It’s A Mess

She/Her 24🏳️‍🌈 Current Hyperfixations: LADS, JJK, AOT, Haikyuu Other: SPN, MLQC, MidCin, HP, ATLA, Tokyo Ghoul, Black Butler, PJO/HOO, Castlevania Idk others too ig, can’t remember

[go6jo]

(one can only truly feel with their eyes closed) s.gojo

satoru was born bearing the curse of atlas, the world weighing a little too heavy on his shoulders. the body of a child is a frail one and satoru, in his early years, was too scrawny a kid, his bones too fragile to carry all of that weight all by himself. he had fallen on his feet and struggled to stand up on his own one too many times until he had grown to become something akin to a god, one who barely even knew fear.

it’s three in the morning and satoru is standing outside your bedroom door, pinching his bottom lip in between his fingers while anxiously awaiting your arrival. you should’ve been back before midnight and there is something unfamiliar brewing inside him, an uneasy feeling in his gut that is rendering him restless. he feels nauseous and there is a heavy lump on his throat that is making it hard for him to swallow.

satoru reaches for the phone in the pocket of his sweatpants, waiting for something, a call, a text even — anything to let him know that you’re okay.

his head is quick to turn at the sound of heavy footsteps making their way towards him and he can make out your silhouette emerging from the darkness of the poorly lit corridor, your feet weary and sore after being away for so long and having just traveled all the way back here, back to him.

ten days to be precise. thats how long you’ve been away. and when you manage to make your way along the seemingly endless hallway, so very tired from your lengthy mission, you finally cease your fight against gravity, letting yourself collapse into satoru, closing your eyes immediately upon impact, finding your relief in him, in the sturdiness of his chest. you’d gone without him for too long and you’re so quick to find comfort in him. he, too, is just as quick to search solace in your touch when he guides your arms that fall limp at your sides to wrap themselves around him - is so prompt to hold you and offer you the stability you need when he wraps his stronger ones around your shoulders, welcoming you back with a quiet good girl being whispered to the crown of your head.

there’s a minute of silence in which satoru realizes, while trying to recover from the fretful state he induced himself into, that fear has become something permanent in his life.

“you’re late” he threads his fingers through your hair, soothing away your fatigue though he thinks he might have just lulled you to sleep because you’re standing so still, breathing so softly. you protest with a breathy whine when his hand cups the back of your head, tilting it upwards to make you meet his gaze. only then do you perceive the distress painted on his handsome features.

satoru is always so good at hiding his feelings. his voice barely even wavers and his hands are holding you so firmly that his worry would’ve almost gone undetected. almost. because concern is so easily discernible in his eyes. his eyes are so honest, as honest as satoru gets. they have always let on more than his words.

they’re his biggest strength and yet his biggest weakness. the blindfold conceals more than just his power. it keeps his vulnerability from seeping through.

“i know but i'm here” you close your eyes when his thumb rubs the spot between your eyebrows “my flight got delayed and i didn’t wanna wake you up with a phone call”

“i wasn’t sleeping” not until i know you’re safe.

“i’m alright, satoru. im here” you two speak in whispers like two kids sharing a secret, your voice barely audible as you lean your cheek against his chest, a hand rubbing circles over his heart.

another wave of silence envelops the two of you as you take your time to touch, to grab and to squeeze — to let your hands get acquainted with each other’s skin again — you swear you feel him shiver against you when you caress the skin behind his ear, where you know it’s sensitive.

“let’s get inside, baby.”

you nod against his chest and squeeze him in your arms one last time before you pull away to unlock your bedroom door. you lace your fingers together with his to pull him along, dropping your luggage somewhere in a corner and not even bothering to turn on the lights instead guiding him towards the bed that you’ve shared during so many other nights — so eager to be cradled in his arms, to drift off in the comfort of his embrace. but when satoru drops his head to your shoulder you cease any movements, stopping in your tracks.

he doesn’t say a word, just moves the palm of his hand gingerly up the skin of your exposed arm, only stopping where the strap of your dress sits on your body, gripping the fabric in his fist, begging to see you, whole. to make sure there is not some magical force holding you together and that you won't fall apart under his fingers upon touch. he still touches you so carefully as if you will.

for a long time now, reality has presented itself to satoru as something dubious, he has grown to be skeptical towards it. after all, his best friend had met his demise at his own hands - satoru had watched him take his last breath - yet, that unfaithful day in shibuya, there he stood in front of him, intact - alive. now satoru is imbedded with a constant feeling of uncertainty, worrying that the eyes he has relied on throughout his entire life, might deceive him sooner or later.

you lift your hand to rest over his, loosening the tight grip he has on the fabric of your garment before you slide both straps off your shoulders, letting your dress fall to the ground and revealing your partially nude body to satoru’s prying gaze. he closes his eyes with a sigh that makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise in antecipation. he brushes a few strands away before he places a kiss to the mound of your neck where your spine protrudes your flesh, where your skin is most tender and delicate, feeling the subtle bumps of your skin against his lips — the way your body reacts to him proof that you’re not just some hallucination. that you’re alive and well. that you’re here.

he figures he is so much more in tune with his surroundings whenever he’s not looking. his eyes are closed shut yet the way you shudder under him when he runs the tip of his finger up the curve of your spine, the little sounds you make, the gasp that unintentionally escapes your lips when he lays the most gentle of kisses on the shell of your ear — he’d know you anywhere, even with his eyes closed. he knows the way you feel, the way you sound, the way you smell. even blind, his other four senses would still lead him to you.

he touches you until your skin starts feeling feverish under his fingers, wishes you’d just melt into him and would fill in every crevice in his body until he’s so completely covered in you he can barely breathe. and when he needs more, he carries you to bed in his arms then lies you down in the white linen sheets. he reaches for the back of his shirt and tugs it off before taking the spot next to you, craving the feeling of his skin against yours.

he kisses your collarbone, left then right, worshiping you whole, paying equal attention to every part of your body, then dips lower to kiss over your sternum. he loves on the freshly inflicted wounds on your skin then proceeds to run his tongue over the newly healed scar that runs diagonally on the flesh of your stomach — your taste, that, too, he has memorized by heart.

“i always come back looking worse than when i left” and it's supposed to be a lighthearted joke because you're smiling and your tone is somewhat playful but it makes satoru wonder if you think he loves you any less because of it.

sometimes it’s hard baring yourself to satoru like this, he knows it. your scar ridden body a striking contrast to his almost pristine, untouched one. however, it’s on nights like this one where you feel closest to him, laying bare your insecurities to him and, in return, satoru undiscloses his — more often than not escaping his lips impulsively in the form of strangled moans against the sweaty skin of your neck, telling you he loves you. don’t ever leave. don’t wanna lose you too.

“you returned, baby. that’s all that matters.” he utters against your belly then comes to rest on your chest, hear pressed atop your heart.

satoru has grown fond of the sound of your pulse lulling him to sleep, slow and steady. he unwraps his arms from around you, moving his hands up your sides until they settle around your ribs, feeling the way your lungs fill up with air, his head moving up and down, in sync with your heaving chest. he smiles to himself, every heartbeat, every breath you take a reminder that there is still so much life inside you.

he looks up at you, eyes searching for your face after a few minutes have gone by since you stopped playing with his hair. he had wanted to protest but then he takes in the image of you, mouth slightly agape, a subtle frown on your face — an angel lying under him. so fragile, so innocent.

you're sound asleep and satoru is overcome with the intensity of the sheer adoration he feels towards you when he realizes you had felt so at peace in his arms it'd only taken you a couple minutes to doze off. it is as if your body reacts to his presence on it's own, telling you that its safe around him, that it's okay to let your guard down. there is no bigger privilege than to know his touch brings you consolation — that he’s your safe haven.

upon further inspection, however, there’s a cold shiver that makes it’s way up satoru’s spine when he notices how you’re laying so still, barely even moving. apart from the subtle rise and fall of your chest, you’re so inert, so lethargic. this is what your lifeless body would look like in his arms if he ever failed to protect you.

it is as if suddenly there is not enough oxygen in the room and his lungs start growing heavier with each passing minute, his hands clammy and fingers digging into the flesh of your ribs instinctively, out of desperation.

he calls out your name once, and he would’ve felt bad for waking you up but he can’t even think straight right now. he could be so selfish at times but you never resented him for it.

you don’t answer at first, his voice too weak to even pull you out of sleep. satoru pushes himself up the bed, lying sideways next to you, his body looming over yours as he brushes the strands of hair that are sticking to your forehead away from your face — your complexion looks so much paler under the moonlight.

“baby.” he calls in between heavy breaths, eyes frantic searching for something. anything. this time you stir in your sleep, turning around and nuzzling into the crook of his neck as if seeking for the heat of his body on instinct. he sighs releasing some of the tension inside him “baby.” though there is still a hint of urgency in his voice.

“im sleepy, satoru” he can barely hear you as you bury yourself deeper into his neck.

“i know, baby. i know” he tries to sooth you, cradling your head closer to him but is just as quick to change his mind, grabbing your cheeks in between the palms of his hands to gently pull you away from him and take look at you instead. your eyes remain closed, still so heavy with sleep.

“just need you to say my name.” it sounds as if he’s pleading.

“satoru.” you barely even manage to mumble as you lean deeper into his touch, lips brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of his hand. moving only on instinct still, too drowsy to even make sense of what is happening, to notice the despair in his tone.

“that’s it.” he pecks you on the lips “again.” hes trailing kisses across your cheeks, his breath heavy on your skin when he begs you in a quivering voice “please."

you begin to be pulled out of slumber when you feel his hands trembling against you, opening your eyes only to be met with his wide-eyed gaze, his pupils fully blown out in the dark, alert with fear.

this has happened before yet it never fails to alarm you. you know how he gets, you’d seen it in his eyes many times before and you’d seen it again earlier tonight when you arrived, tenuous yet just waiting for the smallest trigger to so easily turn into something out of his control.

it's like he's suddenly in a trance and nobody can pull him out of it. his hands start wandering everywhere and in a rather frenetic way, feeling around your skin as if he has gone blind. hands fumbling to hold whatever is within their reach, clenching whatever it is you're wearing in his fists, searching for something that he can’t quite seem to find and that you can’t quite understand.

you never know what to say, you can only hold him in hopes it will pass. you hold him and coddle him in hopes that you can be as much of a source of comfort to him as he is to you.

he apologizes afterwards, he always does. apologizes for needing you so much that sometimes it drives him crazy. then he thanks you, thank you for letting me rely on you, but he barely ever does, only when he so desperately needs it — when it’s him lending others his strength, being relied on, who says thank you to him.

you sit up in bed, extending your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it. you pick him up when he does and you let a hand wrap around the back of his head, guiding him to lay on your shoulder

“satoru, satoru, satoru.” you whisper against the shell of his ear while stroking his hair. he thinks he could fall sleep right here, like this.

please, lean on me, too. if you let me, i can be strong for the both of us. you don’t have to be strong all the time. satoru thinks he knows what you’re trying to tell him.

“i’ll say it as many times as you need.”

for the second time tonight, he is so overwhelmed by his profound infatuation that it is as if his love has grown a will of it’s own, as if it has grown fangs when his teeth sink, unwarranted, into the skin of your shoulder, love wishing to seep itself deep into your bloodstream. “want you whole.”

“so greedy.” you wince quietly against his snowy hair and he runs the tip of his nose up the side of your neck.

he keeps on nibbling on the tender skin of your neck, as if he’s hungry and trying to prove a point. that if he so wished to, if he was greedy enough, he’d devour you full.

“i'm the greediest, baby” for what is love if not greed. is it not wanting to consume the other person and let yourself be consumed in return? for his entire life, satoru has known nothing but an insatiable hunger. always wanting more, always needing more. gluttonous for more, more, more. in the end, he always managed to get what he wants and he doesn’t hold back, you never asked him to either.

he knows he owns you wholly, you’ve told him so, your soul, mind and body fully placed on the palm of his hand and he doesn’t think he could ever settle for less.

he places a trail of kisses that goes down to your shoulder again and he pulls away from your skin with one last kiss to the spot where he left a mark. a mark that is so unlike any other in your body. one that comes from love.

“i'm sorry that i need you so much” he envelops you in a warm embrace, touching his heart with yours.

but he’s also apologizing for so many other things. he’s sorry that he can’t give himself to you the same way you’ve given yourself to him. you’ve always kept your heart open to him yet it seems that he only ever allows you a glimpse into the heart inside his chest on nights like this, during one of his episodes or when his body is panting above yours, falling apart at the feeling of being inside you and too lost in his own pleasure. only then does he spill all of his heart's content into your distracted ears — when he thinks you’re already far too gone to listen, to truly acknowledge his feelings.

those are the only times he ever allows himself to be vulnerable with you and you treasure every single one of those moments, listening attentively even when he thinks you don’t.

“say my name one last time” he breathes against your ear.

here, in these sheets, satoru pretends to forget his name and the burden that inescapably comes with it. he forgets the world needs him and lets himself need you instead, just this once — just this once, he’ll pretend to be the weak one, the one who needs saving, and find shelter in your arms.

“satoru…” your words are spoken barely above a whisper, like they’re meant just for him.

“again” he connects his lips with yours and holds the back of your neck with one hand, the other resting on your back for support as he dips you both down onto the matress.

and you say it. again. and then again. not because he asks you to but because he knows how to get what he wants. he pries his name out of your lips as he trails open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, forces it out of you in the form a laughter as he nibbles on the inside of your thighs, tickling you with his breath and ultimately earns it as a moan that you cry as a prayer when he sinks down on the matress and makes a home in between your legs — until you're chanting his name over and over again, sobbing that you love him, you love him, you love him.

he smiles. satoru is now twenty eight and his shoulders a little lighter, the world fitting all too perfectly in this queen sized bed.

[yuki-snowyblobbu]

❄️ 100 days of Zayne - Day 2/100

It’s late and Zayne’s still not home. He did tell you not to wait up, that his surgery will likely overrun, and he might have to sleep in the hospital. Again. This isn’t a rare occurrence and you should be used to it by now, but the bed feels too empty, the room too cold, the house too silent. You miss him terribly.

Tears prick your eyes as you scroll through the last few messages you sent him, all unread because of course he does not have access to his phone.

“I made pasta for dinner. There’s some in the fridge for you.” - 7.05pm

“The bakery is having a sale! I couldn’t decide and bought an assortment. They’re all waiting for you, and so am I 😉” - 9.32pm

“I hope everything’s going well! Goodnight my dearest snowman. I love you 🥰” - 11.47pm

Is it silly of you to keep waiting for an answer each time this happens? Probably. But you hold on to that little feeling of hope anyway.

You sigh, place your phone down on the nightstand, curl in on yourself, and this time you don’t hold the tears back.

Crying should be an effective way to induce sleep. It normally is for you, but not tonight apparently. Not even when your pillow feels damp and your throat dry from the sobs you let out.

Maybe it’s because the tears this time are not just from sadness. Part of you feels guilty for feeling lonely and upset. He’s saving lives, you know that. He wants to be with you as much as you do with him, you know that. Okay, in all honestly there’s always that sliver of doubt that he doesn’t and you’re just being too much. You swallow the lump that formed and push the thought aside for now.

But above all, you feel helpless, frustrated that there’s nothing you can do to solve your ‘problem’. Nothing can alleviate your need for him, or fill the emptiness in your soul.

You need him. There’s no denying that. And if he’s not able to come to you then… you’ll just have to find a way to go to him.

[To be continued on day 3! Sorry this has multiple parts, I couldn’t finish writing everything in one day haha]

A/n: I’m attempting a 100 days of Zayne challenge! The goal is to post something about Zayne everyday - no min/max word count, and it can be about anything or with anyone as long as Zayne is involved. It’s all in good fun and I hope you’ll enjoy reading the posts as much as I’ll enjoy writing them ☺️

[regalillegal]

Any!! I’m so in love with him. This is so sad, but also, all I can think of (to cheer me up) is Zayne being in surgery and one of the nurses (maybe Yvonne) having to read his messages to the OR bc he’s scrubbed in. (Most surgeons keep their phone in the room but accessible in case them get paged or another emergency call, and in my hc Zayne always had a special ringtone/ notification sound for mc so he know’s when she texts or calls. Maybe he doesn’t ask to have mc’s texts read out loud but Yvonne likes to snoop)

[idkletmesleep]

This came to my head randomly but here I go. This very well might be not the case and it's probably stylistic choice or whatever, but my brain decided to brain suddenly so I just decided to share 🫣

Look how Zayne is shielding her eyes with his hands? I think that represents how he always hides many things from us which would harm us in any way, and deal with it himself, often leading to him sacrificing himself in the process 😔

Like how GoA hid his plan of severing the connection between Niava and his former world, to silently fall along with his dying world

Like how MoF hid about his plan to sacrifice himself and seal her powers, making MC fall asleep peacefully

Like how Foreseer didn't really reveal anything and just asked for MC's permission to end it all on his own terms

Like how Dr. Zayne hides about the incident that occured during their childhood when he hurt MC with his evol and decides to distance himself and deal with it on his own (he does this again at the end of Death and Rebirth 😞)

Somebody please shake some sense into him, he needs to stop doing this every single time dammit 🫠

P.S. I'm not exactly sure what MC removing his blindfold here indicates, but it would be neat if that also meant something 👀

©idkletmesleep, 2026

[claideluna]

figure skater!zayne because i was watching olympic skaters earlier (thank you for the poses yuzuru!)

[regalillegal]

Zayne and yuzuru hanyu, my loves

🥵🥵🥵😍😍😍

[ladyjade]

⭑.ᐟ #MAKE 1T SQU1RT („• ֊ •„)

⭑.ᐟ #SYNOPSIS who knew you could cum so hard that you end up squirting!

⭑.ᐟ #GENRE smut, porn with no plot ⭑.ᐟ #INCLUDES Zayne, Caleb (seperated) 

⭑.ᐟ #CONTENT WARNING fem!reader | explicit content | no guaranteed spoilers of main/side quests | established relationship | possible grammar errors | not proof read | squirting | fingering | pet names | mention of overstimulation | toy use (dildo) | oral (fem) | authors note at end 

ZAYNE

You are twitching, jolting, and shivering lightly from the overwhelming stimulation fed to your body, mind completely muffled and blank— no coherent thoughts or sentences, just moans of Zayne’s name leave your kiss-swollen lips. There’s a gentle, warm breath fanning directly onto your exposed chest; skin coated in spit and bite marks, nipples perky, puffy, and swollen from the constant attention they have gotten. Once in a while, warm lips would wrap around the glistening bud, nursing at it, sucking into your back arches off the bed mindlessly. . bucking your hips widely.

There are two thick fingers sliding through your sopping, fat folds— dragging up and down, fingers smearing your syrupy juices all over your messy pussy. One finger gently teases your quivering entrance, barely dipping in before dragging your arousal back to your aching clit. . rolling the bud in circles until you gasp in delight.  You tangle your hands in Zayne’s hair, holding and tugging onto the strands in ecstasy. 

“Nghhh—! Haaah, a- stop teasing meee, Zaynie’. . I-i need moree!” You drool out from your stupor, whimpering when he suckles harder onto your nipple. . moaning softly to send vibrations through your body. 

Your body reacts wonderfully to Zayne’s touch, it’s becoming increasingly harder to deny you that sweet pleasure you desire when you beg so unapologetically to your husband. Two slender fingers pressed against your hole, plunging to hilt of your pussy with a welt squealchh— stretching your walls sooo perfectly it has you choking on a moan. You gasp on his name, toes curling up, shivering helplessly from that burning pleasure. 

He groans against your chest, finally releasing your nipples— teasing the bud by gently nibbling until you squeal. Instead, he roughly drags his tongue against your nipple, to the valley between your mounds, then to your other breast— giving it that same sweet treatment. Zayne’s fingers reaches soo deep, curling and slamming into your velvety walls with an obscure sloshh of your wet cunt.

The inside of Zayne’s hand slaps meanly into your puffy clit with every thrust of his fingers back into your greedy warmth, sending delightful shocks of pleasure through your already exhausted body. You can barely keep up, melting into the sheets as he explores your cunt— fingers somehow pressing deeper into your gooey walls, your arousal coating the base of his digits. 

“Mmh. . doing soo perfectly for me, sweetheart” Zayne murmurs against your chest, foggy glasses pressing into your skin as he tilts his head for a better angle to lap and drag his tongue against your nipple. 

You whine in response, gasping loudly when the temperature of his skin seems to drop too quickly. Synchronized, goosebumps erupts all over your body, shivering from his cool touch. One of Zayne’s hands presses hard onto your belly, fingers still positioning deep into your drooling hole.

Through scrunched up eyes, you can barely see Zayne peering up at you with lust and hungry filled eyes. He gazes at your body, drinking up every single once of your reactions to his touch; twitching, jumping, shaky breaths, he’s remembering every single one. He perfectly curls his fingers until he presses against your g-spot, the hand off your plush belly pressing harder as he thrusts his fingers into your spasming hole. 

“Haah—! O-oh fuck! Nngh. . fe- feels toooo good!” You wail out, eyes rolling back as your back arches once again. 

That subtle heat in your lower belly is now bold and loud, you’re sooo close to cumming. It’s just that, this feels more intense and hotter than you expected. Your skin feels more heated and stimulated.

“Mmhp—! Z- Zayne!” You squeal out, hands tugging at his hair as he groans from the tiny pain.

Your velvety walls quiver and tighten around his fingers, sucking him deeper as he miraculously keeps his same pace— a medium pace but he presses deeper into your pussy with every thrust. You can barely string words together, squealing in ecstasy when that boiling, white hot pleasure explodes in your belly. Your juices squirt from your sopping pussy, the liquid spraying onto Zayne’s arm and hands. 

It’s messy, your whimpering and tears are dripping from your eyes, hips jolting and shaking from how intense your orgasm was. Zayne didn’t seem to mind, eyes shut as he enjoys the way your nipples jolt against his tongue— fingers still steady fucking into your sloppy hole. 

By time you ride your orgasm, Zayne is dragging his tongue against your heated skin until he reaches your dripping and glistening pussy. 

“Mmh? N- no! P- please, I can’t handle it —nghh!” You mumble out barely coherent words, intensely trembling when he drags his tongue through your syrupy folds.

“Just let me clean you up, my beloved” he murmurs against your fat pussy lips, tongue dragging from your hole to your twitching clit— suckling onto the nerve until you squirm.

CALEB

Your breathing is completely erotic and ragged, it’s becoming awfully hard to breathe when the pleasure is overwhelming. You’re twitching and shivering in ecstasy; your body is burning hot, slick and glistening from sweat, lower belly stained by your own juices. It’s not just the pleasure that’s making it hard to breathe, it’s from Caleb— pistoning a thick dildo, molded after his cock, to ram deep into your raw cunt with an obscure squealchh.

“Hnng—! I. . fu- fuckk!” You gasp out between breathless moans, back arching off the bed every time the dildo kisses at your g-spot. 

The toy can easily press into your most sensitive spots, just like Caleb can, it’s delicious the way it stretches out your velvety walls. Your thighs tremble violently, walls spasming and quivering around the toy— sobbing out your boyfriend’s name when he engulfs your clit in his hungry mouth, suckling onto the puffy bud. He drags his tongue against the engorged hood, smearing his tongue against your clit in a slow manner. . up and down.

The dildo was fucking deeper into you now, relentless, each push of the toy was aimed directly at that spot inside you that made your toes curl and your vision blur— eliciting breathless sobs from your swollen lips. Caleb’s lips wrap around your poor clit, sucking hard. You let out a broken yelp of his name, Caleb, eyes rolling back so far as his tongue flicks at the hood of the engorged bud. 

The pleasure is becoming too much for your poor, overwhelmed body to handle. Being so thoroughly filled by a thick dildo while your clit was being suckled and lapped at by a rough tongue; your kind counselor focused on anything beside Caleb and how he’s making you feel sooo good.

“Haaah—! F- feels too good, ngh!” You squeal out loudly, hips bucking widely at the pleasure.

“Mmhp—! Ca- Caleb!” You whine out, tears clinging to the corner of your eyes.

Caleb drags his tongue firmly against the swollen flesh of your bud, sneaking his spit all over your messy pussy. He’s loud, groaning, moaning, and whining into your pussy— the vibrations coursing through your body, eliciting a sob from you. 

“Haah. . mmh? Yes?” Caleb hums out in response to you whimpering out his name, his warm breath fanning onto your exposed clit— there’s a pleasurable wave of heat that pools down to your cunt, arousal gushing around the toy.

He suckles back onto your clit, the non-stop attention he gives you is enough to have you squirming and writhing from the pleasure. Your clit, swollen, buzzing, and glistening from arousal, is throbbing in pleasure when Caleb drags his tongue against the bud over and over. It’s like he can’t keep his mouth unoccupied for too long, he needs to keep his mouth against your pussy. 

“Nngh—! O- oh fuckkk. .” You wail out loudly, velvety walls tightening around the didlo— juices pooling at the base of the toy. 

It’s messy. The wet squealch of your sopping pussy, the obscure slurping sound of Caleb lapping at your clit like his life depended on it. That heat in your lower belly is warm, it has you violently shivering in ecstasy.   

And Caleb, he’s just as messy; unapologetically loud when slurping at your puffy clit. That slurping sounds, squelching, and muffled moans, groans, and grunts against your mound is loud. Once again, he 

hums against your pussy, suckling and lapping at your cunt like his life depends on it, shamelessly moaning your poor, buzzing clit. 

“I ne- need more of you. . give me mo-more. .—“ he murmurs against your clit, one of his hands digging greedily into the fat of your thighs to push you open wider— simultaneously forcing your fat folds to part. 

“Haah. . nngh, w- wanna cumm” you drool out, rolling your head back to lay against the pillow. 

Your hips are relentless, bucking and squirming from him. Yet, Caleb pays no mind to it, he’s too big lewdly and erotically lapping at whatever sensitive skin of yours he can. Perhaps he’s gone completely drunk at how sweet you are— sweet, you taste just like how he imagined you would.

That thick toy, pressing deep and roughly into your g-spot, has you choking on air. And with a loud cry of Caleb’s name, your gooey walls clamp down tightly around the dildo, your juices spraying from your stuffy hole. 

“Oooh-! Fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. .” You babble over words, incoherent as white, hot heat was all you could see. 

The bed is completely soaked in your sticky juices, some of your juices managed to land onto your lower stomach. And yet, he still gently presses the toy back into your drooling hole, slowly plunging in  and out.

“Wahh—! O- oh fuck. . Caleb. shit. . can’t—“ is all that you can say, words dying at the tip of your tongue when he suckles roughly onto your clit.

“C’mon, baby. . one more time! Wanna see you squirt like that again. .” Caleb gulps, eyes completely blown out in pleasure.

⭑.ᐟ # All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block („• ֊ •„)

⭑.ᐟ #TAG-LIST @rinkomei @hon3yydew @kriscr0ss @Dummiebunny @inkwellscholar @Simphony @goobiescooby @Spookytyrantdeer @sunshimmery @prettypeachhh @nyx2021 @staying4straykids @bijuu-naginata @sillyhahaha @yanderecxre @alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r @Ame-chan-unofficial @McDepressed290 @malleus-draconias-rose @4k1to @thxtmarvelchick @katiralovely @ninahorikoshifr @priestessrosery @blcknebula @blogsforficslol @velourmobius @thequeenofcurses @bimbohkitty @rockyeatrock @voidofryomen @megantheefann @Mcdepressed290 @minivia @cherinchee @mooseheadddd @cxlltothemxon @lamogliedizayne @plzdonutpercieveme @iridescentshine @opalesquegirl @heartyluv @alyakhq @whimsiecat @staarflowerr @madison777x 

♯┆AUTHOR NOTE .ᐟ ★ Finally, I got the chance to write for at least two characters, sorry for the late post! Anyways, I’ll be working hard for my next WIP, Royal bedding<33

[spacekittiesmeow]

zayne is a little too big!

"slow down." his glassy eyes narrow at you in concern. "youll hurt yourself."

you can never take all of him. every time you try, he stops you short. denies you those last few inches.

inches of his swollen length that spread your walls wiiiide as they can go. when you sink on him, take the weight of him up to your stomach—you can’t help craving the rest of him—the depth he keeps just out of reach.

not today, though. the fat head of his cock slots itself right against your cervix, momentarily blinding you. "ha-ah! ngh zayne..." you feel him nudging the back of your throat somehow.

"s'deep mmmhh." you've never slurred before. but again, when have you not made a mess of yourself on his cock.

"are you—hah—alright?" he tries to keep his eyes from rolling back from the way the untouched few inches of your gummy walls squueeeze him.

you pull his hand to your stomach, guiding his fingers to the faint outline of him beneath your navel.

the moment he feels it, his arm tightens around you. he lifts your hips just enough to draw back an inch. the emptiness tears a broken whine from your throat.

"it's better if we don't jump into this prematurely." he tells you. and it's true. partially. before you can retort, his thumb finds your clit as distraction.

because if he doesnt do this, he knows he's going to shoot a load right up your womb.

find all my drabbles here | masterlist

intellectual property of © spacekittiesmeow 2026

[starmocha]

───── ❝ i moaned your name last night ❞

missing you

You missed Zayne.

Missed him terribly.

Misaligned schedules, sudden missions, business trips, emergency—it seemed like the whole universe went out of its way to keep the two of you apart. A couple days apart was terrible, but weeks felt like torture—a punishment, even.

Text messages were still exchanged, and you responded to each other’s Moments posts, and if you were lucky, you could still manage a few phone and video calls here and there, but none of that could ease the loneliness you both felt.

You started counting down the days to your reunion, eagerly crossing off each date on the calendar, already imagining when you’re back in each other’s arms. Daydreams filled those idle, slow moments, your mind drifting away during leisure afternoons, imagining the warmth of his body close to yours.

You pictured dates, planning outings in your mind and already tasting sweet, delicious desserts with him. You couldn’t wait to kiss him again, feel his lips on yours, his own longing surfacing, revealing itself in his own desperation to have you to himself.

Those very daydreams prolonged their stay, appearing even as you slept at night, feeling so vivid, it was like Zayne had returned to your side already. Even in this dreamscape, you could sense everything around you were not real—including him, but when his lips found yours, overwhelming you with passionate intensity, you let go of reason, wanting nothing more than to be drowned by him.

Zayne’s voice was soft but thick with desire. “Why don’t you… show me how much you miss me?”

He guided you to straddle him, and you gasped, arching up into him. He was already hard, already ready to feel your warmth around him. His lips found your neck, trailing kisses along. Strong arms wrapped around you, and large hands roamed all over your back, pulling you tighter into his embrace.

Heart pounding, breathing heavy, you grinded over his erection, already imagining what it would feel like to have his cock fully inside you. He groaned at the sensation, but did not discourage you, his own face growing more flushed with desire.

Your chest rapidly rose and fell, and you pleaded, feeling a growing ache inside your body.

You wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

It didn’t take much pleading for Zayne to shift you on his lap, your panties pulled down, but still dangling off one ankle, as he freed himself, and you gasped, feeling him guiding you down on his cock.

S-so full…

Your eyes rolled back, moaning as you both succumbed to your repressed desires, losing yourself in a maddening rhythm chasing after the same euphoria. Messy kisses heightened the uncontrolled passion, the heat clouding your mind, feeling the familiar signs of your approaching climax.

Nails scraped along Zayne’s back, and you knew he was close, too, feeling him rushing, his fingers pressing deep into your hips.

Closer and closer and—

You woke up screaming his name, shaken awake by a powerful orgasm. Panting, you stared at the dark ceiling above, confused, only realizing seconds later that everything had been a dream. A very lifelike dream.

Trembling in bed, the aftershocks of your climax lingered, but knowing that everything had been a dream left you unsatisfied. If you closed your eyes, it was like Zayne was here again, his warm breath intermingling with yours, and his body heat exchanged with yours.

“…Zayne…”

Blindly, you reached for a pillow, clamping it between your legs. Instinctively, your hips moved, hesitantly at first, a faint sense of shame inhibited you for just a moment, but that sudden friction against your core was enough to overcome any feeling of embarrassment.

Soft gasps spilled from your mouth, teeth biting down on your bottom lip as you trembled, quickening your grinding, overwhelmed by a desperation to revisit that dream again. To feel him again.

You needed him. Needed him raw. Needed him deep inside you.

You needed the way Zayne would dominate, knowing how to set a rhythm with practiced control, using the force of his thrusts to tease and edge you before his own needs clouded his mind and he would succumb to his own primal instincts, addicted to the way you pulse so heavenly around him, desperate for him to be the one to bring you to a state of complete ecstasy.

Stay spread for him, urging him—begging him—your mewls incoherent and indecent, and you’re no longer uttering words, just moaning obscenely until his thrusts would become brutal, so forceful, they would coax his name out of your mouth. Panting and gasping and screaming, your body would betray all of your feelings, and Zayne would know how close you were to coming.

Your body could never lie to him.

Eyes on me, he would command, knowing full well you had lost all control of your body.

“Za-Zayne…”

You continued humping the pillow, rushing as your mind raced with images of your beloved Zayne, seeing his devilishly handsome smirk, his sultry voice coaxing you with plentiful praises closer and closer to your orgasm. Your panting grew heavier, eyes shut tight, seeing him—feeling him.

You could feel his weight on you—like he was right here, keeping you spread for him. You remembered how full you felt, stuffed with his thick cock, feeling it penetrating you again and again, deeper and deeper, and you were gripping him so tight, his own groans driving you closer to your release.

“Oh, Zayne—!"

Everything stilled, your body gone lax, feeling only the faint aftershocks of your climax. Your heart was beating wildly, the adrenaline of the moment heightened, your breathing still unsteady as you lingered in the afterglow. A sleepy smile settled on your face, and you could only think of Zayne again, feeling like he had trained your body so well, you still wanted more.

More of him.

He could take you in so many different positions, make you come so many times, you would lose count before sunrise, and when you were sore, he would keep you flushed to him, his endless praises a sweet lullaby as you surrendered to him once more.

Giggling, you grabbed your phone.

The next morning, Zayne woke up to one text message and a photo attachment.

I moaned your name last night.

His breathing stilled, seeing the lewd dampness on the pillow between your legs.

His pillow.

Amused, Zayne wondered if this sort of behavior warranted a punishment… or perhaps a reward?

“That’s my girl,” he chuckled, his own morning already showing signs of mirroring your previous night.

two truths, one lie

I’ve skinny-dipped in the ocean before.

I moaned your name last night.

I love you.

Waves lapped at the shore, and for this brief instance, it seemed the only other sound Rafayel could hear was his own heartbeat, feeling it pulsing rapidly inside his chest. The air felt humid and heavy, his own breathing ragged as he searched for his voice again, unable to fathom any of the sentences he had just heard.

The alcohol was supposed to relax you both, but perhaps, you were too relaxed. Seated in his lap, your legs wrapped around his waist, you peered up into his eyes, seeing flames dancing on the ocean’s surface.

He replayed the confessions in his head again, easily surmising one of them to be the truth: You love him. Of course you did, he had no doubt that that was the truth and would always be the truth.

“You love me,” he said confidently. “Truth.”

Smiling, you leaned up and pecked his lips, leaving traces of the wine behind. “Correct.”

He furrowed his brows, realizing the two remaining confessions were harder to identify. He gazed down at you, eyes drifting over every inch of your body. You could feel his fingers twitching, unconsciously pressing into your flesh, but you stayed silent, observing the way he was trying to discern which was the truth and which one was the lie.

Rafayel thought about it. He imagined scenarios where you could have skinny-dipped in the waters. Perhaps a daring night during your college years, having one reckless final fun before you graduated and went on to pursue a respectable career serving humanity.

You gasped when Rafayel pressed his fingers deeper into your flesh, still appearing lost in thoughts.

On the other hand, Rafayel found the other confession unexpected, and… unique, to put it simply. Skinny-dipping seemed almost pedestrian, a tired response used by many to prove the existence of a wild side. He wasn’t as interested in that, and he almost wondered if perhaps you also realized how ordinary that was, wanting instead to give him easy confessions to clear the path to what you truly wanted to reveal to him.

“You moaned my name last night,” he repeated, feeling the air was getting hotter. He swallowed once, mustering up all of his confidence for this one weighted word: “Truth.”

You captured his lips, you arms wrapped around his head, fingers tangling into his silky locks. You gasped in between kisses, his warm breath and yours intermingling together. “Correct.”

Rafayel stumbled back, feeling the hardwood floor beneath him entirely. He gazed up, face flushed, at you straddling him, your own cheeks as red as his. Distantly, he wondered if the alcohol had gone completely to both of your heads. Neither one of you seemed to have any inhibitions left.

“T-tell me,” he said as steady as he could. His head was buzzing, intoxicated by the alcohol, but also by images of you, alone in bed at night, submitting to obscene acts and fantasies of him. Slowly, a smile crossed his face, almost deliriously delighted by the very prospect that you fantasized about him in such a way when you were alone.

“I caught a fishie,” you murmured, seeing that same delirium on his face. “I trapped him in my bed and had my ways with him.”

“Y-yeah?”

“He didn’t resist me. He let me do whatever I wanted to him.”

“Like what?”

“Like…”

Rafayel choked back a cry, surprised when you leaned down, nibbling along his neck, your fingers dragging over each button, popping them off and revealing his torso. He panted softly, holding back a groan as you grinded against him, seeking a friction against your core. He vaguely wondered if you did something similar the night before.

“I marked him up, made him mine,” you murmured, branding him with possessive kisses down his body. You fingered the button on his pants.

Suddenly, your world spun upside-down, finding yourself flipped over and pinned underneath the young artist. You gasped, arching up into him when you felt his erection brushing against your core. Eyes closed, you remembered back to the night before, wanting to feel him close to you like this.

The waves sounded louder—deafening even.

“Look at me…” Rafayel murmured, his hands touched your face delicately in a way similar to handling a rare priceless, timeless masterpiece.

You opened your eyes, seeing the fire in his eyes burned brighter.

He wanted you.

Wanted you flushed red, and painted in white by him. His beautiful muse, only worthy of being worshipped by a god.

forgotten hot pot

“Excuse me?”

Xavier hadn’t even realized he had dropped the cooked sliced beef back into his bowl. The pot at the center of the table continued to simmer quietly while he gawked at you casually continuing to eat.

When you had invited him over to your apartment for a hot pot dinner, he had agreed readily, delighted by the prospect of sharing his favorite meal with the one person he loved in the whole world. While the dinner started out normally with some lighthearted talk and teasing, the moment suddenly took an unexpected turn when you casually revealed a rather… indecent secret out of the blue.

However, based on your nonchalant demeanor, he wondered if you had ever intended for it to be a secret in the first place. He felt his cheeks warming up. The whole room suddenly felt unbearably hot, and he knew it had nothing to do with the hot pot still simmering away at the center of the table.

Just as you reached for the fried tofu to add to the pot, you were startled when Xavier blocked your chopsticks with his. You tried again, and he parried your effort immediately.

You lifted your gaze, locked eyes with his.

“I moaned your name last night,” you repeated flippantly, seizing this stunned opportunity to retrieve your tofu, happily plopping them into the simmering spicy broth.

His gaze hardened. “Why are you being so nonchalant about it?”

He could feel something else hardening under the table. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to maintain the same calmness as you. Xavier’s mind, however, was already racing ahead, his eyes staring at you from across the table, darkening as he pictured the state you were in the night before.

“It just happened,” you answered calmly.

“‘It just happened?’” he repeated your words, astonished that your tone was as breezy as if you had just remarked that this was a sneeze and not something much more indecent.

You smiled at Xavier and dropped some cooked bok choy into his bowl.

“I don’t want this,” Xavier said, vexed.

“What do you want then? Mushroom? Shrimp? Lamb?”

“An explanation.”

“Expla—”

“Stop messing with me,” he demanded. You didn’t fluster once at his harsh tone, or even seemed to want to pacify his growing irritation. Frankly, it was starting to piss him off a little with the way you were messing with him like this.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, adding, “I was upstairs.”

“It was… late,” you fibbed.

“You’re lying.”

“So, what if I am?”

Suddenly Xavier turned the stove off. The hot pot continued simmering from the residual heat, the gentle bubbling the only noise to cut through the tensed atmosphere. Before you could get a word out, the lights in your apartment flickered once, surprising you, but Xavier himself seemed unfazed.

He stood up. The lights flickered again.

One step closer to you.

And another.

You yelped when the room plunged into complete darkness, feeling a firm hand grasping your chin. When your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you saw Xavier mere centimeters from you.

“Were the lights off like this last night?”

Quietly, you nodded, almost certain you saw a pleased gleam in his eye.

“Did you plan it?”

Slowly, you shook your head, finding yourself unable to tear your eyes from him. His voice was so calm, alluring, the mere firm but soft tone coaxing out more details of your dirty secret. Surprised, you gasped when he grasped your wrist, pulling you to your feet to stand in front of him. You peered up, seeing Xavier was still confused by your shameless admission.

“What made you want to tell me this?”

“I thought you would like knowing… how just thoughts of you made me so… wet.”

It was brief, just an instance in the darkness, but you were almost certain you saw that flicker of surprise in Xavier’s eyes again. When you blinked, still adjusting your eyes to the dark room, you noticed Xavier was quiet once more, his expression unreadable. You wondered if he was still upset.

You liked teasing him to rile him up, but you hated the idea of him genuinely being mad at you. Perhaps your teasing was too mean-spirited now. You worried that he might start stewing in his volatile emotions and misinterpret your intentions.

“I fantasized about you.”

A shaky breath escaped from Xavier’s lips, his words dying in his throat the moment you leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss to his neck. Instinctively, his hands fell on your waist, steadying you as arms entwined around his neck, body pressing closer to his, and more kisses mapped their way from his neck, to his cheek, his nose, before briefly your lips lingered over his.

“Xavier, I felt you on me last night,” you confessed, cheeks flushed with desire. “I felt you holding me, touching me, and…”

“And…?” His heart was racing, his grip on your waist tightening, as if he was afraid to let you slip from his grasp.

“I wanted to cum to just thoughts of you,” you revealed, even more certain you saw his cheeks stained red and his eyes sparkling with intrigue. “Knowing you were just upstairs, perhaps already asleep, and it was just one floor separating us, but because it’s you…”

You let out a startled gasp, your feet suddenly off the ground and firmly wrapped around Xavier’s waist. He held you tighter, his lips finding yours again, swallowing your words as he started to carry you to your bedroom.

“Xavier? Xavier… our dinner…”

“I have a different appetite right now,” he said firmly, and gradually a smirk appeared.

Before you knew it, your back met your mattress, and suddenly all you could see was him looming over you. You sat halfway up, your weight supported by your forearms resting on the mattress, and Xavier crawled on top of you, leaning in closer.

“Show me,” he demanded, breathless, stealing a kiss. “Show me everything.”

Your hands held his face, and you smiled, feeling a growing warmth in your belly, already imagining the scenarios you had fantasized the night before would come true tonight.

Closer, your lips inched to his, and the warmth of your breath sent shivers down his spine, and your words thrilling him for what to come. “I want to hear my name on your lips, Xavier.”

dark romance

Everyone had guilty pleasure.

In fact, this particular one might even border on being basic as fuck, you decided.

Curiosity guided you to the first book. It was supposed to be a casual read, something you would pick up from time to time, but instead, you had finished the first book within three days. After that, everything became a blur as you tumbled down a dark rabbit hole seeking out more books of this nature. Dark romances with mysterious men.

Forbidden.

Dangerous.

Erotic.

The male leads were always tall, broad shouldered, and deadly.

This latest book you read was no different. The male lead was a brunet, but you pictured silvery white hair instead.

He had brown eyes. You saw crimson instead.

Your eyes drifted over each word, the image in your mind growing clearer and clearer, until the obscure male leads in your books all took on one form: Sylus.

You couldn’t possibly imagine him with any other women, so of course, you indulged in the fantasy, pretending the heroines in the books were you in another life, and in all of these, your fate was intertwined with his.

Cold and dangerous, he feared no one, but for you, he would submit, yielding his power, glory, and wealth to you.

It all sounded so familiar, you mused.

“A certain kitten is smiling like the Cheshire Cat,” a silky voice drifted into the room, the underlying amusement mingled with his teasing words.

You set your book facedown over your stomach, watching as Sylus approached the bed, settling in next to you. He glanced at the cover of your book, raising one brow at the dark artwork with thorns and roses and black feathers.

“If I recall,” he started, reaching for the book. Immediately, you swatted his hand away, and he laughed, continuing unperturbed, “You were reading this book earlier this month. I thought you had finished it already, sweetie.”

“I did,” you answered calmly, your hand searching for your bookmark while you continued to keep eye contact with him.

“I see,” Sylus responded, amused by your transparent act, “It must be a good book deserving a second read.”

Second read—or seventh, to be exact, you silently mused, knowing it was in your best interest not to let him know otherwise, or else you would never hear the end of it.

“Perhaps you could read it to me tonight then,” he suggested, and you squeaked in surprise. Unfazed by your reaction, Sylus propped himself up by his elbow, his chin resting in his hand as he stared at you with mischievous amusement in his scarlet eyes. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Do you not want to share your bedtime story with me tonight?”

“This book is not your type,” you responded, adding confidently, “You wouldn’t like it.”

“I can be open-minded to new things,” he countered, smirking at seeing your cheeks turning red. “Start reading, sweetie. You can even start on page 114, if you’d like.”

Your brain did an automatic shutdown.

Sylus could barely contain his chuckles, delighting in the way he could actually witness the wheels in your head spinning, trying to process his words.

A moment later, you screeched at him, “You know?”

“That a certain naughty kitten likes indulging in some light erotic reading? Of course,” he answered cooly.

You tried to rack your brain, confused by how Sylus even knew of this in the first place.

“I’ve noticed this particular book showing up several times,” he finally explained, “So I was curious about what sort of reading had you this engrossed for weeks now.”

You processed his words, asking slowly, “Did you…”

“The author certainly knew how to create such an… immersive reading experience,” Sylus quipped, reaching over to rest his hand on top of yours. He then pried the book away, setting it on his nightstand.

“I also know this kitten is keeping another secret she hasn’t shared with me yet.”

“I’m not—”

Immediately, you felt complete and utter mortification when you heard Sylus’ high-pitched voice mocking you:

“‘Sylus—Sylus, don’t stop… like that… yes… ye—'”

You pressed both your hands over his mouth, cheeks burning while his eyes gleamed at you with delight. Sylus easily pried your hands away from his mouth, pulling you to rest under him. Your head turned away, and you glowered, asking begrudgingly, “How—”

“You dialed my number by mistake last night.”

“And you didn’t hang up?!”

He laughed. “And miss out on hearing firsthand what you do during your freetime away and alone in Linkon City?”

You gasped softly, feeling his lips on your shoulder. The kisses he left branded on your skin were electrifying, lingering long after their warmth had disappeared.

“You heard everything?”

He chuckled, but didn’t waver from his ministrations.

“Sylus—”

He continued, his teeth dragged over the strap of your nightgown, and you felt another firm kiss left on your flesh.

“I moaned your name last night… you heard?”

He chuckled again, sounding pleased when he answered you. “Several times.”

The first wave of raindrops hit the floor-to-ceiling windows in Sylus’ bedroom. Within seconds, it was pouring, the noise competing with how loud your heart was beating. Trapped beneath him, you recognized his actions were careful—precise, and… familiar.

“Page 117,” you said suddenly, heart pounding louder, feeling his calloused hands caressing your smooth legs, and then thighs, reaching under your nightgown, his fingers stopping at your panties.

He hummed in agreement, his gaze softening at seeing your surprised expression.

“You read… this section?” you asked hesitantly, mind already remembering the exact infamous risqué scene he was recreating.

“I read the whole book,” he corrected you. “What interests you is interesting to me, and I must say… I am intrigued by your taste, sweetie.”

“Sylus—”

He cut you off with a kiss, his words coming out in between each hot breath. “Tonight… yours… yours… to command…”

Butterflies fluttered in your belly, your cheeks warming up, and you recalled again the section he was emulating, the scene now burned into your memory with perfect clarity. Caught under his crimson gaze, you stared up at your lover.

Dressed in dark clothes, enveloped by a mysterious aura, he commanded the night and all bowed to him. With you, however, he yielded control, wanting to serve and pleasure you, keeping you locked in a state of complete euphoria.

repeated fantasies

“I moaned your name last night.”

The voice message was so short. Not even ten seconds long, but Caleb kept replaying it. The first time he listened, he thought he had misheard what you had said.

So, he listened again, his cheeks reddening as the words—spoken so boldly, so flirtatiously, so teasingly—fully processed in his mind.

Then, he replayed it a third time, fourth, fifth, feeling his pants tightening as he listened to your voice repeating that message, never once imagining how just a few simple words could get him so hard, his mind already forming several lewd images of you the night before, alone in bed, splayed out as you played with yourself, doing unspeakably obscene things to yourself while your own mind was fixated with only thoughts of him.

He needed to know.

He needed the details.

He wanted you to recreate the night before, paint a clearer picture in his mind, or perhaps, he should let his imagination go wild instead, filled with filthy fantasies of you succumbing to your own state of lust.

He wanted to listen to every gasp, every sigh, hear how you moaned his name last night as you shook with pleasure alone in bed, mind swirling with only thoughts of him and a still unsatisfied yearning for him.

You couldn’t possibly be satisfied with your own slender fingers. His were thicker. Whatever toys you had couldn’t possibly fill you with satisfaction. He was thicker.

When you moaned his name, was it with need that you desired something bigger inside your wet cunt? Your needy pussy could only be satisfied by him after all. Caleb was getting dizzied by the shameful thoughts, throbbing with need for answers—for you.

The distance that separated the two of you was felt in this moment. He wanted nothing more than to leave Skyhaven, return to Linkon—return to your side, to keep you in his embrace, to hear you wanting him in the same way he wanted you.

This state he was in now, he wondered if it was similar to how you felt the night before. A certain yearning, and a fiery desire that needed to be quelled, to be answered and satiated in that moment.

He dialed your number. The phone rang, and Caleb smirked when his call went through immediately, sensing almost an eagerness on your end. He was just as eager to hear your voice, wanting dirty answers to his filthy questions.

His mind was already racing ahead again, hearing that sweet, sweet voice uttering such filth to him, and he knew he could get mesmerized and hypnotized by such lascivious words luring him to the pinnacle of pleasure.

“Hello, my Caleb,” you breathed, knowing full well just how much you had already messed with his head with your not-so-innocent voice message.

Caleb chuckled in response, both amused and pleased by your audaciousness.

His pants unzipped, large hand wrapped around his cock. With a leisure stroke, and a shaky breath, Caleb greeted you, voice heavy with arousal, “Hello, my pretty naughty girl.”

[ Masterlist ★ AO3 ]

[hermit-online]

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Zayne didn't recall being that rough on you last night, but maybe it was the way your chest rose up and down in that pretty lacey bra framed by the hem of his sweater, or the way your ass bounced with every thrust that made his desk creak that got him all... Distracted.

How could he not be? You just interrupted his late night working hours in his studio, just to tease him under the poor excuse of not feeling well. What he thought to be an illness rapidly becoming a heat wave that spreaded over both of your bodies.

He couldn't help it, it wasn't his intention to mark you (even tho he is not gonna complain about you walking around with his fingerprints decorating your skin) he just wanted to help the poor you struggling to keep yourself up when his cock reached that special spot inside you.

"Come on love, you train so much. Where is my strong hunter, hm?"

He says, like it definitely wasn't his fault that your legs were wobbly after your first orgasm of the night. Still one of you had to keep them upright or else you both would end up in the floor, and he was loving the feeling of your soft skin in his fingers.

Your body is melting against his with each sensation and it definitely doesn't get better when you feel his long fingers rub your clit in motions that make you give up on trying to stay put together.

Your hips just don't know where to go, split between leaning backwards to meet his thrusts in an impossible deeper angle and grinding downwards so you could get that sinful tingle running from where his fingers touched you all over your spine.

Luckily for you, Zayne knows best and he doesn't hesitate to handle your body in the best position for you both. He holds your hips in his hands squeezing the fat between his fingers and keeps your thighs spread open when they try to close the red imprints of his touch unnoticed to him by the hypnotic sight of you under him, too overstimulated to take more or that's what you think.

"I'm starting to think you just got this pliant cause you love being held by me, look at you... Every muscle in your body is responding to me... Even here..." He says trying to appear composed but the lust in his green eyes reveal the truth; he presses softly your lower belly with his palm, adding a sinful pressure that has you moaning while his breath hitches "Y-you respond to me so well... P-pretty cunt molded to my shape" he says, words almost choked with how your walls tighten to him.

A whimper comes out of him when he feels the tale tell pulsing of your walls against him, the coil in his own tummy beginning to snap thread by thread. "Let go for me, please" he begs, as if he wasn't the one mocking you moments ago. "Let me have your pleasure..." A kiss meets your sternum, as if trying to free those perfect sounds you make.

"Let me have your body" another kiss meets your jaw, and you suffocate deliciously in his breath.

"Let me have you, please" he says against your lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he swallows your moans.

And when his prayers come true and that sweet release comes to you, to him, his grip on you is getting stronger, desperate, as if you might disappear if he doesn't hold you close.

His fingers itch when he remembers it, and he has to reread the complete report on his laptop hoping he could get focused again. The memories of each one of your moans, of his name leaving your lips over and over again made him give up, deciding you are not coming out of his mind (although he doesn't put much effort into not thinking about you) he calls it a day and goes to that sacred place you both call home.

After all, you are his goddess, and he is a greddy man who is not ready to get out of heaven.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

a/n: It all started with: I need someone to write about Zayne being all shy after he notices the red imprints of his fingers in your hips and thighs. And well, here we are.

[protoscars]

Exposed

Just a little hurt/comfort/fluff with Reader x Zayne

There is a long pause as Zayne looks at you carefully over the edges of his silver rimmed reading glasses. Then he slowly, methodically, sets down his coffee mug, and lowers the paper he was reading.

"Say that again?" It's part question, part command the way he intones it, his piercing eyes fully settling on you.

You've already screwed up all your courage, there's no going back now. Yet still you quirm a bit under his stare.

"I...I just wanted to know, would you see me naked if you did heart surgery on me?" You can feel the flush creeping onto your face now, a burning embarrassment that bleeds across your the apples of your cheeks.

You don't get the immediate and clinical answer you expect. Instead, he removes the glasses, folding them gently. You can't be certain, but you almost think a soft sigh escapes his lips as he stands from the breakfast table, coffee now abandoned, and steps around it to place himself at your side.

With your boyfriend towering over you, you can't help but look up at him. You are engulfed by his shadow, which eclipses the early morning light. It's a strangely comforting place to be.

Then the sun is blinding your eyes once again, as he crouches, one knee down, to bring his face level with yours, intimately close.

"My love, I have seen you naked countless times." His tone is measured, but soft, and he seems to be resisting the urge to reach out and trace the flush on your cheeks, something akin to mirth but much kinder dancing in his eyes. "Why are you asking this now?"

You finally break yourself away, choosing to focus on a button near the top of his shirt, rather than his penetrating gaze.

"Because..." You begin softly, but are interrupted by a hand on your chin, gently lifting your head, and eyes, back up to meet his, not giving you the choice to look away. "Because...then it wouldn't just be you. It would be everyone else in the operating room. It would be Greyson, and- and-..." you choke on the tears that are just starting to spill over your cheeks.

His thumb wipes them away, and before you can react, he is rising from the floor in front of you to lift you from the chair and take your place, while placing you in his lap in one smooth motion.

You bury your face in his chest without thinking about it, the comfort of his scent welcome and grounding. One hand cups the back of your head, a possessive and comforting motion, the other rubbing small circles on your back.

His voice rumbles in his chest when he speaks, and you feel his next words as you hear them. "I can tell you all about how we protect a patient's modesty, and I can tell you all about how no one is thinking about anything besides what is inside that perfect chest of yours, but this isn't about that, is it?" It's a true question this time, asked so kindly you all but melt into him.

He gives you time. Continuing his motions of gentle reassurance and soothing. Daring to lift your head from his chest and peer up at the man who holds you like you're the most precious thing in the world, you nod slightly. "How do you always know?"

"Mmm..." He hums and removes his hand from your head long enough to wipe away a few more stray tears, "Because, my love, I know you." You reach up and catch his wrist, a soft smile managing to find its way onto your face.

"That's not a real answer." You tease, and he smiles, ever so slightly, back down at you.

"And you haven't given me one, either." He lets your hand slide from his wrist up into his. But his other hand doesn't leave your back, pressing ever so gently into your lower spine.

"I just...I guess...I suppose..." You start three times without finding the right words, but he continues to watch you with a patience that seemingly knows no end. You fiddle with his fingers, slotting yours through his, marveling for the thousandth time at the size of his hands, and the precision of the acts they perform.

Eventually, you try again, "I was thinking about what it must be like for you, in surgery." You see his brows lower, the look on his face telling you that he is weighing every word you say as if they are insights more valuable than any researcher or physician could offer.

"I was thinking about what it must be like for you, in surgery." You repeat yourself, letting the words feel more comfortable in your mouth this time. "And it made me think...how it must feel...to see someone, so helpless, so...exposed. Laid out in front of you." Your eyes are searching his now, looking for any clue as to what lies behind his composure. "And how you...how...how intimate...that has to be..." You trail off for a moment, and lick your lips, struggling to find the right words. "And I wondered...if you've ever seen me that way?"

Zayne reaches down, his face blocking out the sun once more, and you blink in the sudden change of light. His hand begins to trace the contours of your face, as if he can commit them to memory simply through touch.

"I have." He answers simply, but with an intensity briefly takes your breath away. His hands never falter, they are tracing your body now, finding their way down your shoulders, as if still trying to memorize every inch of your skin.

"But more importantly - I have had the privilege of knowing that you in ways that matter even more." He pauses, drawing you closer to him, a certain and firm guiding of your chest to his, as he encircles you with his arms. "And most importantly, you have known me." His voice dips low, and he lowers his forehead to yours.

"I have bared my heart to you, and you alone, my Jasmine." You feel his breath with each word, and his heart beating against your own. "What can there be left to fear?"

[regalillegal]

This is adorable and I love Zayne comfort.

Below is just a brain worm I had to share abt my perspective on Zayne as a surgeon

Aside from that, as a medical student student who’s been in on some cardiac surgeries, it is weird af to see an open chest ngl. It’s kinda shocking at first, but then you fall into a casual rhythm when you realize the whole room is calm, this is what they do nearly everyday. While the entire team obviously knows the patient is a person, i do think that surgery requires a kind of depersonalization of the body on the table. Everything other than the surgical field is covered (for sterility) and though the drapes could be clear, they usually aren’t. It’s also part of the reason surgeons (well docs in general, but esp surgeons) aren’t supposed to operate on/treat loved ones, bc it’s too hard to have that mental separation.

Though I’ve never been the patient on an OR table, even as a med student, there is something oddly intimate about the trust patients have to have in the entire team while unconscious. I think surgeons irl (not Zayne ofc) often forget how scary this can be for patients, bc it’s so commonplace for them. Even tho he’s fictional, I love that Zayne retains a lot of his humanity/empathy in his practice which irl is kinda (stereotypically) rare amongst surgeons.

TLDR; I love him

Ps. He is right that legit no one cares about the patient’s nudity when they’re on the table any more than, “ah shit they’re gonna get cold… anesthesia, what’s the temp? we gotta cover them”

[princesspeachi3]

NOW. honestly this is me just missing silent underflow and the beauty that was that era. so it’s not even a big deal but it is to me because i think this is filthy and he is a SLUT!!

but tell me why, on zayne’s r1 outfit from the lingering lust banner, there is evidently a trail of ‘water’ on his left knee only. and not just that, but the spot on his knee where there is a lot of that ‘water’ is also red.

now. you’re probably thinking ‘it must just be water tho peachie, and knees can be red too’ which right, right. but his r0 outfit, you know the one without all those marks and bites and scratches, there is no red print on that knee.

so that just means. is. is that mc’s come on his knee. is infold saying he used his knee to rub against her. IM.

and yes i know they literally have sex in this banner and he does literally make her come in the card BUT. idk the fact that the outfit incorporates that is so dmebsjwbjsb where are the thigh riders at.

r0 on the left, r1 on the right (and notice the knee only the left stays the same in both.)

a closer look, r0 on the left, r1 on the right.

i’m curious though, in zayne’s card obviously they have sex with mc riding zayne/being on his lap. for the other lis they did it in different positions. does this mean each lis r1 fit shows something like this………. lemme look at that xavier r1 fit hang ON.

[regalillegal]

Now this^ is the type of journalism the lads community needs. Thank you for your service 🫡🤭🤭🤭

[calebsfavoriteusedthong]

CALCULATED RISKS

This entire universe exists because I watched too much Grey’s Anatomy in a single sitting, and my brain scrambled it with Love and Deepspace.

*Dr. Zayne Li (Chief of Surgery and Cardiothoracic Surgeon) The brilliant, unbothered "Ice King." He values absolute order, and expects flawless precision. The New OR Nurse (You). A one night stand turned professional nightmare. A high tension dynamic of trying to maintain professionalism while the other surgeons constantly sense the thick air between you.

*Dr. Rafayel Qi (Attending Plastic & Reconstructive Surgeon) ​The dramatic, highly sensitive artist of the OR. He views his reconstructive surgeries as literal masterpieces, complains bitterly about the hospital lighting ruining his skin, and brings theatrical flair to every consultation.​ The Burn Unit Nurse (You) While he focuses on the aesthetic perfection and artistry of reconstruction, you are all about survival and practical recovery. You think he's a dramatic diva, he thinks you're a beautiful, stubborn force of nature. The banter is fast, witty, and deeply emotional as you collaborate on complex patient recoveries.

*Dr. Sylus Qin (Attending Trauma Surgeon) He's an adrenaline chasing surgeon who handles the messiest ER arrivals. He regularly breaks protocols to save lives, and loves nothing more than pushing Zayne’s buttons. The Strict HR Director (You) ​Enemies to lovers fire. You are constantly trying to keep him from getting the hospital sued. He finds your fierce adherence to the rules incredibly hot, and you hate how effortlessly charming he is even when he's covered in trauma chaos.

*Dr. Caleb Xia(Attending Orthopedic Surgeon) The athletic, high energy bone crusher of the hospital. He treats surgery like a sport, blasts rock music in his OR, and spends his downtime drinking protein shakes and teasing the other doctors.The Physical Therapist (You) A slow burn romance. He breaks the bones to fix them, and you're the one who actually puts the patients back together. You are completely unimpressed by his golden retriever energy and golden boy status, constantly humbling him when he tries to overstep into your rehab plans, which only makes him fall harder.

*Dr. Xavier Shen(Attending Pediatric Surgeon). He looks sleepy 90% of the time but is terrifyingly sharp the second a scalpel is in his hand. He covers his scrubs in cartoon stickers to comfort his tiny patients and can regularly be found napping in hidden corners of the hospital. The Sleep Deprived ER Resident (You) Opposites attract. You are running on six coffees a day, constantly dealing with the chaotic influx of the ER, while he is the calm, gentle presence you have to consult when a kid swallows something they shouldn't. He becomes your designated safe haven, teaching you how to actually breathe, slow down, and share a nap in the on call room.

Zayne was a man of precision. He lived his life by protocols, measured beats, and predictable outcomes. But the liquor from the night before had blurred his usual sharp edges, leaving behind a fragmented, dangerously warm montage of memories.

​He remembers your laugh first—loud and unbothered. He remembers the smell of rain and vanilla, and the way his hands, usually so steady and clinical, had felt entirely impatient as he unbuttoned a shirt that wasn't his.

​There was a distinct memory of losing his glasses at some point and and how he didn't care to look for them. He remembers behaving like a chaotic trauma resident instead of a chief cardiac surgeon.

And then, he remembers waking up to his empty bed, a pounding headache, and a single, mocking sticky note on the nightstand that read: "For a guy who talks so polite, you're pretty wicked in the dark"

🏥🥼💉🩺🩻🏥🥼💉🩺🩻🏥🥼💉🩺🩻🏥🥼💉🩺

The freezing air of Operating Room 3 usually acted as a reset button for Zayne. The moment he stepped up to the scrub sink, the rest of the world—and whatever chaotic thoughts plagued him—was supposed to vanish.

​Not today. He closed his eyes, letting the water run over his forearms. He could still feel the phantom sensation of a laugh vibrating against his chest—a laugh that had belonged to a stranger who had matched him drink for drink.

​"Idiot," Zayne muttered to himself, rinsing the soap from his hands.

​The heavy door to the scrub room hissed open. Zayne didn’t look up immediately. "Did the blood work come back from the lab yet?"

​"I have the labs right here, Dr. Zayne," a voice replied.

​Zayne’s hands froze.

​That voice. It wasn't Nurse Clara, who was currently at home cradling a newborn. It was lighter. And it was horribly, unmistakably familiar.

​He slowly turned his head and stared at you like he’d just witnessed a flatline on a healthy monitor.

​You, on the other hand, had to actively fight the urge to turn around and walk directly into oncoming traffic. Of all the hospitals, in all the cities, in all the world—you had to sleep with the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery twelve hours before your first shift. The very same Chief whose chest you had been using as a pillow five hours ago.

The silence that descended upon the scrub room was so thick you could have cut it with a #10 blade. Zayne stared at you as if you were a ghost, or worse, a medical anomaly he couldn't explain. His chest tightened in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with a cardiac event.

​"You," Zayne said, completely stripping away the usual polite detachment he maintained with the staff.

​"Me," you squeaked, before immediately clearing your throat. You took a step forward, offering a sharp, completely fabricated nod. "I mean, Good morning, Dr. Zayne. I'm the new OR nurse taking over Clara’s rotation. I was told you expect absolute efficiency."

​​"Right," Zayne said, his voice dropping into that deep register that felt entirely different when it was whispered against your neck the night before. "Let’s get one thing clear. In this OR, we maintain absolute order. No distractions. No surprises."

​"Of course, Doctor," you said, stepping closer to offer him a sterile towel, keeping your face a mask of innocence. "I'm excellent under pressure. I never lose my focus. Or my glasses."

​Zayne paused, the towel halfway to his hands. He shot you a look so sharp it could have sliced through a sternum.

"What happened last night was a statistical anomaly. A lapse in judgment fueled by an unacceptable blood alcohol level. In this hospital, you are a professional, and I am—"

​The scrub room door swung open, cutting Zayne off mid lecture.

​Sylus strolled in.

​"Zayne," Sylus drawled, his sharp eyes darting from Zayne’s rigid posture to your flushed face, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his lips. "Am I interrupting a consultation? Or are you just hazing the new staff again?"

​"Sylus," Zayne said, his tone dropping into a dangerous frost. "Why are you in my scrub room?"

​"I'm here because you left your car at the bar downtown, Chief," Sylus said, his grin widening as he stepped closer, dangling Zayne’s car keys by a single finger. "The bartender called me because he thinks I'm your best friend, god knows why"

​Sylus turned his gaze entirely onto you "Welcome to the team. If he gives you a hard time, just tell me. I love a good HR complaint."

​"Sylus. Out," Zayne ordered, the tips of his ears turning a furious, bright shade of pink.

​"Going, going," Sylus chuckled, dropping the keys onto a clean counter well away from the sterile field. "Good luck today. You're going to need it. He's terrible when he misses breakfast."

🥼 💉 🩺 🩻 🏥 🥼 💉 🩺 🩻 🏥 🥼 💉 🩺 🩻 🏥 🥼

The surgical lounge was quiet for a Monday afternoon, save for the loud crunch of Caleb eating a green apple. He was propped up against the counter, scrolling through post-op X-rays on his tablet, while Xavier sat at the table, methodically separating a pile of multi colored gummy bears into neat color groups.

​Zayne sat on the opposite side of the table, his posture so straight he looked like he’d been fitted with one of Caleb’s orthopedic spinal rods. He was reviewing a thick patient chart, turning the pages with aggressive snaps.

The door opened and Rafayel drifted in, looking exhausted. He collapsed into an armchair, throwing a dramatic arm over his eyes.

​"If I have to look at another deviated septum today, my own facial symmetry is going to collapse from sheer depression," Rafayel groaned. "Zayne, give me a cardiac emergency. Anything to get me out of the plastics wing. Let me retract a sternum. Let me feel alive."

​"Go do your charts, Rafayel," Zayne said without looking up. "My OR is not a theater for your existential crisis."

​"You're one to talk about an existential crisis," Sylus drawled.

He was leaning against the doorway, having just walked up from the ER trauma bays.

​"What's that supposed to mean?" Caleb asked, taking another loud bite of his apple.

​"It means our esteemed Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery left his vehicle parked behind the bar downtown last night..."

​"I was caught in the downpour after my double shift," Zayne said "I sought shelter. The liquor to blood ratio in my system became unadvisable for operating heavy machinery. I took a cab. It was a purely logical, responsible decision."

​"The bartender distinctly mentioned you didn't leave alone. Said you were practically attached at the hip to someone, looking like a pair of residents fleeing a malpractice suit."

Caleb stopped chewing. He slowly lowered the apple, his eyes widening. "Wait. Zayne? You left a bar with someone? Like... a human being? For social reasons?"

​"An actual person?" Rafayel instantly sat up, his exhaustion completely forgotten as he peered across the table. "Who? Is it a doctor? A drug rep? Don't tell me it's someone from administration, Zayne, I swear to God—"

​"It is none of your business," Zayne snapped, finally looking up. His eyes darted toward the lounge door, silently praying the new OR nurse—you—wouldn't walk in at this exact moment and ruin his life permanently. "It was an acquaintance. We discussed... statistical probabilities."

​"Right. Statistical probabilities," Sylus mocked "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

​"Xavier, back me up here," Zayne said, desperately trying to redirect the interrogation. "Tell them to mind their own business"

​Xavier didn't look up from his gummy bears. He carefully moved a red bear next to a green bear. "I can't, Zayne. I'm actually really invested in this. Did they have a good personality? Or were they just really patient? Because listening to you talk about arterial plaque for more than ten minutes usually requires a sedative."

​"I do not talk about plaque in social settings," Zayne hissed.

​"Yes, you do," Caleb pointed out. "Last Thanksgiving, you gave my ex girlfriend a lecture on the cholesterol levels in gravy. Honestly, whoever this mystery person is, they deserve a medal. Or a psychiatric evaluation."

​"They were completely rational," Zayne muttered defensively, his mind involuntarily flashing to the memory of you laughing at his tie, your eyes bright under the dim bar lights. He quickly cleared his throat, his jaw clenching. "And as I said, it was a one time occurrence."

​"Oh, so it was a wild night of passion," Rafayel gasped, clapping his hands together in absolute delight. "Look at him! He’s adjusting his glasses! He always adjusts his glasses when he’s hiding a scandal. This is magnificent. The ice king has a thaw point!"

​"I'm leaving," Zayne announced, standing up so fast his chair screeched against the linoleum. "I have a coronary bypass at 2, and unlike the rest of this lounge, I actually respect hospital timelines."

​He marched toward the door, the back of his neck burning red.

​"Good luck, Chief!" Sylus called out after him, entirely unbothered.

​Zayne slammed the door behind him.

​The lounge was quiet for a second before Rafayel leaned over to Caleb. "Fifty bucks says whoever it was, they left him within two hours because he tried to check their pulse during a conversation."

​"No bet," Xavier popped a yellow gummy bear into his mouth. "He definitely did"

What do you think? Should I write more of this?

Yes

No

Voting ended onMay 27

[regalillegal]

In my fun little harem world, mc is the anesthesiologist that has to deal with all of them (even tho 1 anesthesiologist wouldn’t do all of these specialties)

Totally not a self insert on that one

[zaynelandsontop]

I actually DO like it when zayne is slightly mean to us actually I initially fell in love with him BECAUSE of his coldness at the start

[regalillegal]

^^^^

[navydoves]

:: MEDPLAY

✎ᝰ summary: residential student doctor zayne practices drawing blood on you.

✎ᝰ a/n: i'm proud of this one.

“i know you’re nervous,” he says to acknowledge the tremble in your body, “but i’ll be very gentle. even if it does hurt, be rest assured that i’ll do my best to not make it worse. are you okay?”

“yes, i’m… fine. i’m fine.”

“are you sure about that?” zayne brings down his gloved hands to hopefully appear less threatening. “you don’t have to lie to me if you’re scared.”

“i am scared, but i’m not scared that you’ll mess up or anything… just… i can’t do blood, or needles, or doctors.”

zayne raises a brow.

“no offense, this is a very, uh, essential career you’re stepping into, zayne. doctor zayne.”

he doesn’t respond verbally to your nervous blabber. instead he lets out a slow exhale and turns to the medical cart beside him to pick up a blue tourniquet. slowly, so as to not startle you, he leans forward and wraps it gently around your upper arm. he refrains from tying it just yet.

“is this alright?” he asks softly, eyes solely focusing on the band.

with a small swallow you nod. “yeah, i mean we have to get this done at some point… sorry if i’m wasting your time.”

“don’t think about it like that,” he responds, now deftly moving his fingers to tie the band around. “i’ll have to deal with a barrage of patients, many of whom will probably be just as scared as, if not more than, you are. practice; this is just practice.”

the tourniquet uncomfortably squeezes the fat of your arm and leaves the rest of it weak. zayne taps your inner elbow to encourage the thin veins from beneath to expose themselves.

you try not to watch him too closely. not for his sake, but for yours. the needle was no where near you yet; but just knowing he was playing around with your arm for the purpose of sticking a needle in you was enough for you to avert your gaze.

“hey,” he alerts your attention, “you need to breathe and relax. if your body is tense then your blood vessels will constrict, making my job harder.”

“s-sorry.”

“don’t be sorry, just take a deep breath. here.” he straightens and with a gesture, tells you to follow along with him.

his shoulders rise as he takes a long and deep breath, then fall as he lets that breath go. keeping your eyes on him, you follow along through each breath over and over again until your focus was less on your anxiety and more on him.

“there we go, you did good,” zayne murmurs with a small smile. “do you feel better?

surprisingly, you did, but you couldn’t help but feel a little silly at what was essentially a guided meditation from him.

you nod once and offer a smile back. “yeah, actually. i do feel better. thank you, you’re good at what you do.”

he sort-of incredulously chuckles. “i would hope so, being in my second year of residency and all. but try not to undo our progress by tensing up again, okay? just keep breathing.”

he leans in once more and makes a small noise while looking at your arm. for some reason this was causing another surge of anxiety to well up.

“w-what? something wrong?” you ask, joining in on looking at your arm.

he shakes his head and glances up at you. “quite the opposite, i can see your veins much better now. it’ll be much easier to draw now. but like i said, don’t psyche yourself out, okay?” he glances back up and holds your gaze, looking for explicit compliance.

“okay, i’ll try really hard. no promises here though… but i’ll try.”

“that’s all i’ll need. i’m patient.”

zayne flicks at the crook of your elbow with his finger over and over again. your arm was getting numb at this point but you figured it was for the better. less pain to feel from the needle, hopefully.

“okay,” he hums, “i think i have a vein. you’re doing good so far, just keep at it.”

you nod quickly before completely twisting your head the other direction. your heart rate skyrockets at the wet swab of the alcohol on your skin. running through your head was the fear of being stabbed mixed with the fear of disappointing zayne. it wasn’t clear which one was winning.

after the swab you expected to feel a needle penetrating your skin, except, that didn’t happen. it was either that zayne was an amazing doctor that could rid you of needle pain or, the more likely scenario, there was no needle in you.

you look back cautiously and find him looking at you with an unreadable expression. well, maybe he looked a little concerned?

“zayne?” you breathe out.

he undoes the tourniquet and places it back on the medical table.

“zayne, i’m sorry, i was really trying right then. maybe you should just find another patient, i’m not doing a good job and you need these vials.”

you really didn’t like his silence. it made you feel like an embarrassment — one who, for some reason, had offered herself as a patient for his bloodwork training.

you shift back to your regular sitting position and try to follow his averting eyes. was he upset with you? you would be if the roles were reversed.

“zayne?”

he finally brings his gaze to yours and lets out a long but soft sigh. “i’m not going to let you wimp yourself out of this,” he states. “there will be many instances where you’ll have to get your blood drawn, all of which i won’t be there for to hold your hand through. so this is for your benefit, understand?”

you furrow your brows and lower your gaze in slight shame and submission. “yeah, i understand.”

“that being said,” he continues, “this is not that big of a deal. i’m not upset with you, i’m just trying to figure out how to go about this effectively. is there something different i could be doing to help calm you?”

meeting his eyes again, you give the question some thought. “i mean… i don’t know. what’re you gonna do? shake some keys in my face to distract me?”

“if it works it works.”

“i’m already humiliated, please, zayne.”

he smirks. without looking, he picks up the tourniquet again and reties it around your arm. “your vein was prominent. it was perfect to draw from right then, i was eager to finally fill a vial, but you were too scared for me to want it then. i want you to be calmer so you can attach a good memory to this.”

“what do you mean?” you ask.

“i mean i want you to remember this as a ‘i got through it better than i expected’ rather than a ‘i couldn’t wait to get it over with’. do you understand what i’m getting at here?”

he lifts your arm slightly with one hand while the other resumes the flicking onto your inner elbow. he was much more casual and fluid with his actions now, as opposed to earlier where being cautious seemed necessary.

“i understand. i honestly really appreciate how hard you’re trying here, doctor zayne,” you nervously smile. despite directly looking at his attempts to reveal your vein again, you felt a lot less nervous than earlier.

“like i said,” he hums while opening a new alcohol swab, “this is just practice. in the medical field, a patient being nervous about bloodwork or shots is most common and least concerning thing there is.”

he swabs your skin once more and looks up to you with a gentle expression, silently asking if you were okay. you nod once.

“it’s okay,” he whispers, “just close your eyes. being nervous doesn’t mean you’re not brave.”

you give him another nod, less perceptible this time as anxiety settles back into your chest. you shut your eyes and lick your lips.

“it’ll be over quick?” you ask more so to convince yourself it will.

“mhm,” he rumbles, “you have nice veins to work with. i’ve had patients whose veins were very small, very stubborn. i’d have to prick them over and over again until i was successful.”

you wince.

“but that’s not you, is it?” zayne asks by your ear. “you’re going to get through this easy, just one prick for one minute.”

you nod.

“it’s going in, will you be okay?”

you nod again.

“good, just breathe for me. you’re doing a lot better.”

you feel a sting on your arm and tense up immediately. this time, though, it was allowed, the needle was already in, constricted veins no longer a concern.

zayne clicks the first vial in and watches it slowly fill with red. then he looks at you; at your vulnerable expression and your tense body.

“i-is it going? it’s fine?”

“yeah, it’s going. the hard part is over, all you have to do it sit for a few minutes until the vials are full. do you need to hold my hand?”

“w-wh-“ you sputter, “like a child? i’m.. i’m doing fine. i’m a grown adult, i don’t need to…”

“mm, i don’t know why you get so embarrassed about these things,” he croons, “i’m not judging you. it’ll help more than you think.”

without asking you again, he takes your fisted hand from your lap and holds it in his. the warmth of his palm did more than you thought to relieve you. you find yourself squeezing it to release your built up tension.

“see? i can already tell you feel better. don’t be so stubborn.” you croak quietly as a response.

the sting in your arm was gone, replaced by the uncomfortable sensation of the needle nestled underneath your skin.

it felt so odd, to have something underneath your skin and for you to feel it so acutely. it didn’t make sense to you how some children, the most dramatic of the bunch, were more tolerant to this than you.

time seemed to drag on. the only thing that kept track of the seconds was zayne’s breath that quietly fanned on your forehead. two seconds in, three seconds out, that’s how you counted.

the acute awareness of the needle was now rivaling the acute awareness of zayne. his hand in yours was an anchor, and soon enough, you felt yourself relax in a way you never have when getting your blood drawn.

zayne chuckles. “you’ve come a long way today, haven’t you?”

“you think?” you reply in soft but slightly strained voice.

“i can see it right here. you’ve become much calmer. you’re surprising me. i was expecting to be at this for a little while longer.”

a small shaky smile tugs on your lips. “ah, i’m just… full of surprises a-aren’t i?”

air huffs out of his nose in amusement; air you enjoyed feeling. with your eyes closed, zayne was occupying all your other senses. you could hear nothing but his steady breathing; the only thing your nose could pick up on other than the sterile room was the hot breath you periodically shared with him. your mouth had been dry since you stepped into the room, and the only sensation worth paying attention to was zayne's hand in yours.

this doctor was involving himself with your body in every way. "almost done," he mumbles, "just this last vial. your vein is very generous with me, i appreciate it." "uh, you're... welcome?" maybe it was a little strange how much pride you took in that compliment. if you could call it that. when you feel zayne's hand leave yours it was both a relief and a disappointment. he was reaching for the vial, he was going to disconnect you from the needle - you knew that, but you didn't get to see this comforting side of him often. so maybe there was a small part of you that, shockingly, wanted to continue this whole ordeal for a little while longer. zayne takes out the full vial and then clicks the syringe out of you. with pressure, he holds a small a thick gauze square down to the injury then tapes it down with medical tape. "you're all done; you can open your eyes now. unless you want to keep them closed until you leave the office completely," he quips. your eyes slowly open up and adjust to the fluorescent lighting in the room. "making fun of me isn't very professional of you, doctor zayne," you retort but with no heat to your voice. "thank god that's over with, i almost passed out there." zayne picks up one of your vials and swishes it around with passive interest. "mm, but you didn't, gold star." realizing something, he looks behind him at the medical cabinets. "actually, hold on." you watch him put your vial down and make his way over to the cabinets. he opens one up, looks around for a moment, then reaches to the back for something. he pulls out a rather small basket and then walks over to you, a genuine but cheeky smile growing on his lips. "stickers? are you serious?"

the assortment of colourful and immature stickers were like an insult to you. an insult that zayne was reveling in and mentally patting himself on the back for. "we give them out to all our good patients. what? you don't think you did a good job today?" you simply stare at him in slight disbelief. he chuckles at you. he skims through the basket before pulling one out and setting the others aside. he peels the sticker and then presses it directly below your collarbones where it stood out like a sore thumb. it was a sun where in the circle of it said: I was a brave girl today! you look down at him and lick your lips in resignation. you were the butt of his jokes today, but you deserved it. it only took you what felt like several hours to calm down. "your bedside manners need improving, doctor zayne," you murmur dryly. "really? do they?" he hums. "didn't i just help you through getting your blood drawn? i bet you weren't expecting to survive that. but i'm a good doctor, so you did." you raise a brow and hold back a small laugh so as to not fuel his amusement. "say i'm a good doctor," zayne challenges, his smirk only growing. "huh?" "say i'm a good doctor," he repeats. "w-why? you know you are, why do i have to say it?" "because," he pokes the sticker on your chest, "i like hearing it. especially from my good patients. say it." you look down at his finger that prods the sun on you. then, when it falls, you look up at him, his eyes cheeky but expectant.

"you're a very good doctor, zayne." something crosses his expression, if only slightly. then he tilts his head, keeping his eyes on yours, and chuckles. "i know."

[regalillegal]

This, but in reverse, where struggling med student! Reader practices IVs on Zayne’s stupidly attractive well-perfused arms.

(Totally not a self insert) 🫣🫣

[humanjarvis]

zayne, caleb, and sylus as criminal profilers (criminal minds inspired 🔍)

zayne

a former child prodigy who grew up to be the youngest on the profiling team (iykyk)

unwaveringly stern and levelheaded. takes his work very seriously, despite the toll it takes on him. 

when he’s having a rough day, treats from the local bakery end up on his desk. the first time, his team members were afraid he wouldn’t eat them. now, they know whatever they give him rarely lasts an hour

has a less-than-ideal balance between work and home life. can go days without seeing his own bed. still, never forgets to feed the squirrels in his neighborhood when he’s home

has a wealth of anatomical knowledge, earning him the nickname “doc”

accompanies victims to the hospital when they have no one else. if they were intimidated by him, it all melts away as soon as they see how much he cares

has a heightened sense of justice with cases involving children. if he has permission, he sends them gifts every year

his bucket-sized milk teas can light up a room of grizzled officials

 caleb

the team’s wildcard. a mix of calculation and intuition, planning and risk-taking. 

the profile can only take him so far. when a suspect makes a bold move, he makes a bolder one. gets in trouble with the unit chief sometimes, but that’s alright. what are they going to do, fire him? good luck filling his shoes. 

theories usually end up being right. he enjoys being right. the job tires him, but man is it a rush to read someone like a book. probably because he learned to analyze behavior by watching you

keeps a notebook of everyone he’s saved and everyone he’s caught. to remind him of the good in the world and those who threaten it

secret tech whiz, but prefers being out in the field. despite the fact that he has been seriously injured multiple times

doubles as a stuntman. he’s the one taking impossible cross-building leaps to pursue a suspect, and he’s sticking the landing every time

when an interrogation’s going nowhere, he’s the team’s secret weapon. can charm someone into a pair of handcuffs without them even realizing they’ve confessed 

sylus

if you can’t beat him, beg him to help you with a difficult case. 

he’s an infamous criminal, but the profiling team asks him to contribute his knowledge to an investigation. he complies in exchange for something, unless he has a personal vendetta against the suspect. then the opportunity to get back at them is payment enough 

following procedure is hit or miss. sometimes, there’s not an atom out of place at the crime scenes he surveys. sometimes, his goons (luke & kieran) get too rowdy and compromise crucial evidence (he’ll pay for that shattered vase, btw)

learning how to be a team player. as in, another agent inspects the house. he stands against the far wall, picking at his nails. “you did see the bomb over there, right?” he asks haphazardly.

they make it out with seconds to spare.

when he catches the suspect, he’s begrudgingly offered a permanent spot on the profiling team—he’s just too good to let go, despite his eccentricities. he refuses, of course, but offers to let the team join onychinus instead. they refuse, of course.

that’s the end of this partnership.

[regalillegal]

Combining 2 of my hyperfixations Current and previous)?? 😫😫😫🤭🤭🤭 I love this sm

(My Reid to Zayne pipeline remains intact🥰🥰🥰)

[wasp-smoocher]

A Belt and Blueberry Pancakes

Summary: Zayne likes when mc acts out, mc acts out because they like being punished by Zayne. Different from their usual punishments, Zayne implements a denial period, leaving mc desperate for someone to make them come. mc drags Sylus into it, and he can’t help himself from stirring the pot. Basically brat tamer!zayne x brat!mc x pot stirrer!sylus

Warnings & Tags: Threesome - F/M/M, Dom/sub, Impact Play, Pain Kink, Orgasm Denial, Masochism, Hair-pulling

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: been thinking lately about the zayne/mc/sylus dynamic. I think they're both so indulgent of mc, but zayne is definitely the stricter of the two. with a more masochistic mc, I think they'd act out to get punished on purpose, especially if zayne is partial to just bending them over (how fun would it be to get spanked by him? literally delicious) anyway sylus to me seems more indulgent and less likely to punish, since he and mc are always kind of fighting each other for dominance. just a few fun scenes of the three of them exploring a dom/sub dynamic and having fun together! Enjoy!

added note: mc isn't referred to with any gendered terms, but does have a pussy, do with that information what you will

EXPLICIT: MDNI

You tend to enjoy Zayne’s punishments. He likes rules, order, but he likes you more. Every time you step out of line, bend the rules, Zayne is there to correct you. Lately, though, he’s been testing you. Harder and harder rules to follow, harsher (more fun!) punishments for you to endure. With every test, you find a new way to break his rules, and he finds an exciting new way to torment you.

This, however, is the cruelest he’s been.

“A month?!” you almost can’t believe it, ripped out of your post-orgasm haze by the sentence.

“Yes. One month.” Zayne is smoothing his fingertips over your cheek, soothing if not for the shock you’re in now.

“That’s not fair!”

“It’s not up to you.” His hand rests on your cheek, gentle and cold. “You broke the rules, and this is the consequence.”

Your face crumples. “I don’t think I can go a month, that’s too long,” you try to bargain, appease him for a lesser sentence, but your lover is firm as ice, and he’s already made up your mind. You knew it was a bad idea. Zayne has been gone for a work trip, and you were under specific instructions not to touch. But this week was long without him, and a part of you hoped that he’d come home today, see what you’ve done, and punish you right there. Earlier today, your mind was racing with thoughts of how he might do it, his hand, the belt, overstimulation, or even his evol. Some delicious, delightful sensation that you can lose yourself in. This is the opposite of what you wanted.

“You can,” he pauses, thinking. “And you can touch, since it was clearly too hard to resist. But your orgasms aren’t up to you.”

You pout, sinking further into the bed. “Can we still fuck? I missed you,” you know its futile to try and goad him into changing his mind now, but his hands on your skin might soften the absolute torment awaiting you for the next month.

Zayne looks at you carefully. “Have you eaten dinner?”

You sulk, curling further into yourself. “No…” just how many times will you be in trouble tonight? You’d been so worked up earlier, food wasn’t even on your mind. But hours have passed now, and Zayne’s flight back had been delayed. He’s had a long week, too, and now you feel a little guilty trying to work him so hard when he’s already exhausted.

He just sighs gently, and pats your cheek. “Dinner first.” You catch a little flash of a smile, and perk right back up. Maybe you’ll get what you wanted after all.

You get yourself cleaned up and join Zayne for dinner. The conversation is pleasant, he tells you a bit about his trip, but mostly asks you about your week. He seems concerned you may have been too stressed in his absence, and that’s why you’re acting out.

Two hours later, you’re flat on your back on the bed, and Zayne is telling you just that.

“Was it too stressful?” he asks, head buried between your thighs. He’s had his mouth on you for at least an hour, and he still won’t make you come. “Waiting a whole week without touching? Must’ve been too difficult, hm?”

You can’t answer him. All that comes from your mouth are desperate noises and pleads. You didn’t realize how much you could miss his tongue in just one week. And now, jerk that he is, that tongue is on you now, and he won’t let you come on it. Frustration builds, and you jerk your hips up, a halfhearted attempt to force his hand. He moves with you, then fixes his arm over your hips, stuck in place.

“Are you going to let me work, or do I need to tie you down?” It’s just as much question as it is threat.

You whine helplessly. “Please,” but don’t try to move your hips again.

He hums sympathetically, before his mouth is on you again, working you up right to the edge of that cliff, so, so close, before he stops. Lets you down slowly, blowing cool breath over your clit to tease you.

The sensation is all too much. You sob before you can catch your breath to cover it. “I’m being good,” you insist through frustrated tears.

“You are.” Zayne rests his head on your thigh, looking up at you now. “You’re always good for me,” a gentle kiss on the inside of your thigh makes you shiver, “even when you break the rules.”

“Can I please cum now?”

“You already came tonight.” Zayne presses a sweet kiss to your throbbing clit, much like he kisses your forehead when he leaves for work in the morning. Then another kiss, and another, and a few moments later, you’re at the edge again, and your memory must be failing you, because you start begging again.

“Please, Zayne,” you’re all but crying now, tears down your face and heavy sobs shaking your ribcage. “I wanna cum, please?”

“I know you do.” His finger come up to hover over your clit, and you can feel the chill of his evol radiating off of it. Your pulse is in your clit, hot and overstimulated and so needy. “But it’s not up to you right now.” He takes his hand away, smooths it over your leg.

The fight leaves you at that. Your body is exhausted, every nerve ending on fire and overwhelmed. Your muscles are still tense. Your body is still searching for that peak, a delightful finish so you can rest, unaware that your mind has already given up and conceded. It’s not up to you. It’s up to him, and he said no. There’s nothing else to it.

Two weeks later, you’re going insane. Every time you’re with Zayne, you end up desperate and needy. He is an expert at edging you, keeping you teetering on that peak, clinging to him for stability. Sometimes he’s soft, gently petting you over your panties, asking about your day. But most times he dismantles you entirely. It’s clinical, precise the way he lays you out. He studies your every twitch, each minute spasm that tells him where to touch, and where not to. It’s unfair, really, how proficient he is. You wish he was worse at it. You’d tell him as such, if you didn’t know exactly how he’d respond. A stupid, insufferably smug smirk, subtle as anything. A large, cool hand lifting your chin and a warm mouth slotting against yours. And pretty soon after that he’ll edge you to tears again.

It’s almost worse to be by yourself. You’re allowed to touch whenever and however you want, the only thing between you and release is your willpower and your honor. Not to mention, fear of a worse punishment than this. Zayne will find out if you make yourself come. You don’t know quite how, but he has an uncanny ability to sense these things. Or worse, to coax it out of you himself. A confession drawn from his own hands. Your thighs squeeze together where you’re laid on the bed. It’s not even worth it to touch. To work yourself up and ride the edge. To pull your hands away. It’s not up to you right now.

Except he didn’t say it was up to him, did he? Just that its not up to you. Breaking the rules will get you punished, and if this is bad, you don’t want to know what worse looks like. But who says you can’t be clever and skirt around the rules? If Zayne is so eager to deny you, you’ll just have to get someone else to indulge you.

The next day, you ride from work right to the N109 Zone. Sylus has been busy lately, and your schedules haven’t allowed for any time together. But you’d been texting earlier today, and you could practically taste his eagerness to see you. It’s basic negotiation, right? Give him what he wants, and he’ll give you what you want.

I’ll come to you.

I’ll be waiting.

For a moment, you worry. Zayne doesn’t tend to ‘report back’ to Sylus, they usually don’t interfere in each other’s play. And Zayne’s rules are always just for you, and it’s your responsibility to follow them. Sylus doesn’t really impose rules on you like Zayne does. He just lets you bat at him like a fussy cat until he can manipulate you into letting him give you what you want, or until you wear yourself out fighting him. Even if Zayne hasn’t told Sylus about your punishment, there’s still a very good chance this ends poorly for you. But you ache and Zayne isn’t about to let you come anytime soon, so any chance you can get, you’ll take. Even if it might blow up in your face.

He said he’d be waiting. Except he’s not waiting. The twins inform you that some last minute ‘issues’ came up that he had to take care of personally.

“And he didn’t want backup?” Your brow furrows, “I would’ve met him there.”

“No need!” Luke chirps, “He said it was urgent, but boring. Didn’t even want to bring us along.”

Annoyed, you politely decline the twins invitation to their movie night and dismiss yourself to Sylus’ bedroom. You grab a soft, somewhat skimpy set of pajamas that Sylus has for you, black and silky with a few little ruffles. You change, lay down in his bed, and feel his absence envelop you. It aches in your chest, and you breathe deep and slow. The sheets smell so much of him, rain and gunmetal.

The ache in your chest dissipates as quickly as a new one manifests in your cunt. Heat building around your disappointment at having to wait even more. It’s not even worth it to touch. Your hand comes up to your chest, squeezing gently. Touching is only going to make it worse. You squeeze harder. Your clit pulses, thighs squeezing together for relief that doesn’t come. Breathe out slow, your hand grazes down your stomach, over your hip, to rest on the top of your thigh. Breathe in. Breathe out.

You slump into the bed in defeat. Frustrated and alone, you roll over, intent on napping until Sylus returns.

Sylus returns about an hour later, annoyed and eager to see you. Business has been trickier than usual lately, and it hasn’t afforded him enough time to see you. But it’s worth it now though, to know that you are resting in his bed, waiting for him to return. Who could blame him if his excitement turned to energy and he races through his home as shadow and mist, re-materializing just outside his bedroom door? He’s excited to see you, after all.

Behind the door, Sylus is greeted by his favorite sight. You, flushed and panting in his bed. A pillow between your thighs as your slick cunt glides against smooth silk. You perk up hearing the door open, moving slightly so you can meet his eyes. He’s smiling at you, playful, and you melt into the bed.

“My, isn’t this a wonderful gift,” in a few fast strides, he’s at the bed and by your side. His hand slides into your hair, pulling it into a firm grip at the root. He pulls up, careful but strong, and you follow him. He brings you up to eye level, plants a kiss on your mouth. Your hips haven’t stopped grinding into the pillow.

“What brings you here so needy tonight, hmm?” He holds his grasp on your hair, stroking your hip with his other hand.

Your movements falter, trying to focus enough to answer him. His hand at your hip grabs tighter, forcing your hips to keep moving against the pillow. Sensation rocks through you, too much and not enough on your oversensitive nerves, and your hands fist into his shirt as you paw at him uselessly.

“Can’t-” you gasp, trying to chase the sensation of the pillow, but his grip is firm. “Can’t make myself come,” you pull him closer, angle your head as much as possible for him to kiss you, “need you, please Sy?”

He takes the bait, pressing his mouth to yours. You’re so close, you can taste it. You open your mouth for his tongue, hot and wet as he licks into your mouth. As you pull him closer to you, he releases his grip on you, moving both hands to your hips to pull you into his lap. You whine at the loss of soft silk against your skin, but find yourself happily grinding against his hard cock through his slacks.

“Need me, huh?” He huffs, hot breath on the shell of your ear. “Isn’t that sweet?”

With him hard under you, rough fabric rubbing against your clit, it’s almost painful to hold back your orgasm. You slow your hips just enough to keep from going over, breathing hard against Sylus’ chest.

You lean into him, looking up and batting your eyes, “Sweet?”

His thumb runs over your cheek, just under your eye where tears have collected. He brings his thumb back to his mouth, runs his tongue over the pad of it. You watch, mesmerized. He brings his hand back to your face, presses his thumb against your lips, and you wrap them around it eagerly.

“Very sweet, kitten,” he runs his thumb back and forth over your tongue as you suck on it. “What’s wrong, hm? Too complicated for you to do it yourself?” He pins your tongue down when your face furrows, ready to spit him out and start arguing. “Sh, sh, kitten, no need to fuss.” His other hand is on your hip again, helping you grind against him, “I’ll take care of you.”

True to his word, you are well taken care of. Not long after, he has your legs spread over his lap, back pressed to his chest. His hand is soaked to his wrist with you, fingers pumping deep into you, pressing against every sensitive spot he knows. Your back arches when he curls his fingers just so, and you cry out as he angles his hand to hit there with every thrust.

“There you go,” he coos into your ear, “much better now, hm?”

Your hand comes up to tug on his hair, soft white locks pulled tight in your grasp. He hisses, pleased, and skates his other hand down your body to rub your clit. Steady, firm circles that make you gush around his fingers. You pull tighter as you come again, walls pulsing in rhythmic spasms.

“Good kitty,” his voice is thick with equal parts pleasure and pain, so satisfied with making you come.

His smug satisfaction goes straight to your clit, and you come around his fingers again. Your vision whites out and your ears ring, but you think you hear a fond chuckle before your body goes limp, mind hazy.

Dearest and most distinguished Dr. Zayne, our beloved has come to me in great distress with a complaint that may be of interest to you. Kitten was absolutely distraught, complaining of not being able to orgasm. I of course, rectified the situation. Perhaps the issue is medical in nature?

Sylus watches with interest as typing bubbles appear, and disappear again, before a message is delivered several moments later.

Is that so?

A day goes by. Two days. Not a word from Zayne or Sylus, and you think you’re in the clear. In a delightful change of pace, you have to work late, and Zayne got to leave on time. He offered to pick you up after you got done the backlog of papers you’ve been stuck with, and to take care of dinner. A few sweet texts and the promise of dessert later, your mood is lifted enough to finish your work in record time. As promised, Zayne picks you up, bringing you back to his house for dinner.

Inside, Sylus is waiting, sitting comfortable as a king on Zayne’s sofa. Your brain stops. You glance between them both frantically, trying to get a read on the situation. Are you already screwed or can you talk your way out of it? Desperation claws its way through you. Even if they don’t know yet, you know it’ll be no time at all before they find out. You brace yourself, ready to face the music.

“Dinner first.” Zayne’s voice knocks you out of your stupor. You look back at him, eyes searching his. He doesn’t look the way he usually does before you’re punished. It unnerves you.

Your dynamic with Zayne is steady, consistent. You step out of line, he punishes you. You like the ways he punishes you, and that’s partly why you act out so frequently. Chasing sensation. Letting him take you apart with pain, wielded so carefully in his steady hands. He knows best how to take you apart, put you back together again, whole and satisfied.

You wanted a simple, short punishment for your behavior. Zayne’s throwing you off rhythm.

Lost in your thoughts too long, you feel a hand gently press down on your shoulder, prompting you to sit in the dining chair pulled out for you. They managed to corral you to the dinner table without you even realizing. This month is messing with your head.

Food is served, fresh and hot on your plate. It looks filling, your stomach growls with interest after the lackluster meals you’ve endured today. A fork is placed in your hand, and you obediently begin to eat.

Towards the end of the meal, the sense of impending doom begins to creep up on you again, and you slow your eating in a feeble attempt to delay the inevitable.

“Sylus shared something interesting with me, the other night.” Zayne speaks, hands resting on the table on either side of his empty plate. “A medical complaint?” He tilts his head at you.

“I didn’t say that!” You protest, glaring at Sylus for snitching on you.

“Don’t speak until you’re finished eating.” Zayne’s voice is firm, but calm. You’re not in trouble, yet. “He said you claimed you were unable to orgasm.”

“I believe kitten’s exact words were,” Sylus pitches in helpfully, “Sylus, Sylus, I can’t make myself come, I need you, please Sylus” He pitches his voice up in his worst impersonation of you.

Your face heats with rage and embarrassment, slamming your fist clutching the fork on the table and standing to glower at him. He’s leaning back, relaxed and smug, barely holding back a chuckle at your anger. Puffed up like an angry kitten.

“Sit.” Ice washes over the room, soothing, cool. You take a deep breath, clench your fist and your jaw. Eyes on the table, you sit, lift another bite of food to your mouth with a tense arm and shaking hand. Across from you, Sylus claws at the air, another mockery of you. You keep him in your periphery, looking at Zayne instead.

“Is that what you said?” Zayne asks. You pause, embarrassed again, but nod. Another bite. “

You’ve finished eating. Zayne looks at your empty plate. “Over the couch.”

Your eyes widen. “I didn’t break any rules!” You protest.

“Yes, you’re very clever.” Zayne is already removing his belt. Before you can blink, Sylus is behind you, his hand in your hair, pulling you to stand and walking you to bend over the couch. “I said it wasn’t up to you, so you turned around and got someone else to do it.”

Sylus grumbles at being referred to as ‘someone else’, but keeps you held in place despite your squirming.

“Who decides how you’re punished?” Zayne is behind you now, rubbing the small of your back where your shirt has ridden up. He tugs at the waist of your pants, slipping them and your panties over your hips, down your legs. You shiver at the cold air on your bare skin.

“You do.” Your voice comes out shaky. Lightning races through your body, anticipation making you slick.

“So it is up to me.” His voice is final, and the crack in the room at the first hit of the belt on your skin echoes. You jerk, shocked, but Sylus keeps a firm grip on your hair. You don’t even have time to breathe before the next strike hits. One after the other, each bite of pain bleeding into the next. You pound your fists into the cushion below you. It feels endless, but eventually there is reprieve. A short break, the pain blooms into a delicious heat, and you start to melt. The strikes start again and the pain shoots through you. Sobbing helplessly, your hands scramble across the cushions to find Sylus’ legs, which you cling to, digging your nails in. Zayne pauses again, you force yourself to breathe.

Sylus moves your head to make you look at him, “Having fun?” he asks, voice light, playful. His other hand comes up to wipe tears from under your eye.

You sniffle and nod as best you can, grinning through your teary face. Your head is light and fuzzy, and each hit sends you further into that space. His hands in your hair, on your face, keep you on this planet, in this room. Taken apart and held together by people who love you more than anything, who always find a way to give you exactly what you want. You’re having the most fun.

Sylus smiles down at you fondly, gently rubbing the sweat from your temple. The strikes start again, and you dig your nails deeper into his legs. He smiles wider.

You stop being able to keep up with the individual strikes. Your ass, the backs of your thighs, burn with pain and heat. You’re floating, safe and held, but your mind is somewhere outside you. You register words, deep baritone voice says something. Asks something? You open your mouth to answer but realize you don’t know the question. Your head is underwater, floating weightless and shapeless, as your body sinks down and relaxes. The strikes stop, the pain still blooms across your skin, a pleasant heat and a sting that bypasses your brain and goes right to your clit. You breathe slowly through sobs and giggles, reveling in the pain.

Zayne’s cool hand is on your back again. The first thing that starts to bring you back. And your head is on someone’s lap. Sylus. And he’s petting your hair, almost in time with the chill of Zayne’s fingers running slow circles over your back. Your breathing evens out, soft cries replaced by satisfied hums. Zayne’s other hand grazes the back of your knee, ice cold. It’s the only warning you get before his frigid palm is fully on your thigh, soothing the heat. His hand is firm, thorough covering every welted inch of your skin. He massages gently, methodically. It’s so easy to just relax, to melt and let them take care of you.

In your fuzzy-headed state, you vaguely register movement around you. When your mind returns a little, you find yourself sprawled out on the couch over both their laps, Zayne still rubbing firm, cooling circles into your tender flesh.

“Better now?” Zayne asks, using the barest touch of evol to cool your heated skin.

“Mmhmm…” you hum slowly, satisfied. Your whole body feels fuzzy and pleasant. Your mind is floating somewhere outside of you, above the clouds and underwater. Gentle hands petting you and firm thighs under your body keep you grounded. You don’t know how much time passes, but eventually you return to your body. You notice your breathing, still a little stuffy from crying. Your hand is moving slowly up and down Sylus’ calf, the same pace as his hand petting your head. You squeeze his leg gently before looking up at him fondly. He smiles down at you, greedily taking in your satisfaction. You shift slightly, craning your head back to look at Zayne. His hand pauses over the swell of your ass, a soothing chill emanating from his palm. “Can we just skip to the good part next time?” You ask, earnest. The denial was equal parts torment and enjoyment, but the delicious sting of pain is something you’ve been craving.

Zayne chuckles at you, indulgent. “I thought you were taking your punishment well,” he starts, “But if you prefer I bend you over my knee,” he give a light slap to your ass, just enough to send a pleasurable jolt up your spine, and you melt into them again. “I’d be happy to oblige.”

Later, after you are cleaned and your skin is tacky with healing salve, you are in bed squeezed between your two lovers. Sylus’ firm chest is pressed up to your back as you rest your head on Zayne’s chest, over his heart. It’s started to rain, fat droplets of water hitting the roof make a calming background noise, letting you relax into the bed and the warmth.

“I believe,” you start slowly, mind still playing catch-up. “That I was promised dessert.”

Sylus’ chest shakes with laughter behind you, “That wasn’t enough of a treat for you? Greedy kitten,” he presses a sweet kiss behind your ear.

“That doesn’t count,” you and Zayne say in sync, with matching flat tones. You both take dessert very seriously.

“’M too tired now, anyways,” you sigh. You are wrapped in such comfort that leaving seems an insurmountable task, and not worth even the most enticing incentive. Dessert can wait until morning. “Want blueberry pancakes for breakfast.”

“Anything you want,” they both say, and you know it’s true.

The sound of the rain, the gentle rhythm of your breaths, and Zayne’s steady heartbeat under your ear lull you to sleep faster than anything. Before sleep takes you entirely, you press your lips to Zayne’s chest, squeeze Sylus’ hand where it holds yours, and then you’re swept off into dreams. Sweet, sweet dreams of cold, pain, and blueberry pancakes.

Writers run on reblogs!

[shakingshore]

none of your friends' business

Who knew the Li's were closet freaks?? tags: married!zayne x reader + caleb. voyeurism. exhibitionism. unprotected sex. submissive puppyleb. use of 'good boy/good girl'. a/n: this was meant to be a drabble, and it turned into around 2.7k words of smut. whoops. i've been thinking about married!zaynemc asking the other love interests to be their third.

Caleb was the first to find out. Obviously. He had known you and Zayne for years- his entire life- there were no more secrets left to hide.

Not even this one.

Zayne was surprisingly very, publicly, physically affectionate with you. Small touches here and there on your little dates, or kisses goodbye when he had to leave for work. He minded less so when Caleb was around. And Caleb was always there, an inevitable constant, so it made sense if he was there for everything.

Which is why he is here, kneeling on the floor of your living room, watching Zayne fuck you like he has all the time left in the world.

Caleb grips at his jeans so tightly he thinks he’ll rip right through them. He isn’t allowed to touch, not yet. His eyes are trained on the way Zayne disappears into your dripping cunt over and over again, a slow, steady rhythm that keeps you wanting. He knows that Zayne is hitting you deep, by the way you moan his name every time he fills you.

Caleb doesn’t know how it got to this point.

(A lie. He remembers the exact time and day he first caught the two of you fucking. In the kitchen, over burning eggs and spilled milk. His mechanically altered brain catalogued the memory into his hard drive after three weeks of jerking off to it every night.)

He thought you, the Li’s, would be more… coy about sex in general. Zayne used to burst into bright red flames if you even held his hand in front of Caleb, before you got married. The quiet, stern doctor couldn’t handle a little bit of skin contact.

Now, Caleb thinks it might’ve been for a different reason altogether.

It just kept happening— “getting caught”.

Innocent gestures at first. Kisses to your palm, and bounding hugs after a long day. Then it was making out in the car, Zayne’s hand under the table during a fancy dinner, you under his desk in the office during a lunch date. Caleb was there for all of it, when time would allow.

It reached a point where Caleb didn’t mind it anymore (he doesn’t think he was ever bothered by it, actually, which says more about his person than he’d like to think about.)

It was, probably, the insane level of attraction he had to the both of you. The closest people to his heart, together romantically and physically. It made sense to him that he would be turned on by the sight of you, instead of scared away.

The fact that you allowed him to be a part of it, only meant that you were all the same type of crazy.

He liked watching, and you and Zayne loved to be watched.

Fuck, his dick fucking hurts.

“Zayne,” you cry again, a long, pitiful whine that sends a tingle down Caleb’s spine. You bounce lightly on the man’s lap, energy running low as you get closer to your peak.

Zayne grips under your thighs, encouraging you to keep going, his own hips pushing up as he brings you down.

Both of you are still clothed, with only the buttons undone and belts unbuckled. The only article of clothing fully removed was your shirt, which is tossed onto the floor. Your pretty skirt is hiked up and panties pushed to the side, enough for Caleb to see.

Zayne checks to make sure, too, glasses askew as he peers over his shoulder to meet Caleb’s watchful eye. The other man smirks, and it makes Caleb twitch in his jeans.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Zayne asks you. A rhetorical question. A mean question. He knows, always knows, when you’re close, and when to push you past your limits.

He holds you loft, until all that’s left inside of you is the head of his cock. You try to push down, but Zayne stays firm, and you can only cry. “Wanna come.”

“I know,” he whispers in your ear. He sounds apologetic, like he isn’t the one keeping you from the very thing you want. “But you’ll have to be patient.”

Your arms wrap tightly around Zayne’s shoulders, a nonverbal plea to appeal to his soft side. It doesn’t work. Zayne’s eyes never leave Caleb, and his smile grows. He knows that look, a mirror image of your own mischievous grin when you have a bad (or really, really good) idea.

“Caleb, you’ve been a good boy.”

Caleb nods, not trusting himself to speak without stumbling over his words.

One of Zayne’s hands glides up to your ass, pulling at one cheek to expose you even further. Caleb’s eyes widen, following the trail of juices that leak out of you and stain the seam of Zayne’s slacks. He slips out of you, heavy dick bobbing against his thigh, and you are left gaping. “I think you deserve a treat.”

Oh, all thoughts of anything else are dashed from his mind. It’s only you and Zayne and all the fucking cum dripping onto the floor and he would lick every last drop off of the hardwood, if Zayne asked him to. His body moves before he can register, and his mouth dives deep into your waiting cunt.

“Caleb!” you gasp, and Zayne pinches the meat of your ass.

“That’s not my name.”

Caleb groans, tongue gliding over your puffy folds, drinking up every sound that you make and he’s careful to remember not to touch himself. He drinks you up straight from the source, then follows the seam of your pussy down to your throbbing clit. He flattens his tongue over it, pulsing lightly, waiting for your moan of approval. You do your best to grind on his face, even though Zayne is still holding your hips up to keep you from coming too quickly for his liking.

Caleb couldn’t pinpoint it until now, that he likes to be used. Or, more so, be useful, even in the bedroom. A plaything, a means to an end, for you, for Zayne, because he loves you both. You mean more to him than his own pleasure, and he wants to help his favorite people reach the end, even when it’s Zayne’s name you are calling in lieu of his own.

And you keep saying it, Zayne Zayne Zayne, until he lets your hips drop and Caleb’s tongue sucks roughly at your clit, his nose buried so deep into you that he forgets to breathe, and your first orgasm of the night rushes through you like a tidal wave.

Your body shakes under the force of it while Zayne sings you praise and Caleb shoves two fingers into your fluttering hole, giving you something to clench around. When Caleb pulls his mouth away to watch all of your juices coat Zayne’s hardness, thumb replacing his hot tongue on the sensitive nub, he takes the opportunity to do what he’s meant to— clean up the mess.

Caleb grabs the shaft with his other hand, more roughly than he should have (curse this prosthetic sometimes), and takes half in one fell swoop. He can’t help it. Zayne is modestly big, curved up at the end, thick at the base. Picture perfect. He doesn’t know how he can take so much into his throat at once- maybe it’s the adrenaline, the overwhelming lust, he doesn’t fucking care, because Zayne moans so loud and you follow his lead, it’s like Caleb’s own personal choir.

His hand strokes what his mouth can’t reach yet, the head already pressing the soft spot in his throat. He times it so that he thrusts his fingers into you at the same time he pushes in with Zayne, and he’s a proxy for your two bodies to fuck through him.

His eyes fall shut as he loses himself to the motions, only feeling the two of you everywhere. The sounds you make, the pleasure you feel, is because of him, and it only encourages him to keep going.

You come again, not as intensely as the first, but it has you crying helplessly. You find the last of your strength to pull off of Caleb, lying heavily on top of your husband, body melting into his while you catch your breath. If Caleb looks up, he can see you kiss at Zayne’s face and neck, smearing spit into his exposed skin. Zayne strokes your thighs, then your hips, then finally wraps his arms around your waist, helping you come down with such a soft touch and that easy, proud smile.

“You’re a good girl,” he says to you, sweet and slow as syrup. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You are completely entranced by him, only focused on him and his sugary words. You still blush at the sound of them, as if you didn’t just come all over another man’s face, who is still kneeling under you. You haven’t looked at Caleb once. Your back is to him while Zayne takes the credit, and it’s that thrill of faux jealousy that makes Caleb hump at the air.

Caleb wants to be acknowledged, too. He wants to be good, has been good all this time. Caleb wants to prove to Zayne just how good he is.

So he licks up the length of Zayne’s cock, following the vein on the under side to the bulbous tip. He sucks at the head with the same fervor he did with your clit— it ilicits the same long moan but not enough to make him come like you. Caleb swirls his tongue around, poking at the slit, lips pursing like he’s making out with Zayne’s cock.

Fuck, he really wants to kiss you. And maybe he’s being greedy now, because he imagines you kneeling down here with him, and how pouty you’d be if Caleb was hogging your husband’s heavy dick in his mouth while you run your spit down the shaft and meet his lips at the tip.

It only spurs him on. Caleb’s favorite pastime is teasing the hell out of you, after all. He tries to work down as far as he can, inch after inch disappearing into his hot mouth, until Caleb can almost reach the base. His head bobs there for a long moment, just feeling the weight of him, the taste of you still on his tongue.

Zayne bucks up forcefully, suddenly, jostling Caleb and causing him to gag. He pulls off just in time to gasp a lungful of air.

“Sorry, puppy,” Zayne says, a little shocked by himself. Caleb realizes that he made Zayne lose control, just for a second. The biggest compliment, according to you, is when Zayne can’t help himself. Long fingers pet at his hair in apology. There is no need for one, Caleb thinks, he takes this as a success.

Instead, Caleb allows himself to rest a hand at the crest of your back, smooth and sweat-slicked. Your face remains tucked in the crook of Zayne’s neck, though you’re much more relaxed than before. He pumps his fist up Zayne’s cock a couple more times, before positioning it in front of your waiting hole.

“Good boy,” Zayne coos, once he realizes what Caleb is doing.

“Thank you, puppy,” you chime in right after, and Caleb presses the head in, watching how you suck him in greedily. guiding you to sink down the entire length slowly. It’s a slow crawl, because this is Caleb’s reward for himself, your pussy stretches around Zayne like it was made for it. It is. You’re perfect for each other in every way. Caleb can never get enough. He’d do anything the two of you ask, as long as he can be with you, as long as he can witness the two of you sink into each other for the rest of his days.

Once you sit fully on Zayne’s weeping cock, a sigh of utter satisfaction leaves your lungs, and Zayne takes it into his with a whirlwind kiss.

Caleb stands on wobbly legs, the hand still on your back helping you rock your body back and forth over Zayne. From here, Caleb can see everything. Zayne’s iron grip around your waist, the hickies you left on his neck. Your tongues exploring each others’ mouths unabashedly, the breaths you exchange in between them. It’s you and Zayne written all over each others’ bodies. Caleb wants to leave his mark, too.

“Please,” he manages to eke out. He palms at the neglected bulge in his pants. Technically it’s not breaking the rules if there’s a layer of clothes in the way, right? “Zayne. Please, I want to-“

“Go ahead, puppy,” Zayne cuts him off, breathless from your kiss. “You can touch yourself.”

And you are back on his lips the moment he finishes that sentence, starved for his attention.

Caleb unbuttons his pants and tugs himself out of his boxers, too impatient for anything else. He spits in one hand, not wanting to be selfish and ask you for yours. He’s greedy, too, jerking himself in stuttering strokes, every pass of his hand like an electric shock of hot pleasure. He does his best to keep some semblance of a tempo, following the way your body lifts up, and smacks back down. Wet plaps echo through your living room, all three of your voices filling the space, and Caleb (almost, not really) feels bad for your neighbors.

Zayne’s cool hand lands on his, the one on your back, threading his fingers in a semi-awkward position, enough to loop the pinkies, but it grounds Caleb, an anchor in the rolling sea. At the same time, you reach a hand behind you, searching for a part of him to grab, landing on his wrist.

Zayne pulls you in tighter, whispering about how good you and Caleb are, how divine you feel, how kind Caleb is to let you come. His hips thrust up into you from below, faster and harder than the teasing pace from before. Your combined juices leave a nasty mix around Zayne’s cock, a frothy ring forming around your cunt.

Caleb can do nothing but whimper, guttural yelps forced from his gut with every pathetic word he cries. "Please, please, Pips. Please come."

He grips tightly around his base, so painfully hard that his skin is turning an angry red, to stop himself from busting too early, waiting for your permission. You turn your head, nodding in time with Zayne’s thrusts, and you must be getting close, too, by the way Caleb can see you squeeze around your husband. God, his resolve is breaking. He strokes his entire length, swiping over the head and gathering the pre-cum to jerk back down.

What breaks him is when your eyes finally meet, your pupils blown wide and empty, with a pleading furrow in your brow. He comes on your back, thick spurts painting your intertwined hands, with a loud drawn out groan.

It sets off a chain reaction, and Zayne releases inside you right after. It doesn't take you long to follow, not with Zayne's rough voice at your ear and Caleb massaging his cum over your skin.

He'll apologize for making such a mess later, but for now he is delighting in the sight. Zayne even has the audacity to untangle his cum-covered fingers and stick them into his mouth.

The three of you stay like this for a while, breathing heavy, relishing in the storm of sweet release.

Your hips twitch, riding the aftershocks, Zayne’s cum leaking from you steadily, still not ready to pull out.

“Thank you,” Caleb manages after a while. “For letting me watch.”

“Of course, puppy,” Zayne replies. “But don’t you want your reward?”

His ears perk up. Reward?

Caleb realizes that you never stopped looking at him. Not since you twisted your body around just to watch him bust a load all over your back.

You pop off of Zayne’s cock, cum spilling from your puffy cunt, and turn around so that you’re facing Caleb now. You position your knees outside of Zayne’s so that you’re properly on display for Caleb’s hungry eyes. Zayne’s hands roam over you, showing off his prize. One tweaks at a hard nipple, while the other spreads your pussy lips wide. Zayne, on the other hand, is already half-hard, cock bobbing back to life between your legs.

“You get to choose who fucks you first, puppy.”

Oh, fuck. The Li’s are going to be the death of him.

[regalillegal]

^^^^^ this is the Caleb I’m most down bad for.

[nlcoleq]

zayne puts you in time-out—in his own special way. ♡

disclaimer. overstimulation, restraints, brat taming.

“please, zayne, let me out of these things—nghh!”

zayne’s unamused expression tickled something deep within you as he set his cup down with a soft click on his desk. “it’s almost amusing, the way you assume you have the authority to demand anything from me.”

“i’ll never bother you at work again, zaynie—ahh—‘m sorry!”

“we both know that’s a lie, darling.”

your trembling thighs squirmed as if trying to break free from the unbearably embarrassing situation zayne had put you in. his belt was pressed securely around your upper thighs, circling the flesh in a way it was impossible for you to escape. nestled securely between your legs was a powerful vibrator, its intensity set to the highest level.

your hands were also powerless since a pair of fluffy handcuffs restrained them. fists clenched as though trying to bear the unbearable, overcome the wave of intense overstimulation.

your current state was beyond embarrassing on its own, but zayne’s nonchalance made it ten times worse.

though he had every right to act like that.

a bit more than an hour ago, you had arrived at his office. all akso hospital’s workers could contemplate was the sight of the all-mighty dr. zayne li’s loving and sweet girlfriend is bringing him his lunch to work, a neat and warm bento box resting in your hands as you walked through the hospital hallways.

though your real intentions belied your angelical face.

zayne had greeted you with his usual soft grin, and it was like you could even see the halo floating above his head.

what an angel you were about to corrupt.

or well, at least that was your intention!

your attempts at trying to make zayne put his paperwork aside and focus on you and your insatiable lust were futile. thoroughly.

and so, of course, your sweet and caring boyfriend had to put you in your place and correct your behavior.

your whole body tensed up as pleasant sparks thrilled you to the core, your nth orgasm stalking the edges of your abyss.

your high-pitched whines reverberated throughout the pristine office. “it’s too much! please, baby, please!”

“i don’t care.” he deadpanned, his chilly voice biting into the heat of your body. “and quiet down, you don’t want my coworkers to hear you moan like some desperate thing, do you?”

next time, just bring him his lunch!