im not anyone's first choice. im not anyone's favorite. people may tell me i mean a lot to them and that im special to them but i know there's someone they'll always choose over me
caleb is absolutely hammering into you, his pace heavy and completely relentless. his broad chest is slick with sweat, grinding against yours with every single hard thrust. he’s buried so fucking deep inside you that your head is spinning, the bed frame groaning loudly as his thick cock stretches you open, bullying its way past your wet folds. you’re pinned flat on your back, fingers scratching harsh red lines down his back.
“caleb–fuck, slow d-down for a second,” you gasp out, voice breaking from the feeling of him absolutely wrecking you.
he lets out a breathless little laugh, his purpole eyes staring into your hazy ones. “can’t do that,” he murmurs, voice full of warm, lazy affection. “you’re the one who got me this worked up.”
it was true. caleb had returned from a two week long mission and god could you not keep your hands off of him.
suddenly, his large warm hand slides up your chest and wraps firmly around the front of your throat. caleb squeezes.
the firm, heavy pressure instantly cuts off your air and the steady restriction sends a violent jolt up your core. your eyes fly wide, pupils dilating as a desperate, needy whine gets trapped in your throat. it’s exactly what you like– the feeling of him being in control making your soaked cunt twitch and clench around his cock.
your hands grip his wrist, not to pull him off, but to press it down harder against your neck, begging for that pressure.
caleb leans down, his face inches from yours. his usually bright eyes are dark and heavy but his expression softens into a fond smile when he sees how much you love it.
“you’re my absolute weakness, you know that?” he murmurs, voice raspy snd breathless before he leans down to press a deep and sweet kiss to your lips.
he dosen’t slow down at all. he drives his cock even deeper, bottoming out completely inside your twitching cunt. then, he takes his hand and presses his palm against your lower stomach.
right there, his palm sinks against your skin. he can feel the distinct bulge of himself stretching you out from inside. your hips give a suddenly and involuntary jerk at the feeling. a tear of pure pleasure slips down your cheek, choked cry trapped by his grip on your neck.
caleb lets out a sharp groan at the feeling, his smile turning into a breathless grin. he presses down hard with his palm, while his hips slam forward again and again.
“look at you,” caleb pants, his breath hot against your face as he uses his thumb to wipe a tear away. he holds you perfectly steady while he watches your expression blow out. “you’re taking every fucking inch of me. so beautiful like this.”
“mmh—caaaleb...just....harder,” you choke out, your chest heaving as you look up at him, completely drunk on the lack of air and sheer size of him tearing you apart. he keeps pounding into you, tip battering against your cervix.
soon, your vision blurs and your back completely arches off the mattress. the coil in your stomach snaps and it has you gripping him like a vice. caleb kisses you through the peak of it, holding you securely until you slowly start to come down.
afterward, the room is completely quiet except for your heavy breathing. caleb collapses right next to you, completely spent and pulls you against his side. he lets out a long, satisfied sigh, pressing numerous kisses to the crown of your head. “i love you,” he whispers.
you smile and snuggle into him. yes, you love him too.
🏐 "𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑼𝑺 𝑸𝑰𝑵," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ nsfw sylus loves lazy sunday morning sex ꗃ .. smut mdni ꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ mina says reupload from toruzip ⁀ ˳ ⟡
He looked so ethereal... naked, cuddled up beside you, his face half covered by the large pillow.
You would have looked away long ago, but you felt so... needy, when you had awoken this morning. The familiar slick beginning to dribble out of your puffy folds, your thighs pressing together. You didn't want to be greedy, but your husband looked so perfect, you couldn't help but imagine how he'd take you right now.
Your thoughts were momentarily cut short when Sylus blinked his tired, red eyes awake. The piercing gaze softening when he saw you first thing in the morning. A lazy smile spreading over his lips as he shifted to quickly pull you closer, yawning while doing so.
"Kitten, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a kink for watching me sleep."
You only grumbled and pouted at his words, about to retort... before that familiar throb reminded you why you wanted him awake in the first place. Needy and wet, you cuddled up against his chest. Rubbing your pussy on his thigh, letting him feel how you throbbed, how you needed him to take care of you. His teasing demeanour soon shifted the moment he felt your slick on his muscular thigh. His cock twitched under the blanket, hiss arms tightening around you.
"Oh, so you do have a kink for watching me sleep, huh?"
"...Sylus."
"What?" he huffed softly, teasing you a bit as his hands shifted to grab your hips, and pull you closer him. Grabbing your high and hitching it above his hip. His touch was warm, if not how filthily he was rolling his hips, grinding his hardening cock right on your wet, throbbing pussy. "It's not like I'm wrong... you're already so wet, drooling all over my dick."
You blushed a little at his crude words but couldn't deny them. "Do you not wanna...?"
He shook his head, yawning against your hair before pulling you closer and beginning to roll his hips. “Oh, I wanna,” he drawled on his words with a lazy smirk. The thick head of his cock catching at your entrance with every roll, making your thighs quiver with every catch. You bit down on your plump bottom lip, trying to quieten any whimpers.
“Don’t hide them… let me hear how much this pussy missed my dick from the last time we had sex,” he chuckled softly against your hair, before pressing a gentle kiss on your head. His hands rubbing soothing circles on your thighs.
“The last time being… how long ago kitten?” You grumbled at his playful question. “Oh. Right. Just last night.”
His breath became unsteady when he began to roll his hips more purposefully now, and fully slotted the head of his cock against your puffy little entrance. You whined, digging your nails into his shoulders. He only cooed and shushed you in response, slowly pushing inside.
You felt your eyes roll a little when he popped the first few inches inside. His thickness stretching you out again. You never seemed to get used to just how big and girthy he was, no matter how many times you both had made love.
“..S-sylus…” you moaned softly, clinging onto him with greater intensity when he began to slowly thrust the full length of his member inside.
“Shhh.. just take it…” he mumbled softly against your hair, rubbing circles into your back when he hugged you closer again, your thighs fully spread for him. He looooooved the frontal spooning position. It came second only to the lotus position… oh, he was already twitching inside you from wanting to try the lotus position next. He’d have to wait though, you needed a little pick-me-up first.
Sylus began to huff into your hair, slowly thrusting his cock in and out of your wet pussy. You tightened around him so much with every roll. The blunt head of his length pressing against your cervix gently, but just enough to make you gasp a little into his chest.
When you got close to an orgasm, Sylus only sped up his thrusts. Cooing into your hair and whispering soft confessions of love, his own eyes clenched closed from holding back. “…c-coming…” you drawled against his chest, drooling down your chin a little when your pussy spasamed and you finally felt the release you had been needing. Finally felt so full and warm with Sylus inside you.
Sylus held you close for a few minutes, just slowly rolling his hips against yours, keeping his still-hard dick inside you. Before pressing a soft kiss to your messy bed head and asking
“Do you wanna try the lotus position now, kitten?”
your first makeout session with him
mdni. suggestive+nsfw content. wc: max 1.5k each <3
content: afab!reader/mc. xavier - almost getting caught+dry humping potential if you squint, rafayel - semi-public kissing+mc using raf’s thigh, zayne - mc taking the lead+pathetic, scared (in an erotic way) zayne who’s eager to follow, sylus - pollenated kissing+references to dirty dreams, caleb - mc being angry=hate-kissing+swearing+basically dry humping
a/n: this took too long to complete. and i wrote too much for each li despite this being my first multihc so what did i expect!! anyway, i hope you all enjoy, pls lmk what u think! this may just be the first and last time i do this LMAO. did my best to stay in character but yk. tell me. like should i never write another li again NJNSJNS (pls..i have a snowapplemc fic in the works. pls)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ xavier
You’re not meant to be doing this right now, not here at least. People are still around - and not just any people, but your own coworkers and higher ups. This is so incredibly wrong, you know you shouldn’t be doing this, but falling into Xavier is something you’ve never been able to resist.
This time is even more precious though. There’s more of him you’re discovering. Of course, there’s the usual: his warmth, his softness but now there’s hints of roughness. Roughness that you should be discovering anywhere but here.
When he sighs into your mouth, you forget about your worries.
It was meant to be a late night at the Association for you. You’d planned to finish your report and hand it in today, even if it meant being the last one out of the office. You were almost there, there was just a few more pages left to fill in, but then another chair rolled up next to you and soon you were coaxed into taking a well-needed break.
Somehow, this break meant sitting in your boyfriend’s lap and kissing him like you’d never have the chance to again. At your workplace. His one too. The one where you share the same colleagues and report to similar higher ups and have to look at one another with a straight face after this.
It’s quiet in the office, it’s far too dark and there’s only the glow of a few hologram displays nearby that illuminate your knitted figures. Beyond the doors there’s voices, there’s meetings, and here you both are.
Shivers run down your spine when his fingers skim over it, and heat plummets in you when you consider how close he is to you. This is all too much for your first time kissing him like this, but your hands thread through his soft locks anyway and his other hand grips onto your thigh for support when you tug.
And he’s— God, you can feel how much he loves this. It makes your head spin when you realise how far you’ve gone now, but Xavier’s there to keep you grounded. His fingers press into your back, his palm brushes up your thigh, finds the curve of your silhouette, and you whimper when his tongue meets yours.
It takes your absolute full strength to pull yourself away, your body begs to stay in his embrace, but you know you’re pushing it now. You clear your throat, eyes adjusting to the dark when you whisper, “Xavier, we— I’m not sure if—”
But the words are stuck in your throat when you gaze down at him. Serene blue eyes pierce through despite how heavy-lidded they are, you see the way his lips are coated in a mixture of you and him and his heartbeat can be heard over the cars and civilians bustling just outside.
It’s fast, it’s so unbelievably fast, and that’s all because of you.
Xavier’s chest is heaving, and alongside his heartbeat comes the sound of hushed pants pushing past slicked lips. You've got one arm braced on his shoulder, and he leans into your forearm, seeking your touch. He’s quiet for a moment, just to catch his breath, and finally his voice comes into focus.
“We can stop. I’ll follow your lead.” It comes out in a broken whisper, struggles to find its footing between a steady tone and sweet quietness, and that also sends heat pooling between your thighs.
You see the eager shine in his eyes, the silent plea that restrains him, and God he’s too pretty. You don’t want to stop— you can’t. You lean back in, and he’s there. His hand stays firm on your back, your thighs keep him in place beneath you and only the sounds of strained whimpers, reverent sighs and chair squeaking float from your cubicle.
You’d started it, really. Xavier had simply stopped by to check in on you, give your mind a rest from battle jargon. He’d slipped you a small kiss, a promise of seeing you soon, but something took over you. You kissed back, a little harder, and he’d been more than keen to reciprocate.
Tomorrow you’ll blame it on the atmosphere and the thrill of being caught.
No one could blame you though. Xavier had been so sweet and gentle with you thus far, but you knew you were approaching your breaking point. His presence was always too close for you to be able to ignore him - he was on your mind more often than not. Being left alone with thoughts of Xavier meant wondering about the sides of him you hadn’t seen yet.
When he bites on the plush of your lip, you’re grateful that today’s the day you finally get to learn so much more. When you whimper from the delirious sting, his palm kneads into the softness of your ass and coaxes another whimper out of you.
You’re about to whine, to ask him for more - you’re not even quite sure what that may be yet - but the sound of footsteps draw close and soon the door to the office is being opened.
Light breaks through and tears apart the harmonious blacks and blues previously streaked across the room. Heat dissipates from you, your head spins, but you’re alone in your chair now. Xavier’s neatly arranged you back onto your chair, spun you round the right way and hidden himself somewhere.
You make eye contact with the colleague who’s just walked in and give a quaint smile, trying to appear as though your heart rate was completely normal.
You think Xavier’s teleported, but when you roll your chair closer to your desk a hand places itself on your thigh. You jolt at the feeling, and thank the stars above that your colleague is busy at their own desk.
His touch kicks in some sort of survival instinct; you try to subtly re-arrange yourself. You pat down your clothes, glance at the reflection in the monitor and tame stray hairs. It’s probably too late for that, but anything is better than thinking about Xavier’s hand that is… far too close for you to be normal about.
A quick peer under your desk shows you a sight you’re not prepared for.
He’s not even looking at you. He’s not trying to. His eyes are fixated on his hand, the one that rests higher up than it has before. His cheeks are flushed, his ears burn red, and his chest rises and falls in quick succession. He’s beautifully dishevelled and the definition of bliss.
It takes him a moment to realise you’re watching him, and Xavier slowly glances up. There’s a flicker of surprise, like you’d stumbled across a private moment, but it morphs into the sweetest of smiles. One that speaks of innocence and carries a hint of guilt.
When you shut your legs in realisation, he flops his forehead against your knee. Your body jolts, and he places a small kiss in apology.
ଳ⋆˚࿔ rafayel
“You know, I really think it’s unnecessary for you to buy a new outfit everytime you get paint on your clothes.”
“What do you have in mind then, cutie?”
“I don’t know… Maybe try a washing machine, or hand washing them. Or having a set only for when you paint so it doesn’t matter if it gets a bit messy. Maybe even—“
There’s a zipping sound just past the curtain, accompanied by a flurry of movements. “In order to paint, I need to be just like my canvas. Completely clear, brand new, ready to be washed in colours. Besides, I think a certain someone enjoys these little shopping trips, wouldn’t you agree?”
You scoff and cross your arms, scrutinising the figure behind the curtain. Like always, Rafayel had dirtied another pristine white set of his and begged you to accompany him shopping. He should have been perfectly aware you’d be against the trip - it’s not like you bought a new uniform every time you fought a wanderer - but he’d only taunted you and said he’d happily buy you one each time if you asked.
You’d gone round and round in circles, never learning to not make eye contact with a pretty shirt or tailored pants hung on display. He’d always somehow catch on and immediately be adding the piece onto the forever growing pile of clothes in your arms.
“Why is it that when we go shopping for you, I’m the one who has to carry stuff?” you’d asked.
“I’m too weak to carry them. I’m tired. Isn’t my bodyguard supposed to do this?” He’d replied, not without a flick to his forehead.
He’s lucky he’s cute.
You have to press your lips into a thin line when you think about his infuriatingly teasing expression - you can’t reinforce this behaviour. It’s not been very long since you started dating, but you think Rafayel already knows his charms work too easily on you.
“Prepared to be blown away, cutie?”
“Show me what you got.”
In all honesty, you’re not really prepared. He’s styled in a silky white blouse and crisp black trousers, and whilst it’s a colour scheme you’ve seen him in before you’re still getting used to how pretty he can be. The lavender hues of his hair are striking in contrast, the blues and pinks in his eyes beam at you - only ever for you - and blush lips spread into a stupid smirk.
He’s going to be the death of you, and he knows it.
Your eyes drift and catch onto the detailed embroidery neatly displayed on the blouse. A motif of seashells and foam trail over his shoulder, down his chest and wrap around his waist. You don’t remember picking this one, and you’re intrigued.
“That’s… actually really nice on you.”
Rafayel shakes his head, and pouts at you. “Are you surprised?”
You can’t think clearly, too focused on the intricacies, so you step forward and your hands begin to trace over the embroidery. You skim over the bold print, and learn the neat stitches story. From top to bottom, you admire the little details in it. There’s tiny crabs that scuttle over, specks of fish that waft through and coral that dance beneath your fingertips.
A hand catches your wrist. When you look up from the embroidery, a blushing Rafayel fills your view. He’s looking away, another pout pressing into his lips, and your breath catches. You’re about to apologise, you didn’t realise just how in his space you were. It dawns on you then that you’d been touching him too, the thinness of the blouse hadn’t concerned you in the slightest, oh—
It happens quickly, and you’re disorientated for a second. He’s pulled you into the changing room with him, a small space made for one really. The curtain is drawn behind you, and Rafayel moves from gripping your wrist to lacing his fingers through yours.
His voice is hushed when he says, “If you wanted a feel, cutie, you could’ve just asked.”
You’re floundering through apologies, and he’s quick to shush you. There’s not much room for you here, and he knows it. He takes one—two steps towards you, and you naturally scuffle backwards. Soon your back is pressed against the wall, and Rafayel has you where he wants. His eyes flit between your eyes to your lips.
For the first time since you got here, it’s silent. There’s the bumbling of customers just outside the cubicle, and you can’t help but gulp at the intensity of his eyes. He’s watching you keenly, and you feel hot under his gaze. You’re about to open your mouth, another apology ready to be said, but he disrupts you.
It’s eerily gentle, the way in which he finally speaks. A soft whisper of “Please, can I?” is all it takes for you to abandon any concerns about his feelings. He’s more than fine, you realise.
His pink cheeks speak of want, his eyes sparkle with desire and you’re more than happy to apologise for invading his space with a soft kiss.
It’s wouldn’t be the first time, of course. You’ve kissed him plenty of times before, but something has you questioning if gentleness is all he wants today. You think it’s the lack of room, the way he’s hazily watching you, his open clavicle you’re suddenly too aware of.
The sound of conversation nearby reminds you that you’re in public - what if a worker walked in and questioned the two pairs of shoes peaking from under the curtain?
Still. You can’t deny him because you don’t want to. He’s asked so nicely too; it was rare for him to be polite. That’s the kind of behaviour you should be rewarding.
You respond with a chaste kiss, delicate and sweet as always. It dawns on you, though, that this was the wrong move. Your earlier intuition was right, because soon Rafayel’s hand is pinning your wrist low against the wall. His other hand latches onto your cheek, softly pressed into your skin, and you’re drowning in him.
It takes a moment for your brain to reboot, but when you’re finally there it’s a quiet match filled with pleasurable sighs and hushed whimpers. He takes the lead and flourishes you in harsh kisses, and your hand struggles to not scrunch into his pretty blouse.
When his tongue slides into yours, your brain short-circuits and you’re tugging him closer, harder, into you. You can feel him smirk into the kiss, and it sends a wave of lightheadedness floating through.
With each kiss, each pang of dizziness, comes the steady collection of slick between your legs, you gasp. It’s too soon to be feeling like this, yes this was a lot more of a passionate kiss than usual, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. You just hope he hasn’t caught on, because you’re more than aware that you’ll be endlessly teased by him.
He pulls away from you, and a string of saliva connects his lips to yours. He’s panting, and your knees buckle from the heavy look he gives you. You see how quickly Rafayel’s eyes flash with realisation, and he’s caught between a laugh and moan - a ragged sound that has you shuddering. You stare at him helplessly, borderline needy, and he’s nodding and catching you once more.
When he closes in on you again, he purrs into your ear, “I’ve got you, pretty baby.” Any sound you could make from the new name is muffled by his lips reaching yours again. His knee slots perfectly between your thighs, and a quiet moan manages to escape from you at the sudden pressure.
He kisses you again, and again, before pulling away once more.
“Is this okay?” Rafayel asks, and you want to laugh. Instead, you clumsily nod, and his thumb caresses your cheek. His voice is wrecked, his skin hot on yours, and the way he’s still watching you drives you crazy. You can’t help but buck against his knee, the undivided attention overwhelmingly delightful to you, and that…
Rafayel’s eyes flutter watching you. He can’t stay away anymore, and soon he’s back on you. He kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck, and commits each sound you make to his mind.
He’s definitely buying this shirt.
₊°｡❆ zayne
“Thanks for inviting me out, Zayne. Even if your taste in fusion cuisine is skewed, I had fun.”
“I feel like you’re teasing me. As I recall, someone was perfectly happy trying out my meal. I distinctly remember a few bites missing from my own plate each time I looked away.”
You squint your eyes at him. “Well. It sounds to me like someone doesn’t want a kiss goodbye.”
Zayne laughs, but you're stoic and refuse to break character. You look away and twist your body away from him too. There’s only so much space in the passenger seat though, so this is the most brutal move you can pull as he drives you home.
He calls your name a few times, and you still refuse to speak. It's only when his hand shifts from the gearstick to your thigh that you acknowledge him.
“I’m sorry. It seems I mistook you for a little mouse,” he says, mirthful eyes focused on your figure after pulling up to a traffic light.
You huff and nod earnestly. “That’s right. I would never take your food without asking. Especially not for something so… sweet.”
He smiles softly and moves his hand back onto the gearstick, driving off and closer to your home. It returns back to your thigh, and your hand clasps over it.
That is, until you hear a quiet, “And yet, everything on your plate was clear.”
When you pull his hand off your thigh and softly throw it elsewhere, he apologises endlessly as you refuse to engage.
It’s a quick drive, and you hate it. Even though he can be so mean, you want to spend every second with Zayne regardless. You miss him the moment you’re apart, and you’re not ready to feel that.
The universe clearly doesn’t care though, because the sight of your apartment building sends your heart dropping. You think he feels it too. The air chills ever so slightly, and there’s a lingering silence as the car finally stops. You turn to face him, heart panging when you catch his mournful expression.
“Thank you,” is all that comes from your mouth. If you say goodbye, then you have to leave, and you’re really not ready yet.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then Zayne’s leaning over the console towards you. His voice is full of quiet and wrapped in silk when he murmurs, “It doesn’t have to be a kiss-goodbye.”
“No? What should it be then.”
“…A kiss see-you-later.”
You laugh and he smiles with you, a little meek and pink. Your hands come up and cradle his cheeks, squishing them as your move his head side to side. He doesn’t resist, letting you coo and squeeze him as you please.
“You’re such a romantic. Fine, let’s have a ‘kiss see-you-later’ then.” Your eyes flutter shut as Zayne leans closer. His lips move against yours softly, and one hand come to rest at your nape.
The kiss is sweet, as it usually is. You’ve only ever known tenderness with him. It’s always been that way with Zayne though - his love is quiet but firm. His presence has always been soothing; he’s never been a problem in all the time you’ve known him, only a solution.
Perhaps that’s why tonight you want more.
You’re tentative at first, your hand rising and hesitating before finally settling on his tie. It wraps around the cloth as you feel Zayne about to move away. You know he’s about to ask what’s wrong, but courage takes over and you’re tugging him closer.
You hear surprise as he’s dragged into you. A sudden “mmph” breaks between the sound of slick lips moving together, and that… It’s a sound you’ll remember for the rest of your life. You’re not sure how you’ve ever been able to live without it before.
You want to hear so much more.
Your curiosity about the soft doctor wins, and encourages you to kiss harder, faster, rougher. And Zayne— he only struggles for a second. The change isn’t too much for him, not when he’s spent years fantasising about having you like this.
He’s beyond grateful that you’ve reached this point of comfort with him. After all, there’s nothing more that Zayne wants than to learn everything you like, and help you with whatever you need. Judging by the way your hand tightens against his tie, the quiet whimpers that escape when his tongue slips into your mouth, he understands that you’ve needed this for a while.
—At least he thinks he understands, because any sort of confidence Zayne had in taking the lead from you is banished when you suckle on his tongue, savouring honey and sage as you go. Your lungs burn for air, but you keep a steady pace at licking out any whimper or gasp you can from him.
You’re impressed with how he keeps up with you, he never once tries to pull away from your touch. Your hand comes up to cradle the back of his head and you giggle when you feel the hot tip of his ear sear against your palm as you move past. Zayne simply squeezes his eyes shut, humiliation rolling in waves.
When you disconnect for some air, you finally get to see his flushed pink ears, the slack jaw that shallowly takes in each breath. His shirt’s crumpled from each drag of his tie, pulled taut from your desperation to melt into him, and yet he’s never looked so much like himself. Like Zayne was made to be used as you please.
He slowly gulps, eyebrows twitching as he tries to compose himself. “I—“ He inhales deeply, eyes flitting from your hand that still clutches onto his tie and back to your face. “…That—“
You groan as you slump back onto your seat, and it’s a mixture of pent-up energy and laughter. Zayne eyes you curiously, heart still racing and on edge as he anticipates - hopes for - your next pounce.
Your hand stays fiddling with the end of his tie.
“You’re so cute Dr. Zayne, did you know that?” There’s no earnest teasing or wide-eyed compliment that follows. Instead you watch him carefully, letting each syllable hit hard as they lazily drag past your lips.
You can’t help feeling smug when you see how baffled he is, all twitchy and red in the face.
After a moment of silence, he finally sighs and shakes his head. “You’re… relentless.”
“You’re just realising that?”
You lurch towards him, lips immediately finding his, and It feels deliriously good to be close to him again. For a brief moment, you’re mourning leaving the car - you’re not prepared to return to a life where Zayne isn’t kissing you rough and fast, just like this, but he moans when another whimper leaves you, and your brain short-circuits entirely.
Holy shit.
It’s what makes you jolt forward, your hips fighting against the rigidness of leather beneath you and eager for Zayne to be there instead. Your hand frantically skims on the underside of his tie, reaching the knot. It takes a little fiddling, but your fingers are soon digging in and prying the knot loose.
Everything shifts; your mixed pants grow heavier, needier, and even Zayne’s hands begin to lift and seek a place to clutch. The car’s windows fog, condensed entirely from keen whines and aching groans. Finally, fuck finally , your hands smooth over his burning skin beneath and—
Honk!
You jump away from one another as the sound blares from the car. Your eyes jump from Zayne to the car horn, and when you see his elbow hovering near it you can’t help bursting out laughing.
And Zayne… He’s entirely mortified. He feels the way his skin flushes, the sensation of blood rushing and pooling into his cheeks and ears - but watching you laugh in front of him helps. Perhaps that’s why he laughs with you too.
It takes a while for you both to calm down, the nerves of harsh kisses and loud horns still coursing adrenaline through your beings. Soon, a comforting ambiance of softened pants takes over.
Between shallow breaths, Zayne tries to calmly say, “That was— one way of having a kiss see-you-later.”
There’s a teasing lilt to his voice that tries to reason with you, and perhaps coyness should have visited you then, but the sight of the usually collected man before you panting and blushing with his clothes roughed by your very hands was enough to keep it away.
Instead your shoulders shake with laughter, and you shake your head.
“You really are too cute, Dr. Zayne,” you hum, and his ears somehow redden further. “Should I be worried though? Does that mean you didn’t enjoy it?
“On the contrary, I loved it.”
And you’re not sure, but from the look in his eye you have more than enough reason to spend the rest of your night overthinking that statement.
.ִֶָ ♱ ་༘࿐ sylus
You feel a tap against the back of your hand, the one that was busy scrounging into the fabric of your jeans as you rambled, and you look up.
His voice is drips with sweetness, like it always does, when he says, “Take your time, sweetie. Try again.”
You turn your hands over, catching his fingers in your grasp and giving them a squeeze. You’re all too aware that your palm feels sweaty, but Sylus doesn’t pull away and you know he doesn’t care. He just wants to listen, like he always does.
“I—” One breath in, one breath out. “—kept dreaming of these, and you were always there in those dreams. I think it’s because I’ve seen a few of them when we’re out at night. It’s funny, the meaning of them isn’t exactly great but still, I thought you’d like them. I’ve actually been growing and tending them myself. For you.”
You lift his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the smooth knuckles there before swapping your hand out for the bouquet of dark flowers. The veins of his hands pop against the pink silk bow tying the bunch together, and you squirm trying to gauge his reaction.
Sylus doesn’t seem to notice, though. He’s focused on the flowers, and the adoration you’d seen him enter the room with is enhanced tenfold. There’s a sweet glow in the vermillion of his eyes, but the muscles beneath tense ever so slightly.
Perhaps they were too girlish? You cringe upon reflection, gaze fleeing towards the fireplace the two of you are sat before as you ponder. The big boss man who lords over the N109 Zone being gifted pretty flowers was maybe a little too ridiculous.
You rush to save the moment. “They’re called daturas. Apparently they symbolise power, caution and spiritual transformation. Obviously, the power and caution speak for themselves— I swear I didn’t just grow them because I thought they just looked nice. Mm, I guess the spiritual transformation doesn’t quite fit, but—“
His gruff laugh silences you, and the worries you had dissipate right before you. He’s smiling in his arrogant way once more, and you can’t find the stiffness previously etched in his muscles.
Perhaps you were simply in your head about it.
“My soul found yours and I finally felt peace. I’d say that’s rather fitting, wouldn’t you agree? In any case, I like cute things too. If I didn’t, there wouldn’t be a sweet kitten staying at the Onychinus base.”
You can only blink at him with parted lips as his words wash over you. Trust Sylus to take your romantic moment and make it his own.
“So you like them?”
“I do. It’d be rude of me to dislike this bunch when my balcony is already overflowing with all the flowers you’ve brought over.” He tilts his head just behind, but it’s an unnecessary movement. The trails of flowers and the petals that can’t help but detach have been flowing in and out of the room the entire time you’ve been here.
You certainly have left your mark here.
Sylus’s gaze sweeps from you to the daturas still in his hand. He gently whispers, “After all, these ones were specifically tended to just for me,” before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
When you look up, you’re shrouded in him. You’re not sure when the two of you had moved closer together, but the enamoured look on his face has you leaning in for a kiss. You feel shy asking like this, no words exchanged, but he’s always telling you to go for what you want.
You hear him gently lay the flowers beside him before he scoops you onto his lap.
You shriek at the sudden movement, eyes jolting open, but Sylus pays no mind. His hand trails the dip of your waist, and your eyebrows scrunch together ever so slightly at the sudden confidence. You flit between either of his rouge eyes, noting the half-lidded expression, and your heart stutters.
The flames from his fireplace crinkle behind the two of you, and your knees dig into the plush of his rug as your body steadily settles on his lap.
His voiced is hushed, “Did you notice anything when you were caring for the daturas?” His breath fans over your skin, reaches past your neck and tickles the ends of your hairs. You’re on high alert, still adjusting to the sight of Sylus so close to you, and you jolt from the feeling.
His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly - a warning that falls on deaf ears, much like the futile question itself.
Each word was muffled in the haze of the warmth you now share, your mind too busy scrambling and desperately trying to find footing in this shift between the two of you.
Sylus watches you far too intensely the entire time.
Did anything happen? You knew they were toxic so you did your best to wear the necessary protection needed to tend to them. You were thorough in washing your hands after too. Sure, there were times you were somewhat dizzy and had to sit down, but that was all.
Honest.
When you still don’t respond, he continues, “They’re known to be hallucinogens.” His hand engulfs one of yours, dragging it to the curve of his cheek. Sylus presses his cheek into the soft of your palm, eyes fixated on you. “Even the smallest amount of pollen can have an effect. You mentioned dreams of them, and even said I was there.”
His head tilts, and the brush of his lips against sensitive skin tickles ever so slightly. There’s an edge of mirth in his voice when he whispers against your palm, “What were they like, sweetie?”
Ah.
It seems he may know a lot more about daturas than you did.
Residue from the petals you’d been caressing before his arrival sweep over his skin, melting between the point of contact between the two of you.
Your head spins.
On one hand, you’re glad that your keen eye meant you’d stumbled upon Sylus’s favourite flower. A part of you swells with pride at getting that right - they truly were a good gift then. On the other hand, you’re both stepping over a line that has only ever been treaded along. You know exactly what he’s asking, but the teasing tone in his voice tells you you can end this new game now if you’d like.
You’re… not sure if you want to.
A gust of wind billows from the balcony, and the once energetic fire is tamed. With the wind comes the scent of daturas that flutter around your figures. Your body reacts before your mind catches on, and you’re biting his lip between yours and drawing blood.
He groans into your mouth, and only then does a singular thought cut through - this is rougher than how you usually kiss him. You can’t quite remember what usually kissing Sylus means though, because roughly kissing him feels like it’s always been second nature.
Your mind fuzzes and swirls with notes of Sylus’ cologne and sour pollen. The heat of his lips never fades - he’s so warm and close and entirely yours if you’d like.
He meets your pace now, matches the brutality of your lips, and the room echoes of whimpers and groans. You pull on the softness of his hair, your other hand having snuck its way to the nape of his hair. He groans and grips tightly onto your waist, which only makes you gasp and jut forward.
You hear him grit his teeth, restraint oozes out of every fibre in his body, and that only makes you moan. Each brush of his lips and caress of his tongue drives you mad, like there’s a never-ending ache that can’t be satiated even with his touch. Not tonight, at least.
When you reluctantly pull away for air, Sylus huffs a laugh seeing the blooming crimson on your lips. It’s a scratchier sound than usual; his pupils are dilated beyond belief and the creeping realisation that you are the sole reason for his flushed skin sends your mind reeling.
You’re lost in the heat of your desire for him, you don’t think for a second, and suddenly you’re pushing him down. He admires you above him, memorises the way the light is consumed by your dark figure, and merely smirks.
Sat atop him, you snake one hand over his chest. You feel the thrum of his heart beneath your palm. When you slide your hand further up the curve of his neck, you feel the intense spike of his pulse. It dawns on you right then that his arrogance is all for show.
He’s just as lost in you.
Your plant your hands on either side of his head, the marble cool against your palms. You duck down and catch his bottom lip between your teeth once more, and Sylus works to keep up with you. You’re relentless, taking everything he can give you and more.
With each gasp and heavy breath comes the quick inhalation of daturas, and you fall into a never-ending cycle of consuming one another.
. ݁ ❦ ˖ caleb
You try not to sigh as Caleb keeps talking, it’s like he doesn’t even care about being somewhat alert tomorrow. For someone who loves to mention his position as Colonel, often as a meaningless scare-tactic to keep you from snooping where he thinks you shouldn’t, he really didn’t seem to care about actually maintaining the role.
“—And then there was that time you would not stop crying until your dear Caleb came back to you. You were so clingy, though I guess you still are, huh?”
You don’t bother tilting your chin up from the comfy spot you’ve found on his chest. There’s no point responding or making eye contact when he’ll just continue prattling about the old days - and trust, you liked reminiscing just as much as him! - but it’s 1am and you just want to sleep.
“Caleb.”
“Yeah, pips?”
“Go to sleep.”
He shuffles beneath you, jostling your leg that had been perfectly slung over his own thigh. You grumble as you mould yourself back into his side, trying to find the perfect angle in this cuddle pile you’d created.
Perhaps sleepovers in Skyhaven should be off the table until Caleb learns some etiquette.
You hear him tut, an offending sound that resonates in the crisp of his bedroom. You try not to roll your eyes, because you’re pretty sure you’ll hear a lecture about that if he so much as hears it.
If the tut wasn’t enough, he makes sure to heavily lay on the (fake) hurt when he mentions, “There was a time when you listened to my every word, you know. What happened to that?”
Your eyes roll anyway, and the dredge of sleep crawls back over you. “I genuinely have no idea where you’ve got that from.”
“Pips, I literally just told you about those times. Weren’t you listening?” Caleb says, and you can literally hear the pout in his voice. He shuffles again, and you grumble in response. “Okay, from the top! So, back then—“
Your head whips up and catches sight of an overly awake Caleb whose eyes dreamily stare at the ceiling. He’s happily chirping away, like the minutes on the alarm clock next to him mean fuck all.
You’re too grouchy for this.
There’s only a small bite to your words when you groan, “Oh my God, Caleb! Shut up!” Any hurt he could experience is immediately soothed over, because you’re dragging yourself upwards and planting your elbows on either side of him.
Your hands cradle his face as you press your lips against one cheek, then the other, his forehead, his nose and finally a sweet peck on his lips. You’re more than relieved when you pull back and see he’s been stunned into silence.
You put on your best stern expression, and squish his cheeks together. One pat, then another, and you think he’s finally gotten the hint, so you slither down to your cosy spot on his chest and rest your eyes.
…It’s a bit difficult to actually settle though when the person below you won’t shut the fuck up!
“Caleb.”
“Yeah, pips?”
And God, he’s actually smug— he’s not even trying to hide it. You grit your teeth when you realise he probably thinks he’s the smartest man in the world; annoy his girlfriend enough and she’ll kiss him quiet, that’ll do it.
You sigh deeply as the realisation strikes you.
Apparently the dog tag wasn’t enough to satisfy his overeager, puppy-like behaviour clearly. It’s become very obvious to you now that Caleb may need some actual training.
So you push yourself up, rubbing the sleep out your eyes. There’s a bleary smirk wiped across his features, the dumbest, dopiest look ever that you can so easily distinguish in the dark of his room, and something simmers within you.
You don’t say anything as you move closer, you’re gentle with your movements and Caleb waits patiently. You settle your entire weight on him, pressing your torso flush against his, and his hands hesitate before naturally come to rest on your back.
You don’t react despite how intimate the position is. You’re too tired to feel embarrassed.
Sure, you’ve cuddled with Caleb plenty before, but this version is entirely different. Your hips are spread, legs parted and pressing into his side. You’re practically folded on top of him like this, and you recognise one shift could change the entire trajectory of your night.
It’s comfortable though, the stretch is more than pleasant and you moan a little from the sensation. You feel Caleb tense beneath you, and you feel triumphant.
He relaxes once you’re settled, no doubt revelling in the intimacy of the cuddle. He has no reason to question your motives when you dig your chin into his collarbone, sweetly resting your face in the crook of his neck. Instead, he softly laughs.
“I’m not sure if you realise, but my voice is only gonna seem louder if you’re higher up like this,” he teases.
You merely shake your head, keeping your voice light as you murmur, “I know. That’s okay, because you aren’t gonna talk anymore.”
“Is that so?” He juts his chin away, trying to get a look at you. “Why’s that?”
You raise your head, fluidly connecting your lips with his. You feel him smile into the kiss, no doubt feeling beyond loved with how soft and warm this all felt. He was so clever, of course he’d somehow outsmarted you and gotten what he wanted.
Right?
It’s abrupt the way in which you lunge; you tug at the bottom of his lip and take advantage of the gasp that escapes. He’s barely found a second to place a hand on your face when you’re immediately licking into his mouth, savouring mint and hot wetness as you slide your tongue along his.
Finally, his hands tremble on the nape of your neck, and you press yourself infinitely closer. The feel of warm, slick muscle and hushed breaths has you both moaning into one another - your head spins as you realise there are prettier sounds that can come from Caleb.
Before you can balance yourself to launch your next attack, Caleb takes the lead and suckles gently on your tongue. He’s confident suddenly; his once shaky hand resting comfortably and pulling you closer to him, an act you didn’t even think was possible at this point.
You squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling, unable to keep your whines at bay.
It’s filthy, the sounds of squelching and whimpering that resound has you scrambling to keep up. You refuse to let this become his moment - this was meant to be your punishment after all.
You clench onto the fabric of his shirt, a frantic move accompanied by your groans and his sighs. His hands stay infuriatingly polite, simply resting on the barest slither of skin available to him - but you know he wants more. You can practically feel his hands itching to at least press the pads of his fingers deeply into your skin.
To trace you, to breathe you in and consume you entirely is all Caleb wants. You’re more than aware of that - with memories of the old days comes the recognition of knowing you’d felt the same way too even back then. He’s always wanted you, and you him.
You hike your leg higher up in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your knee drags against his waist and you feel him jerk from the change.
It’s a singular move that causes a sudden spiral because your heat rests against him entirely and— oh God, he was so big, wait—
“Pips– I—“ One kiss, another, you grip his hair and he moans into your mouth. “We should— Hah, we should— stop.” And really, it comes out weakly, a slurred command that has no precedent over when you decide this ends.
Could he feel your clit throbbing against his cock? Was he desperately trying to stop himself from rutting into you?
You rock gently, just once and ever so subtly between every flick of your tongue against his, and try not to grin when you feel the air knocked out of his lungs.
Poor Caleb, he must be losing his mind trying to restrain himself.
For a moment you pity him, but then his voice hums between kisses and logic suddenly kicks in. You can practically hear all the excuses he’d use to explain getting this far - it’s always you being too innocent, or not understanding what you’re doing.
The thought enrages you, and it’s enough to remind you why you’d started this in the first place.
There’s an itch inside of you that begs to continue, to ignore your dignity and use him as you please - you could prove him wrong, show him just how pissed off you are and satisfy your needs at the same time.
You really do want to do that.
Hm.
Caleb whispers your name, a sound that sends you into a realm beyond here with him.
And yet, somehow, you crawl right back.
You chirp a quick goodnight and scramble under the covers, turning away as you nestle into your side of the bed. You’ve barely caught your breath, but feeling the tenseness of Caleb beside you has you giggling and catching it back all at once.
“Night Colonel! See you after work.”
craving more from the peachieverse? select your next unique experience and let your heart rush with him.
a/n: i forgot to add this here but pls plssss tell me if any of this was ok!! i hope it wasn’t too ooc ><
synopsis: oh no! all 5 of them are jealous :( better fuck it out!
content: smut (mdni), yearning, no plot
zayne . ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .
You hadn’t meant to flirt.
It was just conversation — harmless, light — with one of the guests at the clinic benefit. A diplomat’s son, charming in that bored, well-dressed sort of way, who lingered just a little too close as he asked about your role. His compliments came wrapped in silk and wine, almost forgettable, if not for the way Zayne had seen them land.
You noticed the shift in him later — not in words, of course, but in how his hand came to rest at the small of your back. How he guided you through the crowd with a little more pressure than usual. How he didn't quite smile when the man shook your hand in farewell.
Zayne said nothing until much later, until the house had gone quiet and the fire in the living room had burned low. You stood in the middle of his room in the glow of moonlight, slipping off your gown when he finally spoke from behind you, voice even but unmistakably edged.
“He seemed very taken with you,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours as he helped you slip on a robe — his touch too gentle to be casual. “Charming. In a practiced sort of way.”
You turned to face him, finding that composed expression — calm, always — but his eyes were darker tonight. Sharper. As if weighing something unspoken.
“Were you jealous?” you asked, half a tease.
“No,” he said softly, stepping in close. “Just... reminded.”
You tilted your head, curious. “Of what?”
“That others may admire you.” His hand settled at your waist, warm and grounding. “But none of them know how to touch you.”
His lips brushed your cheek, then lower, to your jaw. His voice was velvet when it returned.
“None of them know how you tremble when you’re about to fall apart. How you like to be kissed here—” a soft graze behind your ear, “—or how your breath catches when I hold you like this.”
He drew you closer, lifting your chin with two fingers, his tone still gentle. Almost reverent.
And then, the unmistakable warmth of his palm on your hip. The way he leaned in close and said, with deceptive calm, “How beautiful you sound when you scream my name,”
You smiled faintly, not answering, letting your hand drift over the buttons of his shirt. “You’re so jealous.”
“Am not,” he murmured, drawing you into his lap.
You settled there, straddling his thighs, the fabric of your robe slipping open just enough for him to slide his hands along your bare skin. He held you like something precious — like you might vanish if he didn’t. His thumbs stroked absent circles into your waist, his gaze fixed on you with quiet purpose.
The kiss was inevitable. Slow at first — almost tentative. But then deeper, drawn out, his lips moving over yours with the careful deliberation of a man who knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid to take his time claiming it.
Your hands buried in his hair as he pulled you closer, tongue sliding past your lips with measured ease. His grip firmed on your hips as he guided your weight into him, coaxing the smallest gasp from your throat.
He caught the sound — of course he did — and his mouth curled faintly against yours. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me hear you.”
Your head tipped back slightly as he kissed along your jaw, his breath warming the curve of your throat. “You always know exactly what to do to me,” you breathed.
Zayne hummed low in his chest, mouth dragging against your pulse. “I study you,” he said softly. “Every sigh, every shiver. I could draw you from memory.”
There was a note in his voice then — something more than reverence. It sounded almost like a question he wasn’t quite asking.
You shifted against him, body arching subtly as his hands skimmed beneath your robe and slipped it off your shoulders. “No one else knows me like you do,” you said quietly.
He stilled, just for a moment, his hands pausing as he took you in.
Then, “Good,” he said. Not smug, not possessive in the traditional sense — just certain. A simple truth, spoken like a vow.
You kissed again, deeper this time, your bare skin pressed flush against the crisp cotton of his shirt. He eased you forward, holding you steady with one arm while the other slipped between your thighs. His fingers stroked you slowly, parting you with a patient, practiced touch. He worked you open in silence, save for the hitch of your breath, the soft wet sounds of his fingers circling your entrance.
“You’re trembling,” he said softly, brushing his knuckles along your inner thigh. “Already?”
“You’re too good at this.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. “Only for you.”
You let your head rest against his shoulder as he slid two fingers inside, slow and careful. He knew exactly where to angle them, how to curl them just so, until your hips were rolling in time with his movements and your breath came out in stuttered gasps.
“You feel that?” he murmured. “No one else could ever make you feel this way.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement — and a challenge.
You whispered his name against his neck, voice breaking as he twisted his fingers just right. He exhaled through his nose, satisfied, and withdrew only to guide you onto him with practiced ease, the head of his cock catching against your entrance.
His hands held your waist, steadying you as he slid in, inch by aching inch. You buried your face in his collar, clutching at his shirt as the stretch overwhelmed you — so slow, so deep it nearly bordered on pain.
Zayne groaned softly, low and tight in his throat. “You’re always so warm for me.”
You whimpered, sinking fully down into his lap, the feeling of him rooted inside you sending shivers up your spine.
He didn’t move at first — just let you feel it. The way he filled you so completely. The way your body fluttered around him as if trying to draw him deeper still.
Then his hands moved again. One slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine. The other cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you — slow, reverent, utterly consuming.
And then he began to move.
Measured thrusts, hips rolling beneath you with perfect control. He kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips — again and again — like he couldn’t get enough of your taste. Each press of his hips had your breath hitching, your body tightening, your hands clutching his shoulders as the slow build wound tighter inside you.
“Who else could possibly understand you like I do?” he asked quietly, lips brushing your ear. “Who else would know how to love you like this?”
“No one,” you gasped.
He picked up pace slightly, hips grinding up into yours with exquisite precision, dragging your pleasure out, teasing you with the edge of release until your thighs trembled around him.
“I don’t need to be told I’m the only one,” he whispered, “but it’s nice to hear it.”
You cried out when he hit that perfect spot again and again, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
“Say it,” he breathed.
“You’re the only one, Zayne,” you whispered, falling apart for him.
He followed soon after, clutching you to him as he spilled inside, burying his face in your neck with a soft, unsteady exhale.
And then he stilled, holding you there as the aftershocks trembled between you.
A long silence. Just the sound of your heartbeats, your breath slowing.
Then, as you traced a hand over the back of his neck, he murmured against your shoulder:
“I want to spend my whole life learning you.”
His voice was soft, measured — almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
You didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his chin up, pressed a kiss to his lips, and smiled.
“I hope you do.”
xavier. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁
You hadn’t even noticed Xavier at first.
You were in the hallway, still holding your mail, chatting with the neighbor from two doors down — the one who always seemed to be around when you got back from a mission. He’d asked about your latest patrol, complimented your boots in passing, made some offhand comment about how quiet your apartment had been lately.
It was all friendly. Harmless.
But Xavier stood just out of view, leaned in the doorway of his own apartment, watching.
His arms were crossed. His expression unreadable.
By the time you stepped back inside, the conversation already forgotten, you felt it — the tension. The presence. He was there, leaning in your doorway now, one shoulder propped against the frame.
“How long were you going to stand out there?” he asked, voice low.
You blinked. “What? I was only out there a minute.”
A pause. Then, calmly: “He’s interested in you.”
You laughed, but he didn’t. “He’s just a neighbor.”
“I’m not blind.” He stepped forward, slow and fluid, until the air between you tensed like a wire. “He smiles at you like he thinks you might invite him in one day.”
“He was just being polite, Xavi” you said, voice softening. But Xavier’s gaze didn’t waver.
“No,” he murmured. “I’m polite. He was imagining what your skin might taste like.”
You swallowed. Hard.
And Xavier’s smile — the one he wore only when he was angry in that particular, possessive way — made an appearance. It was faint. Crooked. Dangerous.
“You like being seen, don’t you?” he asked, stepping in closer. “All gentle eyes and soft smiles. So good. So kind. Makes men forget themselves.”
“Xavier—”
“Do you forget?” he asked quietly, hands finding your waist. “Who you belong to?”
You gasped as he pushed you back gently until your spine met the nearest wall. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like a caress. He leaned in, voice velvet-dark.
“Let me remind you.”
You were still catching your breath when he kissed you — deep, slow, unrelenting. Not angry. Not rushed. Just intentional. His mouth slanted over yours again and again until your knees weakened and your arms curled around his shoulders.
He carried you to the bedroom without a word. Lit only by the pale blue spill of Linkon moonlight, the room felt colder than usual. Or maybe that was just his restraint. He laid you down gently. Methodically. As though he was still trying to decide how best to ruin you.
He undressed you in near silence, his hands lingering longer than necessary. Touching places he already knew by heart, rediscovering them with maddening slowness. “He doesn’t know what you sound like when you beg,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your ribs, “or how your voice breaks when I go deeper.”
You reached for him — too impatient — but he caught your wrists and pinned them gently to the mattress above your head.
“No rushing,” he said, his voice almost sweet. “You had time to smile at him. You’ll make time for this.”
His mouth followed his hands — kisses dragged across your collarbone, tongue teasing the underside of your breast, lips sealing around your nipple as his fingers drifted lower.
And lower.
Until they found you, already slick and twitching for him.
“Of course,” he whispered against your skin. “Always so wet for me, even when you pretend to be innocent.”
Two fingers slid in, slow and curling, hitting a spot that had you bucking beneath him — but he held you down, pinning you with nothing more than a look.
“Do you think he could make you feel like this?” he asked. “Does he even know where to touch you?”
You whimpered, arching into him. “Xavier, please—”
“Oh,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear, “I love when you beg, little star.”
He worked you open with patient cruelty, bringing you to the edge with agonizing precision — only to stop.
Again and again.
By the third time, you were trembling, nails scraping at the sheets, voice hoarse from whimpering his name.
“Just say it,” he whispered. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” you gasped, without hesitation.
He rewarded you with his mouth then — hot, wet, relentless between your thighs. Your back arched off the mattress at the first flick of his tongue. He took his time, lapping and sucking with languid control until your vision blurred and your thighs threatened to close around him.
But he held you open. Watched you come undone.
Only once you were gasping his name like a prayer did he finally undress, movements slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving yours.
When he sank into you, it wasn’t fast. It was deep. He held your gaze the entire time, watching your mouth fall open as he filled you, inch by slow inch, until you couldn’t breathe around it.
“There,” he whispered. “No one else gets this. Just me.”
He dragged it out, every roll of his hips designed to torture. His hands never stopped moving — stroking your waist, brushing your hair back, pinning your wrists when you reached to speed him up.
“You’ll take it like this,” he murmured, “until you forget every other name but mine.”
You did.
When you came again, it was with your legs wrapped around him, voice broken and high, clinging to him like you’d fall apart without his body tethering yours.
Only then — only then — did he let go, fucking you through your climax with enough force to shake the bed. He spilled inside you with a groan, head buried against your neck, breathing ragged and voice thick when he spoke again.
“No one gets to see this part of you,” he said softly, his hand stroking your stomach. “Just me. Only me.”
He looked at you then, hair mussed, eyes dark and hungry even after everything. “I don’t mind others seeing you smile,” he murmured, “but don’t let them forget who owns the rest.”
You pulled him in again, lips brushing his, breath still shaky.
“They couldn’t forget if they tried.”
sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .
You didn’t mean to steal the spotlight.
The auction had simply unfolded that way — the room full of powerful people in fine suits and darker intentions, all turning to look when you walked in. Their gazes followed you like tides pulled by gravity, lingering too long. Some approached under the pretense of polite interest: asking for your thoughts on the collection, inquiring who you were with. You’d smiled, demure and polite, but it didn’t stop the way their eyes slid over you — speculative, appreciative, hungry.
You caught Sylus watching once from across the room — a glass of dark wine suspended in his hand, half-raised, half-forgotten. He didn’t look angry. Not even annoyed. Just still. Perfectly still. His crimson eyes held you like a blade pressed flat to your throat — silent and unmoving, but keen.
On the way home, he hadn’t said much. His hand rested on your thigh in the car. A murmur about the art. Something vague about the way the auctioneer’s accent curled. Polite, as always. But you felt it: the tension beneath his calm, like a storm pressed behind glass.
It’s only once the door closes behind you — the quiet of his penthouse folding around you, city lights flickering low — that he shows it.
He doesn’t let you get far.
His arm wraps around your waist and draws you back into his chest. You feel the heat of him before you hear the low hum of his voice near your ear.
“Still carrying all that attention with you, sweetie?”
You blink, about to ask what he means — but he’s already sliding your coat from your shoulders. Gentle. Reverent. His fingers ghost down the line of your back as he slips the fabric away, letting it fall to the floor.
You turn in his arms.
His gaze drinks you in — the line of your gown, the soft flush of your skin from the wine, the delicate rise and fall of your breath beneath silk.
“You looked…” His eyes drop lower. “…dangerous tonight.”
You raise a brow, lips tilting. “Dangerous?”
“Mmh.” His mouth brushes your jaw. Just a ghost of contact. “Pretty little thing like you — standing there with a thousand eyes on you, smiling like that.” His voice thickens, slow as honey. “Of course they wanted you.”
You laugh, soft and teasing — but he doesn’t. His hands slide lower, curve over your hips with more pressure. One lifts the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg around his waist. You let him. He carries you with no effort, steps sure and silent as he takes you to the bedroom.
“You’re being awfully sweet,” you murmur, hands brushing his chest.
He smiles. Slow. Knowing.
“Aren’t I always, kitten?”
He lays you down like you’re the most delicate thing in the world — not because you are, but because tonight he wants you to feel that way. Kept. Claimed. Cherished.
His jacket slips off. His shirt, undone with aching precision. As each button comes loose, you watch the careful reveal of his chest, the sharp cut of his abdomen, the faint line of a scar you’ve traced before. He watches you, too. Watches your hunger, quiet and reverent, like he needs to see it written across your face.
He kisses you with the same slow worship.
Not frantic. Not forceful. Just… knowing. Like he’s trying to wipe away every gaze that touched you, every word that wasn’t his, every breath you gave someone else.
His mouth trails from your lips to your neck, then down — lower, tasting the soft skin at your collarbone, the hollow between your breasts. When his fingers slide the gown off your shoulders, he moves like he’s unwrapping something sacred. Each inch of skin he reveals is met with his mouth, warm and lingering.
He doesn’t speak, but you feel the tension under his touch. The possessiveness coiled tight beneath the surface. It shows in how slowly he parts your thighs. How long he lingers at your knees. How his eyes lift and lock to yours before he kisses the inside of your thigh like a confession.
“I want to take care of you tonight,” he says, voice so low you barely catch it. “Will you let me?”
You nod, breath already caught in your throat.
His mouth lowers — and when he finally touches you with his tongue, it’s like silk drawn over a flame.
He takes his time.
Every flick, every slow circle of his tongue feels intentional. He doesn’t chase your pleasure — he builds it, patient and precise. His fingers curl against your thigh, anchoring you as his mouth works you open, lavishing you with long, unhurried strokes. When your hips twitch, he murmurs quiet praise against your skin.
“That’s it, sweetie… Just like that.”
He knows your body too well. Every tremble. Every soft sound. He listens for them like cues, adjusts with barely a shift, lips sealing over your clit just right, just long enough to make you sob out his name.
When the orgasm hits, it’s slow and shattering. Not sudden — inevitable. He pulls it from you like a string being drawn taut, then snapped, and when your body arches and your thighs quake, he doesn’t let go. He keeps you grounded with his mouth, one hand firm on your waist, the other stroking soft down your thigh.
When he finally rises, his lips are slick, his eyes molten.
He kisses up your stomach, your ribs, your sternum. Every inch of you loved, mapped, and claimed.
And when he finally pushes inside — slow, deep, deliberate — it feels like coming home.
“You feel that?” he whispers, voice frayed. “How perfect you fit me?”
You gasp his name, legs wrapping tighter around him. His hips roll slow, careful, each thrust brushing deep and smooth. He keeps you close — chest to chest, skin to skin — every movement drawing you tighter, closer.
“You’re mine…” he breathes against your jaw. Then quieter, almost too soft to hear— “Aren’t you?”
You freeze — just for a second. Not in fear. In knowing.
“…Sylus?” you whisper.
He lifts his head. Something flickers there. A softness cracking. A need barely hidden beneath all his polish.
You smile, kiss the corner of his mouth. “Are you jealous?”
His eyes narrow. Not angry. Just… caught.
“Tch. Don’t be absurd.”
But then he thrusts deeper. Slower. Possessive without force — just depth. Just heat. Your body responds instantly, moaning into his neck.
He leans down, voice low.
“Let me remind you.”
He doesn’t stop until you’re breathless. Until your fingers cramp from clinging to him, until your throat is hoarse from moaning his name like a prayer. His control never slips — but his need is written into every touch. Every inch of him buried deep in you, every whispered word brushed against your skin like a claim carved from silk.
And even when you’re both spent, your bodies tangled in the sheets, his hand never stops moving. Thumb brushing your hip. Knuckles tracing the curve of your waist.
He doesn’t say the word.
But in the way he presses a kiss to your temple. In how his eyes stay on you even after sleep begins to pull you under—
You know.
He needed this.
He needed you.
caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁
You noticed it the moment his eyes cut across the room.
A too-familiar glance from a Fleet lieutenant. A compliment disguised as professional praise. A hand that lingered just a beat too long at the small of your back.
You brushed it off — but Caleb didn’t.
He didn’t say a word on the way back. No cold expression, no clipped tone — just silence, taut and simmering. And that was worse. That meant he was thinking. Feeling. Holding it in.
When the front door clicked shut behind you, the silence broke — not with words, but weight.
The air pressed down. Subtle, at first. Then heavier. Your breath caught.
“Caleb—”
“Stay there.”
His voice was calm. Too calm. He didn’t even look at you yet, just shrugged off his uniform jacket and let it hit the floor. “You always let them get close like that, honey?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t it?” He turned finally, eyes darker than usual — not glowing, not angry. Just hurt. Like he’d seen a glimpse of something he wasn’t supposed to witness. “Pips… he touched you.”
“Caleb—”
“He touched you, and you smiled.” A step closer. “You let him.”
“I smiled because I was being polite. That’s all.”
His Evol pressed in tighter around your wrists, then your hips — firm, invisible hands holding you still. His voice didn’t rise. It dipped, lower, like it ached to stay steady.
“I’m not mad,” he murmured. “I just need—” Another step. Closer now. “I need you to remember whose you are.”
Then he kissed you — hard and deep, desperate, like he was trying to drown the memory of someone else’s touch with his own. He tasted like tension and guilt and need, his hands finally real where the gravity had only suggested — one cradling your jaw, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise.
He backed you to his bed without breaking the kiss, and you fell into the sheets with him following. His body covered yours like he couldn’t risk even the air touching you before he could reclaim it.
“Look at you,” he breathed, voice rough. “You’re always so sweet when you want something. But tonight…” His teeth grazed your neck. “I think you want to be reminded.”
You whimpered as he pushed your legs apart and settled between them, dragging your underwear down like it offended him. He slid his fingers through your slick folds with a sharp inhale, his restraint fraying at the edges.
“Fuck. Already this wet?” His voice cracked. “God, baby, tell me it’s not for him.”
“It’s not,” you gasped. “It’s you—only you.”
He exhaled hard, like he didn’t quite believe it, even if he wanted to. Even as he lined himself up and pressed in deep — one long, thick stretch that made your toes curl — his expression didn’t fully settle.
His rhythm started rough. Fast. Desperate. His hands held your thighs open, and every thrust hit deeper, firmer, like he was trying to bury himself so far inside you nothing could ever take you from him.
But even as he claimed you, his voice cracked again. This time not with anger — with fear.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
You looked up, startled — but he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. His hips kept rolling, skin slapping yours, sweat beading along his temple.
“Pips,” he breathed, and this time it sounded like a confession, a prayer. “I try so hard— I try to be everything—” His forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing. “But I’m not like I used to be. I know that. I’m not good enough for you.”
“Caleb—”
His thrusts stuttered just a little — not in weakness, but like the words hurt more than anything.
“But I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so fucking much it hurts. And I can’t— I won’t watch you slip away. I need you to want me like this.”
You whimpered as his grip on your hips tightened, dragging you into each thrust, his eyes fluttering shut like the sensation grounded him.
“Say it,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged. “Tell me I’m enough. Please, baby—just say it.”
“You’re enough. You’re more than enough—Caleb, please—”
You came hard, the wave crashing over you with a sob of his name. But he didn’t stop.
He leaned over you, still thrusting through the aftershocks, his voice unraveling completely now — soft, whiny, broken. Almost angry at himself.
“I don’t care if it hurts me, just let me stay like this—let me feel you, baby, please—”
You kissed him, trembling, and he kissed you back like he needed your mouth to breathe. His pace grew erratic, choked sounds escaping him as his hips lost rhythm.
“I’m yours,” he groaned, spilling deep inside you. “Yours, Pips. No one else. Just—just yours.”
He stayed inside you, still moving gently, too raw to stop.
And then he collapsed into you, arms pulling you close like if he let go for even a second, you might disappear. Voice barely audible, breath hot against your skin:
“I don’t know what I’d be if I lost you.” A pause. “Whatever you want me to be— I’ll be that. Just please stay.”
rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁
The gallery was full — too full — but Rafayel didn’t complain. Not out loud.
He watched from across the room, champagne glass untouched, as you laughed at something some man in a velvet blazer whispered near your ear. The man gestured vaguely at one of Rafayel’s paintings — a piece in pink and carmine tones, intimate, unmistakably you — and smiled like he thought he had a chance.
Rafayel’s jaw flexed. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t make a scene.
But oh, he watched.
And when the evening ended and the man dared to kiss your knuckles, Rafayel’s fingers were already curling around your wrist before the door even shut behind him.
He didn’t say a word as he tugged you down the path to his studio. Just smiled — a little too wide, a little too perfect — and pressed the buttons on the keypad with a single flick of his gloved hand.
“You’re quiet,” you said.
“Mhm,” he hummed. “Just thinking. About how pretty you looked tonight. Especially when you were giggling at his jokes. I didn’t know I had competition.”
Your heart fluttered. “You don’t.”
He smiled wider, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, cutie. I know that. Now.”
The moment the studio door shut behind you, his mask cracked.
Rafayel was on you in an instant — hands in your hair, lips at your neck, hot and breathless. “Do you like making me suffer?” he murmured, tongue sliding along your pulse. “Because I was suffering. All evening.”
You barely had time to speak before he swept you up — literally — into his arms and carried you straight through the studio. Paintings lined the walls, moonlight casting shadows across the hardwood, and he sat you down on the edge of a velvet chaise like you were a centerpiece.
“I was good tonight,” he said, dragging off his jacket with a sharp flick. “So good. I didn’t even interrupt. I let him talk to you. Let him look at you like he had any right. And you—” He knelt between your legs, gripping your thighs possessively. “You just smiled so sweetly, like you didn’t know how insane that was driving me.”
You opened your mouth, but his fingers were already slipping under your dress, dragging your underwear down with a wickedly slow pull.
“Don’t you dare apologize, cutie,” he whispered, mouth brushing your inner thigh. “I don’t want ‘sorry.’ I want to hear how much you missed me.”
“Rafayel—” your breath hitched as his lips pressed hot and slow where you were already aching.
“Say it,” he murmured, eyes flicking up — those vibrant blues with their soft pink glowing in the dark. “Say you missed me.”
“I missed you— I always do—”
“Good,” he cooed, grinning. “Then stay still for me.”
And then his mouth was on you — lush and relentless, tongue flicking, curling, sucking until you were gasping. He held your thighs open with an iron grip, moaning against your heat like he was starved for it.
He didn’t let up when you bucked. Didn’t stop when you cried out his name. He just kept going — murmuring sweet, devastating things between licks.
“This is mine, cutie. All mine. You can let them look—but they don’t get this, do they?”
“No—nngh—only you—”
“That’s right,” he purred, slipping his fingers inside you without warning, curling them just right. “Only me. Because I’d burn the world if anyone else touched you like this.”
Your orgasm came fast, nearly shocking — and still he didn’t stop.
You tried to pull away, thighs trembling, but he only made a soft sound and pulled you back in.
“Raf— I can’t—”
“You can,” he said sweetly. “You will. That was just for the exhibition. Now this one’s for the way he looked at you. And the next? That’s for smiling at him like he was interesting.”
“Rafayel—!”
He grinned against your overstimulated clit. “Aw. Are you gonna cry for me, cutie? Look so pretty when you do.”
Your vision blurred. The pleasure, the heat, the shameful delight in how needy he sounded — it all tangled into something delirious.
He finally pulled away, face wet, lips red and glistening. He kissed your thigh with a little sigh, like he was soothing the wound he caused.
Then he stripped — both of your clothes disappearing in an instant — until you were both bare and golden in the moonlight, muscles tense and hungry with restraint.
“Lie back,” he said. “Let me inside. I need to feel you. Need to ruin you a little, so you don’t forget who you come home to.”
You reached for him — dazed, aching — and he slid into you with a sound that was halfway to a whimper.
“Oh, fuck— you’re perfect,” he moaned, dropping his head against your shoulder. “Tighter than I remember. Were you teasing me on purpose, cutie? You wanted to see me like this, didn’t you?”
You couldn’t speak. Could only cling as he rolled his hips in deep, smooth thrusts — dragging out every sound from your throat, chasing every tremble in your body.
“Say it,” he gasped, breath hot against your collarbone. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours— always—”
“And you love me?”
“I love you.”
He groaned — long and low, thrusting deeper. “Again.”
“I love you—!”
He came with a choked breath, hips grinding as he spilled inside you, his body trembling against yours like the tension had finally snapped. But he didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t even pull out. He just wrapped his arms around you, still buried deep, and nuzzled into your neck with a pout.
“…I hate being jealous,” he whispered. “Makes me dramatic.”
You huffed a laugh, boneless and warm. “You’re always dramatic.”
He smiled, kissing your temple. “Yeah, but this time I was right, wasn’t I? You’re mine, cutie. And I’m never letting go.”
a/n: next fic is probably gonna be some crazy angst w/ sylus so im dropping this as an early apology... enjoy <3
SYNOPSIS. Requested by anon ↳ ❝ [...PLEASEEE may I request the LADS guys getting so lost in the sauce that they don’t realize that they forgot to put on a condom until it’s too late and then they see the evidence coming out 🫠] ¡! ❞
A/N; MAMA IS BACK! Finallyyyyy got this out now. And yes, did husband!zayne again. I'm a sucker for him sue me. Next up on the list are some more requests I'm working on. Enjoy my sweet darlings mwah <33
TAGS. NSFW /DARK CONTENT! MDNI! unprotected intercourse(duh). implied dubcon/manipulation. püssydrunk guys. size k!nk. breed!ng. dirty talk. nicknames. overstim in xav's. kinda subby/desperate xavier. tipsy!zayne. husband!zayne. Zayne's actually loosing it lmao. mention of kids in Zayne's. tummy buldge. overstim on reader. kinda brattamer!caleb. possesive caleb. praise.
RAFAYEL ★ Pound first, think later. ~ 1.3k
Plap! plap! plap!
There's just a low hum of low, sultry music playing from a speaker in the corner, but even that is drowned out by the slick, obscene sounds of Rafayel's hips slamming into yours.
"Raf—con— nghhh! condom," your gaspy voice catches, half-mangled between the ruthless crush of his mouth on yours, barely getting your words out.
He swallows most of it with a kiss so deep it knocks your breath loose, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue slides back in, wet muscle eagely tangling with yours.
And no, he didn't reach for a condom. Didn't even spare a glance toward the bedside drawer.
He's not even thinking. Not with his head, anyway. Not when every inhale he takes is laced with your sweet addicting scent and every exhale of his a hungry growl against your lips.
He's too far gone. Too drunk on your taste, the slight stutter in your voice, your—
He slips out again— cock slick and twitching against your folds, grinding the fat, leaking crown against your clit with such blunt pressure that your spine jerks up off the mattress, a wrecked cry slipping from your throat.
"F-fuck, no, nonono—" he pants, eyes wide in panic and breathless as he grips your hips harder, dragging you back toward him, aligning himself right back at your clenching hole.
Oh, that nasty clench of your feisty pussy almost made him burst his load right into—
Wait. He can't.
"Shhhh, cutie," he slurs, pupils blown wide as he pushes the thick head back to your entrance, spreading your shaking legs even further apart, "don't gotta break that pretty little mind thinkin' about it. Just let me— fuckkkk, cutie—"
Poor, poor Rafayel.
He just wants to feel you a little longer, wants to scrape your cervix for just a minute longer, dwell in the feeling of your warm cunny before he pulls out.
"P-promise I'll pull out, just a little longer, then m' gonna get the—" Right then he halts his breath, hands griping a smacking handful of your thighs, firmly pushing them apart to gawk at your sobbing cunt, desperatly clenching just around his tip, threatening to suck him in deeper, "—condom."
Yeah, right.
The thick, bulking head of his cock pushes back past your folds, spreaaading them like the red sea, so slow and calculated, just enough to stretch you wide at the tip and make your breath seize in your lungs.
"Can't you feel it? P-pleaseee cutie," whispers, grinding his hips in circles to smear himself all over your entrance, teasing your greedy cunny as it twitches and grips around his mushroomy head. "Feels good, yeah? You feel it, right? Riiiight? C-c'mon... Gonna make you cum reallll good."
He doesn't let you answer, let alone let out a sound before his lips are back on yours, lewd sounds of tongues clashing and teeth smacking almost drowning out the loud smack smack smacking of his firm hips against your plush thighs.
Almost.
Shallow, greedy thrusts follow, punching your sweet spot with such precision it makes your eyes roll back and mouth fall agape, granting him further entrance into your mouth.
He's going to eat you alive at this point.
His hunger is almost unbearable at this point and you keen beneath him, back arching clear off the sheets, legs twitching, threatening to tremble as you suck your tummy in.
Actually, they already do.
"Just—just wanna feel you. Need it, baby." His voice is ragged, like he's barely holding himself together. "Can't wait. Can't—fuck, I need you."
And he's mere seconds away from snapping, sanity holding onto a tiny threat so thin, it might aswell already have snapped in two.
Doin' so good, sweetheart." he groans, thick girth diving into your depths, knocking at your g-spot like it's a headshot to a wanted target over and over again, your fluttering cunt screaming out obscene sound after sound. "Taking me so well—s-shiiiiit!— 'm not gonna last. You feel unreal. Fuckin' unreal, baby."
His rhythm stutters for just a second, his body betraying him, and that's when it starts to crack.
That's when he starts to crack.
You feel the shift, feel the snap in him. His thrusts falter, not from weakness but from overload, the pleasure starting to short-circuit his brain.
His breath comes in harsh, quick gasps, chest heaving as his muscles tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady. His cock pulses deep inside you, wide and twitching like he's right on the edge, trying to stave it off, trying to hold on, but he's already gone too far.
"Raf, baby. Don't forget the— nghhhh! C-condom!" you rush out followed by a moan from the depth of your throat, his head already in the crook of your neck, plastering it with kisses and maybe even an accidental bite to your nape.
Right, there was still something.
He lifts his head, eyes wide as realization hits him— but he knows he's not going to pull out any time soon.
Because he physically can't.
And fuck, his pitiful expression alone is enough to make your pussy clench like a vice around him, wrench, wrench, wrenching him like your life depends on it, so close to the edge yourself.
That coral gaze burns straight through you, so blazing and ravenous, dripping with heat and panic searching for something behind your glazed iris.
"T-tight fuckin' thing. So damn tight. Gonna cum, yeah?"
It's lust stripped down to its bare bones— his pupils blown, rimmed with color like sunset bleeding into dusk, and the way he looks at you, like you're his last meal.
He's close. And it's scaring him. Wrecking him.
Voice low and shredded now, soaked with pleasure and darker things, almost broken with how badly he wants to cum—wants to cum in you.
"You don't even know what your fuckin' cunny is doing ta' me, cutie," he rasps, fucking into you harder now, deeper, angling up to punch that sweet spot with every desperate thrust.
But you do. Oh, you do.
Hips snapping against you like he's chasing something he'll never reach, and he plants one hand against the headboard to keep himself upright, shaking all over, barely holding on. The other is locked tight on your thigh, hiking it up towards your shoulder, keeping you locked in place. Like if you so much as tried to move away, rob him from your snug tunnel, he'd lose it.
"Drivin' me fucking insane," he growls, voice cracked open and fucked-out.
Your brain stutters mid-thrust—just enough clarity to gasp out, voice high and shaky, "Wait—hnghhh! Raf', you gotta—"
"Hahhh? Gotta make my pretty baby cum?"
Now he's tasting his release at the tip of his tongue, completely lost and utterly mad from the sound of your clenching pussy alone, balls tightening up, tip ready to burst his load out. "Yeahhhhh, ya got it, baby."
"Mhmm! M' c-cummin', Raf'! Fuh-fuckkkk!"
A cry tears from your throat on cue as your body clamps down, your legs trembling, thighs shacking as a violent orgasm tears through you, every fiber of your being burning hot as your vision goes blank and you forget every scolding thought you had in your mind.
He pauses for half a second before he begins to pound you again, steadier now, dedicated even, both veiny hands firmly folding you into a meanacing mating-press.
"You got it, all of it. Yes, cream 'round me js' like that— Yesyeseyes— fuckkkk baby m' sorry m'—"
He's not.
His balls draw up tight, cock swelling deep inside you with that final, desperate pulse.
Then he bursts. Hot, thick ropes of cum spill straight into your cunt, gushing right up against your cervix.
It's too much—sticky and endless, flooding you full until it's leaking out around him in messy drips, your body milking every last drop like it needs it.
And then his eyes snap up to yours, wide, in a daze.
"Babyyyyy—I didn't— was going to, I meant to—"
But his hips twitch forward again. He can't help it.
He can't help but slip out out and watch the aftermath in awe, watch his cum overflowing your overstimulated cunt as you deserately try to keep it all in, droplets drip drip dripping down the curve of your ass.
"Y-you made a whole big mess, Raf'! I told you to—"
The words die on your tongue the second you catch his face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glowing that deep coral pink and brimming with guilt and hunger. Wrecked. Maybe even a tiny bit sorry.
"C-can I make it up to you by eating it outta ya?"
ZAYNE ⋆ ★ Can't Wait. ~1.2k
Zayne's a lightweight. Always has been.
It shows, too. In the flushed pink blooming across his cheeks, the tips of his ears going all red like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.
Your sweet husband's never been good at hiding how much he wants you. But when there's just the tiniest bit of liquor in his system? A little heat in his blood, a little buzz under his skin?
Then he's shameless. Dangerous, even.
That black button-up from your night out is hanging off his shoulders, halfway undone, unbothered to fix it, wanting you to notice. His wedding band clinks against your waist as his hands roam your hips, fumbling for the strap on your shoulder to greedily expose your perky tits.
Eyes locked on you— the only thing his eyes are trained on.
"You looked so hot all night," he mumbles against your neck, voice syrupy, breath reeking of a faint liquor and sin, "All dolled up, just for your husband, hm?"
Once your back hits the front door from the inside as soon as he closed it, he kisses you with such a feverous hunger, so clumsily sloppy.
Teeth and tongue and all heat, hands pawing at your now exposed tits, then thighs as his mouth sinks to catch your stiff nipple.
"Zayne, what's gotten into y—"
"You."
His thigh shoves between yours, grinding up until you're letting out an embarrassed squeak, one of your legs hitching up around his hip as he urges you to swing the other around to, carrying you to the next best surface— the kitchen counter— in a hurry.
"It's alllll you, darling." His words are muffled against your skin, his hands eagerly riding up your breathtaking dress to snake his fingers into your soaked through panties. "My pretty little wife makes me lose my head, you know. Can barely recognize myself."
"Zayne, baby," you try, breathless, tugging at the back of his collar to catch his attention to your face. "Sure it's not just the alcohol? Maybe we should get to bed, the condoms are also there—"
"S-shhhh", he slurs, glasses nearly slipping down the bridge of his nose as he hovers over you, "Is it a crime to worship my wife for a little while?"
In this case, it should be. Because whatever this is, it's torture.
His fingers fumble with his belt, all cocky and tipsy as he palms himself through his boxers. The fabric's soaked where his cock's been leaking all night, a fat wet spot darkening the white cotton. He's been hard since the moment you stepped out for that restaurant you've been wanting to go for ages now, thick, angry red crown twitching on his hand.
You whine in protest until your panties are torn and tossed onto the floor, his cock already smearing it's pre across your slick folds. "Just a second, Mmm-hmmm, then we'll go to bed and— f-fuckkk."
Yeah, he messed up.
"G-go to bed and I'll get the c-condom. Juuuuust a second, darlin'."
That second becomes two. Then five.
Then he's already carrying you toward the couch, tripping over a thing or two, lips never leaving yours. One knee hits the cushion, then the next, and you fall with him, laughing into his mouth until it turns into a gasp, because his rigid length is already poking at your clenching hole, bulky cockhead pushhhhing past it.
His lips trail down your throat, mouthing at your pulse, siver wedding ring cold where it squeezes your tit, making you hiss as it catches onto your nipple.
At this point, you don't think he'll be able to—
"Can't wait,"
Ah.
"I won't go all the way but please, I don't think you understand, darling," he's a panting mess, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, glasses askew. His hips stutter between your thighs, cock heavy and leaking as he rocks through your folds, sometimes pushing the tip into your quivering pussy, "I need to feel you around me right now."
"Oh-okay. But you gotta promise, Zayne."
"Yeah, yeah— Ohhh, what sweet, pretty pussy my darling wife has on her."
Oh, and your husband's also a terrible liar.
Because the second the words leave your mouth, he's already in, squelch squelch squelching sounds echoing as he plumbs your weak hole full of his hefty length.
His hips jerk, sloppy and desperate, punching his cock deeper with every thrust. That thick, angry swell at the base catches on your entrance, making you jolt, back arching off the couch as he bullies past your clenching walls.
He moans into your shoulder, cock twitching as your cunt clamps down like a vice. It's too much. Too tight. Too good and he's wondering if he's actually drunk.
Yeah, he's drunk on your pussy. Gone.
"You're—hahhh— toooo good to me," he whimpers, teeth grit, face buried in your neck, glasses hanging onto a thread. "Too good— sooo good, baby."
You keen, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as thick veins draaaaag along your walls and paint them with every twitch of his slit, eyes rolling, mouth slack, hips grinding into yours, roughly against your clit like he's a goddamn mutt.
"Zayne? Your glasses, darling—hnghhh!—t-they're gonna break on the floor."
"Fuck that shit."
His language is filthy, not caring about his glasses falling off and onto the floor, not caring about anything but your crying pussy gushing around him each time he hits your cervix.
"I don't give a shit, sweetheart," voice coming out as a snarl, pace roughening, cock battering your g-spot with every brutal stroke of his. "Not when your pussy's this—hahhh—fuckin' heavenly."
Your nails scrape down his back as he pounds into you, rougher now, like he's trying to fuck every thought right out of your head.
And honestly? You're not far off.
Panting heavy, he's biting your shoulder, hips snapping into you with eagerness so reckless you can feel his hot slick crown damn near in your womb.
His eyes are glassy, mouth hanging open as he watches the way your greedy pussy takes him so well and with such shameless need, he swears he can hear her cry for more.
"Pussy's so fuckin' good— shiiiit!" he slurs, obviously drunk off more than just booze by now. "Can't think straight, c-can't—fuh-fuckkk!— M' gonna cum, darlin'—"
"Z-Zayne! The fuckin' c-con— nghhh! Don't stop, don't—"
Forceful orgasm cutting your words off as you become a squirting mess, clamping and clawing at his base as he continues his assault on your poor, overstimulated cunny, juices spraying everywhere.
"Justttt like that, darlin', mhmmm. G-gonna fill my pretty wife up, have you all round and glowing, yeah?" he spurts out, slamming into you one final time then freezes, cock buried to the hilt as he floods you with his whispy spurts of cum. Thick, hot ropes paint your insides white, dripping out the second he pulses again.
His whole body trembles, arms giving out as he collapses on top of you, still twitching deep inside.
He tries to pull out—he really does—but the second his eyes land on your stuffed tummy, his eyes roll to the back of his head, hips already rutting back against you again.
"Ohhh my darling wife", he hums, nose buried in the crook of your sweat-slicked neck, drowning in your scent. He inhales deep, moaning like he's high off it, and that's when you realize, truly realize, just how far gone he is.
How drunk. How pussy-drunk. You-drunk.
His cock grinds even deeper, rutting into the deepest, most tender part of you as he whispers filth into your skin.
"Think it's time to consider a baby, hm?"
XAVIER ★ Pull out game... nonexistent? ~1.1k
"D-don't forget to pull out, 'kay?"
Your voice is light, barely a breath as you throw a look over your shoulder, eyes glinting with a warning that's too soft to land.
Xavier's already doomed. You both know it.
And he's already regretting everything.
Not you. Just the lazy-ass promise he made two minutes ago, when his morning wood was grinding slow and warm against your ass, and he was too blissed out on his day off to reach for a condom.
'Just a quick feel', he muttered in his grumpy morning voice, 'Gonna pull out. I promise', he said.
Even he didn't believe himself when he said it.
Now buried in you to the hilt, and the second your cunt sucked him in, wet and hungry and tight as sin, he knew he wasn't going to make it.
And it's his own damn fault.
You clench around him greedily, milking him already, and his breath punches out in a curse. He knows he should pull out. He told you he would. But all he can think about is how good you feel, how wet you are, how your cunt keeps sucking him deeper like you want him to stay.
"S-shitttt," he groans, forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder, hips twitching helplessly. "I'm—shit— I dunno, angel."
"Then get a condom, Xav'. It's alright if you can't handle it." And you're so cruel, saying it as a purr, clenching hard around his cock right as he's trying to pull back, locking him in place with your feisty cunt, strangling not only his cock, but also his ego.
A frustrated grunt rumbles from his throat because you know damn well he won't.
Get out of this? Out of you? And physically stand up?
Yeah. Over his dead fucking body.
"N-noooo—" he whines, arms trembling beside your body as he sinks back in deeper, grinding slow like he needs it more than oxygen. "I can take it, I swear— promise, angel. J-just don't make me leave."
"Oh-okay, Xav'," you moan, draaaagging it out with a long and mean breath as his swollen head knock knock knocks against the entrance of your womb, "Just keep g-going—ohhh yesss! Right there—!"
Violent shiver running through his body, cock twitching deep. The slit's drooling now, spilling steady heat into your cunt in thick little pulses, leaking.
"Shit, angel, d-don't say it like that," he pants, rutting into you now with slow, needy thrusts, teeth gritted. "You're making it so fucking hard to be good— so fucking hard—"
His teeth grit, breath catching in his throat, a stifled groan dragging up from somewhere deep in his chest as he tries to keep the rhythm steady. But he's failing badly.
Thrusts getting messier now, still slow, but shaky, cock twitching with every stroke because his body knows what's coming, building and building no matter how hard he fights it.
And to be honest, he's not even trying to fight the storm coming.
Not when you clamp down on him, a hicup fleeing past your lips as you feel every ridged vein adoring his pulsating dick.
"P-princessss, need to feel you cumming 'round me," he whines, long and runny tone causing your clit to pulsate, his fingers already finding comfort on the abandoned button, "Gonna be the death of me— gonna k-kill me with this pussy."
And yet his hips keep rocking into you, slam slam slam— sooo deep you can barely think straight. Deeper now. Harder.
Because if he's going down, he's taking you with him.
You're a gasping mess as you cum around him, sobbing on every thrust, thighs shaking, nails clawing back at his scalp as he fucks you through your orgasm, pussy spurting juices all over the base of his cock.
"Nnnngh!—you're so messy, Xav'," you croon, rocking back to take him even deeper, riding out your high, grinding your ass against his hips until his cock reaches that spot inside you, creating a buldge at your lower belly, "J-just give up—"
Right then, you hear it in his voice when he cracks.
"F-fuck no."
He fucking whimpers, cock throbbing violently as he stays buried inside you, his tip drooling more sticky pre that seeps out with every grind.
"Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—quit— squeezin' me like that— I can't—!"
But his words betray his body since his cock slams into your deepest spot with every stroke, the wet slap slap slapping of skin filling the clouded room, making your overstimulated cunt cry out.
"Then pull out," you bite, tilting your head back with the last strength you muster to look at him, eyes daringly sinful.
Wait. Waitwaitwait—
His eyes are glassy. Lips parted. Chest heaving.
"I—I can't, angel," he whines, voice all breath and heat, hips grinding in deeper even as he says it. "You're too mean—fuckkkk—milkin' me dryyyyy— h-hahhhh!—Can't even think—"
You feel the way his rhythm goes ragged, his whole body locking up behind you. He's fighting it, really fighting it, his muscles shaking, jaw clenched, hips jerking in shallow, stuttering thrusts.
"G-gonna take it, right? C'mon, princess, Just this— hnghhhh!— once."
But his cock's twitching like mad. And his balls are mere seconds close to burst out a fresh, sticky load.
With a strangled cry his hips slam forward, cock buried as deep as he can possibly get, grinding in hard as he spills inside you, thick and hot and so much.
You feel his cum flooding your pussy in long, pulsing spurts, painting your walls, dripping out around the base of his cock and onto the tangled sheets as he whines into your skin, thrusting through it.
"Fuhh-ckkkk!" he moans, drawn-out and helpless, hips jerking with every spurt, every twitch. "'M so sorry—fuck, I tried— swearrrr I tried to—"
But he doesn't even bother finishing, not with the way your eyes cut over your shoulder like a blade before your fingers tangle tight in his messy hay-blonde hair and yank him down into a wet, filthy kiss that makes him whimper right into you.
Back arched into him, tongue tangling with his as you both chase the last euphoric waves of pleasure by grinding like wild mutts against each other.
"Mmnn... I know," you shakily whisper, light giggle following suit against his pouty lips, "Tried s-soooo hard, didn't you?"
And he nods like a lost puppy, breath stuttering as his glossy lips tremble once you cage them between your lips.
Your grinding back against his hips in a rhythm that makes his thighs tremble and his cock jolt again, squishing out more of that thick mess he just dumped in you.
Now that he fucked up, might aswell make the most of it, no?
"Mhmmm", he hums in a daze, cock already twitching back to life inside you, eager rutts against your ass causing the sticky mess inside you to flood out between your pressed thighs,
"One more try, yeah? G-gonna pull out this time."
Famous last words.
SYLUS ★ Alllll in. ~1k
"I'm a lucky man."
His mouth brushes your ear, breath hot as he groans, the words vibrating right against your skin. One big hand caresses the side of your throat while the other spreads your thigh wider, pressing you open.
"Mmmm-hmmm," he growls, voice rough, cock sliding between your drenched folds at an almost eratic pace. The heavy head keeps nudging your clit, slick and angry, "Very lucky indeed."
Choking on a moan, your back arches when the thick, leaking crown of his cock drags through your folds again, smearing slick and pre along your thumbing clit.
"Had a rough night. Deal went to shit," he murmurs, though his voice betrays him—strained, desperate, twitching against your hole like his cock has a mind of its own, "But my sweet princess'll help me out, right? Give me a little pep-talk?"
"Yeah, right. Since when are you so- nghhh!- so tame?"
"Since now," he pants, nudging the angry tip right into your squeaking hole, your pussy already locking his tip in a headlock, "Enjoy it while it lasts and let me in, sweetie. I won't move. Promise."
Lie. Big fat lie.
Narrow eyes of yours stare him down just as his lips curl into a cheeky, smirk, slowwwwly forcing his massive size to push your poor walls apart.
You're not even trying to squeeze him, but your cunt is already fluttering around him, soaking wet from how pent-up he is. Gripping your waist with an iron-clad hold, trying so damn hard to stay still, but every twitch of your walls makes him flinch, throb.
It's impossible.
Now he's already bullying his way through your wails and shrieks, halfway in, dragging your pussy open inch by massive fucking inch, because he's trying so hard not to ruin you on the spot and pump you full of—
"Shoooo big, Sy'! Can't—hahhh!— I can't! M' so full!"
Maybe it's just in his head.
You shudder, overwhelmed by heat and stretch and the gush of pre smearing your walls.
Right then your orgasm hits hard, embarrassingly fast, dragging another cry from your lips as your pussy clenches around his cock again, pulling more grunts from his mouth.
You're already fucked-out, hips buck again greedily, stretch dizzying, walls clamping down with gluttonous need, and his breath catches with a hard shudder. Thighs locking tighter around his waist, holding him in, dragging him deeper.
Minutes tick by, or seconds, he can't tell, until his hips start to rock in tiny, traitorous movements.
Your cry cuts off into a gasp as his hips find a brutal rhythm, heavy balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. Every ridge, every vein drags inside you, scraping his memoir into your walls.
God, he could die like this.
Eyes rolling, cock buried balls-deep in the warm clutch of your cunt, so moist and snug and just a little too cramped, your selfish cunny milking him for everything he's worth. Drowning in your whimpers, in the slap of slick skin, in the way your hands claw up his back for more.
It's perfect. Too perfect. Too bare.
Wait.
Wait—oh fuck.
He goes still mid-thrust, chest heaving, eyes wide and glossy as it hits him that he never put on the damn condom.
"Shit."
"Hmmm? Something wrong, Sy'?"
He's the Sylus, goddamnit. The ruler of the underground. But not here. Not when you're wrapped around him like this. Not when you're so hot, so loud, so feisty, and dripping down his length every time he pulls back just to thrust in again.
"Fuck's sake," he grits out, face buried in your neck like he's ashamed of himself, voice nearly unrecognizable. "I should—mmmh—I need to pull out."
But he doesn't. Can't. Not when your cunt squeezes him like velvet vice, not when your arms wind tighter around his neck and your hips grind up like you want him to ruin you.
"Hmm? What's that? C-can't focus when youhhh— ohhh!— in sooo deep, baby."
"Mhmmm, couldn't even get a condom because you're such a bratty little thing," he groans, voice going hoarse as he thrusts his fat tip right against your cervix with one forceful rut, barely holding on, "She's pulling me in, sweetie."
The bed rocks under the force of his shots, every sharp roll of his hips knocking the air from your lungs. The obscene, filthy sounds of your bodies say everything needing to be said.
"Whose fault is that, darling?" he grits out through clenched teeth, dragging his hands up your ribs to cup your face.
Fake it till you make it, I guess.
"Mhm! My fault, s' my fault Sy'!," you stammer, eyes glassy, mind running a thousand miles as he knocks your breath out again and again and—
"Now that's right," he huffs, forehead pressed against yours, a whimper catching in his throat as he eyes the heavy buldge at the pit of your tummy, "That's my good girl. Gonna let me cum inside, hm? Fill you up?"
"Mhmmm! Wanna feel it, allll of it Sy! Make me a m-mommy!"
Now you've done it.
Sylus's eyes roll back, face flushed, sweat pearling at his temple. He's trembling, so fucking close.
He's cumming before his mind even catches up, hips stuttering, breath leaving from his lungs as his body clamps against yours. A broken groan rips from his throat as he spurts buckets of pearly white cum into your womb, rutting in deep to make sure you take all of it.
"S-shit, sweetie," he hisses, forehead dropping to yours, ruby eyes blown wide and dazed, "feels good, hmm?"
You can't answer. Clenching, twitching, overwhelmed tears brimming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he hits without even moving, some of his cum escaping down the curve of your ass.
Pressing a weak, sloppy open-mouthed-kiss to his temple, your heart's hammering as the slow pulse of his cum inside you makes you more excited by the second, unconciously humbing up into him.
"A-again. Want you to fill me up again, Sy'."
"Again, huh? Now you're being greedy, sweetheart." He punctuates it with a sharp thrust, one that makes your whole body jolt, makes you yelp, nails digging into his shoulders.
"Whatever my sweet girl wants", he ushers against your puckered lips, dick twitching inside your cramped cunny, "she'll get."
Well, once you have tasted blood, you'll always want more.
CALEB ★ Home sweet home. ~1.2k
"W-what?"
"Condom, Cay'."
"Y-yeah right, condom. Gotta get it. Gotta—"
You're cruel. So very cruel.
Tangled together on the bed, your bodies slick with sweat, breaths rapid. Caleb's fingers dig into your hips as you impatiently grind your slick, exposed cunny over his stiff length, dragging it up right against his tip.
"Mhhh, hurryyyy! Wanna feel you already!"
Right then a fat bead of pre spurts from his slit, kissing your clit with a shining glee and you damn near sob, biting down hard on your bottom lip to stop the filthy little sound clawing up your throat.
"One sec' pips'. Just one second, m' gonna get it— fuck!"
He tries. He tries to lift you off, shaky hands fumbling at your waist.
"Just pull out and stop. t-talking."
But it's you who slid down on his tip, thighs slapping against his as you take him in to the hilt in one greedy push, his hefty girth streeeetching your out instantly, a loud squeak! resounding as his crown thumbs against your cervix.
Or did he drag you down, fists clenched tight around your waist?
Actually, it doesn't even matter anymore.
"Jesus Christ, baby," he groans, voice so thick with lust it's barely human anymore. "L-lemme get it, m' gonna—"
His voice cracks, almost a panic as his hands tighten on your waist, trembling, begging you to just slow down with each twitch of his fingers, cock twitching inside you since he's already right on his fucking limit.
He tries again. Hands push at your hips, trembling, uncoordinated, unable to decide if he wants to get you off him or fuck up into you on repeat.
"Wait—just lemme grab it, baby, j-just for a seco—"
"O-ohhh! I don't care anymore!" Your high-pitched tantrum throws him off, your hips grinding doen hard onto him in a hurry, so needy and shameless that he can't help but buck his hips upwards, stealing a pleased sigh from you.
You drop your hips again, soaked pussy swallowing him whole, strangling his pumping length and that's it. That's fucking it.
"Fuckin' hell," suddenly his grip turns firm, fingers digging into your flesh, forcing you down with a loud slap! of skin to skin. "Really? Ya' don't care anymore? Really want me ta' beat this pussy up?"
SLAP!
His hands slam down onto your ass, big palms grabbing, spreading, slapping, the poor flesh turning red on impact. And you jolt in his hold, clit thumb thumb thumbing like it has it's own heartbeat.
"Shit! Yer' fuckin'—nghhh!— gonna make me lose it," he pants, snapping his hips up into you dwelling in the suffocating hold of your soothing walls. "Ya' like that? Like ridin' me raw? Knocking this greedy pussy up? "
Desperate nod saying more than words could, you bounce up and down, up and down, tight pussy fixed around him, screaming in protest every time you surge up with loud, protesting gush gush gushes.
"Dirty fuckin' girl."
He grabs your ass again, harder this time, fingers sinking in, dragging you down with each thrust, eyes fixated on the delicious buldge of his fat cockhead bump bump bumping in your gut.
"Couldn't even wait, huh? Had ta' sit on my cock like the needy girl ya' are. Didn't even let me grab the fuh-fuckin'— shiiiiit!—"
Smack!
Another harsh slap ripples the fat of your rear, sharp but yet so perfect, the sting making you moan out, embarrasingly so, only further making your walls constrict around his hefty girth.
"Ya' want me to lose it, hah? Wanna make me forget everything but this feisty lil' pussy?"
You nod, nails dragging down his back. "Yessss! Pleaseeeee! Wan' you to fuck me stupid! Wanna c-cum!"
Forehead pressed to yours, he's fucking up into you with vicious intend, "Yeahhhh, yer' gonna get it. Gonna make you cum so gooood, pips' Js' let go f' me, yeah?"
And just like that, you break apart, body feeling like it's been lit on fire as you twitch around him uncontrollably, gushing your squirting sap alllll over his pelvic area.
"A-attaaaaa girl", he's watching you come undone, gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as he fucks you through your high, staring down at the mess you made in awe.
You're both drenched in it.
"What a beautiful mess," he pants, still pistoning his cock right against your g-spot, dragging your orgasm out. "Look at that pretty pussy squirtin' allll over me."
He's a pussy-drunk mess by now, cock still hard and throbbing inside your overstimulated cunt as she eagerly milks his cock, desperate for him to fill you up with his hot cum.
"Fuckkkk, I missed this. Missed you, this sweet little cunt, squeezin' 'round me. It's been sooo long."
You're panting now, still in shock from your orgasm, hips rocking against his, "B-but, Cay' we just did it y-yesterday—"
"That's wayyyy to long f' me."
You're whining, squirming in his lap, but he just has a crazed look, hungry, bucking his hips up, teasing the entrance of your womb with smooches.
He leans back slightly one hand gripping your ass, the other spreading you open so he can observe your stuffed cunny struggling to hold him in.
"Look at ya'," he mutters, half in awe, half in madness, "Gonna stuff ya' full till yer' leaking 'round me, till all you can think about is me, me, me—"
So close to his own wit's end, he's doing his best to focus on the delicious squelch of your stuttering pussy, heavy, fast breaths barely calming his racing heart down.
"God, you feel so good," he rasps, breath hitching. "So warm, so wet, 'm gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill you up."
You're clawing at his shoulders now, legs buckling as you feel your second high approching slyly. Every thrust sounds wetter than the last, his balls slapping your ass with every rushed snap of his hips.
Your moans are getting higher. His pace is getting sloppy. He's right there.
"No condom, no nothin'," he murmurs, forehead pressing against yours as he slowly, slowly inches the fat head inside, your walls stretching around him like they were made to take him bare. "You’re just gonna fuck me raw like this, huh? Gonna stuff you full till you're leaking around me, till all you can think about is me, me, me—"
He inches the fat head back in again, and your walls stretch, trembling, sucking him in until—
"Yesyesyes— fuckkk!—"
Your cry breaks into a sob as your body locks up around him. Caleb barely gets a breath before he's falling with you, mouth hanging slack as his hips jerk once, twice, and then he spills his thick load of fresh whites into you.
"Ooouhhhh! Cay-caleb!"
You sob, cunt spasming, milking him through it as your second orgasm rips through you, so intense your thighs shake, whole body shuddering in his lap, falling onto his sweaty, heaving chest.
"You're so fuckin' hot."
He's dazed, cock still twitching, slit spurting out the last wispy ropes inside you while his cum leaks out around the base in sticky dribbles, his locked gaze snapping up to your flustered face, sleazy grin twitching up his lips.
"Think m' addicted now."
Pff. As if he wasn't already whipped the second you climbed into his lap.
perverted things i think the lads boys do — a multi headcanon idea i had but probably will never write:
xavier — mutual masturbation in public. i.e. the train, at a restaurant. xavier takes your hand and places it riiiight on his semi, trapping it there so you can palm his dick. meanwhile, his freehand is teasing your pussy, getting you all desperate for him
zayne — somnophilia. i’ve written this before, but emphasis on zayne getting off on the fact that you’re out cold and yet your cunt is still squeezing him so tight that it nearly cuts off his circulation. extra extra emphasis on the fact that your body needs him even when you’re unconscious. it makes him painfully hard (even though it feels depraved) ((it is))
rafayel — taking pictures/videos of you once you’re in subspaces. he says it’s for art… but really it’s so he can stroke his dick to it when he’s alone. loves how needy and clingy and out of it u get while ur pussy is gushing out his cum :( he can’t help but document it for later use
sylus — he never wants you to cry… ever… but whe you’re on his cock? that’s all his body desperately craves. the sight of your tears… the sound of your pleas…. you desperate and needy… because you’re oh so pretty when you cry for his cock. he lovessssssss making you cry :( #meaniesylus
caleb — steals anything that smells like you and fucks the shit out of it. the day after you leave skyhaven, caleb takes the shirt you left behind, wraps it around his dick and thrusts into it all while he holds the pillow you slept on to his face. says he can only cum if he smells you…. weirdo #imgonnafuckhim
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
dededos
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
kianamaiart
