#l&d fluff

[tolma21]

Relationship with Rafayel

Rafayel is literally me in male form. I really miss a guy like that in real life

I want to apologize in advance for any mistakes; English isn't my native language, so I'm using a translator

SFW

Relationship with Rafayel is like waking up in the middle of the night, realizing you both can't sleep, and going for a walk around the city, where the sweltering heat has given way to a pleasant coolness. Your loud laughter will wake a couple of people, but you don't care. Raf will pull you by the hand under the streetlight, and for a few minutes, you'll twirl aimlessly in each other's arms. And you'll watch the sunrise lying on the seashore, dozing off until the sun wakes you.

Relationship with Rafayel is like watching a stupid TV show while eating away pizza. Your living room will become a "creative" mess of empty cardboard boxes and the occasional spilled Coke. You'll laugh out loud at the comedy on TV while clutching your aching, overstuffed stomachs.

Relationship with Rafayel means being loud and free in public. When you're sitting in a cafe, some people glance at your table in the corner with interest, trying to eavesdrop on the heated gossip you're discussing. On a busy street, you'll set up a camera and start filming videos together. Some passersby will judge you, while others will wish you lasting love and boundless happiness.

Relationship with Rafayel is like spending an entire day shopping and buying up half the mall. He definitely needs those fluffy brushes for his next masterpiece. And that collectible eyeshadow palette will perfectly complement that dress you just bought, which, by the way, you snagged for a great deal! And if you have a new dress, how could Rafayel live without a new outfit? So he'll show off in front of you in an expensive suit with a playful cutout. And your bags will also be littered with a bunch of useless things that you'll probably never use.

Relationship with Rafayel means arranging a professional photo shoot with a makeup artist, retouching, and studio rental, just so your carefree and casual Instagram feed will be filled with stately, mature photos where you look so imposing, as if you were shooting for a magazine cover. And hidden among them will be one where you're grimacing for the camera, and it will turn out to be the best.

NSFW

Relationship with Rafayel is like spending an evening in a cultural venue: at the theater, watching the premiere of a new play, or in a 19th-century art gallery, listening to Raf's hour-long lectures on each artist. And then, returning home at night, shedding clothes right in the hallway and, before reaching the bedroom, starting passionate sex, shouting dirty words.

Relationship with Rafayel is like painting each other's bodies, playing with a brush over sensitive spots, making your skin tingle. He's willing to spend even the most expensive paints on you so they can perfectly decorate and highlight your refined body.

Relationship with Rafayel is like having sex on the beach, somewhere in the shade of the trees, hoping no one will notice. But Rafayel doesn't like to hold back, so people passing by have definitely heard him wax poetic about your bouncing breasts and clenching pussy.

Relationship with Rafayel involves a quickie during his exhibition. Afterwards, he'll confidently walk out into the hall to meet his fans. No one will notice, but everyone will know what he's been up to. A scarlet hickey is visible on his neck, and the fly of his pants is slightly unzipped. Thomas will tell him about it, and Raf, flushed, will flee his event.

Relationship with Rafayel is all about using him during Ebb day, when he's especially vulnerable and malleable. He'll resist persistently, almost desperately: frowning, whispering empty threats in a broken voice, but his hips will treacherously move toward you. At such moments, he becomes so sweet and compliant under your touch. Submissive, trembling, having lost all his pretense of pride. The blue scales on his face tingle, sparkle, driving his exhausted brain to a sweet frenzy. And then you'll court him, carefully, but not without a hint of mockery, because he's your beautiful fishie.

[inzaynety]

observation duty ⤫

➢ summary: you’ve taken an interest in some medical books he has laying around, and what better real-life, hands on specimen than your own man?

➢ content: zayne x fem!reader, 1215 words, shirtless zayne, slightly suggestive

➢ notes: imagine touching this mans serratus anterior 🤭; okay but it’s been a while since ive taken muscle physio and all i remember is that and like a few others so you’re getting my limited knowledge enjoy

Maybe you should’ve gotten into physiology sooner. It was pretty enjoyable, if you made it out to be.

It all started after a long afternoon nap. You wake up following a typical fever dream with a cold sweat and confusion. Adjusting to the initial disorientation, you look over at the digital clock, and only twenty minutes have passed. With how groggy you felt and the approaching sunset out the window, it sure didn’t feel like it. 

Swinging your legs over the bed, you walk into the hallway in hopes of finding your boyfriend. He mentioned leaving for the store for a couple of things before you knocked out, and he must have still been out while you called his name. You keep walking and decide to just wait in his office, stalking over to his desk and looking down at the contents. 

I’m mature, you think to yourself. Maybe you’re still processing the trauma of waking up.

The book Zayne has on the corner of his desk has a diagram of a man fully unclothed, and your eyes subconsciously zone in on one particular spot. You choke back a laugh before closing your eyes and composing yourself. 

You feel another laugh coming. I’m mature. 

It’s embarrassing to say that it took a good five seconds before another laugh bubbled up in your throat. Taking the defeat, you seat yourself and open the book to avoid seeing the drawing again and making no progress. The random page you find yourself on has a regular diagram you would see around his office and rooms of your routine physicals, pointing out the main muscles you were somewhat familiar with. 

You don’t realize that you’ve flipped through a good number of pages until the front door opens and his voice comes through the hallway. 

“I’m home.” He calls out, and you rush over to greet him. He’s carrying a few grocery bags, and while he’s typically against it, there’s your favorite takeout in his arms. “Sleep well?” He asks when you come into his view. Nodding, you help take the food from him, but your eyes don't meet him like they usually do. 

“I did,” you’re distracted, “welcome home.”

Zayne thinks there must be something on his shirt and goes to subconsciously rub at it with his now free hand, but you stop him in his tracks by holding onto his forearm. To your not-so surprise, it tenses at how intense your stare is. 

“My love, what are you looking at?” You let out a short breath and release him to place your takeout on the dining table, leaving him utterly bewildered by the door. Zayne’s used to your antics by now, though they never fail to surprise him. However, it’s not too long after he puts the small amount of groceries away that you take his arm again in your grasp, squeezing a little. “Darling–”

“You have such nice extensors.” You say it matter-of-factly, squeezing at the taut muscles. He’s not flexing or anything, so you take it upon yourself to move upward towards his bicep. “Flex.” He does.

Oh. Surely you’ve noticed it before, but the diagrams on those pages really make you appreciate the finer details.

After a few moments of silent squeezing, you meet his eyes with a sweet smile and pull him closer to your body. He wastes no time wrapping his arms around you, though his expression is still laced with questioning.

“Zayne?”

“Yes, my love?” He can’t say no to you, right?

“Can you take your shirt off?” He blinks. 

“Come again?” You don’t say anything and simply tug at the hem with both of your hands. There’s a look of determination on your face that intensifies when you lock eyes with him. 

Again, you never failed to surprise him, and clearly, the day would never come when you wouldn’t. Thus, for now, it seemed like he had no choice.

His skin is smooth underneath your fingertips, and the expanse of his back was much broader than you had anticipated. 

“Why are you surprised?” There’s a bit of playfulness in his tone: “You’ve seen this plenty of times before.”

“Shut up,” you pout, continuing with light pokes here and there and muttering under your breath of the different muscles you learned. He hums in his spot, hearing you name everything, and you think it’s all right as he doesn’t say anything to correct you. 

Trapezius, latissimus dorsi, rhomboid minor, rhomboid major—it was all so much clearer than you anticipated—you didn’t know if you should feel impressed or something a little more. Zayne really did do these diagrams justice.

After finishing off what you could remember, you tap his cheek, signaling for him to change his position for what remains of your studies. He complies, muscles rippling as he presses down into the couch to lift himself up to turn. Your eyes linger on his shoulders, trailing down his arms to where his hands grip the fabric. 

Ah. Nice.

“Are you almost finished?” Zayne questions you and easily accepts you into his lap when he settles down. 

“Mhm, just a few more.” Winking, you nip at the tip of his nose, and he can’t help but scrunch. How could a man like him be so cute? 

You continue on, staring at his abdomen, and you try your best to ignore the slight flinch he gives when your nail trails over the sensitive skin. He knows you’re doing it on purpose if that smirk on your face was anything to go by. 

And here was the part you were waiting for. Pectoralis major, pectoralis minor.

You spent a bit of time here, not knowing who it benefited more: you or him. And again, you keep going. 

It’s comfortable, straddling his lap as you trace over his lines of hard work. He watches quietly when you make it up his neck, sternocleidomastoid coming through your lips in a whisper, and his skin starts to create bumps. The sensation isn’t unwelcome, but he would much rather you pick up the pace because, while your focus is endearing; he really wants to kiss you. 

You trail to his face, still avoiding his eyes, and finally, finally, stop at his lips. 

“All done,” you muse, and you feel his arms twitch around your frame when you giggle. “How’d I do?” He lets out a huff, but a smile grazes his lips when he leans forward, getting that kiss he wanted for some time now. 

“Perfect.” There’s a sudden grip at your waist, and you’re flipped over, back to the couch, as he can’t wait any longer. 

Bonus:

You hum in satisfaction, bringing your arms around him as he settles himself comfortably on your chest. There’s a few breaths of silence as you trail a hand down from his tricep towards his wrist—but you stop just at his elbow. Zayne flinches against you when you lightly pinch and pull at the skin there. 

“Zayne?”

“Hm?”

“Is this a weenus?”

He doesn’t say anything, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but looking down, you see that he’s staring at you with the most scandalized look. He can’t tell if you’re serious or not. 

“A weenu—what? Where did you hear that from?”

“Rafa—“

“I think you should stop listening to him.”

©inzaynety 2024