Oops! All edging
♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader ♡ cw: edging, mouth covering, overstimulation, crying, possessiveness, 18+ ♡ a/n: five different flavors of filth, one shared goal — break you slowly and make you love every second. if anyone knows the source of the pic I used, please dm me so I can credit! it’s been sitting in my phone for years now 🥺
Xavier — Quiet hands, loud need
It starts slow. It always does with him. Soft kisses. Patient fingers. A murmured “lie back for me, sweetheart” in that low, tired voice like he has all the time in the world.
You try to stay still. You do. But his fingers stroke deep and slow—two, then three—and your hips lift off the mattress like they’ve got a mind of their own.
“Xav—” “Don’t talk.” “But I—”
He cuts you off with his palm. Gentle but firm. Hand over your mouth, thumb dragging over your cheek as his pace slows even more.
“Too loud,” he murmurs. “What if someone hears you like this? All soaked and begging for it?”
You whimper. Your walls flutter. You clench around nothing when he pulls his fingers out again.
He does it four times.
Four times he brings you to the edge of orgasm and then stops—pulling away, watching your lip tremble under his hand.
“You’re so close,” he breathes, kissing your temple. “But I want you to feel it mean something.”
Your eyes fill with tears. Not sad ones. Desperate ones.
“One more,” he says. “Give me one more cry and I’ll let you fall apart.”
And when you do?
He slides inside you so slow, so deep, your back arches off the bed. His hand stays over your mouth. Your scream gets swallowed.
“That’s it,” he groans. “Take it. Just like that.”
Zayne — The doctor will see you now
You were the one who started it. Straddling him while he worked, rocking your hips against his thigh like a brat, whispering “you’re always so calm, doctor. don’t you want to ruin me?”
He lets it go. For a minute.
And then?
He grabs your waist, flips you onto the exam table, and slides your panties down with slow, surgical precision.
“You want ruined?” he says, expression unreadable behind those glasses. “You’ll wait for it.”
And you do. For so long.
His fingers are relentless—pressing into you slow and deep, curling with clinical focus, rubbing your clit just enough to make your breath catch—only to stop when your legs start to shake.
“Too soon,” he mutters, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You cry so easily. So messy already.”
You sob. His hand moves up. Covers your mouth.
“No one wants to hear how needy you are,” he says, voice low. “Be good. Be quiet. You wanted this.”
He holds you there—pinned and pulsing, trembling on the edge again and again, his palm muffling every whine and gasp as your body begs to come.
You nod frantically. Tears spill down your temples.
“That’s better,” he whispers, finally pressing his fingers just right, just fast enough. “Now stay quiet while I let you fall apart.”
And when you do? When you scream against his hand, hips stuttering, whole body arching off the table?
He finally groans.
“That’s my girl.”
Rafayel — Cutie, you’re gonna cry for me
“You’re being dramatic,” you snap, panting, legs trembling.
“You’re being loud,” he purrs.
Rafayel’s got you on your back in his studio chair, legs thrown over the armrests, shirt bunched under your arms, face flushed from the third time he’s pulled his fingers away just as you were about to fall.
“Just admit it,” he says, painting lazy circles around your clit. “You love when I tease you like this.”
You glare. He leans in. Grins.
“You gonna cry about it?”
You open your mouth to argue—he covers it immediately, palm pressed over your lips, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he’s drawing you in charcoal.
“No, no, cutie. You don’t get to be loud when you’ve been so bad.”
His fingers thrust back in—deep, slow, curved just right. Your scream gets muffled against his hand. He moans.
“That’s it. That’s the sound I wanted,” he groans. “You’re such a mess for me.”
You squirm. Your hips twitch. You’re begging behind his hand.
“You want to cum, don’t you?” he whispers against your neck. “Then let me hear that gorgeous cry one more time. Just for me.”
You do. You break like wet paint, sobbing into his hand as your orgasm finally slams through you—shaking, twitching, ruined.
He kisses your forehead like you didn’t just scream his name into his palm like a prayer.
“You’re my favorite masterpiece.”
Sylus — You were warned to stay quiet
“Keep your voice down.”
That was your only warning.
But now? Your back’s arched off the bed, thighs trembling around his hips, and you’re moaning loud enough for the entire Onychinus compound to hear.
Sylus tuts above you, voice low and dangerous.
“Didn’t I say be quiet?”
You open your mouth to answer—his hand clamps over it.
Not gentle. Not sweet.
Firm. Inevitable. His.
“No,” he growls. “You don’t get to talk. Not after you’ve been whining like a needy little brat every time I pull away.”
Because he has. Again and again. Thrusting deep just until your eyes roll back—then stopping. Fingering you slow, soft, cruelly perfect—and then pulling away when your whole body tightens.
“You like this, don’t you?” he murmurs, palm muffling your gasps as his fingers return—slow and steady, curling inside you, thumb working your clit like a weapon. “Getting edged like a toy. Crying for it.”
You sob into his hand.
He grins. Leans down to whisper against your ear.
“You’re going to cum when I say so. Not before. Not after. And you’re gonna take it like the filthy little thing you are.”
You nod, frantic.
“Good girl.”
And when he finally lets you go? Lets you come with his hand still over your mouth, your scream breaking behind it— He doesn’t stop.
He just keeps going.
“I warned you,” he pants. “Now you get all of me.”
And you do. Again. And again. And again—until you’re boneless, wet, ruined, and trembling in his arms while he kisses the tears off your cheeks like they belong to him.
Caleb — You sound too good and it’s making him crazy
He didn’t mean for it to go this far. It started slow. Sweet. His hands on your thighs, his voice soft, coaxing you open under him.
“You’re already so wet,” he murmured, kissing your knee. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh?”
You were. And now you’re loud. Arching off the bed. Whining. Begging.
“Caleb—please—Caleb—”
And that’s when he loses it.
“Baby,” he groans, voice tight. “You’re too loud.”
He covers your mouth with his hand—not to tease. Not to shame. But because if you keep saying his name like that, he’s going to break.
“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck. “You’re driving me crazy.”
And then he starts edging you.
Not on purpose. At first.
He thrusts slow. Deep. Pulls back when you tremble. Stalls when your breath catches.
“Shh,” he whispers. “I need you to hold it. For me. Just a little longer.”
But it happens again. And again. He keeps pausing. Letting you almost tip over the edge, only to slow it back down, kiss your neck, murmur sweet things with a voice so soft it makes your heart ache.
You cry against his palm. Tears spill.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” he says, panic flaring in his eyes. “Don’t cry, baby. I’m right here.”
You whimper again. Try to speak.
“What? You wanna cum that bad?”
You nod, frantic.
He exhales like he’s the one falling apart.
“You sound so pretty like this,” he breathes. “All ruined. All mine.”
And then he moves—harder, faster, still covering your mouth as you sob against his hand, your body coiling so tight it hurts.
“Come for me,” he whispers. “Come and show me you’re mine.”
And when you do—shaking, gasping, soaked and messy and clinging to him like you’ll drown—he kisses your cheek.
Then your jaw. Then your chest. Then your hands.
Still inside you. Still holding you close.
“You don’t ever have to be quiet with me,” he murmurs. “Just don’t ever stop saying my name.”