~ I feel like I be saying the same things in different fonts but this has been lingering in my head for at least a month now so why not.
Sylus cannot stop spitting on your pussy during sex. You could be sopping wet, a mix of his cum and yours literally everywhere. All over your cunt, your thighs, dripping down your ass. It's still not wet enough, every so often he just spits down on where his cock disappears inside of you to make it even wetter.
Xavier eats you front to back, you don't think there is a time where he's gone down on you and not licked your ass too. You're mortified about it, make a point to really deep clean yourself up prior to seeing him. He's eating you to the bone, licking and sucking and biting every inch of you from the top of your thighs all the way down and around to the small of your back.
Caleb loves the smell of your pussy, an obsession that goes far beyond stealing your panties for personal use. He'll purposely eat you out with the blankets over his head to be enveloped by the heady scent that is you and your arousal. You swear you feel his nose burying between your slick folds more than his tongue.
Rafayel is into snowballing after he cums in your mouth. Don't swallow, don't spill either. He's tugging you up to his level and crashing his lips against yours, a sloppy mix of tongue and teeth as you pass whatever of his cum remains in your mouth over to his before he's pushing it back into your own again.
Zayne purposely makes you squirt / ruin his sheets. It gives him a sense of satisfaction seeing the wet spot (puddle). He purposely bought a water proof mattress cover for this reason. When everything is done and you go to shower? He's grinding his cock into the wetness, hard all over again at the aftermath of your strenuous activities before stripping the bedding to wash.
< Previous • Next > | Note: reader is not the sultry “hot gamer goth” stereotype, she’s the cozy gamer girl. i hate stereotypes and no offense to dream and no hate to goth girls i love all girls btw)
synopsis: reader is a streamer doing a face reveal
wordcount: 1138
★ "Congratulations! you have reached your goal of 30k donations. post to celebrate." you read the notification at your streaming account. Your latest donation was from the infamous RedRubyCrow109 who donated the remaining 20k to your goal
★ you rubbed your eyes, thinking it’s still a dream. Scrolling through the posts of your community and it was flooded with posts.
“what do i do, i haven’t prepared anything!” you ran your hands through your hair in frustration.
★ you start remembering dream’s face reveal and are lowkey scared it'll happen this time TO YOU– but you’re not that well known so it won’t be an issue.
★ you decided to write a post for the community
“I can’t believe we reached the goal in such a short time! Thank you for supporting my channel and as i promised i’ll do a face reveal in tomorrow’s stream :)) #pls-be-nice”
★ Obviously half of the comments were excited and the other half complained. however you ignored it and spent the whole day shopping and upgrading your set-up to make it as cute as possible.
★ next day…the stream will be starting in a few hours. You double checked everything, the lighting was perfect with a hue of purple, with a nice camera angle, you also dolled up for the stream.
★ you stared at yourself through the camera monitor and did some awkward poses. You still felt embarrassed and nervous but whatever, its too late to back down now! And you were gonna make a V-tube model soon anyways, so it won’t matter in the future.
★ the stream finally started! You didn’t open the camera immediately, chatting idly and reading comments until enough people joined.
Thankfully your streamers were supportive and kept cheering you up
Rndmplay replied: “man shut tf up you’re so annoying”
Lilgui replied: “it’s a surprise she hasn’t banned you from her stream yet”
★ rolling your eyes at the annoying commentor, well he was beneficial for increasing your popularity with his annoying comments.
★ but you couldn’t help but notice the absence of your top donor. His comments were always so eye-catching due to the numerous badges next to his username...there’s no way you would’ve accidentally missed it, he usually comes early and chats with you.
★ Wait, why are you disappointed? It’s just a random person. Fuck it.
★ taking a deep breath and mustering your courage, you finally enabled the camera, your face showing on a quarter of the stream and the comments started moving faster with heart emojis and keyboard smashes.
★ chat: "omg wait you're so cute!
chat: "HOLY SHIT"
chat: "UR ADORABLE also where's your top from?"
chat: "mid"
★ Honestly, you were so nervous you didn’t even read most of it. You kept subconsciously hiding behind your hands and peeking through your fingers at the comments.
★ but your appearance wasn’t really what your fans expected. Of course, stereotyping sucks.
Your style was more elegant, dainty and cute. It’s just your personal style and you loved it anyway.
But no one would’ve expected that this girl is the same one that breaks the sound barrier crying when she loses her 50/50 on her favorites banner.
★ chat cheered and spammed your comments, you had an army of simps now and it felt a bit embarrassing but also gave you a confidence boost! You eventually felt more confident and stopped hiding behind your hands or hair. and donations kept coming in again, variety from 10 to 2,000
★ but he is still not here yet...
★ “who else expected a girl with eyeliner, piercings and cat ear headphones? 😭”
“Is this a joke?”
“I expected a hot mommy with big [redacted]”
★ yeah that last one got banned in a millisecond. And chat cheered for it.
★ “not you guys calling me basic.” you jokingly rolled your eyes. Your shyness was very obvious in your voice tone. You were unusually quiet this livestream.
★ your heart skipped a beat when his familiar icon showed up as he joined the stream and immediately straightened your back.
★ he’s late. and he didn’t comment for a bit and you started feeling a bit self conscious. He was usually active, spamming you with comments and donations but he’s too quiet now without saying a single word.
★ ‘he must be disappointed…’ you thought to yourself and stared at yourself through the camera monitor again.
★ ‘what could possibly be wrong? I did my hair, my makeup was simple…my outfit is nice too. Purple is my best color! Is it cuz i'm not–'
★ DING! RedRubyCrow109 donated 1000: “Hello, you look divine. ”
★ your heart skipped a beat as your hands fiddled with the string of your zip-up hoodie. You felt a bit relieved when he finally commented and tried to not appear too excited
★ “hii, thank you, red ruby! you’re late today.” you joked, immediately stopping yourself from sounding too excited but you did seem giddier.
★ RedRubyCrow109: Sorry, i was unexpectedly busy today. I’m watching your stream while working.” your heart skipped a beat, his dedication was so sweet.
★ before you could respond, “aww, that’s sweet. I–”
★ DING! RedRubyCrow109 has donated 5,000. Message: "to make up for being late, prettiest face reveal ever." followed with a little heart sticker
★ You almost choked on your drink and chat started spamming again…“O-OH Thank you–”
★ DING! RedRubyCrow109 has donated 5,000. “Oh and a little congratulating gift. also sweetie could you please increase the maximum capacity of donations? I can only donate max of 5000 per transaction, it’s bothering me.”
★ wow, this man! You can’t tell if it's hot or if it's too arrogant and indirectly calling you broke. you chuckled and brushed a curl out of your face.
★ “I can’t do that right now since i’m in a livestream! I’ll do it after i log off.” you responded with an awkward smile.
★ DING! DING! DING!
RedRubyCrow109 has donated 5,000.
RedRubyCrow109 has donated 5,000.
RedRubyCrow109 has donated 5,000.
★ it just kept going. Your eyes widened as you tried to keep up with the donations and comments. Your hands fumbling the mouse.
"Uhmm-- is this a glitch or?!"
★ RedRubyCrow109: I’ll just send it in small chunks if i can’t do it all at once.”
★ ‘IS HE SERIOUS?! Just how much money does he have?!' you thought to yourself
★ Chat: wow bro is printing money
Chat: CAN HE BE MY SUGAR DADDY
Chat: he called me broke in 295 languages…
★ and well you decided to flag him. you wanted to make sure it's not someone's stolen card or a child using his mom's account!
★ RedRubyCrow109: “Did you just flag me sweetie?”
★ “I didn’t! It must’ve been the server or something! you were spamming, it must've been suspicious behavior or something."
★ RedRubyCrow109: that won't stop me.
I can picture Sylus in the middle of a tough mission then going "hold on i'll miss the livestream
The crowd's roar still hasn't faded when the whistle blows, the entire arena aware that the real game tonight isn't team versus team, it's Sylus versus Caleb.
read on ao3
➻➻ ABOUT | 2700 words. sylus x caleb.
➻➻ TAGS | MDNI. hockey AU. mild blood/violence. rivals to lovers. tension. porn with a sprinkle of plot. semi-public sex. oral sex.
NOTE: ....bet you can't guess which show I just finished ^.^
[special shout out to my fave fan artist and @sysjuicebox, who didn't mean to plant this idea in my head but did anyway v.v]
To Sylus, there's beauty in the brutality of hockey.
The way control and calculation coalesce into swift strikes and take-downs. Plays executed with strategy and precision, meant to corner, isolate, and dominate. Cut throat instinct driving you to exploit every blind side your opponent leaves exposed.
Because the rink is a battleground. Survival of the fittest. Where chirping insults and meaningless brawls could never conquer the ice like honing in on the smallest hesitation and turning someone else's weakness into your victory.
Fortunately, in the two years since Sylus became captain, he's been able to get most of his teammates to understand that.
Unfortunately, none of the other teams in the league seem to.
To them, the rink is a gladiator arena, where cheers and applause are worth more than skill. A spectacle that turns calculation into choreography. Brandishes hockey sticks like dulled swords. Conceals teeth and claws to draw out the kill, to give spectators time to rise, gasp, and cheer on cue.
And there's no one who panders to those cheers, to that production, more than his biggest rival in the league and its "Fan Favourite" for back-to-back years, Caleb.
The sour taste of those words curl Sylus' lip as his eyes track the golden boy from behind his visor. Caleb steps over the boards, the noise of the crowd dipping in anticipation as he leisurely glides his way across his stage toward Sylus – his designated villain in these performances – at the center of the ring. If he wasn't in skates Sylus would've called it strutting.
His teeth clench when Caleb flicks a casual wave toward the left side of the stands, coaxing out a few stray cheers from his fans. Another toward the right side when he's close enough for Sylus to see the bite of the cold air painting his cheeks and nose red.
Finally done with his preening, the golden boy leans into position for the opening face off. Sylus' eye twitches when Caleb tap, taps his stick against his and the crowd finally erupts as the referee steps in between them.
Violet collides with scarlet as their helmets scrape against each other and they both reach for their mouth guards.
“Miss me, big guy?” Caleb winks as he pops the plastic into his mouth.
Sylus bares his incisors with a bloodthirsty smile, his mouth guard unable to dull the razor-sharp edges that slice unspoken threats into the air between them.
I know your weaknesses. I know your fears. And I will take you down. Again.
Violet hardens and the fan's favourite melts away, unveiling the man behind the mask. The ruthless one, the strategic one, the skilled one.
His expression tightens and intensifies, the same it always does when Sylus refuses to take his bait, to push after he's shoved, to give him the performance he's waiting for. And Sylus knows this will be their most brutal game of the season.
The crowd's roar still hasn't faded when the whistle blows, the entire arena aware that the real game tonight isn't team versus team, it's Sylus versus Caleb.
"Oh, fuck off, pretty boy," Sylus drawls when he finds Caleb leaning against the wall in his locker room.
Sylus winces when the door swings shut, the ringing sound in his left ear crescendoing and the bruise around his eye throbbing as the sound echoes through the room. Clearly, his teammates had all gone home while he was swallowing his pride and answering to coach rather than wait for their captain's berating lecture.
"No." Caleb straightens and crosses his arms, an unreadable expression on his face when he pointedly meets Sylus' eyes. "Not until you start tellin' me why the hell-"
Sylus grits his teeth and brushes past his rival, deciding he doesn't have it in him to deal with Caleb or his own team's idiotic display tonight as he rips his jersey off and heads into the showers.
The steaming water hits his sore muscles and Sylus rumbles out a groan of relief. He tilts his neck back gently, mindful of his pounding head as the sweat and blood wash off his body.
Those blows to his temple tonight had been unexpected to say the least. He isn't much of a fighter on the ice but he's never afraid to throw a few elbows and punches during a game, which means he's no stranger to bruises, busted lips, and broken bones.
But something about tonight's brawl had gotten out of hand in the few seconds between Luke going down from what he knew was an illegal move and Sylus' fist flying at Gideon's face. Before he could even attempt to reign it in, helmets were rolling, whistles were being blown, blood stained the ice, and Sylus was sent to coach with an aching temple and probable-concussion.
He grins crookedly around his split lip as he thinks of ribs he'd cracked and the noses he'd broken before the teams were separated, shutting off the water and finishing his shower.
Sylus expects a quiet room as he tucks his towel loosely around his hips but slows to a stop when he sees Caleb still there, leaning against his cubby, the only one with belongings still on the shelves.
Irritation prickles over Sylus' skin as he walks over until they're only a foot apart. "I'm sorry, you must've taken one too many blows to the head," Sylus snipes with raised brow. "'Fuck off' usually means leave."
"I don't take orders from you," Caleb scoffs, arms crossed, eyes simmering in cockiness and defiance. "You're not my captain."
It's the same cockiness and defiance he'd shown Sylus when they'd first faced off on the ice two years ago, two new captains with everything to prove.
For all his faults and facades, Caleb has always been a formidable opponent on the ice. Disciplined, controlled, he plays with a speed and unpredictability that forces Sylus and his team to adjust around him. Many have made the mistake of thinking his lax leadership meant a sloppy team, but his influence is undeniable when he steps onto the ice. Passes get cleaner, gaps close faster, and strikes make their mark.
However, when it came down to it, they were just too different to ever see eye-to-eye.
Every game ended in a fight. Every argument became a little too personal. Every altercation targeting the pressure points they knew would cause the deepest fractures.
And no one's ever cracked the walls of Sylus' self-possession quite like Caleb.
"That's more than evident by your behaviour on the ice." Sylus takes a step forward, running a hand through his hair to move the damp strands off his forehead. "You'd be scoring a lot more this season if you were obeying my orders."
"Yeah? I'd be gettin' a lot more concussions too." Caleb huffs out a humourless laugh and reaches a hand out. It's easy for Sylus not to flinch as his opponent targets his injury, but it's impossible for him to mask his surprise as Caleb's fingers brush gently along his bruised temple before retreating. Something.. well something in his voice when he lowers his voice, "How many head injuries is that this season?"
Sylus elects to ignore him and steps forward to grab his duffle so he can change and leave. But Caleb's hand on his chest stops his body, and what he assumes is all the blood in his veins, when his heart stutters at the touch.
Angry with his second display of weakness in as many minutes, Sylus' tone turns ugly when he looks from Caleb's hand to his stubborn face. "Go ask the reporters you like to run your stupid mouth to, pretty boy, I'm sure they'll know."
"Stop calling me-" Caleb stops himself mid-snarl and takes a breath, palm still resting on Sylus' bared chest. "You need to start being more careful."
The concussion must be starting to effect him because this time Caleb's touch on his chest, paired with his low, almost concerned warning, sends his blood pumping into overdrive and his next words come out more gravelly than he intends them to. "I know you're too busy chasing the spotlight instead of the puck," Sylus starts, leaning in with a taunting smile. "But this is hockey. Fights come with the territory."
"That doesn't mean you have to throw yourself into them," Caleb seethes, knocking the heel of his hand into Sylus' chest.
That something is bleeding out of his voice again and Sylus is curious enough to want to siphon it from Caleb's chest. To cup it in his palms and study it, measure it against his own.
"Maybe you should go talk to your defenseman, then." He raises his brows and murmurs, "I didn't hit myself in the head."
"I'm not-" Indigo smothers gold-speckled violet as Caleb tightens his jaw and growls, "Can you stop being a prick for five seconds and let me just-"
"Let you what? Get your head out of your ass long enough to remember I'm not one of the millions of idiots you have wrapped around your finger?" Sylus snaps, studying the way pink burgeons into red at the apex of Caleb's cheekbones. "I'm not dazzled by you… pretty boy."
"Shut up." Suddenly, Caleb's forearm is pressing against Sylus' trachea. Resolve broken. The man behind the mask revealed once again. "I said stop calling me that."
"Hm, what was it that you said?" Sylus can't help but chuckle and lean into the pressure of his arm, noses close to touching as he tries to see how much more he can provoke his opponent. "Oh right. 'I don't take orders from you.' So if you want me to shut up, you're going to have to do something to convince me, pretty b-"
Sylus should've seen it coming, really. Even he could admit he’s been pressing a little too hard into the exposed cracks of the golden boy's composure. Purposefully chipping away each facade one by one until he held all the power in his bloody fist. So, no, he isn't surprised when the consequences knock the breath from his lungs like a messy pileup.
What's extremely surprising, however, is that it's not a fist surging toward Sylus, but a mouth. Not a forearm crushing his windpipe, but a palm wrapping around it to pull him closer. And it takes a full five seconds for Sylus' brain to catch up with the fact that he's being kissed instead of killed.
But as soon as it does, Sylus parts his lips and kisses Caleb back. Hard.
It’s an addictive feeling, Sylus thinks. The way they kiss. Like two players dueling for control of the space between them. Like two rivals attuned to each other’s weaknesses, determined to close the distance they keep breaking and remaking with every inhale and exhale.
He grabs Caleb's waist and pulls him in so they're hip to hip. One of Sylus' hands trail up Caleb's back, calloused fingers scraping over thin cotton until his hand grips the back of Caleb's neck so tight the skin of his busted knuckles sting.
Caleb's hands are just as demanding, kneading roughly over Sylus' chest, throat, waist, abdomen, mapping each contour of muscle, leaving Sylus' skin tingling in their wake.
It's every fight they've had on the ice, but hotter, more carnal, and somehow, more merciless. With the endgame of checking his opponent into submission and no one around to pull them apart.
The thought of anyone trying to stop this brings an amused smile to Sylus' face as he bites at Caleb’s lip and the stretch of it, combined with Caleb’s sharp return bite, tears the split in his own mouth open again.
Caleb pulls back at Sylus' hiss, a string of bloodstained saliva connecting their bottom lips.
"Shit," Caleb pants, looking flushed and hungry under the revealing glare of the fluorescsent lights. Sylus discovers the auburn tips of his lashes and the faint smattering of freckles, knowing each of his cuts and bruises must also look stark and raw. "Sorry, I-"
Uninterested in the injury or Caleb's apology, Sylus knots his fingers into the back of Caleb's neck and yanks, letting the sharp pain in his lip and the building pleasure in his gut coarse through his body as he kisses him deeper.
It's tongue facing off tongue, teeth clashing against teeth, bruises and spit and blood, a battle for dominance that they're both determined to win.
Before Caleb can get the upperhand, Sylus backs him into the space by his cubby, takes Caleb's wandering hands, and pins them up against the wall. Caleb lets out a gasp of surprose and Sylus surges forward to kiss him again.
It's a small miscalculation though, forgetting the fact that this is his opponent, his competition, his rival, because Caleb knows exactly how to angle his hips when he starts to grind against Sylus, deliberately brushing the waistband of his sweatbands over the head of his cock. Coaxing a broken groan from Sylus' blood-soaked lips when he realizes they're both half hard.
The feeling scores fissures of pleasure into Sylus' skin and he presses his entire body into Caleb's, swallowing his enemy's whimper as he pins Caleb to the wall from ankle to fingertips.
Sylus' towel has already fallen to the ground, his hard cock pressed against the fabric Caleb's pants for him to see. He wants to free Caleb's cock, grab his own to relieve some of the building pressure, but before he can decide, Caleb's lips have moved to Sylus' throat, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin beneath his jaw as he rubs Sylus harder with his clothed cock.
The softness of Caleb's lips on his neck contrasted with the roughness of fabric on his shaft sends him into a spiral and he has to throw his head back.
He's so lost in the pleasure of it, in gasping for air through short, heaving pants, that he doesn't realize his grip on Caleb's wrists have loosened until he's freed them.
Stamping hot, open mouthed kisses over Sylus' chest, nipples, ribcage, and the root of his cock. Sliding to his knees and looking up at Sylus with a devilish glint in his eyes a split second before he laves his tongue over the head, forcing Sylus' palms to lean against the wall for support.
He lets out a small moan when Caleb does it again. And again. Small, teasing licks purposefully designed to make his heart and knees weaken. With a growl, Sylus takes Caleb by the hair and positions his mouth over his shaft.
Of course, Caleb would never let Sylus have even an inch.
"What's wrong, big guy?" he taunts as he pulls himself back. "I thought you hated my stupid mouth?"
But Sylus doesn't want an inch, he wants all of the inches. "I do hate your stupid mouth," Sylus huffs a breathless, pleasure-drunk laugh, grabbing his shaft and wiping that damn grin from Caleb's face.
"See?" he goads on a forceful thrust, groaning loudly at the sound of Caleb choking around him.
The sound reverberates through the locker room and the realization that anyone could walk in only amplifies the current of electricity gathering at the base of his spine along with the feel of Caleb's mouth constricting around him.
Caleb reaches a rhythm after that, his head moving up and down Sylus' cock, pausing to suck over the tip when he reaches it.
"Fuck, I'm-" Sylus cuts himself off with a low, deep rumble as Caleb moves even faster, cursing when his abdomen convulses and he spills into Caleb, who swallows it all down.
It takes a few moments for them to collect themselves. For Sylus to pull out of Caleb's mouth and for Caleb to stand.
Licking the metallic taste from his wounded lip, Sylus looks down at Caleb's sweatpants only to see a large, darkened splotch staining the front. Caleb looks down too, shaking his head with a small, downright sheepish smile as he glances back at Sylus and opens his mouth to-
A loud slam echoes in the hallway outside the locker room and the two captains instinctively jerk apart, pausing for a few seconds to make sure the noise isn't leading to this room.
When no one comes bursting through the door Sylus grabs the outline of Caleb’s still half-hard cock through his sweatpants, savouring the hissed whimper that he elicits when he yanks it to bring them nose-to-nose again.
"Next time, this," He doesn't break eye contact when he leans closer, squeezes his hand around Caleb, and murmurs against his lips, "Is mine."
♡warnings: p☆rnstar!rafayel x prude f!reader, one past daddy mention, alluding to some kind of sexual shame, tattooed raf, begging, mocking, a little degrading, mostly a lot of praise, fingering, not that bad it's kinda sweet if i'm honest
♡ sound bite: “I’ll help you out, yeah?” he whispered, his large hands rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your thighs, getting so close to where you wanted him before dancing away again.
“When I’m filming with someone new and they get a little camera shy, sometimes it helps if I feed them lines. It keeps them from worrying about saying the right thing—loosens them up a little. Let’s try that, hm?”
♡ a/n: guess whoooo! i've been gone for a minute, like i said a lot of my posts have been taken down so i might try to repost, but most of my stuff is on my ao3. my user is slapmeshigaraki on there too. anyway lot of shit going on irl but i dusted this one off from the drafts for the fuck of it. enjoyyyy xx
Bitchhhh— I know this ain’t who I think it is.
That was the message that interrupted your six-part bodycam TikTok viewing session. It was a text from your best friend accompanied by a sketchy link to Xvideos. The title read in bold letters: sexy virgin gets stretched open and fucked ROUGH. You were almost scared to open it, fairly certain that somehow this link would lead to a hacker accessing your bank account. It might not have had much money in it—but it was your bank account nonetheless.
Against your better judgment, you clicked it. As you pressed play, your living room was immediately filled with a series of lewd moans and the sound of sweaty skin smacking together. It went on for a few seconds. It didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary, pretty average backshots, until you heard a voice. Fuck—you’re milking me so good, sweetheart. You must want my cum, huh? Is that what you need, baby? You shook your head in disbelief. Surely it wasn’t who you thought it was.
The camera panned down to show a large hand slamming down against the girl’s ass. The skin of the man’s fingers was littered with tattoo ink—shaded into the shape of bones. It was that same damn skeleton tattoo. If that wasn’t confirmation enough, two seconds later the alleged “sexy virgin” whined out, Yes, please. Please cum inside of me, Rafayel. Ain’t no fucking way.
A part of you wanted to question how your friend even found this to begin with, but a bigger concern was how the fuck didn’t you know that your long-term friend with benefits was secretly a porn star. Actually, it clearly wasn’t much of a secret; the shit had millions of views. When you clicked on the account that posted the video, you quickly saw an entire portfolio of work. The tags on some of them were sick, really—master and slave, slapping, sadism, even fucking watersports. Just as you were about to let your curiosity consume you to open another video, you heard the sound of a key jingling in your front door. You didn’t even have time to turn your phone off; you just threw it to the other side of the couch.
“Ohhh, you’re gonna wanna fuck me so bad when you see what I’ve got behind my back.” The familiar voice rang out across the room, the same tattooed fingers revealing a brown paper bag with grease spots staining the bottom as Rafayel stepped through the door.
“Stopped by your favorite food truck. No need to pay me back or anything— I think I’d rather take my reimbursement in the form of head.” He laughed at his own words, as if it were a joke. You tried to get the image out of your head, but it seemed nearly impossible as he walked closer to your seat on the couch, placing the bag on the coffee table between you.
“You good? You look like you’re gonna be sick.” He wasn’t wrong. He could see the little beads of sweat forming on your neck, your eyes wide as if you’d seen a ghost. You cleared your throat, desperately trying to redirect your thoughts.
“Didn’t I tell you that key was for emergencies, Rafayel?” He hummed in agreement.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his phone, and unlocked it. “When someone texts you, ‘I need to see you so bad. I’m so pent up I’m dying, literally.’ It kinda seems like an urgent situation.” You turned your head, opting to grab the food instead of making eye contact with him. He sucked his teeth at your lack of rebuttal.
“Okay, damn, I’m sorry. Did I scare you? Is that what’s got you so tense? In my defense, I did say I was on the way. Next time, though, I’ll knock, yeah?” You nodded absentmindedly. Sensing the unusual tension in the room, he stepped around the coffee table, sitting down on the couch beside you. He placed a tattooed hand on your bare thigh.
“Seriously, tell me what’s up. It obviously isn’t just about the key.” His other hand reached across you, grabbing the sides of your face to turn your gaze onto his completely.
“Look—I get that lately we’ve only seen each other to hookup. But don’t forget about the friends part of friends with benefits, yeah? If you wanna talk, I’ve got time. You can tell me anything,” he said, voice completely softened now. Just as you were about to reply, your lips inching to form a sentence, you heard it. Those same lewd sounds from earlier, only this time they were slightly muffled. There was no fucking way.
Rafayel’s face contorted, and he shuffled around in his seat to see where the noise was coming from. He’d started to reach for his phone, but then he saw an illuminated screen tightly tucked between the cushions. You reached for it at the same time, desperately trying to dig for your phone to silence those fucking sounds, but it was no use. Before you could even try to wrestle it out of his hands, he saw it. There he was on your phone screen, the tip of his cock inching towards the back of some girl’s throat. All you could do was cover your face in horror.
“No fucking way!” He was dying laughing, the filthy sound of someone gagging on his cock filling the space.
“You’re watching porn of me? How’d you even find this? I thought you said you didn’t like that kinda stuff?” he asked between gasps of laughter.
“I don’t.” You reached back for your phone, snatching it away this time as he was too busy cackling at you to fight back. You clicked the power button this time, the filthy sounds now dissipating.
“Clearly you do, or at least you do if I’m in it.” He was so fucking smug about it, too, amused at your humiliation as he reached out for the bag of food, fishing out a taco for himself.
“I wasn’t fucking watching it. Someone sent it to me.”
“That’s actually weirder. What the fuck were they even doing to find that? It’s not like it’s Twitter porn, you’ve gotta dig to find that kinda shit,” he retorted before taking a bite.
“I don’t feel like you’re in any position to talk about what’s weird when you’re recording yourself fucking whoever. Some of those videos are disgusting.” He shrugged it off.
“No shame in my game. Fucking is an art, and I am an artist. Forgive me for sharing my talent with the world.” He could barely get the line out before laughing again, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.
“Well, how come you never told me you were into that kinda stuff? Huh, what happened to ‘friends can tell each other anything’ or whatever the fuck?” you asked, halfway offended.
“Uhhh, because you act so vanilla,” he said with no hesitation. Well, now you were fully offended.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You reached out to smack his shoulder, which he barely felt through the layer of muscle.
“I didn’t say you were vanilla. I said you act vanilla. It’s not a bad thing. You like what you like, and I like what I like. Doesn’t bother me, but it’s the truth.” He said it like he was simply stating that the sky was blue, so fucking matter-of-factly.
“Why would you even say that, though? What about me is so vanilla?” He could tell you weren’t gonna let this go anytime soon, so he shoved the rest of the taco in his mouth, taking far too long to chew and swallow for your liking before he replied.
“Okay, first, you never make any noise.” Your eyebrows furrowed at the comment.
“That’s not true!”
“It most certainly is. It’s like sometimes I can hear you about to moan, but then you cover your mouth or bite your lip or something to stop it. Uhhh, let’s see, what else? Oh yeah, you never let me go down on you.”
“Letting you eat me out wouldn’t be freaky if that’s what you’re implying.” He noticed how you conveniently didn’t respond to the former accusation about being too quiet.
“Exactly my point! If you won’t even let me eat you out, which is like basic shit, then of course I wouldn’t try to do anything else. I damn sure wouldn’t ask you to film.” You fell silent at the annoyingly logical point, but then something even more troubling fell over you.
“Be honest...Am I not hot enough to fuck on camera?” Rafayel tried his best to stifle another fit of laughter, now aware that you were actually being serious.
“That’s not it at all. You are so—so fucking sexy. Of course, I think people would want to see you naked—hell, I want to see you naked. In fact, I wish you were naked right now instead of wasting time with this ridiculous conversation.” You rolled your eyes, now more irritated than anything else by his evasive answers. You weren’t sure why it bothered you that he never offered. Maybe it was the fact that he had hundreds of videos posted, and each one seemed to have a different girl—he had no problem asking every single one of them, so why not you? You were about to get up from the couch, suddenly needing some space from the man, but he reached out for your wrist, guiding you back down to your seat.
“Okay, okay, wait. Look at me for a second, yeah?” You did so, reluctantly.
“You are one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen, really, and we have good sex. I mean it, really, I always have a good time with you,” he said, as if it were no big deal.
“Good? It’s just good to you?”
“I mean, yeah. I cum. You cum. What’s not to like?"
"The problem is, though—” He took a second, wondering whether brutal honesty would hurt or help in this situation. In the end, he decided to continue anyway. “I never asked you to film because you perform too much. It’s inauthentic.” For a second, you thought he was going to say something genuine or romantic, like that he thought you were too good to do something like that. Instead, though, it seemed like this was a worse insult than before. Before you could object, he spoke again.
“What I mean by that is— okay, I make a lot of money off of those videos, y’know. Like some of the most popular ones have been worth almost a grand.” Okay, so what you heard was that you wouldn’t make him enough money because you’re not that good at fucking.
“Let me finish—” he pleaded, anticipating an interruption. “You know what most of those videos have in common?”
“Every woman in them has clearly had a boob job.” He smiled at your remark.
“Not every, but sure. What I was going to say is that those videos are all super degrading. I’m saying mean shit and being rough. Begging on camera for someone to spank you or choke you or whatever the fuck—that’s not something someone can half-ass, and in a way, it only works if you’re willing to be real. You’re always so caught up in trying to perform, super concerned about what other people are gonna think.” You didn’t even allow his monologue any time to sit in the air.
“That is not true!”
“No? Okay, then tell me why you don’t moan when we fuck, huh?” There was a hint of a challenge in his eyes, a provocation to see if you would tell the truth.
“Maybe it’s because you’re just not that good at fucking. Did you ever consider that?” He hummed in acknowledgment.
“We both know that’s not it. You’re performing. You think that if you get too loud or if you let me go down on you, that I’ll see you differently. You’re scared of looking like a slut, even though it’s obvious that you are one.” You gasped at the allegation.
“Oh, and don’t say you’re not because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have slipped up that one night and called me daddy when we were drunk, or I wouldn’t have been able to hear you fucking yourself in bed every night through the walls when we were roommates. Actually, if you weren’t a slut, you wouldn’t be so hung up on the fact that I didn’t try to recruit you to make a porn video.” You were actually speechless now. His delivery implied that this wasn’t an impromptu speech.
“Better yet—” He reached down to grab one of your ankles, pulling you closer to him before wrapping your leg around his waist. You were basically in his lap now, and you could feel his length painfully hard beneath you. “Let me show you why you couldn’t get fucked on camera.” He wasted no time slipping his hand between your bodies, reaching beneath the hem of your t-shirt to find the waistband of your panties. You hadn’t bothered with pants due to the previously scheduled booty call, which was quickly taking a turn for the worse.
“Well, see. Look at that—you’re certainly wet like a slut.” He had no trouble finding your clit beneath the fabric, his middle finger rolling over the button unbearably slowly. You lied earlier; he actually was that good at fucking. He noticed the way your eyes had started to flutter closed with each little movement of his finger against you.
“Does that feel good, hm?” he whispered, leaning into you, your chests pressed against one another as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. You stayed quiet, focusing on calming your breathing and holding the moan that had been building up in the back of your throat from escaping. Rafayel had always been a bit theatrical in bed, clearly loving the sound of his own voice. He was never shy about moaning or telling you what he wanted. This was different, though; now, he was going to make you participate.
“Speak up, or I’ll stop.” His words seemed like a command, but the way he pressed a soft kiss onto your neck gave a different impression.
“You’re not serious,” you said, and not even a full second later, he slid his hand from underneath your panties, the absence of his finger’s warmth quickly showing that he was indeed serious.
“Rafayel—“
“Nu-uh, you said you could fuck on camera, right? Well, this is your audition, angel, and if I’m honest, you’re failing miserably.” He readjusted your hips on his lap, pushing you off of him in the process.
“I’m not asking you to act. If it doesn’t feel good, say that, but if it does, then you have to show me because right now, I’m not convinced. I'm not gonna touch someone who’s not enjoying it,” he said it so nonchalantly, like it was basic math before shrugging it off and turning to reach for the food again.
“It did.” He raised an eyebrow at your commentary, intrigued, but still not satisfied.
“It did—what? What is it and what did it do, exactly?” he questioned, a devious grin slowly growing on his face.
“You—your fingers did feel good.” He hummed in approval.
“Ahh, see? Now I’m following. So do you want me to keep touching you then?” You nodded, eyes growing wide at the offer.
“No, no no—you were just starting to do good for me, don’t get shy now,” he said, voice sickly sweet as he turned back toward you, his body leaning closer and closer to yours, forcing you to lie on your back, your legs wrapped around him once again.
“I’ll help you out, yeah?” he whispered, his large hands rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your thighs, getting so close to where you wanted him before dancing away again.
“When I’m filming with someone new, and they get a little camera shy, sometimes it helps if I feed them lines. It keeps them from worrying about saying the right thing—loosens them up a little. Let’s try that, hm?” You nodded, once again, at a loss for words as his hand, still wet from your juices, pressed flat against your pussy, rubbing you through the fabric of your panties.
“You’re so wet, baby. I can feel you getting your panties all messy. You want me to keep touching you like this?” His fingers danced between your slit at an agonizingly slow pace.
“Yes.” It was soft, a shameful confession whispered into his ear, but he’d heard you, and that was a victory he was happy to accept.
“Yeah? I can tell it feels good. You’re getting my hand all sloppy, pretty girl.” His lips hovered against the skin of your neck, his warm breath making your eyes flutter into the back of your head as he tried not to chuckle at how cute you looked when you were frustrated.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “No one else is here. It’s just me…tell me what you need, baby.” He could feel the way you tensed up at the request, pressure building in your chest as all of the dirty words you wanted to say got stuck in your throat.
“I’ll help you again, okay?” You could barely even focus on the lesson as his thumb slowly circled your clit, his lips pressing a kiss onto your skin between words.
“Repeat after me—say, please put your finger inside of me.” It was so straightforward, no flowery wording or beating around the bush. He’d told you to say exactly what you wanted, leaving no room for interpretation. You almost couldn’t focus on how humiliating the request was because the heat building between your thighs was becoming unbearable.
The feeling of Rafayel slowing his fingers down slightly served as a warning—he was not afraid to stop touching you again. You had no choice but to repeat the script, every word, verbatim. You could feel him smile against you in success.
“Aw, you did such a good job. Of course, I can do that for you, angel. Relax for me, yeah?” As he felt your heartbeat even out against his chest, he slowly slid the tip of his middle finger past your entrance.
You waited a beat, expecting to feel him reach deeper inside, but he didn’t move, leaving you clenching around the tip of his finger. He could feel you shifting around beneath him.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He was playing so fucking coy. You were so frustrated that a little whine left your mouth just before you could bite your bottom lip to silence yourself.
“Ooh, that was a pretty sound. I must’ve spoiled you too much, hm? Otherwise, I would’ve gotten to hear the cute little noises you make when you don’t get your way. Is that it? Have I been too nice to you?” Only more noises left your lips as you tried to push yourself further onto his finger.
“So fucking greedy,” he said, taunting you, as his free hand moved to pin your hips down against the couch cushions, forcing you to whine again, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.
“You gonna whine some more, or you wanna tell me what’s wrong? Can you use your big girl words for me?” He never moved to look you in your eyes, knowing that the eye contact would only make you crawl back into your shell again, but you knew that he was doing everything in his power not to use his hand to force your gaze onto his.
“Just…tell me what to say, Rafayel.” You were indeed whining some more, but at least you’d said something.
“Hmm, I want to hear you say please again. I liked it earlier.” You didn’t even bother to quip back, realizing that this was all about stroking his ego.
“Please, tell me what to say, Rafayel.” He knew you’d rolled your eyes, but he let it slide.
“I think I wanna hear you beg. Say please, play with my pussy. Ask me to make you cum, nicely.” At this point, you were so frustrated that you just agreed to whatever he asked, each word falling from your lips, much to his enjoyment.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You’re making me so proud, angel. You want a treat?” he said. He’d always praise you in bed, loving the way it made you tighten up around him, and this time was no exception.
“Yes, please.” As the words fell from your lips, he forced the remaining length of his finger inside of you, effortlessly brushing the tip of his finger against your G-spot. His thumb found your clit again, slowly teasing it as his finger slid in and out.
“My good girl, using her manners. I loved the way that sounded, so desperate. Doesn’t it feel so much better to get what you want when you had to work for it?” Just as you opened your mouth to deliver a slick remark, he slid a second finger inside, forcing a loud moan from your chest. You rushed to slap your hand across your mouth, as if you were trying to stuff the noise back inside, but it was too late.
For the first time, he’d moved his head, his face only inches away from yours, a look in his eyes that you’d never seen before, pupils darkening his irises, like a vampire that hadn’t fed in weeks. He’d released your hips from his grip, opting to grab your wrist instead, gently freeing your lips.
“It’s okay if it feels good, you know? No one can hear you but me, and I like hearing you. Don’t you trust me?” He allowed you to just nod this time, not trying to ruin the moment by forcing you to a script when he finally had you right where he wanted you—out of control.
“Don’t hold back anymore, okay? You're allowed to feel good. I want you to feel good. I won’t think differently of you. You’re still so smart and sweet and funny—those parts of you are still there when we’re like this. I like every part of you, so just be you with me.” You nodded in agreement, eyes watering again from the intimate moment, as you felt his hand loosen on your face just a little, before his fingers started playing with you again.
“You can close your eyes if you want. Just think about how it feels, okay, baby?” You did, which heightened every act of stimulation as he moved his lips back to that spot that made you shiver beneath him. He knew it wouldn’t take much more for you to cum, but he was tempted to edge you a bit, desperate to see you like this just a little longer. He was so eager to hear that noise again, he swore it was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard—the song of an angel. You could tell by the way he wasted no time curling his fingers again, pressing against that spot rhythmically in time with his thumb on your clit. You were trying to ignore that filthy sound that flooded your ears each time he pushed his fingers in your cunt. You physically couldn’t hold your moans back any longer if you tried, and Rafayel could not have been more in awe of you in that moment.
“You’re dripping down my fucking wrist, angel. Am I making you feel that good, hm?” All you could say was yes over and over again, each one more broken and pleading than the last.
“Yeah? You look so fucking pretty for me, sound so fucking good. I need you to cum for me—want to hear it so fucking bad.” All you could do was whine as he quickened his pace again while he felt you tighten up around him, the familiar sensation telling him that you were unbearably close.
“Fuck—I think I’m gonna—” The word kept getting stuck in your throat, the sound of him breathing so heavily in your ear was fogging up your brain.
“Aw, what is it, baby? You’re gonna what, hm? Tell me what’s gonna happen if I keep pressing against this spot right here?” he mocked. You were actually crying now, the stimulation close to making you cum harder than you ever had before.
“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, angel? You think you can be good and do one last thing for me?” You were nodding so quickly, like an excited puppy, mouth open, desperately trying to catch your breath. His grip on your cheeks tightened once again.
“Look at me, please.” You hesitated, just for a second, but it didn’t last long, the need to cum outweighing any shame at this point.
“No script—you wanna cum? Beg me.” So, you begged, a series of pleas and moans leaving your lips. He tried his best not to change his expression, scared that any reaction might make you self-conscious. All he did was press light kisses against your cheeks. He could taste the salt from your tears as you whined against him.
“It’s okay, baby. You can cum for me. You earned it, pretty girl, cum for me, please. All over my hand—that’s it. Yeah? Oh my god—fuck, yes. Good job, angel, sound so fucking sexy like this.” Your thighs were clamping down around his wrist, forcing him still as you shook and writhed against him. He closed his eyes while he listened to you moan and beg, for what, you weren't exactly sure, but he was addicted to the sound.
“Damn you really were pent up, huh? I’m so proud of you, baby. Cumming so good on my fingers, making all those pretty noises for me. Just like thattt—fuck, keep cumming. Let it all out for me.” Ever so slightly, he kept rubbing his thumb on your clit. It was as if he were in some sort of trance, studying the way your breath would catch in your throat and how you whined like such a little crybaby. It was so overstimulating that your moans had turned into screams before you begged him to stop.
“Sorry, I just—got carried away, I guess. You were just so…” he hesitated.
“Loud?” you asked, still out of breath and doing your best not to cover your face, embarrassment heating your cheeks as the nasty sounds you had made rang in your ears.
“No, no—so beautiful. It was like getting to look at a masterpiece. That was art.”
“Yeah? Good enough to record?”
“Mmmh, so good that I don't think I'd wanna share it with the world. Might have to record something just for me."
Your little rendezvous with Sylus stranding the both of you somewhere with no cell service, and a dream. Pulling up your phone, the screen illuminates the time, showing it was already 1AM. Explains why you're so tired. So you turn to him, and he cocks his brow at you in retaliation.
"Now what?" Frustration seeping through the words, something he picked up in immediately. To your dismay, an infuriating smirk graced his features as his brow shot up even further.
"Whatever do you mean kitten?" His amusement was so obvious, you were fighting the urge to not punch that beautiful smirk right off his lips. Lately you have been going on random missions with him way more often. At first you just wanted to get information out of him, seeing as that would greatly help the hunters association. Lately though, you feel as though there was a different reason why you tagged along, one you hadn't been ready to face yet.
"You know exactly what I mean Sylus, don't play dumb. Where the hell are we supposed to go? We can't even call the driver to go home!" Fatigue was building up, and all you wanted to do was go home, shower, and lay in your cozy bed as you slowly doze off to sleep. Now this is but a dream as you stare at his face incredulously, waiting for him to do something. Anything.
"I saw a light somewhere in the distance. If I'm not wrong, there should be an inn nearby." Now its your turn to cock your brow at him.
"How do you know it's an inn?"
"I've been here before obviously, how else would I know? Follow me."
Your mouth is agape as he moves to walk in the direction of the supposed inn he was talking about. Of course he had been here before, he wouldn't be Sylus if he didn't anticipate everything beforehand. Hell, you wouldn't put it past him to have planned this whole ordeal.
So against better judgement, you follow —ignoring the way your eyes linger on his back while he walks ahead.
The trip itself was surprisingly swift and before you know it the inn is already in sight. "You planned this didn't you?" That earned you a chuckle. "If I wanted to be alone with you I wouldn't plan it in such a... run down place like this kitten." The sound of gravel shifting as the both of you kept a steady pace cascaded across the barren land, accompanying you as you finally stepped through the run down door of the inn.
A damp smell of laundry that was taken out of the laundry machine too late invades your senses, and it takes you a moment to adjust to both that, and the extremely bright ceiling light nearly blinding you. While you stand there a little dazed —still rooted in place, Sylus had taken the liberty of scoring the room keys.
"They were fully booked, this is the only room they had left."
Scratch that. Key.
You mutter a soft curse —one that Sylus most definitely picked up on, and without giving yourself room to chicken out, you move up the stairs. You hear him chuckle behind you as he follows suit and the anticipation causes your heart to skip a beat.
Nothing would happen, you knew it better then anyone. But some part of yourself —the delusional one— sneakily hoped that tonight would be different. That maybe, just maybe, he would break the tension and give in to what you hoped both of you craved.
"I don't mind having to share the room, but I need to shower. This day took long enough and there's just too much dirt on me." He opens the door to the now shared room, and extends his arm —inviting you inside.
"There's not enough water for both of us to shower, and after a day like today I would very much like to wash myself up before bed as well."
You really tried to stay calm, but the way those words spilled so easily out of his lips —like he was just telling you the sky was blue— sent a wave of heat down to your core. Willing yourself to not give in so easily, you play his game.
"Yeah you're right," You let your words simmer a bit, pretending like you're thinking really hard about a solution. He just stares, amused, but plays along —clearly enjoying where the conversation is headed. "You know, we might just have to shower together." You let your gaze meet his, and it nearly steals your breath.
His gaze is intense —almost predatory. Eyes locked on yours as he continues the bit. "Hmm, I think you're right. That would be the best option. But don't worry," He moves in closer. Your breath hitches as you feel his lips next to your ear. "I won't look." He whispers. His breath fans across your ear, causing the tip to redden. As he pulls back his signature smirk is already plastered on his face again.
You feel goosebumps prickle your skin as you move to the bathroom. Thankfully the room is in pretty good shape, with an intact shower, and clean floor tiles.
You don't waste anytime as you move to take off your clothes. Heartbeat speeding up you ignore the way his gaze is plastered to you as he moves to do the same.
Suddenly you hear the shower turn on, and when you turn you look at him —really look at him. God he was beautiful, sharp chiseled jawline, accentuated collarbones, and don't even get started on his chest. You try not to gawk —really you do! But with a man like that standing in front of you, it was hard to ignore.
He clearly enjoyed being watched as you could see him grow from your peripheral. His eyebrow cocked up, waiting, challenging. So you take the bait, and move to him. Warm water droplets grace your skin and you heave a small sigh of relief. He stays true to his word, doesn't look at you and starts washing himself.
You attempt to do the same, but your gaze keeps falling to his body. The way the water cascades down his body is almost sinful, making his skin glow, as you watch his muscles flex with every movement.
"It's rude to stare, sweetie." You nearly drop the soap as your head snaps to his. His right eye is softly glowing as his gaze zero's in on yours. "What? Cat got your tongue?"
You want to make a snark reply, but before you know it your hand moves to his bicep —giving it a light squeeze. You can see him twitch from your peripheral and your heart skips a beat.
"You're playing a dangerous game kitten, don't start something you can't finish." His voice had dropped an octave, and sent goosebumps flying over your skin. You really couldn't help yourself as you move your hand to cup his cheek.
You could hear him suck in a breath as you leaned closer, and as your lips almost touched his —he finally closed the distance. The kiss wasn't soft —it was claiming. His body molded to yours as he pulled you impossibly closer, groaning softly into your mouth —as if your very being was healing him from the inside out.
One hand was snaked around your waist, making sure you couldn't escape his grasp, while his other hand held you at the back of your neck —maneuvering your head so he could get better access to your mouth. The kiss was intense, leaving no room for confusion as he only pulled back when you were running out of breath.
He didn't give much space though, as he rested his head against yours while you both gasped for air. You move to look up at him —only to find his eyes already set on yours. "You don't know how long I've been imagining this." He's moving down now, his hand snaking down your body as he sinks to his knees in front of you.
You think you stop breathing. He looks ethereal, eyes glassy from raw need —the shower stream running down his body as he waits for your permission. His head nuzzles your thigh, leaving soft kisses. You shiver as his soft lips move over the expanse of your thigh, hands squeezing every now and then.
"Please?"
The single word nearly undoes you. All you could manage was a breathy 'yes', and that's all he needed. His tongue licks a flat stripe over your exposed sex and your knees nearly buckle at the sensation. He groans —loud— as his lips suction around your clit, giving a harsh suck. You whine out his name and you can see him shudder beneath you.
He's relentless in his ministrations to you, cataloguing everything that makes you shudder, and whine his name. You can feel the pressure building steadily as he moves his tongue in circular motions —occasionally sucking on your clit— and your hands seeks out his hair as an anchor to the intense pleasure he's giving you.
"F-fuck, please don't stop." He nearly growls against your pussy as he starts moving faster, tongue fervently lapping up everything your giving him. Before you could even warn him, your climax washes over you, making your knees buckle as you scream out his name.
His evol catches you before you could fall to the ground, tongue licking you through your orgasm. The intensity almost scares you, as you see stars from how consistent he's being.
It takes you a moment to blink away the stars, but when your in focus again he's in front of you —peering into your eyes. "Are you okay?" You nod your head as you finally catch your breath. "Keep going please." His head falls to yours as he lets out a shuddered breath.
"You're dangerous kitten." You chuckle softly, wrapping your arms around his neck —reveling in the heat he exudes.
Your breath catches as you feel him line himself up against your entrance, and then finally —after so long— you feel him slowly push himself in. He takes his time with it, pulling out almost all the way —only to push it in further. Inch by inch, you feel yourself getting filled by him.
You're moaning now, not even bothering to be quiet. He's not faring any better —his soft groans having turned into gasps and moans of his own. The sounds of his pleasure cause you to clench against him.
"God, you feel even better then I imagined." You laugh out a soft breath against his mouth, closing the distance as he finally bottoms out. You nearly scream into his mouth. It was intense but so —so good. At last, after having adjusted for a bit, he started moving.
It started so slow, making you tingle everywhere as pleasure invaded your senses. His hands rake over your body —trying to feel all of you, and you do the same to him, letting your hands run over every muscle as he holds you steady.
You can feel his cock pulsate in your walls as he speeds up. The sounds of the shower drowned out by the noises of wet skin clapping against each other. Your toes curl as you feel every vein as he slides in and out of you. You throw your head back as you struggle to catch your breath, and he moves his head in between the crevice —suckling and biting at your neck, until it was covered in his marks.
You could feel your climax rapidly approaching as your body started tensing up. "Sy, m'close!" Your hands moved to his back for support, nails digging into his skin as the sensations kept building. He sucks in another sharp breath as your nails break open his skin —a mark he will not let heal for obvious reasons—
All he does to your statement is move his hand to your clit and pinches it. Immediately you see stars as your body unravels in his arms. The orgasm is violent, as you jerk in his embrace. He fucks you through it —eyes not once leaving yours as he makes sure your riding it out properly.
He slows down, letting you slowly come to, and when your glossy eyes meet his, that's when he unravels. You feel the hot spurts of his essence filling you up as he bites his lower lip —desperately trying to keep himself together.
"God that was-" You don't get to finish your sentence when suddenly the warm shower water turn ice cold. You yelp in surprise, causing Sylus to swiftly move the two of you out of the stream.
“Guess we made a good call by showering together didn’t we, sweetie?” All you could do was laugh and hold him as he gently moved you to the bed.
Song Inspirations - Through the Night by Maeta and Entertnmnt by Oklou
❄️🪷❄️🪷❄️🪷❄️🪷❄️🪷❄️🪷❄️🪷❄️🪷❄️🪷
A humid breeze brushed against the open window, carrying the scent of rain and jasmine, earthy and fragrant. Moonlight slipped through the curtains in pale ribbons. Its rays caught the shimmer of sweat where their bodies had shared heat. It traced her where she lay turned toward the window, the gentle swell of her belly rising and falling beneath the sheets. Each breath, a reminder of what they had made together.
He woke when she moved, the whisper of her exhale and the shift of linen drawing him back from sleep.
The air felt thick, fevered.
A spark stirred in him before he even reached for her. Always so cold, he felt her radiance pull at him like gravity. Without thinking, he slid an arm around her waist, the contrast in their temperatures making him shudder. Her skin was flushed, slick from sleep. His fingertips slipped slightly as they traced the curve of her side, following her warmth down to the gentle roundness of her belly.
The steady rhythm of her breathing, the faint rustle of sheets, and then the scent of her—skin, salt, milk, and sweat—all rose to meet him, making the air between them pulse with want. He flattened his palm against her stomach, meaning only to soothe, but her low sigh undid him.
The sound was grateful, and he felt it spark along his nerves.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself as thought and feeling collided. His caution wrestled with desire while he focused on her nearness, on the sound of her breath and the subtle shifts of her body. He knew every risk she bore, and the knowledge only deepened his need to handle her with care.
He blinked the sleep away, trying to read her expression through the dim light, a quiet flicker of worry cutting through the haze.
“What's wrong? Tell me.” His voice was rough with sleep, vibrating against her ear.
She shook her head faintly, sounding so tired. “Little one is so heavy.”
He hummed softly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before shifting closer. Lifting her belly carefully, mindful of her posture, he spread his fingers to cradle her with practiced care. The motion earned a quiet gasp—half relief, half pleasure.
The sound threaded straight through him, quickening his own inhale, drawing her closer.
His heartbeat thundered, each pulse echoing in his fingertips where they rested on her skin. Her warmth drew him nearer, and his thoughts blurred into sensation. The line between restraint and need practically dissolving as he breathed her in.
Instinct urged him forward, but instead he lingered, memorizing the rise of her breath, the promise of another dawn waiting with her. He held back just enough to feel the tension sing through him as her mere breath teased at his control.
Just the gentle shift beneath his hand made her body tense. Her hips tilted back toward him, a small, instinctive motion. Her breath caught as his palm spread wider to steady her. Then, a faint flutter rippled through her belly—their child stirring. His own breath faltered.
She began to rock against him, making small circles with her hips. Awe and want rose together, the healer and the lover tangled beyond separation. Each soft sound she made struck a chord between protectiveness and hunger. He wanted to soothe her, to make her feel safe. Yet the ache beneath his control deepened, pulsing through every nerve.
Comfort bled into desire. A high-pitched gasp escaped her, breaking the silence. He drew her closer, their bodies finding a rhythm so natural it felt like muscle memory. His chest pressed to her back, thighs framing hers. The air thickened around them, breaths quickening. Restraint frayed, thread by thread, until only devotion and hunger remained.
She shifted again, a quiet sound escaping her lips. “It’s not enough,” she whispered, voice trembling with need.
He hummed low in his throat, the vibration rough against her skin. His mouth traced the line of her neck in slow kisses, each one a promise. The curve of her jaw led him upward until his lips found the tender hollow behind her ear. She shivered, her breath catching on a sigh.
“Do you want my mouth or my fingers?” he murmured.
She turned her head, eyes dark, breath mingling with his. “I want your cock,” she whispered, voice husky with longing. “I want you inside.”
For a heartbeat, he forgot to breathe. The words struck like lightning, heat flooding every nerve.
She wanted him.
He knew it was safe to do so, but he didn't let himself think about it for too long.
Until now.
His arousal throbbed beneath restraint, every pulse both desire and assessment—temperature, tension, alignment—measured in the same breath. His doctor’s mind flickered—cataloguing what it could even as desire blurred the lines between observation and touch each detail even as want pulled at the edges of thought. The ache was almost unbearable; her invitation alone nearly undid him.
His mind raced, balancing caution with need. Each thought narrowed to what mattered most: her comfort, her pleasure, her safety. He thought of her hips, the ache in her back, how easily pleasure could slip into strain. He imagined how to move without pressure on her belly, where to brace her, how to keep her steady.
Passion urged him forward; habit demanded care. He balanced on the edge of desire and restraint. She had to be safe—and he wanted her satisfied.
But the pause stretched for too long.
She whimpered, mistaking his silence for refusal.
“Please… please, I really need it.” Her voice was small, desperate.
The plea shattered his hesitation. His heart clenched at the tremor in her voice, guilt cutting through control. She thought he was denying her when he was only trying to protect her.
“I will,” he murmured between kisses, voice steady and low. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
He shifted, drawing back to sit upright. Gently, he guided her legs with him until she rested in the crook of his hips. Each movement was deliberate—steady, careful not to jostle her. His hands slid along her hips, anchoring her against him before wandering lower, tracing the curve of her body with reverent care.
She made soft, needy sounds as his touch explored. From this angle she could rest easily, his fingers teasing her open. Her body arched back against him, and he exhaled a quiet, shaky breath.
He lingered, chest tight as he took her in. The sight of her burning through him with want and tenderness pressing behind his ribs. Fragile and powerful, she trusted him completely. His gaze followed the curve of her spine to the gentle roundness of her belly, awe and desire merging into one.
Every inch of her was radiant, alive, carrying both life and pleasure. His hand drifted down her back, pausing at her hip to feel her warmth before his lips followed, drawn irresistibly lower.
He leaned to kiss the curve of her hip, lingering briefly before moving down. His breath ghosted over her skin, each kiss slower, deliberate, until it hovered just above her thighs. The moment shifted naturally from tenderness to invitation. He moved with patience, his lips keeping time with her soft sighs.
When she adjusted a pillow beneath her belly, he helped her, murmuring encouragement. Once she was settled, he guided himself to her entrance, the blunt head of his cock brushing through her slick heat. He hesitated—not from doubt, but from disbelief that this woman, carrying his child, wanted him like this.
He studied her face, searching for even the smallest flicker of hesitation in her eyes. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, his voice trembling with restraint.
“It won’t be,” she breathed. “Please.”
Zayne met her gaze in the dark. Their breaths and the trickle of rain the only sound in the room. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, one hand braced at her back, the other resting at the curve of her belly. Her heat nearly undid him.
Once fully sheathed, he stilled, letting her body adjust.
She sighed with relief, a sweet, needy sound. The stretch of her was different now, so impossibly tight and soft. He could feel her heartbeat through her skin—the faint movement of their child beneath his hand—and it broke him open with so much raw feeling.
When he began to move, it was slow, measured. Each thrust was shallow, controlled, his hips rolling carefully to keep her comfortable. The soft rhythm of their breaths filled the room. Her moans were steady, born from closeness and weight rather than urgency.
Trying to collect himself, Zayne drew a deep breath, pulse racing. His thoughts flickered between how she felt beneath him and how her body met each motion. Holding back emotion made his body tremble. She was so beautiful—strong and soft, carrying everything he loved most.
Having her, providing for her, feeling her in his arms. It was more than he’d ever thought he deserved. His hand drifted to her stomach, thumb tracing the faint ridge of her navel. The subtle movement beneath his palm reminded him that everything he’d ever longed for was here, in this moment.
He pressed deeper, breath stuttering, forehead resting against her shoulder. “You’re everything,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Everything I ever wanted.”
She turned her head, brushing her lips against his jaw. “Then take it,” she murmured. “Take me. It’s all yours, Zayne.”
Her words pushed him past the last threads of his restraint. His rhythm deepened, steady and deliberate, gathering strength without breaking the tender rhythm they shared, still careful, but now driven by need and awe. The friction between them built slowly, sweetly, until it bordered on unbearable.
Every sound she made—every gasp, every sigh—was a pulse in his chest, a reminder of how much she trusted him, how much she loved him back.
He could feel her coming around him—her breath breaking in short, helpless sounds, nails dragging down his back. His own control slipped, rhythm faltering into uneven thrusts that came faster, more desperate.
The air between them grew ragged with their mingled gasps, heat coiling tight before it finally snapped—a tremor building beneath his palms, her body tightening as if drawn by invisible threads.
For a heartbeat, everything slowed: his breath heavy, the world narrowing to warmth and sound before it burst back into motion—her muscles contracting, clenching on him so perfectly.
Release loomed over him, unstoppable and raw. He buried himself as deep as her body would allow, holding there for a heartbeat, savoring the heat and the unbearable closeness before pulling out quickly. Leaning forward, he came in shuddering bursts over the curve of her ass, his breath breaking against her ribs as he trembled with the intensity.
His climax tore free in a rush that left him trembling. It wasn’t just pleasure—it was devotion, a supernova behind his closed eyes, warmth flooding through every vein, love and gratitude spilling out of him all at once.
He stayed there a while as he regained his senses, hands drifting lazily over her skin as they caught their breath. He nuzzled his face into her skin, breathing her in. The room was quiet except for the slowing rhythm of their breaths.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
She hummed an answer, too blissed to form words. He lingered, kissing the side of her neck, then her shoulder, before slowly easing back. His body ached with the need to stay close, but he shifted carefully around her, mindful not to press too much weight against her. She turned toward him instinctively, and he guided her until she was half lying against his chest again.
He brushed a hand through her hair, murmuring soft praise against her temple. “You’re incredible,” he breathed, voice low with awe. “You—both of you.”
She gave him a sleepy smile, fingers curling weakly at his side. “Zayne, I love you,” she whispered.
He leaned in, catching her mouth as rain began to patter softly against the window, their kiss deepening in rhythm with the quiet storm outside in a long, lingering kiss that deepened until neither of them could tell whose breath belonged to whom. When he finally eased back beside her, he wrapped his arms around her, adjusting the blanket over her hips and tracing light circles over her belly.
“I love you too. I’ve got you,” he whispered again, his voice thick. “Always."
Summary: You started to think you were losing your mind. Where on earth is your underwear disappearing to? Your roommate wouldn't happen to know, right?
Note: I'm in between writing two veryyy long fics at the moment, so here's a lil juicy somethin somethin with our best boy Caleb for the meantime <3
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This was the fifth pair in weeks that had gone missing. At first, you thought you might have been forgetting them at the laundromat in the basement of your apartment. But when you couldn’t find them there, you started to believe only one thing. Standing in your silky robe with your hands on your hips, you head down the hall from the bathroom, going past your room towards your roommate. If anyone might know what had happened to them it'll be him.
But little did you know, Caleb, your precious roommate was the one stealing them. It didn’t start like this at first. One time he did his laundry with your stuff and one of your pretty pink pairs of perfect panties got mixed up with his stuff. Tucked perfectly in between his jeans. Completely out of sight. When he was putting his clothes away, he couldn’t help it, you were napping and he didn’t want to sneak into your room, fearing he’d wake you.
So he did the natural thing. He was going to leave them on his counter and wait until you woke up. He was going to leave them on his counter…. He was going to wait. Wait for you to wake… How on earth can your panties be so soft? Are they silk? So warm, and they smell like your floral detergent. God, they're perfect. You're perfect…“Fuck…”
He was ashamed at first, rushing to pull his sweats down, awkwardly wrapping the garment around his aching cock. He had never came so hard in his life before feeling the sweet material around himself. It was messy, filthy. Sinful. He couldn’t help himself, as the days turned into weeks and one pair turned into five. He hid them under his bed, of course, not knowing what to do with the cum filled cloth. He couldn’t just put them in a wash, cause you do the washing nine out of ten. And he couldn’t possibly say all of these panties just happened to end up in his load. He was in too deep. So hiding them became the best option.
Then a knock at the door alerted him. He was right in the middle of pleasuring himself with your panties when you walked in and man, the look on your face turned him pale. Pure shock was best to describe your features. Standing there in that thin bathrobe of all things, looking at him with utter disbelief. Caleb wanted nothing more than to hide away, and never return. Tucking his cock away in his sweats, his hand was tightly clutching the—your—panties. “I… I. uh. I can explain.”
“I was wondering where my panties went. What the fuck Caleb!?” You folded your arms across your chest, tapping your bare foot on the ground. “Do you have the rest of them??”
Caleb's brain had successfully stopped working, just staring at you like a deer in headlights. In his mind, your friendship was over, but in yours, he needed to be punished. Sure it was weird but not the worst thing you’ve seen. And it probably doesn’t make it as bad since you have a huge crush on him. So right now, you wanted to play a game. Since he made you lose your mind, you wanted him to have just a taste. “Well? Why did you do it? I’ve been searching myself stupid for them.”
“Look, pip, I’m so sorry. It just happened and I couldn’t stop. I uh… god I’m a creep.” He was still seated in the middle of his bed, banging his head lightly on his headboard. You were silent for a moment, letting him sit in some guilt before you couldn’t hold back the smile. Starting to laugh. This caught Caleb's attention so fast, letting him snap his neck in your direction.
“Oh lighten up Caleb.” You waltz over to him, leaning down so your face is inches away from his blushed one. “Just tell me so I don’t lose my mind over where they went.” You kissed his cheek before turning away and heading for the door.
Caleb didn’t move though, no, he sat with bulbous eyes watching you with a stopped heart. You gave him one more smile before saying. “Oh and next time you want to fuck your cock with something of mine. maybe try my pussy.”
And with that you left with a beaming smile, closing the door to leave Caleb with his short-circuited mind and aching hard cock.
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.
