given the current climate this pride especially i feel i must mention that i love my trans friends, i stand with trans people in the fight against transphobic legislation and those who would enforce it, and this blog is not a good place for you to be if you do not vibe with that
sylus has learned to expect surprises when you come jogging into his office with armfuls of pudge to plop one or both on his lap.
today, he catches kyros in one arm and balances lucian on his head, as you conduct them like a maestro. prefacing him with nothing but, “watch this.”
“what does a cow say?”
“moo.” goes kyros, which sylus already knows he knows, but he is rewarded a kiss anyway.
“the sheep goes?”
“bah.” lucian gurgles. sylus pinches his cheek.
“the duck goes?”
“wak wak wak.” they bubble in failed synchronization. sylus’s heart pinches in his chest.
“can i give an animal?” he asks you, but you hiss at him to shut up. he rolls his eyes in good faith and continues to be tonight’s audience member instead.
“dog?”
kyros forgets, but lucian recalls. “auf! auf!”
“cat!”
kyros’s favorite. “miw! miiiw!”
“dinosaur?”
sylus scoffs. “dino—?”
“roaaar! raaawr!” lucian growls eagerly. kyros follows suit at the excitement, “warr! oooh-waar!”
“fish!”
“fish?!”
“poa poa poa.” sylus gasps at his little ones smacking their lips and wiggling their bodies. his laugh rattles mountains when he realizes.
“lizard!”
there’s a silence. like they’re thinking of doing one of two or more choices. meanwhile sylus curiously thinks what other sounds a lizard might make aside from the clicking he knows of.
“eh?” kyros asks, hands plopping onto sylus’s cheeks. confusing his papa more.
you give him an excited thumbs up— yes, just like you practiced.
“peetie! peetie!” lucian howls, joy lighting up his features. kyros explodes in a fit of giggles, screaming too, “peetie!’ peetie!”
sylus’s brows knit together at the sound. but before he digs through his mind palace to find the drawer of lizard sounds he knows, he meets your gaze. all smug in your mischief. then he realizes what you have taught your children, and what specific kind of lizard it is they are emulating.
“sweetie.” his voice is low as a warning as he rises from his seat. the littles giggle at the lizard sounds coming from its original source.
you bolt as soon as he step forward, squealing against the oncoming storm that befalls you for your arrogance. your children’s laughter echo down the hall, close on your heels despite having a hunter’s speed.
and when you lock yourself in your bedroom, you believe you are safe.
only, behind you, a whispered, “kitten.”
a distant, obedient, “miw!”
your heart stops at the sight of your husband— only now, with six glowing orbs staring at you from the shadows.
“nice trick.” he clicks his tongue, so harrowingly similar to a true lizard, much larger and maybe winged, as he draws near.
if it weren’t for the kids’ giggles, you’re sure— you’d be absolutely done for.
caleb is 10 when he realizes that he's a physical touch fiend. the rush he gets when his hand lingers on top of your skin after playing with you is like no other. when he presses into your side while you're reading, his thoughts always circle around one topic: you, you, you. when you would run into his room after a nightmare, caleb was ready to swoop you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. every response towards you was involuntary.
caleb is 15 when he realizes that teasing 13-year-old you becomes irresistible. when he holds up your book, pencil, or some other item in the air, he watches as you jump up and down to try and grab it back. he's grown a lot in three years; if he had to estimate, he's a whole head taller than you now—20cm at least.
when you throw yourself onto him in an attempt to get your stuff back, he falters. you're laying against him on the couch, shuffling and moving up and down over his body, and caleb's breath hitches. you're so close and right there.
he's going insane. you can't even stand up for five seconds before caleb pulls you down against him once more, saying something about retaliation or revenge while tickling you to death.
caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.
"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."
"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"
he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.
when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.
two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.
but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.
"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.
"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.
he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.
it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.
he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.
all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.
caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.
he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.
even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.
when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).
but he stays. because it's you.
you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.
he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.
caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.
you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.
how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.
you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.
whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.
he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.
the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.
he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.
"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."
caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?
slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.
you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.
caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.
wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???
i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.
also sorry the ending was rushed i wanted to get this over with bc i intented this to be like 500 words but obviously it got way longer than that. what can i say... this freak has dug into my brain.
I'm having thoughts on how you meet the LADs LIs in a modern AU, no evols, no past lives, no mysterious connections to each other, just regular meet-cutes (or perhaps more like meet-ugly in some cases). Please note MC is not a separate character in this scenario, it’s just you and the boys (*^▽^*) Enjoy~
Xavier
You meet Xavier on a blind date your friend set up for you at a hotpot place. It’s been a while since you’ve been out with anyone—thus your friend insisting on you meeting this new guy she’s sure is a perfect fit for you—so you’re a bit nervous and you end up arriving early. Figuring you might as well get the two of you a table, you take a seat while keeping your eyes on the door, anxiously bouncing your leg under the table as you message your date to let him know you’re here.
A man enters, at least 6 feet tall and with a head of blonde hair, which matches the description you were given when this was all set up, so you merrily wave him over. He pauses and seems to look confused for moment—oh God, what if your friend hyped you up too much and now he’s disappointed—but he obligingly comes over and you shove the menu into his hands and usher him to sit down. You pour him some water from the jug on the table as you ask how his journey was, and he replies it was fine, albeit a little stiltedly.
Unfortunately, that makes you even more nervous, and when you’re nervous, you get chatty, like you’re trying to fill an awkward silence before it can form. It’s only the waitress coming over to take your order—which he provides in a soft, smooth voice—that finally gets you to quiet down. There’s a pause after she leaves and you take the moment to apologise for yapping away, explaining that you haven’t been on a date in a while and he’s a lot more handsome than your friend made out, so you’re a little tense.
As you’re nearing the end of this explanation, you get a text pop up on your phone from… your date?
You look up at the man in front of you, who is decidedly not on his phone, and then back down at the message which reads sorry, smth came up, can’t make it.
At this point, the guy across from you is also looking at your phone, and it seems he’s started to put the pieces together himself. You’re not sure you’ve ever been more mortified than when you realise you have effectively forced some poor random man on a date with you. For a while you just stare at him helplessly, as though maybe the truth will un-reveal itself and you can go back to blissful ignorance, until he interrupts by offering to move to a different table.
Looking around, you realise the restaurant has quickly filled up since you arrived, to the point you’re not sure there is another free table, and even if there were, you really don’t think he should be the one to move. You explain as much when you finally come to your senses enough to apologise, offering to pay the bill and leave yourself. After a little back and forth, you eventually decide together that since the order’s been placed you might as well eat while you’re here and you can split the bill later.
Xavier, as you find out his name is, actually turns out to be quite easy to talk to, once you’ve calmed down enough from your mistake to have an actual conversation. It turns out you both like the same comic series as well, and you leave the restaurant with a plan to meet up for lunch again.
Needless to say, you don’t bother trying to rearrange anything with your actual intended date.
Rafayel
You meet Rafayel when you rescue him while working late one night at the University. It’s a Friday and everyone else has long since left to start their weekends but you have a review meeting coming up, and after dealing with some deeply uncooperative cell cultures, you’re grinding to gather as much useable data as you can possibly get. You step out of the lab briefly to grab yourself something with caffeine in it while the centrifuge whirs away, only to stop when you see someone gesticulating wildly while talking loudly into their phone outside the building.
They’re in the courtyard that connects your Biology building and the Art department—why someone had put the two next to each other, you would never know—the very same one with doors that could only be opened via keycard after 6pm and no alternative exit route. You’re just wondering if the young man might be stuck out there when he spots you through the glass door and starts waving at you before pointing at the door’s release button on the inside. Ah, so he is stuck then you think, as you walk over and press it, how long has he been out there?
The doors start to open automatically, and as soon as enough space opens up, the man hurls himself through the gap almost as though he thinks they might change their mind and try to shut him out again. He looks back through the doors like the mere existence of the courtyard is an attack upon his person and asks you if your university makes a regular point of trying to trap its guests. You can only shrug in reply, but he looks put out enough that you feel a bit sorry for him, so you offer him some of the fancy tea and snacks you keep around for when your experiments go to shit and you need some cheering up.
And that’s how you end up entertaining Rafayel, art legend who had been cajoled into doing a guest lecture at your university, in your lab group’s office space over tea at almost 9pm. He regales you with the story of how he’d been kept late by the Dean of the art department talking his ear off, trying to persuade him into taking a fixed-term position, and had then wandered out the wrong exit and ended up in the predicament you’d found him in. You have the sense this venting is much needed, so you let him carry on, offering sympathy when appropriate.
Surprisingly, he then turns the conversation to you and you find yourself prattling away about your research project. You do make something of an effort not to fully nerd out on him, but it’s difficult when he’s a good listener and seems able to pick up on the bits you’re the most passionate about. He manages to wheedle your phone number out of you before he leaves, with the excuse of needing someone to rescue him should he fall victim to the courtyard again—though you struggle to imagine why he’d come back after his first experience with the University.
It catches you rather by surprise then, when you see his name pop up as a new hire in the newsletter that circulates the week after.
Zayne
You meet Zayne while on your way to comfort your friend after a break up. Said break up has been a long time coming—at least, in your opinion as someone who never liked the bastard to begin with—but that doesn’t mean she’s any less upset about it, which is why you step into the elevator of her apartment building with a plastic bag containing a full tub of rocky road ice cream, a box of her favourite truffles and a cheap bottle of wine. You press the button for her floor and then the one to hold the door as you spot a man also walking towards the elevator.
He thanks you politely, reaching the doors in just a few long strides and pressing the button for a different floor before standing on the opposite side to you. The doors close and the elevator starts to rise as you get your phone out to let your friend know you’re here. It’s then that you hear an awful grinding noise and the elevator comes to an abrupt stop, decidedly not at either of your intended floors. For a moment, you hope it’s just stopped to let some other resident of the building in, but several seconds pass with the doors refusing to open and you exchange concerned looks with the only other occupant. It seems, you both agree, that the elevator is stuck.
You do the sensible thing of pressing the call button and alerting the building’s management team to the problem, who promise you they’ll deal with the issue as soon as they can, and you’re then left with the reality of being trapped in an enclosed space with a complete stranger. As you attempt to surreptitiously study the guy, you note that while he’s pretty good-looking and well-dressed, the faint dark lines under his eyes scream of someone who’s had too long of a day to deal with the bullshit of getting stuck in an elevator.
Spreading your old, tired coat on the ground, you sit yourself down and offer the spot next to you to the guy. He initially looks like he’s going to refuse but with a bit of needling, he seats himself next to you with a heavy sigh. Figuring you might as well try to get comfortable, you offer him a handshake and introduce yourself. You learn his name is Zayne, he works as a doctor at the nearby hospital and the only reason he’s in the building is because he planned to pick up something from a colleague before heading home. As your conversation continues, it’s not too difficult to pick up on the fact that he’s not the most extroverted individual in the world, but there’s nothing like being stuck somewhere with no other source of entertainment aside from your nearly dead phone to spur you into keeping the conversation going.
More time passes with no sign of immediate rescue, so you dig the portable cutlery set out from your workbag and offer to split your rapidly melting ice cream with your new elevator buddy. Once you are finally liberated from your shared confinement—a process that takes over two hours in the end—you’re down one tub of ice cream and a half a box of truffles. Zayne offers to compensate you for both, but you’ve grown fond enough of his dry sense of humour that you propose a counter offer: next time he can treat you to some ice cream, ideally in a nicer location than the floor of a broken down elevator.
He accepts.
Sylus
You meet Sylus during a run in with your miserable, cheating ex. It’s been a rough month all in all, trying to stitch together the tattered edges of your life where they’d previously been entangled with another person. As a treat, you decide to take yourself out shopping, a higher end store than you’d usually frequent, but you feel like you’ve earned it by surviving the last four weeks.
Your nice day out is cut short however, when you spot your ex with the sidepiece he’d been seeing behind your back clinging to his arm and sporting a sizeable diamond ring on her left hand. Unfortunately, they spot you before you have time to process properly that the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with is engaged no more than a month after your break up. They approach you and the conversation is as full of petty bullshit as you would expect from the two worst people you know—your ex making sure to mention the expensive honeymoon they’ve got booked after the lavish wedding they’re going to have next spring.
Then the conversation turns to you, and your ex’s new fiancée asks snidely if you’re seeing anyone. It’s obvious from the smug look on her face that she knows the answer is no and something in you just snaps. You’re not thinking straight—you’d never do something like this if you were— when you grab the poor stranger unfortunate enough to be standing close to you and announce him as the new guy you’ve been seeing. All you can tell from your peripheral is that he’s well-dressed and considerably taller than your ex, who always had a bit of a thing about his height.
You see your ex’s expression falter as he looks the guy over and it emboldens you enough that you finally let loose the verbal tirade you wanted to give him the day you found someone else’s nudes on his phone. To say you eviscerate the pair of them would be putting it mildly; by the end of your little speech, half the store has turned to watch and at least one grandmother is clutching at her pearl necklace.
To finish off with the appropriate dramatics, you march away from the pair with your head held high and manage to make it halfway across the shop floor before you realise you’ve dragged the random stranger you grabbed hold of with you. An apology to end all apologies at drawing the poor man into your drama starts to form on your tongue, only to have it wither away the moment you get a proper look at him. The arm you’re hanging onto belongs to one of the most intimidating—and good-looking, but that’s a little beside the point—guys you’ve ever seen.
It’s immediately apparent from his build that the only reason you got this far is because he let you haul him away. And then there’s the way he’s looking at you, like a big cat eyeing up something that wandered into its enclosure, trying to decide whether it’s worth hunting. Suddenly, you are struck by the feeling that you have just done something very, very stupid.
Caleb
You meet Caleb while having the worst day of your life. A failing grade on your latest piece of coursework, your barely acceptable average hanging on by a thread, your best friend for over a decade seems to have decided you’re a poor relation to the new friends she’s made at her own college a city away and you have a rat problem your landlord is refusing to address. In some attempt to try to salvage things, you decide to treat yourself with a beverage from your favourite coffee shop. Do you really have the budget for it? No, but the thought of staying in your shitty rental for the rest of the day is too much to bear.
You go up to counter and order as usual, wincing a little when the number comes up on the till but tapping your card regardless, however it’s when you collect your drink and turn to find your usual seat in the corner that things go horribly wrong. Someone shoulder checks you, hard, and you manage to tip your drink all over yourself as you stagger backwards.
Time seems to freeze for a moment, you can feel the eyes on you, watching as the liquid drips down from your formerly white shirt. Looking down at the contents of your now nearly empty cup, something in you breaks. You start bawling—tears, snot, the works. The arsehole who ran into doesn’t even bother to stop as you burst into hysterics and everyone else seems content to just stare at you like you’re some kind of spectacle.
Then, you feel an arm around your shoulder, guiding you towards a quiet corner at the back of the store as someone takes the cup from your hands and presses a wad of napkins into them instead. You try to thank them through the tears, although you’re not sure anything intelligible comes out and the kind stranger just quietly hushes you in response. They get you to sit down and you look up to see an extremely handsome guy—you think you might have seen him around campus before, although you’re not sure—standing in front of you, blocking the view of you from the rest of the shop with his back.
He lets you cry it out for bit, disappearing only briefly after you’ve started to calm down and coming back with a duplicate of your drink order. That act of kindness is almost enough to make you start back up again, but then he asks what happened and you end up spilling your guts to him. It seems like bad manners to dump all your problems on a stranger, though once you’re done, you do feel more like a person and less like a total walking disaster. He introduces himself as Caleb and he is indeed at the same college as you, just a couple of years ahead. You thank him profusely for his help and try to give him some money for the drink but he waves it off, asking instead if he can borrow your phone quickly. Not seeing any reason to refuse—maybe his has run out of charge, you think—you hand it over and he steps away to make brief call before handing it back to you.
That encounter seems to serve as something of a turning point, as shortly after you say your goodbyes, you receive a message from your landlord promising the rat problem will be dealt with immediately. You also notice that Caleb :) has been added to your contacts list.
A/N: Fun fact, the building thing in Rafayel’s bit sounds made up but is inspired by a genuine set up at one of the Universities I’ve worked at where if you forgot your keycard after hours, you could literally get trapped in a courtyard with no way out other than trying to scale the buildings or calling security. This almost happened to me once and I lived in permanent fear of actually getting stuck out there, so I am passing my trauma onto Raf <3
he hunches over you, his huge chest rising and falling as he breathes deep, staring down at where you're connected with single-minded focus. you tell him he's too big, and to please wait, but he just can't help himself! he fucks into you desperately, gasping and drooling and mumbling out apologies between messy kisses to your neck. he pauses for a moment, eyes dilated, and you follow his gaze down to the bulge his cock leaves in your abdomen. he pets over it with two fingers and visibly shudders, nearly cumming on the spot. his hands grip your hips tighter as he starts slamming into you again with dizzying force.
but here's the kicker: he pulls out once he cums, but the bulge is still there. he came so much inside of you that it pooched out your tummy a little bit, visible from the outside. his expression turns dark and obsessive as he stares down at what he left behind. he presses down on the bump, and he groans as you whimper from the feeling of the thick liquid oozing out of you.
oops... he's hard again....! surely you wouldn't mind if he went for another round, yeah? just let him do all the work, he'll take care of everything.
You had been a brat all day. You couldn't help yourself, really. Zayne was always so composed and you wanted nothing more than to see him snap. You'd started off small, just a couple pictures of your naked body that "accidentally" got sent to him. He'd left you on read. Next was a voice note, detailing just how bad you needed him.
Again, left on read.
By lunch, you were getting frustrated. Surely it couldn't be that hard to make him snap. Even a single, tiny crack would be better than nothing. You'd picked up your phone one last time, typing a filthy paragraph about how you wanted him so deep in your throat that you couldn't talk properly for days after.
He'd sent you a thumbs up.
By the time he was home, you hadn't given up. You'd watched him go right into his office without so much as a glance in your direction, so of course, you'd followed a minute later.
As you walk in, he's sat behind his mahogany desk, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, seemingly absorbed in a surgical report. You, however, are absorbed in him. Dressed in nothing but his crisp, white button-down shirt, you stop right in front of his desk. The fabric was far too big for you, the hem easily hitting your mid-thigh. You'd rolled the sleeves up to your elbows, but that didn't stop the fabric from falling off your shoulder slightly.
"Those files are boring." You whine as you lean across his desk, purposely invading his personal space as your fingers slowly undo the top three buttons of the shirt. You feel pretty damn smug with yourself, assuming Zayne would drop everything just to see you naked before him.
"They are necessary." He replies, not even bothering to look up from his reports, though he can see you. He can see how badly you're trying to get his attention, but he's not in a playing mood today. Your texts had only made it worse.
"Your shirt is unbuttoned. Fix it and go find a book. I'm busy."
You let out a sharp gasp then, mildly irritated that he'd dismissed you so easily. Mildly turned on at his composure. You don't leave. You step right around his desk until you stand right next to him, leaning down to press light, open-mouthed kisses just under his jaw. You're determined to shatter that calm, cool persona of his.
"You're no fun. All work and no play makes Doctor Zayne a very dull man, indeed."
You barely have time to get the words out.
Zayne's hand shoots up, his fingers firm as they grip your chin, tilting your head so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. You try to muffle the small, excited whimper that leaves you, but Zayne catches it. He always does.
"I told you to behave." He warns, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to remind you of the strength he could easily use on you.
"Make me."
The shift is instantaneous. You hear the screech of the chair against the floor as he shifts, and before you can blink, your world is tilting. He pulls you across his lap, one hand tangled in your hair while the other hikes the hem of his shirt higher up your body to fully expose your ass to him.
The first strike is heavy, a solid crack that echoes against the quiet of the office. You gasp, your hands grasping onto the fabric of his trousers. Instantly, your skin stings, heat blooming across your ass. But you like it. You like knowing you've pushed him to this point.
"That is for the photo you sent during my morning consultations." He says, his voice low. "I had a patient's chart in one hand and your indiscretion in the other."
Crack.
"Two. For the voice note. I don't recall giving you permission to speak to me that way while I'm at the hospital."
Crack.
The third one is firmer than the last two, making you cry out. You try and squirm to get away, to beg for his forgiveness and his touch all in the same breath. His hand simply tightens in your hair, a silent warning. You're so wet it hurts. If you could just get his hand between your thighs...
"Three. For that obscene paragraph at lunch. A thumbs up was all you deserved for such a blatant attempt to disrupt my focus."
He pauses then, and for a second, you think it might be over, but his hand doesn't move away. Instead, he rubs at the angry pink skin of your ass, his touch deceptively soft all while you twitch underneath his hand. Every slap has only turned you on further, and you almost can't help yourself as you try and arch into his hand.
Zayne raises an eyebrow as he watches you, noting the way you tremble across his lap. Slowly, his fingers dip between your legs, a quick, amused huff leaving him as he finds your dripping pussy. He should have known.
"This wet over a punishment? You really are a brat." He mocks softly, his long fingers finding your aching clit with a surgical precision. He circles once, twice, just enough to make you whimper and rock back against his hand, before he's pulling away again, leaving you cold and wanting.
Crack.
"Four is for not listening when I told you to go find a book."
Crack.
"Five is because we both know you're going to act out again tomorrow just to see if I'll put you back over my knee."
You're shaking now, a few stray tears slipping out and trailing down your cheeks. Your ass is a vibrant, angry red, and the heat radiating from you is intense. You want more. You need more. If all you'll get tonight is a firm punishment, then you'll eagerly accept it.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
"That voice note is still ringing in my ears and I'm still quite irritated by it." He says, though you can feel the way his body is saying otherwise. As your stomach presses against his thighs, you can feel how hard he is just against your side. You shudder against him, a pathetic little moan of pure want leaving your lips.
His hand kneads the supple flesh of your ass, massaging the sting deeper into your skin until all you can focus on is how badly you need his fingers on your clit again. The hand in your hair slowly lets you go, moving to cup your cheek as he wipes your tears.
You think it's over.
Crack.
This last blow is far lighter than the ones before, almost a warning slap. A reminder of how easily he'd flung you over his knee. You need him so badly it hurts.
"What was that for?" You whimper as you tilt your head to lean further into his hand. Your breathing is shaky and ragged, your breath hitching quietly each time he brushes his fingers against the angry, burning skin of your ass.
"I felt like it. Now stand up."
You instantly move to do as he says, shifting off his lap to stand just beside him. You watch as his hands move to his belt, the metal clinking together for a moment before he's undoing his trousers, shoving the fabric down to free his cock. You want nothing more than to drop to your knees, crawl under his desk, and keep him in your mouth until his reports are done.
Instead, he gestures for you to sit on his lap. Your breath hitches. A reward so soon after your punishment? You could cry.
You're quick to climb right into his lap, your arms draped across his shoulders as you hover just over the tip of his cock. His hand sneaks between the both of you, fingers wrapping around himself as he slides the tip right through your slick folds. You clench around nothing, so close and yet so far away, but you don't rush it.
You let him grind up into you, a quiet whimper leaving you every time he rubs against your clit. The anticipation is killing you, but you force yourself to stay still even as you tremble on top of him. Then he slides home. A shattered moan falls from your lips, your hips instinctively rocking into him. He's so deep, you swear you feel him in your belly.
But he doesn't continue. He doesn't fuck you like the world's ending. He doesn't even offer you his thumb against your clit. Instead, he clamps his hands on your hips, waiting until you look up at him with your needy little whine. The corners of his mouth twitch, smug and deeply entertained by your eagerness.
"You sit there, and you feel every inch of me, but you do not move. If I feel you so much as shift to try and get more comfortable, I'll put you back on my knee for another ten. Am I clear?" He commands. You want to argue, to test if he's serious, but the cold edge of his tone has you agreeing.
"Crystal clear."
"Be a good girl and let me finish this page." He says, giving your hips one last squeeze before his attention is back on his reports, his pen scratching at the paper every so often as he leaves small notes for himself to read later. You let out a soft sigh as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.
You feel so full, so deliciously stretched, but it's not enough.
"You're so mean." You whine, hands tilting to find his hair. You don't pull, you simply twirl the strands around your fingers, trying to focus on anything other than how good his cock feels when it's buried deep in your cunt.
Zayne hums in acknowledgment, back to ignoring you.
This treatment feels like it goes on for hours, but in reality, it's nothing more than a few minutes. Finally, he's pushing his papers aside, the clatter of his pen against the wood instantly drawing your attention. You tilt your head to look up at him, a silent question in your gaze.
He answers by finding your hips with his hands, standing up, and pressing your back against the wood of his desk. Your legs instantly wrap around his waist, keeping him deep inside you as you look up at him. He moves to take his glasses off, setting them aside near the edge of the mahogany, before both palms are pressed against the wood on either side of your head.
"You've had a lot to say today. Now that you have my undivided attention, why don't you be very specific?" His hazel eyes drift down to your lips, jaw clenching as he rocks into you, slow and steady. Your nails find his shoulders as you arch up into him, the friction earning a quiet moan from you.
"Tell me exactly how you want it."
You swallow hard, your breath coming in shallow hitches. The sting on your ass is still humming, reigniting every time Zayne pushes deeper into you. For a moment, you can't think of how you want him to fuck you. All you know is that you want him. You need him.
"I want to feel... I want to feel how much I irritated you today." You manage to stutter out.
A smirk finally does appear on his lips and in that moment, you know you're going to be sore for days.
"Understood."
He doesn't give you a second to rethink your answer before he's moving. His cock slams deep into you, so deep you can feel it knock against your cervix, the dull ache mixing with the pleasure of his relentless pace. You cry out, your back arching off his desk as you claw at his shoulders, your thighs clamping around his waist.
His hips snap into yours, his balls slapping against your ass, the loud sound of skin on skin mirroring your punishment. The desk rattles underneath you, his abandoned pen rolling around before finally tumbling onto the ground. Zayne doesn't even blink. He simply brings his hand up to your shirt, easily undoing the buttons one by one until it falls open.
Bare underneath. You really had been waiting for him to fuck you.
He groans at the sight, long fingers instantly squeezing your breast while his head dips towards the other one. His teeth grazes your nipple before he draws you into his mouth, nipping and sucking at that hardened peak. You tremble underneath him, your moans tipping into loud sobs of pleasure as your hands finally find his hair.
You tug on the dark strands, a sharp cry echoing in his office as his fingers pinch at your other nipple, rolling it between his long fingers until you're squirming underneath him. He doesn't relent, just shifts his focus as his mouth moves to the swell of your breast, sucking a deep, dark bruise right into your skin.
His hand trails up your body again, long fingers wrapping around your throat and squeezing with just enough pressure to make your head swim. His other hand finds your hip, thumb digging a bruise into your skin as he pulls you onto his cock in time with his thrusts.
You clench around him, a shattered, broken moan leaving your lips as you fall apart around him. Your hips jerk against him as you writhe on top of his desk, but Zayne doesn't let up. He pins you down, his thrusts getting faster, harder, the snap of his hips against you making your ass sting all over again.
His breath hitches, his jaw clenched so hard he feels his teeth grind together as his movements falter. His thrusts grow sloppy, frantic, desperate to reach his own release. He's so close, so agonizingly close, and the moment your cunt clenches around him, he spills in you with a guttural groan.
His forehead presses against your shoulder, hand releasing your throat to cradle your cheek as his eyes squeeze shut. His entire body shudders, his breathing ragged and ruined. You let out a quiet whine before tilting your head into his hand, your own body sore and spent as you cling to him.
You're both quiet for a moment, too focused on breathing, too focused on the way his hips roll into yours like he's trying to force his cum deeper.
"Are you going to behave tomorrow?" He finally asks, his voice a broken rasp against your skin.
"No." You breathe in response.
He lets out an amused huff.
"Right. Then I suspect you are going to be extremely sore tomorrow."
FFFUUCCK pissed me off so bad my writing block's gone. zayne x reader, college au, reader is highk rabid and honestly same.
"this bitch."
zayne doesn't even bother hiding the growing smile on his face, eyes squinting in amusement. his arm on the desk supports his head, turned to you while you rant. he doesn't understand how you could look so cute while angrily munching on a sandwich.
well, he always thought you resembled a nibbling hamster when you ate. checks off.
"you shouldn't cuss out professors, love." with the mirth lacing his tone, he seems way too unbothered to actually scold you.
"zayne, she literally wasted everyone's time. to think i got out of bed, ran to catch a cab, booked it to her class—all so she could send an email during our timeslot that she wasn't in town?!" you tried to control your pitch, you really did. but even your friends had the same thoughts as you and even they couldn't stop themselves from letting out unfiltered strings of profanities.
the clinical medicine student all but laughed. valid. you hated waking up early in the morning, opting to sleep in and doing your work late into the night. he notices the bags under your eyes with his own before his line of sight zeroes in on your pretty lips. soft, expressive. they might let out the most heinous combinations of words that would usually merit a raised eyebrow from a regular person, but this was zayne.
he thinks that even if you cuss him out for a whole hour, he'd smile all throughout it. and give you a kiss after.
zayne wipes your cheek with his thumb, cleaning the smudge of food you didn't notice while you ate your frustration out. "this is the same person who you said didn't deserve their credentials last week, yes?" he asked before popping his thumb into his mouth briefly, cleaning his finger.
"yeah. can you believe this woman has a phd? fuck, i pay for this damn class and you'd expect she'd atleast know how to time announcements when—"
there you go again.
smiling, zayne gingerly rubs your nape. activating his evol just a twinge to cool you off, he nods as you let every little thought out of your system. you breathe a little better everytime he smoothes his hands over the tension around your head area, he noticed.
he'll take you out for ice cream after your last lecture.
synopsis: your man may be a yearner, but that won't stop you from out-yearning him. based on this request. ♡
content: fluff & comfort! reader is yearner3000
sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .
The room felt unbearably vast without him. His side of the bed had cooled hours ago, leaving you restless and sulky in the tangle of sheets. You rolled toward the hollow he’d left behind, nose pressed into the pillow that still carried the faintest trace of his shampoo — sharp cedar, smoke, something darkly clean that was uniquely him. You breathed it in like it could trick your body into thinking he was still here, but it only made the ache sharper.
Your fingers drifted over the blankets where he usually sprawled, searching for warmth that wasn’t there. The air was heavy with his cologne, threaded faintly into the fabric, and still it wasn’t enough. It felt like every part of you was tuned to his absence — your skin prickling with the memory of his touch, your ears straining for the sound of his boots in the hall.
With a little whimper, you slipped out of bed and padded across the room. His closet yawned open like a forbidden door, lined with rows of pressed shirts and jackets. You ran your hand along them, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of him woven into every piece. Finally, you tugged free a black button-down, the fabric cool against your skin as you slid it over your bare shoulders. It hung loose, swallowing you whole, smelling of him so strongly it made your knees weak.
You wrapped your arms around yourself, burying your face against the collar as though you could fold him into your bones this way. Still, the ache remained. Still, you missed him like you hadn’t seen him in weeks instead of a handful of hours.
You stepped out of the closet, drowning in Sylus’s shirt, when a sharp caw made you freeze.
Perched on the high canopy of the bedframe, Mephisto tilted his metallic head, one crimson eye glinting in the low light. His wings twitched once, the faint whirr of gears filling the silence before another, even more insistent caw broke it.
You narrowed your eyes at him, clutching the loose folds of the shirt closer to your chest. “Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, cheeks heating. “I’m not pathetic, I just…miss him.”
The crow ruffled its steel feathers with a grinding clink, letting out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.
“Stop making fun of me!” you huffed, stamping your bare foot against the rug. “If you’re so smart, why don’t you tell your dad to come home already?”
Mephisto tilted his head again, gaze unblinking, before loosing another harsh, mocking caw that had you groaning in frustration.
“Stupid bird,” you grumbled, pushing past the heavy door into the hall, the long sleeves of Sylus’s shirt slipping past your hands as you walked. “Traitor.”
The base was quiet at this hour, shadows pooling in the corners as you padded barefoot down the hall. The sleeves of Sylus’s shirt slipped over your hands, brushing against your thighs with every step, the faint trace of his cologne clinging stubbornly to the fabric. It was a poor substitute for his arms, but it was all you had.
In the lounge, the dim glow of the record player caught your eye. You hesitated only a moment before kneeling to rifle through the stack of vinyls, fingers finding the one you knew by heart. His favorite. The one he always put on when the two of you ended up circling the room together, swaying like conspirators lost in your own secret world.
You set the record gently in place, lowering the needle until the warm crackle of sound filled the air. Strings swelled low and smooth, the melody wrapping around you like a memory. You could almost feel the ghost of his hand at your waist, the heat of his palm spanning the small of your back as he pulled you into a slow dance only he knew the rhythm of.
Curling up on the couch, you drew your knees to your chest, burying your face in the collar of his shirt. The cushions smelled faintly of smoke and leather, lingering traces of him that only made you ache more. You let the music play, trying to imagine he was here, that any moment you’d look up and find him standing over you with that insufferable smirk — ready to tease you for missing him this badly.
Instead, there was only the music and the silence between each note, deepening the emptiness until you thought you might drown in it.
“You look like a kitten licking its wounds, sweetie.”
The low rumble of his voice slid through the lounge, curling around you before you even had the chance to lift your head. Your breath caught. Then you saw him — leaning against the doorframe, silver hair catching the dim lamplight, that insufferable smirk tugging at his lips.
You didn’t think — you just bolted. The record player hummed in the background as you scrambled off the couch and all but launched yourself at him. He caught you with a quiet oof, stumbling back half a step before his arms locked around your waist.
A laugh rumbled in his chest, deep and warm against your ear. “Miss me, kitten?”
You buried your face in his shirtfront, clutching fistfuls of his coat like you might fall apart if you let go. The sheer relief of his warmth, his scent — him — made your eyes sting. Slowly, you tilted your head up, cheeks burning, lips parting as if to say something but only managing a little nod. Your eyes met his, wide and starry, and the smirk on his mouth softened, just barely.
He brushed a thumb over your cheek, tilting your chin so he could study your expression. “I was only gone for a few hours,” he teased, leaning down until his breath grazed your lips. “And here you are, acting like I vanished for days. What would you do if I actually left you for a week?”
You huffed, face heating even more, clinging tighter to him. “Didn’t realize missing my boyfriend was a crime.”
Sylus chuckled, low and rich, as though savoring the words. “Mm. No crime,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But it might just be dangerous, sweetie. You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll never want to leave again.”
He guided you back toward the couch, one large hand warm at the small of your back. When he sat, he pulled you effortlessly into his lap, settling you sideways against him. His coat slipped from his shoulders as though it had been waiting for this moment, pooling around the both of you.
Before he could speak, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Then another. Then another. Your lips flitted over his face in a frantic scatter — his jaw, the corner of his mouth, even the slope of his nose. A giggle bubbled out of you as you caught the faint flush climbing his ears, and that only encouraged you to lean down, brushing a trail against his throat where the collar of his shirt gaped open.
He tilted his head back with a low groan, ears burning crimson despite the smirk tugging at his mouth. “What’s all this for, kitten?”
You drew back just far enough to beam at him, cheeks flushed, voice soft but so earnest it hurt. “I’m making up for lost time.”
A laugh rumbled through him, though it was laced with fondness. He wrapped his arms snugly around your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ribs. He stole a kiss of his own, then another, slower this time, his lips warm and lingering on yours.
When he shifted like he meant to set you aside, you immediately latched onto him, arms tightening around his shoulders. “No—don’t let go,” you pleaded, muffled against his neck.
Sylus chuckled, giving your hip a squeeze. “Relax, sweetie. I just need to get changed. You can argue with Mephisto again while you wait.”
That was when his gaze dipped lower, taking in the way his black button-down draped over you, the hem brushing your thighs and the sleeves nearly swallowing your hands. His mouth curved into something sharper than a smirk, crimson eyes glittering.
“Well, look at you,” he drawled, thumb brushing over the fabric at your hip. “Stealing my clothes now? You know it’s dangerous to tempt me like this, kitten.”
Your cheeks burned as you squirmed in his lap, tugging the fabric tighter around yourself. “It smells like you,” you muttered, almost shy, as though that excused the crime.
“Kitten…” His voice went low, a dangerous sort of affection threading through it. He tugged you back into his chest, lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “You’re going to kill me.”
caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .
The morning light crept gently across the room, spilling in pale gold over messy sheets. Caleb’s arm was still heavy around your waist, pinning you close against the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’d been gone most of yesterday, the empty ache of his absence stretching every hour unbearably thin. Now that he was here again, you couldn’t sleep — afraid to waste a single second of his closeness.
You tilted your head to watch him. His lashes brushed faint shadows over his cheeks, his features softened in sleep, all the edges of his usual restraint melted into something almost boyish. The sight made your chest ache. Carefully, you lifted a hand, tracing the bridge of his nose with the barest touch of your fingertip. Down over the strong curve of his brow, along the delicate line of his cheeks, admiring the faint freckles decorating his skin.
“So cute,” you breathed, the words slipping out before you could catch them.
You let your fingers wander over his jawline, brushing along the soft curve of his neck, lingering where his pulse beat steadily beneath your touch. “I missed you so much yesterday,” you murmured softly, barely above a whisper. “You’re so mean for leaving me alone like that…” Your lips brushed against his temple as you sighed, “You better make it up to me today, you know.”
Sliding your hand through his hair, you marveled at how impossibly soft it was, tangling your fingers gently in the strands, tugging lightly as though you could tether him to you with nothing but touch. “I just…don’t want to let you go,” you admitted, pressing your forehead briefly to his temple.
Your gaze dropped to his mouth — soft, parted slightly in sleep — and before you could stop yourself, you let your finger trail lightly along the curve of his lower lip, tracing it like it was a map you wanted to memorize.
In the next instant, his hand closed gently but firmly around your wrist. Your breath caught as violet eyes blinked open, clear and focused despite the drowsy hour. Without a word, he brought your hand to his mouth and pressed a featherlight kiss to your fingertips, lips warm against your skin.
“Watchin’ me sleep, pips?” His voice was low and a little rough with sleep, but the amused curve of his lips gave him away. He brushed another kiss to your fingertips before smirking faintly. “Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, hm?”
Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you ducked your head against his chest. “I can’t help it…” you whispered, embarrassed but too earnest to deny it.
That earned you a soft chuckle, the kind that made his whole chest move beneath you. He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, lingering there for a moment as if to seal the words away.
“Annnd… I heard you talking to me,” he added suddenly, voice low and teasing.
Your eyes went wide. “I–I was not! I mean…maybe a little…” you stammered, cheeks flaming.
He grinned, violet eyes sparkling. “I’m evil, huh? You were muttering about missin’ me, how mean I am…all that. You sure have a lot to say when you think I’m sleepin’, pips.”
“I meant what I said!” you shot back, fingers pinching his cheek lightly, trying to look stern but failing miserably.
Caleb’s lips curved into a soft laugh as he gazed down at you, eyes warm and teasing. You noticed the way his expression softened, the hint of amusement and affection dancing in his features. “If you had a tail right now,” you murmured, grinning, “it’d be wagging like crazy.”
His blush was subtle but undeniable, and he let out a low chuckle. “Hush,” he murmured.
Then, without warning, Caleb shifted. He slipped his arm free from around your waist and sat up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed. The cool morning air rushed in where his warmth had been, making you jolt upright in panic.
Before he could stand, you scrambled after him, throwing your arms around his shoulders from behind. You leaned your cheek against his broad back, clinging with all the strength you had. “Nooo, don’t leave me,” you whined, voice muffled against his shirt.
Caleb tipped his head back with a quiet laugh, shoulders shaking beneath your hold. “Pips… I’m just going to brush my teeth.”
You only squeezed tighter, burying your face into the curve of his neck like a child refusing to be parted from their favorite toy. He tilted his head slightly, violet eyes softening at your stubbornness.
“Hopeless little thing,” he murmured, amusement thick in his voice, though his hand still came up to rest over yours, keeping you pressed close.
Caleb sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat as your arms tightened around him. “I can’t say no to my favorite little cuddlebug,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.
You grinned against his shoulder, triumphant. “You’ve never been able to.”
He gave a quiet huff of laughter, twisting just enough to glance at you. “Spoiled,” he accused gently.
“That’s your fault,” you shot back, smiling into his shirt.
The two of you laughed together, the sound soft in the quiet morning. Caleb let himself sink back against the pillows, tugging you into his chest as though you belonged nowhere else. You happily sprawled over him, nuzzling close before pressing featherlight kisses along the plane of his chest. The steady beat of his heart thudded beneath your lips, grounding you in a way nothing else could.
When you tilted your head up, you found his eyes already on you — violet gaze warm, almost reverent, like you were something fragile and priceless. The intensity of it made your breath catch, a hot blush rising to your cheeks.
“You really can’t get enough, can you?” His voice was soft, edged with a teasing lilt but carrying something deeper underneath.
You shook your head, smiling shyly. “No. Never.”
His lips curved as he bent to kiss you — slow, tender, the kind of kiss that promised he’d give you as much of him as you wanted. When you finally parted, you lingered close, your breath fanning over his skin.
“Can we stay like this all day?” you whispered, searching his eyes.
Caleb’s hand stroked gently up your back, pulling you even tighter into his arms. “As long as you want, pips,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your hair. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁
The studio was quiet, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the late afternoon sun slipping through the high windows. You moved with careful, deliberate motions, arranging everything just so. A stack of the softest blankets was draped over the couch, plumped and inviting. Your fingers lingered on the fabric, imagining him sinking into it, curling up against you.
On the small media console, you queued up your favorite movie — the one you both always ended up watching multiple times in a row — and turned the sound low so the sound wouldn’t startle him. Around the room, you placed little bowls of his favorite snacks, everything exactly how he liked it. Then you reached for the playlist you’d made together, pressing play; the soft, familiar melodies filled the studio, wrapping the space in warmth and anticipation.
You paused for a moment, leaning against the counter as your thoughts drifted. You remembered the way he’d pouted earlier in the week, that faint crease between his brows when you told him you couldn’t make it to the exhibition. How much you’d wanted to kiss that stubborn little frown right off his face.
Now, with the day finally yours, and with a little luck, you could do exactly that. The thought made your chest swell, heart skipping. You glanced at the couch again, imagining him walking in, that quiet, restrained smile tugging at his lips, and you pressing yourself into him until he could breathe nothing but you.
Your fingers brushed over the blankets once more, smoothing them as though by magic you could transmit all the longing you’d carried through the day. Both of you, you knew, were dangerously close to the same thought: you’d been apart too long, and tonight would make up for every hour.
The moment he walked through that door…you’d never want to let go.
Once the studio felt just right, you slipped quietly out, making your way to Rafayel’s bedroom. The familiar scent of him lingered faintly in the air, a mix of sea salt and something uniquely him, and it made your chest tighten in the sweetest ache. You opened his dresser drawer and reached for the bottle of his favorite perfume, pressing it lightly to your pulse points. The fragrance wrapped around you instantly, and you closed your eyes, imagining him leaning close enough to inhale it.
Your gaze fell to the sweater he’d left draped over the foot of the bed. You hesitated only a moment before slipping it over your shoulders, the soft fabric falling loosely around you. It was his, but somehow it felt like it had been made to fit you, like a warm hug waiting to be claimed. You tugged the sleeves down over your hands, letting yourself curl into it, imagining him standing in the doorway and catching sight of you like this.
A blush crept over your cheeks at the thought. You pressed your fingertips against the fabric, wishing it was his skin beneath your fingers instead.
You moved to the mirror, brushing a hand through your hair, smoothing it as best you could while sneaking small glances at yourself in his sweater. Every detail — every fold, every soft line of the fabric — made you ache to be close to him. The thought of him walking in, of finally being able to hold him, made your stomach flutter uncontrollably.
The quiet of the studio felt almost unbearable, each second stretching longer than the last, the anticipation of him returning making your chest ache with yearning you could no longer contain.
The sweater hung loosely around you, soft and comforting, and you tugged it just slightly over your hands, feeling closer to him somehow. Just as you were about to give yourself one last once-over in the mirror, your phone buzzed on the dresser.
Rafayel’s name lit up the screen. You swiped to answer, heart racing.
“Finally, cutie,” he said the moment you picked up, voice low and teasing. “This exhibition is sooo boring. Thomas won’t let me leave, and I’m stuck staring at paintings I barely care about.”
You sighed dramatically, leaning against the dresser. “Mm, I know the feeling,” you murmured, playing along. “Work’s been endless too…papers, meetings, deadlines. I barely have time to breathe.”
A soft laugh rumbled through the phone. “Mm, poor thing. You’re so busy suffering without me,” he teased, seaglass eyes sparkling in your imagination. “Sounds unfair.”
“Terribly unfair,” you agreed, feigning exhaustion. “I’ve been counting the hours until I can finally see you again.”
Raf let out a low, affectionate chuckle. “Mm…you’re evil, you know that? Always trying to make me miss you more.”
“I can’t help it,” you murmured, tugging lightly at the edge of the sweater, hiding your excitement. “I just…miss you so much.”
“And I miss you, cutie,” he replied, his voice softening though the teasing lilt never left it. “I’ll be home soon. You should just tell your boss you’ve got an emergency and sneak out early—then we’ll get home at the same time.”
You grinned, warmth rushing through you. “Bad fishie,” you murmured. “Trying to corrupt me with your tactics.”
He chuckled, low and easy, and it sent your heart tumbling. “Corrupting you? Puh-lease. I haven’t even suggested you quit and become my full-time bodyguard. I’m being extremely well-behaved.”
“Mm, sure you are,” you teased back. “Just hurry home. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll actually beat you there.”
He sighed dramatically. “Don’t play with me like that, cutie. If you give me false hope, I might start crying. You won’t even know what to do with all the pearls.”
The two of you lingered in that easy rhythm for a while, trading playful remarks until a faint scolding carried through the receiver — Thomas snapping at him about “hiding in corners and scaring off clients.” You heard Rafayel laugh under his breath, the sound quick and guilty, before you both reluctantly said your goodbyes.
You padded back into the living room, sweater sleeves still tugged over your hands. The room glowed warm with low lamplight, the food laid out just right, pillows fluffed, everything neat in preparation for his return. You smoothed the throw across the couch one last time, nerves fizzing in your chest.
The faint sound of a key turning in the lock made you freeze.
The door opened, and Rafayel stepped inside, loosening his tie, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders. His eyes lifted — and then widened the second they landed on you.
“…Cutie?” His voice was full of disbelief, then blooming into a laugh. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at work.”
You smiled sheepishly, tugging the sweater closer around yourself. “I wanted to surprise you. I missed you too much to wait.”
He blinked, then let out a breathless laugh, dropping his tie onto the nearest chair before crossing the distance in three long strides. “You sneaky girl. I came home early to surprise you.”
You barely had time to respond before he swept you up into his arms, lifting you off your feet as he spun you once. His laughter brushed against your cheek, warm and unguarded, before he kissed you — quick, soft, then again, longer, his smile breaking against your lips.
“My fishie,” you teased when you finally pulled back, forehead resting against his, palms cupping his cheeks. “You’re so hopeless.”
“Hopeless for you, cutie,” he murmured, voice husky as he cradled your face in his hands and kissed you again.
The rest dissolved into warmth — your hands tangled in his hair, his arms wrapped tight around you, both of you laughing against each other’s mouths like you couldn’t get enough, couldn’t believe you were really here, together, at the same time, with all the missing finally soothed in the circle of his arms.
Rafayel barely let you go long enough to kick the door shut. He dropped his coat where it fell and tugged you toward the couch like a man starved, pulling you into his arms the moment he sat.
You went willingly, curling into him, arms looped around his neck, your face buried against the soft warmth of his neck. “I missed you so much, Raf,” you whispered, the words tumbling out as though you couldn’t hold them back. “I thought about you all day. I hate being away from you.”
He laughed quietly, but it cracked in the middle, betraying just how much he’d been missing you too. His arms cinched tight around your waist, and he nuzzled into your hair. “You’re not allowed to say things like that when I’m already this weak for you, cutie. Do you have any idea how close I am to never letting you out of my sight again?”
“Good,” you mumbled stubbornly, tightening your hold on him. “Don’t let me go. Ever.”
He shifted, just enough to look down at you, his eyes bright and intent. “You mean it?”
You gave the tiniest nod, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another, and another, like you couldn’t get enough of him. He laughed against your lips, but every time you leaned in, he met you halfway, greedy for more.
“Mine,” he murmured between kisses, hands stroking up your back, anchoring you close. “All mine. You don’t know what you do to me when you cling like this, cutie.”
“And you don’t know what you do to me,” you countered, cheeks warm, though you refused to let go. You settled yourself more firmly in his lap, arms wound around him tight, practically molded to him. “You came home early and I still feel like I haven’t had enough of you. I don’t think I ever will.”
That earned you another low, helpless laugh, his forehead resting against yours as if he needed the contact as much as he needed air. “We really are hopeless, huh.”
You only smiled, brushing your nose against his.
He kissed you again, and again, and again — both of you tangled so close neither one could tell who was clinging harder, just two hopeless, needy hearts who couldn’t get enough of being exactly where they belonged.
a/n: these 3 ignite the yearner in me i wont lie, i almost did a backflip when i got this request. thank you for your service anon i hope you enjoy <3
Rafayel x MC, fluff/comfort, weighted blanket, established relationship
“What’s this for?”
You look over to see Rafayel curiously poking at the new blanket on your couch that you recently bought. “Why is it so heavy?”
“It’s a weighted blanket. It’s supposed to help with stress and sleep.”
“How?”
“By simulating a hug, I think.”
Rafayel goes quiet, staring at the fabric for a long moment before looking back at you.
“...What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Cutie, why do you need that...” he pauses for dramatic effect, “...when you have me?”
“I mean…” You blink, amused. “You are not a blanket.”
He crosses his arms, leaning back with a huff. “I am much better than a blanket.”
“Oh, I believe it,” you tease, “but you are not sitting on my couch 24/7.”
“Ah, but you see, there are perks to having an artist boyfriend.” He grins suggestively at you. “Unless I’m out of town, you can call me anytime and I will be at your door within the hour. I can write it off as the whims of an eccentric artist—my muse called, and I simply had to go. Which would be the truth, anyway.”
You frown slightly. “But what if you are actually busy?”
“I can be busy, but you are more important,” he says simply, his gaze softening.
Whenever he says things like that, you can feel yourself melting just a little bit more.
“Thomas would want to kill me..” you mumble.
“Oh, please. Thomas owes you so much at this point for the number of events I actually show up to just because of you. He’d probably even make me come check on you so you don’t quit.” He snorts at the thought. “To sweeten the deal, I can even drape myself over you while you walk around the house, just like a blanket. How does that sound?”
The mental image makes you giggle—you can totally see him doing just that.
He smiles at you. “It’s a deal, then? You will call me next time instead of using that blanket? Yeah?”
You chuckle softly. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
————
It was a particularly exhausting and intense mission, and all the fatigue you have accumulated over the past months has officially toppled over. You have pushed yourself a little too far and are now rapidly crashing out.
You excuse yourself to go straight home after the mission instead of going back to the headquarters, but as you make a mess of your apartment, trekking your way inside with water and dirt dripping all over the floor, you think, belatedly, that maybe that wasn't exactly the best idea.
But you really, really wanted to just go home, be alone, curl up on the couch, wrap yourself in a blanket-
Your eyes drift over to the couch and the weighted blanket as you drop off your keys on the kitchen counter.
The next time you feel like you need to use the blanket, you will call me, yeah?
The way Rafayel’s eyes looked when he said that resurfaces in your mind. After pausing a few minutes, you pull out your phone and dial.
“Hi cutie, how may I be of service to you today?” His familiar cheerful voice comes through the phone after a few rings.
This is nice. Your brain says. His voice is nice. Want to listen to it more. Listen to it forever, actually, preferably.
You feel like you are in a trance, your brain glitching and no longer computing.
“Cutie?” His voice now sounds a little concerned.
Sensing his worry and realizing you haven't said a word, you make your increasingly slow brain work a little harder and manage to squeeze out a response.
“Last time you said.. to call you..”
“On my way. You are home, right? 10 minutes. Stay where you are ok?”
You close your eyes, feeling an unexplainable relief wash over you. “...ok”
————
By the time Rafayel steps into your apartment, you are pretty sure you have regressed into a toddler, but you also no longer care. When you feel him approaching, you don’t even lift your head to look, you just reach out and wave your arm, signaling for him to wrap his arms around you.
Immediately, he does.
His scent surrounds you. He is warm, and you sigh contently, not at all aware that it's because you are freezing cold from being soaked in the rain for most of the day. It’s making Rafayel's worried frown deepen even more where you can’t see.
“This is nice… You are so warm. I like this…” you whisper, a soft, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you sink deeper into his arms.
“...Miss Hunter, I did not realize you are even more deadly when you are exhausted out of your mind.”
You hum and giggle, moving to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.
“...is nice... it feels like home...”
That shakes him, but you don't notice.
He tries to gather himself back up to speak, trying to recover.
“I am very jealous of your blankets of the past right now.”
“Don't be.. you are my blanket now. My personal nice smelling.. nice sounding.. nice looking blanket…”
“I would laugh right now if I am not so worried. Why do you sound like you are drunk?”
You giggle again and let your head drop on his shoulder, your breath begins to slow and level out as you completely relax into him.
“No, wait, don't fall asleep yet.” He shifts as he feels you settling, his voice picking up a touch of urgency. “Let's get you cleaned up first.”
“No…. No clean up… want to stay like this…” You protest with a frown, your eyes remaining closed as you huddle closer to him.
“Come on, cutie. You are dripping all over the sofa. You are going to get a cold like this.”
“Nooo...” you protest again weakly. “Blanket doesn't ask to be cleaned up... blanket stays...”
He lets out a soft, helpless laugh. “Well, this blanket is going to help clean you up without you needing to do anything. A nice warm bath, including drying you up, putting you in fresh pajamas... the works. What do you say?”
“Hmm... will you keep hugging me?”
“Of course.”
“Ok...”
He lifts you from the couch effortlessly, carrying you toward the bathroom. You hang onto his neck like a koala while he starts to run the warm water.
“Rafayel..?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you..”
You mumble the words just as you doze off to the sound of the running water. For a long time, that’s the only sound in the room—the sound of running water, your steady breathing, and his uneven ones.
Rafayel’s hand, which was testing the water temperature, is completely still. He stays like that for a while before letting out a long, low, exasperated sigh.
“That was absolutely cheating cutie…”
He leans down and kisses your forehead, you already fast asleep.
There’s just something about Zayne seeing you in lingerie that you didn’t expect.
I headcanon that Zayne isn't the type to outright buy you lingerie at the beginning of your relationship, buuuut one time when you were both getting intimate, he noticed you wearing a matching sky-blue set underneath your cream pajamas. It wasn't anything too fancy, just a light-colored bra that sported a tiny white satin bow at the center of the material and matching panties adorned with white polka dots. You’d noticed the visible blush that covered his ears, with his cheeks dusted in a similar pink as his eyes slowly raked over the fabric covering you with his lips parted, all the while his fingers traced the curve of your tits and landed on the white satin bow. “You are breathtaking, my love. And this fabric only serves to heighten your beauty.” He’d whisper, his voice cracking.
Loves, loves, loooves those sheer-fabric babydoll tops where he can just almost see your beautiful skin underneath.
Zayne's usually composed brain would short-circuit when you wear something backless, preferably something with intricate designs at the back so that he can take his own sweet time unwrapping you, even though he’d be getting impatient under his slacks. As a surgeon, he’d use clinical precision with each clip and hook, savoring the time taken to undress you. The fact that he can appreciate you like this by stepping out of line (in his words) is so fucking addictive to him.
Zayne would love those panties that open right in the crotch area so that he could snap the fabric open himself. But before that, he’d grin up at you smugly from between your legs, green eyes twinkling as he leans down between your thighs to snap the fabric open with his teeth. Just to be a tease, he’d blow cool air using his Evol from his lips right at your entrance, making you arch your back at the temperature difference. “This is the perfect remedy for me to chase away my exhaustion.”
When you surprise Zayne with a new set you’d just bought, an icy blue lingerie set that is decorated with little silver snowflakes, he’d just stand in the doorway, dumbfounded and in awe. “I wonder how long you were planning to pull this stunt on me." He’d whisper, stalking towards you slowly as he takes the ethereal sight of his love in front of him, thanking his lucky stars he gets to have you like this.
There’s a time you’re both browsing at the mall and happen to stop by a store that showcases a model wearing a powder-blue babydoll top, making your eyes crinkle in excitement. You clasp your hands and nudge Zayne on the elbow playfully, only for him to revert his already blushing gaze from the mannequin, as he couldn't help but picture you in it. “What do you think?” You’d ask, only for him to clear his throat and adjust his tie to admit lowly, “Well, I wouldn't be opposed to it.” Next thing you know, you’re walking out of the store with a little white bag and Zayne tucking his wallet into his pocket.
He’d also definitely be the type to initiate roleplay when you sit on the edge of the bed wearing the same powder-blue babydoll top he bought for you, legs spread apart so that Zayne can get the full view of the tantalizing dessert that’s waiting for him. After all, he was a man who favored sweetness, on the tongue and otherwise. “After conducting a preliminary visual analysis, it seems my patient requires a more hands-on demonstration.”
Zayne would also be the type to have you sit on top of him and grind down his hardening cock while you're wearing a silk camisole in a soft cloud-blue. While his hands massage the soft plush of your ass, an excuse he brought up just to help relieve your tension (or so he says), he’d reach up to your shoulder and take the strap of the camisole between his teeth to tug it down your arm as he whispers, “Is this what you wanted?” He’d look up at you with the most earnest eyes ever, holding you with fervor like you might freeze away from his grasp again.
You’ve seen those big floofy robes that have feathers at the sleeves and the base of the robe, yeah? If you’d be walking around the house wearing one of those, Zayne would just subtly eye you as you walk around, not saying anything just yet. But when you reach the kitchen to get a glass of water, you’d hear the soft shut of a laptop before he walks towards you. “I see that you’ve begun upgrading your wardrobe since our last…encounter.” He’d stop right in front of you before swiftly placing you on the kitchen counter, glass long forgotten. He’d absolutely devour the act of spreading the robe apart slowly to reveal your bare legs to him, relishing the way the feathers feel on the tips of his fingers.
I think Zayne would enjoy one of those bras that snap right in the middle, for easier access, of course. There’s a time when Zayne gets needy for you after a long night at the Akso Hospital’s gala dinner. He gets impatient and can’t wait till he gets home because you’re dressed like temptation itself. His knuckles get white as he grips the steering wheel until he decides to stop right at the side of the road. With one swift movement, he unclasps his seatbelt and reaches for you, the dress you were wearing that night just taunting him to his limit. “Forgive me, my love, I can’t seem to wait anymore.” He’d pant as he reaches forward to rid you of your dress, only for his eyes to slightly widen as he sees a small metal clasp nestled perfectly between your tits. When he snaps it open, his pupils dilate, and his lips part like a starved man that just found water. “This is…an excellent little device.” He’d latch his mouth to your tit immediately, groaning when you thread your fingers in his hair to keep him there.
Zayne loves it when you get more comfortable around him and at home. While Zayne is busy reading his book before bed, he notices you getting into bed from the corner of his eye, wearing a light denim-colored slip dress that reaches your thighs. As you get into bed, the dress rides up your thigh and rests just barely under your ass. While it wasn't intentional at all, Zayne can’t help but shut his book immediately, turning around to curve his body behind yours to spoon you. He’d place his palm right behind your knee and slide it up veeeery slowly across the plush of your thigh, squeezing it gently before sliding up the slip dress to uncover your ass. Oh, and he’d let out a soft moan into your ears when he discovers you're wearing the cutest white thongs underneath. You’d whimper as he squeezes your ass before whispering in your ear, “I’m starting to think…you’re doing this on purpose.”
One night after a grueling day at work, Zayne would offer you a massage to help relax your muscles. After you shower, you slip into a short pastel-blue silk robe, making Zayne pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers because he knows he wouldn't be able to maintain his composure around you. But Zayne is a professional, renowned cardiac surgeon; he can maintain his composure in the most critical situations. Unfortunately…not around you. Because it's you. Regardless, he puts your comfort first and settles on your side and begins executing his massaging techniques, feeling the knots in each of your muscle groups relax in record time. You can’t help but let out little moans at how comforting it all feels, shutting your eyes and relaxing your body as you allow yourself to be taken care of by Zayne, who seems to be treasuring each of the heavenly sounds you make. All of a sudden, you’d feel something cold settle on your skin. Opening your eyes, you’d start to see little snowflakes fall around you and frost settle on your silk robe and your skin. “Zayne, your Evol…” You’d whisper, looking up at him with concern. “Apologies. My condition…” He trails off, bringing your palm to cup his cheek. He leans into the curve of your palm before slowly whispering. “However, there are certain things we can do to raise our body temperature.”
A.N: Some Zayne lingerie hcs that were loooong coming. Thank you for trying this cookie!
Credits to @cursed-carmine, @pixopix for the div!♡
CW: Smut. Oral. Squirting. Use of toys. They cum untouched. 🔞 MDNI🔞
Part 2: Caleb/Zayne/Sylus
Part 1: Xavier/Rafayel
Edited repost from my old account (Applecaviar)
He likes to watch and he doesn't miss a beat. He’s surgical with it, cruel in his precision, as he presses the humming tip of the vibrator back against your clit, making you lose the ability to think in coherent sentences.
"Oh fu... Unghh... Cay... "
"Look at you," his voice drops into that low monotone that usually signals he’s losing his grip on his restraint. "So greedy."
Then comes the warmth. A wet, heavy splash of his saliva hitting your cunt. It’s almost insulting how much you crave that bit of dominance, your walls clamping shut in anticipation of him.
Two fingers. Then three. He doesn't ease in, he drives them deep, stretching you, filling the hollow ache that’s been screaming for him since he walked through the door.
"God..."
Your voice breaks, sounding foreign to your own ears pitched higher, wetter, ruined. You're fisting the expensive silk sheets, knuckles turning white, trying to anchor yourself to reality while he systematically dismantles it.
He knows exactly where to hook, how to curve, finding that singular nerve that turns your bones to liquid.
"You like it like this, don't you, baby? You like it when I play with you like this?"
"Yes... yes, Caleb..." you moan, the words coming out wanton and breathless. Your head thrashes against the pillow, vision blurring as the pleasure builds into a mounting tension that feels like it might actually snap you in two.
Desperation takes the wheel. You're moving on your own now, driven by the need to bridge the gap between the toy and his flesh. You begin to grind your hips frantically against his hand, fucking yourself shamelessly on his fingers. Each thrust of your pelvis forces him deeper into you, chasing a climax that feels like it's standing just an inch out of reach.
And he loves this. He loves seeing you lose every ounce of control, knowing that the only reason you're falling apart is because he's the one pulling the strings.
Underneath the layers of his commander persona, Caleb is a mess of restraint held together by sheer willpower. Right now, that willpower is fraying. As he watches you grind yourself senseless against his hand, his own hips press heavily into the mattress, fighting the agonizing, pulsing throb of his cock.
His thumb finds the switch on the vibrator, clicking it up to the highest setting. A frantic hum that turns the sensation against your clit into blinding electricity. You’re losing it. You’re genuinely losing your goddamn mind.
"Fuck... I'm gonna cum, like everywhere!" your words sound more like a sob than actual speech.
Your hips are jerking in helpless spasms, trying to chase the peak, but just as the first wave of the orgasm hits Caleb yanks the toy away. You’re left gasping, sobbing at the void where the pleasure used to be.
But he doesn't let you linger in the wreckage for long.
With a strength that reminds you he's a trained soldier, he hauls you off the bed. You feel light, dizzy, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as he moves you across the room. Before you can even process the shift in scenery, he pins you against the cool, solid expanse of the wall.
Then, he sinks to his knees.
It’s a position of supposed worship, but the way he handles you feels far more dominant. His hands clamp onto the backs of your thighs, hoisting them up and spreading you wide. He hooks one of your legs over each of his broad shoulders, leaving you completely open, stark naked and defenseless before him. You’ve never felt more exposed, more his.
He looks up at you, and for a heartbeat, your boyfriend is gone, replaced by something far older and hungrier. His gaze is heavy, hooded, and terrifyingly focused.
"Squirt down my throat, Pips," the command vibrating in his chest it’s an order from a man who expects absolute surrender. "Give me every last drop."
His lips seal around your pretty clit while his tongue swirls and flicks with a rhythm that targets every nerve ending he’s spent the last ten minutes tormenting.
Even when you drift somewhere past the realm of actual consciousness, Caleb refuses to let you slip away. His Evol holds your trembling thighs firmly over his shoulders while his mouth works magic on your clit.
His fingers find their way back inside you, sliding into your drenched heat and hitting your G spot dead on.
"Oh my god, oh my god!" the words are just ragged stabs of sound, repeated like a mantra.
An overwhelming wave of release floods downward, and Caleb meets it with hunger, swallowing every precious drop.
Thanks to his gravity you aren't even allowed to slump to the floor, he keeps you suspended, pinned against the wall, forcing you to endure the beautiful agony of the aftershocks.
Eventually, the world stops spinning. Slowly and carefully he eases you down until you're straddling his lap on the cool expanse of the hardwood floor. Your chest is heaving, lungs burning as you fight to reclaim your breath.
Caleb rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut "I haven't cum in my pants since..." He pauses, letting out a shaky, incredulous laugh that sounds more like a groan. "... you've reduced me to a fucking teenager again. Leaking in my boxers like a kid back in high school."
Your curiosity wins out over your exhaustion. Glancing down, you notice the darkened patch blooming on the fabric of his boxers, damp and heavy.
"The way you moaned my name just..." He opens his eyes, the violet depths clouded with a heady mixture of lust and adoration. "Fuck, Princess... say it again."
A wicked, sleepy little grin pulls at your lips. Oh, he wants to play? Fine. If he wants to be teased, you'll give him exactly what he's asking for.
You lean in, tilting your head so your lips graze the shell of his ear. You let your breath hitch, mimicking that desperate, high pitched whine you make when he's buried deep inside you.
"...Caleb..."
You drag his name out, turning it into a soft, melodic sob of longing. To seal the deal, your tongue darts out to trace the curve of his lobe before giving it a playful, sharp nip. A shudder wracks his body, and you can feel his cock twitch, straining hard against your thigh.
As soon as your hand cups the hot, hard length of his cock through his boxers, he moves. He rises in one powerful surge, hauling you up with him so your bodies crash together, ribcage to ribcage, heart to heart.
"Oh, you asked for it," he rasps, his grip tightening on your waist "Don't expect me to be gentle now."
Across the mahogany expanse of the desk, Zayne looks entirely too composed. His posture is perfect, broad shoulders framed by the dim lamp light, looking every bit the professional cardiac surgeon even though he’s currently playing god with your nervous system.
"Oh Zayne, please, I can't... It's too much!" you whimper, squirming uncomfortably in the plush office chair while the vibrator nestled in your underwear pulses relentlessly.
Zayne doesn't move quickly. Why would he? He thrives in the slow burn. His gaze remains fixed on the monitor for a heartbeat longer a calculated bit of torture before those hazel eyes finally drift toward you. They aren't warm, exactly, they're sharp, clinical yet burning with a quiet sort of hunger that makes your stomach flip more than the vibrations ever could.
“Too much?” He repeats the phrase softly, testing the weight of it. An amused huff escapes him, a sound between a chuckle and a sigh. To anyone else, he might seem indifferent, but you can see the slight tightening in his jaw, the sign that he’s enjoying this far more than a ‘serious’ man should. “That’s a subjective term. Biologically speaking, your nervous system is simply responding to intense stimuli. You aren't breaking, you're merely... peaking.”
He leans back, the leather of his chair creaking softly. Instead of turning the device off, he lets his thumb linger on the remote, hovering near the dial like a predator deciding whether to strike or wait.
“Besides,” he adds, his tone shifting into something softer, more intimate, though no less commanding. “A doctor wouldn't recommend stopping halfway through a treatment. We need to reach the conclusion, don't we?”
With a sudden movement, he clicks the remote again. This time he slams the intensity to the highest setting.
“Now,” he commands, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and unwavering. “Don't fight it. Show me exactly how much you can endure.”
"Nonononon... fuuuuuck"
He looks down at the remote and you flinch, expecting another punishing wave of vibrations but the humming suddenly dies. Silence crashes into the room, leaving you feeling strangely hollow and desperately unfinished. You lurch forward slightly, gasping, expecting something, but nothing comes.
"I'm just... too sensitive...I can't... I won't..."
"Won't what, exactly?"
Zayne’s voice cuts through your haze, calm and infuriatingly steady. You watch him rise from his chair, his movements possessing that effortless grace of someone used to being in total control. He moves around the desk, closing the distance between you with slow strides that make your heart hammer against your ribs.
"Won't tease me quite so much next time?" he asks, finishing your thought with a teasing lilt. He reaches down, hooking a single finger under your chin to tilt your face up, forcing you to drown in his intense stare. "Or perhaps you mean you won't act like such a little brat, trying to push me right to the edge of my self control?"
His confidence makes your head spin. As he speaks, his thumb begins a slow graze along the curve of your bottom lip. You can’t help it, you let out a shuddering exhale, mouth parting involuntarily. Seizing the moment, he slides his thumb inside, filling the space. Without really thinking, driven by nothing but pure instinct you wrap your lips around him, sucking gently.
"There she is. My good girl." he watches you, mesmerized by your surrender "What a beautiful little mouth you have. Makes me wonder..."
He kneels before you and leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear, hot and dangerously intimate. "Exactly how many more times do you think we can do this tonight? How many peaks before you're completely ruined?"
Before you can even process the threat, his free hand is sliding underneath the hem of your skirt. His fingertips trace a path up your inner thigh, light as a feather but searing like ice. You're shamelessly soaked, your lace panties sticking stubbornly to your pussy.
"Consider these mine now," he says before he hooks his fingers into the waistband and drags your damp undies down. He doesn't set them aside, he stuffs them right into the pocket of his lab coat "You are not getting them back tonight. They belong to me."
Suddenly, his grip tightens on your hips. He hauls you forward, dragging you to the very edge of the chair and forcing your knees wide. The sudden rush of cool office air hitting your heated skin makes you jump,.
"Zayne, please..." you whine, but the protest dies in your throat, replaced by a sharp gasp when his fingers find you.
"Please what?"
He’s being cruel. His touch becoming agonizingly light, mere circles dancing around your clit, teasing the peak without quite delivering the blow.
"I... I need..." You’re gasping now, the words tripping over one another in a clumsy rush. All the pretenses are gone. "I need you, Zayne. Fuck me. Please!"
"That's my girl," Zayne coos and rewards your pathetic desperation with a sudden thrust of two fingers, burying them knuckles deep into your cunt. "Absolutely perfect.”
He lingers there for a heartbeat, watching your eyes glaze over before whispering “Just one more.”
With practiced, dominant ease, he hauls one of your legs up over his shoulder and suddenly there’s no space left between you. His mouth finds you, hot and impossibly wet, and the world simply dissolves.
"Zaynie, please!" You’re sobbing his name now, your fingers tangling blindly in his black hair. Part of you wants to shove him away, terrified by the velocity of the pleasure building in your gut, but he’s unrelenting. He’s everywhere.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. Cum for me one more time” his voice is muffled against your slick skin, the literal vibration of his words sending tremors through your entire body.
He’s ruthless, sucking your clit softly, his teeth grazing the nub just enough to send white hot sparks through your nerves while his fingers plunge back inside your fluttering pussy.
“Zayne... I’m gonna... I can’t... you have to... ”
The warning dies in your throat. You don't even finish the sentence before you shatter. You aren't just cumming into his mouth, you're squirting, the force of it splashing across his face in a chaotic, beautiful mess.
Across from you, Zayne lets out a guttural grunt. His entire body stiffens, stomach muscles clenching hard as his body responds to yours. His heavy weight settles, and then he erupts hot, thick spurts of cum soaking through his boxers and darkening the expensive fabric of his slacks in a visible, spreading bloom.
When the haze clears, reality rushes back in. Mortified, you scramble to sit upright, snapping your legs shut “I’m sorry!” you stammer, your face burning hotter than your body. “I tried to warn you, really, I was trying to tell you to pull back but...”
A sound breaks through your apology, a deep chuckle that fills the quiet office.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he sounds delighted, casually wiping the glistening traces of your release from his cheek. He looks at you with a gaze so warm it’s almost sinful. “Do you honestly think I’m complaining?”
He stands up, unabashedly surveying the wreckage. He looks down at the damp, dark patch on his slacks, the undeniable proof of his own release and he looks triumphant. Like he’s just conquered a mountain.
“My hair is a mess, my pants are soaked through, and my face is covered in you,” he says, the grin on his face widening into something truly wicked. “And I’ve never been happier.”
He reaches out, catching your chin to force your eyes up to his. The intensity there is enough to make your knees weak all over again. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Truly.” He leans in, his breath warm against your lips “I can’t wait to do it again... as soon as I give my eighteen year old self his balls back”
"Deeper, kitten. All the way in"
Sylus doesn't move. He just sits there watching the slick friction of the dildo sliding between your trembling thighs. Every slide, every shallow gasp you let out feels like it's happening directly to him. He watches the way your muscles twitch, the way you desperately attempt to swallow the thick plastic.
Breathless, you try to obey. You bear down, straining to accommodate the intrusive stretch, trying to sink the toy deep enough to satisfy the hunger in his eyes. But your body isn't quite cooperating, your walls cling tightly to the silicone, fluttering in a rhythm that fights the very thing you're trying to welcome. It’s a tight, punishing fit.
Instead of pity, however, you find only more heat in his expression. A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, an arrogant curve that tells you exactly how much he enjoys seeing you unraveled.
"Look at you," he muses, watching you squirm through labored breaths. "You always look so pretty when you struggle to take it all."
The comment sends a fresh wave of mortification rolling through you, though it does absolutely nothing to stop the coil of heat tightening in your gut. Being watched like this, stripped of your composure is terrifying.
You bite your lip hard enough to sting and push harder, driven by an irrational need to prove you can handle whatever he demands of you.
"Careful, sweetie," he interrupts, his tone dipping into a mocking sweetness he reserves just for you. "If you get any more desperate to finish, you’re going to ruin my sheets."
You follow his gaze down, realizing with shame that he's right. There’s a darkening patch of moisture spreading across his expensive silk, glistening proof to just how much control you've lost.
"S-sorry..." you stammer, trying to pull yourself together, feeling small and hopelessly undone under his gaze.
He stands and moves toward you, it takes him three strides to bridge the gap "Believe me, sweetie, I wasn't complaining," he murmurs and with the lack of filter he possesses, he adds "I wouldn't mind if you painted every inch of this room in your cum tonight."
He drops down, laying flat on his stomach directly in front of you. Now, he’s mere inches away from the wreckage of your pleasure right where your new toy is stretching your needy pussy to its absolute limit. From this close, he sees everything, the way your swollen lips cling desperately to the silicone, weeping around it with every withdrawal.
He also has a perfect line of sight to your clit. Every time you slide down the swollen, pretty nub peeks out from its little hood like a teased secret.
"You're going to make me cum without me even having to lift a finger," he admits.
You try to find your voice. "Good..." you manage to gasp out, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I remember you being...fuck...very intrigued by the idea of just watching. So...I hope you are liking the show"
"Oh, absolutely. Im going to watch every second," he promises, his gaze never wavering from the wet, glistening friction of the toy. "I want to see the exact moment you break, the second you can't take any more and then I'm going to take over, kitten."
The pressure is building and your vision is blurring at the edges, your entire nervous system feeling like it’s being rewired by pure friction.
You can't help it, you cry out, your voice high and shaky"I'm almost there, Sy!"
"Lie down on the bed. Now."
With limbs that feel like jelly, you scramble back onto the mattress, the slick toy finally sliding free from your overworked cunt. As soon as it's out, a fresh rush of moisture spills from you, trailing a path down the inside of your thigh.
"Perfect. Now, spread your legs for me, let me see exactly what you've done to yourself."
Heat floods your face as you hesitantly peel your thighs apart, exposing your swollen, reddened folds to the cool air. Your clit is pulsing with a heavy ache that demands attention.
"Can I?"
Every cell in your body is vibrating. You aren't even thinking clearly anymore, the politeness has evaporated, replaced by a raw need.
"Please, Sy..." The plea breaks from your throat, "Do whatever the hell you want. Lick it, bite it, tug on it... just please put your mouth on me." You're begging, plain and simple, too far gone to give a damn about dignity.
He doesn't make you wait and settles himself firmly between your trembling thighs. For a heartbeat, all you feel is the ghost of his warm breath brushing against your wet skin, sending shudders racing up your spine.
Then, he begins. Slowly. So agonizingly slowly that you think you might actually die from the suspense. He drags the flat of his tongue up, tracing a line from your opening all the way to the sensitive peak and then he does it again but this time he savors the salt and the sweetness of you before sucking your clit between his lips.
An undignified wail escapes you as your back arches off the sheets. White hot pleasure shoots through your body and your hands fly to his head, fingers tangling desperately in his soft hair.
Your thighs won't stop shaking. You can feel the swell, the mounting pressure, the inevitable crest of an orgasm that’s coming for you like a freight train.
"Don't stop, please don't stop! I'm... I'm..."
One of his fingers hooks inside you, curling precisely against a spongy, sensitive spot that sends your vision blurring.
When the first gush of your release hits, Sylus doesn't flinch. Instead, he opens his mouth wide, covering your spasming cunt completely with his lips. He begins to drink down greedily, tongue lapping up every drop.
Your eyelids are clamped shut, your consciousness narrowing down to the point of contact between his mouth and your core. Your knuckles are white where you’re clutching his hair, tethering yourself to reality while the rest of the world dissolves into static.
Your hands gradually loosen their grip. Your muscles feel heavy and useless, as the final, shivering aftershocks roll lazily through your abdomen.
Sylus pulls back just enough to hover over you. He presses a soft kiss to your lips and lingers there for a heartbeat, simply watching the beautiful ruin of your expression.
Moving purely on instinct, your hand wanders downward, drifting across the expanse of his body until your fingertips meet something warm and damp on the fabric of his trousers. A slow grin spreads across your face as you bring your fingers to your lips, licking them clean, tasting the salt and heat of his premature release.
One of his eyebrows shoots up, a lopsided, amused smirk tugging at his mouth. "What?" he asks, his voice still raspy from the effort. "Is my kitten fond of men who ruin their clothes?"
You shake your head "Not exactly, but do you know how good you'd have to be to make the leader of Onychinus cum in his pants?"
His lips graze yours, his intent shifting from observation to conquest once more.
"Well, If I can reduce a Deepspace Hunter to a quivering, begging mess just by watching... heaven help you when I actually decide to try."
getting prepared for an imperial ball was not for the faint of heart.
thanks to you cutting off the villainess, you were suddenly unable to access any of the riches she had provided for you.
not that you would crawl back to her in any sense. fuck that.
you hated having to rely on her, but when you met up with dawn to formalize the invitation, you hesitantly told her that you didn't have anything to wear for the event. as her guest, it would be shameful if you showed up in anything but the best of the best.
"that won't do!" dawn's lips were turned into a pout, and before you could blink, you were being dragged to every boutique in town to find the perfect dress.
you knew she had the backing of the crown prince, but the price tags on the dresses she brought you left you choking back tears.
"how about this one?" finally, she held up a dress that was relatively cheap compared to the rest. you could afford to pay her back for it if you worked, so you accepted it without hesitation. the dress was bought, and with it, your fate was sealed.
thinking back on it now, you should've known better than to accept a dress in that particular shade of red.
because there was only one person in this world who would ever be drawn to it.
the palace was grand, to put it lightly. marble floors, gold lining almost every wall, luxurious drapes that cost more than five houses in the village. you tried not to stumble on your dress as you walked through, desperately trying to blend in.
in retrospect, being the saintess' plus one was not going to go well for you. but thinking back on dawn's face, you could never deny her even if you wanted to.
thanks to stella's status, you were able to go unseen for a while. you delighted in the drinks and desserts, about to go in for a macaroon when your hand collided with someone else's.
"ah, i'm so sorry-" your gaze flicked up, and your breath stilled.
duke zayne li was never seen much in society, an enigmatic sort of person who stuck to himself. he was also the second male lead in the novel, and even you felt bad for the helpless pining he had for the saintess. but here he stood before you, and you found yourself blanking on what to say.
"it's alright." but you could see the tense lines by his eyes as he tried to offer the sweet to you, "here, you can have it-"
"it's fine!" you blurted, and he stilled, blinking at you. you cleared your throat, shaking your head. "i mean, i've already had a few, you should have it.."
".. thank you." and his lips quirked up just a tad, but you could see the shine in his eyes as he grabbed the macaroon.
that should have been the end of the interaction. but then he looked you over, and there was a flash of recognition in his eyes that you didn't want to see.
".. you're lady stella." it wasn't a question, but you still nodded despite the fact. "i must apologize for my sister. she's been wailing about the spat you two had, and i know it must have been troubling to de- ahem, handle her for so long."
you shrugged it off with a wave of your hand, sighing heavily. "don't worry about it. it's over and done with, isn't it?"
"i suppose that's true." he nods, and there was a glint in his eyes, as if you both had a camaraderie no one else could share. "still, i apologize. i know better than anyone what it's like to be on the end of her.. temper tantrums."
you laughed, and went to say more, but a silence fell over the ballroom that had your eyes shooting forward.
and suddenly, it felt like you had forgotten how to breathe.
because there he stood. not on the cover of the novel, or in the lines of a page, but there in the flesh. stood on the steps to the throne, was none other than sylus qin himself. stood at his side was dawn, fully dressed in the saintess robes.
they looked like the perfect couple.
you couldn't help the way your face heated up even as everyone in the ballroom bowed, heart thudding in your chest as the reality hit you. sure, everything before had shown this world was the novel.
but you still couldn't prepare yourself for seeing the man of your dreams.
as everyone straightened up, sylus began speaking. it was all official talk, a speech introducing the saintess, but you couldn't process a single word. no, your gaze was stuck on him as your heart practically beat out of your chest.
but then you felt another pair of eyes on you, and when you looked to the crown prince's side, you met dawn's gaze across the ballroom, her eyes sparkling as she waved at you.
a glance to your side showed the duke staring at dawn with awe, and you realized belatedly you were involved with the main characters now.
oh no.
what were you about to get into?
it shouldn't have been as terrifying as it was to meet with her again.
but here dawn was, beaming at you as her veil fell around her in waves.
"surprise?" she giggled, her hands reaching to hold onto yours as she squeezed. "i'm sorry for not telling you who i was earlier, but i wasn't allowed to tell anyone. i hope you understand!"
"of course," you smiled, nervous as you shuffled on your feet. you could feel the rest of the party-goers eyes on you, and you hated the feeling of it. "it is an honor to be your plus one, saintess."
"oh goodness," she giggled breathily, shaking her head, "just dawn is fine!" she seemed to notice your tension, because she nodded her head towards the balcony. "do you want some fresh air?"
"please."
so off you went, following her outside. and as you listened to her idle chatter, you couldn't help but smile at how bright she looked against the setting sun. she truly was the protagonist..
"escaping so soon?"
and suddenly, you froze.
sure, you had never heard his voice before, only reading it on the pages. but you would be an idiot to not know who was standing behind you.
turning your head, you saw him. and it took everything in you to not choke on your spit.
he was ethereal. his silver hair gleamed under the lights of the evening, red eyes shining with mirth as he looked between you both. his uniform hugged his frame nicely, the white and gold patterns wrapping him like sin as his red cape billowed behind him.
"oh, sylus!" dawn's voice beside you broke you out of your trance, and you almost threw up as she motioned to you, "this is stella, the lady i was telling you about!"
holy fuck, she was talking to him about you??
you fumbled as you grabbed the skirt of your dress, dropping into a curtsy. "i-it's a pleasure to meet you, your highness-"
"oh please." and he was stepping closer, and closer, and closer, until he stood before you. his gloved hand stretched before you, and you swore you died as you placed your palm in his. he brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as his red eyes bore into you. "the pleasure is all mine, my lady."
oh yeah. you were certainly dead now.
"i just remembered i had something to do!" you didn't miss the mischief in dawn's voice as she backed away from you both, and where the hell was she going?- "i'll be back!"
and suddenly you were left alone on the balcony with the male lead. no pressure!
he had yet to let go of your hand, and you cleared your throat awkwardly, looking away from him. "th-this is- tonight has- have you-"
holy fuck, could you get it together??
but he was chuckling, voice dripping with amusement, and you realized you could certainly never get it together. "have you been enjoying the ball, lady stella?"
oh, how you yearned to hear him say your actual name. but you let out a laugh that cracked your voice, and mentally face palmed. "y-yes! it's.. i-it's nothing like i've been to before."
"is that so?" god, could he stop being so attractive? his thumb brushed over your knuckles, and it took godly strength to not swoon. "you should come more often, then. it would be delightful to have you grace these halls again."
was he.. was he flirting with you??
you could only nod, and he gave you a smile so soft you could collapse. was this how you died in this life? brought to your knees by the man of your dreams?
not that you minded, but..
all you could think of in this moment was dawn. this world was meant for her, wasn't it? what use was dreaming, of acting like you deserved to be in his presence, when the two of them would end up together anyway? it was fated.
and you were nothing but a side-villain, at the end of the day.
you found yourself withdrawing your hand, and his expression faltered ever so slightly. but you were too preoccupied in your thoughts, bringing your hand to your chest as you bowed. "i-it was delightful to meet you, your highness."
and you turned on your heel and ran.
that should have been the end of it. you were never meant to meet him again.
the story should have progressed like usual, and you would be left to a normal life..
at least, that would have been the case, if it weren't for the golden letter sealed with the royal symbol you received in the mail two days later, inviting you to a tea party with the saintess and the crown prince.
Voice messages from you, that they are fond of repeating
Xavier
“I’ll be waiting for you, Xavier!”
A snippet of a voice note you sent him awhile ago, when both of you were assigned to a mission. Xavier’s cut out most of the message to suit his needs, but there’s something… reassuring knowing that you’re waiting for him. You’ll be right there, if he reaches out his hand.
It’s his alarm, your charming voice the only thing forcing his weary form out of bed again. You’re waiting for him. He can imagine your expression, still sleepy but grinning the moment you meet his eyes, waving at him-
Guess he better get going. See you soon, starlight.
Zayne
“I’m home… good night, Zayne.”
A habit that you’ve picked up after many anxious calls from Zayne’s part. After late night hangouts, or missions that drag on into the early night, Zayne can’t ever rest easy without knowing whether you’re at home. Safe. So you started sending him sleepy voice messages to reassure that giant worrier.
But what you don’t know is the fact that he’ll lie on his side, playing that message again and again to soothe the heart trembling within his chest.
You’re safe. At home, probably asleep. Thank goodness.
Rafayel
“I’ll miss you, Rafayel.”
His Magnus opus. His peak era. Rafayel damn near dropped off his ladder and landed face-full into his paint bucket the first time he received this message. It was after he informed you about some business trip, and you sent that in response.
Rafayel’s waited forever, for you. Over this lifetime and many others. He’s never once regretted loving you, but he honestly was never really sure what you felt. But this one voice message? Your lovely words, your beautiful voice saying that you miss him?????
He loves you. And, unlike a certain forgetful hunter, Rafayel would never keep you waiting.
Sylus
“Thank you… Sylus.”
A hesitant, almost shy thank you from your lips, after he stepped in to help you with something or another. He’s fond of listening to those words, the ghost of a smirk dancing across his lips. Unlike the lip service others tend to pay him, this was sincere. A sincere, rather awkward gesture of gratitude for him.
Him and him alone. There’s a certain joy and pride in that, in being needed by his kitten, his beloved. His finger tends to curve, stroking your profile picture gently as those words replay in his ears.
Makes a dragon want to spoil you, darling.
Caleb
“See you! Same time tomorrow, Caleb!”
This message was sent after a hangout between both of you. He remembers winning you a big apple plushie, and the way you were clutching its little hands rather sadly when he walked you back home. If he had reached out then, held your hand instead… would you let him?
These thoughts haunt him, even now in Skyhaven. In this world above the clouds, full of routine and discipline, Caleb misses the carefree days when both of you ran through the town, laughing away. He misses you, even more than you know.
So he replays this message, dreaming of a tomorrow with you.
I'm having thoughts on how you meet the LADs LIs in a modern AU, no evols, no past lives, no mysterious connections to each other, just regular meet-cutes (or perhaps more like meet-ugly in some cases). Please note MC is not a separate character in this scenario, it’s just you and the boys (*^▽^*) Enjoy~
Xavier
You meet Xavier on a blind date your friend set up for you at a hotpot place. It’s been a while since you’ve been out with anyone—thus your friend insisting on you meeting this new guy she’s sure is a perfect fit for you—so you’re a bit nervous and you end up arriving early. Figuring you might as well get the two of you a table, you take a seat while keeping your eyes on the door, anxiously bouncing your leg under the table as you message your date to let him know you’re here.
A man enters, at least 6 feet tall and with a head of blonde hair, which matches the description you were given when this was all set up, so you merrily wave him over. He pauses and seems to look confused for moment—oh God, what if your friend hyped you up too much and now he’s disappointed—but he obligingly comes over and you shove the menu into his hands and usher him to sit down. You pour him some water from the jug on the table as you ask how his journey was, and he replies it was fine, albeit a little stiltedly.
Unfortunately, that makes you even more nervous, and when you’re nervous, you get chatty, like you’re trying to fill an awkward silence before it can form. It’s only the waitress coming over to take your order—which he provides in a soft, smooth voice—that finally gets you to quiet down. There’s a pause after she leaves and you take the moment to apologise for yapping away, explaining that you haven’t been on a date in a while and he’s a lot more handsome than your friend made out, so you’re a little tense.
As you’re nearing the end of this explanation, you get a text pop up on your phone from… your date?
You look up at the man in front of you, who is decidedly not on his phone, and then back down at the message which reads sorry, smth came up, can’t make it.
At this point, the guy across from you is also looking at your phone, and it seems he’s started to put the pieces together himself. You’re not sure you’ve ever been more mortified than when you realise you have effectively forced some poor random man on a date with you. For a while you just stare at him helplessly, as though maybe the truth will un-reveal itself and you can go back to blissful ignorance, until he interrupts by offering to move to a different table.
Looking around, you realise the restaurant has quickly filled up since you arrived, to the point you’re not sure there is another free table, and even if there were, you really don’t think he should be the one to move. You explain as much when you finally come to your senses enough to apologise, offering to pay the bill and leave yourself. After a little back and forth, you eventually decide together that since the order’s been placed you might as well eat while you’re here and you can split the bill later.
Xavier, as you find out his name is, actually turns out to be quite easy to talk to, once you’ve calmed down enough from your mistake to have an actual conversation. It turns out you both like the same comic series as well, and you leave the restaurant with a plan to meet up for lunch again.
Needless to say, you don’t bother trying to rearrange anything with your actual intended date.
Rafayel
You meet Rafayel when you rescue him while working late one night at the University. It’s a Friday and everyone else has long since left to start their weekends but you have a review meeting coming up, and after dealing with some deeply uncooperative cell cultures, you’re grinding to gather as much useable data as you can possibly get. You step out of the lab briefly to grab yourself something with caffeine in it while the centrifuge whirs away, only to stop when you see someone gesticulating wildly while talking loudly into their phone outside the building.
They’re in the courtyard that connects your Biology building and the Art department—why someone had put the two next to each other, you would never know—the very same one with doors that could only be opened via keycard after 6pm and no alternative exit route. You’re just wondering if the young man might be stuck out there when he spots you through the glass door and starts waving at you before pointing at the door’s release button on the inside. Ah, so he is stuck then you think, as you walk over and press it, how long has he been out there?
The doors start to open automatically, and as soon as enough space opens up, the man hurls himself through the gap almost as though he thinks they might change their mind and try to shut him out again. He looks back through the doors like the mere existence of the courtyard is an attack upon his person and asks you if your university makes a regular point of trying to trap its guests. You can only shrug in reply, but he looks put out enough that you feel a bit sorry for him, so you offer him some of the fancy tea and snacks you keep around for when your experiments go to shit and you need some cheering up.
And that’s how you end up entertaining Rafayel, art legend who had been cajoled into doing a guest lecture at your university, in your lab group’s office space over tea at almost 9pm. He regales you with the story of how he’d been kept late by the Dean of the art department talking his ear off, trying to persuade him into taking a fixed-term position, and had then wandered out the wrong exit and ended up in the predicament you’d found him in. You have the sense this venting is much needed, so you let him carry on, offering sympathy when appropriate.
Surprisingly, he then turns the conversation to you and you find yourself prattling away about your research project. You do make something of an effort not to fully nerd out on him, but it’s difficult when he’s a good listener and seems able to pick up on the bits you’re the most passionate about. He manages to wheedle your phone number out of you before he leaves, with the excuse of needing someone to rescue him should he fall victim to the courtyard again—though you struggle to imagine why he’d come back after his first experience with the University.
It catches you rather by surprise then, when you see his name pop up as a new hire in the newsletter that circulates the week after.
Zayne
You meet Zayne while on your way to comfort your friend after a break up. Said break up has been a long time coming—at least, in your opinion as someone who never liked the bastard to begin with—but that doesn’t mean she’s any less upset about it, which is why you step into the elevator of her apartment building with a plastic bag containing a full tub of rocky road ice cream, a box of her favourite truffles and a cheap bottle of wine. You press the button for her floor and then the one to hold the door as you spot a man also walking towards the elevator.
He thanks you politely, reaching the doors in just a few long strides and pressing the button for a different floor before standing on the opposite side to you. The doors close and the elevator starts to rise as you get your phone out to let your friend know you’re here. It’s then that you hear an awful grinding noise and the elevator comes to an abrupt stop, decidedly not at either of your intended floors. For a moment, you hope it’s just stopped to let some other resident of the building in, but several seconds pass with the doors refusing to open and you exchange concerned looks with the only other occupant. It seems, you both agree, that the elevator is stuck.
You do the sensible thing of pressing the call button and alerting the building’s management team to the problem, who promise you they’ll deal with the issue as soon as they can, and you’re then left with the reality of being trapped in an enclosed space with a complete stranger. As you attempt to surreptitiously study the guy, you note that while he’s pretty good-looking and well-dressed, the faint dark lines under his eyes scream of someone who’s had too long of a day to deal with the bullshit of getting stuck in an elevator.
Spreading your old, tired coat on the ground, you sit yourself down and offer the spot next to you to the guy. He initially looks like he’s going to refuse but with a bit of needling, he seats himself next to you with a heavy sigh. Figuring you might as well try to get comfortable, you offer him a handshake and introduce yourself. You learn his name is Zayne, he works as a doctor at the nearby hospital and the only reason he’s in the building is because he planned to pick up something from a colleague before heading home. As your conversation continues, it’s not too difficult to pick up on the fact that he’s not the most extroverted individual in the world, but there’s nothing like being stuck somewhere with no other source of entertainment aside from your nearly dead phone to spur you into keeping the conversation going.
More time passes with no sign of immediate rescue, so you dig the portable cutlery set out from your workbag and offer to split your rapidly melting ice cream with your new elevator buddy. Once you are finally liberated from your shared confinement—a process that takes over two hours in the end—you’re down one tub of ice cream and a half a box of truffles. Zayne offers to compensate you for both, but you’ve grown fond enough of his dry sense of humour that you propose a counter offer: next time he can treat you to some ice cream, ideally in a nicer location than the floor of a broken down elevator.
He accepts.
Sylus
You meet Sylus during a run in with your miserable, cheating ex. It’s been a rough month all in all, trying to stitch together the tattered edges of your life where they’d previously been entangled with another person. As a treat, you decide to take yourself out shopping, a higher end store than you’d usually frequent, but you feel like you’ve earned it by surviving the last four weeks.
Your nice day out is cut short however, when you spot your ex with the sidepiece he’d been seeing behind your back clinging to his arm and sporting a sizeable diamond ring on her left hand. Unfortunately, they spot you before you have time to process properly that the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with is engaged no more than a month after your break up. They approach you and the conversation is as full of petty bullshit as you would expect from the two worst people you know—your ex making sure to mention the expensive honeymoon they’ve got booked after the lavish wedding they’re going to have next spring.
Then the conversation turns to you, and your ex’s new fiancée asks snidely if you’re seeing anyone. It’s obvious from the smug look on her face that she knows the answer is no and something in you just snaps. You’re not thinking straight—you’d never do something like this if you were— when you grab the poor stranger unfortunate enough to be standing close to you and announce him as the new guy you’ve been seeing. All you can tell from your peripheral is that he’s well-dressed and considerably taller than your ex, who always had a bit of a thing about his height.
You see your ex’s expression falter as he looks the guy over and it emboldens you enough that you finally let loose the verbal tirade you wanted to give him the day you found someone else’s nudes on his phone. To say you eviscerate the pair of them would be putting it mildly; by the end of your little speech, half the store has turned to watch and at least one grandmother is clutching at her pearl necklace.
To finish off with the appropriate dramatics, you march away from the pair with your head held high and manage to make it halfway across the shop floor before you realise you’ve dragged the random stranger you grabbed hold of with you. An apology to end all apologies at drawing the poor man into your drama starts to form on your tongue, only to have it wither away the moment you get a proper look at him. The arm you’re hanging onto belongs to one of the most intimidating—and good-looking, but that’s a little beside the point—guys you’ve ever seen.
It’s immediately apparent from his build that the only reason you got this far is because he let you haul him away. And then there’s the way he’s looking at you, like a big cat eyeing up something that wandered into its enclosure, trying to decide whether it’s worth hunting. Suddenly, you are struck by the feeling that you have just done something very, very stupid.
Caleb
You meet Caleb while having the worst day of your life. A failing grade on your latest piece of coursework, your barely acceptable average hanging on by a thread, your best friend for over a decade seems to have decided you’re a poor relation to the new friends she’s made at her own college a city away and you have a rat problem your landlord is refusing to address. In some attempt to try to salvage things, you decide to treat yourself with a beverage from your favourite coffee shop. Do you really have the budget for it? No, but the thought of staying in your shitty rental for the rest of the day is too much to bear.
You go up to counter and order as usual, wincing a little when the number comes up on the till but tapping your card regardless, however it’s when you collect your drink and turn to find your usual seat in the corner that things go horribly wrong. Someone shoulder checks you, hard, and you manage to tip your drink all over yourself as you stagger backwards.
Time seems to freeze for a moment, you can feel the eyes on you, watching as the liquid drips down from your formerly white shirt. Looking down at the contents of your now nearly empty cup, something in you breaks. You start bawling—tears, snot, the works. The arsehole who ran into doesn’t even bother to stop as you burst into hysterics and everyone else seems content to just stare at you like you’re some kind of spectacle.
Then, you feel an arm around your shoulder, guiding you towards a quiet corner at the back of the store as someone takes the cup from your hands and presses a wad of napkins into them instead. You try to thank them through the tears, although you’re not sure anything intelligible comes out and the kind stranger just quietly hushes you in response. They get you to sit down and you look up to see an extremely handsome guy—you think you might have seen him around campus before, although you’re not sure—standing in front of you, blocking the view of you from the rest of the shop with his back.
He lets you cry it out for bit, disappearing only briefly after you’ve started to calm down and coming back with a duplicate of your drink order. That act of kindness is almost enough to make you start back up again, but then he asks what happened and you end up spilling your guts to him. It seems like bad manners to dump all your problems on a stranger, though once you’re done, you do feel more like a person and less like a total walking disaster. He introduces himself as Caleb and he is indeed at the same college as you, just a couple of years ahead. You thank him profusely for his help and try to give him some money for the drink but he waves it off, asking instead if he can borrow your phone quickly. Not seeing any reason to refuse—maybe his has run out of charge, you think—you hand it over and he steps away to make brief call before handing it back to you.
That encounter seems to serve as something of a turning point, as shortly after you say your goodbyes, you receive a message from your landlord promising the rat problem will be dealt with immediately. You also notice that Caleb :) has been added to your contacts list.
A/N: Fun fact, the building thing in Rafayel’s bit sounds made up but is inspired by a genuine set up at one of the Universities I’ve worked at where if you forgot your keycard after hours, you could literally get trapped in a courtyard with no way out other than trying to scale the buildings or calling security. This almost happened to me once and I lived in permanent fear of actually getting stuck out there, so I am passing my trauma onto Raf <3
CW: Smut. Oral. Squirting. Use of toys. They cum untouched. 🔞 MDNI🔞
Since my blog is already getting reported I might as well keep posting nasty smut 🤭.
Part 1: Rafayel/ Xavier
Part2: Caleb/Zayne/ Sylus.
A ragged, choked sound escapes his throat, somewhere between a groan and a sob when you swat his hand away.
"Please, I can't... I need you," he gasps out. He reaches again, fingers twitching towards the pulse of his own arousal, desperate for even a second of relief, but you catch him mid motion again.
"Don't touch, Raf"
His jaw drops just a fraction. A flash of indignant, bratty frustration flickers in his eyes, but it’s instantly drowned by the hunger staring up at you. He looks wrecked.
There’s a hint of the ancient creature he truly is as he watches you settle back against the pillows. Slowly you spread your thighs to offer him the view he’s been starving for.
He lets out a choked noise and collapses to his knees. He hits the mattress with a heavy thud, his head dipping low until he’s hovering just inches from your cunt.
"Please..." he whimpers again. It’s such a pathetic sound coming from someone so devastatingly handsome.
When you hook two fingers into your folds, spreading yourself wide for him, he actually flinches. His breath hitches, a sharp intake of air that whistles through his teeth. He stares, mesmerized, watching the way you glisten in the dim light. Between his legs, his cock pulses visibly, weeping a bead of moisture that mirrors your own readiness. He looks like he might actually combust right there.
Then, you bring out the toy.
The soft, rhythmic hum of the small vibrator cuts through the silence of the room. His gaze tracks the movement of the device, his eyes darting from the buzzing plastic to the way your flesh reacts to the contact. He licks his lips, fighting the impulse to just dive in and devour you.
"You wanted me to use my toy, didn't you?" you tease, the vibration making your voice tremble just a little.
He lets out a breathless laugh, though there isn't a shred of humor in his eyes only a terrifying amount of want. He has to swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively in his throat.
"I did... I do," he confesses, his voice dropping into a honeyed register that vibrates deep in his chest. He might actually lose his fucking mind if he doesn't taste you soon. "Fuck, just look at you... so wet and ready. You're not making this easy, cutie. You're trying to kill me, aren't you? Just to see if a Lemurian can actually die of longing?"
He leans forward, his nose brushing against your clit, inhaling deeply.
"Let me," he pleads, his breath hot and damp against your sensitive skin. "Stop teasing and let me have you."
He’s trapped in a trance, his eyes glued to the way the plastic tip nudges and probes at your entrance, parting the slickness of your folds with agonizing precision.
When he finally breaks eye contact to look up at you, gone is the poised artist, in his place is a man stripped bare by desire, his eyes wide and shimmering with a desperate sort of prayer. He’s begging for permission, waiting for that single nod of approval that will allow him to descend into holy madness.
"I need to feel you cum on my tongue," the words catch in his throat. He sounds half starved. "Then maybe... maybe I can focus enough to watch you fuck yourself with your toy until you cum again."
When you press the humming weight directly against your clit, the reaction is instantaneous. Your spine snaps taut, back arching off the sheets in an involuntary spasm of pleasure. From his vantage point he sees everything, the way your push your breast together, the way your muscles ripple and quiver, and the helpless way your pussy clenches around empty air, searching for something to hold onto.
He loses the battle with his restraint. A groan rips from his chest as his hands fly to your thighs. His long, elegant fingers, usually so delicate when he holds a paintbrush, sink into your soft flesh with bruising force, anchoring you to the bed.
"Oh fuuuck, look at her..." he whispers against your inner thigh "So desperate for stimulation. You need something to fill her up, don't you, cutie?"
The filthiness of the comment is accidental, a byproduct of the fever raging in his blood but it hits exactly where it needs to.
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He doesn’t have the patience for it.
The second you offer the toy to him, glistening with the heat of your body, he takes it into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it, lapping up every trace of you.
His eyes flutter shut, head tilting back as he moans around the toy, his throat working as he swallows. The sheer bliss on his face is a mixture of agony and ecstasy, a Lemurian’s single minded devotion channeled into one singular, overwhelming act.
His playfulness vanishes, replaced by commanding strength.
His hands slide upward, abandoning your thighs to hook firmly into the meat of your ass. With a sudden, decisive tug, he hauls your hips forward, dragging your pussy flush against his face. He waits until you plunge the toy deep inside yourself, a wet, sliding sound that makes his eyes snap open, blown wide and glazed, before he dives in.
Your fingers tangle blindly in his soft hair, pulling him closer, demanding more, and he answers with a fervor that feels sinful. He follows your lead perfectly, his tongue sweeping broad and flat across your soaking slit before narrowing to a torturous swirl around your engorged clit. Between the relentless, mechanical hum of the toy and the wet flick of his tongue, the world starts to blur into a smear of static and heat. You’re teetering, precariously perched on the precipice of a total sensory meltdown.
"Raf... Oh... my... Just like that..." you choke out, the words barely recognizable.
He grins against your skin when he feels your walls flutter, clamping spasmodically around the vibrating intruder.
Then, he goes for the kill.
He latches onto your clit, suckling with demanding pressure, while simultaneously using his hand to shove the vibrator as deep as your anatomy will allow.
Your body goes rigid the moment you break. A warm rush of arousal gushes from you, a release that floods his mouth and splashes across his cheeks and chin, drenching him in your sweetness.
His eyes roll back into his head, showing only the whites in a moment of ecstatic delirium. His cock pulses, spurting thick, hot ropes of cum that splatter across the sheets.
Eventually, the tremors subside. Moving with a languid, post coital heaviness, Rafayel carefully slides the toy out of your still twitching core. He doesn't toss it away immediately, instead, he brings the slick device to his lips, reverently sucking the last lingering traces of you from the silicone before finally letting it clatter unceremoniously onto the floor.
You lie there, limbs heavy and brain turned to mush, staring at the ceiling. "Raf... that was... easily one of the best orgasms of my entire life" you breathe, your own voice sounding far away.
"Yeah," he mumbles "Mine too."
You blink, turning your head to look at him. "...What?"
A furious, crimson blush sweeps up his neck and floods his face, reaching the tips of his ears. He avoids your eyes, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck with a trembling hand.
"I said what I said!" he huffs "God, don't look at me like that! I came like a horny teenager just from eating you out. Pathetic, yeah?"
It took a heartbeat maybe two for the image to actually register in his brain. There you were, flushed and breathless, straddling a thick slab of silicone, the wet thwack of the toy meeting your skin echoed off the walls, a sound that should have been erotic but felt like a direct insult to his pride.
Every time you slid down, burying yourself deep, a fresh wave of irrational, stinging jealousy flared in his gut. Why was that object getting the best version of you? Why did it get to feel the pulse of your pussy clenching around it?
"You wanted to watch me use the toy," you managed to pant out, your voice strained and heady with heat. "I'm doing exactly what you asked..."
Xavier didn't speak, he couldn't. His jaw was clamped shut so tight it ached, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the mattress. Watching the way your muscles bunched and released, it was too beautiful. Too frustratingly not him.
"Holy fuck..." The whisper escaped him, ragged and stripped of all that usual composed grace.
"Xavie... I'm gonna cum."
In his mind, he saw it happening the way your eyes would roll back, the way your body would go taut and spill itself all over that plastic toy. And suddenly, he couldn't stand another second of being a spectator. Being sidelined in his own damn room.
Before you could finish the descent, he moved. Large, calloused hands clamped onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave a mark. With one forceful yank, he hauled you off the toy, breaking the suction with a wet pop that made his blood roar in his ears.
He tumbled you backward onto the mattress, his body following yours instantly, caging you in.
"No... you're not," his eyes were burning with a terrifying sort of focus. "Don't you dare give that feeling to anything else. Not on that thing. You have me right here."
Your laugh was airy, half delirious from the sudden loss of friction "You know... that thing can make me cum in a minute, flat.”
A lopsided smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned down, his nose brushing yours, his scent, something clean like rain and expensive cashmere, flooding your senses.
"Fifty nine seconds, bunny," he promised as his hand slid down to find exactly where you were already aching. "Watch me."
There was no gentleness in the way he took you. Gentleness was for the daylight hours, for the moments when he was pretending to be just your coworker. Right now? He was hungry.
His hands forced your legs open "Let me eat, my star" he murmured against your skin before he descended.
When his tongue first made contact, dragging a slow, deliberate stripe from the bottom of your slit upward, you nearly jumped off the bed.
"Oh god, Xavie!"
The moment he found your clit the world outside his bedroom ceased to exist. There was no Linkon City, no Wanderers, no looming shadows of a forgotten past. There was only the weight of his hands and the pressure of his lips. When he finally took you in, sucking firmly, drawing you deep into the warmth of his mouth, your brain simply short circuited.
It was as if he knew the exact topography of your pleasure, every nerve ending mapped out in his mind.
Your vision fractured into white sparks, dancing behind your eyelids as he intensified the assault.
His hands moved, palms slapping against the underside of your cheeks before his fingers dug deep into your ass, hauling your hips downward. He needed you closer. He wanted to drown out the rest of the world and replace every sensation you’ve ever known with the rhythm of his tongue and the weight of his devotion.
As you bucked blindly, your hips searching for a friction that was driving you toward the precipice, Xavier felt himself coming undone. His cock was rock hard between his thighs, weeping pre cum against his underwear, jerking in sync with the tremors racking your body.
He was chasing your peak, determined to hunt it down and capture it, because as long as you were screaming his name, he knew that you weren't thinking about anyone else.
Without a single word of warning, his fingers long and steady plunged deep into your center. Curling. Perfect.
He found that spot, hooking his finger with calculated pressure that sent a lightning bolt straight to your brain. He groaned directly against your swollen clit and it was the final shove you needed. The cliff disappeared, replaced by a plummet into pure ecstasy.
"Oh my god, yes!"
Your hands moved to his hair, anchoring yourself to earth, knuckles white as you gripped his locks, oblivious to whether you were being too rough. In that moment you didn't care.
His fingers kept moving, stroking that perfect spot over and over again until slickness gushed forth, coating his lips and soaking the tangled sheets beneath you in a warm, heady rush.
That was the thing that broke him. The taste, the wet heat, the way you moaned his name over and over again, it all crashed together. His hips bucked once against the mattress, then again, and thick ropes of cum pulsed out into his pants without a single touch. Sticky warmth spread fast, clinging to his skin, making the fabric heavy and uncomfortable. "Fuck," he gasped, voice cracking a little with surprise because this wasn't the plan. Not at all.
You wiped a stray tear of pleasure from your eye, a tired but triumphant smirk dancing on your lips. Despite the fact that your limbs felt like jelly, you couldn't resist. "That was definitely more than a minute, Xav"
He lifted his head slowly, hair messy from your grip, eyes still hazy but sharp when they caught yours.
"Yeah, well," he countered, leaning in to nip playfully at your inner thigh, his grin widening. "I made you squirt all over my face. That counts as an extra point, doesn't it? So, mathematically speaking..." He paused, pressing a lingering, heated kiss to your clit "... I win."
