♱⋅── about: caleb loses a bet and surrenders control to you for tonight. he thinks he can handle it. he can’t.
♱⋅── word count: 2.9k
♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, pwp, cw breeding kind, tied up caleb, slight themes of cnc, riding him, unprotected sex, overstimulation, > gege lots of gege < , sub!caleb mostly, questionable moral code is applied yes.
art credit to @/damn-i-exist
Oh, he was wrong.
Caleb had miscalculated grievously and was so, so, terribly wrong.
He considered himself a man able to withstand many things, and the four years in the Academy made him into a living weapon, equipped with utmost self-control, unquestionable stamina, and the unwavering strength of a soldier.
And yet five minutes into losing his bet with you, he feels his body and mind begin to fail him entirely.
“Earth to Caleb, I hope you’re not going to give in already.” The smirk is audible in your voice, especially as you grind your hips forward and relish in the shuddered exhale that is his response. “Cause that would mean I win.”
It’s intoxicating, confusing, the way his body stopped responding to him the moment you got on top of him. Caleb’s not really thinking of much right now outside of just how nice the orange glow of your nightlight hits your figure, how damn low that tank top is, and when the fuck did those shorts get so small on you?
He jerks his hands up instinctively, the automatic soldier’s reflex to seize control, the want to touch, to grab. To flip you the fuck over and have his way.
But the bind around his wrists catches.
Hard.
Caleb bites back a hiss, teeth grinding at the pull against his arms. “I’m doing just fine,” he grits out, smile crooked in a way that makes you want to laugh. “Fantastic, even.”
“Mhm,” you hum, “keep telling yourself that. I want to see how long that lasts, gege.”
The look he gave you then, frustration, disbelief, a flicker of something dangerously close to surrender, was the kind of thing someone could get addicted to.
Your thumb traces the rough edge of his lips, once, twice, before pushing into his mouth, muffling the surprised grunt he gives you as you lean in.
“Open.”
His eyes widen, jaw falling slack almost immediately as you spit into his waiting tongue, slapping his cheek lightly after. So obedient.
Caleb swallows, and you swear you feel him twitch underneath you.
“Good boy.”
God, he liked that more than you did.
His moan is muffled around your thumb, but the raspy edge of it is enough to have you clenching around nothing. You’re taking more. Now.
Spreading your knees out wider on either side of Caleb’s waist, you rock yourself backward, immediately rewarded with the hard press of his abs and something even more solid below, friction heavenly and far too little all at once. At the mere contact he lets out another moan, muffled as Caleb sucks on your fingers, curling himself up to stare you right in the eyes.
“Please,” he’s begging already. “Please do something- anything- more.”
Your eyes soften, but your smile doesn’t. “Down, boy. I thought we both agreed on what the loser would have to do.” Your fingers skim his jawline, tracing down his throat before pinning him back down to the mattress with just your pointer finger on his chest. He could fight you so easily if he wanted to. “You have ‘ta listen to whatever,” you sing out the word, dragging it out as your nail teases down his chest, “I say.”
“I’m not—” He stops, swallows, and tries again. You’re being so infuriating it’s taking everything not to rip control back from you, fuck you hard and fast and make you a moaning mess like he knows you like. “I am listening.”
You laugh softly, delighted. “Good then, puppy.”
Caleb freezes.
You watch his pupils dilate, nearly engulfing the galaxy in his eyes to an abyssal black, watch the tension ripple across his chest, watch the heat flush the tips of his ears bright red, all at once.
“…Puppy?” he echoes, voice rougher than before.
You tilt your head, studying the way the word seems to unravel him from the inside.
“Mhm,” run your thumb along his jaw, savoring the way he leans into your touch. “My puppy. It suits you, gege.”
This is embarrassing, it’s so embarrassing and he’s so fucking hard right now.
Caleb surges forward, lips smashing onto yours as he kisses you like he’s starving for it. No complaints from you, meeting him as the force clicks your teeth together before his tongue swipes your lip as an apology, drooling into you as his weight presses as close as the restraints will let him.
You tug his face up as his tongue meets yours, hot, sweet, desperate in a way that feels like you’re melting into one another as you lose yourself in the kiss. Not close enough, never close enough, even as you grind closer, the heat between your legs unbearable. You can feel the sweat dripping from his temples, damp heat against your skin, and the kiss melt like hot sugar and something burning.
A hot, undeniable heat of late summer that makes everything in your body boil and sweat, all-consuming and impossible to ignore. The air between you feels thick with it, syrupy, suffocating, every breath shared back and forth until you can’t tell where one of you ends and the other begins. Somewhere in the half-breaths you dare take you throw your shirt off, hardened nipples grazing Caleb’s chest as he feels himself slipping at the sight of your body.
Every kiss only leaves the both of you hungrier, an aching burn spreading through your body.
Standing up on shaky legs, Caleb whines at the loss of you, chasing you up until the scarf tied against his arms jerks him back down.
“Shh, it’s okay, gege,” you tug down your sleep shorts and panties in one drag, letting them fall to your ankles as Caleb’s jaw snaps shut. “I’m just making it easier for you.”
He’d agree to be tied up every second of every fucking day if it meant you looking down at him, completely naked and smiling so damn innocently like this.
Pulling a condom out from your nightstand, you climb back into Caleb’s lap slowly enough to make him watch every movement. Every muscle in his body strains as his skin touches yours, hands fighting the urge to break free before you’re pulling him into a kiss and he simply melts, moaning your name.
A giggle slips from you, swallowed immediately by Caleb’s eager tongue as he chases the sound, kissing you harder, needier, like he can’t stand even a second of distance between you. You let him indulge in it while your hands drift lower, fumbling deliberately with the waistband of his boxers before pulling his poor, leaking cock out, the heft of it springing into your palms.
Caleb full-body shudders, breath catching hot against your mouth, and the reaction alone nearly makes you laugh again. So desperate already.
You toy with the condom between your fingers, peeling the wrapper open slowly while Caleb watches with hooded eyes, every hulking inch of him tense with anticipation. A predator unable to pounce. When you hold it up in front of his face, he leans toward it instinctively, helpless with want.
Cruel delight curls in your chest at the sight.
And then you toss it carelessly across the bed.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing this.”
The whine Caleb lets out will haunt your every dream. “No, no. Pips, princess, please. Don’t— don’t do that to me, let me fuck you. I’ll make you feel so good, please.”
You tilt your head, acting confused as you slide your hips down until you’re hovering right above his dick.
“I never said I wouldn’t let you fuck me.” A smile, evil and so, so satisfied.
And god, you can feel and hear just how wet you’re getting. The loud, obnoxious slap each time you rock forward, the popping suction of your pussy dragging against the wonderfully hard length of his dick, feeling it throb and jump with the hot friction.
Caleb is clenching his jaw hard enough to snap. His entire dick flushed raw pink, twitching and dripping with your slick and an embarrassing amount of precum all drooling down the veins of his dick and sticking to your inner thighs. His hips stutter to meet yours despite himself, despite knowing this was dangerous territory, despite every rock of your bare cunt against him feeling like heaven and sin and fuck his eyes are rolling back at the mere thought of more.
“Stop,” Caleb’s plea comes out pathetically weak. He’s already rocking into you again before the word’s even finished. “Come on, I- I’ve told you how dangerous this is.”
“Ya, we’ve had the talk a bunch when we were kids.” You pout, sitting back as you both look down to the sticky, wet mess between you. One hand goes to pump the remaining slick up and down his dick as the other circles your own clit, Caleb’s eyes racing back and forth between the two as though he can’t decide where to look first. “But I’m an adult now, gege. And I really, really want you inside me.”
Caleb’s going to die.
You’re going to kill him.
But fuck, if you don’t stop moaning through your bitten lips as you play with yourself, he’s not sure he’ll mind.
“Please, baby,” he’s whimpering, gasping out for air as his immobilized body jerks and humps into your hand, dick flushed from the attention but not enough for any real release. It hurts. He needs you so badly it hurts. “Grab another condom, please. Fuck me, use me, I can’t– I can’t stop myself much longer.”
He feels your lips curl into a devilish grin as you lean down, whispering, “Then don’t.”
And the feeling of you slamming down onto his cock, that searing, wonderful pressure, shatters any restraint Caleb had left.
His broken moan is a little more than a sob in your ear, the entire bedframe creaking as Caleb’s back arches, every thick, bulky muscle underneath you flexing as you continue to ride him, a single hand pushing his hips back down to the bed.
It’s all he can think about. Your nails digging into his abs, the sting of your marks as you lose yourself on top of him. The overwhelming heat of your body. The dizzying drag of you rocking up and down again and again until every thought in his head is melting, spinning, just the feeling of you every raw part of you, the way you’re forcing him to hit that spongy spot, the force abusing his oversensitive tip until it’s euphoric pain.
Seeing your strong, protective gege turn absolutely stupid under you only makes you want to push him further. Your thighs burn with the stretch around his impressive quads, legs trembling as you force yourself to go faster. More, you want-need more. You need him to cum inside you.
Caleb whines at that, shaking his head vigorously as he looks up at you through tear-stained lashes. You didn't even realize you were slurring all that out loud. “Don’t, don’t say that. Can’t- won’t stop but fuuuck” he’s moaning again, hips jerking off the bed as the angle forces him right up to your cervix. “I should.”
He doesn’t stop.
You both know he won’t.
The entire bed is shaking when your legs give in, collapsing onto Caleb’s sweat-slicked chest as you keep rutting down into him, clawing into his shoulders for leverage. It’s so much, his tip pressing every spot inside you, the heavy drag of each thrust turning you stupid, drooling into Caleb’s neck as you bite and suck every inch of salty, sweaty skin.
You feel yourself already getting close. “You don’t want to? You don’t want to fill me up?” A whimper, you can’t tell from who as you get tighter, entire body tensing as shocks of pleasure jolt through you. “Please, please. I need it. Please cum inside me, gege.”
Then there’s the loud, undeniable rip of the scarf you’d been using as makeshift binds tearing to shreds, Caleb’s palms slamming onto your hips with a harsh slap.
Raw handprints burn into your skin as Caleb lifts you right into the air, slamming you back down onto his dick. Your eyes roll back, unable to do anything but laugh deliriously as he uses you with every ounce of his remaining strength.
“Again, say it again.”
“P-please cum inside me.” You’re blabbering the words over and over again, body turning to mush as you collapse on top of him.
Feeling every vein, every slap of his pelvis on your clit has you screaming, trembling as your release sprays onto both your thighs. So, so much of it. Your lips open in a silent scream as you squirt around the base of his cock, the mess splattering onto Caleb’s abs as his pupils dilate at the sight.
“Again.”
Then, you’re being manhandled like a doll. Caleb locks you in tight, chest to chest, your tits squished against his pecs, swinging an arm around as he traps you in a headlock, the other slamming your hips down as your head goes fuzzy from the suffocation and bruising, delicious force of him ramming right into your cervix. “Do it again.”
Your nails claw at his bicep, spine arching into his body as the two of you melt into one another, sweat and cum and desperation sticking and dripping from you. Caleb’s strength was failing him too, each grind of your hips, the way your pussy is still convulsing and leaking around him breaking his restraint into something dangerous.
If it is what you wanted, if this is what you needed, then wouldn’t he be such a horrible older brother to deny you?
He’ll give you what you want.
He’ll always give you everything you want.
“This is your fault.” Right as Caleb’s hips falter something else begins to lift you up, gravity itself binding you as his Evol rams you down. “Spoiled you rotten, can’t say no– fuuuck– can’t say no to you.” Up again, down again. Inhumane speed leaving you sobbing as his headlock doesn’t lessen, free hand now moving to your poor neglected clit, quick circles that have you drooling.
“Again.”
“Caleb,” the headlock, the pleasure, it leaves you gasping,”I-I can’t–”
“Again.”
You’re already cumming.
“You wanted this. Begged for this.” He’s drunkenly buckling up into you, hammering his hips into yours. Nose-deep into the crook of your neck as your vision spins from it all. “So take it. Take it, take everything your gege gives you.”
Finally, he gives you what you wanted. The force of his release is dizzying, hot and addictive as you both feel his cum swell your insides. But the thrusts never stop, Caleb’s dick forcing globs of your mixed releases out as he’s already chasing another.
“Greedy pussy needs more. You knew I’d cave, knew I’d fill you right to the womb—” Letting you gasp in air as his palm moves to press down on your belly. You feel every inch of him now. “—but ‘s still not enough, not until you’re swollen with it, begging me this time.” He moans at the thought, delirious, and you whine as you feel him fill you up once more, Evol pinning you as close as possible. Another orgasm.
Immediately, his fingers are at your clit again, a punishing slap to your pussy enough to have you scream before Caleb’s palm comes back up to muffle your cries. Nips your ear in punishment.
“Stop whining and take it, listen to your gege and take it.”
You’re fighting the force of his Evol as bursts of pleasure-pain make you thrash against the binds of gravity, moans and sobs broken behind his hand, nothing coherent left in your mind as you squirt once more. Your legs don’t stop shaking.
Caleb can’t hold on much longer either. The sight of you completely losing control atop of him drives him insane, and the way your pussy keeps hugging him back in wanting more and more. He can’t stop. Doesn’t want to, never wants to after this.
You’re still in the middle of cumming as he thumbs over your clit once more, finally sitting up as the new angle forces you down even further into his lap, and you’re sure your Evol is amplifying his with how much power is behind every thrust, working overtime as Caleb’s hands are pinching and rolling your oversensitive nipples and clit, hugging you tight as his body convulses behind you.
It’s overwhelming, his dick no longer thrusting but grinding, unable to part from you, the swollen head pushing past your cervix as his release keeps filling and filling you. You don’t feel it end, heat sticking to your insides and being shoved deeper, your body still spasming and helpless to do anything but take it.
There’s too much of it, Caleb’s body collapsing atop yours as he trembles. His cock was so, so sensitive but he couldn’t stop cumming, feeling every strand fill you up past your limit, watching the slight bloat of your tummy as the rest leaks down your thighs, staining the mattress from god knows how long it's been. It’s so obscene, so filthy and it just makes him want to fuck you raw again.
The first thing you can make out when reality comes back to you is the quiet laugh as Caleb drops his forehead onto your shoulder, panting into your skin as he leaves open-mouthed kisses there.
He doesn't pull out and you don't want him to either, the two of you falling back into the pillows as you moan at every slight shift inside you.
Summary: You're an independent woman working as a lawyer that is stuck in the capitalistic grind to support your son - Arthur the black cat and your reading addiction but quite content with her life. What happens when you run into Sylus with his charm in a chance encounter that is dead set on courting you. Or, in other words, what happens when an unstoppable force (Sylus) meets an immovable object (Non-MC)?
Part 2
A/N: Hello! I am back with my random burst of inspiration for writing and this is what I have so far. I saw a few posts talking about Sylus with an older woman and that got me writing. Sylus in this is his canonical age (26) and reader is 36. I am supposed to finish grading papers yet here I am. Reader exhibits ADHD traits and a smoking addiction (stay safe guys!)
It was just another regular day in your life where you were stuck at work, wanting time to move fast so that you can go home and cuddle with you cat as you read some novels. Some would say that was a sad and boring life for a 36 year old single woman but you couldn’t care less. You were happy and content with your life (except your job but that was because of your stupid boss). Your boss was on your ass wanting you to finalise the draft for the upcoming major investment into your company. Tired of trying to force yourself to work, you decided to take a quick smoke break and grabbing a drink from the cafe nearby.
You made your way out of the office building and found a somewhat quiet spot near the sidewalk and took a cigarette from your purse and that was when you noticed that your lighter is out of fuel and you forgot to buy a replacement. Of all the days, it had to be today. Cursing yourself, you were looking around to see if anyone around you might have one and that’s when you spotted him - An incredibly tall man with silver hair and sunglasses looking at his phone like it personally offended him. He wore a suit with red blazer that had black tiger stripes. He sure had an odd sense of fashion paired with an aura of a man who thought everything was beneath him.
Deciding that you were only going to ask if he had a lighter and not for his first born, you decided to slowly approach him.“Excuse me. Hi. So sorry to bother you but do you by any chance have a lighter on you?”
The man stared at you with a scrutinising look, like you indeed had the audacity to ask for his first born like the wicked witch of the East. But a second later, he reached into his suit and handed you a very fancy looking lighter.
Not wanting to waste any more of his time and your break, you quickly lit your cigarette and handed the lighter back to the man with a thanks. Walking back to your previous spot, you took a few drags from the cigarette while mentally making a list of all the things you needed to get done so that you can leave this hell hole asap. Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice that the fancy lighter man had walked to stand closer to you.
“I am Sylus.” He introduced himself without a preamble, snapping you back to reality.
“Sorry?” You said as you didn’t catch him the first time, making him repeat himself. Once you registered what he said, you reciprocated by introducing yourself to him.
“Long day at work?” He asked and you figured he was trying to make small talk for some unfathomable reason. Small talk cost you nothing other than the loss of depleting brain cells but eh, what the heck, sure.
“You could say that. Just a boss that can be a bit of a dick. Nothing I can’t handle though. You look like your driver ditched you.”
“What makes you say that?” He inquired, looking intrigued at your assessment of his situation.
“You were looking at your phone like you were ready to murder someone and now you’re here at the sidewalk making small talk with me in your rich fancy suit.” You replied with a shrug. You had the habit of people watching and observing things that other people usually don’t notice or register.
“Rich fancy suit?” Now he was just smiling at you or rather your words which should have made you self-conscious and filter your words but your brain said not today.
“Yea. I mean yeah this is a bougie law firm and everyone might wear something that looks expensive but only a rich rich person who does not care about other people’s opinions would wear…that.”
“What’s wrong with that?” He turned around and leaned on the wall to fully look at you.
“The design is definitely a choice, I’d say. It’s not for everyone and nor can everyone pull it off.” You really should stop talking but you were just digging your grave further and further.
“So, you’re saying I’m pulling it off?” He asked with a smirk, clearly fishing for compliments.
“Weirdly, yeah.” You replied with a small smile of your own as you snuffed your cigarette butt on the sidewalk. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Sylus. I unfortunately have to get back to my job. I hope you’re not stranded for too long, though.”
“It was nice meeting you too, Miss. I hope we meet again.” He said extending his hand for a handshake that you took. He definitely had a sharp handshake that a lot of those business gurus talk about on instagram.
“Well, you never know.” Was all you said as you made your way to the cafe to grab a cup of hot chocolate before going back to your desk. You did not think too much about this encounter unbeknownst to you that this five minutes might change the trajectory of your life as you know it now.
rafayel/caleb: you are PROTECTED and WATCHED. they get along annoyingly well and end up telling each other all their secrets, even the ones kept from you. they decide working together fully is in your best interest. feed into each other's yandere tendencies. lots of ribbons and blindfolds and manhandling when they fuck you. their shared cute aggression and inability to say no to you is your greatest weapon.
zayne/sylus: daddy duo. zayne is the strict one. you go to sylus when you want to go behind zayne's back to get your way. sometimes sylus betrays you and ties you to the bed posts and leaves you for zayne to find when he gets home. they both call you sweet girl, and when you are in public, they both have a hand on you somewhere at all times.
rafayel/zayne: work really well together when shit gets serious. teacher/student roleplay, often. they have very different worldviews and you are always trying to prompt philosophical discussions between them for your own entertainment. also work together well at night. rafayel holds you against his chest, entirely restrained, while zayne punishes you with his cock. very gentle thorough aftercare.
rafayel/sylus: they nearly kill each other a few times at the start. they are apparently accidents, but you have your doubts. especially when sylus calls raf kitten one day and gets a dagger in his shoulder as a consequence. they take you on exotic trips very often. you get fucked in each place. they keep track of these places on a map and challenge each other in various games to decide who gets to choose the next place to take you. they both love dressing you up all pretty, often in pink.
xavier/caleb: always competing for your attention. snarky. passive-aggressive jealous bickering. lock in together when you need protecting. no hand raised against you lives. every time caleb feeds you a perfectly cooked meal, xavier fucks you for desert to make sure he's keeping the balance. caleb banned him from the kitchen for your safety. xavier makes you call him gege sometimes just to piss him off.
xavier/zayne: you catch them in discussions sometimes that make your head spin. they respect each other a lot. zayne has an accident with his evol one night and needs distance from you, escaping out into the cold night. but before he can spiral into self-loathing, xavier follows him out and talks him out of it. he tells him he's the only one in the universe he trusts with your life.
rafayel/xavier: pure joy and fun with a side of murder. they don't get along at first. xavier doesn't like how involved you are with rafayel's revenge/rescue missions. but after insisting on coming along, he quickly gets on side. ends up completely dedicated to the cause, especially when he sees how it upsets you. you find them napping together sometimes, and rafayel calls xavier old and out of touch when he doesn't understand his art. you have baths together nearly every day, and at night they grab at you and tug you between them like two only children who've never had to share their favourite toy.
xavier/sylus: sylus scares children off as he stands at your side and xavier smiles from your other side and tells them he's not nearly as scary as he looks. sylus stirs up xavier's jealous tendencies on purpose just to fuck with him, and because he knows you like it. he'll sit you on his cock and ask who fills you better or challenge xavier to try and take what belongs to him. respect each other but bicker like they hate each other.
zayne/caleb: serious plotting and scheming. have the potential to take over planet earth. EVER is rubble in 4 business days. no matter how much you want to see them fight, they keep it out of your sight, even when you tease and incite jealousy as best you can. sometimes when you've been more trouble than usual, they punish you together for being a bad girl.
sylus/caleb: the most pampered spoiled princess known to mankind. wants for nothing. sleeps in between them every night and when one of them is gone the other cockwarms you to soothe you. potential for absolute evil to manifest between them as they feed into each other's all-consuming obsession and desire for you. have the potential to work together to destroy all life in the universe if it would make you just a little bit happier.
Synopsis: Seven minutes in heaven with your college Rival Rafayell couldn't have been more insufferable—except it didn’t end in seven minutes. One kiss turned into another, and somehow the game bled into the night, your rivalry burning hotter in the sheets. Weeks later, you act like nothing happened between you, but Rafayel doesn’t take it lightly. Jealousy flickers sharp whenever he sees you laugh with someone else, as if you plan on pissing him off.
Content warnings: College AU, Rivals to lovers, Jealousy, Heavy Sexual tension, Kissing, Making out in the closet, Explicit sexual content, Rough sex, Possessiveness, Riding, Face fucking, Oral sex, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Overstimulation, Dirty talk, Manhandling, Marking/bruising, Jealousy-fueled intimacy, Consensual but rough dynamics, Rafayel gets jealous, mc wants to piss him off
Word count: 10k
chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 — ao3
Chapter 1 - Push and Pull
You despised Rafayel Qi more than you ever wanted to admit, and nothing in this life would have satisfied you more than wiping that smug, infuriating smirk off his face. He was the kind of insufferable you could spot from across a lecture hall, lounging in his seat like the world existed for his amusement, tossing out comments that were always just sharp enough to get under your skin.
For the past two years, he’d been your personal plague, an ever-present thorn in your side. And somewhere, deep down in the place you didn’t like to acknowledge, you almost admired his persistence—how one man could make you want to strangle him in every single encounter.
He never knew when to shut up. Always poking, always pushing, like testing the limits of your patience was his chosen sport. And oh, how you’d made it your mission to give it right back, to make his life just as miserable in return. That was the thing about the two of you, a perfect disaster of cause and effect. The light and the fuse. People didn’t even bother asking how your latest spat had started—they just assumed it had, because it always did.
On campus, your names had become inseparable in the worst possible way, whispered together with knowing grins or exasperated sighs. Group projects? A nightmare. Debate class? Civil war. Even casual conversations in the cafeteria would somehow pivot to, “Did you hear what Rafayel said to her this time?”
You hated it, hated that your name was tethered to his like some cosmic joke.
You could still hear his voice from that afternoon in the library, casual and smooth as ever, leaning over the table with that lazy smile. “Relax, cutie,” he’d said, sliding your textbook toward himself without asking. “If you keep glaring at me with that expression, people are going to think that you fancy me.”
You had snatched the book back, teeth clenched. “The only thing I fancy is the idea of never having to see your face again.”
He’d only laughed, low and infuriating. “Harsh. Guess I’ll just have to make sure you keep seeing it, then.”
You couldn’t begin to fathom what crime you had committed—whether in this life or some unfortunate past one—to deserve being stuck with him every few weeks. Yet here you were, standing on the soft, beer-stained carpet, surrounded by a cloud of cheap perfume, laughter, and the low thrum of bass shaking the floorboards. Alcohol hummed in your veins, warm and distracting, while the partygoers whooped and hollered around the circle.
A chipped glass bottle spun on the floor, wobbling to a stop as if it had been conspiring against you all night. You stared at it like it had just declared war on you, because, of course, the neck was pointing directly at Rafayel.
For a fleeting, wicked moment, you considered grabbing it and cracking it over his annoyingly perfect head. Seven minutes in heaven. With him.
The crowd erupted—half in mock horror, half in the kind of delight that came from watching a train wreck you couldn’t look away from. Simone and Tara exchanged a wide-eyed glance that said they were both surprised and already placing mental bets.
You narrowed your eyes at them, but before you could say a word, movement caught your attention. Rafayel was already walking toward the closet—no hesitation, no acknowledgment of the chaos he left in his wake. He didn’t even look back at you, as if it was a foregone conclusion you’d follow.
That arrogant prick.
You scoffed under your breath and stood, brushing imaginary lint off your jeans, mostly to keep from flipping him off in front of everyone. Simone and Tara nudged each other like middle schoolers about to watch a fight, grinning as though they hadn’t just sold you out to the devil himself.
“Don’t wait up,” you muttered at them, your voice sharp enough to cut.
A guy from somewhere in the back yelled, “My money’s on murder!”
Another chimed in, “Nah, they’re either gonna make out or burn the place down.”
You ignored them all, though your jaw tightened. Seven whole minutes trapped in a cramped, dark space with Rafayel—his cologne, his smug smirk, his constant need to one-up you. And as you reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder at last, that infuriating grin playing on his lips.
“Don’t look so thrilled, cutie,” he drawled, holding the closet door open just wide enough for you to pass. “I promise to make it worth your while.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle you could still see. “You wish.”
His smirk deepened, lazy and sure of himself. “I do,” he said lightly, stepping in after you. “But it’s more fun when you do too.”
The door clicked shut, sealing you into seven minutes of hell. You pressed yourself into the farthest corner as the door shut, sealing out the noise of the party. Darkness swallowed the cramped space, save for a sliver of light leaking through the crack between the door and frame. Your breath caught—not from nerves, you told yourself, but from the sudden proximity.
His cologne lingered in the air, warm and heady, with some other undertone—salted, oceanic—that clung stubbornly in your head. The realization annoyed you more than his actual presence. It was unfair, you thought, that someone so irritating could smell that good.
A faint brush against your arm made you flinch. You turned your head sharply, catching the faint outline of his profile in the gloom.
“Keep to your own space, yeah?” you muttered, your voice low but sharp. You tried to shift farther away, but the closet was far too small, and you hated the way every movement brought you back within reach of him.
His laugh came quiet but deep, curling at the edges with smugness. “My bad, princess,” he murmured, leaning just close enough for the warmth of his words to ghost over your cheek. “Didn’t realize I’d already stepped on your toes tonight.”
You shot him a glare, even if you knew he probably couldn’t see much of it in the dark. His arm was still brushing yours, his casual lean making it clear he had no intention of shifting away.
“I will step on yours if you don’t move,” you warned, crossing your arms tight over your chest and turning your body slightly to shield yourself.
Instead of taking the hint, he tilted his head lazily. “So aggressive tonight,” he said softly, mock sweetness dripping from the words. “Acting like this isn’t the highlight of your night.”
You huffed, the sound sharp in the close air. “In what universe would this be my highlight?”
“In mine,” he answered smoothly, without missing a beat.
You scoffed, the sound sharp in the thick air between you. “You’re so full of yourself, Rafayel.” the words left your mouth like you were flicking a match, each syllable meant to cut.
He only hummed in response, low and lazy, and you hated how close the sound came—how it brushed over your ear like the faintest touch. The closet was warm, the air stale, and you could barely make out anything in the dark. But the sliver of light from the doorframe caught just enough of his face to make his expression clear—amused, entertained, like this was his own private game.
You scoffed again, softer this time, if only to keep from saying something that would sound too much like admitting defeat. He chuckled quietly, that smug undercurrent in every note, and then his arm brushed yours again. You stiffened, your jaw tightening on instinct, but he didn’t shift away. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, tilting his head toward you until you could feel the faint stir of his breath. One hand came up to brace himself on the wall behind you, close enough that you could feel the subtle press of his body against yours.
Your pulse ticked up despite yourself. This was absurd. Infuriating. And yet your chest felt tighter than it should.
“Stop touching me,” you hissed, shifting back as far as the wall would allow.
He gave a quiet laugh, as though you’d just said something endearing. “Where exactly do you want me to go, cutie?” he murmured, voice low enough that you almost missed it. “Closet’s only so big.”
The worst part was that he was right. There wasn’t an inch of space left between you. You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he could probably see the movement in the faint light. “Try harder.”
“Oh, I am,” he replied smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin you could hear in his voice.
Seven minutes had never felt longer.
He smirked, leaning in just enough to test your patience, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly casual tone he always used when he knew he was getting under your skin.
“Kind of convenient, isn’t it?” he murmured, the words brushing against you like a challenge. “Whole party out there, and somehow you end up locked in here with me. Almost like you rigged it. Guess you really can’t stay away, cutie.” his next words ignited the fire in you even harder, “Especially since you can’t beat me when it actually counts.”
Your teeth clenched, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Before you could think better of it, your hand shot out, gripping the front of his shirt and tugging him just enough to close the already minuscule space between you.
“You’re delusional,” your voice was low and pointed, every word pressed like a blade. “Your ego must be eating what’s left of your brain, because you’re lying to yourself if you think I’d choose this. I’d rather be anywhere else.”
You held his gaze, and now you were close enough to make out the sharp line of his jaw, the faint curve of his mouth, and—annoyingly—just how clear his eyes looked in the thin strip of light. He stared back at you with the same infuriating calm, only a slow tug of a smirk breaking the stillness.
“Funny,” he whispered, leaning in just enough for his breath to mingle with yours. “You’re the one hanging on to my clothes like you’re about to tear them off.”
Your own smile curled, deceptively sweet. “I’d rather tear your head off.”
The space between you tightened, silent except for the shallow drag of your breaths. You hated that the air felt heavier now, that the warmth radiating from him made your skin hum in awareness. Neither of you moved back, both locked in the same unspoken dare you’d been passing between each other since the day you met.
He smirked, and you felt your jaw tighten in sync with the way your fingers curled, bunching the front of his shirt in a hard grip. He was too close, close enough that your breath caught against his, every inhale shared in the warm, cramped dark. Your pulse spiked, not that you’d admit it, not even to yourself.
You hated this. Absolutely hated him.
A sharp scoff escaped you before you planted a hand against his chest, shoving him back just enough to reclaim a sliver of space. But before you could take another step away, his arm moved and slid down from the wall behind you until his hand brushed against your waist, steadying himself.
The light contact made your pulse trip over itself. You grit your teeth, biting back the words that wanted to snarl at him to stop touching you—though you weren’t sure if you meant it entirely.
“You don’t seem in a rush for me to let go,” his voice was carrying that lazy taunt that made every nerve in you itch. His hand stayed exactly where it was, with more purpose now, his fingers settling with a certain confidence at your waist.
Your glare could have cut glass. “What kind of delusional state gives you the nerve to think you can touch me?”
You shoved at his chest again, harder this time, but his grip only tightened, pulling you forward with the movement so that your body collided with his. Your breath left you in a startled grunt, the solid heat of him impossible to ignore.
You looked up at him, startled and seething, yet heat coiled traitorously low in your stomach at the new position. Every sharp exchange, every smug remark he lobbed your way had wound itself into something you refused to name, and you’d sooner die than admit Rafayel could have that kind of effect on you.
His smirk curved lower, slower this time, his voice brushing over you like the edge of a dare. “I like it when you bite back,” he murmured, leaning just enough that the air between you thinned. “Makes me wonder what you’d do if I touched you… on purpose.”
His gaze flicked down briefly, then back to yours, full of quiet challenge. “My guess? Not much. You can’t really one-up me.”
The air felt heavy, your breaths matching his in a quick, uneven rhythm. Tension held you both still, tethered in the narrow space between his chest and yours.
“Cocky bastard,” you whispered, every word sharpened between clenched teeth. “You’ll get more than you bargained for.” you tilted your chin up, closing the space by a fraction, your lips nearly grazing his. “So either move your hand… or I’ll make you.”
His smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened infuriatingly slow, like he was savoring the moment.
“Yeah?” his voice dipped just enough to brush against something inside you. “And how exactly would you make me?”
His fingers tightened on your waist, not painfully, but with the kind of deliberate pressure that felt like he was testing how far he could push before you snapped. Heat surged under your skin, your muscles tensing as your breath came shallow, matching his.
You couldn’t even say who moved first—only that suddenly his mouth was on yours, hot and unyielding, all teeth and heat and reckless challenge. He kissed like he expected you to fight him, so you did, matching the push of his lips with your own bite until the taste of him left you dizzy.
Your whole body pressed into him, seeking leverage you didn’t want to admit you needed. His grip on your waist anchored you, pulling you closer until there was no space left to guard. Your teeth caught his lower lip, hard enough to pull a groan from his chest, low and rough.
The cramped heat of the closet wrapped around you both, the world reduced to the tangle of limbs and breath and the sharp scent of him. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging as his bent knee slid between yours, shifting your weight until your back met the wall again with a muted thud.
He didn’t stop. Your mouths were a frenzy—hot, rough, and desperate in a way neither of you would ever admit aloud. Your hands clutched at him, fisting the fabric of his shirt, not to pull him closer—though it felt that way—but to keep yourself from stumbling under the force of it all.
The taste of him lingered on your tongue, sharp and consuming, each kiss a challenge neither of you wanted to lose.
You bit at his lower lip, he returned the favor, and your tongues tangled in a battle for dominance that left both of you breathing ragged. Teeth grazed swollen lips and the sensitive skin just beneath, his mouth dragging down to your neck. His lips were warm, his breath hotter, and when he sucked a mark there, his smirk was felt more than seen.
“Someone’s enjoying themselves,” he rasped against your skin, his voice low enough to scrape over your nerves.
“Shut up,” you bit back, shoving at his shoulder, though your body betrayed you, arching into him when his hands—bolder now—slipped beneath the hem of your shirt.
Your mouth found his again, urgent and unrestrained, and you yanked hard on his hair, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. The sound vibrated against your lips, and heat pooled low in your stomach.
You were both panting now, breaths coming fast and shallow, and then you felt his bulge—hard against your hip, impossible to ignore. His thigh pressed between yours, and without thinking, you grinded down against it, the friction dizzying.
He groaned again, but this time it was laced with that infuriating amusement. “Cute,” he drawled, his tone deliberately light, even as his grip on you tightened. “Almost desperate. Must be all that pent-up frustration from wanting to fuck me this whole time.”
Your nails dragged slow beneath his shirt, scratching from his ribs down to his stomach before sliding back up again. The movement earned a low, unrestrained groan from him, his breath hitching just enough to make you smirk—though you didn’t get long to savor the victory.
His hands were already on you, firm and unapologetic as they cupped your ass, pulling you down against the solid line of his thigh. The friction sent a jolt through you both, making your bodies lurch together, grunts and gasps spilling into the heat between your mouths.
Even breathless, neither of you could resist the game.
“Feel that?” he smirked, the words curling against your ear in a delicious rasp as he shifted his leg just right, making you gasp. “You’re soaking through, cutie. Didn’t know you could get this wet just from grinding on me.”
You hissed through your teeth, catching his smirk in your peripheral, and refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter.
“Yeah? Then maybe you should be more worried about yourself,” you shot back, your voice low and edged with heat. Your fingers slipped lower, brushing the waistband of his jeans. “You’re so hard, Rafayel. I bet if I touched you just a little, you’d cum in seconds.”
His grip tightened at that, a subtle, wordless admission he wouldn’t dare voice.
What you don’t expect is his low, rough voice brushing against the shell of your ear like he knows exactly what it does to you.
“Go on,” he murmurs, the words warm and wicked, “be a good girl… touch me. We could help each other out.” The tease is casual, almost lazy, but the weight of it coils heat deep in your stomach.
Before you can throw a retort, his fingers are already at your waistband, dragging the zipper down in a slow, deliberate pull. Then his hand slips inside, the heat of his palm startling against your skin. His breath hitches in something like satisfaction, and a soft grunt escapes him, carrying both a praise and a taunt.
“Slippery already,” he drawls, his tone dipping just enough to make it sound like a secret. “Must’ve been desperate for me, huh? Can’t help yourself… even just being close to me gets you like this.”
You grit your teeth, trying to swallow the sound building in your throat, but it escapes anyway—a low, unsteady moan—as his fingers slide inside you. He doesn’t ease in; his pace starts steady, controlled, and just dizzying enough to steal your breath.
You’re too far gone to argue, too caught between his touch and the heat thrumming through you to remember whatever insult you’d been ready to throw. Instead, you crush your mouth to his, the kiss greedy and unrestrained, tasting of defiance. His fingers work inside you in a steady, deliberate rhythm, just enough to make your knees threaten to give.
You don’t let him have all the satisfaction. Your hand drifts lower, finding the hard outline pressing against his jeans, rubbing in the same measured pace he’s set for you. The sound he makes is low and rough, pulled from somewhere deep, and you drink it in like victory.
Your mouths stay locked, swallowing each other’s shallow pants and quiet moans, the kiss breaking only for sharp gasps before crashing together again. Teeth catch lips, fingers dig into clothes and skin, both of you pushing harder, faster—daring the other to give in first.
The tension snaps for you in a shiver, your body tightening around his fingers as heat floods through you. He swallows your moan like it’s his, kissing you harder, deeper, until you’re dizzy. A moment later, his hips jerk, a muted groan breaking against your mouth as he follows, the heat between you spilling over into something ragged and messy.
Still, neither of you pull away. You kiss until your lips are bruised, until breath comes in broken pulls, until it’s impossible to tell if you’re clinging from want or because neither of you can stand without the other holding you up.
“Pretty sure that was more than seven minutes,” he murmured against your neck, his tone dripping with satisfaction before his teeth sank into your skin in playful retaliation.
A sharp sound slipped from you—half moan, half hiss—your body still humming from the high, even as irritation flickered hot in your chest.
“Who knew all it would take was a couple of my fingers to strip some of that attitude away, cutie?” he added, the bait curling lazily from his lips like he already knew you’d take it.
Your response was wordless at first—a firm grip on the half-hard length straining against his jeans, followed by a hiss against his neck as your other hand tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him suck in a breath.
“How about,” your voice was low and edged with challenge, “you get me out of here and fuck me until it’s all gone, hm?”
His mouth crashed onto yours before you could blink, the kiss bruising and impatient. His hands gripped your ass and hips with a possessive force, pulling you flush against him as his smirk ghosted over your lips.
“Gladly,” he breathed, smug as ever.
“Bastard,” you muttered against his mouth, earning nothing more than a quiet laugh before he hauled you out of the cramped closet.
The hallway erupted in whistles and amused voices from classmates, but Rafayel didn’t so much as glance at them—his only focus fixed entirely, and unapologetically, on you.
—
Your hands roamed over him in desperate, greedy paths, grabbing at whatever skin you could reach—his back, his shoulders, the flex of his arms—as he drove into you with slow, delicious thrusts that somehow felt both sweet and merciless. His body hovered above yours, holding you caged between his hips and the mattress, each movement pulling ragged moans from your throat.
The air between you was hot, tangled with the sound of panting breaths and the wet heat of messy, biting kisses that kept breaking and reforming like neither of you could stay away for long.
“I can bet,” he moaned between thrusts, his voice rough but edged with that familiar smirk, “you were this wet every time you argued back at me… isn’t that right?”
His flushed face hovered over yours, his gaze locked on you as his palm slid over your breast, kneading and teasing your nipple until it peaked under his touch.
You answered with a scoffing moan, biting back the urge to roll your eyes even as pleasure shot through you when he angled his hips just right, hitting deep enough to make your stomach clench. You lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, still unwilling to give him the full satisfaction of your surrender.
“Why don’t you quit being insufferable,” you grunted, your voice breaking when his teeth grazed your neck, “and fuck me properly instead?”
His fingers found your clit mid-sentence, circling in maddening, precise strokes that made your breath stutter. “Make me cum again, I’m close.”
“Who am I to refuse you, princess?” he mocked in a low, wicked whisper, his tone all heat and challenge.
Your back arched helplessly into him as release tore through you, your body tightening around his cock in pulsing waves. His hips jerked with the rhythm of your climax, your moans mixing with his as you dragged him into a heated kiss, swallowing each other’s sounds. His grip on your hip tightened hard enough to leave faint, perfect marks you’d find later, a wordless claim in the shape of his fingers.
Your palms pressed firmly to his chest, the heat of his skin slick under your fingers as your nails dug in for balance. You rode him in a steady, unrelenting rhythm, each movement pulling a groan from deep in his throat.
Your head tipped back, lips parted, the sound of your panting filling the room as your breasts bounced with every rise and fall. His mouth caught one nipple, sucking greedily before his teeth grazed the sensitive peak just enough to make your muscles tighten around him.
“This must be new to you, right?” he asked, though the lift of his brows and the smug curve of his mouth made it sound more like confirmation than curiosity. His tone was breathless, feigning innocence, which only made it worse.
Too lost in the way his cock filled you, you could only grunt between gasps, “What are you talking about?”
His hands tightened on your waist, guiding you down harder onto him. He murmured against your chest, his lips brushing your skin before closing around your nipple again, biting until a moan escaped you.
“Being on top,” he rasped with a smirk you could hear, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “Considering you’re never above me in anything.”
The taunt was punctuated by a sharp thrust upward, his hips grinding into you as a low grunt rumbled from his chest. “How do you like it, princess?”
You bent forward, bracing a hand against his jaw, then sliding it to the back of his neck as his eyes locked on yours—amethyst and heat-drunk, his lips wet and kiss-bruised. Through a breathless moan, you rasped out your answer, your nails biting into his skin.
“Would like it better,” you panted, “if you didn’t run your mouth.”
He only smirked, that maddening curve of his lips catching the dim light before he ducked down to suck another mark into your neck—one of many already burning along your skin. His smugness was infuriating, but it was harder to focus on that when you felt him twitch inside you, his cock hitting deep enough to blur your vision.
“Oh, but you do like when I run my mouth, don’t ya?” his voice was low, curling with amusement before he caught your lips in a kiss that was all heat and teeth and unspent tension. You kept moving on him, chasing the high with relentless rhythm, your breath breaking against his. “Seemed to love it a few minutes ago,” he murmured between kisses, “when it was between your legs.”
A sharp moan tore from you when his thumb found your clit, already slick and swollen from the previous orgasm he pulled from you. The touch was almost too much, your body clenching around him in a shiver that drew a low, unrestrained groan from his chest. He chuckled against your skin, his fingers digging into the soft curve of your ass as if he meant to keep you exactly where you were.
“I even recall you moaning my name so nicely when you came around my tongue…” his voice rasped against your ear, warm enough to send a shiver down your spine.
Your head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut as you bounced harder, your mouth falling open on a broken gasp. You were so close you could taste it.
“Never heard my name sound that sweet from your mouth before,” he taunted, his words smug but tangled with his own uneven breaths, knowing it must turn you on.
The sound of his grunts matched the rhythm of your moans, your bodies locked in a pace that was more a challenge than surrender, both of you teetering at the edge.
You blocked out the smug noise spilling from his lips, focusing instead on keeping your rhythm steady despite the burn in your thighs. Your voice came out shaky but biting, laced with challenge. “You better not cum before I do, asshole.”
Your teeth sank into your lower lip hard enough to sting, and his answering thrust made your head tip back. He met your pace with deep, upward drives of his hips, each one threatening to push you over. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, guiding you, controlling the motion as if he owned the moment and you.
“Don’t worry that pretty head, cutie,” he chuckled between low, rough grunts, the sound vibrating against your chest when he leaned in. His eyes drank you in—your slack jaw, your unfocused gaze, the way pleasure had stolen the sharp edges of your expression. “I wouldn’t miss the chance to watch you cum around my cock… so freaking beautiful like this…”
His lips brushed your neck in a fleeting kiss just before your body seized around him. Heat and pleasure tore through you, your thighs trembling violently as you came with a broken, shaky moan. You felt the wet rush coat him, spill between you, soak into the sheets beneath.
His groan was deep and rough, the sound dragging low in his chest as his hips faltered. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was seconds away; you could feel it in the iron grip of his hands on your hips, in the heat radiating from his skin, in the breath he caught like he was holding back the inevitable.
Leaning down, you caught the warm line of his neck between your teeth, biting hard enough to draw another groan from him. Your lips found the sweet spot just beneath his ear, sucking until his muscles tensed under you.
That was all it took—he jerked inside you, twitching hard as heat spilled into you in thick, pulsing waves, coating your sensitive walls until you could feel it drip. His head tipped back, breath ragged, and you felt the faintest chuckle rumble in his chest, even through the haze of release.
“Can’t ever say you hate me now,” he rasped, his voice still rough with the edge of release, “not after letting me mark you like this, cutie.”
Before you could snap back, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you down into a kiss that stole the rest of your breath. It was searing and messy, all heat and teeth, his lips moving against yours like he had no intention of letting you go any time soon. Your bodies were still pressed tight, the aftershocks thrumming between you, and every pull of his mouth tasted faintly of victory.
—
Rafayel wasn’t the type to cling to jealousy or waste energy on expectations he never asked for—but watching you slip back into that same dynamic, as if nothing had happened between you, lit something sharp and ugly under his skin. It was one thing to keep up the bickering, the constant push-and-pull you two seemed addicted to, but being so close to anyone else in this place? Laughing, leaning in, letting other people into your space the way you let him, even if just for one night? That ticked him off more than he wanted to admit.
He could lie to everyone else, but not to himself. He was jealous. Or at the very least, bothered—more than before, more than he had any right to be. Especially since you seemed intent on shoving it in his face, as though proving just how easily you could cozy up to other guys on campus might put him in his place.
Seeing you dance with that colleague tonight had made his jaw tighten, a scoff of disbelief escaping before he could bite it back. Because he knew better—he knew what you wanted. He’d felt it in every heated moment you’d given him, in the way your body melted under his hands, pliant no matter how sharp your words were.
You could pretend, you could deny—but he’d already dragged the truth out of you in the dark, in the messy rhythm of tangled sheets and bitten lips. And tonight, all he could think about was how you’d come undone for him, over and over again, chasing release like a spark to a fuse you couldn’t stop lighting—and now you were cozying up with another man.
The dynamic between you hadn’t shifted in the slightest—you still scoffed, still snapped at him, every exchange bristling with the same defiance he had come to expect. Normally, Rafayel thrived on it; it was what made this little game so addictive. But tonight, with the taste of you still burned into his memory, he had hoped for something different—some flicker of change, even if you refused to admit it.
He caught you alone near the drinks table, slipping into your space without hesitation, his shadow falling across you as you tipped the bottle. You turned your head sharply, eyes narrowing, your scoff cutting through the din of music and chatter. “What do you want now, Rafayel?”
The tone—biting, impatient—made his jaw twitch. Normally it thrilled him, but the sharp edge tonight dug deeper. Did you really despise his presence that much? Even now, after everything?
He leaned one elbow against the counter as though he had all the time in the world, his amethyst eyes catching the low light and glinting with that practiced, playful spark. He slipped the mask on as easily as a second skin, the one he always wore with you. “Back to making me work for your attention, I see.”
You rolled your eyes, ignoring the weight of his gaze as you poured yourself a shot. The liquid burned down your throat, leaving your lips wet when you licked the taste away. His eyes tracked the movement without restraint, though you didn’t seem to notice.
“Sometimes I seriously wonder if you don’t have better things to do than pester me all day,” you muttered, as though the idea of his presence alone grated on you.
He nearly laughed, the sound curling up the back of his throat, but the bitterness still lingered like ash. He could hide it well—he always did—but something in his chest coiled tighter, a heaviness he couldn’t smirk his way out of.
He poured himself a shot like it was second nature, tossing it back with the same careless ease he wore like armor. Then he leaned in, closing the space between you with an unbothered smirk tugging at his lips.
“Gonna pretend it never happened, is that it, princess?” his eyes found yours in the low light, sharp against sharp, daring you to flinch first.
You leaned in too, your voice dropping to a hiss that barely carried over the music. “Stop calling me that.”
His laugh was low, warm, almost affectionate in its own infuriating way. “Funny,” he murmured, tilting his glass aside. “Had you in my bed, moaning for me, and the first thing you pick up after is that attitude.”
Your glare could have cut straight through him. You scoffed, turning your head deliberately, your gaze sweeping the room—for him, it wasn’t hard to guess who you were looking for. The guy you’d been dancing with earlier. His jaw tightened before he could stop it, the weight of his stare narrowing back on you.
His voice came out rougher now, laced with the edge of something he usually hid behind a smirk. “So that’s what it is. Maybe I should fuck you slow next time. Sweet, steady—see if that’d finally get you to acknowledge it.” his head tilted slightly, the words a challenge, a taunt, but his eyes searched yours like he wanted the truth more than the fight.
You laughed, the sound sharp as glass. Through your teeth, bitter but smiling just enough to sting, you shot back, “There’s no next time. And I’d rather you dropped the cocky act.” your gaze flicked up, unwavering. “Not everyone wants to end up in your bed, Rafayel.”
The smirk didn’t falter on his lips, but the burn of your words sank under his skin all the same. Oh, how he loved your attitude. The sharpness in your voice, the fire in your glare—it always turned him on, but tonight it scraped against something else too. Annoyance. You dismissed him so easily, brushed everything off as if it hadn’t mattered, as if you’d rather erase it than admit it was real.
But he couldn’t forget. He didn’t want to forget the sound of your moans, the way your nails dug into his skin, the bite of your teeth against his shoulder, your mouth desperate and hot on his. Every mark you’d left on him still burned under his skin.
His smirk came quick, practiced, though his jaw ticked in irritation he couldn’t quite swallow down. “Well, you wanted it,” he drawled, voice low enough to coil between you, “and you seemed pretty determined to show me just how badly.”
The proof lingered—your mark, blooming faint but undeniable on the side of his neck. He saw the flicker in your expression when your eyes caught it, the twitch of your jaw before your glare sharpened even further.
You spit your words back at him, close enough now that he could smell you. Sweet perfume, deliberate and light, clinging to your skin like temptation. The thought of you applying it for someone else—for that guy you’d been pressed against earlier—made his stomach knot in a way he refused to admit. His smirk stayed fixed, masking the flare of heat in his chest, but it didn’t quiet the urge that nearly consumed him—to press his face into your neck, breathe you in, and let himself get drunk on you.
“Seriously, what’s your fucking problem?” you snapped, each word sharp enough to cut. “Yeah, we fucked. So what? You expect me to drop at your feet now and suck you off or something?”
Every syllable was a double-edged knife—turning him on even as it lit a flame of irritation low in his chest. Did you really think that’s what he wanted from you? While he’d never be opposed to the thought, that wasn’t it. Not even close. What he wanted was for you to stop pretending it meant nothing, to stop brushing it off like you hadn’t melted under him, clawed at him, begged for more until your voice broke.
His eyes lingered on yours, refusing to look away, holding the heat of your glare. You looked pissed, but he couldn’t tell if it was your usual game or if he’d really struck a nerve this time, dug under your skin deeper than you wanted him to.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he said smoothly, smirking like he hadn’t just swallowed down the words he really wanted to say—that you were driving him insane, that you’d taken root under his skin, that it wasn’t just your body he wanted. He tilted his head slightly, voice curling like smoke as he added, “Do you want me begging for it first?”
The faint shift in your expression—hesitation, surprise, something flickering behind your eyes—was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. You scoffed, your laugh short and bitter, already angling your body away like you’d had enough.
“I want you to leave me alone,” you shot back, each word bitten off like you meant to end it right there. Your smile was cutting, the kind meant to dismiss, to wound. “Enjoy the party, Rafayel.”
And before he could stop you, you turned toward the crowd—toward him, the other guy—and something inside him twisted sharp, the smirk still plastered on his face doing nothing to smother the frustration building in his chest.
Watching you dance, flirt, and laugh with that guy for hours ticked Rafayel off in ways he couldn’t keep buried—not with alcohol humming in his veins. His eyes followed the sway of your hips, the way sweat caught the low lights on your skin, turning you into something untouchable and magnetic. The guy had slipped away a few minutes ago, probably for another drink or a bathroom break—Rafayel couldn’t be bothered to care.
His focus was on you, only you. The words you’d thrown at him earlier replayed like a broken record in his mind, cutting sharper every time. He hadn’t expected you to cling to him, hadn’t even expected softness or anything close to it—but acting as if you hadn’t spent a night tangled together, bodies desperate, mouths bruised—it set something raw and restless burning in him.
He hated it. Hated how much it mattered. Hated the circumstances, hated that it made him feel like this—like he wanted to drag you away and make you admit every mark you left on his skin meant something more than just a mistake. And he knew it would probably end badly. But watching another man press into your space, lay hands on you—watching you let him, welcome him—it made his blood run hotter than the whiskey in his glass.
Rafayel wasn’t stupid enough to believe you were doing it on purpose just to rile him up. But still, the thought gnawed at him. The possibility that you knew exactly what effect you had on him—and chose to wield it—made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t laugh off anymore.
Your hips swayed slow and unbothered to the rhythm, a lazy, carefree roll that pulled him in before he could stop himself. You hadn’t even realized who pressed up behind you—he could see it in the way you welcomed the touch too easily, as if you thought it was that other guy. That thought alone made his jaw clench, the bitter edge of alcohol still coating his tongue.
His hands settled on your waist, fingers splaying possessively over the curve, and you arched in response without hesitation. That simple movement—that you’d done it for someone else—made frustration coil low and sharp in his chest. His grip tightened, pulling you flush as he dipped his face into the slope of your neck. The scent of your perfume laced with heat and sweat filled his head, dizzying, intoxicating, far too easy to get drunk on.
“You smell so good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low enough to sink right into your bones.
You stiffened instantly, the realization snapping through you. It was him, not the guy you thought. Your body shifted as if to turn, to throw him a glare or maybe shove him away, but his arms circled tighter around your waist, holding you still, pressing you into the steady rise of his chest. His nose brushed just beneath your ear, his mouth dragging close enough that his words threaded warmth into your skin.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked, your voice pitched low, sharp but not steady—caught off guard, unsettled.
His lips ghosted another breath over your neck, dangerous and calm all at once, the lazy drawl of his voice cutting through the bass of the music. “Couldn’t keep watching that guy put his hands all over you.”
You scoffed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of stillness, your body swaying side to side with the beat as though he weren’t pressed so close. He took it for annoyance, maybe even defiance, and you threw your words like sparks over your shoulder. “Then don’t fucking look, Rafayel. It isn’t any of your business.”
His chest brushed against your back, solid and warm, crowding you until there was no space left to claim as your own. You rolled your hips again, half in spite, half because fighting him always ended like this—like gravity itself had shifted around him. His breath trembled against your neck, catching faintly on the perfume he couldn’t seem to stop drinking in.
“Are you drunk?” you muttered, sharp with irritation.
“No,” he rasped, voice rougher than usual, his hips sliding in sync with yours. The deliberate press made it impossible to ignore the unmistakable hardness straining against your ass. His fingers found your hips, not tentative but claiming, tightening when you didn’t shrug him off.
You scoffed under your breath, but your body betrayed you, still moving, still letting him. “Then why the hell are you all over me right now?”
He didn’t answer in words first. His lips ghosted along your neck, deliberate and lazy, before catching against your skin in a kiss that lingered too long to be innocent. He pulled your hips flush against his, making sure you felt exactly what you’d provoked, exactly how hard he was.
“It’s how it should be,” he murmured, his voice a low curl of smoke, the smirk etched against your skin as he leaned into your ear. “So do me a favor, cutie, and tell that guy to back off.”
Your laugh came sharp, edged with a bite. “I thought I told you to back off, Rafayel.” still, your hips betrayed the venom of your words, grinding against him like you couldn’t stop yourself. “I’m leaving home soon, anyway.”
That pushed him too far. His patience snapped into something darker, frustration coiled tight with want. His mouth brushed your ear, tone suddenly rougher, meaner, though still soaked in heat. “The next words out your mouth better not be that you’re leaving with him.”
His grip tightened at your waist, and the pressure sent a shiver down your spine no matter how hard you tried to fight it. You hated that your body still reacted, hated that even when you were frustrated—angry, even—it didn’t stop the rush of heat that pooled beneath your skin.
His breath brushed your ear as he leaned in, the low bass of the music vibrating through the floor and through your bones, but all you could hear was him. The two of you swayed together, not to the rhythm, but to something far more reckless.
“Get your act together, Rafayel.” your voice cut sharp, laced with sarcasm as you turned to face him. The flashing lights caught the tension in your jaw, as tight and unyielding as his own, and for a moment it felt like you weren’t dancing so much as locked in combat.
His lips curved—not into a smile, not really—but into that insufferable smirk he wore whenever he wanted to rile you. “Mm, harsh. Though, to be fair, I’m not the one grinding against strangers for an audience.” his words came low, casual, but there was a rawness underneath, the kind that betrayed too much.
Your eyes narrowed, voice dripping with annoyance. “You’re either drunk out of your mind, or you’re jealous. Whichever it is—you have no right to say that.”
His hold only tightened, and the jealousy he refused to name aloud lingered in every breath he refused to let you take alone. His jaw ticked, a scoff breaking past his lips. It was supposed to sound amused, the way it usually did when he was poking at you, but the laugh carried a sharpness he couldn’t quite disguise. Jealousy bled through no matter how smooth he tried to make it. His eyes locked on yours, unblinking, the crowd and the music dissolving into a blur behind you.
“Don’t go home with him.” the words came out low, bitten off, heavier than he intended.
You scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut, pushing against his chest to put some space between you. He barely gave, his body rooted in place, but you turned anyway, your voice tossed over your shoulder, drowned by the bass but still slicing through him all the same. “Unbelievable.”
The sway of your hips as you walked away was infuriating, deliberate, as if you knew exactly what you were doing to him. His jaw clenched tighter, watching you head straight toward the direction that bastard had gone. Before the thought could even settle, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.
You barely had time to gasp before he was dragging you through the crush of bodies, threading you through the mess of perfume and sweat and music until the two of you spilled into a darker corner, half-hidden near the bathroom hallway.
“What the fu—” the curse was barely past your lips before his mouth was on you.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t measured. It was a smash of lips and teeth and bottled-up want that burned through every ounce of restraint he had left. He couldn’t hear another word of you telling him to back off, couldn’t stand the thought of you storming away toward anyone but him.
And to his reckless satisfaction, you didn’t shove him off. Not right away. Instead your lips parted, your tongue chasing his with a heat that shocked him as much as it thrilled him. The back of your shoulders hit the wall with a thud, and he pinned you there, his hand curling around your jaw like he needed to hold you still, like he couldn’t risk you slipping through his fingers again.
He broke just enough space to breathe, his forehead nearly pressed to yours, breath ragged against your lips. His voice was hoarse, raw in a way you’d never heard. “I’m jealous.”
The confession scraped out of him like it cost something, but his eyes didn’t waver. They bore into you, dark, heated, a storm of frustration and something softer underneath. His cheeks were warm, but his gaze was sharp, almost accusing.
“Didn’t think your little act of indifference would get to me, and it didn’t at first,” he said, his tone clipped, defensive, as if he needed to convince himself more than you. His fingers dug harder into your hips, holding you where you were, his frustration bleeding through every touch.
“Until I saw him all over you. And you—” his jaw tightened again, the words heavier, almost bitten through his teeth. “You couldn’t have welcomed him more sweetly.”
“Is that so?” you scoffed, though the sound came out thinner than you wanted, betraying the heat gathering in your chest. His eyes caught the flicker of yours dropping just once to his mouth before darting back up, a slip you couldn’t take back. You hated that he noticed, hated the way he thrived on it, as if your irritation was his favorite game.
“I don’t remember owing you anything, Rafayel,” you managed through a ragged breath, voice sharp but trembling at the edges.
His grip tightened at your waist, fingers digging into the fabric just enough to make you stumble the slightest step into him. The closeness burned. There were people all around you—laughing, drunk, tangled in the music—but the crowd blurred into nothing, leaving only the thrum of his pulse pressed against yours, the friction of your remarks colliding.
“It’s like you’re trying to piss me off on purpose,” he muttered, low and rough, the words curling warm against your ear before his mouth stole yours.
The kiss was hard, bruising—more a clash than a surrender—but your body betrayed you, answering with the same fever. Your fingers curled into the half-buttoned placket of his shirt, yanking him closer until the last breath of air between you vanished. He groaned against your lips, the sound half frustration, half need, his tongue meeting yours in a reckless tangle. The taste of him was dizzying—bitter with jealousy, sweet with desire—and it made your head spin worse than the alcohol.
When he tore back just enough to speak, his voice was ragged, every word bitten off as though it cost him something.
“I’m jealous and pissed, and so fucking turned on.” his teeth grazed your skin as he caught the line of your jaw, then your throat, nipping at the place where your pulse fluttered out of control.
His breath spilled hot over your perfume, a scent he knew wasn’t chosen for him—and that knowledge set his temper alight.
He inhaled against your neck, lips brushing dangerously close. “Tell me, cutie…” his tone dipped into mockery, sharp and soft all at once, “is that what you were aiming for?”
—
Shutting Rafayel up was easy enough if you played your cards right. And right now, with your thighs draped on each side of his head, his face buried between them, it was the most effective method you’d ever discovered.
He’d pulled you straight out of that party—cocky grin, sharp remarks, his hand at the small of your back like he had every right to lead you wherever he pleased—and somehow, the two of you ended up here again, tangled in the mess of his sheets, tearing at each other’s clothes like you were starving.
He hadn’t wasted a second once the door shut. The moment he shoved you back onto his bed, Rafayel dragged you over his mouth, pinning you there with a kind of desperate arrogance, tongue lapping at your folds like he had something to prove.
Your thighs trembled with every stroke of him, the slick sound of his mouth against you filling the room. He groaned into you, the vibration making you jolt, fingers tightening around the headboard as you rocked against him.
“Fuck—Rafayel,” you gasped, the words breaking into a moan as his hands urged you down harder, forcing you to grind over his mouth like he wanted you to drown him.
You couldn’t help laughing breathlessly, the edge of smugness curling your lips. “Didn’t know you liked shutting up this much,” you panted, voice cracking as he sucked hard on your clit, pulling another shaky cry from you.
He hummed against you in response, and the casual defiance in it made your chest tighten with something more dangerous than lust. Still, you couldn’t resist taunting him, voice pitched with a mix of moan and tease. “Do you wanna make me cum, Rafayel? Hm? So eager to please me for once?”
That had his fingers digging into your thighs, bruising and possessive. He pushed his tongue deeper, fucking you with it, and you cursed, head falling back, vision hazing. But you weren’t done. You leaned into the crueler edge of the game, your smirk curling even as your words hitched mid-breath.
“Maybe the other guy would’ve been just as eager… you know, the one who whispered all kind of things in my ear while grinding behind me—”
Your taunt cut off in a broken scream when he growled low into your pussy and sealed his mouth around your clit, sucking so hard your whole body jerked. The orgasm ripped through you with a violence that made your thighs quake against his grip, soaking his face as you cried out his name like you couldn’t hold it back. And the bastard didn’t even slow down.
“S-shit, ahh…” you gasped, the sound breaking out of you before you could bite it back. His mouth didn’t let up, not until you cried his name, your whole body trembling as your hips moved helplessly against his tongue, too sensitive to bear it yet too desperate to stop. A low growl rumbled in his throat at the sound of your curse, vibrating against you, and then suddenly—his grip clamped around your thighs, dragging a startled cry from your lips as he flipped you onto your back.
Before you could catch your breath, he was already over you, stealing your mouth in a kiss that left you dizzy, his hips grinding down into yours, the hard line of him pressing insistently through the fabric of his pants. His lips broke away only to trail down your throat, and then his teeth found you, sucking rough marks into your skin like he meant to brand you.
“You already got me so worked up…” his voice was rough, almost bitten out, “but then you go and say his name while I’m between your legs?” he sank his teeth lightly into your neck, the sting chased by the drag of his tongue.
Your protest melted into a groan as his fingers slid inside you, stretching you with merciless precision. He moaned low when your release slicked against his touch, making each movement faster, deeper, your body clenching around him in desperate pulses. His other hand spread over your ass, holding you open for him as his mouth closed around your breast, sucking hard, leaving your nipple aching under the wet heat of his tongue.
When his eyes lifted, messy hair falling into his flushed face, the burn in them was enough to make your stomach twist. Jealousy and hunger sharpened the edges of his gaze, the sound of his voice rough and almost mocking. “If you wanted it rough, cutie, you could’ve just asked. No need to piss me off, pulling shit like this on me.”
Your laugh came out broken, shaky, your voice trembling on each gasp. Still, you managed, “Where’s the fun in that?”
He kissed you then like he was trying to win something, all heat and defiance, his mouth clashing against yours in a mess of teeth and breath. You answered with equal force, your hands already curling tighter in his hair, dragging him closer until you broke the kiss just to flip him beneath you.
The motion was sharp, your thighs locking around his hips as you shoved him down onto the mattress, stealing a groan out of him that sounded far too satisfying.
“You’re so easy to trigger, aren’t you?” you taunted, breathless as you pressed your mouth to his throat, nipping at the skin until he tilted his head back with a curse. Your fingers fumbled at his belt, deliberately slow, grazing him in ways that made his jaw clench.
“Maybe it’s time someone puts you in your place. Because clearly…” you scoffed, dragging your nails lightly over his stomach as you marked his neck, “…you don’t know where you stand.”
His hips twitched under the drag of your palm, his breathing uneven now—finally losing that insufferable composure that always drove you mad. His pants and boxers were gone in what felt like seconds, and you perched just above him, teasing, stroking him in slow, deliberate movements that had his eyes darkening, his chest rising sharp with every breath.
When your mouth wrapped around him at last, he swore violently, a hand flying to your hair, gripping hard enough to make your scalp sting. The sound that tore out of him was raw, unguarded, his back arching off the sheets.
“S-shit, fuck…” he hissed, the word breaking, and you almost laughed around him, because the victory was already rushing through your veins, warm and heady. The Rafayel who always had a sharp retort, always stayed a step ahead, was now groaning under your mouth, bucking helplessly into you, fingers threaded tight in your hair as if he’d lose himself without the anchor.
He looked almost beautiful like this—breathless, undone, stripped of every cocky remark he usually wielded like a weapon. You could admit it now, he was dangerous when quiet, his charm sharper in the silence between gasps.
“Cutie shit—just like that,” his voice cracked, raw and heavy as his hand tightened in your hair. “I’m not gonna last.”
The ragged sound of his breathing filled the space, and just when you felt him twitch against your tongue, he pulled you away with a guttural growl. His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was messy, desperate, teeth clashing as if he couldn’t stand the distance for even a second longer.
“Not yet,” he rasped against your lips, his grip bruising your hips as he dragged you up into his lap. “Not until I fuck you so good you forget whatever guy you were entertaining earlier.”
You barely had time to roll your eyes before he flipped you over with startling ease, pressing you down and sliding into you in one rough, unrelenting thrust. The breath tore out of you in a broken moan, nails sinking into his shoulders as your body stretched around him.
“You’re tight, princess,” he groaned into your ear, hips snapping forward, the sound spilling out of him low and guttural. “Fuck, you take me just as good as last time.”
Whatever sharp retort you might’ve had died the moment he set a brutal rhythm, pounding into you with a pace that stole the ground from under your thoughts. Pleasure tore through you too fast, too much—until you were trembling around him, clenching hard as your release crashed over you.
“So sweet when you come for me,” he rasped, voice unraveling as your walls squeezed him tighter. “Squeezing me so goddamn t-tight…”
He pulled out only to drag you forward, manhandling you face-down, ass high, the mattress dipping under his weight as he shoved back inside without warning. The thrust punched a scream out of you, raw and unguarded, and he chuckled darkly at the sound, his fingers digging deep into your hips as if to brand you there.
“You wanted rough, didn’t you?” His tone was half-growl, half-smirk, sharp with the kind of heat that left no space to breathe. He snapped his hips hard against you, deeper, faster, each movement sharp enough to leave you reeling. “Wanted to make me jealous, huh? Then take it.”
Your mouth hung open, words failing as he pushed you past every edge, the drag of his jealousy turning him feral, reckless—eager to ruin you until there was nothing left in your head but him. And in truth, you loved every second of it. Because this version of Rafayel—the one who burned with want, who touched like he was starving, who let his jealousy unravel into raw need—was utterly, devastatingly irresistible.
.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!
⋆. — headcanons for how the LADS the boys react to a clumsy, flustered mc. (based on this request)
⋆. — content: soft, wholesome, a little embarrassing (for you). tooth-rotting fluff.
⋆. — word count: max 600 each ♡
Rafayel - The Paint on Your Cheek
You’ve been at his studio for an hour and you’ve already knocked something over.
A jar of brushes, this time. They go everywhere—under the table, under the couch, one heroic survivor rolls all the way to Rafayel’s bare foot and stops there like it’s surrendering. He looks down at it. He looks up at you. You’re frozen with both hands clapped over your mouth, eyes huge, already mid-apology.
“Oh no,” he says, deadpan. “My brushes. My livelihood. How will I ever paint again.”
“Rafayel, I’m so sorry, I’ll pick them—”
“Cutie.” He tips his head, and a piece of his hair falls into his eyes in that ridiculous way it always does, because it always makes him look pretty. “Breathe. They’re brushes. They roll. That’s their whole personality, don’t even stress your head, okay?”
He’s been watching you the whole time, which is half the problem.
You always get clumsier when he watches you. He knows this. He absolutely uses it. He’ll lounge on the couch with one knee up and his chin in his hand, just looking, and you’ll lose the ability to operate a doorknob. Today he’s been sketching you in the corner of his page—not the painting he’s supposed to be working on, the commission one, the important one—and you caught him at it earlier and went so red he had to put the pencil down because his own face was getting warm.
He crouches down with you to gather the brushes.
You’re both on the floor now, knees almost touching. He hands you one, and his fingers brush yours, and you flinch like he’s electric.
“Y’know,” he says, conversationally, lining a brush up on the tile, “for someone who’s been kissed by me a frankly impressive number of times, you still go pink like it’s our first date.”
“I— I don’t—”
“You do. It’s my favorite thing.” He grins, eyes crinkling. “Don’t ever stop.”
There’s paint on your cheek and he refuses to tell you.
You only realize it when you catch your reflection in the window—a streak of pink swept right across your cheekbone, from when you’d rubbed your face earlier. You whirl on him. He’s already laughing, that bright, unbothered laugh of his, head thrown back against the couch cushions.
“Rafayel!”
“What? It suits you, cutie. It’s my color. You’re branded now.”
“You let me walk around like this—”
“For at least forty minutes, yes.” He gets up finally, and crosses to you with that lazy, unhurried gait. His thumb comes up to brush at the paint gently, careful in a way his voice never is in moments like this. The teasing slides off his face for half a breath. “There. Almost gone. Mostly.”
He kisses the spot anyway. Light. Quick. Like he’s signing it the way he signs his canvases, which you might as well be, at this point.
“There,” he murmurs, and he’s smiling, but his ears have gone faintly pink and he won’t quite meet your eyes. “Now it’s mine.”
You hide your face in his shirt. He lets you, one hand settled at the back of your head, and pretends, for your sake, that his heart isn’t doing anything embarrassing at all.
Zayne - When You Drop the Mug Again
He hears it before he sees it hit the floor.
The clatter of ceramic against the kitchen tile carries down the hallway, followed by the small, mortified sound you always make when you’ve done something you wish nobody had witnessed. Zayne is in the doorway within seconds, still holding the medical journal he was reading, one finger tucked between the pages to mark his place. He takes in the chipped mug on the floor, the puddle of tea blooming around your slippered feet, and your wide eyes—and his expression doesn’t change at all, except for the faint lift at the corner of his mouth that you’ve learned, over time, is his version of trying not to smile.
“Don’t move,” he says.
He goes for the dustpan, not for you.
It’s a thing he does on purpose. He told you once, late at night with your face pressed into his shoulder, that he doesn’t want fussing over you to feel like a verdict. So he sweeps up the shards in that quiet, methodical way he has—same hands that handle patient charts, same hands that tie his scarf for him in the mirror every morning—and only when the floor is dry and safe does he straighten up and look at you properly.
“Feet,” he says, and crouches.
“Zayne, I’m fine, it didn’t even—”
“Feet,” he repeats, in the same tone he uses on patients who try to lie about whether they’ve been taking their medication.
He checks for tiny cuts even though there are none.
You sit on the edge of the counter because he’s lifted you there, his palm warm at the back of your knee, and you can feel your ears going hot in that traitorous way they do whenever he’s this close and this serious. He turns each of your feet over in his hand like he’s reading them. Nothing. Of course there’s nothing. He knew there’d be nothing.
“Was it hot?” he asks.
“Lukewarm. I let it sit too long again.”
“Mm.” That single syllable contains an entire diagnosis. You forgot it on the counter because you got distracted reading. You always do.
He kisses your knee before he lets you down. It’s quick. Almost businesslike. If you weren’t paying attention you’d miss the way his ears go a shade darker under his hair, the way he turns toward the cabinet for a clean mug a beat too fast.
“I’ll make you another,” he says, with his back to you. “Sit. Don’t help.”
“I can hel—”
“Sit.”
Later, you find the chipped mug glued back together on the windowsill.
He doesn’t mention it. He never does. But that night, when you apologize again into the dark of the bedroom—I’m sorry I’m such a mess, I’m sorry, I—he sighs, pulls you closer by the waist, and murmurs into your hair, “Stop apologizing for being someone I want to take care of.”
And you don’t know what to do with that, so you just hide your face in his chest, and he lets you.
Xavier - The Counter Is Too High Again
He’s half-asleep on the couch when he hears the stool wobble.
Xavier sleeps the way cats sleep—anywhere, instantly, with one ear still on the world. So even though his eyes are closed and his hair is a soft pale mess against the cushion, he’s already sitting up by the time the legs of the kitchen stool screech against the floor. You’re up on your toes, reaching for the jar of honey on the top shelf, the one he keeps meaning to move down and never does because you keep insisting you can get it yourself.
You can’t get it yourself. Both of you know this.
“Wait,” he says, voice still rough from sleep.
You don’t wait. The jar tips. You make a tiny, panicked noise.
He’s across the room before the honey hits the counter.
It’s the speed that always startles you—that quiet, easy way he moves, like distance is a suggestion he chooses not to take seriously. One of his hands closes around the jar mid-fall. The other settles, warm and steady, at your waist, anchoring you on the stool so you don’t pitch forward after it.
“Got it,” he murmurs.
“I almost—”
“I know.”
He says it without any of the I-told-you-so other people would lace into it. Xavier doesn’t scold. He just notes things, the way someone might note the weather, and then he handles them. You look down at him from your slight height advantage on the stool—a rare angle—and his hair is soft and rumpled and his eyes are the color of a sky you’ve been trying to remember.
You go pink. Of course you go pink.
He tilts his head a fraction. There’s a slow, drowsy smile spreading across his face, the kind he only ever wears for you, the kind that makes him look about seventeen years old and very far from anything dangerous.
“What?” you whisper.
“Nothing.” He hands you the honey jar like it’s a small, ceremonious gift. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Xavier.”
“That’s my name.”
He doesn’t let you climb down by yourself.
You try. He doesn’t allow it. His hands come up under your arms and he lifts you down off the stool like you weigh nothing—because to him you do—and sets you on your feet so gently your slippers barely make a sound on the tile. His thumb brushes once, absently, over your hip before he lets go.
“You could’ve just woken me up,” he says.
“You were sleeping so well.”
“I’m always sleeping well. You’re more important than sleeping well.”
He says things like that all the time. Quiet, true, unadorned. Like it’s nothing. Like he isn’t slowly dismantling you sentence by sentence. You hide your face in your hands. He laughs softly, low and very fond, and pulls your wrists gently down.
“None of that,” he says. “I want to see you.”
He makes the tea himself after that.
He moves you to the counter—not the stool, he gives the stool a small, suspicious look, like it’s personally offended him—and stands between your knees while the kettle heats. You play with the hem of his sleeve. He lets you.
“Honey?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
“Mm.” He reaches past you without looking, gets the jar, sets it down. Kisses your forehead on the way back. “See. Easy.”
You don’t trust yourself to answer. He doesn’t seem to need you to. He finds you adorable anyway.
Caleb - The Loose Step on the Porch
He warned you about that step three times this week.
The third one from the top. The wood’s gone soft from winter and he keeps meaning to fix it on his next leave, but his next leave is this leave, and he hasn’t gotten to it yet because you keep finding more interesting things for him to do with his afternoons. So when he hears the small, surprised yelp from the porch—followed by the unmistakable thud of someone going down hard—he’s out of the kitchen before the screen door has stopped swinging.
You’re sitting on the floorboards with one hand bracing behind you and the other clutching a paper bag of groceries that, miraculously, you’ve kept upright. An orange has escaped and is rolling, with great purpose, toward the steps.
He stops in the doorway. He takes one look at the scene. His mouth does that thing where it tries very hard not to smile and fails completely.
“Honey,” he says, holding back a laugh..
“Don’t.” you hiss.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.” you huff.
“I was going to ask if you’re okay.” He crouches down in front of you, elbows on his knees, head tipped to one side. His hair falls into his eyes—that soft, sandy brown he never bothers to push back unless you do it for him. “Which step?”
“…the one you told me about.”
“Which one did I tell you about?”
“Caleb.”
He’s laughing now. Quietly. Mostly to himself.
He takes the grocery bag out of your lap and sets it aside with care. Then he takes both your hands and turns them palm-up, checking for scrapes. Methodical, unhurried, all of his focus settled on you. There’s a small graze along the heel of your left hand. He frowns at it like it has personally offended him.
“Stings?”
“A little.”
“Anywhere else?”
“My pride.”
“Well.” His thumb brushes very lightly over the graze. “That one I can’t kiss better. The hand I can do something about.”
He does. Just a press of his mouth, warm and quick, against the inside of your wrist. You feel it everywhere. You always do. He glances up at you through his lashes and catches the color rising in your cheeks, and his smile goes a little crooked, a little pleased with itself.
“There it is,” he murmurs.
“There what is.”
“That face you make every single time. The one where you pretend you’re not embarrassed and you go pink anyway.” He sits down beside you on the porch floor, knees drawn up, shoulder bumping gently against yours.
He retrieves the orange before he retrieves you.
It’s almost at the bottom of the top step by the time he ambles over and scoops it up, tossing it once in the air and catching it without looking. He’s wearing the soft grey t-shirt you stole twice last month, and he looks so much like home in the late afternoon light that you have to look away for a second just to remember how to breathe normally.
He notices that too. He notices everything. It’s a problem.
“You’re doin’ it again, pip.” he says, settling back down beside you with the orange in his hand.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like I just walked through the door after six months.” His voice has dropped, lost the teasing lilt. “I’ve been home a week, sweetheart.”
“I know.”
“I know you know.” He turns the orange in his palm, smiling. “I just like that you still do it.”
He helps you up like you’re made of something breakable.
His hand is broad and warm at your lower back, and he lifts you mostly with that one point of contact, the other hand finding yours and not letting go even once you’re standing. You shift your weight tentatively. Your ankle’s fine. Your knee’s fine. Everything’s fine. The only thing that’s not fine is the way your face refuses to cool down, because he’s still looking at you with that quiet, careful attention, like checking you over is something he gets to do now, like he gets to be the one who does it.
“Verdict?” he asks.
“I’ll live.”
“Great.” He bends, picks up the grocery bag, tucks it against his hip. The other hand stays in yours. “Cause I’m fixing that step tomorrow. First thing.”
“You said that last week.”
“I mean it this week.”
“You said that last week too.”
“Pips.” He pulls you in by the hand until you’re tucked under his arm, and presses a kiss into your hair, and you can feel him smiling against the top of your head. “Are you tryin’ to start a fight with the man who’s about to make you dinner?”
He does fix the step. Not tomorrow. That evening, after dinner, with the porch light on.
You watch him from the doorway in his soft grey t-shirt, sleeves shoved up, a pencil tucked behind his ear that he doesn’t appear to be using. He whistles while he works. He glances up every minute or so, just to check that you’re still there, and every time he catches you watching him he grins like he’s won something.
You think, watching him, that he’s been home a week and the house already doesn’t know how to be a house without him in it.
You don’t say it out loud for him to hear. When he comes back inside, dusty and pleased with himself, he takes one look at your face and says, very softly, “I know, baby. Me too.”
And that’s the whole conversation.
Sylus - You Spilled Wine on His Shirt
The shirt is black. The wine is red. The math is, frankly, in your favor.
You realize this approximately half a second after the glass tips, which is approximately half a second too late. The stem slipped—your fingers were nervous because he was looking at you the way he looks at you, like you’re the only interesting thing in a room full of people he’s been politely tolerating all evening—and now there’s a dark patch of wine spreading across the front of Sylus’ very expensive, very tailored shirt.
You stop breathing.
He looks down. He looks at you. He raises one brow.
“Sweetie,” he says, in that low, gravel-and-honey voice of his, “you missed.”
He is, somehow, smiling.
It’s the smallest version of his smile—the one that lives mostly in the corner of his mouth and the slight narrowing of his red eyes—but it is, undeniably, a smile. You can feel your whole face going hot.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll— let me—” You grab a napkin. You grab three napkins. You start dabbing at his chest with a bit too much panic, even for your embarrassed state. “It just slipped, I don’t know why, my hand just—”
“Mm.” He doesn’t move from his spot. He lets you fuss. His hand finds your wrist gently, and stills it. “You’re making it worse.”
“I’m sorry—"
“Stop apologizing.”
He says it the way he says most things—like an order dressed up as a suggestion.
You go still. The napkin sits crumpled in your hand. He’s still holding your wrist, his thumb tracing one slow, idle circle against your pulse point, and his eyes are doing that thing where they soften only at the edges, where you’d miss it if you didn’t know him.
“It’s a shirt,” he says.
“It’s an expensive shirt.”
“They’re all expensive shirts, kitten.” His mouth tilts. “That’s the point of having too much money. You get to be casual about ruining things.”
He plucks the wine glass out of your other hand and sets it well out of reach. A precaution. You catch the small, amused tilt of his mouth as he does it, and you go even pinker, if such a thing is physically possible.
“You did that on purpose,” you accuse, weakly.
“I did.” His voice is unrepentant. “You’re quite clumsy with stemware. I’m protecting my furniture.”
“Sylus—”
“And my floors. And my staff. And—” he leans in, voice dropping low, just for you “—my sanity, which you ruin nightly, by the way. In case you were keeping score.”
You make a small, strangled sound. He looks delighted.
He takes the shirt off right there.
Casually. Like it’s nothing. Buttons undone with that easy, practiced flick of his fingers, and then it’s draped over the back of a chair and forgotten, and he’s standing there in a plain black undershirt that does absolutely nothing to help your current condition.
He notices you checking him out. His smile sharpens.
“Eyes up here, sweetie.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Oh, but you were.”
He hooks one finger under your chin and tips your face up. His expression has gone almost gentle—the version of gentle that only exists in private, the version most of the world will never see and would never believe in if they were told.
“Breathe,” he says quietly. “It’s a shirt. You’re allowed to drop things in your own home.”
Your own home. That’s what undoes you. He always says it like that, like the question of whose home it is was settled a long time ago, and you simply haven’t caught up yet.
Later, he absolutely tells Mephisto the story.
You hear him from the next room, low and amused, and you hear Mephisto’s offended kraa, and you bury your face in a cushion and you think, with a kind of helpless, baffled warmth, that you have never, in all your life, been this loved by anyone half this dangerous.
CW: 18+ (MDNI) oral, fingering, come spitting, voyeurism, overusage of pips/honey, Caleb larping as an omegaverse expert (he has no clue what he's talking about), Caleb/Zayne (snowapple), kind of ooc for Caleb & Zayne || Words: 3.3k || Summary: Caleb snoops through his gf's belongings and stumbles upon her BL fics.
A/N: Late bday gift for @losermuse!! I'm sorry that this took so long my brain went on strike </3 Love you lots musey muse!! <3333 Manifesting good grades and rest for you mwah 💙
also zayne has a dick piercing as requested by @harlotistic >:3
Anxiety settles between his ribs, trying to gnaw its way out. His throat going dry—it was just a kiss. A kiss with another man. Not just another man, but Caleb. The look on his mother’s face, perplexed with a hint of revulsion. Mrs. Li is going to tell dad. Dad’s going to—
How melodramatic this is, Caleb thinks. You’re spending time writing this? Caleb lets out a snort in disbelief. Well, it’s better than Pips getting in trouble and Caleb having to bail them out.
Any other person would be creeped out by their girlfriend writing stories about them and a close friend. Not Caleb. Pipsqueak is thinking about him. You see appeal in putting Caleb in fictional scenarios for your pleasure. Gosh, you probably rub your pussy to the thought of him and Zayne fucking.
A thought that goes straight to Caleb’s dick and thus Caleb’s grand plan was forming in his brain. Caleb flips a few pages ahead, curious to see how this story ends. An action that ends up being worthwhile.
Caleb’s fingers dig into Zayne’s hip, the bed creaking underneath the rough and quick snaps of his hips. Caleb’s free hand is wrapped around Zayne’s dick, feeling him throb in his hand.
Caleb’s eyes widen as he reads the explicit words before a slow exhale leaves him. He knew you were a freak. An apple that fell far from the tree but still inherited Caleb’s freakiness—you wouldn’t be his baby sister if you were normal.
—
“I’m not the one who said you were a bottom, it’s what her story implies,” Caleb says, trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He leans back on the couch, stretching out his long legs, arms tucked behind his head. “It’s not my fault I’m an alpha, Zayne. I’m born this way.”
Zayne’s right brow quirks up, nimble fingers coming up to loosen the knot of his tie. “I’m not sure I’ve come to the same conclusion. Just because that Zayne was on the bottom once doesn’t make him a bottom.”
Your mouth parts then closes, what does one even say in this situation? Caleb and Zayne were never supposed to know about your little stories. When had an ad gone out for personal beta readers? You’re sat on the couch between Caleb and Zayne. They’ve been discussing your writing for the past fifteen minutes.
Caleb shrugs, “yeah but you have nice birthing hips.”
“I have what?”
“Nice birthing hips. So, you’d be the omega.” Caleb clarifies, leaning closer to you. Violet eyes meeting yours, “did I use the right term, honey?” Caleb’s looking at you like a dog waiting for praise but all you can do is gawk at him. This is not a conversation you could have predicted. Ever.
“I don’t have birthing hips! My hips are perfectly proportionate to my body. You have bigger tits than I do, Caleb.”
“And a bigger dick. That’s why I was designated the alpha.”
This argument is so ridiculous but it does earn a laugh from you. “Dick size doesn’t designate you as the alpha,” you finally speak up, the initial embarrassment has faded. Still, this isn’t an ideal situation. You’d rather Zayne and Caleb remain blissfully unaware about that slow burn fanfiction that ended with Zayne’s face being forced into the pillow as Caleb took him from behind.
“Yeah, Caleb.” Zayne agrees, his leg crosses over the other leg. “Besides, my dick is bigger. We measured it before, remember?” An amused hum leaves him, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose before he pushes it back up.
“That was like years ago. You hit puberty before I did!” Caleb retorts.
Wait what? Caleb and Zayne measured their dicks before? Teenage boys are so strange… Then again, measuring themselves is the most normal thing they could’ve done.
“There couldn’t possibly be a drastic difference from then to now.”
“Wanna bet? Let’s measure our dicks now. Pips, go get the measuring tape.”
Should’ve seen this coming from miles away—Caleb and Zayne have always been competitive. Rising from the comfortable couch, your arms raised above your head to get the most needed stretch. You head to the bedroom, straight to Caleb’s desk.
Organized. You didn’t even have to search, it was right there, waiting for this important moment. This was the night that the measuring tape settled a debate: who has a bigger dick?
From the bedroom, you can hear Caleb shout Zayne’s name in awe. What’s going on now, you wonder as you make your way back to the living room. Both men have stripped. Their clothes neatly folded and placed on the couch.
Caleb’s on his knees, his attention all on Zayne until he hears your footsteps behind him. He turns his head, “look at what Zayne has,” surprise coloring his tone. “Zayne, dude, show her.”
Zayne’s clears his throat, his ears glowing as bright as Rudolph’s nose. “I don’t know why he’s making such a big deal of it.”
One would assume that Caleb’s teasing Zayne about his size, oh no. Although, first glance at Zayne’s dick—impressive for being flaccid. However, it’s the shiny metal pierced into his skin that has all of the attention.
“A Prince Albert piercing!?”
Your eyes are wide, without much though you tug the ring, checking for authenticity. Dr. Li has a fucking dick piercing!
Zayne lets out a quick exhale through his nose at the gentle touch—sensitive one, isn’t he? “Is it that surprising?” he questions. “Everyone gets piercings.”
“But not everyone gets a genital piercing.” Caleb points out, his eyes drifting over to you. “Who knew Dr. Li could be so… hardcore, huh?”
A dick piercing isn’t that strange when it comes to Zayne. Zayne, who used to wear his fringe over his left eye (attempted to, his glasses would get in the way), and wore black eyeliner (that he stole from mama), and the skinniest jeans imaginable—he would definitely get a dick piercing.
Dr. Li who lectures you on eating healthier and going to bed at a decent hour, not so much.
“It’s so cool, Zayne! Maybe I should get a clit piercing…” Just an off-handed comment, is it something you would follow through on? Probably not. Your suggestion makes Zayne’s dick twitch in interest.
Movement that catches Caleb’s attention and his amusement. “Don’t those piercings heighten sensitivity? You’re already so sensitive, it’ll probably take a few rubs and you’ll finish before we even start.”
You roll your eyes at Caleb’s comment, “says the one who finished in his jeans just because my ass brushed against his crotch.”
Caleb sputters and then looks at Zayne, "that has never happened. She’s lying. A true alpha doesn’t finish before his girl.”
“Baby, you’re the omega in our relationship. You even said if we were seahorses, you’d gladly carry our babies and—“ Caleb’s hand covers your mouth. Caleb’s cheeks grow rosy; your boyfriend is not an easy guy to fluster. Usually he’s the one trying to embarrass you.
“Anyway! As the alpha, I say we should measure our dicks now before Pips tries to ruin my credibility.”
Clearing his throat, unsure hazel eyes dart from you to Caleb. “I suppose… if this is to be fair, we’d both need to be aroused.”
Caleb nods in agreement, “right, because some people are growers, not show-ers.”
Caleb’s hand caresses the back of your head, “honey, since you like Zayne’s piercing so much, why don’t you help him out?”
What? You were only going to be the unbiased dick measurer. Now, Caleb’s telling you to help another man get hard?
“Pfft, Zayne doesn’t need help. He can just think of someone hot or something.”
“He could,” Caleb agrees. “But I think you’d love the opportunity to play with his piercing.” Caleb has a point. He always has a point.
When your weary gaze catches Caleb’s, he only gives you a self-assured nod. Well, if your boyfriend wants you to help out a friend, how could you turn down the suggestion?
“You don’t mind, do you, Zayne?”
“Of course not.”
And what started out as Caleb and Zayne critiquing your writing has ended up with your tongue teasing Zayne’s tip. Warm metal slides over your tongue; kitten licks over his sensitive head that causes Zayne to grow embarrassingly fast, much like Caleb.
What an ego-boosting reaction.
Now that the surprise of Zayne’s piercing has waned, you’ve noticed how neatly groomed he is. Pubes trimmed down, the clean scent that clings to his skin, mixed with a hint of musk.
Caleb spits in the palm of his hand, “that’s right, Pips. Get him nice and hard. He’ll need all those inches to beat me.” He taunts. Caleb strokes himself lazily, his attention captured by his girlfriend sucking his friend off; arousal outweighs any potential jealousy.
Your lips stretch over Zayne’s girth, the additional weight of his piercing is an odd sensation. The metal clinks against your bottom teeth a few times as you bob your head up and down; sending a shiver down your spine.
Zayne lets out a heavy exhale through his nostrils, muscles tense from your oral ministration. His hand rests on the crown of your head, hips bucking forward to drive more of himself down your throat. You gag as his tip bumps the back of your throat.
“C’mon Pips, you’ve taken a bigger dick than his and you’re still gagging?” Caleb scoffs, giving himself a rough tug. “Is this just to boost Zayne’s confidence?”
You pull off Zayne’s dick, saliva strings from your mouth and his flared head. Zayne’s dick pulsates with need, slick with the mixture of saliva and precum. Instead of responding to Caleb’s tease, you grab the measuring tape.
The measuring tape stretches from Zayne’s tip to the base. “Seven and a half. Impressive, Dr. Li.”
Albeit a dull compliment, Zayne’s chest still inflates from praise.
“Seven and a half! I’m sure if you had a partner, they’d be thoroughly satisfied, dude.” Caleb says, clapping Zayne on the back.
“Regardless of size, I’m still very proficient with my hands.”
Caleb chuckles, “now that, I can’t refute.”
Caleb pushes forward, standing right in front of you. “Pips, I’m ready for my measurements to be taken.”
You repeat the measuring process with Caleb, tip to base, although it’s harder to accurately measure since Caleb’s dick curves upward. “Mm, it looks like eight and three-fourths.”
Caleb’s dick is bigger. The tape measurer does not lie. Even when they stand side by side, the size difference is obvious.
“See Zayne, it just makes sense for me to be the alpha in our relationship. You know bottoms have the smaller dick,” Caleb explains, smugness oozing from his words.
When did Caleb did a Ph.D in Omegaverse? He read the Omegaverse wiki and called it a day, apparently. “Caleb, dick size doesn’t determine status,” you remind him. Caleb only shrugs your reminder off. “Still, he has birthing hips. He’s submissive. And you wrote him as the bottom in your little fic,” Caleb points out with a hint of a smile on his lips.
After a moment, you rise from the floor. “Well,” you begin, your arms wrap around Caleb’s midsection, fingers trailing over the ridges of his spine. “This is reality.” Nails graze his skin, causing goosebumps to flourish on his skin. “And you’ve been acting more like a brat than anything else.”
“C’mon,” Caleb protests, dipping his head so that he could nuzzle into your neck. Uh oh! Caleb has equipped the puppy tactics, must stay strong. “I was teasing Zayne. You know, I have no clue about the alpha and omega stuff.”
“I know.”
Running your fingers through his dark brown hair, lips pressed against his ear before you speak, the warmth of your breath causes Caleb to shudder slightly. “That doesn’t free you from the consequences though, honey…” Honey, so patronizingly cooed in his ear.
“Down on your knees.”
Up and down goes Caleb’s Adam’s apple, skin prickling with the sudden desire to obey. Lovesickness is incurable—Caleb would never want to be cured anyway.
Your boyfriend sinks to his knees.
“Since Zayne doesn’t get laid often, why don’t you help our gege out?”
Zayne sputters, his hands going through the motions to tug at a tie that’s no longer around his neck. Laughter bubbles up from your chest at his reaction—it’s rare to see Zayne so flustered.
“Did I say something wrong?” You question with your head tilted, feigning innocence.
“N-no, it’s just…” Zayne stammers, pushing his glasses up. His words die off as Caleb’s tongue darts out to lick at Zayne’s tip—already mourning the loss of your saliva, all he can taste is the bitterness of Zayne’s precum. “You’re lucky she’s in charge, Zayne. You know the roles should be reversed,” Caleb huffs, his cheeks puffed out as if he was wronged.
Zayne lets out a breathy laugh. “Then you should’ve kept your mouth shut.”
Caleb’s eyes narrow, he doesn’t respond verbally. Instead Caleb’s cheeks hollow as he bobs his head back and forth. His hand stroking what he can’t fit into his mouth. He attempts to swallow Zayne down to the hilt, only to let out a wet and muffled gag once Zayne’s tip hit the back of his throat.
“You can do better than that, Caleb.”
Already, your body is sprawled out along the length of the couch. Your bottoms and panties discarded on the floor. “Honey, didn’t you train me to take your dick without gagging? Why don’t you use those skills on Zayne?” Your taunt makes Caleb’s dick throb and arousal spurt from his slit.
Your legs part, your hand finding their way between your thighs. Collecting your arousal on your middle finger, you spread it around your swollen clit. The sigh that escapes your lips is of pure relief.
Caleb’s tongue plays with Zayne’s piercing, causing Zayne’s hips to flex. Violet eyes meeting hazel ones; competitive but both share a common goal, and that’s making sure that you enjoy the show.
Zayne’s fingers thread in Caleb’s short strands, guiding Caleb’s movements. Caleb relaxes his jaw, his tongue swirling against the sensitive underside of Zayne’s length. Zayne’s head is thrown back; heavy pants and moans that can’t be contained, not with the way Caleb is working his cock.
Best seat in the house. Watching your boyfriend suck off his friend—the best gift ever. Even if it came at the cost of your mortification of Caleb and Zayne reading those stupid fics you wrote about them.
“Good boy,” you praise, shooting an encouraging smile in their direction.
“Zayne, make sure you encourage him too. He is the one servicing you.”
For a moment, Zayne looks dumbfounded.
Strong angular brows pull together in thought before he speaks up, “an alpha that’s good at sucking omega dick, how rare…” His ears and cheeks are crimson—the only time you’ve seen Zayne this red is after being out in the snow for hours.
You bite your lower lip to stifle the laugh but it comes out anyway. “Zayne, you can just encourage him like normal.”
Zayne clears his throat and nods. “Your mouth is immensely pleasurable.”
That does sound more like Zayne. You’ll help him work on his dirty talking later. Your finger prods at your entrance, slowly stretching out the muscle. Your finger pumps in and out, slick coating your skin.
Caleb pulls back, needing to fill his lungs with more oxygen. “Zayne, what the hell was that?” He questions, his free hand kneads Zayne’s balls. “Good looks, occupation, and dick size carried you through your first time, huh?”
Just as you’re about to open your mouth to reprimand Caleb, Zayne’s pushing back into his mouth. Caleb’s nose presses against Zayne’s pelvis, causing Caleb to choke from the girth forced down his throat again, eyes welling up with tears.
Zayne’s dirty talking may need work but not his taming skills.
“He’s so mouthy sometimes.” More than mouthy. What shuts Caleb up? You sitting on his face. Caleb look gorgeous when he’s on his knees. Long lashes with tears clinging to them, his lips slightly swollen and covered in a his saliva. Zayne’s not making it easy for him, fingers curled in Caleb’s hair, his hips pumping forward, and forcing Caleb to take every inch.
This is so much hotter than anything you could’ve written about.
Warmth begins to build in your lower tummy. Every deep thrust of your fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Caleb’s dick is drooling, throbbing from neglect. He’s cute this way. It’s the best payback for snooping and that ego of his. “Nn, fuck. Caleb’s learning fast, isn’t he?”
Zayne doesn’t answer. All of his attention is on Caleb.
You can see the moment Caleb’s jaw goes slack and he allows Zayne to drive into his throat. Rough pumps of Zayne’s hips that draw out strangled gasps, balls slapping against Caleb’s chin.
Flushed skin that sheens with sweat, fringes that are glued to their forehead, and spit bubbling from the corners of Caleb’s mouth—an ethereal scene that would be studied in art history 101 if Michelangelo had painted it.
Zayne’s glasses hang low on his nose, his pants heavy. Caleb’s looking up at Zayne through dark damp lashes; with his free hand, Zayne caresses Caleb’s cheek, thumb rubbing over his soft skin. “You’re going to be a good boy and swallow, right?” Zayne asks, voice strained before fading into breathlessness. His balls draw up towards his body, muscles tensing.
Caleb nods.
Zayne’s lips lift upward in a small smile, “that’s right. Good boy.” All it takes is a few more shallow thrusts into Caleb’s fluttering throat.
Knowing that Zayne is close makes your fingers speed up their pumps. Just have to time it right and you can come with Zayne. You have to remind yourself to keep your head up and eyes open, even with your orgasm creeping up your spine.
Missing the moment when Zayne spills in Caleb’s mouth would be devastating.
Zayne buries himself one last time in Caleb’s throat, his body momentarily stiff. Zayne’s release comes out in heavy spurts, filling Caleb’s mouth. “Fuh-fuck,” Zayne groans. Caleb gags, his eyes closing as Zayne’s creamy load coats his tongue. Just one taste and Caleb knows he still prefers your come on his tongue.
“Go ahead and swallow it, honey.” You encourage Caleb but he only pulls away from Zayne. His cheeks slightly puffed out, some spillage dripping down his chin. Caleb crawls towards your resting body on the couch.
“Open,” Caleb demands, angling his mouth to avoid spilling Zayne’s come.
Your brows shoot up at the request and you pause. Then your mouth opens. Caleb spits Zayne’s load into your mouth and you swallow. Just a slight tang—Dr. Li has a decent diet. Desperate lips connect with yours, his fingers immediately replacing yours, he collects your arousal on his index and middle finger.
Caleb has to touch you. Needs to touch you. Repent for being a terrible alpha—whatever that means. Caleb’s fingers press forward, velvety walls tense at the sudden intrusion. Caleb’s fingers are longer than yours, stretching you out. “Did I do a good job?” He asks in between kisses.
“Of course,” your back arches as Caleb hits a sensitive spot. “I could tell Zayne loved it. His ass clenches a certain way—“
“I’m sorry?” Zayne interrupts. He’s sitting in the armchair, catching his breath.
A soft laugh leaves you. “Don’t worry about it, nobody will notice unless they’re looking at your ass.”
Caleb’s thumb circles around your swollen nub. His tongue delves into your mouth, tangling with yours, trying to savor the combination of saliva and Zayne’s come that lingers behind.
Caleb moans into the kiss, fingers curling upward, rubbing that magic spot that always has you seeing stars. He breaks the kiss just to hear you cry out in ecstasy, body trembling in as your orgasm washes over you, gushing all over his fingers like you were made to do.
“Cute,” Caleb mumbles against your jawline, pressing open-mouthed kisses on heated skin. His fingers stop moving, allowing you to compose yourself.
BL, SNOWAPPLE, OMEGAVERSE, CUM SPITTING, CUCK MC! Miss kory!!! You captured the things i like so well <3333 genuinely the best and funniest fic i have ever read. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! AND THANK YOU @harlotistic FOR SUGGESTING THE DICK PIERCING ON ZAYNE I LOVE ITTTT. Im gonna eat both yall out. Dont lock the doors—papa is coming.
I cant even describe how much reading this gave me serotonin. I was basically full on giggling the whole time. I would 100% read this again if im feeling down
I realllyyyy adore your unhinged writing kory. I didnt realise how much i missed readinf it. Your pacing and dialogue are so good and everything flows naturally
I love how cocky and annoying you made caleb here like that’s my ideal boyfriend/gege. The part of him larping on omegaverse (we say thank you wiki for helping his dumbass) had me losing it!!! He’s so insufferable ughhhh (yes caleb you’re so annoying but fuck me please)
And the snowapple dynamic feels natural. Their chemistry is insane like I DO WANNA SEE MY BFS FUCK!!!!
Lines i adore:
An apple that fell far from the tree but still inherited Caleb’s freakiness—you wouldn’t be his baby sister if you were normal.
Basically the definition of user losermuse
Lovesickness is incurable—Caleb would never want to be cured anyway.
I like my men like that
Flushed skin that sheens with sweat, fringes that are glued to their forehead, and spit bubbling from the corners of Caleb’s mouth—an ethereal scene that would be studied in art history 101 if Michelangelo had painted it.
Iconic! Im drawing this image in my mind
Caleb shrugs, “yeah but you have nice birthing hips.”
“did I use the right term, honey?” Caleb’s looking at you like a dog waiting for praise but all you can do is gawk at him.
A true alpha doesn’t finish before his girl.
Repent for being a terrible alpha—whatever that means.
One of my best friends growing up was the daughter of a single mother and her mother started saying ‘boobs of steel’ instead of ‘balls of steel’ after escaping her abusive husband and the saying spread to my friend and I so when someone is very brave I think damn, they have boobs of steel. I actually like it a lot more than the original phrase because everyone has boobs (except for those who have had a radical mastectomy) and it calls to mind the image of someone in a shiny steel armor breastplate instead of two useless steel balls bouncing around, which is not very inspiring. Codpiece of steel, maybe but steel balls sound like a logistical nightmare.
i wanna have sex with rafayel 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 fuck it i need that dick 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 or dicks 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 might as well celibate if i cant have him irl 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 pls 😭😭😭😭 sex w rafayel 😭😭😭😭 rafayel's dicks inside me 😭😭😭😭😭 at the beach 😭😭😭😭
yandere roommate!rafayel x reader and knife play omgomgomgomgomg
like in the kitchen or smth
HONEY I LOVE YOU MWAH
yandere! roommate! rafayel x reader with knife play
a/n. happy very belated birthday, my dear emmy! i don't remember writing knife play before, so i hope this is good... thank you for requesting! ❤️
event page | event masterlist
the argument had already stretched for ten minutes, which for your roommate, rafayel, meant you were in need of a hands-on demonstration that will surely get through your naïve brain.
“you’re not going out without me.”
he repeated, his voice suspiciously calm as he leaned against the doorframe of your shared apartment. his arms crossed over his chest, sharp eyes tracking your every movement as you slipped on your boots.
adamant in ignoring him and his unceasing possessiveness worries.
you rolled your eyes, zipping up your second boot, and immediately patted the large pocket of your oversized jeans. “i have the butterfly knife you gave me here, remember? i can take care of myself.”
alone. without you. you wanted to say, but you bit down on your lips, choosing to keep quiet.
choosing not to stir something you weren’t sure you could take on. rafayel was too unpredictable and you weren’t confident he’d spiral into something pleasant for you.
“ha, ha, is that what you really think?”
before you could retort, he swiftly closed the distance. his hand slipped into your pocket with ease, and when he pulled back, the butterfly knife was already spinning between his long fingers.
the silver blade caught the dim light of the foyer, gleaming like a threat between your two bodies.
“rafayel–”
“see this?” he asked, and the shift in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.
that was the tone he used when he was up to no good. the tone that made your tummy coil with something you’d never admit out loud, a mixture between anxiety and lust.
“how easy it was to disarm you?”
“yeah, but you knew wher–” he grasped your dominant wrist, ignoring any possible argument you could muster up.
his grip on you was firm but not painful, just enough to pass the handle of the knife into your palm. you thought he was surrendering, returning the blade to you and letting you go... but his hand covered yours, fingers intertwining with your own around the knife.
“you hold it like this.” he said softly, his breath warm against your ear, pressing into your body and minimizing the proximity even more. “and then you...”
rafayel guided your hand upwards, the sharp tip of the blade pressing against the clenched line of his jaw.
“ah, wait–”
you watched, baffled, as he dragged the knife along the curve of his face, then down the column of his neck, dancing with the cool metal over his adam’s apple towards the base of his throat.
“like this…” his voice was a low rasp, tinged with something primal, clearly enjoying it. “but you have to press harder, draw blood.”
your mouth went dry at the ordeal before you, but your panties got wet. the position was somehow intimate, wrong in a way that made your thighs press together, made your knees turn into jelly.
seeing your own hand, covered by his larger one, pointing a knife at his throat...
so dangerous yet so hot.
it almost felt like foreplay.
“i–i don’t want to hurt anyone.” you whispered, but the words came out as stutters. your nervousness was palpable, but so was your eagerness.
rafayel only chuckled, as if anticipating such a mellow answer. as if hoping for such a weak response.
“bad, bad girl.”
he tutted, releasing your palm and stepping back with the knife in his hand. you exhaled, half relieved, certain this was all he wanted to prove, half upset the charade didn’t develop into something more... private.
but rafayel never disappoints.
“remember: they will always want to hurt you...”
his free fingers hovered over the nicely tied ribbon between your boobs, the flimsy material that kept together your entire top and protected you from public indecency.
“raf, what are you–”
the knife sliced through the fabric like it was butter, blade pointing downwards throughout the sudden movement.
nicking your delicate skin.
you felt the cool kiss of metal before the stinging sensation of the cut; your top felt it too, parting obscenely in front of your roommate’s eyes, now two halves hanging uselessly from your shoulders.
your breasts were out and bare, greeting rafayel’s hungry gaze.
“like this, cutie.”
you gasped, instinctively bringing your arms up to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists again. gathering both with one arm and pinning them down, forcing your tits to smush together from the pressure.
“those bastards outside will do bad things to you.” he spat, annoyed, as if he wasn’t performing in a similar manner just now.
but it was okay for him to do it, he thought — you definitely liked it.
“ngh– ah– raf–”
the tip of the knife traced your sternum first, generating an army of goosebumps all over you skin. then he dragged it upwards, agonizingly slow, until the tip grazed the underside of your left breast.
“they will hurt you. take advantage of you.”
he traced circle after circle around your areola, pressing just enough to break skin, just enough to graze the sensitive area and leave reddish scratches.
your nipple tightened slowly, pebbling under his ministration, and a harsh whine escaped your throat as you felt him drag the knife down in a straight line.
drawing the left leg of an R.
“…take what’s mine.”
rafayel rasped, and you could feel his pulsing anger in the way he handled the knife, pushing it harsher and drawing a well-defined cut on the side of your breast.
beautifully completing his initial.
fuck, you were so gorgeous like this.
“you want that to happen, cutie? want those bastards to have you?”
his eyes, darkened with possessiveness and carnal desire, flickered up to yours, waiting for an answer.
waiting for you to accept the claim he put on you.
and when you muttered back a weak “no”, adjoined by gasps and moans, he leaned in. sticking his tongue out and licking the pebbling blood of his R in one swift swipe.
tags: @yuunileb, @txtworlddom, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world, @demonicangelll, @dreamydaredevil, @glitterykingdomangel, @gardenialily, @weirdothatwrites, @cherrytokkiz, @brailsthesmolgurl, @happyshark2222, @velomira, @darkchococwoissant, @remnantsofgildedcages, @starswillseeus, @ninalove323, @lumichella, @amanehyuga, @txtworlddom, @milumier, @someonestopsoren, @lettushi, @jadeloverxd, @hellothisisnanaaa, @ops-esion, @remnantsofgildedcages, @maplewood-valley, @massivebanananut, @livanavier. if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!
Rafayel and Caleb have been getting along a bit too well after you introduced them...
(eiffel tower, cunnilingus)
soo I finally finished my piece as per this request! it's really long actually, my longest work yet + unedited because I'm lazy but I was literally writing this while on the train to my classes lolol
wc. 2.4k
You have a problem. An issue that you didn’t foresee at all.
When you introduced Rafayel to Caleb, they were at each other’s throats almost immediately. Snarky remarks, subtly tripping each other, stealing your time and attention to themselves. That was something you expected. This wasn’t the issue.
The issue arose when you forced them to hang out once. They instantly became best friends.
At first, it was great. The closest person in your life, Caleb, finally got along with a friend of yours who’s another guy. He never liked any of them, always finding a way to bat them away and occupy you only to himself. So when you saw him in a good mood while dropping you home after the first outing with you and Rafayel, you felt triumph.
Then they exchanged numbers and started talking.
“Did you see the event at the mall? People have been standing with their hands on a car for over 24 hours,” you observe from the TV to Caleb who was stirring a coffee for himself. He sighs and sits next to you.
“Mm. I saw them setting it up yesterday,” he says with a sip of his drink.
Your eyebrows knit together. “You went to the mall yesterday?”
“Oh right. I was with Rafayel. That photobooth that gives the real big photos? We tried it out, it was cool.”
Now apparently they were scheduling outings without you? You couldn’t help but feel a bit offended, especially since you recall telling both Rafayel and Caleb about that photobooth in suggestion that you go with them. Not that they go without you!
It was one time. You let it go. Water under the bridge. It’s a good thing that they’re getting along, you tell yourself.
Until you were at Rafayel’s, laying on his couch watching him paint something new.
“It’s getting pretty hot lately, I’ve been in the mood for ice cream,” you tell him while fiddling around with some beads he gave you to make a custom bracelet.
Rafayel stifles a laugh. “Yeah, it’s just about ice cream season.”
“What’s so funny?”
Rafayel twirls his paintbrush between his fingers, tapping it against his lips that are failing to hide his smile.
“That just reminded me of when Caleb dropped his ice cream cone. His face was priceless!” Rafayel recalls, laughing more at the memory. You give some half-assed laugh.
“Ha, when did this happen? I don’t think we got ice cream on our last hangout?”
The painter clears his throat. Silence.
“Right… This was maybeee… last week? I bumped into Caleb after he finished work.”
Your eye twitches. “Is that right? I’m so…” You grit your teeth, unable to really find anything positive to say but you muster it up anyway, “so glad you guys are getting along!”
It’s all fine. Water under the bridge. You’re so glad they’re getting along. They’re so similar in some ways, it was inevitable for them to join forces and become friends. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you believe.
Your neutrality was hanging by a thread. A thread you didn’t realise snapped a long time ago and you were pretending like it hadn’t.
You were so excited to see Rafayel when you spotted his sleek red sports car halting in front of the building. You step out and knock on his window, watching the figure behind the steering wheel flinch before the window rolls down.
“Rafayel! What are you doing here…” Your tone drops when you look past him and you see none other than Caleb in the passenger’s seat.
“Heya pips! Me and Raf were gonna grab some hot pot at that new place.”
If you were a cartoon character, there would be red rising into your face like a glass thermometer and a vein popping from your forehead.
“Huh. I didn’t hear about this before?” You try to maintain your composure, fingers gripping hard at the side of Rafayel’s door. “Was I not part of the plan?”
The two of them immediately stiffen. There’s a dark blanket of regret that overcomes their expressions.
“No, it’s fine,” you murmur, before they can pity invite you along. You’d end up sitting in the backseat and listening to whatever topic they’ve found they have in common anyway. You straighten up. “You guys go. I have my own plans anyway.”
“Wait–” Rafayel’s attempt to explain is ignored by you as you simply turn and walk back into your apartment building.
Really, how could they? You were the bridge between them that brought them together and suddenly they’re acting as if you don’t exist? Maybe it was immature, but it stung a lot more than you wanted to admit.
You replaced your friends with a tub of ice cream and a romcom to ease the tension in your brain.
Knock knock.
A hollow echo resounded from behind the door. A visitor? Aside from Caleb and Rafayel, who are out enjoying themselves, you don’t know anyone else who could be free right now.
You scowl when you open the door. It was them. The new dynamic duo. Bonnie and Clyde themselves.
You swing the door back to close but a fancy dress shoe belonging to Rafayel and a hand belonging to Caleb both wedge themselves between the door and the wall to stop it.
“Hold on! We’re here to apologise!” Rafayel quickly says, launching a bouquet of flowers into your hand.
“We got ‘forgive us’ gifts,” Caleb adds on, placing a chocolate box into your other hand.
“Seriously?” You sigh, shuffling your feet to place the sudden tokens of regret onto your kitchen counter.
The pair of sad puppies follow you into your home, looking like their ears and tails have been down to surrender to your wrath.
“You watchin’ a movie? Can we join?” Caleb asks, pointing at your TV illuminating the cheesy romcom you were just indulging in.
You shrug. “I dunno… you guys weren’t included in my plans.”
“Oh, come on! We can make your time like, a hundred times more fun,” Rafayel pleads. His hands clap against your shoulders and guide you back to the couch where he pushes you down to sit and Caleb follows up with laying a blanket over your legs.
“We’re real sorry we made you feel excluded,” Caleb mutters solemnly, his weight dipping the couch on your left.
“That wasn’t our intention at all,” Rafayel joins, evening the distribution along the couch as he sits to your right.
You cross your arms. Truth be told, it’s impossible to stay mad after a grand gesture like that. Furthermore, the heat you feel from being sandwiched between two bodies almost makes you feel dizzy.
“…I guess I can squeeze you guys into my movie time.”
Both pairs of eyes light up at your resolve crumbling. They almost immediately snuggle up at your sides.
You thought your mind was playing tricks on you when you felt a Rafayel’s hand brush against your thigh. It definitely wasn’t your imagination when Caleb’s hand hooked onto your waist.
Aren’t they being too touchy?
Rafayel toyed with the hem of your shirt, his mouth so close you can feel his breath hovering over your neck. Caleb on the other hand had a good hold of your waist and you could’ve sworn you felt him nip at your earlobe.
Your body responded before your mind could think about the consequences.
Your hand guided Rafayel’s below your shirt, your head leaned in against Caleb’s.
“Adventurous, are we?” Caleb muses. You almost flinch at the sound of his voice.
You look between the two of them, an undeniable charged energy sparking.
“What–” you begin, confused before Rafayel cuts you off.
“Just tell us if you don’t want this, okay?” He whispers, placing a small kiss to your neck. You shiver.
“You’re both in on this?” You ask. Caleb only chuckles, raking a strand of hair away from your face with his fingers.
“Greedy, greedy pips,” he murmurs, voice husky. He really does lean in and give a small nibble to your earlobe, making your breath hitch. “You want this? Want us?”
It excites you. Sends all sorts of electric jolts through your body and particularly to your lower half.
“You guys are okay with this?”
“Okay with watching a movie? This romcom’s a bit boring,” Rafayel says, feigning obliviousness. You pinch his arm, making him yelp. “Ah! Yes, we’re all good here.”
Caleb laughs at your antics, one hand trailing away from your waist to poke at Rafayel’s cheek.
“Mischievous thing,” Caleb remarks.
Rafayel’s hand trails up higher along your body. You weren’t exactly wearing the fanciest lingerie set as you were awaiting your sole night of binge eating and movie marathon. You were in your usual state of existing without a bra, which Rafayel discovers quickly.
Rafayel’s fingers travel upwards so much they brush against your nipple, eliciting a physical response from you. He tweaks it a bit, a sly grin spreading across his lips.
Caleb trails light kisses down the column of your neck. Rafayel turns your head towards him, being the first to press his lips against yours. You two move your lips in tandem, only to be interrupted by Caleb when he decides to grab your chin and steal a kiss for himself.
“I’m getting you back for that, Xia.”
“Sure, fishboy.” Caleb bites back. The small banter reminds you of when they had first met. You stop entertaining them for a second, silently standing up and walking towards your bedroom.
Words weren’t necessary for you to have Caleb and Rafayel right behind you.
“Off. I want everything off,” you tug at Caleb’s clothes.
“Whatever you want,” he complies quickly. You only give Rafayel a simple look and he’s following suit as well.
They both take time to appreciate your body with their hands. Rafayel pulls your shirt over your head and Caleb starts impatiently removing your pants.
Your breath almost stops when warm lips kiss and suck your skin.
Rafayel’s is smooth. His lips are soft like petals and delicate when they lay praising kisses over your collarbones.
Caleb’s is rougher. Chapped and cracked like clay but full of passion when he focuses his attention on your navel.
They basically have a race, heads descending your body to the juncture of your thighs.
You gasp when you feel two tongues flattening and licking a stripe up through your folds. Clearly they had pounced at the opportunity without thinking, because they pause at the unexpected contact.
“How’d that feel?” Caleb implores.
You’re shaking just from one second of contact, holding a death grip at the sheets below.
“Can you guys… keep doing that?”
It didn’t matter to them what it felt like anymore and they immediately got to work. It felt a bit too powerful to have their complete obedience like this.
The sensation was a lot more overwhelming with two precise muscles working at your pussy. You don’t even know who’s doing what, there’s one guy who spears his tongue into your pussy and the other draws circles around your clit. They often clash together when their movements overlap but don’t seem to mind it.
Caleb is the one who spreads your pussy lips with two fingers, letting Rafayel dribble his spit down and run his tongue up and down your entrance to prepare for when Caleb pushes his fingers inside you. They both watch in awe as your pussy swallows up Caleb’s digits. He sinks them in deep, reaching places your own fingers fail to even go near.
“Oh my fuck,” you choke out in a moan, back arching. “Just like that.”
Rafayel presses his thumb down against the small button that is your clit. He swipes over the bud a few times before finding a rhythm to compliment Caleb’s. White hot flashes your vision at their skilled efforts. You cum like you’ve never experienced an orgasm before.
They busy themselves again with placing kisses and sucking marks onto your body while you’re on cool-down.
“You can take a lot more than that,” Caleb quips. He takes your thighs in his large palms and spreads your legs a little.
“Hey, me first,” Rafayel shoves Caleb out of the way, gently yanking your legs so he’s between them and not Caleb.
“What gives?”
“Payback.”
They glare at each other as if they weren’t just tangling tongues with one another.
Rafayel’s cock sits snug on top of your pussy, gliding down with ease to your entrance again. Caleb sits on his knees beside you, his neglected dick blushing red as he eyes Rafayel with a hint of frustration.
“I have an idea,” you break the tension as you roll your body over, propping yourself up onto your hands and knees. They both instantly get the plan.
Caleb moves swiftly in front of you while Rafayel’s purposeful hands hug around your hips to bring your ass slightly up.
“Dunno if this is you being clever or greedy,” the man in front of you raises his eyebrows. You don’t say anything in response, only fixing eye contact and slowly taking his tip into your mouth. He hisses.
Rafayel watches intently as you start sucking Caleb off. He rocks his hips forward, attention taken by watching the stretch of your walls around his own dick.
It was different. Exhilarating. Being thoroughly fucked from behind while trying your best to engulf the length in front of you. You felt like a prop to them once they got immersed in the pleasure and started thrusting into you at different paces.
“Fuu… Pips, you’re doin’ so well, takin’ both of us,” Caleb drawls, his thumb caressing your cheek.
“Feels… amazing…” Rafayel manages to say. His hips never falter in their pace, making it difficult for your brain to tune into their words. Caleb’s body tenses as his sensitivity receptors go haywire and his release coats the back of your throat, he watches you swallow as much as you can down eagerly.
Your second wave of pleasure zaps through your body, leaving you weaker than you did after the first.
Before you know it, Rafayel collapsed on the bed out of exhaustion. You crawl towards him, resting your head against his chest.
“Hey, don’t leave me out,” Caleb sighs, stretching his body out to join you two on the bed.
“Join the club,” you scoff.
Caleb nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. Rafayel rubs his face into your chest shamelessly.
“Sorry.”
“We’re sorry.”
They both whine in unison. You never would’ve guessed you would end up with the troublesome pair together and wrapped around your finger.
let me know if we want a part 2, this was getting pretty long so I stopped it there. I will be happy to deliver more smut o(*￣▽￣*)o
romaincrisis
prguitarman
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
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