I don't recall giving you permission to speak to me that way while I'm at the hospital."
Crack.
The third one is firmer than the last two, making you cry out. You try and squirm to get away, to beg for his forgiveness and his touch all in the same breath. His hand simply tightens in your hair, a silent warning. You're so wet it hurts. If you could just get his hand between your thighs...
"Three. For that obscene paragraph at lunch. A thumbs up was all you deserved for such a blatant attempt to disrupt my focus."
He pauses then, and for a second, you think it might be over, but his hand doesn't move away. Instead, he rubs at the angry pink skin of your ass, his touch deceptively soft all while you twitch underneath his hand. Every slap has only turned you on further, and you almost can't help yourself as you try and arch into his hand.
Zayne raises an eyebrow as he watches you, noting the way you tremble across his lap. Slowly, his fingers dip between your legs, a quick, amused huff leaving him as he finds your dripping pussy. He should have known.
"This wet over a punishment? You really are a brat." He mocks softly, his long fingers finding your aching clit with a surgical precision. He circles once, twice, just enough to make you whimper and rock back against his hand, before he's pulling away again, leaving you cold and wanting.
Crack.
"Four is for not listening when I told you to go find a book."
Crack.
"Five is because we both know you're going to act out again tomorrow just to see if I'll put you back over my knee."
You're shaking now, a few stray tears slipping out and trailing down your cheeks. Your ass is a vibrant, angry red, and the heat radiating from you is intense. You want more. You need more. If all you'll get tonight is a firm punishment, then you'll eagerly accept it.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
"That voice note is still ringing in my ears and I'm still quite irritated by it." He says, though you can feel the way his body is saying otherwise. As your stomach presses against his thighs, you can feel how hard he is just against your side. You shudder against him, a pathetic little moan of pure want leaving your lips.
His hand kneads the supple flesh of your ass, massaging the sting deeper into your skin until all you can focus on is how badly you need his fingers on your clit again. The hand in your hair slowly lets you go, moving to cup your cheek as he wipes your tears.
You think it's over.
Crack.
This last blow is far lighter than the ones before, almost a warning slap. A reminder of how easily he'd flung you over his knee. You need him so badly it hurts.
"What was that for?" You whimper as you tilt your head to lean further into his hand. Your breathing is shaky and ragged, your breath hitching quietly each time he brushes his fingers against the angry, burning skin of your ass.
"I felt like it. Now stand up."
You instantly move to do as he says, shifting off his lap to stand just beside him. You watch as his hands move to his belt, the metal clinking together for a moment before he's undoing his trousers, shoving the fabric down to free his cock. You want nothing more than to drop to your knees, crawl under his desk, and keep him in your mouth until his reports are done.
Instead, he gestures for you to sit on his lap. Your breath hitches. A reward so soon after your punishment? You could cry.
You're quick to climb right into his lap, your arms draped across his shoulders as you hover just over the tip of his cock. His hand sneaks between the both of you, fingers wrapping around himself as he slides the tip right through your slick folds. You clench around nothing, so close and yet so far away, but you don't rush it.
You let him grind up into you, a quiet whimper leaving you every time he rubs against your clit. The anticipation is killing you, but you force yourself to stay still even as you tremble on top of him. Then he slides home. A shattered moan falls from your lips, your hips instinctively rocking into him. He's so deep, you swear you feel him in your belly.
But he doesn't continue. He doesn't fuck you like the world's ending. He doesn't even offer you his thumb against your clit. Instead, he clamps his hands on your hips, waiting until you look up at him with your needy little whine. The corners of his mouth twitch, smug and deeply entertained by your eagerness.
"You sit there, and you feel every inch of me, but you do not move. If I feel you so much as shift to try and get more comfortable, I'll put you back on my knee for another ten. Am I clear?" He commands. You want to argue, to test if he's serious, but the cold edge of his tone has you agreeing.
"Crystal clear."
"Be a good girl and let me finish this page." He says, giving your hips one last squeeze before his attention is back on his reports, his pen scratching at the paper every so often as he leaves small notes for himself to read later. You let out a soft sigh as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.
You feel so full, so deliciously stretched, but it's not enough.
"You're so mean." You whine, hands tilting to find his hair. You don't pull, you simply twirl the strands around your fingers, trying to focus on anything other than how good his cock feels when it's buried deep in your cunt.
Zayne hums in acknowledgment, back to ignoring you.
This treatment feels like it goes on for hours, but in reality, it's nothing more than a few minutes. Finally, he's pushing his papers aside, the clatter of his pen against the wood instantly drawing your attention. You tilt your head to look up at him, a silent question in your gaze.
He answers by finding your hips with his hands, standing up, and pressing your back against the wood of his desk. Your legs instantly wrap around his waist, keeping him deep inside you as you look up at him. He moves to take his glasses off, setting them aside near the edge of the mahogany, before both palms are pressed against the wood on either side of your head.
"You've had a lot to say today. Now that you have my undivided attention, why don't you be very specific?" His hazel eyes drift down to your lips, jaw clenching as he rocks into you, slow and steady. Your nails find his shoulders as you arch up into him, the friction earning a quiet moan from you.
"Tell me exactly how you want it."
You swallow hard, your breath coming in shallow hitches. The sting on your ass is still humming, reigniting every time Zayne pushes deeper into you. For a moment, you can't think of how you want him to fuck you. All you know is that you want him. You need him.
"I want to feel... I want to feel how much I irritated you today." You manage to stutter out.
A smirk finally does appear on his lips and in that moment, you know you're going to be sore for days.
"Understood."
He doesn't give you a second to rethink your answer before he's moving. His cock slams deep into you, so deep you can feel it knock against your cervix, the dull ache mixing with the pleasure of his relentless pace. You cry out, your back arching off his desk as you claw at his shoulders, your thighs clamping around his waist.
His hips snap into yours, his balls slapping against your ass, the loud sound of skin on skin mirroring your punishment. The desk rattles underneath you, his abandoned pen rolling around before finally tumbling onto the ground. Zayne doesn't even blink. He simply brings his hand up to your shirt, easily undoing the buttons one by one until it falls open.
Bare underneath. You really had been waiting for him to fuck you.
He groans at the sight, long fingers instantly squeezing your breast while his head dips towards the other one. His teeth grazes your nipple before he draws you into his mouth, nipping and sucking at that hardened peak. You tremble underneath him, your moans tipping into loud sobs of pleasure as your hands finally find his hair.
You tug on the dark strands, a sharp cry echoing in his office as his fingers pinch at your other nipple, rolling it between his long fingers until you're squirming underneath him. He doesn't relent, just shifts his focus as his mouth moves to the swell of your breast, sucking a deep, dark bruise right into your skin.
His hand trails up your body again, long fingers wrapping around your throat and squeezing with just enough pressure to make your head swim. His other hand finds your hip, thumb digging a bruise into your skin as he pulls you onto his cock in time with his thrusts.
You clench around him, a shattered, broken moan leaving your lips as you fall apart around him. Your hips jerk against him as you writhe on top of his desk, but Zayne doesn't let up. He pins you down, his thrusts getting faster, harder, the snap of his hips against you making your ass sting all over again.
His breath hitches, his jaw clenched so hard he feels his teeth grind together as his movements falter. His thrusts grow sloppy, frantic, desperate to reach his own release. He's so close, so agonizingly close, and the moment your cunt clenches around him, he spills in you with a guttural groan.
His forehead presses against your shoulder, hand releasing your throat to cradle your cheek as his eyes squeeze shut. His entire body shudders, his breathing ragged and ruined. You let out a quiet whine before tilting your head into his hand, your own body sore and spent as you cling to him.
You're both quiet for a moment, too focused on breathing, too focused on the way his hips roll into yours like he's trying to force his cum deeper.
"Are you going to behave tomorrow?" He finally asks, his voice a broken rasp against your skin.
"No." You breathe in response.
He lets out an amused huff.
"Right. Then I suspect you are going to be extremely sore tomorrow."
Cw: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh riding. Size kink. Panty sniffer Caleb Jealous Xavier. It includes links to 🌽 videos on X for visual examples on what was sent. 🔞 MDNI🔞
Sylus/Xavier/Rafayel/Zayne/Caleb
Yeah*sigh*I'm ovulating again. Enjoy 😝
The blue light of your phone screen is the only thing cutting through the darkness of your bedroom. You really should have been asleep an hour ago, instead, you’re spiraling down a rabbit hole you didn't even know existed.
Size kink.
You’d never really thought about it before, not until you started dating Sylus and tonight you were just scrolling, looking for something to satisfy the empty ache Sylus left all week.
This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.
Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.
"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.
Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.
You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.
By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.
"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"
You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.
Sent.
You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message. Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.
Sylus.
You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.
“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.
“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”
And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.
Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.
“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”
His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.
“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.
He’s wrong.
Don't you dare.
Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.
He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.
You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.
Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.
In the end, you don't choose. You do both.
The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.
He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.
Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.
"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.
"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."
The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."
He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.
So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.
Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.
God, yes.
You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.
Buzz. Buzz.
A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.
[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.
A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.
But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.
You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.
Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.
Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.
He's so indecisive.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"
Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.
"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.
"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."
You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...
Smack!
The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.
"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."
He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.
His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.
You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.
"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.
"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."
His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.
He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"
You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.
"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.
"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.
The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.
He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.
"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.
The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.
"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.
He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.
The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.
Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.
With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.
You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.
“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”
You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.
Your phone vibrates.
It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.
It’s a notification from Rafayel.
Rafayel: Is that so?
Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.
Wait.
Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.
But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.
Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"
🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧
You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.
You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.
Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"
The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.
But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.
It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.
He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.
Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.
You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.
Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.
The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.
Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.
He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.
And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.
You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.
It feels like a collision of two fires.
In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.
He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.
Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.
For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.
“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"
It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.
Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.
Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.
You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."
You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.
And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.
🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺
It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.
And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.
The friction is driving you completely insane.
Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.
His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.
"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.
"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."
He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.
You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.
A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.
"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.
His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.
Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.
He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.
You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.
"Look at me."
His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.
When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.
"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.
You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.
"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.
He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.
The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.
"Zaynie... Zayne..."
His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.
You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...
A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.
You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.
A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.
Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”
You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.
You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.
In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.
🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷
It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.
He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.
“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.
“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”
Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.
“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."
Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.
He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.
The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.
He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.
You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.
But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.
He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.
The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.
He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.
“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”
You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.
His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.
And then, the teasing ends.
His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.
Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.
He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.
"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.
He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.
"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."
His nod was all the confirmation you needed. Instead of leaning in, you decided to pull back just a little, stretching the tension “I missed you too,” you murmured, hand grazing his chest. “Tell me did you think about me while you were gone?”
“Every single night,” he breathed, shuddering under your touch “I couldn't get you out of my head. Not for a second.”
You let your fingers wander, tracing the line of his chest down to his stomach, finally hooking them into the waistband of his pants.
“Let’s see what you’ve got for me, shall we?”
You whispered the words as you worked the button and slid his zipper down, peeling back the fabric to reveal him. He was already straining against his boxers, thick and heavy, clearly aching to be let out.
“Mmm, looks like someone’s very happy to see me,” you teased, running your palm along the length of him through the thin fabric.
He groaned at your touch “Please, bunny... just a lick,” he begged “I need you. I’ve been dreaming about your mouth on me for days.”
You could see the hunger in his eyes and the way his chest heaved, his entire body leaning into your touch, waiting for whatever you decided to give him.
“Just a lick?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “I think you deserve more than that.”
Your breath felt hot against his skin as you freed him from his boxers. The moment you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock he cursed, head falling back.
“Fuck, yes!”
When you finally wrapped your lips around him, he pulsed against your tongue, growing harder with every stroke. His hands instinctively reached for your hair, seeking something to grip but you caught his wrists.
“Hands to your sides, Xavie”
He let out a frustrated breath but obeyed, pulling his hands away from you to grip the sheets beneath him instead.
You knew exactly where to press your tongue and how to drag your teeth just enough to tease him, until you took him deeper, nose pressed against his pubic hair, eyes watering.
“Fuuuck, I won't last long,” he groaned.
You popped off his cock with a wet sound, a string of saliva connecting your lips to him, and looked up at him with a smirk. “You say that like I don't enjoy feeling you spill down my throat.”
To prove it, you ran a slow stripe of your tongue from base to tip again and swirled it around the head before running it along the slit, lapping up the precum that had leaked out.
“Fuck, bunny,” Xavier moaned, his hands moving to your temples, trying to push you back down. “You’re going to make me cum. I can’t hold back anymore.”
You resisted him, holding your ground just to watch his desperation. When you pulled away, he let out a broken whimper, his hips jerking forward in a futile search for your mouth.
But you didn't give it to him. Quickly, you crawled up his body, straddling his hips and pulling your underwear aside. His cock pressed hard against you as you teased it along your folds, coating the tip in your arousal.
“I saw how comfortable you were with Leah back at HQ,” you said, voice dropping with possessiveness. You weren't going to let him pretend you hadn't noticed how she had been circling him.
Xavier opened his mouth to explain, but before he could get another word out, you sank down on him. A broken groan tore from his throat as you took him all the way in. His head hit the pillow and his eyes squeezed shut, body going rigid.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “There’s no one else for me. You know that. I was just being polite, that’s...”
You silenced him with a heavy roll of your hips, grinding down hard. “Eyes on me,” you demanded. “Watch me take what’s mine.”
His eyes snapped to yours.
“Only I get to touch you. Only I get to fuck you. Right?”
He nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. “Yes,” he choked out. “Only you. Always you.”
“Good boy. You’ll be good for me, won't you, Xavie?”
“Yesss,” he hissed, his hips jerking up to meet yours. “Please, please...”
“Mmmh, you’re so pretty when you beg,” you murmured, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers.
His gaze dropped to your breasts, watching them bounce with every thrust. He couldn't look away, the sight of your skin moving with the rhythm of your hips had him completely entranced.
"Keep your eyes on mine, you will watch me make you cum, or you won't cum at all."
You shoved two fingers past his lips and he wrapped his tongue around them immediately, coating your knuckles in warm spit. When you pulled them out, a string of drool connected your fingers to his mouth.
He watched you bring those glistening fingers down your body, breath hitching as he imagined your fingers circling your clit. His cock throbbed harder inside you at the sight.
He saw your lips part, heard your breathy moans as you neared the edge and then you whispered his name.
“Xavier.”
That was it. That was all it took to send him over. His body seized beneath you as he came, faster than he’d ever come before. Your walls clamped down tight around him, soaking in the sudden heat. He pulsed inside you, emptying himself until you were both shaking from it.
“Such a good boy,” you murmured, dragging a finger through the slick mess between your thighs.
You brought it to your mouth, lapping at the salty, musky combination of your arousal and his cum. His eyes darkened, watching your tongue move, heat building between you again.
“Want a taste, baby?”
His eyes fluttered shut with a low moan when you pushed your finger past his lips, throat working as he swallowed. Then, in one sudden move, he shoved you onto the mattress.
You gasped as he pressed you down, his cock still buried inside you, hard and pulsing like he hadn't even cum. Leaning in, his lips brushed your ear.
toji came through the door, taking his gym shoes off immediately. you were on the couch, blanket pulled to your chin. as you heard his heavy footsteps, you looked over the arm of the couch, meeting his own dark, mischief filled eyes. “no.” you said, beginning to sit up. “no, toji. get back.” you smiled, putting a hand out to distance him. “you didn’t miss me?” he said, a sleazy smile on his face. he stalked closer to you, looking through his eyelashes at your form. “don’t run from it, baby. come feel on me.”
before you could protest, he braced both of his hands beside your head, and laid his body weight on you. you smiled, trying to push him away, but ultimately failing. “toji, you smell.” you said, pressing your hands against his chest. “oh, i missed you baby. mm.. couldn’t stop thinking of you.” he murmured against your neck. “i was doing hip thrusts today. i thrusted how much you weigh.” he said, rubbing himself against you, almost like a dog trying to put its scent on something. “that’s when i thought of you.”
you felt something poking your inner thigh, and you scoffed. “you’re nasty.” you said. “i want you.” he mumbled, sitting up between your thighs. he took your hand, and guided it to his heavy bulge. “i trained. just for you.” he said, his voice in a mockingly pleading tone. he moaned as your hand kneaded his bulge, and he looked down at it, watching as you did so. he looked back down at you, biting his lip. “aren’t you proud of me? trained hard as shit so you don’t have to do any work when we’re fucking.” he said, pushing his damp hair off of his forehead.
he grabbed your hips, pulling them closer, so your covered crotch was flush against his bulge. he gave one slow thrust, and smiled. “i know you feel that.” he said, looking down as he began to slowly grind against you. “you don’t have to do anything, yknow. i can do all the work. like i usually do.” he teased, putting wet kisses all over the side of your neck. he grabbed your waist, and effortlessly maneuvered you, so you were straddling him. “it’s okay, baby. you can act like you don’t want it, but i know you do.” he cooed, running his hand down your stomach. he smirked, biting his lip as he noticed you trying to be subtle, as you “adjusted” your position on him.
“see? that’s my girl, always wanting this dick. it’s okay, baby. you don’t have to hide it.”
