topaz luvrrrr

mostly lads and ateez and anime ADULT in an era…not telling you which one

[rasberrytart]

最大 !¡!!¡ 📿 ' ⓘ ❚

⠀ 2001.　▃　ㅤㅤ

[minkieater]

wet — smg & jwy 🫧

🫧 mingi x fem!reader x wooyoung 🫧 im dabbling in watersports — this is not a fic to better my writing skills this is just me exploring a kink lol, all smut no plot ‼️ (this is basically me saying my bad if this isn’t great, tips and feedback do be appreciated tho. #scared) 🫧 that being said, smut minors dni, watersports!!! piss kink!!! piss drinking, they were drinking but not drunk, p in v, oral (both), unprotected creampie (my bad), threesome obvi, degradation, lmk if i missed anything, nasty shi below! | ➡️ wc ~5k | i love u @hyunsvngs

“if we’re gonna play this dumbass game with you, can you at least ask a good question?” your face already scrunched in annoyance morphed to sheer disgust when the aftertaste of your soju shot hit the back of your throat, making your body shake with a quick tremor. the sound that left your throat wasn’t any prettier than the face you made.

sitting in the middle of your living room, a coffee table separating the three of you littered with shot glasses and soju, you, mingi and wooyoung were now onto the games portion of your night. one bottle finished and another halfway there, wooyoung had suggested the idea, starting with truth or dare, which quickly turned into twenty questions. truth or dare was too childish, as per mingi, but any game played with soju on your tongue would end up raunchy, as if the three of you were fresh out of high school.

twenty questions at twenty five– easily raunchy. childish indeed. still fun.

wooyoung pouts, “okay, fine.” he smiles after a second of thought, mischievous and evil, the most wooyoung smile ever. his eyes dance between you and mingi, “what’s something you want to do but have never done?”

you and mingi answer simultaneously. 

mingi, with his entire chest, “skydiving.” 

you, without a moment to think of anything else, “watersports.” 

mingi whips his head to the side to stare at you, eyes wide, jaw agape, utterly horrified. wooyoung breaks out in laughter, loud and obnoxious, his head dipping back as he clutches his stomach. all you could do was smile, genuinely amused, because the reactions you received were exactly what you assumed they’d be. 

“watersports,” mingi reiterates, like he didn’t hear you right the first time. you nod, and he shakes his head like what he’s thinking couldn’t be what you’re thinking , “like—”

“piss, min,” wooyoung is breathless now, clutching his stomach, “she’s talking about pee.” 

“you’re lying,” is the first thing mingi responds, almost defensively, but in his defense you’ve never once mentioned this to him in your months of sleeping together. your best-kept secret in the corner of your mind you thought was well guarded, you guess almost two bottles of soju had melted them down to nonexistent. 

but you weren’t embarrassed. you weren’t scared. you shrugged, “not lying, just curious.” 

“curious about pee?!” mingi’s eyes darted back and forth between you and wooyoung, the three of you sitting in a triangle around the circular coffee table, something you did often. one or two of your friends, sometimes even all eight of them were always accounted for on the weekends, usually in your living room, always with bottles of soju between you. routine. 

maybe you felt a little bad, dropping this on mingi in front of wooyoung, even if you’re all friends and have been for years. you’d only been exclusively seeing each other for a month— or was it two? you’ve been sleeping together far longer, and to be fair, wooyoung asked. 

“are you kink-shaming?” wooyoung teases, his voice almost whiny, “don’t tell me you’re skeeved out by pee. it’s natural!”

you didn’t know if the flush breaking across mingi’s cheeks was from the soju or the piss-bomb, but either way, his shy, pink cheeks were so fucking cute you wanted to squeeze them. squeeze him. 

“i’m not skeeved out!” definitely defensive, mingi’s voice raised in pitch, the tips of his ears going red. your smile grew, a giggle slipped from your lips and his neck snapped to you, “you’ve never told me this before, i’m surprised. not skeeved.” 

“sure,” wooyoung drags out his tease, leaning back into his arms, his palms planted on the floor behind him. “what’s the freakiest thing you’ve ever done, min?” 

“ooh, nice question, woo,” you jut your chin at him and his brows wiggle in excitement, as ready for mingi’s answer as you were. 

mingi’s lips purse, then flatten in a line, his eyes lifting to the ceiling as he thinks. your amusement grows the longer the gears turn in his head, your smile growing, almost as mischievous as the one that stayed permanently stamped on wooyoung’s lips. 

“anal?” mingi’s eyebrows were raised, eyes dancing between you both, waiting for reassurance. as if you and wooyoung were the freak-judges. maybe right now, with mingi, you were. 

“giving or receiving?” you ask, and wooyoung spits out the shot of soju he’d just taken, coughing through his laughter. 

mingi’s eyes narrow, “giving.” 

his eyes on you like that would have made your dick jump in your jeans, if you had one. baiting him like this, you never did it, when you were with your group of friends, you typically eased the blow of their teasing, or redirected it at someone else completely. but now, soju making your tummy warm and your ears hot, teasing him was too easy, and if he kept looking at you like that, all irritated and bothered…

you could only imagine his thoughts right now, what he was thinking, what he was planning. you wondered if maybe he was thinking about pissing on you, maybe you on him, if he would ask you for it, if he would do it to you without asking. you could feel your eyes flare as his pointed gaze struck daggers into your skin— why did it feel so good?

“that’s a tuesday,” you’re committed now. there’s a small, tiny inkling of fear licking at your spine— worry that he’d actually be mad at you, but you still can’t stop. “tell us something freaky. you know what, woo, what’s the freakiest thing you’ve ever done?” 

without missing a beat, wooyoung answers, “i’ve fucked twins before.” 

your jaw drops, “at the same time?” 

wooyoung’s smile shifts to something prideful, “at the same damn time.”

“how is that freakier than pee?” mingi asks, tone completely serious, “did both twins pee on you?” 

“worse,” wooyoung lifts his shot glass to mingi and instead of mingi lifting his own, he turns to you, a shred of genuine, unbridled fear in his eyes. your hand shoots to cover your mouth as a shocked, loud punch of laughter pushes past your lips. 

“i don’t think i’m gonna ask any more questions,” mingi mutters as he takes his shot on his own, you catch the single drip of clear liquid as it pours down the corner of his lips. without thinking, you crawl over, a hand on his thigh for leverage, sticking out your tongue to lick up the droplet of soju before it spilled down to his jaw. 

maybe two bottles of soju had ruined your ability to be socially aware, too. mingi’s doe eyes stare into you when you pull away, attempting to read you, to figure out what was happening in your brain. you, grinning, wistfully dazed, one half of your mind deep in the fantasy within your head, there wasn’t much going on up there for him to see. 

“aish,” wooyoung mutters from the opposite side of the table, his neck craning, fingers lazily tapping over the green bottle, “is this gonna turn into a me-sitting-in-the-corner-and-watching kind of situation? or should i take my leave?” 

mingi’s ears dance as his jaw flexes, he stares at you, still bent over, for a good second before turning his head to face wooyoung. he swallows before answering, “neither.” 

your brows furrow, but wooyoung asks the question before your lips can part, “neither?”

“you both clearly think i’m some innocent, vanilla guy,” mingi gulps, his voice slightly shaky, he plants his palms on the hardwood beneath him and sighs. “if you’re gonna tease me about my freak level, then show me.”

“what the fuck,” you blurt the curse before his words sank in, sitting back on your calves, back straight. you meet wooyoung’s eye over the table and he stares back at you, his face a mirror to yours, brows furrowed, jaw agape, body rigid. turning to mingi, ignoring his stone-hard gaze, “what do you mean show you?”

“don’t act like you haven’t fucked before,” mingi blinks, “i know all the stories. show me what i’m missing.”

“i–” you start, but close your lips as soon as the word leaves your mouth. that is the last thing you expected him to say. you turn to wooyoung, who was staying much too quiet for comfort, his face had relaxed, his brows slightly furrowed, he was thinking about it. considering it. you gasped. 

“you guys cannot be serious right now,” your words are paired with a nervous chuckle, “what are you suggesting? in very clear, plain language so my soju-brain can understand it, please.”

“he’s suggesting me fucking you,” wooyoung responds, words short, his eyes on mingi, not even sparing you a glance. 

“i’m suggesting you piss on him, too, actually. or him piss on you, whatever your dirty ass mind has been fantasizing about,” mingi’s smile is warped– lopsided, casual, almost. like this was a tuesday for him.

your blood runs cold but your core burns, you didn’t think mingi was necessarily vanilla, but you never would have pinned him a voyeur. you were just teasing him, anyhow, you assumed wooyoung would eventually leave and you’d spend the night tangled between the sheets, maybe a little added strength from mingi because of your teasing. you and wooyoung were ancient history, anyways– he’d never agree to fucking you now, especially not in front of mingi.

“i’m down,” wooyoung shrugs, and the noise that leaves you is something between a shriek and a gasp, something strangled, something the complete opposite of wooyoung’s easily found agreement. 

“are you insane?” your eyes bounce between them, both men smiling now, something was shared in their stares from across the coffee table, a silent conversation they did not let you in on. “are you both actually fucking insane? do i need to kick you out of my apartment?”

“come on,” mingi’s head tilts, a whine to his voice, needy, like he was the one fantasizing about this. “maybe if you’re good, i’ll piss on you, too.”

your lips part at the thought of him standing over you, tall, broad, cock in hand, a steady stream pouring directly into your mouth as you sat on your knees, hands folded over your lap politely, not spilling a drop. a fantasy you’ve kept locked away far too long. 

your eyes slide to wooyoung, whose mischievous smirk was more apparent now than it’s ever been, his eyebrows raised, bait. you know that look, it means, are you too pussy? he’s used it on you a thousand times, but that was years ago, a lifetime ago. 

your mouth runs dry. silence fills the room. you were sure they could hear your pounding heart.

“you’ve been drinking for a while now,” mingi’s voice is light, teasing, it makes you fidget, thumbs toying with one another in your lap. when did he gain the upper hand? you shouldn’t have gotten so close to him, he uses it to his advantage, leaning in until you can smell him, lips bent in a pout, “bet you’ll have to go soon, won’t you? wouldn’t you rather do it on wooyoung’s cock?” 

your breath catches in your throat, mingi smiles. wooyoung groans from across the room. the pressure in your bladder was already there, as it usually is after a drop of liquor; he knows you too well. 

“wanna watch him fuck you stupid, then i wanna clean up the mess,” mingi’s voice is low, velvety, it makes your body twitch. your neck cranes toward him, the scene playing through your mind too visceral, you completely soaked by them— it all goes straight to your core, a small whimper leaving your lips, exposing you.

you hear wooyoung’s quiet snicker from across the table, reading your thoughts, “you know her too well, min.”

mingi smiles at wooyoung and it’s one full of sheer pride, “wanna show me how well you know her, too?” 

your entire body is hot, pulled so taut you might snap if they didn’t do something soon. wooyoung’s beside you in a moment without another word uttered, his warm palms cradling your cheeks, eyes flaring with hunger, standing over you on his knees. “woo,” you whine when all he does is stare at you, reading you like mingi had done minutes earlier. 

“you want it? wanna piss on my cock?” his question is so fucking nasty your heart skips a beat. 

you nodded without second thought, leaning upward to catch his lips, and he gives in by splitting yours open with his tongue. messy from the jump, he kissed you like he missed you, tongue dancing with yours, lips smacking as his hands found your waist, pushing your back down until it met the floor. you moaned into him, fingers curling in his hair, gripping at his roots the way you know he likes, ankles hooking around his back. 

he groans, hips bucking into you. “fuck,” he mutters into your mouth and you smile, maybe you missed him, too. 

mingi’s forgotten by the time wooyoung has your shirt over your head, but your eyes finally meet his again as wooyoung’s lips travel to your jawline, down your neck, his spit gathering at the base of your throat. mingi’s watching with parted, wet lips, furrowed brows, hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. he’s palming his cock over his sweats slowly, watching wooyoung devour your throat, eyes zeroed in on how wooyoung’s tongue travels down to the valley between your breasts, he curses under his breath when your bra meets your shirt upon the hardwood. 

you whine as wooyoung’s lips catch one of your nipples, tongue swirling, making you arch into him, fingers still tangled in his roots. “fuck, woo, missed your mouth.”

he glances upward, amusement dancing in chocolate, his lips curve in a smile while his teeth bite down softly. you hiss, followed by a choked moan, hips bucking upward into his body that keeps you caged against the floor, he giggles, “knew you’d like that.”

mingi’s brows raise as he shimmies his sweats down his hips, you could see him mentally taking notes, already an entirely new world had been opened for him concerning you. your sex life with mingi wasn’t too daunting yet, quickies after parties or desperately in your bathroom while your friends were in your living room, tired sex at four in the morning after you’d both finished work, you hadn’t exactly opened up about many of your kinks, nor have you had the time to– until now. 

wooyoung’s fingers in your waistband get your shorts and panties off your legs in one swift motion, your legs opening on command, chest heaving, bladder growing heavier by the minute. jaw clenching as he settles himself between your thighs, nerves spike in your gut, reality settling in that you’ve never done this before. excited, yes, but nervous about the unknown– it wasn’t as if all you’ve had to drink today was water.

eyelids fluttering as wooyoung’s nose makes contact with your clit, you’re reminded that neither have them, and you’d still drink them dry– both of them. your back arches as a lewd moan spills from your chest, wooyoung’s tongue slipping between your folds, lips sucking around your clit harshly. you had two hands in his hair, nails clawing at his scalp and he whined into you, hips jerking into the floor beneath him. 

“missed tasting you, fuck,” he curses into your core, face buried so all you could see was the black hair on his head, “so fucking sweet.”

you cry out as his tongue flicks at your clit, working you into a rhythm, pleased when he feels your hips buck against his face after a few minutes of repetition. “woo,” you mutter nervously, the pressure in your tummy too heavy, more than an impending orgasm. 

his eyes flick upward, cockily asking, “gonna cum already?”

“mhm,” you nod your head, chest rising and falling rapidly, “gotta pee.”

he licks his lips slowly, eyes sliding upward to mingi, who responds, “take it to the bedroom.”

standing up on shaky legs was hard enough, walking to your bedroom with your tummy so heavy was almost unbearable. you’re fidgeting when mingi eases you into his lap, the edge of your ass on the mattress with your back pressed to his chest, toes tapping against the comforter, fingers poking at his thighs. wooyoung settled between your legs, his jeans long gone, cock hard, red and leaking, standing tall against the muscular area between his hips. it’s been so long since you’ve seen him so bare, you bite your lip taking in the sight of his toned abdomen, his cock, feeling a form of nostalgia easily overtaken by arousal. 

“so pretty,” wooyoung’s cock lands on the area just above your clit, using one knuckle of his pointer finger through your folds, spreading your wetness all over. you gasp, hips jerking, making his cock catch on your clit which elicits a moan straight from your gut. wooyoung smirks, “and so fucking desperate.”

mingi’s hands slide up your tummy, landing on your chest, your tits cradled in his callused palms, your head falls flat against him, mind muddled, too many sensations to focus on one. mingi tucks his head into your neck, his teeth catching on your earlobe, “how you feelin’, baby?”

you whine, nails clawing into his thighs, “gotta pee, wanna cum, want him inside.”

wooyoung spreads his cock along your folds slowly, just to make it all worse, and your body grows hotter, chest tighter. he notices the strain, the side of his lips curling upward, “gonna cry for it?” 

“please,” you gasp out, hips bucking, and mingi takes your nipples between two fingers, pinching. you cry out, a desperate sound, irritation growing the more they ignored the tightness in your bladder, “please, wooyoung, fuck me.”

“a little more,” his cock catches on your entrance and your waterline fills with hot, wet tears, it was more than need now. if he didn’t split you open on his cock, if he didn’t let you empty yourself on him you were sure you’d explode. 

“there you go,” mingi cooes, his breath hot on your ear as a single tear spills down your cheek. he leans closer to lick it up just as wooyoung starts pushing inside, and the moan that leaves you is so loud you were sure the entire building heard you. 

“still so fucking tight,” wooyoung shakes his head, his arms clinging onto the headboard behind mingi, his figure looming over the both of you. “open up for me baby, can’t fuck you like this.”

“can’t!” you whimper, shaking your head, “gotta– gotta pee s’bad.”

the smirk on wooyoung’s face is downright malicious as he glances over your head at mingi, your eyes rolling back as he pulls out again, fucking back into you in one quick motion. your body is locked, fingers slicing crescents into mingi’s thighs, bottom lip tucked tight between your teeth, you need release. 

mingi drops a hand from your chest down between your thighs, two fingers spreading your folds, wooyoung’s hips jerk when he feels mingi’s fingers on either side of his cock, the sensation making you feel tighter, his moan is strangled, one hand dropping from the headboard to land on mingi’s shoulder.

mingi keeps his face tucked into your neck, “relax baby, let him fuck you, then you can let go, okay?” 

your moans are muffled by your lip stuffed into your mouth, but you try relaxing your muscles, and wooyoung’s sigh of relief is immediate. “yes,” wooyoung moans, high pitched, languid, “so good, missed this pussy, can’t wait to feel her soak me.”

you clench around him and he curses, mingi uses his hand between your thighs to circle around your clit, and wooyoung picks up his rhythm while his strangled whimpers tangle with the sound of his hips smacking yours. faster, harder, your back is repeatedly bumping into mingi’s hard chest as wooyoung fucks into you ruthlessly, the perfect pace. tears are streaming down your cheeks now, cries pouring from your lips, but mingi licks up every single one, muttering praise into your ears, how you’re taking wooyoung so well, how good you look beneath him… 

the pressure is too much. how wooyoung drills into your cervix over and over, your cries grow in pitch, short breaths to focus on not spilling over, the tight pull in your tummy was too overwhelming, you were too full. 

“go ahead, baby,” mingi’s words are coated in candy, sweet and encouraging, “make a mess for me, make a mess on wooyoung’s cock.”

you tried– tried letting the band snap, tried letting go, the mental block was rigid. tears pour down your cheeks, babbles of god knows what leaving your lips, your head too fuzzy to focus. 

“come on,” wooyoung encourages roughly, angling his hips so his cock slams against that spongy spot inside you, and your body gives you no choice but to give in. 

relief isn’t the word for the amount of liquid that pours out of you every time wooyoung pulls back. each thrust is accompanied by a spray, soaking wooyoung’s abdomen, the sheets below you, your thighs, mingi’s thighs– you were everywhere, a sopping puddle below you, covering the two men who were sandwiching you. a high pitched shriek rips from your throat in alleviating embarrassment, you can’t believe you were doing this, you can’t believe this was happening–

“oh my god,” mingi’s groan is so low and raspy it zaps up your spine like electricity. 

a slower stream now, wooyoung’s moans are looped together as he keeps fucking into you, piss still spraying him, his eyes stayed zeroed in on where you met. “baby,” wooyoung gasps, picking up speed again as mingi’s circles on your clit grow tighter, “do that again, you’ve gotta have more in you, fuck– give me more, please, soak me, holy fuck.”

“so fucking dirty,” mingi whispers into your ear, you were barely conscious enough to hear him, brain so clouded you were somewhere distant, knowing nothing but the pleasure they gave you, “you loved that, didn’t you? wanna cum around his cock after you just pissed all over it?” 

you moan out a yes, the word slurred into sounds of lust, the vibration of his chuckle bleeds into your back. “cum for me,” wooyoung urges, “i’m so close, cum with me, c’mon. missed this pussy coming around my cock.”

your body locks as the pressure blows, soaking wooyoung all over again as your orgasm lights you up like a christmas tree. strangled moans leave your lips as you go limp against mingi, body spent, pussy still fucking leaking like you’ve been drinking for three days straight. 

“holy shit,” wooyoung croaks before he pushes all the way inside, hips stuttering until rough, staggered breaths push through his lips, ropes of cum filling you up. you moan with him at the feeling, the fullness, the wet, sloppy sound of his hips hitting yours— it’s embarrassing and dizzying and so fucking hot. 

“that was so fucking hot,” mingi is heaving behind you, you’d barely noticed until now, same with how his cock is pressed into your back. kissing the side of your head, he praises, “good job baby, you did so good for us.”

you’re mumbling again, reaching for wooyoung who leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. “so sexy,” he whispers against your mouth, “wanna taste you.”

you gasp as he pulls out, immediately laying on the wet mattress to lick a stripe up your folds, quick, as if he was running out of time. mingi shuffles from behind you, letting you lay flat on your back, crawling around you just to lift one of your legs, making room for himself. 

so nasty, so absolutely fucking disgusting the way they were ravishing you, as if you didn’t just piss yourself, as if wooyoung didn’t just come inside you. they held you close, one of their arms hooked around one of your thighs so you couldn’t pull away, stuck there, a whimpering mess, overstimulated and spent. 

“let me taste,” your voice is raw, “my turn to taste you.”

the two of them stare up at you from between your thighs and you swear you’ve never seen anything so beautiful. 

weaker now, your voice small, embarrassed, you squeak, “‘m thirsty.” 

they move in such synchronicity you wonder if they’d planned this all along. mingi moving to the bathroom, turning on the shower, wooyoung scooping your limp body in his arms to bring you there. he plants you on the toilet while the shower heats up, and you’re pouting, confused. 

“thought you were gonna pee on me? why are we getting in the shower?” 

“it’s a special shower,” mingi plants a kiss on your forehead, smiling softly. 

wooyoung giggles from behind him, “a golden one.” 

the two of them, so opposite. now standing naked before you, you take in their differences, mingi’s muscle mass compared to wooyoung’s lanky, toned build. even personality, where mingi was soft and reserved, wooyoung was blunt and unforgiving, they made the perfect pair. you wondered how you didn’t think of this sooner. 

you’ve never been so thankful for your spacious shower until now. on your knees, water hitting your back, both of them standing before you, they looked so fucking huge it made your thighs clench. with your hands folded on your lap, eyelashes fluttering, jaw agape, you tried your hardest to take in every detail as they pumped their cocks in front of you. 

“you want it?” mingi stared down at you, brows raised, lips parted, the stature of someone who practiced dominance often. 

you nodded profusely, “please, please give it to me, want your piss, wanna taste it.” 

“so fucking disgusting,” wooyoung chokes on his laugh, “never in my life would have expected you to be on your knees in front of me, begging me to piss on you.” 

the degrading words only made your cunt throb. 

“what other nasty shit do you have hidden up there?” wooyoung asks before cutting himself off with a low groan, fingers squeezing his cock, “open up.”

your jaw is pried open as he squeezes the base of his cock, a steady stream pouring from the tip, you catch it swiftly, moaning as the warmth of it fills your mouth. you slip a hand between your parted thighs, eyes rolling back as he moans desperately, swallowing every time he fills your mouth. 

when his stream is reduced to droplets, mingi grabs you by the hair, pulling you towards him instead, cursing when your hands brace against his thighs. he holds you by the cheeks as your lips wrap around his cock, grinning, “my dirty girl, fuck. take it, and don’t waste a fucking drop.” 

one of your hands slides down between your thighs again as he fills your mouth up fast. sucking down every last drop, you’re moaning around him, and when he stops pissing you begin bobbing your head, tongue wrapped against the underside of him, listening to every whiney moan that leaves his throat. 

“fuck yes, just like that,” his chin dips back, one hand in your hair, “drink my cum like you drank my piss, so fucking nasty.” 

you take him as deep as you can, nose pressing against the patch of hair at the base of him, and a strangled noise leaves his throat as his hips stutter against you, thrusting slightly, gagging you. 

“take it,” he warns, then whines, “take it all, baby.” his load shoots down your throat, you taste the saltiness, much like the stream of piss, you think he might have still been pissing, too. but you take it all until he’s pulling you off of him by the hair, then lifting you until you’re standing; if you could call it standing, the way you’re limp in his arms. 

wooyoung is behind you in a flash, helping you up, holding you steady. 

“jesus christ,” you mutter, head lolling back against wooyoung’s chest, and the two men chuckle, wooyoung’s hands squeezing your hips once. 

blinking your eyes open to see mingi, he’s already grabbing your body wash, eyes focused on you. he lifts a brow when he notices your gaze, “how was it? everything you fantasized about?” 

your lazy grin tells him enough. his head drops in a low chuckle and wooyoung presses a kiss to the side of your head, mumbling, “i don’t remember you being so fucking nasty.” 

you shrug, tilting your head to look at him, his wet hair splattered across his face, eyes warm, comforting. “you seemed to be into it.” 

“you pissed on my cock, who wouldn’t be into that?” 

both of your heads turn to mingi, who’s eyes bounce between you like you were putting him on the spot. “hey,” he tilts his head in defeat, arms lathered in sticky dates bubbles falling to his sides, “i never said i wasn’t into it.”

your smile grows, and the one on mingi’s face matches yours, “i also never said this was a one time thing.”

feedback always appreciated <3 🫧 masterlist

[belongjoong]

「pairing」: bestfriend!san x fem!reader

「word count」: 6.5k

「genre」: smut, angst if you squint

「summary」: san invites you for a midnight drive that ends differently than it always has

「warnings」: everything takes place in a car, smoking cigarettes, shotgunning, kissing, san is so gentle, fingering, titty sucking, clit play, cum eating, unprotected sex, genuine love making, multiple orgasms, multiple rounds, multiple creampies, praising, oral (f recieving), there may be more that i missed so heres your warning

「author's note」: hello i loved this, i read a fic with the whole shotgunning in the car thing and i WAS OBSESSED so i wrote this. thank you for this ask! enjoy

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I lay there, aimlessly scrolling on my phone like I usually do before I go to sleep. No obligations. No responsibilities. Just an attempt at relaxation before I allow sleep to drag me under. I have put my phone down three times now, trying to find it in myself to fall asleep, but each time I am just not tired enough. 

Nobody to talk to, all of my friends have pretty consistent sleep schedules. None of them are really expected to be browsing social media at 1am on a Tuesday night. Just silence. It's kind of relaxing, the quietness of it all. 

San: Are you awake?

A second later:

San: Drive?

I’m barely halfway through brushing my hair out of my face when I’m already slipping on the first hoodie I can find. The house is silent except for the hum of the fridge downstairs, the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts echo. I move carefully, even though I technically don’t need to hide anything - I’m an adult, he’s an adult, and late-night drives have been our thing since long before graduation.

Still, something about slipping out at this hour feels… illicit.

The air outside is cold, the kind of cold that bites at your ankles even through thick socks. Streetlights buzz faintly overhead as I step onto the curb. The moment my phone buzzes again, headlights turn the corner -  familiar, warm, a low beam sweeping across the quiet neighborhood.

San’s car slows to a stop in front of me. I already feel myself exhale in relief.

He doesn’t usually get out to greet me. He never has. Instead, the passenger door unlocks with a soft click. I pull it open and slip inside.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and a little raspy. He’s got his hair pushed back, a few pieces falling forward in that messy, tired way. His hoodie is oversized, draped around him like it’s the only thing holding him together tonight.

“Hey,” I reply, closing the door. The heater hums softly. His music is playing low, something atmospheric.

“You good?” I ask gently.

He gives me a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Just… didn’t wanna be alone.”

That answer usually means he’s been thinking too much again. Feeling too much again. I know the symptoms intimately, he and I have always been too intense for anyone else’s taste.“ Same,” I admit quietly.

He nods once, then puts the car in drive.

We don’t speak for a few minutes. We don’t need to. Streetlights slide across his face in orange sweeps, casting shadows that make him look older, almost hollowed out. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, but the rhythm is uneven. Something’s chewing at him tonight.

“San,” I say softly. “Talk to me.”

He exhales, a harsh breath through his nose. “Do you ever feel like you’re… off? Like everyone else is tuned to the right frequency, and we’re stuck on some broken one?”

My chest tightens. “Yeah. All the time.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter. “Of course you’d get it.”

Then he cuts a glance at me - sharp, like he’s trying to see inside my head.

I look back at him. I don’t look away.

-

We end up at our spot.

An empty overlook on the edge of the city, a place we found junior year, back when ditching class to sit on the hood of his car felt like rebellion instead of burnout. The view hasn’t changed, the city lights have always looked like a reflection of some galaxy we’ll never reach.

San shifts into park, then leans his head back against the seat. His throat bobs with a swallow.

“You ever think we peaked in high school?” he asks quietly. “Not in a good way, in a like… life was simpler when we were just trying to survive the day kind of way.”

“Maybe,” I admit. “Or maybe we’re just in the in-between part.”

“That’s the problem,” he mutters. “It feels like nothing’s happening. Like I’m waiting for a version of myself that might not ever show up.”

“You already showed up,” I say. “You just don’t see it.”

His eyes flick to me again. There’s something raw there this time. Something cracked around the edges.

“Why does it feel like everyone else knows how to be a person except me?” he asks. “Like I’m… off-putting. Too much.”

I reach for his sleeve without thinking, fingers grazing the soft fabric. “You’re not too much. Not for me.”

He stares at me like the words hit harder than I meant them to. I retract my hand, suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting in the dark.

Then - he reaches into the cupholder.

And pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

My breath stills.

“Since when do you smoke?” I ask gently.

He hesitates. His thumb taps once on the pack before opening it. “Since a few months ago.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

He laughs again, a small, humorless sound. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

I watch as he flicks the lighter. The flame casts a sharp glow over his face: cheekbones carved in amber light, lips parted. The cigarette tips with ember-red.

“You gonna judge me for it?” he asks, but the tone is light, almost teasing.

“No,” I say quietly, maybe too fast. “Just… surprised.”

He leans out the window slightly and exhales. Smoke curls out in a slow ribbon, illuminated in the glow of the dashboard.

It’s stupid, but my heart thuds at the sight.

He looks good like this. Too good. Like the version of him I’m not supposed to stare at.

San tilts his head back and takes another drag.

“You want one?” he asks, casual but not.

I shake my head. “I don’t smoke.”

“Didn’t think so.”

But then he pauses.

“You want to try?” he asks, softer this time, less playful.

I look at him. At the faint tremble in his fingers. At the exhaustion in his eyes, dark and stormy under the streetlight glow.

“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “I want to understand.”

His breath stutters.

He shifts toward me slowly. He holds the cigarette out between two fingers, angled toward me, but there’s something intimate in the way he does it, like he’s handing me something heavier than nicotine.

I lean in. Our faces are too close.

I take a tentative drag, almost cough, and San laughs, but it’s soft, fond, gentle. He reaches out and rubs my back once, warm pressure through my hoodie.

The smoke burns but tastes warm.

When I exhale, I feel his eyes on my lips.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “It’s addictive.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I can see that.”

His jaw clenches, not out of anger, but restraint.

I hand the cigarette back. Our fingers brush.

He swallows hard.

For a moment, the car feels too small. Too warm.

We sit there for a moment. Him looking out the window, trying to gather his thoughts. Me, still thinking about the way he looked at my lips. With hunger. With desire. 

“Can I try again?” I ask, motioning toward the cigarette. 

San's eyes darken. He pulls the cigarette away slightly, shaking his head.

"No," he says, voice rougher than before. "You shouldn't."

My heart drops a little. "Why not?"

He takes another drag, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. The ember flares bright in the darkness between us. When he speaks, smoke curls from his lips with each word.

"Because I have something better."

I don't understand at first. Not until he shifts closer, the center console suddenly feeling like nothing at all. Not until his free hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing just below my ear.

"Trust me?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

I nod because I can't form words.

He takes one more pull from the cigarette, deeper this time, then stubs it out in the ashtray with careful precision. The loss of that small light makes the car feel even more private, more ours.

San turns back to me. His pupils are blown wide, catching the distant city lights. His thumb traces my jawline once, a question and a promise.

Then he leans in. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Close enough that our noses almost brush. His breath ghosts over my parted lips, and I realize what he's offering.

"Open," he murmurs.

I do.

He exhales slowly, deliberately, and the smoke flows between us like something tangible. It fills my mouth, warm and intimate and dizzying in a way that has nothing to do with nicotine. I inhale it, tasting him in it, with mint and smoke.

My eyes flutter closed.

When I exhale, he's still there, so close I can feel his breath hitch.

"Again?" he asks, and this time his voice is wrecked.

"Please."

He reaches for the cigarette, lights it with shaking hands. Takes another drag. This time when he leans in, his forehead presses against mine first, grounding us both.

The second time is slower. More purposeful. He cups both sides of my face now, angling me exactly where he wants me. The smoke passes between us and I swear I can feel his lips trembling, hovering just a breath away from actually touching mine.

When I exhale this time, it comes out as a soft sound - half sigh, half something more desperate.

San pulls back just enough to look at me. His chest is rising and falling too fast. His eyes are searching mine for something, maybe permission, maybe a reason to stop.

-

San’s gaze is fixed on my mouth like he’s afraid it might disappear. Or like he’s afraid he’ll do something he can’t take back. His chest rises once, sharp, before he finally speaks.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, but his hands on my face don’t move an inch. 

I swallow, my pulse pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. “San…”

He closes his eyes like the sound of his name hurts.

“You don’t get it,” he breathes. “I’ve been trying not to cross this line for a long time.”

“How long?” I whisper.

His eyes open. Dark. Conflicted. He doesn’t answer. Which is an answer.

My heart clenches. Warmth rises up the back of my neck. “San… you don’t have to lie. Not to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he mutters. “I’m trying to figure out how to stop wanting something I don’t deserve.”

I shake my head, barely moving in his hands. “Why would you think you don’t deserve me?”

His breath catches at the word me.

Then he breaks. Not dramatically - quietly. Like something finally snaps in a way he can’t hide anymore.

His forehead drops to mine again, softer this time. Less heated. More vulnerable.

“It’s because it’s you,” he says. “You’re the only person I’ve ever actually trusted. And I’m scared of ruining that.”

My fingers lift on instinct, curling around the fabric of his hoodie. The cotton is warm where his chest is, faintly damp with the tension he’s been carrying all night.

“You won’t ruin it,” I say.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” My voice is steady, even though I’m shaking inside. “Because if you ruin this, I ruin it too. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His breath stutters against my cheek.

Silence stretches again - heavy, too full, brimming with everything we’ve never said.

Then, his thumb brushes my lower lip. A ghost of a touch. Barely pressure at all.

But it sends heat all the way down my spine.

His voice is a whisper. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

“The smoke?”

His lips tilt into the smallest, most dangerous smirk. “You know what I mean.”

I exhale shakily. “Yeah. I liked it.”

His hand slides from my jaw to the side of my neck, fingers settling. Gentle. Careful. But claiming in a way that makes my breath catch.

“Do you want more?” he asks.

Not demanding. Not teasing. A genuine question wrapped in restraint.

I nod.

“Use your words,” he says softly.

My heartbeat slams against my ribs. “Yes.”

That’s all it takes.

San leans in, slowly, like he’s giving me every chance to pull away. But I don’t. I lean too. Both of us moving until the space between us shrinks into nothing.

His lips brush mine. Just once. A question.

I answer it by closing the distance.

The kiss is soft at first, barely pressure, more breath than contact. His nose nudges mine, and he tilts his head a fraction, deepening it just enough to taste, not devour.

His lips are warm. He kisses me like he’s memorizing something. A soft sound rises in my throat before I can stop it, and he reacts immediately - his fingers tightening at the nape of my neck, pulling me in closer, holding me there like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.

He tastes exactly how I’ve imagined. Something I think I’ve wanted longer than I’ve admitted.

The kiss breaks slowly, reluctant to stop. He stays close, so close that I can feel every shaky breath he takes.

“God,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “I knew it. I knew I’d lose my mind if I ever kissed you.”

My cheeks burn hot. “San…”

“No,” he says quietly, pressing his forehead to mine. “Look at me.”

I do. His eyes are dark, but softer than I’ve ever seen them.

“You can walk away from this,” he murmurs. “You can pretend this never happened, and I’ll go back to being your best friend. I swear I will. Just say it.”

His jaw flexes. “But if you don’t…” His thumb sweeps my cheek. “…I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

I breathe. “I don’t want you to stop.”

The air leaves his lungs in a stunned, shaky rush.

He bites the inside of his cheek, overwhelmed. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I mean it.”

He closes his eyes, the word hitting someplace deep.

When he opens them again, they’re even darker.

“Then come here,” he murmurs.

His hand slides behind my waist, guiding me over the console until I’m half leaning into him. I brace one hand on the headrest behind him, the other curled into his hoodie.

He kisses me again, slow at first, then warmer when I respond. His fingers trace the line of my spine, stopping at the small of my back like he wants to pull me into his lap but doesn’t want to push.

His restraint is somehow hotter than if he had.

The windows begin to steam faintly.

I don’t know how long we kiss like that - soft, deep, lingering - every brush of his lips feeling like it rewrites the last few years. Like we’ve been orbiting this moment without realizing it, waiting for something to change.

When he finally pulls back, his breath is warm against my cheek. My throat feels tight.

Outside, the city lights flicker quietly. The air inside the car is warm, humming, heavy with everything we’ve crossed into.

San’s thumb strokes once along my lower lip. He kisses me again, gentler, tender this time.

His fingers rest on my thigh, warm through the fabric of my skirt. They don’t move. They don’t squeeze. They don’t wander. But the weight of them is enough to make every nerve in my body pay attention.

His hoodie smells like detergent and something faintly smoky, but underneath that is him, that warmth I’ve always associated with San. Comforting, familiar, grounding. But now that comfort feels charged, like there’s a wire running straight from his skin to mine.

His gaze drops to my lips for a split second before snapping back to my eyes. The air leaves my lungs.

Slowly, instinctively, his thumb begins to move, a gentle, unconscious stroke against the outside of my thigh. Back and forth. Barely pressure, but enough to send warmth crawling up my spine.

“San…” I whisper, not even sure what I want to say.

He leans in slightly, his forehead grazing mine. “I’m not trying to rush anything,” he murmurs. “You know I’m not like that.”

“I know,” I say.

“But you have to tell me if I’m crossing a line,” he adds, softer still. “I need you to tell me if I should stop.”

There’s something fragile in his voice. Something that feels like he’s fighting himself harder than he’s fighting the situation.

I shake my head gently. “You’re not crossing anything.”

His breath stutters, and he closes his eyes, trying to get a grip.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then his hand, the one on my thigh, shifts - just enough to slide a fraction of an inch closer to my knee. Slowly, with intention, San reaches up and cups my cheek. His palm is warm. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth. I move toward him without hesitation.

He meets me halfway.

This kiss is deeper than the last, more certain, less testing. His hand slides back to my jaw, angling me the way he wants, guiding the kiss without dominating it. His other hand grips the side of my thigh, fingers spreading just enough to hold, not claim.

I gasp softly into his mouth at the contact, and he responds with a quiet sound, between a sigh and a restrained groan. The warmth between us spikes.

His fingers slide a little higher on my thigh.

Not high enough to cross a line.

Just high enough to ask a question.

I tremble, and he notices. His hand pauses.

“This okay?” he whispers against my mouth.

“Yes.” My voice is barely there. “I just… didn’t expect to feel all of this so fast.”

He presses his forehead to mine again, breathing heavily.

“Me neither,” he murmurs.

I intertwine our fingers and rest my head on his shoulder.

His answering smile is small, crooked, almost boyish. The kind of smile he’s never let himself show me before.

He lifts our joined hands to his lips and presses a single, soft kiss to my knuckles.

And somehow, it makes my stomach drop harder than any kiss tonight.

We stay like that for a long time.

Long enough for the heater to grow warm and steady, long enough for my breathing to match his, long enough for the world outside the fogged windows to feel distant and irrelevant.

Eventually I lift my head from his shoulder. The shift makes him tighten his arm around me before he seems to realize I'm just adjusting.

His eyes open slowly, heavy-lidded, warm in the dim light. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “Just… wanted to see you.”

The corners of his mouth lift - not a full smile, but something small and soft. Something that feels like it’s meant only for me.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, amused.

“I know.”

He tilts his head, watching me back. “Why?”

Because you’re beautiful. Because you make me feel safe. “I like looking at you.”

San’s inhale is sharp, and his eyes flicker, surprise first, then darker, warmer, spreading through them like ink.

“You can’t just say things like that,” he says quietly.

“Why not?”

His voice drops to a low murmur. “Because I want to kiss you when you do.”

There’s no hesitation this time.

I reach up, fingers curling around the back of his hoodie, and pull him to me.

The kiss starts soft, it always starts soft,  like he needs that moment of gentleness, that grounding breath. But it deepens quickly, the warmth building between us, spreading through every place we touch. His hand slides from my arm to my waist, fingers spreading over my hip. The pressure is gentle but possessive in a way that makes my breathing change, I shift closer, practically climbing over the console, and he lets out a low sound - quiet, surprised, but undeniably pleased.

He pulls me into his lap.

Not roughly.  But with a firm, confident strength that sends heat rushing through me.

My thighs settle on either side of his, and his hands freeze on my hips for a second, like he’s processing what just happened.

“Are you sure?” he asks, breath warm against my mouth.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I want to be close to you.”

His grip tightens,  just enough for me to feel it. His head falls back against the seat for one beat, eyes closed, breathing uneven.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, the word barely audible. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

I smile, and he opens his eyes again, wide, dark, hungry in a way he’s been trying to hold back since the first drag of smoke.

His hands slide slowly from my hips to my waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of my hoodie. Not lifting it -  just touching. Testing. Learning my reactions. I shiver, and he notices instantly.

“You cold?” he asks.

“No.”

His eyes flicker, understanding.

“…Good.”

He kisses me again. His hands roam higher along my sides, fingertips tracing the lines of my body through the fabric. Every slow sweep sends sparks through me. I kiss him harder, and he responds like he’s been waiting for it, one hand sliding up my back, the other settling at the curve of my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.

My fingers slip into his hair, tugging just lightly, and he groans, quiet, caught off guard.

He pulls back, breathless, forehead pressed to mine.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers.

“Do what?” I ask, breath uneven.

“That,” he murmurs, catching my hand in his and pressing a kiss to my palm. “I can’t think when you touch me like that.”

His thumb brushes my wrist as he lowers my hand, still holding it gently.

“You make me...” He trails off, eyes flicking somewhere between embarrassed and hungry. “You make it really hard to slow down.”

“We don’t have to rush,” I say softly.

He exhales shakily and cups my cheek. “I know. I just… want you. Badly.”

The honesty hits deeper than anything else.

I lean into his touch. “I want you too.”

His hands slide around my waist again, settling gently.

“Can I kiss you slow?” he asks.

The question melts something inside me.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”

He kisses me slow. Painfully slow.

His lips move against mine like he’s savoring every second, like he wants to memorize the shape of the moment. His thumbs stroke the sides of my waist in small circles, grounding my breathing, pulling me deeper into the warmth of his body.

I melt against him, fingers lacing into his hair again, softer this time. His lips part slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make my stomach tighten with heat.

His tongue brushes mine - barely there, gentle, teasing.

I gasp quietly, and he swallows the sound with another kiss.

He breaks away for just a breath, lips ghosting mine.

“You taste like the smoke,” he murmurs. “And like you.”

My cheeks flush. “Is that good?”

His thumb brushes my cheekbone.

“It’s perfect.”

I kiss him again.

This time, he tilts his head and guides me deeper, his hands steady on my waist as if keeping me anchored. The warmth between us builds, slow and steady, But we feel it. We both feel it. The car is warm. The windows are fogged. His heart beats steady and strong beneath my hands.

His lips trail down the corner of my mouth to my jaw, soft, careful, lingering like he’s testing every boundary with tenderness first.

“San…” I breathe out.

“Mm?”

“I don’t want tonight to end.”

He lifts his head, eyes searching mine.

“It won’t,” he says softly. 

He brushes my hair behind my ear, so gently it makes my chest tighten.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” he murmurs.

“Me neither,” I confess.

He tilts his head, studying me with that heavy-lidded intensity, like I’m something he’s afraid to touch but wants anyway.

“You look nervous,” he whispers.

“I’m not.” But my voice betrays me, soft, thin around the edges.

He smiles. Not his usual sharp grin, but something small and warm.

“You don’t have to be,” he says. “Not with me.”

His hand slides up my back, fingers spreading between my shoulder blades. The pressure is soothing, steady.

“You’re safe,” he adds, quieter. “With me, you always are.”

I swallow hard.

Because I know he means it. And that scares me more than anything.

His eyes drop to my lips. His breath stutters.

“Can I kiss you again?”

“You don’t have to ask,” I whisper. His hands tighten at my waist, pulling me that last inch closer.

My fingers grip his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath his hoodie. Every tiny shift of his body sends electricity through my body. 

Then his hand slips under the hem of my hoodie. Not far. Just enough to touch my waist directly.

His fingers graze my skin, warm, calloused, tender. I inhale sharply, and he freezes, eyes darting to mine.

“Too much?” he asks immediately.

“No,” I whisper. “Not at all. It feels good.”

He pulls back just enough to brush his nose along mine, a soft, affectionate nudge that sends my heart tumbling.

“I want you to tell me something,” he whispers.

“Okay.”

“If I cross a line… if anything feels too fast… you tell me. Promise?”

His thumb strokes my waist, slow and comforting.

“Promise,” I say. “But you’re not crossing anything.”

His hands slide up my sides, fingers tracing the lines of my ribs through fabric, gentle, reverent.

Our lips connect again, a careful slide of his tongue against mine that has warmth pooling deep in my stomach.

I shift in his lap without thinking.

And he makes a sound -  low, sharp, strangled - straight into my mouth.

His grip tightens, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other clutching my waist. “D-Don’t…” he whispers, voice strained. “If you move like that…”

I freeze.

His forehead drops to my collarbone. He’s breathing hard, hands trembling faintly against my sides.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean-”

“No,” he cuts in, shaking his head against my shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…”

He swallows.

“I’m trying really hard to take this slow.”

I slide my hands up into his hair, fingertips brushing his scalp. He shivers. “You don’t have to hold back so much,” I whisper.

His hands slide down to my hips again, holding me still. Gentle. Firm.

“I do,” he says softly. “Because if I don’t…”

He looks up at me, pupils blown wide, lips swollen, breath unsteady.

“I won’t stop.”

My heartbeat jumps.

“San,” I whisper, leaning in until my lips brush his cheek. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His breath catches - a sharp, broken sound -  and his hands tighten just a little.

San's hand lingered on my thigh, his fingers tracing slow circles that sent sparks racing up my skin. The car was parked in a shadowed overlook, the city lights twinkling far below like distant stars, only intensifying the atmosphere. 

Eventually he leans back, enough for me to see his face. His eyes look darker in the low light, but softer around the edges, warm, melted, undone in a way I’ve never seen before.

“Can I touch you?” he asks softly.

“You already are,” I whisper with a smile.

He shakes his head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from my cheek.

“No… I mean - can I really touch you?”

My breath catches.

His fingertips skim along the side of my face, then down the curve of my jaw, tracing it gently. The touch is featherlight, careful, almost worshipful.

“I want to know what you like,” he says. “I want to learn you.”

The way he says it sends warmth curling low in my stomach, not rushed, not urgent, but deeply wantful.

I nod slowly. “You can.”

He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing mine with the tenderness of a first confession. The kiss started soft, exploratory, his mouth moving against mine like he was savoring every second. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, waiting for my invitation before slipping inside, tasting me with deliberate care. I sighed into him, my hand rising to cup his jaw. His free hand cradled the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, holding me close without demand.

Minutes passed like that, kisses deepening gradually, our bodies shifting closer. His thumb stroked my cheek, a soothing gesture amid the growing heat. Our tongues danced slowly, wet and warm, building a fire that simmered rather than roared.

His hand on my thigh inched upward, not grabbing but caressing, fingertips drawing lazy patterns on my inner skin. He paused at the edge of my panties, eyes searching mine for permission. I parted my legs slightly, a silent yes, and he smiled - that soft, knowing smile that made my heart ache. Hooking his fingers gently, he eased the fabric aside, exposing me to his touch. His fingers glided over my folds, finding the slickness there, and he groaned softly, the sound vibrating through our kiss.

'You're so beautiful like this,' he whispered, dipping one finger inside me with exquisite slowness. I gasped, hips lifting instinctively to meet him. He moved it in and out languidly, letting me feel every inch, every ridge of his knuckle as it stroked my inner walls. Adding a second finger, he curled them upward, pressing that sensitive spot with gentle insistence. My juices coated him, easing the way as he built a steady rhythm - not frantic, but deep and purposeful, memorizing the way my body responded.

I reached for him, lifting his jacket over his head with trembling fingers, revealing the smooth planes of his chest. My palms flattened there, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath. He pulled the shirt off his shoulders, then helped me with mine, peeling it away to bare my breasts to the cool air. His mouth followed immediately, lips closing around one nipple with a soft suck. Tongue circled the peak lazily, teeth grazing ever so lightly, sending shivers down my spine. He lavished attention on both, alternating, while his fingers continued their slow dance inside me.

Pleasure coiled low in my belly, unhurried but intense. 'San,' I breathed, my hand in his hair, guiding him gently. He looked up, eyes dark with affection, and kissed his way back to my mouth. His thumb found my clit, circling it in feather-light strokes that made me whimper. The orgasm approached like a gentle tide, washing over me in waves. My pussy clenched around his fingers, pulsing as I came, wetness flooding his hand. He held me through it, kissing my forehead, my eyelids, murmuring, 'That's it, let go for me.'

When the tremors faded, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste me. The sight made my core flutter anew. He unbuckled his belt with calm precision, zipper descending to free his cock. It stood thick and hard, veins pulsing. He stroked himself once, base to head, but his eyes never left mine. 'I want to be inside you,' he said softly, voice thick with need.

His hands roamed my body worshipfully - tracing my collarbone, cupping my breasts, thumbs teasing nipples back to hardness. Leaning down, he kissed me deeply as his cock nudged my entrance. Inch by inch, he pushed in, stretching me open on top of him with a burn that bordered on bliss. We both moaned at the fullness, pausing when he was fully bottomed out.

He stayed still, letting me adjust, our foreheads pressed together. 'You feel perfect,' he whispered, rolling his hips in the slightest grind. Then he began to move, slow, deep thrusts that dragged his length along every sensitive inch of my pussy. Each withdrawal left me aching for more, each plunge filling me completely. His pelvis ground against my clit on every inward stroke, sparks igniting with each connection.

Our bodies moved in harmony, finding a rhythm of meeting his upward thrusts with the gravity of my hips, skin sliding slickly with emerging sweat. He braced one arm beside my head, the other hand interlacing with mine, pinning it gently to my thigh. Kisses peppered my lips, my neck, my shoulder, soft and frequent. 'I love how you take me,' he breathed, pace unchanging, deliberate. 

Time stretched, the car a cocoon. His thrusts grew fractionally deeper, but never faster, building the tension exquisitely. My second climax built gradually, walls fluttering around his cock. 'Come with me, please' I pleaded softly. He nodded, angling his hips to hit that spot inside relentlessly. Pleasure crested, my pussy spasming in rhythmic squeezes, milking him. He buried deep, groaning as his cock throbbed, hot cum spilling into me in thick pulses. We shuddered together, holding each other close.

He didn't pull out, staying nestled inside as we caught our breath. Soft kisses resumed, lazy and affectionate. 'Backseat?' he suggested after a while, voice husky. I smiled, and we disentangled carefully, clothes shed completely in the process. Crawling to the spacious rear, he folded the seats flat, creating a bed of leather. I lay back, and he joined me.

Naked now, bodies pressed skin-to-skin, he kissed a trail from my lips down my body - pausing at breasts, navel, hips. Between my thighs, he parted me gently, tongue lapping at my folds with broad, flat strokes. He savored our mixed release, humming approval. Lips wrapped my clit, sucking softly while two fingers slid inside, curling slow. I arched, hands in his hair, but he took his time, drawing out my pleasure until I came again, softly crying his name. “Ah, San, god, just like that,” I whimper, eliciting a satisfied groan with vibration. 

Rising, he positioned himself, sliding back into my cum-slick pussy with ease. This time on our sides, facing each other, legs tangled. He thrust languidly, one hand cupping my ass, the other stroking my hair. Whispers of endearments filled the air - 'So good,' 'My love,' 'Don't stop.' Our mouths met in endless kisses, tongues mirroring the slow rhythm of his hips.

He rolled us so I straddled him, guiding my hips in a gentle rock. I rode him unhurriedly, grinding down to take him fully, clit rubbing his pubic bone. His hands explored, massaging my breasts, thumbs on nipples, then down to where we joined, fingers teasing my stretched lips around his shaft. Eye contact held, love evident in every gaze. Another orgasm rippled through me, pussy clenching, and he followed, filling me more. 

He just holds me, pulling me closer for a few moments. The car is still warm. The windows are fogged, the air thick with the faint scent of his cologne and the lingering sweetness of the heater. The world outside is nothing but dark sky and distant city lights, but inside the car… it feels like we created our own weather. 

San’s breathing is the first thing I notice.

Slow. Steady. A low exhale against my hair, like every breath is him coming back into his body, and mine settling into his.

I’m curled against his chest, my legs draped across the seat now instead of his lap. One of his arms rests around my shoulders, hand rubbing small, absentminded circles along my upper arm. His fingers are warm, gentle, like he’s checking I’m real.

“You okay?” he whispers into my hair.

I nod, though the motion barely registers. “Yeah.”

He shifts just enough to see my face, brushing a thumb slowly along my cheekbone. His eyes are soft - not dark with desire like earlier, but warm and melted, a little sleepy.

“You sure?”  His voice is low, careful. “You’re not too cold? Or sore? Or… overwhelmed?”

I can hear the anxiety buried in the quiet of his words. San feels deeply, always has. And right now he feels fragile and protective all at once.

“I’m perfect,” I whisper, nuzzling closer to his chest. “You made me feel safe the whole time.”

He exhales shakily, relief melting through him so visibly it makes my chest ache. His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, fingers sliding gently through my hair.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I wanted to be gentle. I wanted you to feel cared for.”

“You did,” I say softly.

A soft smile curves his lips, small, real, tender. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head. Then another. And another. Like he can’t stop himself.

“You’re so warm,” I mumble against him, and he laughs quietly.

“You’re freezing,” he counters.

I barely realize I’m shivering until he slips one arm away and reaches behind his seat, pulling out the blanket he always keeps in the car for late-night drives.

“Come here,” he murmurs, draping it over my shoulders before tugging me back into his chest. The blanket traps the heat instantly, and I melt into him.

He tucks it snugly around me, fussing quietly, smoothing it over my arms.

I trace idle patterns on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm.

“San?”

“Mm?” His fingers stroke the back of my hand, encouraging me to continue.

“I liked… all of it.”

A breath escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. Something softer, He’s relieved.

“I did too,” he says. “More than I should’ve.”

“Why ‘should’ve’?”

He shakes his head, forehead resting against mine. “Because I’m scared of how much you matter to me.”

My chest tightens. I lift my hand and cup his cheek. His skin is warm beneath my palm, and he leans into the touch like he’s been waiting for it.

“You don’t have to be scared,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”

He closes his eyes, letting the words sink into him.

“I know,” he murmurs. “And that’s what scares me most.”

I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling myself closer. He hugs me back instantly, bodies fitting together with a kind of ease that feels years in the making.

His fingers brush slow, steady circles into my back, soothing, almost hypnotic.

“You tell me if you need water,” he says softly. “Or if you’re dizzy. Or if you wanna lie back. Or if you just wanna… breathe with me.”

A soft warmth spreads in my chest.

“You’re taking such good care of me,” I say.

He presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there. “I always will.”

I tilt my head up, brushing my nose against his. “Can I take care of you too?”

He freezes. Something flickers through his eyes - vulnerability, a quiet unraveling.

“…Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

I shift in closer, one hand coming to the side of his neck, thumb brushing the warm skin there. His breath stutters.

“You okay?” I ask, echoing his earlier tone.

He smiles softly, leaning into my touch. “More than okay.”

I rest my forehead against his. Our breath mingles, warm and quiet.

“Stay with me a little longer,” he murmurs.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

feedback is appreciated ! love you guys <3

[fiendsgf]

you're my bestfriend though ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

xavier x reader

content: fwb!xavier, jealous!xavier, dom vibes, reader and xav are kind of idiots, angry sex, soft sex, idiots in love

It had started with too much whiskey. A late night when the walls between your apartments felt thinner than usual, music and laughter slipping through until you both gave up pretending you weren’t listening to the other. One knock at your door, a bottle shared between neighbors, and suddenly you were leaning into him on the couch, laughing too loud at some story that only half made sense in the haze.

The kiss had come like a misstep — quick, clumsy, so unexpected you almost laughed it off. But then his hand slid behind your neck, and the second kiss landed hotter, hungrier, like he’d been waiting for an excuse. Clothes scattered quicker than the whiskey buzz faded, and by the time the night blurred into sheets and gasping breaths, you weren’t sure who had pulled who down first.

In the morning, Xavier didn’t say a word about it. He passed you coffee with that same cool detachment he wore to work, eyes half-lidded and unreadable, and walked out your door like nothing had happened. You took the silence for what it was — an answer. Casual. A release. Maybe even a mistake.

But it didn’t stop.

It slipped into a rhythm, quiet and unspoken, until it almost felt inevitable. Long days that ended in exhaustion, nights when liquor softened sharp edges — somehow, they always ended with you in his bed or him in yours. Sometimes it was his knock at your door, a crooked half-smile that never reached his eyes. Sometimes it was you finding his light still burning at midnight, stepping inside without needing to ask. You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t define it. You just let it happen.

And yet, sometimes, in the stillness after, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, aching in ways the sex didn’t fix. You missed the way it used to be — before that first kiss had redrawn the lines between you. Late night talks stretched across his couch until dawn, impromptu rounds of video games that ended in laughter and insults, knocking on each other’s doors just to share snacks or trade complaints about work. Back then, you never had to wonder where you stood with him. Back then, it had been easy.

Now, every time his hands closed around your waist or his mouth crushed yours, you couldn’t help but think about the morning after. About the way he’d roll out of bed, slip back into that guarded silence, and leave you with nothing more than the memory of how tightly he’d held you just hours before. It made you wonder if he was just lonely. If you were just convenient.

And worst of all was knowing you didn’t have the courage to ask. Because if you asked, he might answer. And if he answered, it might mean losing him entirely.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The office smelled faintly of burnt coffee and paper toner, that sharp tang of recycled air clinging to the late afternoon. Your computer screen glowed with endless reports, but your attention kept sliding to the man sitting at the desk beside yours — James — the new recruit.

“Hey,” he said, leaning closer so his voice carried under the low hum of conversation. “You’ve been staring at that same paragraph for five minutes. Want me to read it out loud to you?”

You snorted despite yourself, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I’m fine, thanks. Just… zoning out.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning, and the easy confidence in his tone made it clear he wasn’t discouraged. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you entertained, then.”

He wasn’t subtle. He didn’t even try to be. The little asides, the jokes tossed your way when no one else was listening, the way he made sure to ask for help with tasks you already knew he knew how to do — it was obvious he liked the excuse to hover close. And maybe, in another life, you would’ve leaned into it without hesitation. He was handsome, charming, the kind of man who wore his intentions on his sleeve.

It was… nice. Nice to feel wanted openly instead of in shadows and silence.

But every time you laughed at something he said, your chest tightened with unease. You couldn’t stop thinking about Xavier. About what it would mean if you let this thing with the new recruit turn into something more. Would it cut the thin thread you and Xavier balanced on? Could you stop the midnight knocks, the heated nights tangled in his sheets, and still expect him to look at you the same way? Would he even care?

You didn’t know. And the not knowing gnawed at you.

Across the room, Xavier shifted in his chair, the leather squeaking as he leaned back, jaw tight. You didn’t notice the way his eyes tracked every glance you shared with the recruit, every quiet laugh. To him, it was unbearable.

He had put up with a lot. Your hesitance. Your silence. The way you carried on like what you had meant nothing when the sun was up. The way you never reached for him as he made his way out. But watching you lean close to another man, seeing someone else claim the easy smiles he’d fought for in private — his patience frayed by the hour.

By the time noon rolled around, Xavier couldn’t take it anymore. He strode over, casual on the surface but every movement wired tight. He leaned against your desk, folder in hand.

“I have a coupon for that hotpot place you mentioned,” he said, tone deceptively soft. “Do you want to go together?”

Your head snapped up. Heat rose to your cheeks, but before you could answer, James perked up beside you. You glanced between them, then smiled faintly. “I actually promised James I’d take him out for lunch today. Show him around.”

The pause stretched too long. Xavier’s jaw ticked before he forced a nonchalant shrug. “I see.”

You tried to soften the sting, tilting your head. “Maybe James could come with us?”

Xavier’s eyes slid to the recruit — sharp, cutting — then back to you. “I only have two coupons,” he said flatly. “Another time, then.”

You blinked at the edge in his voice, but before you could press further he pushed off your desk and walked away, folder snapping shut in his hand.

James cleared his throat. “Was that… your partner?”

You nodded, trying not to let your expression slip. “Yeah. Don’t mind him. He’s just… intense sometimes.”

James smiled like he didn’t mind at all.

Lunch passed in an easy haze — James kept you laughing, kept pointing out little shops and cafés as if cataloging future dates. But under the warmth of his attention, something nagged. You kept thinking of Xavier’s clipped tone, the way he hadn’t looked back when he left.

By the time training rolled around, James was already at your side, easygoing as ever, matching his stride to yours as you crossed the wide practice field. The late sun threw long shadows over the dummies and sparring rings, the air buzzing faintly with other recruits already mid-drill.

“Ready?” he asked, grinning, staff balanced against his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

You matched his smile, if only faintly. “Ready.”

But when you looked up, your usual place at the far edge of the grounds wasn’t empty. Xavier was already there, stretching, blade at his side, the sun catching against the damp skin at his temple. The sight made your chest hitch, like missing a step on the stairs. This was your rhythm — your spot. Him and you. Always.

Xavier’s gaze lifted, finding you instantly. Then it slid to James, and something in his expression hardened. He pushed up from his stretch and strode over, calm on the surface but sharp underneath, like the quiet before a storm.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said, his tone even but directed squarely at James. “She’s my partner.”

James blinked, thrown off. “Oh…uh. Captain Jenna asked her to train with me until I get an assignment.”

“She did,” you cut in quickly, brushing a stray hair back, suddenly aware Xavier hadn’t heard. “She asked me this morning. I thought she’d told you already.”

For a moment, Xavier just looked at you, unreadable. Then his shoulders eased a fraction, voice soft when he finally replied, “She must have forgotten.”

James gave an awkward half-shrug, shifting his grip on the staff. “Guess we’ll, uh… get started then?”

Xavier didn’t move, lingering a heartbeat longer before his mouth curved in a faint, too-casual smile. “Sure. No worries. I’ll see you when you get home.”

James blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—you two live together?”

Your laugh was quick, maybe too quick. “No! He’s just my neighbor. Same building.”

James’s shoulders loosened, though the flicker in Xavier’s eyes said that had been the point all along.

The silence between you and Xavier sharpened. His eyes darkened, lips parting like he might argue, might finally let the weight of his frustration loose—

But before he could, Tara jogged up, bright and oblivious. “Xavier! You’re with me today.”

He turned his head slowly, expression unreadable. “What?”

“Orders,” she chirped, tossing him a practice baton. “C’mon, don’t keep me waiting.”

For a second, Xavier didn’t move. His jaw clenched, muscles straining as though every instinct in his body screamed to refuse. Then, with a curt nod, he turned back to you. His gaze lingered — dark, cutting, and almost wounded — before he forced himself to step away.

You watched him go, stomach sinking as James nudged your arm with a grin, oblivious. “Looks like it’s just us, then.”

And just like that, the thin thread you and Xavier balanced on frayed further.

Xavier walked off stiffly, Tara jogging to keep pace beside him, but his eyes didn’t leave you. Even as you and James took up position on the far side of the training grounds, he tracked every movement, every exchange.

You adjusted James’s stance with a light touch at his elbow, guiding his arm until his aim straightened. The sight of your hand lingering on another man’s skin made Xavier’s chest seize. Then you stepped behind James, voice low as you demonstrated the motion yourself — your body aligning with his, movements seamless, easy in a way that should have been reserved for him.

It made him sick.

You were supposed to be by his side. Training with him. Trusting him to guard your blind spots, to fight shoulder to shoulder until there was no question where you belonged. Did James even know how to protect you? Would he know what to do if an S-class wanderer bore down on you, if the world cracked open under your feet? Xavier knew the answer — no. James was raw, green, too eager for his own good. He wasn’t ready. And yet there you were, laughing at some joke in between shots, your smile wide and easy.

Xavier’s knuckles whitened around the practice baton Tara had given him.

“You’re sooo jealous,” Tara drawled, snapping him out of his spiral.

His head whipped toward her, eyes flashing. “I’m not jealous. I’m concerned.”

Tara arched a brow, lips curling into a sly smile. “Uh-huh. Concerned. Sure. That’s what we’re calling it now.”

He glared at her, but she only laughed, twirling her own baton like she was playing a game.

“Xavier,” she said lightly, “maybe she’d notice how much you like her if you actually said something. You know, instead of acting like you don’t care in front of everyone else and then brooding like this when she so much as breathes near another guy.”

His chest tightened, but he kept his voice flat. “She doesn’t see me that way.”

“Please.” Tara’s laugh was sharp and knowing. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not watching. You two are impossible.” She sighed, rolling her eyes as though the weight of both your stubbornness sat on her shoulders. “What am I going to do with you?”

Xavier didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His gaze had already drifted back across the training field.

You corrected James’s grip again, stepping close, your voice carrying faintly with another laugh. James turned toward you with that grin he wore too easily, too openly, and Xavier’s chest burned.

The pressure inside him needed somewhere to go. He summoned the light blade with a flick, its energy flaring sharp in his grip. The nearest training dummy fell to pieces in two strikes, the air hissing with each cut. Then another. And another. His movements grew harsher, faster, until the crash of splintering dummies echoed across the grounds.

It didn’t help.

Because no matter how cleanly he carved through the targets, no matter how sharp his blade, it couldn’t slice through the sound of your laughter drifting from across the field. It followed him, relentless, every note cutting deeper.

By the time training ended, his jaw ached from clenching. He hadn’t spoken another word, not to Tara, not to anyone. He only stalked back to the lockers, peeled off his gloves, and left before he had to see you and James walk out together.

The sky outside had gone dusky purple by the time you finished up, the office windows glowing with the last scraps of daylight. You were too focused on wrapping up for the evening to notice him watching from across the room, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.

Your phone buzzed against the desk.

You glanced down.

xavi: Come to my place after work.

No explanation. No teasing. Just the clipped demand of a man who couldn’t stand another second of restraint.

James leaned over, catching the flicker of tension in your face as you typed a quick reply. “Good news?” he asked lightly.

“Something like that,” you said, locking your screen before he could read too much in your expression.

But the truth pressed sharp against your ribs as you gathered your things. You couldn’t keep pretending this fragile thing between you and Xavier could last forever — not when someone else was looking at you with clear intentions, not when your own heart was caught somewhere in between.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by the flicker of a bulb overhead. You’d barely lifted your hand to knock when the door swung open.

Xavier stood there, dark eyes burning like he’d been pacing behind the door, waiting for you. Before you could even draw breath, his hand closed around your wrist and he hauled you inside. The door slammed shut with a sharp crack, and then his mouth was on yours — hot, urgent, devouring.

You staggered back against the wall, your protest swallowed in the force of his kiss. It was rough, frantic, all teeth and tongue, like he’d been starving for you all day and finally snapped. His palms framed your face, thumbs pressing into your cheeks before sliding down to grip your waist as though he could hold you there forever.

“I needed you,” he muttered against your mouth, voice gravelly, words punctuated with another searing kiss. “All day—fuck—I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Your back hit the wall harder when he pressed closer, one knee forcing between your thighs. His hand caught yours, dragging it down, pressing your palm to the thick strain in his jeans. The heat there, the hard throb beneath denim, made your head spin. His breath hitched sharply, forehead falling against yours.

“Feel that?” His voice was hoarse, almost a growl. “Ah—feel what you do to me, star?”

Heat surged through your veins, but panic cut through just as quickly. You twisted slightly, breaking his mouth from yours long enough to gasp for air.

“Xavier—” His name tore out of you, uneven, desperate for space. You turned your face away, chest heaving. “Maybe we shouldn’t… do this anymore.”

The shift was instant. His expression darkened, hunger sharpening into something colder, angrier. His jaw flexed, the muscle jumping as his eyes narrowed in on you.

“Do you like him?” The question landed like a slap.

Your lips parted, stunned. “What? Who—”

“The new recruit,” Xavier bit out, low and sharp. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours, presence heavy enough to crush the air from your lungs.

“James?” The name slipped from you before you could stop it.

The shift in him was instant. His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing darker, and his fingers dug harder into your waist. “Don’t say his name,” he hissed, the words trembling with anger.

You froze, heart hammering. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” His mouth twisted in a humorless curve, a shadow of a smile that wasn’t one at all. He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Didn’t mean it? You’re pulling away from me the second he shows up, and you think I’m too blind to notice?”

“I’m not…” you tried, but his hand slid up your side, rough and certain, cutting your words short as the heat of his palm burned through the fabric of your shirt.

He crowded you against the wall, lips grazing your jaw, then lower, the scrape of his teeth making your breath hitch. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmured, and though his voice was quiet, the weight of it pinned you harder than his body did.

Your thoughts scattered, tangled between confusion, panic, and the undeniable pull of him. “Xavier, this isn’t about—”

“One last time,” he interrupted, his mouth brushing your throat. The scrape of stubble and the hot press of his lips sent your knees weak. “Give me one more night.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast, words catching in your throat. “I—”

“You can tell me to let you go in the morning,” he cut in again, voice raw, almost pleading beneath the steel. His hands clamped tighter on your hips, dragging you flush against him so you could feel the hard line of his arousal. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his next words cracked open, something darker than just desire bleeding through. “Just be mine for the night.”

His eyes softened, but only barely — a flash of something raw behind the anger, the kind of desperation that made his next words rougher than they should’ve been. He leaned in until his lips brushed the hollow of your throat, his tongue tracing up the line of your neck.

“You want it too, don’t you, starlight?” he murmured, kissing and licking at your skin like he was trying to brand you there. His voice cracked, a low plea threaded through the demand. “Your body is so warm… I can feel how much you need me.”

His thigh pressed harder between yours, and without meaning to, your hips rolled against it. The friction made you gasp, the moan slipping out before you could stop it. His grip tightened on your waist, satisfaction flashing in his eyes as he felt you grind against him.

Breathless, you whispered, “One more time.”

A wicked smile tugged at his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

The kiss that followed was hot and devouring, teeth catching your bottom lip before his tongue pushed past. He caught you under your thighs and lifted you with startling ease, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist. The heat of him pressed hard against your core as he carried you through the apartment, his mouth never leaving yours.

By the time your back hit his bed, you were already dizzy from the taste of him, from the sheer force of his body caging you in. He didn’t give you a chance to settle before pinning your wrists above your head, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His gaze locked on yours, fierce, unyielding.

“Tell me again,” he demanded, voice low, ragged. His hips ground down, the solid line of his arousal dragging against you in a way that stole your breath.

“Xavier,” you gasped, arching into him. Your wrists strained against his hold as your hips lifted, desperate for more. “I want it.”

His stare pinned you where you lay, wrists still caught in his grip until, finally, he let go. He stepped back, the heat of his body leaving yours, but his presence filled the room like a storm about to break.

“Strip.”

The command landed heavy in the air. 

You sat up slowly, heart hammering, your body still tingling from the way he’d pinned you down. For a moment you hesitated, almost shy under the weight of his gaze — then something inside you shifted. If he wanted a show, you’d give him one.

He loomed beside the bed, tall and imposing, his arms tense at his sides until one hand dragged up to the bulge in his jeans. His palm pressed hard, a hiss escaping through his teeth as his eyes stayed locked on you.

Your fingers moved to the buttons of your shirt. One by one, you slipped them free, deliberately slow, the small pop of each fastening loud in the quiet room. You parted the fabric just enough to let his eyes glimpse bare skin beneath, then dragged it wider, letting the shirt fall open.

Xavier’s breath came heavier. He cupped himself harder, thumb rubbing along the thick line straining his jeans. “Fuck…” he muttered, almost to himself, voice low and jagged.

You slid the shirt from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms to the floor. Then your hands went to the clasp of your bra. You toyed with it, rolling the hooks between your fingers, before finally easing it open. The straps fell loose, and you let the bra slide down, baring yourself to him fully.

His jaw flexed, curses tumbling under his breath. He tugged roughly at the swell in his jeans, the sound of fabric straining as he shifted his palm over the outline of his cock. His eyes were glassy, furious, hungry all at once.

You rose from the bed, standing tall under his scrutiny. Your thumbs hooked into the waistband of your pants, easing them down your hips inch by inch. You turned as you did it, giving him your back, then glanced over your shoulder with a sly smile as the fabric slid lower. The sight of your bare skin revealed at that slow, deliberate pace made him groan, his head tipping back for a second like he was fighting for control.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, squeezing himself hard through denim, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Such a tease,”

The pants pooled at your ankles, and you stepped out of them carefully, dragging the tease to its limit. When you finally turned back to face him, you weren’t bare — your panties still clung low on your hips, soft fabric an intentional barrier. His gaze locked there, dark and searing, like he wanted to tear them off with his teeth.

His knuckles were white against his jeans, his other hand curling into a fist at his side. Every muttered curse that fell from his lips made the air between you thicker, the tension stretched taut enough to snap.

And still, he didn’t move. He only stood there, palming himself, eyes devouring you like he needed to memorize every second before he lost the last thread of restraint.

The mattress dipped as you shifted back onto it, propping yourself against your palms, knees parting just enough to leave a space between them. The hem of your panties tugged at your thighs when you spread, your body relaxed but your eyes locked on his.

“I thought I told you to strip,” Xavier said, voice low, clipped — like you’d broken a rule he hadn’t even explained.

A slow tilt of your head, lips curving faintly. “I just did.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then a sharp laugh — empty, humorless, rough. He moved in on you like a storm breaking, knees hitting the edge of the bed as he leaned down between your legs. His hand slid over the inside of your thigh, rough fingertips dragging until his thumb found the thin barrier of your panties. The slow drag of it over your folds was casual, testing, until he pressed harder — pausing at the wet heat that had already bled through the fabric.

The look he gave you then could’ve burned. His brows drew together, jaw tight, almost seething as though you’d betrayed him. “Is this really for me?”

The corners of your mouth twitched upward — you almost laughed, though his tone suggested he wasn’t joking. Your hand came up anyway, cupping his cheek with a softness that clashed with the storm in his eyes. “Xavier,” you murmured, thumb brushing his skin, “are you pretending to be mad?”

His eyes sharpened, gaze cutting through you. “I’ve only pretended not to be.”

Before you could breathe out a response, he buried himself against you. His face pressed into your thighs, mouth dragging over the soaked fabric, tongue pushing against the damp spot until heat flared sharp through your nerves. You arched back with a gasp, your spine curving into the mattress as he worked through the barrier, lips and tongue and breath all hot and messy against you.

The friction was maddening — just enough to make your hips writhe, not nearly enough to break you open. Your fingers dug into the sheets, knuckles whitening, until frustration curled into your voice. “Xavier—stop teasing.”

He pulled back barely enough to speak, his mouth still hovering over you, breath humid against the wet fabric. “Beg for me.”

There was no give in him tonight, no chance of slipping around his demands. His eyes had that flat, dangerous sheen that told you he wouldn’t be coaxed with anything less.

So you did — your voice breaking on his name, soft and shameless as you gave him what he wanted.

The sound of it must have satisfied him, because he hooked a finger under the edge of your panties and tugged them aside, baring the slick heat he’d been tormenting. Then his mouth was on you again — nothing measured, nothing slow. His tongue worked greedily, sloppily, like he meant to consume you whole. Each drag was rougher than the last, lips and tongue and teeth slipping through slickness, sucking until your thighs trembled around his head.

The rhythm of it was relentless, no space for breath, no tenderness to cling to — just heat and hunger and the sound of him devouring you. Your body seized against the bed, legs twitching, fingers twisting in the sheets as every nerve lit up under his mouth.

And still, he didn’t slow. He didn’t want slow. Not tonight.

The pace of his mouth grew frantic, sloppy, almost savage against you — tongue dragging, lips sucking, nose brushing the tenderest parts of your skin until sparks flared white-hot behind your eyes. Your thighs snapped around his head as your orgasm tore through you, muscles clenching so tight you could feel the tremble in your calves. A strangled cry left your throat, your whole body bowing up from the bed before crashing back down, chest heaving, nails clawing at the sheets.

Still, Xavier didn’t stop. He pushed deeper, tongue working messily as if he meant to wring every last shudder out of you. The overstimulation came sharp, searing — your hips jolted against his mouth in helpless, broken thrusts. “X–Xavier, please—” you whined, voice cracking as you tugged at his hair, pulling him up. “Too much… sensitive—”

Finally, he relented, lifting his head with his mouth slick, eyes red-rimmed and dark. He stripped quick, movements clipped and impatient, tossing clothes aside as if they offended him. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was crawling over you, heat and weight pressing down, the mattress sinking under the span of his body.

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing damp hair from your face, though your lips curved into a tease. “What happened to my bunny?” Your tone was light, playful, but there was a tremor beneath it. “You’re being so mean tonight.”

He didn’t crack. His face stayed hard, lines carved deep in his jaw as his mouth closed over your chest. Teeth grazed, tongue laved, lips pulling your nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. The sharp suck made your breath stutter, your back arch.

“I’m being mean?” he murmured around you, voice edged and bitter, vibrating against your skin. His teeth grazed again before he pulled back, a flush marking your chest where his mouth had been. “You’re the one who was smiling, laughing, with some other guy in front of me all day.”

The anger in his tone made your stomach twist — not fear, but something headier, darker. He shifted lower, and suddenly the blunt head of his cock was pressing at your folds, sliding through the slick mess he’d made of you. Just enough to tease, to smear himself in your wetness, not enough to push in. The contrast was unbearable: the stretch almost there, the intrusion denied.

“And now,” he went on, voice rough, as the head dragged up and down your entrance, catching on your clit in maddening passes, “you say you don’t want to do this anymore.” His gaze locked on yours, unwavering, his jaw tight as he rutted just shy of entering. “That’s all it took? One guy gives you a little bit of attention and now you want to get rid of me.”

Your lips parted, his name spilling out in a breath meant to soothe, meant to explain: “Xav—”

But it was cut off in an instant, strangled into a moan as he pushed forward. The head breached you, then the thick, stretching length of him slid in slow, heavy, unstoppable. The drag was exquisite and punishing, your walls straining around every inch as he seated himself deep, filling you so completely your eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck—” Xavier hissed through his teeth, the curse hot against your neck. His hips slammed forward, rough and sloppy, like he couldn’t control himself anymore. Every thrust was mean, desperate, dragging a moan out of you whether you wanted to give it or not.

“I don’t get it,” he rasped, jaw clenched as he drove into you harder. “What could he give you that I can’t? What’s so fucking special about him?”

You tried to catch your breath, to explain, to soothe, but the words fell apart the second he snapped his hips sharp and deep. Your voice cracked into a moan, eyes rolling back, nails sinking into his shoulders.

“Xavier—!”

He dropped lower, forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged, voice breaking between thrusts. “Tomorrow, when you’re looking at him,” his pace faltered, stuttered, “laughing with him,” another harsh thrust, your cry cutting through the air, “you’ll still feel me. I won’t let you forget me.”

Your chest heaved. Heat spiraled low in your belly, curling tighter with every punishing roll of his hips. “W-why are you so jealous?”

His rhythm staggered. For just a second, his eyes flicked open, wide, confused, before anger burned through again. He snapped his hips forward so hard the headboard rattled, and you cried out.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice cracked, raw. His hand slid up your ribs, pinning your wrists harder against the sheets. “Why do I have to be your little secret? Why do I stay in the shadows while he gets your attention out in the open?”

Another sharp thrust. Your body arched, strangled moan spilling past your lips.

“Do you think this—” he shoved deep, gritting his teeth as his cock twitched inside you, “—is all I’m good for?”

Your walls clenched hard around him, wet and needy, each rough snap of his hips forcing another whimper from your throat. His breath was ragged, face twisted in something darker than lust — anger, jealousy, desperation — yet the way his cock dragged against your walls had you trembling on the edge anyway.

Your voice fractured around a moan, desperate to cut through the haze. “N-no, that’s not it—Xavier, it’s just—”

His pace faltered only to sharpen, each thrust slow and brutal. His mouth brushed your ear, voice low, dark. “Just what?” His teeth grazed your skin. “Because all I see is you spreading your legs and acting like this is the only place I exist. You only remember me when I’m buried inside you.”

A whimper tore out of you, back arching against the sheets. “That’s not…ah—Xavier, please—!”

“Please what?” His jaw was tight, his forehead pressing into yours as he grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes open when your head tipped back in surrender. His gaze burned, red-hot and unflinching. “Look at me when I fuck you.”

The command sent another shudder through you, your walls fluttering around him. He held your wrists pinned above your head, grinding deep until your breath hitched, until you couldn’t think. His free hand slid down your trembling stomach, finding your clit with a cruel kind of precision.

Your cry was sharp, broken. “Xavier—fuck!”

He circled you harder, rolling his hips against yours, the drag of his cock syncing with the relentless press of his thumb. His voice stayed calm, deadly soft even as you writhed beneath him. “Tell me. Could anyone else make you cum like this? Hm?”

You shook your head, words spilling ragged between moans. “N-no, no one—fuck—Xavier, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” His lips ghosted yours, voice a low hiss. “You can take it, star. Cum on my cock, show me how good it feels,”

That final command tore you apart. Your body bowed against him, thighs trembling, walls seizing tight around his length as your orgasm crashed through you. You cried out, clenching hard, your slick dripping down his cock as he kept working your clit through it, dragging every last wave out of you until you were shuddering and breathless.

The way you clenched broke his composure. Xavier snarled under his breath, pulled out with a rough stroke of his hand, and came hot across your stomach. His head dropped, chest heaving, his release splattering your skin as his cock twitched in his grip.

For a moment he stayed like that — hovering over you, forehead still pressed to yours, breaths uneven, his dark eyes locked on you like he was daring you to look away.

The tremors in your body hadn’t yet stilled when your hand lifted, almost without thought, to cup his cheek. His skin was hot, damp from exertion, and beneath it his jaw flexed tight — anger and restraint wound together. For one breath he hesitated, but then he leaned into your palm, lashes lowering as if your touch was the only anchor he had left. The air between you thickened, and when you tugged him down the kiss came desperate, messy, all teeth and tongue and the taste of something too sharp to name. His hand, still wrapped around your wrist, loosened at last, letting you clutch at him like you’d fall without the hold.

Your chest was still heaving, the air hot and heavy between you when the kiss finally broke. His lips hovered, parted like he meant to say something but the words caught in his throat. His eyes searched yours — dark, fevered, desperate — and you realized he looked just as undone as you felt.

His body still hovered over yours, chest dragging against yours with every ragged breath, but when his lips didn’t find yours again, you realized he was trembling. A beat later, he collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His damp hair clung to your skin, sticky with sweat, and his breath scorched a path across your collarbone.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he rasped. The words were muffled, but you felt them more than you heard them, vibrating against your pulse. His voice cracked like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, like it slipped past a wall he’d been holding up for too long.

“Xavier…” Your hand moved without thinking, sliding into his hair, still damp from exertion. You combed your fingers through the strands, gentle, grounding, while your chest heaved beneath his weight. The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I wanted to end this because…” Your throat tightened. You swallowed, the words breaking uneven. “Because I thought it’s all you wanted from me.”

He stilled. Completely. Then he lifted his head just enough to look at you, his face still so close you could feel the ghost of his breath on your lips. His eyes were raw, open in a way you’d never seen before — dark but vulnerable, glinting like something fractured inside him.

“Why,” he said hoarsely, disbelief roughening the edges of his tone, “would you ever think that?”

Your breath caught. You couldn’t look at him, not directly, so your gaze slid aside, landing on the line of his shoulder, slick with sweat. “Because… outside of this you just treat me as a friend,” you admitted. The truth burned, humiliating to say out loud. “So I assumed you didn’t want me. Not… like that.”

For a moment, he just stared. His eyes widened, his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe. And then the look on his face shattered something in you. He looked—devastated.

“Fuck,” he whispered. His voice broke, low and guttural, like it hurt him to force the word out. “I’m sorry. I…, star, I’m sorry.”

Your heart twisted as his forehead pressed to yours again, almost desperate, his hands bracing on either side of you like he needed to cage himself close or he’d lose you.

“I thought this was all you wanted,” he confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush. “When it started, I thought… you regretted it. That you’d shut me out completely if I pushed for more. So I stayed quiet, I stayed careful. I thought I was doing the only thing that kept me from losing you.” His voice cracked, the faintest tremor running through it. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, tender in a way that undid you more than the roughness had. “I wanted more. I’ve always wanted more. But I would’ve let you use me forever if it meant I could have you, even if it was just like this.”

Your breath caught sharp. The confession knocked the air from your chest, left you staring at him wide-eyed and speechless. His face, open and raw, cut through every assumption you’d built between you.

For a moment, the silence stretched thick, pulsing between you with everything unsaid. Then, because you didn’t know how else to keep from breaking apart completely, you flicked his forehead with your finger.

“Idiot…you should’ve said something,” you whispered, voice trembling despite the tiny gesture.

“Ow.” He actually winced, catching your wrist before you could pull your hand back. His lips ghosted against the inside of your palm, kissing it softly, lingering there. “Yeah,” he admitted against your skin. “I should’ve.”

He kissed lower, tracing the ridge of your wrist, the pulse that leapt there. The scrape of his teeth made you shiver. His mouth followed a trail up your arm, slow and reverent, before finding your throat.

“Instead of telling you…” His voice was a low murmur against your skin, words half lost in the press of his lips. “…why don’t I show you how I really feel?”

His mouth moved higher, leaving tender, wet kisses along the line of your jaw, brushing at the corners of your lips until he finally claimed them. This kiss was nothing like the ones before — no anger, no frenzy, just raw, aching sweetness. He lingered there, slow and consuming, like he meant to pour every unsaid word into your mouth until you understood.

The kiss broke only because he shifted, bracing himself above you. His gaze searched yours once, as if for permission, before he guided himself back in with an agonizing slowness.

You gasped the moment he pressed deep, body arching instinctively against his. The stretch of him, the heat, the drag — it stole your breath, sent pleasure sparking up your spine before he even started moving.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he whispered, forehead brushing yours, his breath hot and shaky. “God, you feel so good.”

His hips rolled forward, slow, deliberate, his pelvis nudging against your clit each time he ground into you. The friction had your legs trembling, already coiling with tension. He set the rhythm like he meant to savor you, savor this, dragging it out until every tiny grind had you shivering.

Your hands slid up his back, clutching at his shoulders, your voice catching in a moan when he pushed just right.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Every time we do this, I imagine you asking me to stay,” he murmured, the words spilling soft and unguarded. “Making me yours.”

You whimpered, tilting your head as his mouth trailed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, worshipful and unhurried. His hands were everywhere — sliding over your hips, smoothing your thigh up higher around his waist, pressing firmly into your ribs like he needed every part of you beneath his palms.

“I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he whispered against your throat, pausing to kiss the hollow there. “I want so much more than this.” He shifted, catching your mouth again in a kiss that tasted of raw longing. His voice broke against your lips as he asked, “Do you want that too, star?”

“Yes, Xavier—ngh—yes,” you gasped, the answer torn from you on a moan when he ground especially deep, his pelvis circling against your clit.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice roughened but tender. “You’re so beautiful like this, falling apart for me.” His thumb found your jaw, tilting your head so he could kiss the corner of your mouth, then lower, nipping at your throat in reverence.

The pleasure coiled hotter, tighter, until you couldn’t stop the choked moans spilling out, your body trembling beneath his as he moved with steady, unrelenting sweetness. He whispered through it all — how good you felt, how much he wanted you, how badly he needed you to know you were his.

When it broke, it was sharp and shattering, pleasure ripping through you so hard you cried out his name, clutching at him. He groaned deep in his chest, the sound raw, and drove in deep as your walls fluttered around him. The feeling pulled him under with you, his release spilling hot inside as he held himself flush, forehead pressed to yours.

He stayed there, breathing hard, kissing you softly between every word. “My star,” he murmured, voice shaking with more than just exertion. “You’re mine.”

The air between you hung heavy with warmth, both of you slick with sweat and still trembling faintly from the release. Xavier didn’t pull away, not yet. He stayed buried inside you, chest pressed to yours, arms tightening like he thought you might slip away if he let go. His lips found your hairline, a slow, lazy kiss.

“Stay here tonight,” he mumbled, voice low and rough with exhaustion.

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing the sharp edge of his shoulder, the slope of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me something, then,” he said, his tone soft, almost boyish in its unguardedness. His lashes were already half-lowered, his breath warm against your temple. “Hotpot tomorrow. Just you and me.”

You couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out, light against the hush of the room. “Hotpot? That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“Yes,” he muttered, eyes closing, his mouth brushing your hair with the word. “Promise.”

“Fine,” you teased, combing your fingers gently through his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. The pleased little sound he made had your heart stuttering. “I promise. Hotpot tomorrow.”

He shifted, hugging you tighter, nose brushing the hollow of your throat. “And promise me you’ll train with me tomorrow.” A pause. “And the day after that. And every other day.”

You laughed again, soft and breathless, scratching your nails lightly at the back of his head until he practically melted against you. “Okay. I promise.”

A quiet sigh shuddered out of him, pure contentment. He nestled closer, his lips ghosting against your throat like he couldn’t help kissing you again. “Walk home with me tomorrow, too.”

You grinned, tilting your head back enough to look at him. “You’re being so greedy, Xavier.”

His eyes opened just enough to meet yours, drowsy and heavy-lidded but shining with something raw. “You almost broke my heart today,” he said softly, the words clumsy but real. “Can’t I be a little greedy?”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a tender smile, cupping his jaw. “Just a little.”

He caught your mouth in one last kiss — slow, lingering, the kind that made time feel like it stopped for both of you. When it broke, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in.

Wrapped up together, his arms locked around you and his words finally stilled, you felt him drift first. Sleep tugged at you too, and the last thing you knew before dozing off was the weight of him warm against you, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The morning light poured pale and golden through the blinds, casting stripes across the rumpled sheets. You stirred awake to the sound of movement — the quiet shuffle of clothes, the clink of a belt buckle. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you found Xavier leaning over the dresser, tugging on his jacket, his hair damp from a quick shower.

For a second, you just watched. Watched the line of his shoulders, the way the fabric stretched across his back, the casual efficiency in every motion. It struck you then how… natural this felt. How easy it had been to wake up tangled in his warmth, to move around each other without words as you both got ready. Something almost domestic, like slipping into a rhythm you didn’t know you’d been craving until it was there.

“You’re blushing,” he murmured without turning, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

You rolled your eyes, throwing the pillow at him. He caught it one-handed, tossed it back onto the bed, then leaned down to steal a quick kiss before lacing his boots.

By the time you both stepped into the association building, his hand found yours without hesitation. Warm. Solid. The small contact grounded you in a way you weren’t prepared for, and you didn’t pull away.

Your eyes flicked automatically to your section of desks — expecting to see James hunched over paperwork, flashing that usual easy grin. But his chair was empty. Your brows knit. “Weird. Where’s James?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened just slightly at the name, but when he spoke, his tone was soft, almost too casual. “He was reassigned.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Reassigned? Since when?”

“Since this morning,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, tugging you gently toward your desk. “I made a call to Captain Jenna. I thought he’d work well with someone on the Chansia team.”

You stopped mid-step, smacking his arm with your free hand. “You’re ridiculous!”

He only smirked, clearly unbothered by your scolding.

From her desk, Tara propped her chin on her hand, watching the exchange with no small amount of exasperation. “Finally,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes like she’d been waiting forever for this exact scene.

a/n: this took forever omg😭 i'm still figuring out how to write xavier so i kept getting stuck + life is so busy. but im so excited to finally have a standalone fic for him

enjoy pookies <3

[mwphisto]

Sylus wasn’t sure how he had survived this long. 

He practiced restraint on the daily, thinking he could hone his self-control into an impenetrable fortress. That was, of course, until you stumbled back into his life. Now? Now he could barely resist the puppy dog eyes you’d flash him when he was reluctant to give in to one of your endless desires. 

“Sylus! So deep! Fuck!” Your fingers curled into the silk sheets of his bed, your other hand yanking at the hair close to the nape of his neck. 

He’s never fucked you with protection. Never even dared to purchase a condom – though he would have in a heartbeat if you asked him too. 

But you hadn’t, never once had the requests slipped past those lips. The only time you had ever said the god forsaken word was during a little argument where you threatened to revoke his “raw-sex privileges” – he had to swallow a laugh. 

That, however, was not the reason for his predicament right now. Yes, he has pounded you into every surface imaginable without a condom. But he had pulled out before cumming. Every. Single. Time. Never once filling you. 

It drove you utterly insane, so annoyed that tears nearly formed after each session. “Sylus, come inside this time, please!” You moaned, just as you always did, clamping down on him as if you could physically keep him from pulling out. 

“S-sweetie.” A taut warning, his hips pushing in fully to grind against your swollen clit. “D-don’t sweetie me! Cum inside me, Sy. Please! I’wanna feel your cum fill my pussy.” You lost all shame months ago, uttering such filthy requests that Sylus’ face would turn burning hot at the sound of them. Atta girl…

“Such a dirty mouth, I gotta do something about that, hmm?” He stilled all together, keeping himself flush to your cunt, cock twitching inside your fluttering walls. “Sylus, I swear to whoever is listening, I will never let you fuck me raw again if you don’t cum in me…” You seethed, nails digging at his neck as you tried to still your hips. 

“Am I not good enough for your cum?” You added a little weaker than your first threat, and Sylus felt his heart ache. “No, sweetie, it’s not that at all. Don’t you dare ever think that…” Any ounce of teasing he had left in him vanished, sweeping down to kiss your sweaty forehead before sighing.

“I just don’t want to get you pregnant if you’re not ready. You just started your hunter career and I’d feel terrible if you had to postpone your progress because I put a baby in you.” He murmured it as if it was the obvious answer, and you found yourself feeling shocked before a small laugh bubbled out of your chest. 

“Sy… you can’t be serious.” He pulls back, eyebrow raised as you giggle softly. “What…?” he finds himself smiling, your genuine giggles are infectious. “You’re not going to get me pregnant off of one load…” You reason with him, fingers brushing along his sweaty neck. “Oh? Is that a challenge?” 

Your smile falters, eyes widening a fraction as you gasp. “I-I mean it can be, if you want it to be… I wouldn't mind if you made me a mommy…” And, well, you’d finally get the unlimited cream-pies you'd been dreaming of. Instead of responding, you felt Sylus twitch violently inside of you. It was as if you could visibly see the strings of his self control snapping one by one. “Sweetie… tell me you mean it.” 

“Huh? Of course I mean it, Sy. I love you.” And he twitched again, eyes screwing shut as his head fell forward, forehead nearly pressing to your own. “Again.” Gruff, through gritted teeth. “I love you, Sylus.” You grin as his hips begin grinding again, rubbing against your clit and creating delicious friction. 

“Again.” Oh you had him wrapped around your finger, your head tilts as you press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Sylus. So much. I love you.” You mumble, fingers now running through his sweaty hair as shallow thrusts make your head spin. “I want you to cum in me, fill me up so you’re always inside of me. Yeah? Wouldn't you like that? Me carrying a piece of you with me all the time…” 

His thrusts grow sloppy, needy, and you find yourself struggling to think. 

“Y-Y’know I read somewhere that when a-a man gets a woman pregnant, his DNA not only mixes with hers to-to make the baby but..” You groan as he hits that sweet spot, barely clinging to sanity as you try to drive him over the edge. 

“...But that his DNA alters hers as well, forever intertwined…” And you squeak out of shock when he moans, face burying in your neck as white hot cum fills your womb. 

“My silly dragon.” You gasp, grinding up into him as he twitches the rest of his load into you. “So possessive, that’s all it took to convince you?” And you can feel his lips curling into a grin against your neck, a rumble of laughter leaving him as his cock never goes soft.

“Let’s see how silly I am when you can’t walk.” You couldn’t complain, not when you felt warm all over because of him. 

Oct.7th Sylus & Cumming Inside - Masterlist

[bibbysstuff]

EMERGENCY

[bibbysstuff]

[eclecticpillarskull-deactivated]

Sylus Gomez Addams

[himbo-kuto]

late night giggles with sylus

"come on, guess!" you laid looking at sylus' back. you both were laying in bed, unwinding before sleep got a hold of you and right now you had a case of the sillies. you giggled as you wrote out his name over his shoulder blades which made him shiver in the process.

he looked over his shoulder with a raised brow and an amused smile. "digging your claws into my back are we, kitten?"

"guess what i'm writing!" you smiled over to him and he could only chuckle at your antics. he shifted so he was laying on his stomach which gave you more real estate to his back. you snickered mischievously as you only scooted closer to him, firmly pressing yourself to his side.

you slowly scribbled his name once more. "mm.. is that my name?"

"correct!" you leaned down and gave him a few kisses a his prize.

"well if kisses are the prize, you better keep writing."

it continued on like this for ten minutes. you thinking of words, spelling them out on sylus' back, and him receiving a shower of kisses for his hard work. but of course, being in your presence, with your light scratches and the feeling of your lips on his back, it was only natural that he would succumb to sleep.

with your cheek resting on his shoulder blade, you blinked slowly as you lazily wrote out the words "I LOVE YOU". but all you were met with was the rise and fall of his chest. a fatigued giggle left your lips, as you reached up to caress his head before giving him a goodnight kiss.

"good night, my love."

it wasn't long after you fell asleep that you had turned onto your side. sylus immediately felt the lack of your warmth, reaching in between to see where you were. he let out a soft grunt as he flipped onto his side. but just as he was about to pull you into his chest, he took in the expanse of your back, the red hue of the moon painting out your silhouette.

he reached out and on your back he spelled out the words "I LOVE YOU" before reinstating the warmth between you. you smiled in your sleep, nuzzling his palm against your cheek. he intertwined his legs with yours before nuzzling his face into your hair and taking long inhale.

"good night, beloved."

heheheh just a lil sylus fluff for a ruff monday :p

[fiendsgf]

three words, eight letters. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

synopsis: their reactions to hearing 'i love you' for the first time. ♡

content: fluff, angst if u squint really hard

zayne. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

The night was hushed, painted in silvers and blues. Moonlight glazed over the lake below, fractured by the soft rippling of water and the sway of reeds that leaned toward the shore. Your boots clicked lightly against the concrete of the bridge, each step softened by the steady rhythm of Zayne’s beside you. The air was crisp, biting faintly at your cheeks, and you drew in a slow breath, watching it cloud white before you.

It should have been an ordinary walk home. Yet your heartbeat was anything but ordinary in this moment.

Zayne walked as he always did — posture straight, purposeful, as though even a stroll required discipline. His dark coat brushed against your sleeve every so often when the wind nudged you closer, and each accidental touch set little flares loose in your chest. You let your eyes linger on him, stealing the kind of glance you’d never allow yourself if he looked your way. 

The sharp line of his jaw, the sweep of his hair — it was all achingly familiar and startlingly new, the boy you once adored had grown into a man who seemingly carried the weight of the world with him.

You remembered being younger, pestering Gran for any scrap of news after Zayne moved away. Always asking — was he eating well, was he still reading as much as he used to, was he happy? The ache of his absence had never dulled; it had simply nestled deep inside, an ember that flared whenever you thought of him. 

When fate had led you back to him — not as the boy you trailed after with wide-eyed admiration, but as the doctor who became yours to trust again — it had felt like being handed a second chance you hadn’t dared to hope for.

Your heart tugged warmly at the memories that followed. The rare spark in his eyes when he tasted a dessert he pretended not to care for. The sharp, scolding edge of his voice when patching you up after some scrape, his hands steady even when his words betrayed worry. The silence he offered you, never empty, but full — a place where your heart could rest without performance. All of it made your chest flutter the same way it had back then, only deeper now, sharper. You knew with startling certainty that you loved him.

You were so lost in that realization that you almost didn’t notice him looking down at you.

“Are you cold?” His voice was low, almost blending with the rustle of water beneath the bridge.

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, and shook your head. “No, I’m fine.”

Zayne’s eyes narrowed faintly — not unkind, but assessing. He hummed, as if weighing your answer against the slight tremor of your shoulders. “I think you’re lying.”

Before you could protest, he shifted closer, his large hand finding yours with ease. He didn’t lace your fingers immediately; instead, he slid both of your hands into the warmth of his coat pocket, enclosing them there in one deliberate motion. His palm settled over your knuckles, steady and firm, and the heat of his skin sank into yours until the chill of the night was gone.

Your breath caught, your chest tightening.

The world seemed to shrink to the span of that pocket, the way his body leaned subtly toward yours, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield. The steady rhythm of his stride never faltered, but you felt the smallest squeeze of his fingers around yours — an unconscious gesture, or maybe something he hadn’t meant for you to notice.

Your heart hammered. You could hear the faint rasp of the lake’s waves beneath the bridge, the distant hum of the city ahead of you, but all of it seemed distant. What was close, painfully close, was Zayne — his scent of clean linen and faint jasmine, the measured cadence of his breath, the silent vow carried in the way he held you against the cold without hesitation.

You wanted to tell him then. How much you loved him. How much you always had. How the boy you once chased with adoration had grown into the man who made your world feel steady and aflame all at once. But the words snagged in your throat, tangled in the overwhelming tenderness of the moment.

Your fingers flexed inside his pocket, curled around his hand as if holding on too tightly might anchor the rush of thoughts racing through your mind. The warmth of his palm was steady, but your chest felt anything but.

You wanted to tell him. The words pressed against your tongue, restless, demanding release. I love you. It burned at the back of your throat. But then the doubt crept in, as sharp and cold as the night air against your skin.

What if it was too soon? What if he didn’t feel the same?

Zayne had known you when you were a child, had watched you stumble through scraped knees and mischief and all the fragile stages of growing up. Now he was your doctor, tasked with your well-being in every sense. Did he see you as anything more than someone to take care of? Was his presence at your side born of choice — or obligation?

Gran’s voice echoed faintly in your mind, her fond insistence that Zayne always look after you. She had worried, she had asked it of him. Was he here because of her? Carrying out her wishes as though they were duty, and nothing more?

The thought gnawed at you, bitter and relentless. Would you embarrass yourself if you said it aloud? Confessed love to a man whose expression so rarely cracked, whose heart you could never quite read?

Your grip on his hand unconsciously tightened, the nervousness coiling too tight to contain.

Zayne’s voice cut through, low and calm, as though he had felt the exact moment your thoughts began to spiral. “You’re squeezing my hand.”

Your head jerked up, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Sorry,” you blurted, pulling against his hold, but his fingers only flexed, keeping you tethered in his pocket.

He slowed, then stopped walking altogether, turning just enough to study your face. The moonlight fell across his features, sculpting his cheekbones into sharp relief, the green of his eyes catching glints of silver from the lake. Concern softened the usually impassive lines of his expression.

“Is everything alright?” His tone carried the weight of a doctor’s instinct, but also something quieter, gentler. “Are you feeling okay?”

Your face flamed hotter under his gaze. You shook your head quickly, looking down at your boots. “I’m fine. It’s just… the cold.”

The lie felt flimsy in the air between you.

Zayne said nothing. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint lapping of the lake beneath and the beating of your own heart in your ears. Then, without warning, he shifted. You felt the brush of movement before you understood it — his hands leaving yours only for a moment, the sudden chill biting your skin — and then the heavy warmth of his scarf was wrapping around your neck.

The fabric was still warm from where it had rested against him, faintly carrying his scent. He adjusted it carefully, his long fingers brushing against your jaw, grazing the line of your throat with clinical precision and something more.

When you looked up, startled, his eyes were already on you. His voice dropped lower, almost intimate in its quiet.

“Better?”

The simple word undid you.

The scarf was snug around your throat, his warmth still clinging to the weave, but it was the intensity of his gaze that made you forget the cold altogether. His green eyes, always sharp and composed, now seemed softer in the silver wash of moonlight. For a moment you simply stared, struck by how unbearably handsome he was like this — unguarded, standing close enough that you could see the faint scar gracing his upper lip, the curve of his lashes catching light.

Zayne’s brow arched slightly. “What is it?” he asked, his voice even, though there was a note of curiosity beneath it.

Your chest constricted. The words you had been swallowing all night surged forward with no warning, no thought.

You didn’t think. Couldn’t.

“I love you.”

The confession burst from you in a rush, breathless, trembling, suspended in the frosty air between you.

The moment after was silent, impossibly so. The bridge, the lake, the winter night — it all seemed to hold its breath, waiting on him.

Zayne’s eyes widened at your words, the practiced composure on his face cracking in an instant. A faint flush spread over his cheeks, climbing up the edges of his ears until they glowed against the pale sweep of moonlight. His lips parted, caught on a single syllable.

“I…”

He broke off, glancing away toward the dark water below, his lashes lowering like a shutter drawn too quickly.

Your stomach lurched. Panic surged in a hot wave through your chest. “I’m sorry,” you rushed out, your voice uneven. “That was—I shouldn’t have—it was so sudden—”

“Don’t apologize.”

The interruption was soft, but firm enough to stop the tumble of your words. Zayne turned back to you, his eyes steady now, though a thread of vulnerability flickered in their depths. He reached for your hands, finding them easily and drawing them up between you. His fingers laced with yours deliberately, as though binding you to the truth of what he said next.

“I love you too.”

The words left him quieter than yours had, but no less certain.

Before you could breathe in the shock of it, his hand lifted, cupping your cheek. His palm was warm even in the night air, calloused fingertips brushing over your skin with reverence that made your heart pound harder. 

“Forgive me if I…” He leaned in closer, the tip of his nose brushing against your temple as his voice rumbled low, halting only once as though he was still piecing together a language unfamiliar. “...am still a bit unsure how to show it.”

Then his lips pressed to yours.

The kiss was soft, measured — like everything he did — yet it carried weight, years of restrained emotion pouring through the gentle press of his mouth against yours. His thumb stroked once against your cheekbone before he broke away, though he didn’t retreat far. Instead, he leaned his forehead to yours, nuzzling there, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space. For a long, still moment he simply rested, as if anchoring himself to the shape of you.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze caught yours, holding you fast. The world around you blurred — the bridge, the cold, the ripple of the lake — everything narrowed to the green depths of his eyes fixed so intently on you.

“What is it?” you whispered, unsettled by the intensity of his stare.

“Nothing.” His lips twitched into the faintest curve, though his voice was softer, almost reverent. “It’s just… the moon is beautiful tonight.”

You turned instinctively, the moon hung full and luminous above, spilling silver light across the surface of the lake until it glittered like broken glass. The cold breeze stirred the reeds, carrying the quiet song of water against earth. For a moment you let yourself admire it, the glow so striking it nearly stole your breath.

When you turned back to him, Zayne was still watching you. His expression was unreadable, though the tenderness in his eyes was unmistakable.

“We should watch the moon together from now on,” he said, voice low, deliberate. A pause, then the faintest smile curved at his lips as he added, “My love.”

The words wrapped around you warmer than his scarf, lingering even as the night wind bit at your cheeks. And in that moment, standing on the bridge with Zayne’s hands still tangled with yours, you knew there was no need for doubt.

xavier. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

The clock ticked far too loudly in the silence of your apartment. Each second seemed to scrape against your nerves, pulling them thinner and thinner, until your skin buzzed with restless energy. You couldn’t sit. Couldn’t lie down. Couldn’t do anything but pace the length of your living room with your arms folded tight across your chest as if that could contain the twisting, gnawing pit in your stomach.

Two days. Two entire days of silence. Xavier had left three nights ago with little more than a vague “I’ll be gone a while, star. We’ll meet up when I’m back.” You had pressed, of course — you always pressed. Where? Why? Was he safe? Could he at least promise to check in? But he’d only given you that soft half-smile, the one that hid far more than it revealed, before slipping away into the night.

You’d gone to Jeremiah in desperation yesterday, hoping he might throw you a bone, even a scrap of reassurance. But even he had only shaken his head, lips pressed in that implacable line that told you whatever Xavier was doing, it was not something you were meant to know. That knowledge had landed in your stomach like ice.

And so the silence stretched. Longer. Colder. Louder.

It wasn’t his absence that unraveled you — it was the thought of what that absence might mean. Your mind painted endless, vicious scenarios: Xavier’s body crumpled somewhere in an alley, his blood soaking into the pavement, his eyes already glazed. Or trapped, wounded, captured by someone who hated him more than they feared him. You imagined his voice fading away mid-sentence, the last time you’d ever hear it. Imagined never again feeling the dry warmth of his fingers tracing along your arm, never again hearing him laugh at your teasing, never having the chance to tell him—

The thought stopped you mid-step, breath catching like a hook in your throat.

You loved him.

Not in the vague, fluttery way you’d once thought of the word, but in a way that sat heavy in your bones, aching, undeniable. You loved him so deeply that the thought of a world without him in it hollowed you out from the inside. And you had never told him. Not once.

The realization made your knees weaken, dread pooling at the base of your spine until your whole body trembled with it. If he was gone — if he never walked back through that door — you would never get the chance. You would carry those words unsaid for the rest of your life.

Your pacing grew frantic. Nails dug crescents into your palms. The room seemed to close in, air thinning with the pressure of your spiraling thoughts.

Then — the sharp creak of hinges.

You froze. The front door shuddered open, slow, deliberate. For a heartbeat you thought it might be your imagination conjuring him back to you, but then you heard the scrape of boots against your floor. The faint metallic rasp of a weapon shifting in its holster.

And there he was.

Xavier filled the doorway like a shadow, shoulders bowed with fatigue, eyes rimmed with the dark exhaustion of sleepless nights. His uniform was travel-worn, scuffed with dirt and faint traces of dried blood, but he was standing. Breathing. Alive.

Relief slammed into you so hard it was almost painful. But the relief twisted immediately into something sharper — anger, heartbreak, the crackling current of every emotion you’d stewed in for the past two days rising to the surface at once.

You didn’t think. Couldn’t. The moment his shape filled the doorway you launched forward, the storm inside you breaking all at once. Your arms wrapped tight around him, crushing, desperate, your cheek pressing against the rough fabric of his coat. His familiar scent — lavender, cotton, and that faint clean spice of his skin — hit you like a wave. He stiffened at first, then let out a low breath and returned the embrace, strong arms encircling you, one hand curling against the small of your back.

Alive. He was alive.

But when you pulled back, relief curdled at once into something sharper. You caught sight of him properly — his silver hair was mussed and damp with sweat, his sharp blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The collar of his uniform was smudged with dirt, and there were thin cuts lining his jaw, disappearing beneath his clothes. Worse, patches of dark, dried blood stained the sleeve of his coat and streaked along the edge of his gloves.

Your stomach dropped.

“What happened to you?” The words came out hoarse, your fingers already tugging at his sleeve, pushing fabric back to examine what you could. “Where were you?”

“It’s nothing,” he said softly, almost too softly, as though he could soothe the panic right out of your bones. “Just a few scratches. Minor mission.”

“Minor—?” You broke off with a sharp laugh, more disbelief than humor, your eyes burning hot. “Then why couldn’t I know about it, Xavier? Why did you disappear for two days and leave me here not knowing if you were even breathing?”

His gaze flicked down, lashes pale against the hollow beneath his eyes. “Because if I told you, you’d want to come.” His voice was calm, maddeningly calm. “And you’d risk getting hurt. It’s better this way.”

“Better?” Your voice cracked, climbing. “It is not better, Xavier. You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to just vanish, bleed out god-knows-where, and then walk back in here acting like it’s fine!”

He lifted a hand, palm out as though to steady you. “Starlight…” The pet name slipped from his lips like a balm, but it only made your chest ache harder. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I worried you, truly. But there’s no reason to be this upset over it.”

The words stung like a slap.

Your head snapped up, meeting his gaze. His silver hair had fallen loose across his brow, damp strands catching the dim light. His blue eyes were steady, unreadable, but the calm in them only made your heart burn hotter.

“Yes, there is,” you shot back, voice trembling, thick with everything you’d been choking down for days. “There is every reason, Xavier.”

He tilted his head, brows pulling faintly. “What do you mean?”

And then it ripped out of you, raw and unstoppable, before you could think better of it.

“I love you.” Your chest heaved as the words hung in the space between you, heavy as lead. “I have every reason to be upset because I spent the last two days terrified you’d never walk through that door again. That I’d never see your face. That I’d never get to tell you—” You broke off, swallowing hard. “I love you, Xavier.”

Silence fell.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His blue eyes widened just faintly, as if the words had frozen him where he stood. You could hear the faint drip of rain against the window, the hollow tick of the clock on the wall. Every beat of your heart pounded like a drum, and still he said nothing.

Then, at last, he stepped closer. One hand lifted, roughened by leather and steel, and then the other, cupping your face between his palms with an almost reverent slowness. His touch was warm, calloused thumbs brushing at the dampness that had gathered at the corner of your lashes. He leaned down just enough that his hair fell forward, silver strands veiling the sharp angles of his face, blue eyes fixed entirely on you.

“Say it again.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

His lips curved, not quite a smile, more a command whispered low. “Tell me you love me again.”

Your lips parted, breath trembling as you tried again. “Xavier… I love—”

The words were swallowed before they could finish. His mouth crashed into yours, urgent, consuming, every ounce of the restraint he usually wore stripped away. His kiss was desperate, passionate, his grip firm on your face as if he needed to hold you there, needed proof you were real. His lips moved against yours hungrily, unsteady, as though he had been starving for this without admitting it to himself.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours, his silver hair brushing your cheeks, and he whispered, voice hoarse, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you worry.”

You blinked up at him, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. His thumb brushed over your cheek, slow and reverent, catching the wetness there and smoothing it away. The tenderness in the gesture only made your throat tighten more.

“I keep you in the dark because I love you,” he admitted, voice low, strained. “Because the thought of you getting hurt—of me not being able to stop it—” He broke off, jaw tight, his blue eyes burning with quiet anguish. After a moment, softer, he added, “I guess I’ve been making you carry my fears for me. I’ve been an idiot.”

A shaky laugh broke through you, some of your tears finally slipping free. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling wetly. “You have.”

For the first time in days, a real laugh passed his lips too, quiet and rough. Then he kissed you again, gentler this time, the kind of kiss that felt like a vow. When he pulled back, he didn’t stop — his lips brushed across your jaw, your temple, your nose, featherlight kisses peppering your skin as he murmured between them, “I love you. I love you. I love you…”

You squirmed beneath the affection, laughing breathlessly, pushing at his chest until you finally managed to put a little space between you. Heat flared in your cheeks. “You’re not off the hook yet,” you scolded, voice soft but unsteady from your grin.

He only smiled, that faint, roguish curve of his lips that made your stomach flip. “Do your worst, star,” he teased, voice low and fond. “You’re pretty when you’re angry.”

Your gasp was half a laugh, half indignant as you smacked his shoulder lightly. He didn’t even flinch, just chuckled, letting you tug him by the hand toward the couch.

“Come on,” you said, your tone firm in a way that tried — and failed — to hide your tenderness. “I’m patching you up. And you owe me cuddles. A full night of them. And hotpot, every night, for a week.”

His blue eyes softened, that rare warmth flickering there as he let you lead him, his silver hair catching the light like spun moonlight. “Deal,” he said simply, no hesitation at all.

And for the first time since the door had creaked open, the storm inside you began to ease, replaced with something steadier — warmth, love, and the quiet certainty that he wasn’t going anywhere.

sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

Steam curled soft ribbons into the air, clinging to your skin and dampening your hair until it stuck to your temples. The bathwater lapped lazily against porcelain and against him, each ripple brushing warmth between you where you sat cradled in Sylus’s lap. His chest was a broad, steady anchor at your back, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing to the quiet rhythm of the water.

He had been taking care of you all day — a fact that, even now, you couldn’t quite believe. Gentle hands when he washed you, a tenderness no one would expect from someone so feared. Now, one of those hands moved slowly over your shoulder, fingertips kneading into muscle as if coaxing tension from you bit by bit. The other rested low on your thigh, steady, possessive but not heavy. His touch was careful, practiced in strength and restraint.

It should have relaxed you completely. And yet, your mind was a restless storm.

You could feel it — the truth you’d been carrying inside you for weeks, months, perhaps longer. The way your heart stuttered whenever he smiled, the way your body seemed to find its ease only when pressed to his. You loved him. You knew it in a way that went deeper than words, deeper than logic. It lived in your bones.

But love was simple to feel, and treacherous to speak.

He had never said it first. Never given you that word. And though every gesture, every small act of tenderness told you he cared, that silence gnawed at the back of your mind. Why had he never said it? Did he not believe in it? Did the word itself frighten him? Or worse — what if he thought it was meaningless?

The rational part of you whispered that Sylus would never mock you, never punish your heart for daring. He’d shown you more patience, more reverence than anyone ever had. Still, a colder voice inside coiled sharp doubts: What if it’s too much? What if I scare him away? What if this word, this truth, destroys what I have?

You shifted slightly, tilting your head against his collarbone, and his hand followed the movement with thoughtless devotion, sliding up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb stroked once, slow, like a promise. The touch made your throat ache.

Tell him, your heart urged. Don’t let it stay locked inside you.

But your mind, that ever-cautious voice, balked. If you say it, there’s no taking it back. He might not be ready. He might never be ready. He might—

The water sloshed softly as Sylus adjusted you in his lap, pulling you closer, almost enveloping you. His lips brushed the curve of your temple, a kiss so light you might have imagined it. The air smelled faintly of the soap he’d used to wash your hair, something sweet and clean that clung to his skin too. You closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting the ache in your chest swell to the edge of breaking.

Here, in the hush of steam and candlelight, his arms strong around you, you felt it again — that sharp, desperate certainty.

You love him.

And if you didn’t tell him soon, you thought you might drown on the word before it ever touched the air.

The rhythm of his touch lulled you halfway between thought and surrender, your mind still tangled in its own storm. You were so consumed by it that you almost missed the low murmur against your ear, velvet and edged with playfulness.

“I can almost hear the thoughts racing through your head, kitten.”

The tease jolted you, heat rushing to your cheeks. He said it so casually, as if he truly could pluck the threads of your worry right from your skull. You didn’t dare answer, only pressed your lips together and let the water’s surface ripple softly as you shifted in his arms.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked after a beat, tone gentler now, though no less probing.

“Nothing…” you said too quickly, too brittle. The word floated between you, a paper-thin shield that crumpled the moment it left your mouth.

He hummed, the sound low in his chest where your back rested. It vibrated through you like a purr of amusement, but not unkind. His arms tightened, pulling you closer until your body fit flush against his. The steam wrapped around both of you like a cocoon as he lowered his chin, resting the weight of his head atop yours.

“You can tell me anything, sweetie,” he murmured. The endearment was hushed, his voice softened as though it might soothe away the knots inside you. And then — almost unconsciously — he began to rock you gently, the faintest sway in the warm water, like you were something precious to cradle rather than hold.

Your throat closed. The ache in your chest clawed higher. His words — anything — pressed against the barricade you’d built, and before you could brace yourself, the truth slipped out, bare and trembling.

“I love you.”

Silence.

The candles flickered in the haze, droplets of condensation sliding down the porcelain of the bath. All you could hear was the faint lap of water and his steady breathing behind you. Too steady. He didn’t answer, didn’t shift, didn’t laugh — nothing.

The silence wrapped tighter, crushing. Panic prickled in your stomach, your thoughts scattering into a hundred sharp edges. Too much. Too soon. He doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t—

You began to turn your head toward him, desperate to read his face, to see if he looked upset, or distant, or—

But his arms cinched tighter around you, holding you still. His grip wasn’t suffocating, but firm, grounding, as though he couldn’t bear to let you slip even an inch away.

Your breath caught.

And then, a different warmth reached you — the warmth of his skin tinged with heat, a faint flush creeping against your temple where it brushed his chest. 

When he moved, it was slow, deliberate, his lips ghosting closer to your ear until his breath tickled damp against your skin. His voice, when it came, was softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Do you mean it?”

The question was not teasing now. It carried a tremor — the barest edge of vulnerability hidden beneath his velvet tone. And in that fragile moment, you realized: he wasn’t asking because he doubted you. He was asking because he could hardly believe it was possible at all.

For a moment, you could only sit still in his arms, his question echoing against the damp curve of your ear. Do you mean it? The tremor beneath those words cut deeper than any blade, and it steadied you. Whatever fear still clung to your ribs, you couldn’t let him linger there — not in that fragile doubt.

“Sylus…” His name slipped from your lips on a whisper, softer than the steam rising around you.

You pressed against his hold, not to escape, but to turn, to see him. At first, his arms resisted — instinct tightening to keep you bound to him. But then, slowly, he loosened, letting you shift just enough to face him.

What you found made your breath falter.

Sylus, always so composed, so teasing, so devastatingly sure of himself — was not. His crimson eyes, usually sharp and unflinching, flickered with something raw and unguarded. Vulnerability carved its lines across his face, and beneath it, fear. Not of you, but of what you’d just offered him, as if he half-expected it to vanish if he looked too closely.

Your hand lifted on its own, trembling slightly, and cupped his cheek. His skin was hot beneath your palm, flushed from the bath and from something deeper. His lashes lowered, and for a heartbeat, he leaned into your touch like a man starved.

“Of course I mean it,” you whispered. The truth poured out of you with the certainty you’d been choking down all evening. “I love you, Sylus.”

The silence broke — not with words, but with the sound of his breath catching. Shaky, uneven, almost painful in how hard he tried to control it. His gaze wavered, as though your eyes were too much for him to meet, but finally — finally — he forced himself to look at you.

“I love you too,” he said, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it. His hand rose, fingers trembling faintly as they cradled the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “More than anything.”

The confession hung between you like a living thing, fragile and enormous. The steam curled around it, the faint flicker of candlelight gilding the water in gold. He pulled you into him again, his arms winding tight, as if he could fuse you to his very bones.

“It’s not a secret,” he murmured, his mouth brushing your damp hair. “This is all new to me. No one’s ever said those words to me before. I’ve never said them before.” He swallowed hard, the movement pressed against your temple. “But I hope… even though I haven’t spoken it… I hope I’ve shown it. That you’ve felt it.” His voice dipped, almost breaking. “I hope you never doubt it.”

Your throat closed, the weight of his words leaving you utterly speechless. All you could do was cling to him, fingers curling against his chest as though anchoring yourself in the reality of him, the reality of this moment.

He drew a long, uneven breath, then tilted his head, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Thank you… for loving me.”

The words landed like a vow, like reverence. As though your love was not just accepted, but treasured.

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of him, the tight circle of his arms, and the glow of candlelight wrap around you. Whatever fear you had carried into this moment dissolved, leaving only the truth you had both finally spoken aloud.

caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

The room was hushed, steeped in the kind of silence that only came after hours of talking, laughing, existing together until words fell away and only breath remained. The sheets were warm around you, the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting gold across the angles of his face. Caleb lay beside you, eyes closed, the even rise and fall of his chest a steady rhythm you’d known your whole life.

You found yourself watching him, your gaze tracing familiar lines as if rediscovering them. The slope of his nose, the strong cut of his brows, the faint freckles that dusted his skin — details you’d memorized long ago, yet they still managed to strike you with a quiet awe. He looked calmer in sleep, or near sleep, as though the weight he carried eased just enough to let you glimpse the boy you’d grown up with.

I love him. The thought came so suddenly, so fiercely, it almost stole your breath.

You had always loved him. Through every stage of your life, he’d been there — a constant at your side, a shield when the world grew too sharp. Before you even knew what love was, you had felt it for Caleb. Back then, when you said I love you, it was casual, easy. The words fell from your lips like second nature, woven into the fabric of childhood, into the bond that had never needed explaining.

But thinking back now, you realized those words had always carried an undercurrent you couldn’t name at the time. Every I love you had been more than friendship, more than comfort. It had been I love you, stay by my side forever. I love you, my life has no point without you.

And then the explosion. His absence. The shattering silence where he should have been.

The memory made your chest ache. You hadn’t realized until now just how wrong it felt that, since his return, you hadn’t said it once. Not in passing, not in jest, not at all. For so many years, it had been the refrain of your days, and now, nothing. The absence of those words was louder than the silence of the room.

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, your eyes catching on the way the lamplight skimmed the edge of his jaw, softened the curl of his lashes. Even now, after everything, after the lies and the fractures and the wounds between you, you could not imagine leaving him. No matter what you’d had to work through, not once had the thought of walking away crossed your mind.

The realization pressed hot against your ribs, bubbling up until it became impossible to hold back.

“I love you, Caleb.”

The words slipped out unguarded, quiet in the dim room, but heavy with all the years behind them.

Caleb’s breath caught. His eyes opened slowly, violet irises gleaming faint in the low light. He blinked, and for a moment, he only looked at you — as if he was seeing you not for the first time, but for the first time like this.

Caleb’s eyes lingered on you, unreadable for a breath too long. Then, just as the silence threatened to cave in on you, his mouth curved into a crooked grin — that boyish, familiar expression that belonged to your childhood as much as your present.

“What scheme are you cookin’ up, pips?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. “Dropping that on me while I’m half asleep… sounds suspicious.”

You blinked at him, stunned by the way he so easily turned it into play. A laugh broke from you — startled, exasperated — and you reached out to swat his arm. “I’m not scheming!”

“Mm.” His grin deepened, lazy and mischievous. “Are you sure? Not tryin’ to butter me up?” He tilted his head slightly on the pillow, eyes glinting. “Not tryin’ to slip somethin’ past me while I’m vulnerable?”

A groan escaped you, and you buried your face into the pillow beside him, muffling both your embarrassment and the sudden swell of affection in your chest. He chuckled softly, the sound low and fond, and you felt the mattress shift as he turned toward you.

You peeked up at him again, only to find him watching you — that grin still tugging at his mouth, though something quieter lingered behind his eyes. You pushed yourself closer, bracing an arm against the bed as you leaned over him until your faces were only inches apart.

“I meant it, Caleb,” you said, your voice steadier now, though your heart raced. “I love you.”

The grin faltered. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his gaze — a crack in his composure, an old vulnerability rising through the playful mask. His eyes softened, darkened, and his lips parted as though words had lodged in his throat.

He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. The touch lingered, his knuckles grazing your temple before trailing down your cheek with a tenderness that made you ache.

“Do you mean it like before?” he asked quietly, his usual confidence slipping into hesitation. “Or… is it different now?”

You caught his hand against your face, pressing into his palm, grounding him. “It’s different now,” you whispered. “But also the same. I’ve always loved you, more than I knew how to say.”

His breath left him in a quiet rush, as though your words had knocked something loose inside him. He pulled you down then, closing the space between you, and his lips met yours in the gentlest of kisses — not rushed, not desperate, but laden with the weight of years, of all the things you’d both left unspoken until now.

When he drew back just enough to speak, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice was hushed, almost reverent.

“I love you too. Always.”

Caleb didn’t let go right away. His hand lingered in your hair, his breath fanning warm across your temple, and for a moment you thought he’d gone quiet again. But then his chest rose in a heavier inhale, and when he spoke, his voice was low, unsteady in a way you rarely heard.

“You don’t know how many times I almost ruined it,” he murmured. “How many times I wanted to say it, just blurt it out. But I kept thinking…” He trailed off, thumb brushing over your cheek as though the contact steadied him. “What if I’ve been holding on too tight? What if one day you looked at me and realized you wanted out, and all I did was crush you closer ‘til you broke?”

Your heart twisted, sharp and tender at once. “Caleb…”

He gave a crooked, humorless smile, eyes flicking away for half a second before finding you again. “I tell myself I’d survive it if you left, but—” His jaw worked, his voice rasping now. “The truth is, I wouldn’t. I’d rather cut my own heart out than let it go on beatin’ without you.”

You caught his face between your palms before the thought could spiral darker, forcing him to look at you. “Listen to me,” you said firmly, your thumbs stroking over the strong lines of his jaw. “I’m not leaving. I’ve never once thought about leaving. Not when you disappeared, not when you came back different, not when things were hardest. You’re it for me, Caleb. Always have been.”

For a beat, silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of what you’d laid bare. Then his lips quirked — small, uncertain, but real. “Always, huh? Guess that means you’re stuck with me smotherin’ you for the rest of your life.”

You laughed, watery but sincere. “Smothering, huh? You make it sound so appealing.”

His grin sharpened, boyish despite the rawness still glimmering in his eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it. You’d miss me hoverin’ if I ever stopped.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, nudging his shoulder with yours.

“A little?” He scoffed, feigning offense. “That’s all the credit I get?”

You smirked, leaning close until your lips hovered over his. “Fine. A lot.”

His breath hitched, and the next moment his mouth was on yours again — hotter this time, edged with relief, with the desperate need of a man who’d just been given permission to hold as tightly as he wanted.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice was a low growl wrapped in warmth. “Good. Because I’m never lettin’ go.”

The words sank deep, steady and unshakable, and you knew he meant them with every piece of himself. His arms slid around you, pulling you fully against him, and you let yourself melt into his warmth, into the familiar cadence of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

The room was quiet again, but this time, the silence wasn’t heavy. It was whole. Full. The kind of silence that wrapped around two people who never needed to speak to be understood.

And for the first time since his return, since everything broke and had to be rebuilt, you felt that old rhythm click back into place — not as it had been before, but as something new, deeper, unshakably yours.

rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

The night air tasted of salt and starlight. The sea stretched vast and endless beside you, moonlight pooling across its surface until it glittered like liquid silver. Each step you took sank softly into the cool sand, the grains shifting beneath your feet before the tide came to erase your footprints. You should have been looking at the ocean — at its power, its quiet grandeur, the way it seemed alive with secrets — but your eyes found him instead. They always did.

Rafayel walked just ahead, hands tucked loosely in his pockets, dark hair tugged playfully by the wind. He glanced back now and then, that usual teasing smirk tugging at his lips as though to ask if you were still keeping up, though you knew he’d slow instantly if you fell behind.

It had been his idea to come here. He’d noticed the way you’d been straining lately, chasing inspiration and falling short, your frustration pressing against your ribs like a too-tight cage. “You’re burning yourself out, cutie.” he’d said, voice soft but firm. “The sea will breathe life back into you. Trust me.”

And of course, you had. You always did.

You should have been drinking in the beauty surrounding you, but all you could think of was him. How he’d let you in, farther than you ever thought he would. Behind the wit, the smirk, the casually flirty remarks, he’d given you the truth of himself — his Lemurian nature, his fears, the quiet weight of guilt and the ache of being forgotten. That wasn’t something he would have shared lightly. Not with just anyone.

And there were the little things. The nightly calls when sleep eluded you, his voice weaving through the static of your phone line until your breathing evened out. The texts throughout the day, sometimes thoughtful, sometimes ridiculous, but always proof that you were in his thoughts. The way he indulged you, time and again, never once making you feel like a burden. The way he noticed — always noticed — when something was wrong, even when you thought you were hiding it well.

You thought of how he hated to be made to wait, how impatience flickered across his face in the smallest of gestures when things dragged on too long. And you realized that’s exactly what you’d been doing — making him wait. Not for your affection; he knew he had that. But for your words. For the truth you’d been keeping pressed behind your teeth out of fear.

Fear of heartbreak. Fear that maybe, despite everything, he didn’t mean it the way you did. That maybe all of this was just who he was — charming, magnetic, too much of him to ever belong only to you.

But no. That wasn’t fair. Not to him, not to yourself. He deserved to hear it.

Your chest tightened, breath catching on the salt-laced wind. The tide rushed in close, foaming around your ankles, then retreated again, carrying your hesitation with it. You looked at him — really looked — at the soft glow of his skin moonlight, at the laughter that always seemed ready in his eyes, at the way the ocean breeze caught his hair like it had known him for centuries.

You loved him. You had for longer than you wanted to admit. And maybe you’d made him wait long enough.

“Rafayel,” you called, stopping in your tracks.

He turned at once, silvered moonlight catching the dusky sweep of his hair, his eyes glinting like seawater under starlight. His smile curved easy, teasing, like always. “What is it, cutie?”

Suddenly, your throat felt dry, your pulse a frantic flutter against your ribs. The words you had been carrying weighed heavier now that you had invited his attention. Heat flooded your cheeks, and your gaze faltered, slipping down to where your toes curled into the cool sand.

“Close your eyes,” you blurted.

His brows flicked up, surprise flashing quick before amusement settled in. A soft laugh carried on the wind. “What is this, a trust exercise? If you’re about to push me into the tide, I should at least have fair warning.”

Despite the joke, he obeyed, lashes lowering as he clasped his hands behind his back with exaggerated patience. The ocean hushed and rolled at your side, filling the silence.

You stepped close, heart hammering, and leaned in. The brush of your lips against his cheek was feather-light, but it made your skin spark as though you’d just stepped off the edge of a cliff. You pulled back only enough to whisper, voice trembling but sure:

“I love you.”

His eyes flew open, a flush rising so fast you could see it bloom across his cheekbones, staining the tips of his ears. He looked utterly caught off guard — the great Rafayel, always so smooth, suddenly shy beneath your gaze.

“You can’t just—” he stammered, then huffed, his voice breaking into a half-laugh, half-whine as he swept you into his arms. He buried his face in your hair, his words muffled against you. “You can’t just spring things on me like that. Do you know what you’ve done? You stole the most romantic opportunity right out from under me. What am I supposed to do now?”

Your laugh bubbled out, soft and unsteady, arms circling his waist. “Do you want me to take it back, then? So you can say it first?”

He jerked back instantly, eyes wide, the ocean’s reflection shimmering in their depths. “No,” he said firmly, voice low, as though even the sea shouldn’t misunderstand him. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, reverent and certain. “Never take it back.”

His smile softened then, losing its edges, becoming something vulnerable, something only for you. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours — not one of his usual sweeping, showman kisses, but something gentler, slower, like a vow sealed beneath the stars. When he drew away, his breath ghosted warm across your lips.

“I love you too,” he murmured, and the sincerity in his tone settled into your bones like the tide filling the shore. “More than I’d ever manage to put into words,”

Your chest ached with relief and tenderness. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“Don’t apologize,” he cut in softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I would’ve waited forever if I had to.”

“But you hate waiting,” you whispered, smiling through your blush.

His grin curved, sly but fragile at the edges. “It’s not so bad when I’m waiting for you.”

The words stole your breath, your blush deepening. You reached up on instinct, pinching his cheek with mock severity. “Always trying to out-romance me…”

Rafayel chuckled, catching your wrist before you could retreat. Instead of another quip, though, he pressed a lingering kiss to your palm, his lips soft and warm against your skin. When he looked back at you, the laughter had dimmed from his expression, replaced by something rawer, heavier.

“Cutie…” His voice softened, almost unsteady, like a tide pulling back to reveal something fragile beneath. His thumb traced over the lines of your fingers before lacing them with his own. “You say you love me now, and I believe you. But will you still—” He hesitated, swallowing, the word catching in his throat. “Will you still love me no matter what I become?”

The question landed like a stone in your chest. His eyes — so often glinting with mischief — were wide open now, luminous with vulnerability. The night wrapped around you both, the ocean whispering as though it, too, was waiting for your answer.

You tightened your grip on his hand, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth of his body through the cool brush of sea air. “Rafayel,” you said firmly, searching his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere. Not if you’re angry, not if you’re lost, not if you’re hurting. Not if the whole world tries to pull you under. I’ll love you no matter what.”

His breath hitched, a tremor passing through him. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to yours, lashes brushing your skin as his eyes slid shut. “You say that now,” he whispered. “But I’ve seen people turn away before. I’ve seen how easy it is to forget me,”

“Silly fish,” you whispered back, cupping his face in both hands. “I couldn’t forget you if I tried. You’re carved into me, Rafayel. You’re not going to lose me.”

For a long moment, he only breathed against you, his chest rising and falling as though he were trying to steady himself against the tide of your words. Then, with a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, he tilted his head to kiss you again. This time the kiss wasn’t soft or tentative — it was fierce, reverent, like he was drinking in your promise and sealing it into his soul.

When he finally drew back, he rested his hands at your waist, fingers splayed like he was anchoring himself. His smile returned, gentler now, though his eyes still shone with unspoken emotion. “You’ve doomed yourself, cutie,” he murmured, his tone laced with fondness. “You’ve gone and promised eternity to a man who refuses to let go.”

You laughed quietly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Then I guess I’m doomed. But if it’s with you… I don’t mind.”

Rafayel’s expression softened to something so tender it made your heart ache. He kissed you once more, slow and deliberate, and when he pulled away, the ocean seemed to sigh with you, carrying your vow out into the endless night.

a/n: i hope i did this request justice😭 ngl i've been feeling uninspired lately and i've hardly written, i can't cook up for shit💔 hoping inspo strikes soon bc i want to write but i feel like i hate everything i type

[miss-hunt3r]

☺️

[princessxmin]

HUSBAND HCS! - SYLUS QIN !

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ : including — sweet hcs, soft!sylus, tooth rotting fluff <3 [♡₊˚ ♕]: her highness's decree: since sylus won the poll, here's his solo! Hope you all like it <33 (love this hot loser <3) [♕]: want more of sylus? check out--> this masterlist

୨ৎ. Unashamedly sentimental: He keeps the dried flowers from your wedding bouquet tucked inside a book. He refuses to admit it outright, but you’ve caught him looking at them more than once with that faint, unreadable softness in his expression. (you pounce on him and start kissing his face soon after)

୨ৎ. Randomly starts carrying you places; especially if you’re all dolled up that day. He’ll scoop you up in his arms or throw you over his shoulder without a hint of warning, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. If you squeak or protest, he only smirks and murmurs, “My beautiful wife shouldn’t waste her steps tonight.” Sometimes he’ll carry you all the way to bed, other times just to the kitchen—setting you gently on the counter so he can stand between your legs and kiss you like you’re dessert.

୨ৎ. Naturally gravitates to your space & energy: If you’re napping on the couch, he’ll sit beside you quietly with a book, hand resting on your ankle or thigh. Sometimes he doesn’t even read—he just stares at you, lips curving soft like he can’t believe you’re real.

୨ৎ. Adores anniversaries: Even if you insist you don’t need gifts or grand gestures, Sylus always finds a way to honor the date—whether it’s reserving an elegant dinner, slipping a new piece of jewelry into your hand as if it had always belonged there, or whispering freshly written vows against your skin before bed. (He's doing all of that and more) He'll always ensure your spoiled thoroughly throughout the day <3

୨ৎ. Red eyes soften & twinkle like gems when he hears you call him as my husband; y’all could’ve been married for 2 years at this point and he’ll still react this way. No matter how casual you say it—whether you’re introducing him to someone, muttering it half-asleep, or even jokingly—his whole expression shifts, softening. Lips curve into the faintest smile, his hand always reaching for you instinctively, grounding himself in your touch.

୨ৎ. Washes your tired body and hair for you when your tired; and of course it's sylus he'll make a comment about how you look as captivating as always (despite the bags under your eyes) and press a kiss to your shoulder as you lean against him in the shower

୨ৎ. Calls you his beautiful bride: It almost feels like he wants you crying in his chest when he says it so softly, so sweet in that tone. When you’re curled up in his arms, on the brink of sleep, his warmth overtaking your form and pulling you deeper—and just as you start to slip, you hear it. “My beautiful bride.” His lips brush the crown of your head, his voice low and reverent, as though it’s a prayer he can’t stop repeating. You shift faintly, murmuring something incoherent, and he only holds you tighter, thumb stroking lazy circles at your hip.

What he doesn’t tell you is that he says it not just to soothe you, but to remind himself too. To remind himself that somehow, you’re his, forever—his wife, his anchor, his love.

♡ princessxmin please do not alter, copy or translate my work !

[uurstruly]

GENTLE GIANT ᝰ c. san

in which ,, things san does in your relationship that shows he’s really a gentle giant.

contains ,, more tooth rotting fluff, small smut, small angst (mention of death) bf!san, headcannons

gentlegiant!san who softly kisses you on your any exposed part on your body at random times, whether it being your shoulder, hands, arms, lips, etc.

gentlegiant!san who lifts you up if you’re too short to be seen in pictures

gentlegiant!san who picks you up and carries you around even if youre not taking pictures

gentlegiant!san who texts you “i love you” 50 times a day, just because he thought about you

gentlegiant!san who feeds you when youre sick, even if its just a small cough

gentlegiant!san who buys you flowers just because

– “I got you flowers baby” “why’d you do that?” “there has to be a reason???”

gentlegiant!san who has a crush on you, even tho you’re already together ??

gentlegiant!san who buys you stuff because he saw the way your eyes lit up when you looked at it

gentlegiant!san who refers to you as “mybaby” when talking to other people about you

gentlegiant!san who buys you flowers every monday, so you can start off your week with new flowers

gentlegiant!san who still blushes and gets all squishy when you compliment him

gentlegiant!san who goes so gentle with you when you’re having sex, just wanting to please his baby (but gets a little TOO into it n overstimulates you )

gentlegiant!san who admires you doing literally anything, you’ll look up and he’s looking at you with soft eyes and a small smile

gentlegiant!san who NEVER lets you open the door, or pull your own seat out if you’re with him

gentlegiant!san who gives you lil taps on the butt when you go to the gym with him and you get through your workout 🙂‍↕️

gentlegiant!san who loves seeing you and his family getting along (makes him wanna marry u even more )

gentlegiant!san who fixes your messy hair when you wake up in the morning

gentlegiant!san who kisses all over you to wake up when you sleep in

gentlegiant!san who acts like he loves whatever food you have even if he think it’s nasty, just to make you happy

gentlegiant!san who sandwiches your hands between his when it’s cold out

gentlegiant!san who eyes soften and smile widens when someone mentions you, or when you walk in the room

gentlegiant!san who loves you with every ounce in his body , your literally the love of his life

gentlegiant!san who finds you absolutely stunning( which can be shown all in his face when he looks at you ), and brags to people about you like your a goddess

gentlegiant!san who would never let you go, even on your last breath

a/n ,, AHH thank yall for the support on my last post 🥳 !! I hope you guys enjoy this one <3 !!

last post :: JUST FRIENDS, RIGHT ? l. felix

[niallhoranhasthat1thing]

Sabrina Carpenter

Primavera Sound | June 6 2025

[maisoll]

ur bf has a size kink <𝟑 .ᐟ

he would never admit it, but you know your boyfriend has a size kink.

he knew that you were way smaller than he was, but he didn't think too much about the topic before, until he started to notice some small things. the way you had to look up to him during conversations, or when you needed help reaching something that he could easily get. when he would come over to help you, his broad chest presses against your small frame, and his shoulders shadow yours as he towers behind you.

he liked the size difference; it made him feel good that he could easily protect you if needed. but there was one thing in specific he liked more—the contrast between you two during sex. he'd have you underneath him with one of your legs thrown over his shoulder as he brutally pounds into you. there's a visible bulge in your stomach every time he thrusts inside, splitting your poor, tight pussy open.

you're squirming and whining, telling him that it's too much and that he's too big, but he doesn't stop, he never does. his frame completely covers yours, caging you underneath him as you cry out, "it's—tttoo mmmuch! uuhhg...y're too big..."

you're being so whiny, but your boyfriend thinks you look so pretty like this, so stretched and dumb for him. you fisted the sheets as your legs quivered beside his head—they were aching to close, but unable to due to his grip on them. "you can do it," he grunts, fingernails digging into your plushy thighs with little restraint. "shit, you're taking me so well, angel."

he watched raptly as your body struggled to take all of him; the sight of his veiny cock pistoning your tight, puffy cunt made him crazy. he slid his hand from your thigh to your stomach, pressing down against the visible bulge due to his stupidly huge dick. "can feel me in your tummy, huh, baby?" he smirked, taking in how cock-drunk you looked, with tears running down your cheeks and drool dribbling down your chin.

it brought something primal out in him, the way your juices leaked around his girth and how his hands easily wrapped around your small frame made him want to dump load after load into you till all you can think about is him. "mmm, pretty little pussy's jus' so greedy for it." he mumbles as you keep clamping down on him.

nothing got him off more than seeing your small and fragile body stuffed full of him, your pussy dripping and stretched by his big dick, and your body quivering so much as you screamed for more, even when you swore you couldn't take it. and that just had him obsessed.

size kink? maybe you were right.

© maisoll | don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work.

divider cc: @uzmacchiato

[st-4-rving-4-ever]

doing this diet tomorrow!! i can't remember who it's by tho, let me know if you do 🙏

[ariaiscursed]

- cozy vibes

[humanjarvis]

lads LIs: when you live alone

zayne:

creates impromptu scavenger hunts for you. and by that, i mean he leaves treats in different rooms of your place for you to find once he’s gone. like, you opened a cabinet one day, and 5 chocolate candies fell out. this is zayne’s version of a prank.

sometimes, late at night, you’ll get a knock on your door. zayne, fatigued and still in his scrubs, has come straight to you after his shift. he could’ve gone to his house, sure, but after the day he had, he needs his home.

you go back and forth between each other’s places so often that his neighbors think you live with him, and yours think he lives with you. an older woman in his neighborhood stopped by to thank him after he saved her husband’s life, and the gift basket she prepared had two of everything. 

he carefully curates care packages for you. vitamins, pastries, daily planners, blankets, medicines you should always have on hand. he always sends them before his big business trips, and they always include a souvenir he’d bought on the last one because it reminded him of you

tries not to show it, but he worries about you being all by yourself. basically has the terms of your lease memorized, and he knows multiple routes from your place to the nearest hospital 

caleb:

he has to hold himself back from coming to visit every time you go grocery shopping. you have how many bags? to carry how far? it’s just not right. he almost can’t take it 

when he is there to help, he honestly doesn’t even actually carry the bags. he uses his evol for that, so his hands can do the important things, like holding yours in the elevator or spotting you as you climb up the stairs

definitely uses his visit time to meal prep for you, no matter how much you tell him you can do it yourself. “yeah, you can,” he teases. “but will you?” 

buys duplicates of your stuff so you can have whatever you need at his place. it also just lets him feel closer to you (he is definitely using the shampoo and body wash whenever he misses you. maybe even the perfume. the recruits notice he smells…fruity one day, but say nothing) 

uses 10 different apps to check up on you. flicks through your social media, tracks your water intake and step count, sees what you’ve been watching on your shared streaming services, scrolls through your most recent songs played—there’s so much information out there. and if it’s about you, he has to know it. for your safety, of course

he’s basically your on-call problem-solver. caleb, can you open this jar? caleb, i can’t carry this box up the stairs. caleb, i can’t lift this thing out of its package. no matter how small the ask is, he’ll be there as soon as he can

he also doubles as your personal handyman. you tell him something’s broken, and the next day it’s miraculously working again with a smiley face sticky note on top. he kinda moves like the gnomes in the sims 4 where they come into your apartment and fix stuff overnight 

please move in with him. he will hint toward it constantly. or he could just pack his bags, move in with you, and fly up to skyhaven every morning. does your apartment complex have an aircraft hangar he could use?

xavier: 

if he’s still your neighbor in this scenario, you’ll hang out at each other’s places so often that the few times when you’re apart don’t matter as much. 

if he’s not your neighbor in this scenario, prepare for psychological warfare 

he wears a mask of innocence, but he’ll subtly bring his stuff over to your place, or your stuff over to his, to soft-launch your move-in together 

“xavier? why is my hairbrush in your bathroom?”

“hm. you must’ve left it here the last time you stayed over. we’re basically roommates at this point.” all this with an innocent smile.

whether you’re neighbors or not, he loves when you call him over when you’re lonely. for you to choose him, for you to seek him out…a soft glow always surrounds him when you open the door

and when he’s lonely, he puts the house plants he’d gifted you to good use: he stops by “just to tend to them” and ends up staying the night, his body sprawled on top of yours when you wake up

he keeps a mental file of all of your neighbors so he can know if there’s anyone to worry about—and so he can steer you away from anyone who might be a threat

he’s soft-spoken, but he speaks the loudest when he’s right outside your door. when his voice carries through the halls, anyone who might’ve tried something knows that while you may live by yourself, you’re not alone. 

sylus:

detests how constricting your space is, as well as the lack of interior design, but keeps it to himself (for the most part)

your bed is not big enough and ages him 10 years every time he sleeps in it. he also keeps this to himself. 

even so, he lures you over to the base as much as possible. that way, just for a little while, he can pretend your cramped rooms and mismatched furniture don’t exist 

mephisto practically lives in the tree closest to your window, and his owner is shameless about the spying. “basic security measures,” he’d said. he doesn’t trust the sluggish courtesy officer at your complex to do his job. though he’s debated simply buying your landlord out and giving the staff a complete overhaul a couple times 

you never go grocery shopping. every week, sylus has you send luke and kieran a list. and every week, they show up at your door to drop the requested items off, trying to hide how out of breath they are

subtle hints to move in with him turn to outright conversations. but if you need your own space, he won’t keep you from having it. he’ll just…generously offer to fund an upgraded living arrangement. either that, or enjoy having a whole new wing in the base built just for you. fingerprint or beak access only—no twins allowed

rafayel:

you live alone? huh. you barely notice with him around

rafayel is constantly over at your place, as if he doesn’t have millions of dollars in beautiful real estate of his own to lounge around at

it started with silly excuses, like “i heard a weird noise outside and got scared,” or “i’m not feeling too good—can you watch over me just to be safe?” 

but at a certain point, he just stopped bothering.

you come home from work to find him lazing on your couch, and he perks up the moment he sees your face. he says he missed you, you say you saw him yesterday. and he says yeah, but that was a whole yesterday ago

when he’s miraculously not invading your personal space, he still likes to pretend he is. he’ll text you like you’re sitting in the same room, making no-context references to things around him that you can’t see, because, as you’ve explained to him, you are not, in fact, together at the moment. his only answer is “well maybe you should come over then, cutie” 

at least once a week, he’ll order food to your door, only to send a picture of him eating the same thing at his studio. does long-distance parallel play exist? if so, that’s him 

helps you redecorate when you decide your furniture is too drab. even paints you a few originals to display in different rooms

you’re gonna need a bigger bathtub.