I started LADS like last year and it's been something that I really do enjoy ESPECIALLY THE LORE OMG ITS SO GOOD. IIF YALL CAN TELL ALREADY IM A HUGEE ZAYNE GIRLIE LIKE ITS REALLY BAD ON HOW MUCH HE HAS A HOLD ON ME IN GAME.
AND IF you haven't already please go read my lads story on link down below:
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RULES OR BOUNDARIES:
no slurs
no hate in general
current student in college so will write when available
any minors i spot only can interact to my sfw works!
ALL LOVE NO HATE <3
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MY CONTENT:
more oneshots
headcannons
nsfw
sfw
fem!reader x characters
maybe mha content (boyxboy)
ꕤ hobbies: drawing, singing, going out with friends, painting, watching anime, kdramas, and late night calls.
ꕤ FAV current ANIMES: Mha, fairytail, given, haikyuu, and jjk
"Lift your hips, baby-" Mammon whimpered, hands gripping your waist desperately. Your back was forced into an arch, hips raised upward to make his cock slide even deeper. His eyes rolled back as his thrusts got even harder.
"Fuck, yes!" His voice was a low, broken growl, pupils dilated so much the blue was almost drowned out, and fangs peeking out from behind kiss-bruised lips. "You. are. so. fucking. pretty. under. neath. me."
The blankets on his bed were strewn carelessly on the floor, knocked off by the pace of your fucking. One side of the sheet was slipping off the mattress, and the mattress itself was out of place, halfway on the floor.
"Gonna make me cum..yeah? 'S that what you want? Because I want it...I want it so fucking badly, baby, I wanna cum inside you...oh, please, please, fuck, yes, you feel so g-good!"
Mammon's voice broke, whimpers and whines and pleas leaving him mindlessly as he babbled through the haze of pleasure, completely gone with how good you made him feel.
"Y-yeah, yeah, yeah- fucking take it, baby, take it all, f-for me? Yeah? Yeah, take it for me...fuuuck..."
varka adored it when you kissed the scar on his cheek.
in fact, he loved it so much he couldn't stand the thought of going about his day without it. and you knew this, of course you did, especially when the man grinned like his face contained all the happiness in the world when you did it.
it was the usual morning, varka was lingering at the door, trying to delay his departure to the knight of favonius hq as long as he could, if it meant it could spare him even a minute more with you, basking in your presence a second longer.
you chuckled at the sight. "you're going to be late, big guy. jean is probably already waiting at the front gate," you approached him, straightening his teal outer coat, even though there wasn't any noticable crease whatsoever. "hm well, i can't really leave without a kiss now can i? i'm sure jean will understand," he kissed your hair, a contagious childlike smile stuck on his face.
"please don't tell her that," you claimed, only because this man would. there is not a man more shamelessly in love with his partner than varka. the knight only hummed in dismissal, making no promises--and it should have you worried, yet looking at him you could only feel endearment.
the tall man then leaned down, offering the right side of his face. you know that to do, as if saying. he closed his eyes, waiting. and it just wanted to make you tease him a little. you planted a quick kiss on his lips instead before pulling away. "off you go, have a great day."
before you could walk away varka already had a hold of your waist, keeping you in place as you let out a squeal. "what is this? what am i being punished for? being too charming and irresistable that you didn't have the heart to let me go?" he let out his signature silly laugh, before giving your cheek a kiss loud enough that you suspect a neighbor could hear.
"okay, okay! i was just teasing," you yielded, before the man let you go as he repositioned, still waiting on that kiss. you cupped his jaw gently, before kissing the scar on the side of his face softly. varka hummed in contentment, like all now was right in the world.
it was a scar as old as time, really. there was a time where it hurt, although now it only served as a reminder of a battle he once fought. yet the warmth of your lips, the faintest sensation when your lips made contact with his skin felt as though you had given it a meaning, a newfound tenderness aside the roughness of it.
it was inexplicable, and varka cherished the little moment each day like a quiet tresure near his heart.
"there, i kissed it better," you said, kissing it once more for good measure. varka's chest almost bursted with fondness.
VARKA X F! READER. varka just loves how he's way too big for your pretty little cunt. but don't worry, he'll make it fit 𖹭
The interior of Varka's tent smells like aged leather and the lingering softness of the finest Mondstadt wine. The bottle lays tipped over on the ground beside his cot, long forgotten between the two of you. His lips are searing where they trace a line from the lobe of your ear down to your collarbone, his entire body hunched down to accomodate your height, his shoulders — broad and thick from years of leading soldiers into battle — nearly blocks out all the light from the lamp in the corner. You're torn between what do with your hands, one of them curled tightly in the cotton of his shirt and the other impatiently tugging at his belt. You taste like cherries and something sweeter, maybe the wine, maybe something else when he kisses you, his lips heavy without meaning, demanding without pressure.
Varka has always tried his best to be gentle with you but when it came to a man his size his strenght sometimes overpowered his intentions. Not that you minded. If anything, tonight you wanted nothing more than to be pinned down and tended to.
You make an impatient sound against his mouth, one of your hands straying from the leather of his belt to the buldge straining against his pants, cupping the hard length in your palm before squeezing.
"Careful," Varka rasps against your mouth and when he pulls back to glance at your face a thin line of spit strings between your lips and his. He's worked up, his eyes a little cloudy and his ears flushed all the way to the tips. He just barely ruts into your hand before he manages to reign in his composure, a large and scarred hand coming up to cup your face, thumbing at the softness of your cheek. "Easy, sweetheart. I don't wanna hurt you."
You whine softly, pushing your hand firmer against his trousers before you pout slightly. "But you're so hard," you murmur and Varka lets out a strained chuckle that sounds far from amusing. "And I really want you."
Varka's patience snaps like a dry branch.
“God, you’re so greedy,” he growls between your mouths, his hands making quick work of the thin material of your garments, reeling in some of his self control to stop himself from tearing them right off you. His large hands work with a frantic, almost needy lack of coordination, leaving your clothes in a heap on the floor. His eyes don't know where to look, flickering from your breasts down to cunt, watching as he squeeze your thighs together.
Varka looks ruined from the mere sight of you, lashes fluttering, his pupils blown out wide, almost completely swallowing the blue of his irises. Without a warning he hooks his hands under your thighs, hoisting you up like you weigh nothing as he takes three long strides towards the wooden tactical table nudged in the corner of his tent. Maps and inkwells scatter and tumble onto the floor as he clears it, pressing you down against it with a heavy huff. His breathing is ragged and you can tell his self control is slipping from his grasp. He shoves your legs wide, his knee forcing it's way between your thighs to keep you spread open for him, groaning when he catches sight of your glistening cunt clenching around nothing.
“Look at you, so needy,” he murmurs, his words rough against his throat. Varka makes quick work of his belt buckle and shoves his pants down just far enough so he can reach into his boxers and take out his cock. He leans over you, letting you sling your arms around his broad and muscled shoulders as he nudges his cock—swollen, thick, and glistening with a needy bead of precum at the head — against your entrance, his entire frame trembling with the effort to not simply lose control right then and there.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he lets out a hoarse groan. You've got nowhere to go, forced to remain pliant in his hold as he glides his cock through your folds, letting your wetness coat him. He's huge, hard and aching, the head of his cock throbbing each time he watches your clit.
"Fuck," he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. "You and this goddamn cunt."
His breath is a hot, humid exhale against your ear, smelling of woodsmoke and the sweetness of the wine you shared earlier. Every muscle in his massive frame is coiled like a spring, his abs and biceps rippling with a sharp, involuntary force that he can't seem to throttle.
"Just the tip," you gasp when you feel him nudging at your entrance, your fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders. "Varka, please—just the tip."
He lets out something that doesn't even sound remotely close to an apology, but rather a sharp, guttural moan that rumbles from deep in his chest, sounding more like pain than pleasure. He’s pussy-drunk and he hasn't even tucked you yet, but the feeling of your warm cunt clenching around the tip of his cock already has him looking ruined and desperate. The sight of your pussy —wet, swollen, and glistening under the lantern light with a mixture of your arousal and his —is a drug that has stripped him of his patience and pride.
"I can't," he whimpers against your skin as his hips rut forward. "God, you're so fucking beautiful, I—I can't stop."
He tries to listen. He tries to control himself. He really does. For a heartbeat, he just breathes you in—the scent of your skin, the salt of your sweat, and the heavy, greedy scent of need pouring off of both of your bodies. But then you clench around just the tip of him, a soft, fluttering invitation, and Varka finally loses the war.
His hips jolt forward with a sudden sharp jerk. He doesn't just push inside, he buries himself, the entirety of his massive, rigid length driving home in one long, devastating stroke that positively knocks the air that his mouth once stolen right from your lungs. The table groans and slides an inch across the dirt floor under the sheer force of his thrust.
"Varka, ngh!"
"Fuck—fuck, I'm sorry," he nearly sobs, his face twisting in pleasure as he feels your walls clench and stretch to accommodate him. You're warmer than he remembers, tight and snug around him, your cunt drooling, making a mess of the table beneath you. He’s deep, deeper than he should be, his balls grinding against you as he fills you past the point of saturation. "You're so tight, baby—you're taking me so fucking well, I—"
He starts to move, his rhythm messy and frantic. He’s devouring you, mind, body and soul — his mouth finding yours again in a searing kiss, ensuring that every one of your moans land right on his tongue as you sob out your need. He can feel you leaking down the length of him, soaking the table, making a mess and it fills him with a jostle of pride knowing he was the only man who could get you this wet and needy. Every pulse of your pussy is another nail in his coffin, another reason for him to lose his mind.
"Look at me," he growls when your head falls back with a particularly loud moan, his voice a wrecked octave that barely scrapes past his throat as his hips continue to pat pat pat, driving his cock into you. "Do you want the whole camp to hear us? Want to wake up my soldiers and have them realize you're getting fucked nice and dirty?"
You vigorously shake your head, your nails dragging down the massive expansive of his back, trying to grasp at anything to keep you grounded as Varka fucks you. It's nasty and mean and sweaty but you wouldn't want it any other way. Two thick digits circle your lips before he pushes them inside, pressing down on your tongue.
spicy fics with mystogen x reader, gildarts x reader, natsu x reader, gray x reader, gajeel x reader
The quiet hum of the night settled over Magnolia, the glow of street lanterns casting flickering shadows against the cobblestone streets. You tightened your cloak around yourself, exhaling softly as you walked toward Fairy Tail’s guildhall. Your heart was still racing from the earlier mission—an ambush that should have been routine but nearly turned disastrous.
If he hadn’t shown up…
You stopped at the thought, closing your eyes for a moment.
Mystogan.
The elusive mage, a man who barely spoke, had arrived just in time, his magic swallowing your attackers in an instant. He had saved you without a word before vanishing like mist.
Just like always.
Frustration and something deeper—something dangerously close to longing—twisted inside you. You were tired of chasing shadows, tired of feeling his presence and never truly knowing him.
"Still thinking about me?"
The voice was quiet, but it sent a pulse of heat down your spine. You whirled around, and there he was, leaning against the stone wall of an alley, half-hidden in the darkness. The glow of the lanterns barely reached his masked face, but his eyes—those sharp, piercing eyes—burned into you.
"You always do that," you accused, stepping closer. "Disappear. Reappear. Never say anything."
Mystogan tilted his head slightly. "Would you rather I didn’t come at all?"
You hesitated. The truth sat heavy on your tongue. "No," you admitted, softer this time. "But I want to know why. Why do you always run?"
There was a long silence, his eyes searching yours. Then, in a move so fast you barely registered it, he was in front of you, his body radiating warmth despite the cool night air.
"I run because staying close to you is dangerous." His voice was lower now, more intimate. "Because every time I see you, I want—"
He cut himself off, his gloved fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin just enough to make your breath hitch.
Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "Then stop running."
A sound escaped him—half a sigh, half a growl—before his fingers traced down your neck, gliding over the exposed skin at your collarbone. The sensation sent a shiver through you.
"You don’t understand what you’re asking for."
"Then show me."
That was all it took.
One moment, you were standing in the cool night air, and the next, you were pressed against the stone wall, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crashed into yours.
His kiss was demanding, claiming, filled with all the restraint he had been holding back. His gloved fingers slid beneath the fabric of your cloak, pressing into your skin, mapping every inch of you as though committing it to memory.
You gasped into his mouth, your fingers tangling into the fabric of his cloak as he deepened the kiss, his body flush against yours. Every touch, every movement was controlled, deliberate—yet underneath it, you could feel it. The storm beneath his calm.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven.
"This… was a mistake," he murmured, though his grip on you didn’t loosen.
You smirked, brushing your fingers along his jaw, feeling the way he tensed under your touch. "Then why do you look like you want to do it again?"
His eyes darkened.
And just like that, restraint shattered.
The wind howled through the mountains, carrying the scent of damp earth and the lingering metallic tang of battle. You wiped the blood from your cheek—thankfully, not yours—and exhaled, your muscles burning from the fight. The ruins you had been sent to investigate were nothing but rubble now, thanks to the massive beast that had ambushed you.
And thanks to the man currently standing with his arms crossed, looking far too smug for someone who had arrived late to the fight.
"You had it handled?" Gildarts Clive chuckled, tilting his head as he surveyed the mess. His cloak fluttered in the wind, his battle-worn armor barely fastened, as if he hadn’t taken this mission seriously at all.
You huffed, crossing your arms. "I did."
He raised a brow, clearly amused. "Yeah? 'Cause from where I was standing, it looked like you were about to be monster chow."
You scowled. "I was fine."
His smirk widened. "Sure you were, sweetheart."
That damn nickname. You hated how your pulse jumped every time he said it, the way his deep, rough voice made it sound like something far more intimate.
"Don’t call me that," you muttered, turning away.
But Gildarts had never been one to let things go. In a blink, he was behind you, his presence overwhelming, his heat pressing against your back. His breath ghosted over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
"Why not?" His voice was lower now, teasing, but there was something else there. Something heavier.
You swallowed hard. "Because it—"
"Because it makes you think about things you shouldn't?" His hand rested lightly on your hip, fingers tracing slow circles through the fabric of your torn tunic. "Because it makes you wonder what it’d sound like if I whispered it a little closer?"
You should have stepped away. Should have told him to stop playing with you. But instead, you turned to face him, your breath catching when you realized just how close he was. His eyes burned into you, full of mischief, full of promises he wasn’t supposed to make.
"I—"
You didn’t get the chance to finish.
Gildarts moved fast—too fast—pressing you against the jagged stone wall of the ruins, his body pinning yours with a slow, deliberate pressure that had nothing to do with fighting. His fingers traced up your arm, slow and featherlight, until they reached your chin, tilting it just enough for him to meet your gaze.
"You know," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, "I’m not really good at playing nice."
You exhaled shakily. "Good thing I don’t want nice."
A slow grin spread across his face. "Yeah?"
And then his lips crashed into yours.
There was nothing gentle about it. Gildarts kissed like he fought—fierce, consuming, overwhelming in the best way. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, no air, no reason left in your mind.
His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that sent heat pooling in your core. You gripped his cloak, fisting the fabric as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing, coaxing, setting every nerve in your body alight.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. "Damn," he muttered, his voice husky. "You’re trouble."
You smirked, still breathless. "And you love it."
His laughter was low, rough, and undeniably wicked. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, brushing his lips against your ear, "you have no idea."
The forest was quiet—too quiet. The eerie stillness sent a chill up your spine as you gripped your weapon, scanning the area for any signs of movement. The mission had seemed simple enough: track down a rogue dark guild causing trouble near Magnolia and put an end to their schemes.
But now, standing in the middle of the trees with the scent of burning magic lingering in the air, you had a sinking feeling that things were about to go very, very wrong.
A low growl rumbled behind you.
You barely had time to turn before a massive, scaled beast lunged from the shadows, its sharp claws aiming right for you. You braced yourself for impact—
Flames roared past you, slamming into the creature with devastating force. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, knocking you back a few steps as the beast screeched in agony.
You knew that fire anywhere.
A smirking, fire-haired dragon slayer stepped beside you, flames still licking at his fists. "You seriously thought you’d take this thing on alone?"
You shot Natsu a glare, your heart still hammering in your chest. "I had it under control."
He snorted. "Yeah, sure you did." His eyes flicked to the charred remains of the monster, then back to you with a teasing glint. "You should be thanking me, y’know."
You huffed. "Thanks," you muttered, rolling your eyes.
But before you could say anything else, Natsu stepped closer. Too close. His heat enveloped you, even though his flames had long since died down. His expression shifted from teasing to something more intense, something that sent a completely different kind of heat rushing through you.
"You’re hurt," he murmured, his gaze trailing over your shoulder where your sleeve was torn, revealing a shallow cut.
"It’s nothing," you mumbled, but Natsu didn’t seem convinced.
His fingers brushed against your skin, warm and rough, sending a shiver through you. His touch lingered, his thumb tracing slow circles over your shoulder, and suddenly, your heartbeat had nothing to do with the fight you just had.
"You’re always so damn reckless," he muttered, his voice lower now, filled with something unfamiliar. Something dangerous.
You swallowed hard. "Like you’re one to talk."
Natsu’s smirk returned, but this time, there was something different about it. Something predatory. His free hand came up, curling around your waist, tugging you flush against him.
"Maybe," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, "but I don’t let people I care about get hurt."
Your breath hitched.
You should have said something—should have pushed him away, should have done anything except let yourself melt against him. But the way his fingers pressed into your skin, the way his body radiated heat against yours, made coherent thought impossible.
"Natsu—"
You didn’t get to finish.
His lips crashed against yours, hot and demanding, stealing the air from your lungs. His grip tightened on your waist as he pulled you even closer, his fire searing into you in the best possible way. His kiss was rough, wild, completely unrestrained, just like him.
A small gasp escaped you, and Natsu took full advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing, teasing, consuming. His hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back as he pressed you against the nearest tree, trapping you between his body and the rough bark.
"You drive me crazy," he growled against your lips before kissing you again, harder this time, as if he was trying to prove a point.
Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to him as heat coiled in your stomach, setting every nerve in your body alight.
"Natsu—" you panted when he finally pulled back, his lips barely an inch from yours.
His smirk was wicked, his pupils blown wide with something untamed. "Say my name like that again, and I won’t be able to stop."
You shivered. "Then don’t."
A deep, rumbling growl left his throat before his lips were back on yours, and this time, there was no holding back.
And as the forest burned around you, you knew one thing for certain:
You would gladly let Natsu Dragneel consume you whole.
The cold wind bit at your skin as you stood in the middle of the frozen battlefield, your breath coming in heavy gasps. The mission had been an ambush—a group of dark wizards had set a trap, and now you were left bruised, exhausted, and struggling to stay on your feet.
But you weren’t alone.
Gray Fullbuster stood in front of you, shirtless as always, his body radiating raw power despite the ice magic coursing through his veins. His sharp eyes scanned the remaining enemies, his jaw tight with frustration.
"You okay?" His voice was lower than usual, rougher.
You nodded, trying to steady yourself. "I’m fine."
Gray scoffed. "Yeah? 'Cause you don’t look fine."
You hated the way your body reacted to him—how just the sight of him standing there, muscles tense and lips slightly parted, made your knees weak in a way that had nothing to do with the fight.
"Let’s just finish this," you muttered.
But before you could take another step, an enemy launched an attack from the shadows. A sharp blast of dark magic shot toward you, too fast to dodge.
You barely had time to react before Gray was in front of you, his body a shield as his ice magic erupted in an instant, blocking the attack. The force of the blast sent you stumbling back, and before you could hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around your waist.
"Dammit," Gray cursed, holding you close. "You’re reckless."
"You’re one to talk," you shot back, but your voice came out breathless, your chest pressed against his bare skin.
Gray didn’t let go. Instead, his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your sides. His breath was warm against your ear, despite the cold surrounding you.
"You scared me," he muttered.
Your heart stuttered. "Gray—"
"Shut up," he growled, pulling back just enough to look at you. His dark eyes burned into yours, filled with something dangerous, something you weren’t sure you were ready for.
But then he kissed you.
It was sudden, almost desperate. His lips crashed against yours, and you barely had time to react before heat spread through you, completely at odds with the icy magic still lingering in the air. His hands slid down to your waist, gripping you like he needed you, like letting go wasn’t an option.
A small gasp escaped you, and Gray took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue teasing against yours, slow and intoxicating. His body pressed against yours, firm and unrelenting, as if he was trying to melt into you entirely.
When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.
"You drive me insane," he muttered, his fingers trailing over your cheek.
You smirked, still breathless. "Good."
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest before his lips found yours again, softer this time but just as hungry.
And in that moment, as the ice around you began to crack, you realized something:
Gray Fullbuster was cold, but with you, he burned.
The battlefield was chaos. Explosions lit up the sky, dust and debris clouding the air as you dodged another blast of magic. Your body ached, muscles screaming from the relentless fight, but you weren’t about to back down.
Not when your opponent was still standing.
With a sharp inhale, you steadied yourself, gripping your weapon tighter. The dark guild members had underestimated you, but that wouldn’t last long. You just had to hold out—
A shadow loomed behind you.
You barely had time to react before a massive force crashed down, sending shockwaves through the ground. You stumbled forward, only for a pair of strong, ironclad arms to wrap around your waist, yanking you out of harm’s way.
"The hell do ya think you’re doin’, woman?"
You groaned, blinking up at the familiar, red-eyed dragon slayer now standing over you. Gajeel Redfox.
"Saving your ass, apparently," you shot back.
Gajeel snorted, his grip on you firm even as he helped you back onto your feet. "More like the other way around. You looked like ya were about to get squashed."
You glared at him, though the heat radiating off his body was distracting. He was so damn solid, muscles tense from battle, his long black hair wild and messy from the fight.
Before you could argue, another enemy charged. Gajeel pushed you behind him with an easy strength, his body acting as an impenetrable wall.
"Stay back," he growled.
But you weren’t one to sit still. As Gajeel lunged forward, his iron fists colliding with the enemy, you moved with him, striking from behind.
"Oi, I told ya—"
"I don’t take orders," you interrupted, smirking as you flipped past him, dodging another attack.
Gajeel let out a low growl, and despite the fight raging around you, you could feel the heat between you both crackling like a live wire. He was watching you now, eyes dark with something deeper than just battle adrenaline.
Something you weren’t ready to acknowledge just yet.
But then, a sharp pain shot through your side.
A cry escaped you as you were sent flying backward, slamming into a pile of rubble. The impact knocked the wind out of you, your vision spinning.
"Shit," you gasped, trying to push yourself up.
Heavy footsteps thundered toward you, but before another attack could land—
A roar split through the battlefield.
Gajeel was on them in an instant, his iron magic ripping through the air with deadly precision. His normally cocky demeanor was gone, replaced by something primal, something furious.
When the last enemy fell, Gajeel turned on his heel, stalking toward you with an intensity that made your heart pound for an entirely different reason.
"You okay?" His voice was rough, laced with barely restrained anger.
You managed a weak grin. "I’m fine—"
Gajeel didn’t let you finish.
One second, you were sitting up, and the next, he had you pinned against the nearest wall, his hands braced beside your head, caging you in. His breath was hot against your skin, his red eyes burning into yours.
"Ya scared the shit outta me," he muttered.
You swallowed hard. "I’m not that easy to kill."
"Don’t care." His voice was lower now, rougher. His fingers grazed over your injured side, the touch surprisingly gentle despite his usual brashness. "Yer mine to protect."
Your breath hitched. "Gajeel—"
His lips crashed against yours, all fire and frustration, demanding and unrelenting. He kissed you like he was claiming you, like he needed to prove something—to himself, to you, to anyone who thought they could take you away from him.
A low moan escaped you as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him. His body was all muscle, solid and warm, and when he pressed even closer, you could feel just how badly he wanted you.
When he finally pulled away, his smirk was back, though his eyes still held that dark, dangerous glint.
"You’re mine, got it?"
Your lips were swollen, breath shaky as you smirked back. "Took you long enough to say it."
Gajeel growled, his lips crashing back onto yours, and this time, he had no intention of letting you go.
(FT Guild) M!Fairy Tail x Chubby Fem!Reader: You apologize after joking about how you could crush a man with your thighs.
themes: established relationship, body positivity, suggestive humor, teasing, flirting, banter, comfort
a/n: Hope you enjoy!
Natsu Dragneel
Natsu blinked at you for moment, brain short-circuited, before a grin spreading on his face, "Wait, seriously!? That's so cool!" He leaned forward, looking way too excited. "You're telling me that you've got secret weapon thighs, and I'm just now hearing about it?" The way he said it was so genuine and awed it made you want to melt into the floor. So when you laughed and waved it off with an embarrassed, "Sorry, that was weird," his brows furrowed instantly. "Weird!? No way, that's badass!! You should admit to stuff like that more often!"
Before you could stop him, he dropped to the floor sitting cross-legged and slapping his hands on your thighs like some kind of hype man. "C'mon, try 'em out! Let's test their power!" You sputtered and told him you were kidding, but Natsu just laughed, "You really think I'd ever want you to apologize for something that makes you so cool? Babe, you could crush the entire guild hall and I'd still want to go for another round!" He winked, proud of himself for his not-subtle-at-all innuendo, it didn't help that his ears were a bit pink too.
Gray Fullbuster
Gray clothes has just vanished when you made the joke, eyes widening just before he snorted and looked away, trying to hide the grin tugging at his mouth. "Did you just say--" His voice cracked into a laugh before he could finish the sentence. "Damn--You really know how to get a guys attention." He leaned back, arms crossed, the cool-guy act crumbling under the faint blush colouring his ears. But the second you muttered an apology, looking sheepish, that grin vanished in favour of a softer look. "Hey. Don't do that," he said, "You don't need to be sorry for that."
He stood, walking over and placing a hand on your hip, "You've got thighs like that and you're apologizing?" he muttered near your ear, voice just barely above a whisper. "You really don't get how damn lucky I feel every time you sit on my lap, do you?" His fingers squeezed lightly, comforting and teasing all at once. "I might just ask you to prove it later if you want." Gray's smirk was back, but softer now.
Gajeel Redfox
Gajeel let out a sharp, bark-like laugh, "Tch, it's 'bout time you realized you're built like a damn weapon," he muttered, smirking as he leaned back in his chair with a cocky tilt to his brow. He eyed your thighs openly now, like he was re-evaluating, "Crush a man? You'd level a mountain, sweetheart." But the second you tried to walk it back, something in his face shifted, like he didn't like hearing that at all. "Oi, don't take it back. What the hell's with that guilty tone?"
His hands found your waist and pulled you in close. "You think I don't know what I've got?" he asked, voice low and rough, the steel edge in it strangely intimate. "You're thick in all the right places and I like it when you talk like you know it. Don't ever apologize for being strong. Or sexy." His nose brushed your temple, breath warm against your skin. "And if you ever do crush me, at least I die happy."
Loke
Loke nearly dropped his glasses when you said it, catching the frame mid-slide as a perverse smirk spread across his face. "My dear, if I had a penny for every time I fantasized about something like that I..." he stopped himself early, not interested in getting his face smacked. His gaze swept over your figure in open admiration, lingering on the curve of your thighs like they were a fine bottle of Celestial Wine. "Why on earth would you apologize for such a divine treat?" You muttered something about it being inappropriate, but Loke only stepped closer, clearly delighted.
"I consider it a blessing to be in your gravitational pull," he said, fingers brushing the side of your hip, "You're a celestial body in your own right, both beautiful and powerful." He leaned in, lips barely grazing yours. "And if those thighs ever do end me, well, that'll be a noble end for a lion." He chuckled softly, pulling back, "So go on, flaunt what you've got. I'll always be first in line to appreciate the view and volunteer as tribute."
Laxus Dreyar
You'd barely finished the sentence before Laxus huffed out a low sound, something between a laugh and a scoff, and looked at you like you'd just said the sky was green. "That supposed to be a warning or a flex?" he asked, deadpan, and you couldn't tell if he was teasing you or just... being Laxus. His eyes lingered as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, one brow raised as if waiting for you to take the joke further. But when you waved it off, muttering an apology, he just rolled his eyes like that was the part that annoyed him.
"You say something like that and then act like you regret it. Pick one," he said simply. Then his gaze dipped lower again, not shy about it, "I like the way you're built. I like the way you move. If that makes people nervous, that's their damn problem." He shrugged and walked off like the matter was settled in his mind.
Freed Justine
Your comment slipped out mid-conversation, casual as anything, but it was enough to make Freed pause, quill suspended in the air. "That's... a rather specific threat," he said carefully, "I assume it wasn't directed at me?" He sounded genuinely unsure whether he was being warned or flirted with, and you were already scrambling to apologize before he could finish adjusting his posture. "No, it's fine," he interrupted, setting the quill down neatly. "I just didn't expect that particular imagery before noon."
He leaned forward slightly, lacing his fingers together and narrowing his eyes, trying to understand the implication. "Hypothetically though, how effective would this crushing maneuver be? Is it a one-time move or can it be repeated?" It took you a second to realize he was being serious, and even longer to realize he was teasing you, in his own peculiar way. After a beat, he added. "If it's meant to disarm someone, I imagine it would work quite well. I certainly wouldn't be opposed to witnessing a demonstration."
Bickslow
The second the words left your mouth, Bickslow gasped like you'd just confessed a scandalous secret. "What did you just say?" he asked, practically vibrating in place as his babies all echoed in chorus, "Crush a maaan! Crush a maaaan!" He looked absolutely delighted, grinning he heard the best punchline of his life. "That's the hottest threat I've ever heard, babe. I mean, that's not even a threat really, not for me at least." He waggled his eyebrows shamelessly, resting his chin in his palm as he looked you up and down.
When you laughed and tried to brush it off, muttering a quick apology like you'd taken the joke too far, Bickslow's face twisted like that was the offensive part. "Apologizing? Okay now I'm offended," he declared. "You think I don't love it when you talk like that? You've seen me, right? I'm a menace. And you?" He stood suddenly, spinning one of his babies on a finger like a ball. "You're the best kind of danger there is, you're soft, stacked, and stronger than half the guild. I respect it. I'm into it. And if I die that way?" He flashed a wild grin. "I'll haunt you lovingly~"
Elfman Strauss
"That's so manly!" he shouted, eyes wide with admiration rather than shock. His fist clenched, trembling with emotion. "To have thighs strong enough to crush a man is the mark of a true warrior!" You tried to laugh it off, waving your hand and mumbling an apology, but he grabbed your shoulders with a seriousness that only made it worse. "No, don't take it back. I'm honoured to know someone so powerful."
Then he knelt, one knee down like he was swearing fealty to a queen. "If anyone deserves to wield that kind of strength, it's you. I mean, look at you! You've got the build of a protector. That's something to be proud of." You sputtered, cheeks burning, but he was already lost in his own passionate speech. "If anything ever threatens you, just say the word, I'll carry the rest of the fight, but you lead the charge with those legendary legs!" He looked up at you like he expected thunder to roll in behind you, and it was very hard not to cry and laugh at the same time.
Gildarts Clive
Gildarts let out a loud, surprised laugh that filled the room, "Crush a man, huh?" he repeated. "Now that's a hell of a way to go." He leaned forward on his elbows as he gave you a obvious once-over, completely unbothered and utterly pleased. "You're full of surprises aren't you? Honestly, I'd take my chances." But then you get flustered, waving your hand like you regretted saying anything.
"Nah, I've heard weirder," he said easily, waving it off with a lopsided grin. "You ever met Natsu?" He sat back and stretched, cracking his shoulder with a content sigh. "Besides, you've got every right to say stuff like that. You're confident, hot as hell, and you make me laugh." He winked at you, "That's a triple threat in my book. Don't waste time apologizing when you've clearly got the upper hand." He chuckled, "Though maybe give me a warning before you go weaponizing those thighs so I can get a head start on my will."
you're a virgin, and you want your first time to be gentle.. thankfully sylus and zayne are more than happy to provide!
you never really felt the need to bring up the fact you were a virgin to sylus or zayne before. while you certainly had clenched your thighs around them more times than you could count, you were always too nervous to bring up sex in the first place.
but on one particularly steamy night, where the kisses went on for too long and the touches started to linger lower and lower, you hesitantly brought it to a stop, breathless as you looked up at them both. "i-i'm sorry, can we slow down a bit? i.." the words sat on the tip of your tongue, but you were hesitant to speak them.
"of course, sweetie." sylus, who had you sat in his lap, was quick to bring his hands to rest on your waist, gently squeezing with a smile.
"we'd never rush you." zayne added from behind you, his hands resting over sylus' on your waist, "if you're not ready, you can tell us. we won't force anything."
"i-i do want it." your breath hitched as their gazes darkened, and you were quick to add on, "b-but! i'm.. can you be gentle, please? i'm.." your voice wavered to a quiet whisper, "i'm a virgin."
a silence settled over the room, one that had your heart dropping. were they disappointed? did they want someone with more experience?
you were quick to find the answer when not one but two bulges were suddenly pressed against you, your breath hitching as your boyfriends smiled down at you.
"oh, trust me, kitten," sylus lowered his head to yours, brushing his lips against yours carefully, "we'll be very gentle with you."
"just let us know if we're ever going over what you need, okay?" zayne's head dipped, his lips pressed to your back. "you're the one in control tonight, dearest."
and with a nod of your head, your fate was sealed.
you found yourself laid out on the bed, zayne and sylus knelt side by side before you as they shared a smile. they were insistent that you set the pace, but you were still hesitant as you reached a hand out to them.
"c-can you help me undress?"
"of course." the two seemed to move in sync, with zayne helping to carefully tug your shirt off while sylus dealt with your pants. you were soon left in your underwear and bra, and they withdrew soon after, wanting to ensure you were comfortable.
"aren't you pretty?" sylus smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. "where can we touch you, sweetie?"
"i-i.." you hesitated before gesturing to your bra, "you can.. take it off.."
ever eager, zayne jumped onto the opportunity almost immediately. his hands were swift, precise as they removed the cloth from you, and you had to suppress a shiver as your bare breasts met the cool air of the room, nipples hardening beneath their gazes.
"you're beautiful." zayne breathed, lowering his head carefully to your chest before looking up at you. "may i?"
with a simple nod, he was quick to take a nipple into his mouth, ensuring to stay calm in his movements as he licked and nibbled the nub. you were gasping, the stimulation almost too much to bear already.
sylus had moved between your thighs, his fingers gently tracing your stomach as he looked up at you. "is it alright here as well?"
breathless, you managed another nod, gasping as sylus carefully tugged your panties down. you were left completely bare before them, and you could only watch with wide eyes as sylus spat on his fingers before bringing them to your folds.
"let me know if it's too much," he murmured, his fingers slowly rubbing up and down your pussy. the dual stimulation of his touch and zayne's had you gasping, soft whimpers escaping as they took their time with you.
"that's it, good girl." zayne hummed, moving his ministrations to your other boob, his hand squeezing the other gently, fingers pinching your nipple tenderly. "does it feel good?"
"s-so good-" you gasped, eyes widening, "oh!"
sylus had taken your distraction as an opportunity to ease his fingers into you, a smirk on his lips as he watched your cunt flutter open around the intrusion. you were still so tight, so he kept his pace slow, easy, watching your face for any signs of discomfort.
"there we go, you're doing amazing, kitten.." sylus hummed, his thumb finding your clit and gently rubbing, his eyes lidded as he watched you melt under his and zayne's touch.
his fingers crooked just right, and while you had no experience before, you were certain he had found the spot that would drive you crazy. it was only a matter of time before you were cumming on his fingers, chest heaving beneath zayne as you gasped for air.
there was a certain stillness as they both kissed your skin, praising you for how good you were. but of course, as they pulled back and all you were heard was the shuffling of fabric, you could only gasp as their thick, heavy cocks jutted out before you.
"so, who do you want for your first time, love?"
you feared you would die before they could even fit those monsters in you.
Could you do the same request but for a reader who's insecure about her big chest? It really isn't all that fun.
Yes! I knew this request was coming the moment I posted, and several others followed in suite. I do have a larger chest and most of the time I don't mind but there are moments where I wish it were different. I hope you and the other's who have requested this enjoy the read.
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Xavier:
You were barely three steps into the café before you felt it again. That familiar sting of eyes dragging across your chest like you were something on display. You crossed your arms, shoulders tightening as the irritation bubbled up.
Xavier noticed instantly, concerned about the shift in your mood.
“What happened, starlight?”
You sighed, refusing to look around. “I hate this. I hate that I can be fully covered and people still stare. I hate feeling like I’m being looked at instead of seen.”
His expression shifted. Calm, patient, but threaded with something darker. His evol flickered at his fingertips, a soft insistence of light he had not summoned intentionally.
“Who?” he asked quietly.
“It doesn’t matter,” you muttered. “It’s just exhausting. I’m tired of being objectified. I’m tired of feeling like my body is an invitation.”
He stepped in front of you, blocking your view of the room, gaze locked only on you. “You're not an invitation,” he affirmed, voice soft but edged with steel. “You're not something anyone is entitled to look at like that.”
You felt your throat tighten. “I just hate it. I hate being treated like I’m not even a person.”
Xavier reached for your hand, his touch grounding. “If someone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me,” he said. “I will make sure they never try again.”
You blinked. “Xavier.”
He worked his jaw, trying to calm himself. “I am not threatening anyone. I am promising that you are not alone. Not ever.”
A slow breath left your chest, and you smiled in response.
He squeezed your hand gently. “Walk with me, starlight. Let them look elsewhere. Your peace is mine to protect.”
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Zayne:
You sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at your hands. “Zayne, can I ask you something?”
He looked up from his notes immediately. “Of course.”
You hesitated. “I've been thinking about breast reduction surgery.”
His pen stopped moving. He placed it down carefully, giving you his full attention. “Tell me what brought this on.”
You exhaled. “My back hurts. My shoulders hurt. Clothes never fit right. People stare no matter what I wear. I just feel so tired of dealing with all of it.”
Zayne nodded slowly. “Those are valid concerns. Chronic pain alone is reason enough to consider it.”
You picked at a loose thread. “But…what if you don't find me attractive after?”
That made him pause. Not confused, but surprised you would even consider it. “Attractiveness is not determined by a single feature,” he said. “You are not defined by your chest. And my feelings are not dependent on its size.”
You looked down again. "“I just want to be comfortable in my own skin.”
“My job,” he said calmly, “is to advocate for your health. Physical and mental.”
He shifted closer, resting a hand gently on your thigh. “I want you to be comfortable in your body. I want you to live without pain. And I will support whatever choice helps you do that.”
Your eyes softened. “You mean that?”
“Yes.” He brushed a thumb over your knuckles. “Your body is already deserving of care. If surgery improves your quality of life, then it is worth considering. But don't ever make a decision based on fear of losing my attraction. You will not, it's impossible.”
You leaned into him, and his arms wrapped around you, steady and reassuring.
“You deserve relief,” he whispered. “And I will stand with you through every decision that brings you closer to it.”
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Rafayel:
You were already irritated before the third dressing room even closed.
“Why is everything either ugly or painful,” you muttered, glaring at the selection of bras hanging on the hook. “It is like designers think having a big chest means I want to wear something that looks like tactical gear.”
Rafayel lounged outside the curtain like he owned the boutique, legs crossed, expression relaxed. “Let me see.”
“No,” you groaned. “None of these fit right. They all hurt. And the cute ones are never made in my size.”
“Then show me,” he insisted, gentler this time.
You stepped out with the defeated slump of someone who had tried too many options. He took one look at the straps digging into your shoulders and stood immediately.
“Go change,” he said. “You are not wearing that.”
You rolled your eyes but retreated to change again. When you came out in the next one, he circled you thoughtfully. “Support is wrong. Band too tight. Cups too shallow. This is not your body’s fault.”
You sighed, staring at the mirror. “I just want something that fits. And maybe something that looks nice for once.”
Rafayel tapped his chin. “Then we will make it.”
You blinked. “Make it?”
“Yes.” He pulled out his sketchbook. “You tell me what you want. Shape. Color. Lace. Structure. Everything. I will design it myself and commission it from someone who actually respects you, and understands the human body.”
Your chest loosened in a way that had nothing to do with fabric. “Rafayel, that is so much work.”
“For you,” he said simply, “I am willing.”
You smiled, excitement brewing inside you as he began sketching.
“Let me build something beautiful for you,” he murmured. “Something worthy of you.”
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Sylus:
The impact of your punch echoed through the training room, but you hissed as soon as your stance shifted.
“Again?” he asked.
You frowned. “My chest hurts when I move like that. My back aches too. It throws my balance off. Having a big chest is annoying.”
Sylus stepped closer, reading your posture like a manual. “Turn around.”
You raised a brow. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
You turned, and his hands settled beneath your chest, lifting gently but firmly, redistributing the weight with startling precision.
You froze. “Sylus…you cannot hold me like this the entire session.”
“Watch me,” he said calmly.
Despite yourself, you laughed. “You cannot support my chest forever.”
He leaned in, voice quiet near your ear. “If it eases your pain, I will. But I can also adjust your routine, strengthen the right muscles, teach you ways to stabilize your frame. I'd do anything to make you comfortable, to make you happy, Kitten.”
Your breath caught. “Sometimes I just feel like my body limits me.”
“No.” His hands stayed steady, grounding you. “Your body is strong. It only needs support in different places. That's not a weakness.”
You turned slightly, meeting his crimson eyes. “You really think that?”
“I don't believe in faulty design,” he said. “Only in the wrong approach. And I will find every right one for you.”
His hands remained warm, steady, and you relaxed into his support without even realizing it.
“You do not have to endure pain alone,” he murmured. “Not when I can help carry it.”
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Caleb:
It happened again in the middle of the store. You tugged at your shirt, huffing as the fabric pulled in a way that made you instantly self conscious.
Caleb looked over from the cart. “Pips?”
You shook your head. “It's nothing. I just hate how my chest makes everything fit weird. I hate how noticeable it is. I feel like people stare.”
He frowned, walking over immediately. “Who stared?”
“No one! Not now anyway. I just feel…wrong in my own body sometimes.”
Caleb’s expression softened. “Come here.”
You knew that tone. One that was full of protection and concern. He tugged you gently into the aisle corner, shielding you with his body like he always had when you were kids.
“You know,” he said softly, “I have seen every version of you. Every stage. And this is still you. The you that makes me laugh. The you I want to come home to. Your chest does not change any of that.”
You exhaled shakily. “I just wish I felt comfortable.”
“Then we will find what makes you comfortable,” he said. “Different clothes. Different cuts. Whatever you need. And if anyone stares, they can deal with me.”
You raised a brow. “Caleb.”
He grinned. “What? I can be intimidating.” You smiled hesitantly, knowing he could be more than intimidating if needed.
He bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “You don't need to hide from me. You never have. You are safe with me, pips.”
This is your NSFW Love and Deepspace headcanon warning
Topic: Vibrators
For the 18+ crowd only, if you would be so kind.
All LI’s below the cut
Xavier
Look. With Xavier’s jealous streak he’s probably not going to be super welcoming of toys in the bedroom, at least not at first. He just doesn’t see the point. You’re his, after all, and he takes care of what’s his. So he’s not a jerk about the small vibrator you keep in your bedside drawer, but you can tell he’s a little unhappy about it.
But then you pull it out one night, and in a split second it goes from “rival” to “tool.” Xavier wields that thing like he wields his sword, as an extension of himself. It’s part of his need to see you happy, to see your eyes falling closed as he presses it against you, to feel you clenching around him as you start to rise. If he places it juuuuust right his arms will be free to hold you close while you come, and you better believe he won’t be far behind.
Zayne
Zayne’s going to be the one to bring a vibrator into your relationship. Maybe you’ve used one before, maybe you haven’t. Either way, you’ve never used one with Zayne in control. Sitting on his lap in the living room, his stomach against your back, his knees spread out to keep your legs splayed wide. He’s clutching your wrists in one hand, and he’s using the other to tease the toy back and forth against you. “You did very well,” he says after you shudder and break the first time. “Now let me watch you try it yourself.”
There’s a method to his madness, of course. Because the next time he’s out of town, he’ll ask you to get it out. “Let me hear you,” he’ll say, his voice all strained over the phone. You’ll do what he says, feel the vibrations shiver through you, let out every noise your body wants to make. Is it as good as when Zayne’s there? Of course not, but it’s its own kind of thrill, and it keeps you connected until he’s back in your arms again.
Rafayel
When Rafayel discovers your modest collection of vibrators, you can tell inspiration has struck. “You’ll have to show me what you like to do with these,” he says. “But let me grab my sketchpad first.”
Five minutes later you’re naked on the bed, letting Rafayel take in every detail of how you like to entertain yourself. He’s mesmerized. His pencil scratches across the paper, but his eyes stay fixated on you. His gaze makes you feel gorgeous, entrancing, and it’s not long before you feel yourself start to rise. You’re close, so so so close, just about there… but all of a sudden there’s a hand pinning your wrist back to the bed. “Not yet, cutie. I haven’t captured the look on your face yet.” He winks at you like he wasn’t just being the worst person you’ve ever met and settles back in with his sketching. He gets pretty far on what he’s working on, all things considered, but he isn’t able to help but take over for your toy the next time your face starts to get that look.
Sylus
Look me in the eye and tell me this man doesn’t have a full arsenal of toys. Come on. He’s got everything you’ve ever heard of, everything you’ve never heard of, everything you could ever want and then some, and he’s bound and determined to try out any and all of them in any way that you see fit.
But once is never enough for him. He needs to see you fall apart again and again and again. So sure, you’ll pick out something to play with, and he’ll be all ears when you tell him how you want to use it, but he’s going to be the one to tell you when you’re done. “Oh, not yet, sweetie,” he’ll say as you lay beneath him, all gasping and shaking from your second (or was it third?) orgasm. “I know you can go longer than that. Take a deep breath and then we’re going to go again.” You’ll whine and protest, but he knows you don’t really mean it. He knows what you can take, and he’ll make sure you receive every bit of it.
Caleb
Caleb walks in on you while you’re using your vibrator. That’s it, that’s the headcanon.
No but think about it. You’re on your bed, you’ve got your favorite toy between your legs, and you’re thinking of him. But then you look up and he’s there in the doorway. He’s watching you, enraptured. Lips parted, a blush rising on his cheeks, and you’d think he was embarrassed at what he walked in on if it wasn’t for the look in his eyes. Dark. Insistent. Like he was seeing his deepest fantasy playing out in front of him and there was no way he was going to miss his opportunity.
And when you press the toy against you harder, meet his gaze, and whisper his name… what do you expect to happen? Wasn’t this just what you were thinking of? Caleb bracing himself on the bed on a knee, knocking your hand out of the way, and picking up where the vibrator left off? It’ll buzz uselessly, forgotten, for as long as Caleb keeps you there. Chances are good the toy will run out of battery before he does.
How do you think the boys would react to being jealous about a male f riend from college coming to visit ?? 👀
Hello! Thank you for the request! This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy!
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Xavier
You were already smiling when you introduced them. “We actually met at my university’s Lumiere fan club,” you said, proud of your past self for having friends with shared interests, interests you knew would make Xavier squirm.
Xavier’s expression didn’t change at first. Then his eye twitched. Just slightly. His smile tightened, polite in a way that should have warned your friend to run.
Your friend held out a hand. “So, are you a Lumiere fan too?”
Xavier took the handshake. His grip tightened to a level that made your friend’s shoulders rise, and Xavier shook his head once. “No,” he said. “I am not.”
The rest of the visit was…tense. Not for you, but for them.
Your friend tried to make conversation. Xavier answered curtly. Your friend laughed nervously. Xavier didn't laugh at all. You could practically hear the murderous intent flowing through his mind each time your friend mentioned Lumiere’s name. And that sharp, flashing glint in Xavier’s eyes? Your friend definitely noticed.
You kept having to hide your snickers in behind your hands.
When the visit finally ended and the door closed behind your friend, Xavier inhaled slowly, like he’d survived a battle.
You nudged him. “Thank you for not exploding any lights and letting him leave unmaimed.”
He looked at you flatly. “Starlight, I was very close.”
You burst out laughing. He didn’t. But the way he wrapped an arm around your waist afterward made it clear he considered the threat eliminated.
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Zayne
Zayne greeted your visiting college friend with perfect manners. Too perfect. Polite tone, impeccable posture, exact handshake pressure. You watched your friend blink, a little startled, like they’d just met a very gentle, very polite wall.
Throughout the conversation, Zayne kept smiling that calm, serene, doctor smile that somehow managed to be both comforting and deeply intimidating.
Your friend told stories from your college days. Zayne listened closely. At one point, he tilted his head just a fraction, eyes narrowing in thought, and your friend immediately lost their train of thought.
Later, you all stopped at a café. You barely sat down before Zayne quietly started preparing his coffee.
One packet of sugar.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Your friend stared in horror.
Zayne stirred. “It has been a long week,” he said simply, entirely unfazed.
Your friend leaned in to whisper to you, “Does he always drink it like that?”
You shrugged. “That’s actually less than usual.”
By the time the visit ended, your friend still couldn’t tell if Zayne liked them, hated them, or was clinically evaluating their entire personality.
Zayne kissed your forehead on the way out, perfectly calm. “Your friend seems kind. Slightly anxious. Understandable.”
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Rafayel
Your friend recognized him immediately.
“Oh my god,” they whispered. “You’re Rafayel. Like…THE Rafayel.”
Rafayel beamed. “Finally. Someone with taste.”
Your friend practically vibrated with excitement, listing all the pieces of his art they’d seen online, all the reviews, all the critiques.
Rafayel basked in the compliments, revelled in them. Chin lifted, shoulders back, radiating smug satisfaction like sunlight.
“You know,” he said lightly, nudging you with an elbow, “you never compliment me like this.”
You rolled your eyes. “I do.”
He gasped dramatically. “Lies. My bodyguard never appreciates my genius. But you,” he pointed at your friend. “You understand.”
Your friend looked delighted. You looked exhausted. Rafayel looked like he’d just found a new favorite person.
“Do you want a picture?” Rafayel asked them casually. “Most people do. My good side is all sides, by the way.”
You groaned. He winked.
He was charming through the entire visit, effortlessly stealing the spotlight, effortlessly keeping an arm around you the whole time.
When your friend finally left, Rafayel stretched like a cat.
“Nice person,” he said. “Very correct opinions.”
You shoved his shoulder. “They’re going to worship you.”
He grinned. “As they should.”
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Sylus
You introduced him as Skye.
Your friend stared at him. Then stared at the fruit sign over his stall. Then stared at him again.
“He’s…your fruit guy?” your friend whispered, weary.
Sylus smiled pleasantly, all teeth. “I have many talents.”
Your friend’s eyes darted to Sylus’s arms. His height. His scars. His whole aura of quiet danger.
“Some people in my line of work have been disappearing lately,” Sylus added conversationally. “Accidents happen.”
Your friend went pale.
You kicked Sylus lightly. He didn’t stop smiling, the smile that made children cry.
The tension only worsened when the twins arrived, flanking you with casual precision. Your friend froze, sensing instinctively that these were not fruit vendor coworkers.
Sylus draped an arm over your shoulders. “You alright?” he asked, tone warm. “Hope things aren’t too…overwhelming.”
Your friend swallowed. “I...should probably get going...”
“Safe travels,” Sylus said cheerfully.
Your friend practically sprinted.
When they disappeared around the corner, Sylus smirked. “Friendly guy.”
You sighed. “You scared him off.”
“I did nothing,” Sylus said, utterly unbothered. “People scare themselves.”
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Caleb
You weren’t home when your college friend arrived.
Caleb was.
He opened your apartment door, saw a stranger standing there, and immediately slammed it in their face.
You got a call two seconds later.
“Pips. Why is there a random guy at your door?”
You groaned. “Caleb, that’s my friend from college. Let him in!”
There was grumbling on the other end, then the door creaked open again.
By the time you arrived, the tension inside the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Caleb sat stiffly on the couch, arms crossed, watching your friend like they were a suspicious package.
Your friend whispered, “He hates me.”
Caleb answered immediately. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t know you. And I’m not letting anyone get close to them unless I know they’re safe.”
Your friend blinked. “Oh.”
Caleb didn’t look away, and the poor guy looked ready to cry.
The visit was short. Very short. As soon as the door shut behind your friend, you turned to Caleb.
“Caleb. You do not control my life.”
He held up his hands. “Never said I did, pips. But I’m not letting some stranger just stroll in like they own the place.”
“You slammed a door in his face.”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
You groaned. He smirked. And then he hugged you, protective as ever.
when a blissful morning is interrupted by your period, your boyfriends sylus and zayne are happy to help you in whatever way they can!
you didn't get to be in bed with your boyfriends often. with sylus being the night owl he was and zayne constantly needed at akso hospital, it was a given that more often than not, you would be in bed alone.
it was a fact that you absolutely despised right now, curled up in blankets and on the verge of tears.
your period had came early, and you were not prepared for it in the slightest. while you would've worried over the sheets, you found your cramps and the headache you were dealing with were making it too hard to worry over even that. on top of the shivers you were experiencing due to feeling cold, you were not having the best time.
you barely had the mindset to text your lovers what had happened and that you were feeling terrible before you had curled up in bed, the ache in your body leaving you exhausted.
you didn't even realize you fell asleep, but when you came to, there was a familiar pair of red eyes staring down at you that had you believing you were hallucinating.
".. sy..?"
"shh, sweetie." he pressed a kiss to your forehead, rubbing your cheek with a soft smile. "just relax. zayne's grabbing all the pain meds he can manage to give you." his smile wavered slightly as he noticed you were sweating, his hand moving to rub your arm. "how are you feeling?"
".. bad." you mumbled, sniffling as you leaned into his touch. "it hurts.."
"oh, i know, i'm sorry," he sighed, nuzzling you gently, "but you know we'll do everything to help, okay?"
as sylus held you close, the door was pushed open. there zayne stood, clearly in a rush from the way he was out of breath as he held a hot water bottle, medicine, and a glass of water.
"is she alright?" zayne was quick to hand the hot water bottle to sylus, trusting him to place it correctly as he fretted over you. "here, i brought you some medication, it should help with your cramps.."
with his help, you took the meds easily, blinking at him with a tired smile. "thank you.. 'm sorry, did you leave work for this?"
"greyson's covering my shift." he mumbled, pressing a hand to your cheek to check your temperature, "besides, i wouldn't trust sylus here to take care of you properly."
"excuse you," sylus scoffed, but didn't protest much further as he pressed the water bottle to your abdomen. "there we go, is that better?"
the day faded into a blur of the two tending to you, and you were just grateful to have such loving partners to take care of you.
It was your wedding night. Sylus didn't let you reach the bedroom. The stairs were as far as you got—on your hands and knees on the fucking steps.
{ Sylus x fem!reader | stairs sex | smut, nsfw, 18+ }
Note: English isn't my first language; I hope you enjoy it ♡
—
"Sylus… hah… wait—it's too much… I can't—"
Sylus couldn't wait another second—not tonight. Not when you were finally, completely, legally, irrevocably his wife.
Your fingers clawed desperately at the marble railing, slipping, failing, fighting to keep from sliding down the steps. The cold stone burned against your knees as his relentless thrusts from behind drove you forward, your body jolting with every powerful snap of his hips that buried his thick cock deep. Each movement pushed you closer to losing your balance.
Second round. You'd barely survived the first. Your body was still trembling and clenching from the devastating orgasm he'd torn from you only minutes ago, and he wasn't slowing down. You'd had sex with him before. Many times. But tonight was different. Too much. Too intense. Like he'd been waiting for THIS moment.
Your beautiful white bridal gown was still bunched around your waist. Your soaked panties, drenched from his tongue and your earlier release, hung from one ankle, shaking with every brutal snap of his hips like a white flag of surrender.
"Do you know… how long I've waited to call you this?" Sylus panted raggedly against your ear, his voice trembling, his face burning red with emotion too big to contain. "…before I could finally…finally… call you my wife?"
He was still mostly dressed, too rushed to take everything off. Tuxedo jacket still on, slightly rumpled now. White shirt untucked. Pants barely unzipped, just enough to free his cock and bury inside you. The belt buckle struck your ass with every thrust, expensive fabric scraping your inner thighs. Scraping. Burning.
His left hand—the one wearing the wedding ring—slid from your hip to your breast. Sylus cupped the soft, heavy flesh, fingers digging in possessively, kneading roughly as your breast bounced violently with each thrust. He groaned low and deep at the weight of it in his palm, at the way it moved.
"So perfect," he growled, squeezing hard. "These tits. My wife. Mine. All fucking mine."
He found your nipple, already hard and swollen, oversensitive from being scraped against cold marble. He rolled the peaked bud roughly between his fingers, tugging and twisting until you whimpered, then pinched it hard. Pain and pleasure exploded through you. You cried out, back arching so hard your spine screamed, your pussy clenching and fluttering around his cock.
Then Sylus pressed his wedding ring directly against the peak. Ground it down.
"Ah!"
The freezing ring scraped and twisted against your burning nipple, the sharp edge biting into sensitive skin as he worked it in deliberate circles. Pressing. Grinding. The cold burned worse than heat. Your body jerked violently between pulling away and pushing closer, not knowing what you wanted, just knowing you needed more.
Your nipple throbbed under the assault, pleasure and pain mixing until you couldn't tell them apart, until you couldn't breathe through the overwhelming sensation. You felt every ridge of the ring, like he was trying to stamp the words directly into your skin, into your breast, into your heart. Like the ring itself needed to scream mine mine MINE.
This angle let him drive impossibly deeper. His cock hit something inside you that made white sparks explode behind your eyelids, made your mouth fall open on a silent scream. Your pussy clenched around him so tight he hissed through his teeth, the sound sharp and pained and pleased all at once.
"Fuck. You feel—so fucking tight—" Sylus couldn't finish. Just groaned instead, face buried in your neck.
"My wife."
He growled it directly into your ear, teeth sinking into your bare shoulder hard enough to leave deep crescents. His hips slammed into your ass. The sound, skin on skin, wet and obscene and loud, echoed through the empty mansion.
"My wife. My wife. My dearest wife."
Each thrust drove deeper with growing brutality. You felt every inch of him, every ridge, every pulse as he dragged along your inner walls, striking that devastating spot that shattered coherent thought and forced a sharp cry from your lungs. Your last high heel flew off, clattering down the stairs.
Your breasts bounced violently against the cold marble steps, crushed between unforgiving stone and his merciless ring. Nipples scraped raw against marble. The dual sensations of freezing stone below and icy metal above, combined with his cock pounding into you from behind, shattered what little remained of your sanity.
"Fuck. Fuck." His voice broke completely. "You feel too good. Too perfect for me. I'm going to—"
His hips stuttered. Lost their steady rhythm. Became erratic. Desperate. Needy.
"Tell me..." He gasped against your neck. "Tell me I'm yours. Your husband. Please. I need to hear you say it when I—"
"You are mine," you sobbed, finding strength you didn't know you had left. "You're mine, Sylus. My husband. Only mine. Forever—"
He came.
Hard. Violently. Buried so deep inside you that you felt him hit your cervix. You felt his cock throb. Felt him pulse. Felt the warmth of him filling you impossibly full, his cum spilling into you, marking you from the inside out in the most primal way possible. Claiming you. Breeding you. Making you completely, irrevocably his.
You collapsed. Face pressed into cold stone. Gasping. Shaking. Your pussy still clenching weakly around him, still rippling with aftershocks, his cum warm inside you.
"Do you want another round?"
Sylus stilled completely. Cock buried to the hilt inside you, still thick, still hard despite just coming, still throbbing, but not moving. Holding you right on the edge. Not letting you fall over.
"Please, say it" His ring-hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face up, cold metal pressing against your burning cheek, forcing you to meet his crimson eyes over your shoulder.
"Say 'I do.' Say it like you said it at the wedding. Like you're giving yourself to me all over again."
His voice broke on the last word. But this time, it wasn’t commanding, it was begging.
"Yes... Sylus... yes... I do..." You could barely whisper it. Voice wrecked from screaming, but you meant it—God, you meant it.
Something in his expression shattered and reformed simultaneously. Like hearing you say it broke him in the best possible way.
"Thank you," he murmured, and kissed your temple with devastating gentleness. "Thank you for accepting me as your husband."
"Because once you give yourself to me..." His voice was promise and devotion all tangled together. "...I won't give you back. Ever. You're mine now. Legally. Spiritually. Physically."
His hips rolled slightly, just enough movement to make his cock shift inside you, still half-hard, his cum leaking out around where you were joined.
To remind you how deep he was. How completely he filled you. How you could feel him still pulsing weakly inside you. Your pussy clenched weakly in response, oversensitive and overwhelmed.
"And tonight..." Another small thrust that made you gasp.
"I'm going to call you 'my wife'..." His hips snapped up more firmly, punctuating his words. "...every single time my cock thrusts into you."
You felt him hardening again inside you. Already.
"All night long..." Another thrust, stronger, harder. "...until my voice breaks... until I can't speak anymore... until the only sound in this mansion is me calling you 'wife', over and over, because I've waited too fucking long to stop now."
His words made your pussy clench around him despite your exhaustion, despite the oversensitivity, despite everything, somehow still wanting more.
Sylus let out a moan as he pressed his lips against the skin of your thigh again and felt your fingers bury in his hair. He loved it when you did that, even though he knew it still made you nervous about hurting him, no matter how many times he repeated it was okay.
Sylus' tongue circled your sensitive clit, making you moan again. Your fingers tugged on his hair, making him moan too. His hands squeezed your thighs, and you felt him pause for a second to catch his breath. "Harder," he murmured, making you feel confused.
It took you more than a few seconds to realize he was referring to his hair and was asking you to pull harder. The way he sucked on your clit brought you back to reality. A moan escaped your lips, and you tugged on his hair again, trying to pull him closer to you. A moan echoed in Sylus' chest as he buried his face deeper between your legs.
Your back arched and your legs shook, Sylus’ moans grew louder as you pulled on his hair harder than you wanted due to the same time you were cumming in his mouth. When Sylus pulled away from you after several seconds, his hair was disheveled, his breathing was ragged and he looked quite disheveled making you smile. “So… you have a fetish for having your hair pulled?” You joked, still trying to catch your breath. Sylus gasped, pressing his forehead against your stomach in an attempt to hide his face because it was true.
tags: first times, virginity loss(the LIs), sentimental boys, no protection
[Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus]
XAVIER
He’s shaking.
Not the kind of tremor you get from cold or nerves you can laugh off. This is bone deep, the kind that starts in his chest and rattles out through his fingertips where they’re pressed to your bare waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he grips too hard.
Two centuries.
200 years of dreams that felt too real, of waking up reaching for someone who wasn’t there, of touching himself in the dark to the memory of your laugh, your scent, the way your hair used to catch moonlight.
200 years of thinking maybe this was all he’d ever get; ghosts and echoes.
And now you’re under him.
Completely bare, vulnerable and all his.
Your thighs cradle his hips, soft and trembling just like his. He’s been hard for what feels like hours, since you first tugged his hoodie over your head and let him see every inch of skin he’s only dared imagine lately. He’s leaking against your stomach, slick and insistent, but he hasn’t moved to push inside yet.
He can’t.
Not yet.
Because the second he does, this becomes permanent. Proof he finally got you back. Proof he’s allowed to have this.
“Xav,” you whisper, fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him look at you instead of staring at where your bodies almost touch. “Hey. Breathe.”
He tries. The inhale is ragged. His eyes are glassy, too bright, too wet. He blinks fast so he can force the tears back inside.
“I-” His voice cracks on the single syllable. He swallows, tries again. “I dreamed this so many times. Every version ended with me waking up alone.”
Your thumbs brush the corners of his eyes before the tears can fall.
“You’re not dreaming.”
He lets out a broken little laugh that sounds more like a sob.
“I know. That’s the terrifying part.”
You pull him down until his forehead rests against yours. Your noses bump. Your breaths mingle. His cock twitches against your folds, hot, slippery from how long he’s spent kissing down your body, licking into you until you were shaking and pleading.
When he finally notches himself at your entrance, he freezes again.
You feel the tremor travel through him, feel the way his arms cage you tighter like he’s bracing for impact.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “I’ll stop. I swear.”
You cup his face. “Don’t you dare.”
One slow, careful roll of his hips.
The head slips inside.
He chokes on air.
His whole body locks up; muscles jumping, breath punched out of him in a sound that’s half moan, half broken whimper. His eyes squeeze shut. Forehead drops to your shoulder. He’s shaking so hard the bed creaks.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You’re- so warm. So- tight-”
He doesn’t thrust yet. Just stays there, barely inside, letting himself feel it. Feel you clenching around him like your body remembers him even if your mind spent years apart.
Tears prick at his lashes again. He blinks them away, but one slips free, tracing down his cheek to land on your lips.
You lick it away without thinking.
That undoes him.
You feel him throb inside you. Feel the way he’s fighting not to move, not to chase the heat too fast, like he’s scared it’ll disappear if he’s greedy.
“I missed you,” he chokes out against your skin. “I missed you so much I-I thought I’d die from it some nights.”
His hips give one helpless little rock. Then another. Shallow. Shaky.
You wrap your legs around him, pull him closer.
“I’m here now.”
That breaks something.
The next thrust is deeper, harder. Still careful, but desperate. His mouth finds yours, messy, wet, tasting like salt and relief. He’s whimpering into the kiss every time he bottoms out, every time your walls flutter around him.
He doesn’t last long.
How could he?
Years of wanting crashes down all at once.
He comes with a broken “-love you-” muffled against your lips, hips jerking erratically as he spills inside you, hot, too much, pulsing so deep you feel it in your stomach. His whole body shudders through it, arms trembling where they hold him up.
When it’s over he doesn’t pull out.
He collapses onto you, careful not to crush, but heavy enough that you feel every inch of him still buried inside, still twitching with aftershocks.
His face stays pressed to your neck.
You can feel the goosebumps on his skin.
You stroke his hair. Feel the way his breathing slowly evens out.
“Stay,” he whispers, voice raw. “Please don’t go again.”
You kiss the top of his head.
“Never.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for half a decade.
And for the first time in a lifetime, he falls asleep inside you, warm, safe, finally home.
RAFAYEL
He's not gentle.
Not at first.
Years of waiting, watching, wanting. Of painting your face from memory until the canvases blurred with his frustration. Of waking from dreams where he could almost taste your skin, only to find empty sheets and the echo of your name on his lips.
And now you're here. In his studio. On his bed that's more nest than mattress, surrounded by half finished sketches of you that he never quite got right.
You're naked under him, finally, and he's staring like he'll memorize every freckle, every curve, before fate rips you away again.
His hands tremble when they trace your sides, not from nerves, but from the sheer effort of holding back. He wants to devour you. Claim you so thoroughly that no other lifetime could erase it.
"Raf," you breathe, reaching for him, but he catches your wrists. Pins them above your head with one hand. His grip is bruising. Desperate.
"Don't," he warns, voice low and ragged. Lilac eyes dark with something ancient and hungry. "Don't touch me yet. I won't last if you do."
You arch under him anyway, teasing, always teasing and he groans, leaning down to sink his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make you gasp, enough to leave a mark that'll bloom purple by morning.
Mine, it says. Finally mine.
He's hard against your thigh, leaking already, the tip flushed and slick. He's been like this since you stripped for him, whispering promises he half believed were lies.
When he finally spreads your thighs wider, positioning himself at your entrance, he pauses. Just the head pressing in, hot and insistent and his free hand digs into your hip like an anchor.
"Look at me," he demands. His voice cracks. Just a little.
You do.
And that's when the dam breaks.
He thrusts in, slow at first, inch by torturous inch, feeling you stretch around him, warm and wet and perfect. His eyes flutter shut. A shudder runs through him, violent enough that the bedframe protests.
"Gods- " He chokes on the word. Forehead drops to yours. "You feel like every fucking prayer I never thought would be answered."
Before you knew it, you felt a small pearl roll over your collarbone, one, then two, they started gathering around your shoulders.
You look up and search for Rafayel’s gaze.
Your eyes widen as you see his lips pressed together tightly and his lashes wet.
Before you can say anything, he moves again.
The next thrust is harder. Deeper. He releases your wrists to wrap both arms around you, clinging, pulling you flush against him as his hips snap forward again and again. The rhythm is uneven. Frantic. Like he's afraid if he slows down, you'll disappear.
"Rafayel-" Your nails rake down his back, leaving red lines he'll wear like badges.
He hisses at the sting. Buries his face in your neck. "Say it again. My name. Say you're mine this time."
You do. Over and over, gasping it into his ear as he fucks into you with everything he's held back for years. His hand slips between you, fingers circling your clit, possessive and skilled from all those lonely nights imagining this.
You come first, clenching around him so tight he nearly blacks out. Your cry echoes off the studio walls, mingling with the wet sounds of skin on skin.
He follows seconds later.
Spilling inside you with a broken moan, hot pulses that seem to go on forever, marking you from the inside out. His hips stutter. Grind deeper like he can fuse you together.
When it's over, he doesn't pull out.
Doesn't let go.
Just holds you there, still buried deep, as his breathing slows. Tears turning into pearls streak down his face now, silent and unashamed. He brushes them away from your cheeks too, thumb gentle for the first time tonight.
"I waited so long," he whispers, voice hoarse. "Don't make me do it again."
You pull him down for a kiss, soft, salty with shared tears.
"I won't."
He exhales against your mouth. Finally relaxes into your arms.
That night, he finally sleeps without dreaming of loss.
ZAYNE
He insists on the lights low.
Not off, just dim enough that the warm glow from the bedside lamp paints long shadows across your bodies, but bright enough that he can see every detail. Every flutter of your lashes. Every inch of skin he’s finally allowed to touch without layers of restraint between you.
You’re both bare now. He’s kneeling between your thighs, palms braced on either side of your ribs, and the first real press of his chest to yours makes something in his throat click shut.
Skin.
Actual skin on skin.
His skin on your skin.
His heartbeat is loud enough you can feel it thudding against your sternum like it’s trying to climb inside you.
“Tell me if I-” He stops. Swallows. Tries again, quieter. “If anything feels wrong. Or too much.”
His voice is steady on the surface but you hear the faint tremor underneath, the way his breath hitches when your fingers trail down his spine.
He’s nervous.
Not the fumbling, boyish kind. The kind that comes from someone who’s spent years perfecting control, who’s terrified that if he lets go even a fraction, the whole carefully constructed wall will come down.
You cup his face. Thumb along the sharp line of his jaw.
“I want this. I want you.”
His eyes close for a second. When they open again, the green is darker, pupils blown wide.
He lowers himself slowly. Until every inch of his front is pressed to yours, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, thighs slotted together. His cock rests heavy and hot against your folds, not pushing in yet, just letting you both feel the contact. The heat. The slide of skin on skin.
A low sound escapes him, almost inaudible. Not a moan. More like relief so sharp it hurts.
He stays like that for long moments. Just breathing you in. Memorizing the way your nipples drag against his chest with every inhale. The way your heartbeat syncs with his the longer he stays pressed close.
When he finally shifts, reaches between you to guide himself, the movement is careful. Except his hand trembles.
The head breaches you.
He freezes.
Every muscle in his arms locks. His forehead drops to your shoulder. You feel the exhale against your collarbone, long, shaky, controlled.
“Warm,” he murmurs. So quiet you almost miss it. “You’re… so warm.”
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t chase. Just sinks in bit by bit, like he’s cataloging every sensation. The stretch. The slick heat. The way your walls flutter and grip him involuntarily.
When he’s fully seated, hips flush, buried to the hilt, he stops again.
Doesn’t move.
Just holds himself there, arms caging you, face tucked against your neck. You can feel the fine tremor running through him now. Not from effort. From the sheer overwhelming reality of it.
No distance left.
No more barriers.
He exhales again, longer this time. His lips brush your pulse point.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says, voice rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “I didn’t know… how much it would feel like surrender.”
You wrap your legs around his waist. Pull him impossibly closer.
He groans, low and broken, at the shift in angle. His hips give one instinctive, helpless roll before he catches himself.
“Sorry,” he breathes. “I-I need a moment.”
You don’t let him retreat.
Instead you slide your hands up his back, nails grazing lightly, then press your palms flat. Skin to skin. Everywhere.
“Move when you’re ready,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Something shifts in his breathing. Not tears, Zayne doesn’t cry, not like that but the tension in his shoulders finally, finally starts to melt.
The first real thrust is slow. Measured. Deep enough to make you both gasp.
He keeps the rhythm controlled at first, long, rolling strokes that let him feel every drag, every clench. But the longer he stays buried in you, the more the control frays.
His mouth finds yours. Kisses turn open mouthed, messy, desperate. One hand slides under your lower back, arching you into him so there’s not a single inch of space left between your bodies.
Skin. Heat. Friction.
He starts to lose the measured pace.
Thrusts get deeper, harder and edged with something raw.
“You feel-” His voice cracks. He tries again. “Perfect. You feel perfect.”
He buries his face against your throat when he comesx hips grinding in tight, stuttering circles as he spills inside you. The quiet, shuddering release of years of restraint finally giving way.
He stays inside after.
Doesn’t speak for a long minute.
Just holds you. Chest to chest. Breathing in time.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are clear. Calm again. But softer than you’ve ever seen them.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. Fingers threading through yours. Squeezing once. “For letting me… have this.”
You kiss his palm.
“Always.”
He exhales. Settles his weight more fully over you.
And for once, Dr. Li lets himself rest. Completely
SYLUS
He doesn’t pounce.
He could. Gods know he wants to, has wanted to since the first time you looked at him. But the second your clothes hit the floor and you’re bare beneath him on silk sheets that cost more than most people’s rent, something in his chest locks up.
Not fear. Not exactly.
It’s the weight of knowing you’re choosing this. Choosing him. After everything. After blood and betrayal and nights where he thought he’d lost you forever.
So he stays kneeling at the edge of the bed, red eyes locked on yours, waiting for permission even though you already gave it with the way you reached for him.
“Sylus,” you whisper, soft. A little shaky.
His name in your mouth still undoes him every time.
He exhales through his nose. Control slowly slipping away. Then he lowers himself over you, careful, so careful, bracing his forearms on either side of your head instead of caging you like he normally would. His body is a furnace but he keeps most of his weight off you, like you’re made of glass he’s afraid he’ll crack.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. One large hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me if you need me to stop. At any point. I mean it.”
You shake your head. Reach up. Thread your fingers through silver hair and pull him down until his lips brush yours.
“I want you,” you say against his mouth. “All of you.”
That’s when the last thread of restraint frays.
He kisses you like he’s starving, deep, slow, devouring but still measured. Still careful. His tongue slides against yours in lazy strokes while one hand trails down your side, memorizing every dip and curve like he’s mapping territory he’s only been allowed to dream of.
When he breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go for your neck or your breasts first.
He slides lower.
Broad shoulders push your thighs apart. He settles between them like he belongs there, because he does now. Because you’re letting him.
His first lick is tentative. Testing. Flat tongue dragging from entrance to clit in one long, slow stripe.
You arch. Gasp.
He groans, guttural, against your core. The sound vibrates through you.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You taste better than I imagined. And I imagined a lot.”
Then he stops holding back on the oral.
He eats you like it’s the only thing that matters. Like your pleasure is the only currency he cares about tonight. Lips seal around your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder when your hips buck. Tongue circles, flicks, dips inside, relentless but never rough. Two thick fingers slide in when you’re dripping, curling slowly, stroking that spot that makes your thighs tremble around his head.
He doesn’t stop until you come, shaking, crying his name, nails digging into his scalp.
Only then does he lift his head. Lips shiny. Eyes blown black with want. But he’s still careful.
He crawls back up your body. Kisses you so you can taste yourself on his tongue. Lets you feel how hard he is, thick, leaking, throbbing against your thigh but doesn’t push for more.
“Not yet,” he rasps when you try to reach for him. “I need you ready. I need you soaked. I’m not small, kitten. And I’m not risking hurting you. Not tonight.”
So he works you open again. Fingers. Tongue. Whispered praise against your skin, “So good for me,” “Look at you taking it,” “That’s it, let me hear you”, until you’re trembling on the edge a second time.
Only then does he line himself up.
The head nudges your entrance. He pauses. Forehead pressed to yours. Breathing ragged.
“I’ve wanted this,” he admits, voice cracking just enough to betray him. “For so long I stopped believing I’d ever have it. And now that I do…”
He swallows hard.
“I’m terrified I’ll ruin it.”
You cup his face. Pull him closer.
“You won’t.”
He pushes in, slow. So slow. Inch by torturous inch. Every time you tense, he freezes. Murmurs against your lips. Kisses the corner of your eye. Waits until you relax before moving again.
When he’s finally seated, deep, stretching you full, he stops. Completely still. Arms shaking where they hold him up. Face buried in your collarbone.
His voice is wrecked. “You’re everything I’ve ever been missing.”
He doesn’t thrust right away. Just rocks. Tiny, shallow movements that let you adjust. That let him feel every flutter, every clench. Skin to skin. Heat to heat.
When he finally starts moving, long, rolling strokes, it’s reverent. Worshipful. Every thrust angled to hit that spot inside you. One hand slips between your bodies to circle your clit in time with his hips.
He wants you to come again. Needs it. Needs to feel you fall apart around him before he lets himself go.
You do, clenching so tight he chokes on a groan. Your orgasm drags his out of him like a confession.
He comes with a broken sound, half growl, half plea, burying himself as deep as he can. Spilling hot and thick inside you, hips grinding in helpless little circles like he can’t bear to leave even an inch.
He doesn’t pull out after.
Just gathers you close. Rolls so you’re draped over his chest. One arm locked around your waist. The other hand stroking your hair.
His heartbeat thunders under your ear, fast, unsteady.
“I love you,” he whispers into the dark. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
You press a kiss to his collarbone.
“Never.”
He exhales. Long. Shaky. Finally lets himself relax beneath you.
For once, the most dangerous man in the N109 Zone feels safe.
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