ʳᵃᵉ

18| 𝙇𝘼𝘿𝙨 𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 & 𝙯𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 (●’◡’●)ﾉ

[raebelovedbride]

About me!

Rae | 8teen | 🇮🇳🇿🇦

I'm not really a writer, though I do have alot of ideas that people may feel free to use (tag me if you do :} )

I'm dyslexic. Hence why I don't write because it becomes difficult for me.

I can draw tho!! That's fun :>

Hyperfixations

Love and deepspace

strawberry themed items.

Anime?? (that's abit of a wide spectrum)

Clowns.

Stars.

[paperlotus613]

🔞(?)🧵 | Lost Woods | (yandere) Caleb 🍎 #JUNELEB ↻+✎ᝰ appreciated

“Camping?” you ask unconvinced. “Yep! Just you and me for an entire weekend. No phones, no distractions, no random guys trying to steal you from me.” “You’re still upset about my date with my co-worker, huh?”

“I’m not upset, I just can't believe you actually went out with him,” he says quietly, before putting on a cheerful tone again. “Sooo~ I'm just stealing you back for the weekend. Come on, Pips, it'll be fun. Marshmallows, campfires, stargazing—”

“Or we could stay home, away from bugs and creepy forests.” “Why? Scared of being alone with me in the dark?” Caleb grins. “Of course not. I just…, yeah, whatever, let’s go,” you give in since Caleb is really enthusiastic about this.

When you arrive, you're surprised. Fairy lights hang between the trees, surrounding a spacious, fully-equipped tent. “You really went all out, hm?” “Oh? Suddenly you like the wilderness? Yeah, I've protected you from all the bugs... and wolves.” “WOLVES?” you gasp in horror. “Awoooooo~~“ Caleb howls theatrically. “Caleb…” He laughs, “No wolves. I checked.”

Soon the campfire is lit, marshmallow are being roasted, Caleb shows off his guitar skills with the acoustic guitar he brought along. Between the music, the crackling campfire, and the distant chirping of crickets, the campsite feels almost magical.

Still, surrounded by nothing but darkness and trees, you can't deny it's a little creepy. “Are you... scared?” Caleb asks, clearly more amused than concerned. “No...,” you answer, though not very convincingly. “Then maybe I should tell you a horror story. You know, just to change that.” “Try me!” “Oh-ho. Someone's feeling brave tonight. Let’s see....”

With a grin, Caleb launches into a horror story that quickly turns out to be the scariest thing you've ever heard. It doesn't help that the setting is a forest eerily similar to the one you're currently sitting in. As the campfire dies down and the two of you crawl into the tent to sleep, every distant sound outside seems louder than before, the snapping twig, rustling leaves, the wind moving through the trees. “You're awfully close to me for someone who says she isn't scared,” Caleb says with a knowing grin. “Okay??” you pout and scoot away, “I'll move then!! Better?” To your surprise, Caleb lets you. “Good. I need to check something outside anyway. You'll be okay alone for a minute, right?” “YOU’RE LEAVING ME??” “Just a minute.” You hear him moving around outside for a few moments. Then silence. “Caleb?” No answer. “Caleb, stop messing around.” Nothing. A knot forms in your stomach. “Okay, this isn't funny anymore… Caleb?” Still no response.

Just as you're about to unzip the tent, footsteps approach from outside. The zipper slides open: It's Caleb. Relief hits you so hard that you immediately burst into tears. “Aww, Pips,” Caleb pats your head, “Were you really that scared without me?” “How far did you go?!” „Not far! I’ve heard you call my name. “ "What? You... heard me?” "Of course as I said, I wasn’t that far.” "Then… why didn't you answer?" The corner of Caleb's mouth curled upward in a faint smirk. It wasn't his usual teasing grin, there was something different about it, something that made a chill creep down your spine. “Because,” he says while brushing a tear from your cheek, “you sound so cute when you're scared.” You stare at him, not knowing what to respond.

“You know, I picked a pretty remote spot,” his arm slides around your waist. “No signal. No other campers. No trails nearby.” Something about the satisfaction in his voice makes your stomach flip. “Just you and me.” His words didn’t sound romantic, they sounded… threatening. Caleb's lips curve into a small smile. “Isn't that nice?”

Before you can answer, he pulls you closer against his chest. “You think your co-worker would've gone through this much effort just for one weekend alone with you?” He brushes a strand of hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear.

“You know, if you screamed out here,” he says quietly, “nobody would hear you.” His hand tilts your chin up. “Look at me.” His tone is gentle, yet it terrifies you. You meet his eyes and immediately wish you hadn't. The look on his face is unfamiliar, for the first time, Caleb genuinely scares you.

“Do you know how long I've waited for you to look at me like that?” His thumb strokes your jaw before he lowers you onto your back and begins to undress you, watching you shiver from the cold as you lie naked on the floor of the tent. “And you're going to fill this entire forest with my name, you hear me?”

[alieinthemorning]

Taking Care of Kitten [Sylus]

Content: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Depression, Comfort, Sylus POVs, Cuddles & Snuggles, Literal Sleeping Together, Soft Sylus, Self-Indulgent, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

You had disappeared from his sight. Which, was a usual occurrence for you. You'd dive deep into your work, not coming up for air until it was completed. But this silence stretched far further that was he was used to—what he was comfortable with. He was fine with keeping his distance until he was called upon.

But he couldn't wait any longer. So, he decided to visit his kitten.

The first thing he noticed upon his arrival was the silence. You weren't one to live in silence. There was always something on in your house. Whether that be your phone playing music or a podcast or the fan's hum. There wasn't even the flick of a book's page (one of the few reasons why you'd be sitting in silence).

There wasn't movement at all—hell he could barely feel your presence.

Stalking further into the home told more of the story. The living room was a mess, there were unwashed dishes in the sink, and then, a bit deeper in, was you. Cocooned tightly in your covers surrounded by clothes and things that "just missed" the trash can.

He rounded the bed to get a glimpse of you and felt a frown tug at his lips. You were sleeping (honestly? You looked like you were dead) and your brows were furrowed something fierce. He leaned down and kissed the minute spot between them before taking up the task to fight with your real world demons while you tackled the ones haunting your dreams.

He worked room to room, starting with the living room which was farthest away from your bedroom. He cleaned and straightened things up just as you'd taught him (you were very particular). From the looks of it, there were attempts made, but they never made it far and instead compounded into the mess it was now.

He didn't blame you for not reaching out since you were a very stubborn person (you'd carried the weight of the world all by yourself and wouldn't mumble a "help" even if it killed you). He honestly loved your stubbornness, but not when it reared its head like this.

Once the other rooms were done, he reentered your room. Thankfully, your face had softened, and you were sleeping much more peacefully than before. He made quick work of your clothes and the trash, but he was conflicted with his next steps.

He could either let you sleep a little longer, or he could get you and the those sheets washed.

"Sylus?"

Oh. Looks like you made the decision for him.

"Rise and shine, kitten." you burrowed deeper into your covers at that. He chuckled at your antics. "Just for a little while, now come on." he pulled off the corner of your sheet.

Reluctantly, you got out of bed, perching yourself on your desk chair while you watched him change the bedding then disappear into the bathroom. A few minutes later, you padded into the bathroom, pajamas discarded and wrapped in a robbed.

He raised a brow, "Oh? And what if this bath was meant for my job well done."

You rolled your eyes, heading for the sink. "I'd still join you anyway, duh."

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you brushed your teeth, and he settled into the bath. Once you joined him, you took turns washing each other. When you were finished, he took his time moisturizing you (as you were falling asleep again—fast), before carrying back into bed, in his arms (where you belonged).

Before you returned to dreamland, he decided to leave you with a few words.

"The next time things become too much, you should call me." a frown curled against your lips, ready to argue, but he stopped you. "Ah-ah, no lip. I know you're strong, but it doesn't make the silence hurt any less. Can you do that for me, Kitten?"

You hesitate a moment before nodding. “I’ll try.”

He kissed your temple. “Thank you, that’s all I can ask for. I love you.”

Grabbing the hand that was closest to you, you kissed his fingers, knuckles then palm.

“I love you too. So much.”

I was having a bit of a hard time, and he kept popping up in my head, keeping me going lol

I love Sylus so much.

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

[reveries0fmine]

Time difference — Sylus

pairing: Sylus x f!reader synopsis: you try to stay awake for him, despite knowing he'd come home late... cw: none, fluff, pet names wc: 533 Sylus masterlist

You`ve been sitting on the couch near the fireplace for a while now. Sylus’ vintage turntable played soft music in the background. 

Turning your phone back on, you stared at the message he’d sent you three hours ago. 

“I’ll be home a little later, don’t wait up for me.”

To no one’s surprise, you didn’t listen to him. You’d had a particularly long and boring day. And now you wanted nothing more than to see him. Which meant you refused to go to sleep without watching him walk through the front door and greet you. 

You let out a tired sigh, and turn your phone back off. 

The grandfather clock propped up against the wall in front of you mocks you with the sound of its swaying pendulum, as if purposely slowing time down to spite you. 

That’s when you feel a hand on your shoulder. 

“Someone’s up past their bedtime.” His sultry voice grows slightly louder as he moves closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You sit up straighter and turn your head to look up at him. “Sylus, you’re finally back.”

“Eager, aren’t we?” He rounds the couch to sit next to you, resting his elbow against the back rest. His large and warm hand finds your hair, and runs through it soothingly. “Go to sleep, sweetie.” 

“I can’t, not now…” you mumble stubbornly, despite your eyelids growing heavier and heavier. 

He only scoffs with a soft smile, his hand continuing its soft caresses through your locks. 

You lean into his hand. “I’ve been waiting for hours for you to get home... I’m not going to fall asleep now that you’re finally here.”

“Stubborn woman.” He mutters. “I’ve told you countless times not to stay up for me. We don’t have the same sleep schedules, you know that.” He gives your cheek a light pinch. 

Usually, you’d scold him for teasing you. But you were too tired for that. So you chuckle instead. 

“I know, I just don’t care.” You manage to shrug despite yourself. 

The fingers that were previously pinching you were now tracing your cheekbone. “…Why did you wait for me?” He asks, his tone more serious than playful. 

You go quiet for a bit, to give it some thought. “Because I missed you.”

One of his eyebrows rises, and he smirks. “Is that so?”

You nod, a tired, dopey smile on your lips. 

“Even though you saw me this morning?” he questions. 

“Even though I saw you this morning,” you affirm. 

His smug expression melts into a soft one. “I missed you too.” He whispered, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. “But you still should’ve gone to bed.” He nudged the tip of his nose against yours in a playful manner. 

Giggles erupt out of you at the ticklish feeling. “Fine, I’ll go to bed now.” You pretend to be annoyed. “But only if you join me.”

He tilts his head to meet your lips, but stops just short of kissing them. 

“Nothing has ever sounded so enticing.” He finally kisses you, stealing your breath away, and picks you up with one hand like he did so often. Carrying you to your shared room.

Sylus masterlist

a/n: wish I had time to participate in aprilus, but I've got too much school work unfortunately... sob..

[molilotus]

declining crescendo.

synopsis: it just so happens that the grand general’s last duty for the night is to escort you, her majesty, to the council room to do your obligations as the empress of the alore galaxy. but he had other plans he wished to do with you at that moment. [read on ao3.]

pairing: li shen (zayne) x afab!mc!reader

length: 1.9k words

tags: alternative universe, throne of eros au, 18+ MDNI, smut, explicit sexual content, pwp (porn without plot), kissing, begging, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, power dynamics, reader attempts to be in charge, frottage, dry humping, implied cunnilingus, grand general!zayne x empress!reader

this containts 18+ content, minors do not interact.

the glow of the fireplace illuminates the bedchambers of the empress, elucidating intricate furniture and wood patterns around. likewise, the gentle roar of the flames and the crackling of the logs filled the silence of the area, bringing a sense of home and warmth along with the whistle of the tender breeze outside the balcony. curtains move along the flow of the wind, and its cold temperature will soon put out the fire. slowly, the fireplace eventually failed to last, and its warmth shortly died out a little later.

forget the warmth, the temperature that the fire gives you when you are being engulfed in the heat from a man who wishes nothing but to tend to you with devotion, desire, reverence.

you couldn't bring yourself to silence your lips from each thrust of the grand general's fingers inside you. the digits move with precision, and the way it curls, hitting that spot within you leaves you breathless. your tears silently fall from each side of your temple, turning into a sobbing mess in front of him from this bliss of pleasure.

zayne takes a good look at the sight under him and inhales sharply. he watches your flushed face, your hiked up dress on your stomach, the stained patch below you. his gaze turns nothing but desire, stirring something in him. and when he sees you trying to hide your sounds with your palm, he takes the chance to pull your hand away from your mouth and pins it beside your head.

"mm…i don't think so." he exhales as he moves his hand up to gently entwine them with yours, feeling the sweat on your palm. the white long gloves you once wore were long gone resting on the ground. "concealing the sounds coming out of your mouth isn't such a good idea."

he curls two of his fingers again, and this time, he rubs a spot of very soft flesh that makes you gasp out loud. your body violently shudders and your heart races from the touch. it instantly forces your hips to arch upward while you press your thighs together with his hand in between your legs. your free hand made its way to grip on his forearm, pushing him away.

"zay–ngh! stop..amphf…they might look for me…ah!" your words slur as you cry out before your head falls down on the soft pillows.

he nudges your knees to part them open once again, your voice grows louder in the quiet space of your bedchamber, losing yourself in his touch. there was an important meeting you must deal with moments ago, until you found yourself here in your bedchambers with the grand general who should've been escorting you to the meeting with the other council officers. zayne, who couldn't care less of the people waiting for their arrival, has other plans he wishes to do with you at this moment.

he gives no warning when the stroke of his fingers quickens, and you wail louder, shaking the whole room with your broken voice. the repeated motion of his fingers hitting you even deeper becomes the center of your attention as you shut your eyes in pleasure. haziness swamps your mind, vision blurring, and you hear him breathe out.

"they can wait. besides, it is quite rude to show irritation and impatience towards her majesty despite her tardiness, no?"

you want to retort back at him. as an empress, you are to set an example of professionalism and punctuality. yet the words you wish to say never leave your lips, leaving your mouth hanging open. all your focus brings back to the rapid pace of his fingers—too fast it ignites a fire below and slowly burns your whole body. the embarrassing sound of squelches reaches your ears, as you feel getting wetter each second with your arousal.

"ahg…! —zayne please!" you choke, bucking up your hips to desperately match his pace. "pleas..hss, i need you—ungh.." you plead to him over again that your words shake so much he doesn't understand a thing or two of your incoherent begging. you didn't catch the way his lips curved from the desperation in your voice, and he wants to hear you beg again.

he moves his head closer above you with no signs of slowing down. "i thought you wanted me to stop? look at yourself, drunk with my fingers."

your consciousness gives you a slap on the face, forcing you out from being love dazed. feeling ashamed, you bit your lip as a hindrance of your moans to slip out. you turn your head to the side, slowly fluttering your eyes to the door of your bedchamber. there, your gloves, his cape, and your crown tossed on the floor, forgotten.

the sudden coldness of his fingers grab your cheeks, squeezing them together as it forces you to look back at him with your eyes open.

"i don't like it when you don't keep your eyes on me." zayne exasperates. you feel the pad of his thumb come in contact with your clit, circling it at low speed that all you could do is tremble and sob. it was already too much and he had the nerve to add another finger to increase the stimulation.

"now tell me, what is on your mind?" he asks again with the intent to tease you. you try to gather your thoughts together clearly, despite the torture of his fingers on your wet flesh between your legs, ruining you. "f-fingers. i w..augh—nt your fingers…"

you knew deep inside he heard that, but he hums to sound confused as if he didn't understand a word you say. "my empress, i don't think i heard you clearly, can you repeat yourself?"

"i don't need to repeat myself twice—oh my god, right there." you feel that fire building up. it pools in your stomach and the desire to reach for your release makes you push your hips up to do the work. you didn't notice the way he falls silent while you find a rhythm that intensifies the pleasure as you continue riding his fingers, hoping that it snaps into explosions of fireworks.

"please, hah…i'm so—ngh! close!" the rush of adrenaline and heat overwhelms you greatly. the fire in you climbs up to its peak, and your babbling mouth fills his ears before you feel the time slowing down.

and then you feel his fingers pulling out.

you lie there on the cotton mattress, taken aback by what he did. the fire dies out in a matter of moments. what happened? why did he stop? did he not want to satisfy you? the frustration and embarrassment slowly creeps into you when you sit up with your elbows to watch him pushing his fingers inside his mouth to get a taste of your wetness.

"i don't understand…why did you—" your words were cut short once again when his hand curls behind your neck and pulls you into a kiss.

his mouth tastes like you as he runs his tongue over your bottom lip. you let him in, nonetheless. he trails his hands to settle on your shoulders as he pushes you back to lie down once more. he kisses you so hard that it might leave a bruise on your lips. and before you could push him away to prevent any visible swelling on your lips to appear, he moves his down your jaw and to your neck, peppering you with small wet pecks. "zayne, i was almost there, why did you stop?"

"mm…" he doesn't reply, leaving more on your neck as his clean fingers move up to undo the button of your cape, his mouth dragging down to your collarbone to give more wet kisses. he then pauses and moves away to look at you. "look at you, so flushed and enticing for me." he whispers, his lips just hovering over yours, and you wait for him to close that distance.

"zayne, i'm serious." you grumble at his response. "i have to be there almost half an hour ago. this is not the first time you've strayed me away from my obligations."

both of your breaths combine with his forehead resting on yours, his hands enveloping your flushed cheeks that glistens with tears and sweat. "what if i intended you to stray away from work in the first place? we've been apart for weeks. you've always been so busy, and i'm no different either. it just so happens that my last duty for this night falls on you as an escort, and i can't just let you go when you look so beautiful and a mess for me."

you roll your eyes, but you also admit to yourself that the way he said it leaves a lump on your throat. the ache between your legs blossoms, and your arms snake around his neck to pull him down for another hungry kiss.

"then as your empress… " you don't give the grand general any chance to process your next move when you push him to the side of the bed. you hang your leg over to the side of his hip, trapping him under you.

oh how the tables have definitely turned. you watched his expression, eyes widening and chest heaving up and down, startled by your sudden dominance. the poor man stares at the love daze in your eyes, completely spellbind where you plunged yourself in. you come closer to his face, whispering right into his ear, "might as well do your job and satisfy me properly rather than distracting me from my responsibilities, not only that but also denying the release i need, hm?"

"my empress—ha-" he lets a low grunt out as you sit on his clothed length, letting him feel your soaked bare skin on him. you can't help but moan from the way he pants from each experimental grind.

"you better make me feel good, right? let me use you." as you rub yourself on him, you plant your lips onto his temple, cheek, and his jaw, before hearing him laugh softly at your command which made you huff at his reaction. "you wouldn't want to disobey the empress, her majesty, right?"

you feel his hands curling around thighs to hold you in place, pulling you forward. you let your knees drag closer to the headboard until you stop, positioning your body to hover over his face, and your knees settling on both sides.

a shade of pink appears on your face, feeling his hot breath under you. "have you realized how your attitude makes things very entertaining?" his hands behind your thighs graze to the front then back to your sides, grabbing a handful of your skirt to push them up again and securing his hold on it to your hips.

"worry not, i'll follow her majesty's orders, but until she realizes who's currently in charge, she won't get that release she desperately needs."

the grand general's hands force you down on his face close enough to put his whole nose and mouth on you. your breath hitch in anticipation, aware that in any moment his mouth and tongue will do wonders on your slick-coated flesh, dripping on his face. he presses his lips on your inner thigh, soothing you with a soft gentle voice—as if he's gonna be gentle with you from this point on. "now be a very good girl."

©molilotus 2026.

[zayora]

zayne fingering you with rings on BUT here’s the catch it’s your marital ring and it’s at the ceremony DO YOU SEE MY VISION

i see ur vision my sweet nonnie

weddings are a ceremony in which two people are united in marriage. a day where your relationship goes from fiancés to husband and wife, a day when you’re not supposed to do anything risky with over a hundred eyes watching you.

but that has never stopped zayne before.

your best friend is up, microphone to her mouth as she heartwarmingly states her speech. there are tears in everyone’s eyes, including yours— but your type of tears are different. under the table, zayne has the finger you stuck his wedding band on, not even an hour ago, deep inside you. his demeanor is calm, with no disturbance or distraction lingering in his form, but you’re close to breaking down for an entirely different reason.

“ z-zayne, please. we’re gonna get caught!” your hushed whisper does nothing to calm the speed of his fingers; he shoots you a questioning glance from the side of his eye, twisting his finger inside your dripping heat until you shudder out a quiet cry.

“ don’t pay attention to me, my love. look at your friend as she talks.” he disregards your concerns with no further thought, eyes flickering your shaking form with a slight smirk before removing themself away from you. he scissors your cunt messily; sparks of your arousal coat his ring, the seat, and most of your wedding. somewhere deep inside you pray that no one makes a misfortunate move to look under the table, especially one of your relatives or family members, but you can’t deny the rush of possibly getting caught. “ fix your posture, we are at a wedding.”

“ zayne! do you not know where your fingers are right no-” he removes his digits abruptly, not sparing you a second to shoot him a questioning look before he slaps your clit with him. you jolt, biting down on the inside of your lip harshly to avoid coating your teeth with lipstick. trying not to mewl or moan you hide your face in your hand as the first tear slips.

zayne remains perfectly still with an aura of contentment around him— some would say it’s the happiest they’ve ever seen him. meanwhile beside him, you stammer out prayers as the coolness of his ring does nothing to seize the impending heat inside of you, growing hotter as he makes rhythmic contact with your sweet spot.

it’s nearing the end of her monologue when you cum on his fingers. your pussy clenches down on his fingers, marking its territory on his ring as your vision blurs to the point where you have streaks of mascara coating your cheeks while your vision blurs.

zayne rubs your inner thigh with his thumb, only removing it to give a toast as the crowd erupts into claps when she finishes. and through your bleary eyes you notice how his ring particularly shines when it hits the dimmed lighting.

you were already plotting your revenge.

[zayora]

zayne fingering you with rings on BUT here’s the catch it’s your marital ring and it’s at the ceremony DO YOU SEE MY VISION

i see ur vision my sweet nonnie

weddings are a ceremony in which two people are united in marriage. a day where your relationship goes from fiancés to husband and wife, a day when you’re not supposed to do anything risky with over a hundred eyes watching you.

but that has never stopped zayne before.

your best friend is up, microphone to her mouth as she heartwarmingly states her speech. there are tears in everyone’s eyes, including yours— but your type of tears are different. under the table, zayne has the finger you stuck his wedding band on, not even an hour ago, deep inside you. his demeanor is calm, with no disturbance or distraction lingering in his form, but you’re close to breaking down for an entirely different reason.

“ z-zayne, please. we’re gonna get caught!” your hushed whisper does nothing to calm the speed of his fingers; he shoots you a questioning glance from the side of his eye, twisting his finger inside your dripping heat until you shudder out a quiet cry.

“ don’t pay attention to me, my love. look at your friend as she talks.” he disregards your concerns with no further thought, eyes flickering your shaking form with a slight smirk before removing themself away from you. he scissors your cunt messily; sparks of your arousal coat his ring, the seat, and most of your wedding. somewhere deep inside you pray that no one makes a misfortunate move to look under the table, especially one of your relatives or family members, but you can’t deny the rush of possibly getting caught. “ fix your posture, we are at a wedding.”

“ zayne! do you not know where your fingers are right no-” he removes his digits abruptly, not sparing you a second to shoot him a questioning look before he slaps your clit with him. you jolt, biting down on the inside of your lip harshly to avoid coating your teeth with lipstick. trying not to mewl or moan you hide your face in your hand as the first tear slips.

zayne remains perfectly still with an aura of contentment around him— some would say it’s the happiest they’ve ever seen him. meanwhile beside him, you stammer out prayers as the coolness of his ring does nothing to seize the impending heat inside of you, growing hotter as he makes rhythmic contact with your sweet spot.

it’s nearing the end of her monologue when you cum on his fingers. your pussy clenches down on his fingers, marking its territory on his ring as your vision blurs to the point where you have streaks of mascara coating your cheeks while your vision blurs.

zayne rubs your inner thigh with his thumb, only removing it to give a toast as the crowd erupts into claps when she finishes. and through your bleary eyes you notice how his ring particularly shines when it hits the dimmed lighting.

you were already plotting your revenge.

[mephisto-reporting]

Private Training - Cam Boy Series

Summary: One innocent username, one dangerously low camera angle, and suddenly you’re giving orders to a colonel who looks way too good following them. It starts playful. It gets competitive. It gets… heated.

Pairing: Camboy! Caleb x Reader

Content Warning: Smut, Porn without plot, reader commands Caleb, mutual masturbation, climaxes, MNDI, NSFW, livestream porn.

Author's note: Like I mentioned before. This is a series. We started with Zayne, and Caleb is next in line. :3

If you enjoy my writing and want to support me, you can buy me a Ko-fi! ☕

Sylus Edition | Rafayel Edition | Xavier Edition | Zayne Edition | Caleb Edition

It had been another one of those nights.

You weren’t even sure why you were still scrolling.

The site felt louder than it should have. Too many exaggerated thumbnails. Too many forced smirks. Men leaning too close to their cameras with artificial confidence, trying too hard to look dominant, too eager to be wanted.

One flexed aggressively in neon lighting. Another winked every five seconds. Someone else kept talking in a rehearsed whisper that sounded more awkward than seductive.

It all felt… fake.

You sighed, half ready to close the tab.

Then you saw it.

COLONEL STRIKER  – PRIVATE TRAINING OPEN

The thumbnail was simple.

No flashy neon.

No exaggerated pose.

Just a man mid–pushup, the camera positioned low beneath him. Shirtless. Grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. A black mask covering the lower half of his face.

Your cursor stilled.

Dark brown hair falling slightly into his eyes.

And those eyes purple and vivid. Sharp and focused. Intense in a way that didn’t look performative at all.

You clicked before you could think too hard about it.

The stream loaded.

The first thing you heard was breath. Heavy breathing that sounded les like a work out and more suggestive.

The camera angle was placed almost on the floor, tilted upward. It framed him from the waist down to his chest and face, capturing the flex of his shoulders as he lowered himself slowly into another pushup.

One.

His arms bent, muscles tightening beneath smooth skin.

His chest hovered inches from the camera.

Two.

His abdominal muscles flexed as he pushed himself back up, every line defined by the soft overhead lighting.

The grey sweatpants clung to his hips, the fabric shifting with each movement. The low angle left very little to the imagination deliberate and unapologetic.

Three.

A quiet, rough exhale escaped him. The sound of effort. Of strain. Of control.

You felt your throat go dry.

The chat was moving quickly — hearts, comments, requests — but he wasn’t looking at them.

He was focused.

Pushup after pushup, his body moving with precision. His biceps tightening, veins faintly visible along his forearms. His shoulders broad and powerful, back muscles shifting under his skin when he rose.

The mask covered his mouth, but you could see the subtle tension in his jaw beneath it.

A low, controlled groan slipped out as he pushed up.

It wasn’t exaggerated. It sounded like he wasn’t trying to be heard. Which somehow made it worse.

You leaned closer to your laptop without realizing it.

He paused at the bottom this time, holding himself just above the floor. Arms trembling slightly under sustained tension.

His purple eyes flicked to the camera for the first time.

And stayed there.

The look wasn’t playful. It wasn’t soft. It was assessing. Focused directly through the lens like he could see you.

Your pulse jumped.

He held the position longer than necessary. Muscles tightening further. Sweat forming faintly along his collarbone and sliding downward. Then he pushed up in one smooth, controlled motion. His dark brown hair was damp at the temples, strands falling slightly over his forehead. Sweat traced down the side of his neck.

When he reached the top this time, he didn’t immediately start another repetition.

Instead, he shifted. Sat back on his knees, still breathing hard.

The camera now framed him from lower chest to hips more clearly. His abdomen rose and fell steadily, defined muscles catching the soft overhead light.

His purple eyes lifted slowly to the camera.

And held.

The chat was flying now. Donations chiming.

Messages begging him to take the mask off. To stand, to turn around, to strip, to do more.

He reached up and dragged a hand through his hair instead, fingers combing it back. His other hand rested casually on his thigh, relaxed, but possessive in its stillness.

Your throat feels dry.

The chat scrolls wildly.

“Faster.”

“Take it off.”

“Spread wider.”

“Show us your plane, Colonel.”

He ignores most of them. He pushes up again.

Another exhale.

That sound — low, strained, controlled — makes something tighten in your stomach.

Without thinking, you type.

Your username sits in the corner: HoneyApple

Soft. Innocent. Almost ridiculous in this environment.

You add a small tip.

HoneyApple: Slow down. Hold at the bottom longer.

The donation notification chimes.

His eyes flick to the screen mid-rep. He reads it.

You can see it in the way his gaze softens slightly. He lowers himself again.

This time slower, much slower.  The descent is almost agonizing. Muscles trembling slightly under sustained tension. He hovers inches from the floor.

And holds.

His arms quiver faintly. Sweat gathers at his collarbone and slides downward. His breathing deepens to something louder and heavier.

You swallow.

HoneyApple: Stay there.

Another tip.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink for a second. His eyes lock onto the camera as if he’s looking through it. Through you.

His shoulders strain. His chest trembles. A low sound vibrates from him — restrained effort barely contained.

It’s not a moan. But it’s close enough.

You feel heat pool low in your stomach.

HoneyApple: Push up. One count.

He obeys.

But he makes it slow. Slower than necessary.

Every muscle visible as he presses upward in a single controlled motion. The tension in his abdomen tightens beautifully before releasing at the top.

He doesn’t break eye contact. Not even once.

He shifts slightly, spreading his stance a fraction.

Not because the chat told him to. Because you did.

HoneyApple: Spread your knees more.

This time there’s a pause. His eyes darken. Then he adjusts.

Just enough. The angle changes everything. The grey fabric pulls tighter across his hips. The motion of his body becomes heavier. More grounded.

His breathing is thicker now. Rougher around the edges.

When he pushes up this time, there’s a faint groan caught behind the mask.

You feel it in your spine.

He finishes the rep and instead of dropping for another, he shifts onto his knees. Sits back on his heels.

The camera angle still low, emphasizing the broadness of him. The powerful lines of his body. Sweat catching in the hollow of his throat.

He stares at the screen.

At your username.

“HoneyApple,” he says for the first time.

His voice is deep. Gravelly from exertion. He says it slowly. Tastes it.

His voice is rough from exertion, but there’s something else beneath it now. Something amused. Something sharp.

He shifts slightly on his knees and that’s when you notice it.

The grey sweatpants don’t hang as loosely as before. The fabric at the front is undeniably tented.

The low camera angle makes it impossible to ignore, the outline visible through the soft material, rising with every heavy breath he takes.

He notices that too.

Those purple eyes flick downward for the briefest second, acknowledging it,  before returning to the camera.

“To think,” he says, voice calm but edged with something darker, “a username like HoneyApple would be the bold one.”

The chat explodes again.

He ignores them.

His focus is still locked on you.

“You’re comfortable giving orders,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “To a colonel.”

The choice of words is deliberate. “You understand what that implies?”

He shifts his weight forward slightly, one hand bracing on the floor, the other resting casually on his thigh, dangerously close to the visible strain in his sweatpants.

“Command me again,” he says softly.

It doesn’t sound submissive. It sounds like a challenge.

Your throat feels dry.

Your body reacts before your mind catches up. Heat pools low in your stomach, spreading outward in slow waves.

You type.

HoneyApple: Do ten more. Slower.

A tip follows.

His eyes flick to the notification. A corner of his eye creases slightly, almost a smirk beneath the mask.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says lightly.

But there’s something possessive in the way he says it.

He drops back into position.

Your thighs press together instinctively.

Heat curls low in your stomach, the sight of him, powerful, controlled, visibly aroused and still composed, doing something dangerous to your thoughts.

“You’re watching closely, aren’t you, HoneyApple?” He grunts as he is midway through the set.

Your stomach flips at how easily he says that.

“You like control,” he continues, voice lowering slightly. “But you don’t look like someone who’s used to having it.”

You feel exposed and inexplicably more aroused because of it.

He finishes the set and looks at the camera, amused. As if waiting for another demand.

HoneyApple: Hands on your thighs. Don’t move.

He considers it.

Just long enough to make you question whether he will obey. Then he places both hands flat on his thighs. Muscles flexing subtly under the skin. The tension in his sweatpants remains visible.

His breathing is heavier now, slower but deeper.

“Like this?” he asks softly.

The chat explodes again. You barely see it.

HoneyApple: Spread your legs more.

A pause.

His gaze sharpens.

But he does it.

Knees widening slowly, deliberately. The fabric stretches tighter. The outline becomes more pronounced under the overhead light.

The sharp, colonel-like edge in his posture softens just slightly. His head tilts, not calculating this time, but curious. Almost playful.

Those vivid purple eyes narrow just a fraction in mischief.

“Mm,” he hums behind the mask, the sound low and warm. “HoneyApple…”

He tilts his head further to the side.

It’s disarming. Almost puppy-like.

A dangerous contrast to the disciplined control from moments ago.

“You’re not going to leave me doing all the work, are you?” he asks, voice dropping into something lighter. His shoulders relax just enough to make him look less like a commanding officer and more like a man enjoying the attention.

“I won’t be the only one training tonight,” he continues, leaning slightly closer to the camera. “You’ll keep me company… riiiiiight?”

He raises one brow subtly. “Or are you just going to sit there and watch, HoneyApple. Won’t you join me?”

The chat goes wild again — heart emojis, frantic messages, begging him to take off his pants.

“You’re bold enough to command a colonel,” he says softly. “So you can handle joining in.”

Your pulse jumps.

Heat spreads low in your stomach, warmer now. He sounds amused but there’s something deliberate underneath the playfulness. Like he’s testing how far you’ll go.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “Match me.”

The suggestion lands heavy.

You swallow.

Your thighs press together instinctively before you separate them slightly, mirroring his earlier stance. Your hands on your thighs.

He watches.

Not the chat.

Not the donations.

You. As if he could somehow see you through the camera.

“See?” he adds, tone lighter now. “You’re not as innocent as your name, HoneyApple.”

The way he says it makes your skin heat.

HoneyApple.

Soft. Sweet. Harmless.

He leans back slightly on his heels again, shoulders broad, chest still rising with controlled breaths. “Are you joining me?”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard.

You type.

HoneyApple: Only if you follow instructions.

His eyes flick down.

Then back up.

The playful tilt disappears just enough for something sharper to return.

“Of course,” he says lightly. “You’re the one in charge, right?”

You shift slightly on your bed without thinking. You were getting bolder. To see how far he would listen to you while ignored the others.

HoneyApple: Palm it.

The room feels hotter.

He glances down at himself briefly, then back at the camera.

“Direct contact?” he asks, mock-innocent. “You escalate quickly.”

But he obeys.

His hand lifts from his thigh and settles over the front of his sweatpants. The fabric compresses under his palm. A low breath escapes him and he shudders. He doesn’t move at first. Just holds it there.Letting you see the effect.

“Like this?” he asks, head tilting slightly again that playful expression returning.

Your pulse spikes as you mimic his actions.

HoneyApple: Press harder.

He inhales slowly. His hand tightens. The outline beneath the fabric shifts visibly as his fingers flex. His shoulders tense. A faint sound slips from him. Half breath, half restrained groan.

“You’re watching very closely,” he murmurs.

You are.

Your body responds instantly, warmth pooling low, breath shallow.

He rubs once. The twitch of his erection is subtle but unmistakable beneath the grey fabric. His purple eyes never leave the lens.

Never leave you.

“You’re joining me, right?” he asks softly. “You’re not just making me suffer alone.” The playful tone lingers, but there’s hunger under it now.

You swallow.

Your hand mirrors his instinctively, pressing over your own apex the way he does. The warmth beneath your palm is immediate. Your breath catches and this time you don’t bother trying to steady it.

A quiet sound slips from you, unintended.

His palm presses again over the front of his sweatpants. Firmer this time. The fabric pulls tight, the outline unmistakable. A faint darkened patch begins to form where his hand lingers too long.

Your breath hitches as you notice it. The grey fabric isn’t as uniform anymore.

There’s a dampness spreading slowly beneath his palm.

His eyes flick down briefly then back up.

“You see that?” he asks quietly. The question isn’t embarrassed.

Your stomach flips.

HoneyApple: Lower the pants.

But this time he doesn’t comply immediately.

He leans back slightly instead, one hand still resting over the tension at the front of his pants. His head tilts again — playful, yes — but now there’s something almost possessive in the way he studies the camera.

“You escalate fast, HoneyApple…” he says softly.

He slides his palm slowly downward along the fabric instead of pulling anything yet. The movement is slow and teasing.

“It’s a little unfair, don’cha think?” he adds.

His voice lowers.

“I can’t see you.”

The words land heavier than they should.

“But I’m sure,” he continues, eyes narrowing slightly, “you’re following my lead.”

Your breath stutters.

His gaze sharpens as if he can feel it through the screen.

“You’re not just sitting there politely, giving out orders…” he murmurs.

His fingers hook lightly at the waistband of his sweatpants now but he doesn’t pull yet. Just rests there.

“I bet,” he continues quietly, “you’re just as affected.”

There’s a faint edge of challenge in his tone.

“Probably more.”

Your thighs press together instinctively.

“You’re wet too, aren’t you?” he says softly.

The damp patch beneath his hand has spread slightly more now. His breathing is heavier, chest rising deeper with each inhale.

He tugs the waistband down just an inch. Enough to hint. Enough to make the chat lose its mind. But not enough to fully reveal anything.

He pauses there.

Looking at you.

“Join me properly,” he says. “Match the rhythm.”

His hand resumes a slow, deliberate motion over the fabric, controlled, steady, emphasizing the tension rather than rushing toward release.

You follow.

Your breathing grows heavier. A soft sound slips from your throat without permission.

“You like bossing around,” he says quietly. “But you like being bossed too.”

Your pulse pounds.

The tease about fairness lingers between you.

He gives another small tug at the waistband lowering it just enough to show a sliver of skin above the fabric beneath.

The chat absolutely loses control.

But he doesn’t.

His eyes remain locked on the camera.

On you.

On HoneyApple.

And on the other side of the screen, your hand has long since slid from your thigh. It’s no longer just resting there. Your fingers move slowly, pressing through the thin fabric, feeling the heat pooling beneath your touch. You’re soaked more than you expected to be. The damp warmth against your fingertips makes your breath hitch again.

You hadn’t planned to participate this much.

You hadn’t planned to react like this.

But the way he looks at you, like he knows exactly what you’re doing, makes it impossible to stay still.

Your other hand grips the edge of your laptop.

“Are you really keeping up with me?” he asks quietly.

Your fingers slide more deliberately now, matching the slow rhythm he’s set. You can feel how wet you are, how sensitive. Every small movement sends a ripple up your spine.

He inhales slowly, chest expanding.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and steady. “Do you really want me to take them off?”

There’s no bravado in the question.

Your pulse pounds so loudly you can hear it in your ears.

You type quickly — too quickly.

HoneyApple: Yes, stake them off.

The typo hangs there in the chat. Stake…

For a split second you freeze.

The chat explodes with laughing emojis.

His eyes flick down.

Then back up.

“Take them off?” he repeats softly.

There’s a faint laugh under his breath. “Careful, HoneyApple. Your typing’s slipping.”

The way he says it makes heat rush up your neck.

“You must be distracted.” He drags the word out slightly.

Your thighs press together instinctively again.

He hums. Then, finally, his fingers hook more firmly into the waistband. He rises just enough on his knees to push the grey fabric lower. The waistband slides over his hips, revealing more skin, the subtle flex of muscle beneath the soft light. He pauses halfway down.

Looks up at the camera again.

“You’re sure?” he asks one last time.

Not because he doubts you.

Because he likes hearing it.

HoneyApple: Yes.

His eyes darken at the certainty in it.

Then he lowers the sweatpants further, pushing them down while keeping the angle teasing. The reveal is slow. Intentional. Enough to make the chat combust again.

He settles back onto his heels, breathing heavier now. His erection standing proudly, staring right into the camera.

“There,” he says quietly. His gaze lifts back to the camera. “You asked for it.”

On the other side of the screen, your hand presses more firmly now. You can feel how slick you are, how sensitive. Your breathing has lost all pretense of calm.

He adjusts the camera now. He reaches down and tilts it just a fraction lower, angling it upward more deliberately. The shot shifts to capture his erection while still capturing his face, still catching those vivid purple eyes,  but now the perspective is more intimate. More direct. A low, almost first-person angle that makes it feel like you’re right there in front of him.

His chat was going fast, losing it over him.

His hand moves again. A steady rhythm that makes his jaw tighten slightly. His head tips back just enough for a soft sound to escape him, not loud, not exaggerated, but real.

You mirror him instinctively.

Your own movements slow, matching his pace. The pressure of your fingers intensifies, dragging in time with him. The sensation is overwhelming now, heat coiling low, building steadily.

Your other hand grips the bedsheet.

He exhales sharply.

“You’re not holding back anymore, are you, my HoneyApple?” he murmurs.

You aren’t.

The rhythm between you synchronizes without needing more instruction. When he slows, you slow. When his breath hitches, yours does too.

For a moment, it feels like the rest of the world has disappeared.

No chat.

No donations.

His hand tightens slightly.

Your hips lift involuntarily.

A soft whimper escapes you.

“You’re with me, right?” he breathes. “HoneyApple...”

And this time, the word is almost a whimper from him too.

The control he held earlier is thinning.

His shoulders tense. His chest rises faster. His movements lose a fraction of their discipline.

You feel it building — in him, in you.

His free hand braces against the floor as he leans slightly closer to the camera, the low angle making the shot even more intimate.

“You’re with me.” he says softly.

Not a question. A claim.

Your fingers move faster without meaning to.

So do his.

The synchronized rhythm turns desperate around the edges.

A sharp inhale tears from him.

Your body tightens.

Another whimper, from him this time, low and almost involuntary. And the sound sends a shock straight through you.

And even through a screen, it feels dangerously close. Like he’s not just performing anymore. Like he’s right there. Matching you.

And that’s when it snaps.

The rhythm between you stops being controlled. Stops being deliberate. It turns uneven, desperate at the edges breaths overlapping, movements losing their careful restraint.

His hand tightens.

Your hips lift sharply from the mattress.

A broken sound tears from his throat. Your own breath fractures into a soft cry you can’t swallow back.

He leans closer to the camera, bracing himself as everything unravels at once. His head tips back, jaw clenched, shoulders flexing hard under strain. The rhythm falters — then surges — then breaks completely.

His release isn’t elegant. It’s messy. It’s real. His breath stutters out in uneven bursts, chest heaving as he rides it through. The low angle of the camera captures the intensity in his expression, the way his purple eyes squeeze shut for a second before snapping back open.

And in that split second of loss of control, there’s no Colonel Striker.

No teasing dominance between either of you.

Just him.

You.

And the shared crash.

On your side of the screen, your body arches fully. The sensation hits in waves, hot and overwhelming, leaving your fingers shaking and your breath wrecked. Your hand slows, then stills, chest rising and falling too fast.

For several seconds, neither of you speaks while the chat goes haywire.

He huffs out a breath that turns into a low chuckle. “…Damn.”

He leans forward slightly, squinting at the lens.

And then he laughs under his breath again. “Got some on the camera.”

The chat absolutely loses its mind.

He reaches forward and wipes at the lens with a cloth, his movements slower now, , body still catching up from the high.

“Hold on,” he mutters, amused. “Can’t have you watching through a blur.”

He wipes carefully, polishing the lens until it’s clear again.

“There,” he says softly.

Then, with that playful tilt of his head returning, he adds, “Feels like I’m cleaning you up too.”

Your heart stutters again at that.

He studies the camera for a moment longer, calmer now, but still flushed. Still glowing faintly from exertion.

“That was intense,” he says, voice rough but steadier.

He pulls the sweatpants back up slowly, adjusting himself with composed movements, though the earlier sharp control has softened into something more relaxed.

“Next time,” he says lightly, “maybe we skip the crowd, HoneyApple.”

His gaze sharpens again. “One-on-one training session.”

The words hang between you.

“Private workout.” A faint smirk tugs at his eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Before you can type anything back, he leans toward the camera once more. “Rest up, HoneyApple.”

And then the stream cuts to black.

The silence in your room feels louder than the stream ever did. Your breathing slowly steadies. Your body still warm.

You’re just about to close the tab when a notification pops up.

A message from Colonel Striker.

His message is short.

So, HoneyApple.

When are we scheduling our next private training session?

Your breath catches again as your stomach flips.

The cursor blinks beneath it.

Waiting.

And somehow, that feels even more thrilling than the stream ever did.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

If you enjoy my writing and want to support me, you can buy me a Ko-fi! ☕

Sylus Edition | Rafayel Edition | Xavier Edition | Zayne Edition | Caleb Edition

[oceanbloomz]

⋆｡°✩ i need your lips on mine. | caleb x reader

synopsis: the morning after your first time with Caleb…but it’s interrupted ♡

cw: +18, making out, séx talk, suggestive, gróping

Poke.

A hue of blue shrouded Caleb’s room in the early hours of the morning. The world seemed to move in slow motion as he groggily blinked. His eyes traced the details of the ceiling before he felt a finger press into his cheek again.

Poke.

There you were, head resting on his bare chest, hair tousled from sleep and the night’s activities. Eyes still riddled with sleep yet full of warmth, you tenderly caressed the curve of his jaw.

You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he had finally made you his.

“Good morning,” you purred with a third poke to his cheek.

A lazy yet content grin broke out on his face as he brought a hand up to capture your own. He hummed into your palm before placing a kiss in the center. “Morning, pipsqueak.”

His gaze took a moment to truly take you in, flitting from the darkening marks left along your collarbone and neck to the smallest details of your face he had committed to memory a long time ago.

Eventually, his hands found your hips before swiftly hoisting you to lay flat on top of him. Naturally, your arms circled around his neck, pulling him impossibly close.

“You feelin’ okay?” Caleb voiced as he subconsciously massaged the plush of your hips. You tilted your head at the guilty smile on his face. “Wasn’t exactly… gentle for our first time.”

You giggled at the mention of the night before as you toyed with his bangs, brushing strands out of his eyes. “I’ve never been better.”

He let out a content sigh as his fingers ran along the curve of your spine. Your back instinctively arched into his touch.

“Y’know…” he started, eyes searching your own. You hummed for him to go on as you continued to play with his hair. “I’m yours for the weekend.”

You perked up at that, and he chuckled at your reaction. “Really?”

“Really.”

You cocked an eyebrow in suspicion. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he nodded, hands rising in defense. Moving to cradle your face in one hand while the other hooked under your thigh, his lips brushed yours. “We have all the time in the world.”

You closed the gap, slotting your lips against his like they were magnetically pulled, like they belonged there. And, in all honesty, you wouldn’t want them to be anywhere else.

His lips felt like warm honey, causing you to melt even further into his embrace.

Mouths moving with quickening pace, your chest vibrated as he groaned into you, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck before pulling you in to deepen the kiss.

His tongue swiped at your bottom lip and made its way into your mouth, exploring and tasting you like you were a gourmet meal. You couldn’t help but whimper against him at the feeling of his tongue against yours.

Your hands threaded through his hair before tugging him back. Pants filled the room as Caleb looked up at you through his lashes. Eyes lidded and overflowing with want, he licked his lips and cracked a grin. “What, tired already?”

You rolled your eyes at his playful banter. Wanting him on top of you, you before rolling off him and pulling him on top of you. His arm caged you in as he remained lying on his side.

“You gonna take care of me, Caleb?” you weren’t sure yourself in what way you meant it, but you saw something in his eyes change at your words. He didn’t hesitate.

“In every life time.”

His kisses were more sensual as he placed them. From the crown of your head to your lips, from your lips to your neck, from your neck to…

RIIINNNGGG! RIIINNNGGG!

Caleb’s open-mouthed kissed against your skin came to a halt at the familiar ring of his phone. He let out a weighty exhale before reaching over to see who was calling.

“Is it the fleet?” you inquired. His silent contemplation was an answer itself, but the pinch in his brow and the clench of his jaw made you sure. You whined at the interruption. “Caleb…”

Leaning down to press a quick peck against your lips and forehead, he sighed.

“Sorry, pips. Gimme a sec, okay? Then, I’m all yours,” he offered apologetically before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and picking up the call. You watched as his demeanor immediately switched from your darling Caleb to the frigid Deepspace Colonel. “Speak.”

As he coldly conversed on the phone, you couldn’t help but admire him. His broad shoulders and back which were decorated with scratches, the tone of his muscles, the way the sheets pooled at his bare hips…

Slowly, you crawled over to where Caleb was sat until you were positioned directly behind him. He flinched when your hands found his waist, looking over his shoulder with a warning look. Of course, you could see that he was enjoying the attention.

You leaned against his frame as you explored the expanse of his body, fingers dancing over the distinct ridges of his abs. Making your way up, teasingly caressing his chest, you pressed kisses against the nape of his neck and behind his ear. You gasped as you felt a strong hand squeeze your ass.

You looked up only to find his sharp gaze already on you. Wrapping your arms around him and squeezing, you smiled mischievously at the flush of his face. He returned your smile with a smirk of his own. “Behave.”

“What was that, colonel?” you heard from the other end of the phone.

“It’s nothing. Continue,” he resumed his call but kept his grip on your ass, gently kneading. Your longing for the feeling of his mouth on your skin had you growing oh-so needy.

“Caleb…” you breathed, lips brushing against his ear. You felt him shiver at your proximity. “…need you.”

He froze at that. You nestled into the crook of his neck to watch his reaction, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind. It was clear he was so close to breaking, and you knew just what to do.

Sliding a hand up his body, you found the charm of the necklace you gave him. Holding eye contact with him, you inched the charm closer and closer until it met your lips.

That’ll do it.

“Handle the situation and report back to me tomorrow. Don’t disturb me for the rest of the day.” He commanded before hanging up promptly. A dangerous gaze locked onto yours.

You were in for it now…

a/n: not proofread, but comments, likes, and reblogs are all appreciated!

[cardinal-writes]

you

summary: dawnbreaker dreams of mc, and this time she recognizes him pairing: dawnbreaker!zayne x mc rating: teen+ word count: 400 tags: dawnbreaker!zayne POV, fem!mc (she/her; hair of nondescript length, color, and texture is mentioned), mention of alcohol (consumed by zayne), subdued yearning note: also available in my love & drabble-space collection on ao3

The taste of liquor is still fresh on Zayne’s tongue as a welcome numbness settles into his limbs. One by one, the troubles of the day dissolve, and with a groggy blink, his world blurs. Shifts. Darkness grabs at him, heavy and viscous, followed by the four bare walls of his bedroom melting into a cold, endless void.

Oh no.

Not this again.

The solid press of his bed disappears, and then he’s sitting upright, a wooden chair taking shape beneath his thighs and back. He blinks again to ward off the nausea, desperate to find something unmoving— something tangible to focus on. Then, all at once, his familiar dream world snaps into place.

This time, he’s in a café.

Dim lights cast a warm glow across the space, and the soft patter of rain pelts the window to his left. And she sits across from him, engrossed in a story about how she spent last night rearranging her collection of plushies. A blood-red scarf is draped around her throat, and for a moment, the liquor makes Zayne see something else.

He shakes his head to dispel the vision.

At that, she casts her gaze to him, so bright despite the dreary grey of the world outside. It doesn’t last. Her smile fades and her eyes narrow. “It's you again,” she accuses. “Isn't it?”

Something thick and sour catches in Zayne’s throat. He tries to swallow it back. “I don't know what you're—”

“Don't bother lying,” she says and lifts her milky brown latte to her lips to take a modest sip.

He sighs. “All right, then.”

The subdued chaos of a dozen hushed conversations wraps around them, eating up the silence as he awaits her judgement. Her hair is longer than it was when their paths last crossed. How much time has it been for her, he wonders.

“Are you well?” she finally asks. Such an ordinary question. She’s smiling again— small and nervous, but a smile all the same.

She’s perfect. Heart-stoppingly so.

Zayne forces himself to breathe.

He glances at the table. The other version of him was apparently drinking a cinnamon-dusted mocha, and Zayne finally pieces together that they were on a date. A date which he is now on. His lips turn up in a way that feels almost uncomfortable with how rarely it happens. “I am now,” he replies.

[mrs-hatake]

LADS Men & Their Love Quotes

Sylus

"I would recognize you in another lifetime entirely, in different bodies, different times." - Madeline Miller.

Zayne

"On the train we swapped seats, you wanted the window and I wanted to look at you." - Mahmoud Darwish.

Caleb

"They asked, "Do you love her to death?" I said, "Speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life." -Mahmoud Darwish.

Rafayel

"Had I told the sea what I felt for you, it would have left its shores, its shells, its fish, and followed me." - Nizar Qabbani.

Xavier

"If someday the moon calls you by your name, don't be surprised. Because every night I tell her about you." - Shahrazad Al-Khalij

[raebelovedbride]

Zayne and Sylus?!!?

My heart can't handle it

[thinkingofzayne]

ladies & gentlemen, he said it again ‼️

[raebelovedbride]

i need him. I need him. I NEED HIM MM MM

[raebelovedbride]

More Zayne fanfic ideas..

RIGHT ABIT OF ANGST HERE!!!!

Imagine dawnbreaker! Zayne is trying to get through life day by day but is haunted by the ghost of Mc. He believes that she is totally real, until he finally kinda heals and then boom she disappears because her job is done.

(I do not possess the creative ability to write so I just word vomit all of my thoughts in hopes that others will be inspired to write :D)

[raebelovedbride]

Snowcrow fanfiction idea :

The dance practice scene from 10Dance but it's zayne as Shinya Sugiki (ballroom dancer) and sylus as Shinya Suzuki (Latin dancer).

DO YOU GUYS SEE THE VISION!!!???

[scapeghosty]

🐦‍⬛🩷🌻

[raebelovedbride]

Me when my favorite LADs fanfic author writes on something I recommend

[zainaaryam]

SWALLOW.

✧⑅♡⑅✧✧⑅♡⑅✧✧⑅♡⑅✧✧⑅♡⑅✧✧⑅♡⑅✧✧⑅♡⑅✧✧⑅♡⑅✧✧⑅♡⑅✧

۝Zayne x reader ۝SFW

CW: Soft Dom! Zayne, Slight brat taming.

Authors note: You can probably tell this was self indulgent lol. I hate taking supplements because they're always so big. I need zayne to "give me a taste of my own medicine" lmao.

*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･

You hate taking supplements. They're big, dry, and bitter, and always get stuck in your throat. That's why you always try to find excuses to avoid taking them.

That was until you married Zayne. Now he's standing before you with a glass of water and a big, chunky tablet while you do your paperwork.

"I forgot to take it." You say, avoiding his gaze.

He turns your chair to make you face him. "I'm pretty sure I reminded you to take the medicine three times today. Who are you trying to fool?" He raises an eyebrow. He knows you don't like taking medication. The way you gag when trying to swallow a large pill never goes unnoticed by those attentive green eyes. But you have many deficiencies, so the supplements are necessary.

"Uh— I... I have some work to do right now, so you can keep it on the table and I'll take it in a bit."

You really thought he was going to give you the meds and leave.

"You are going to be a good girl and take the medicine right now. I'm not leaving until you do."

Apparently, that was not the case. Well, if Zayne can be persistent, so can you. "I said I'll take it later!" you say, sounding frustrated.

Usually, Zayne doesn't mind when you're being a bit bratty, but he doesn't like it when it concerns your health.

He lets out a deep breath and places the glass on the table. You think he's going to leave, but to your surprise, he holds your chin firmly with one hand and pushes the tablet into your mouth. Before you can react, he takes a sip of water, kisses you—letting the water flow into your mouth—and lets go.

"Swallow," he says in a strict tone that leaves no room for arguments. You force the pill down your throat, which doesn't taste as sweet as the kiss, much to your dismay.

"Good girl. That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

"You better kiss me properly again. That pill was horrible!"

*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+*⁠･

Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it. Check out my other posts on my profile! ✧⑅♡⑅✧