#zayne smut

[hsudus]

Official Commisioned Art by Infold artist!

Rough translation for Xavier and Zayne MC says their names (their chinese names) "Shen Xinghui—— (followed by moans "aah")"

Same with Zayne's "Lí shen--" (followed by "aah")

For Rafayel's its something like:

"You humans...

Are you all like this,

leaving a "mark" on the things you like?" (Referring to love bites)

For Sylus its roughly like

"The shower here is not soundproof"

(If you're interested in more official art by infold, i posted other official arts on my blog, their hidden because of it being mildly explicit)

[spacekittiesmeow]

YOUR HUSBAND IS C☆MING .ᐟ

SYNOPSIS :☆: it's your wedding day!

zayne ⋮ he's too overwhelmed seeing you in white .ᐟ caleb ⋮ you just cannot get your hair right .ᐟ xavier ⋮ your wedding is in 5 hours and you haven't slept a wink .ᐟ rafayel ⋮ he finally gets to fuck his bride .ᐟ sylus ⋮ he's not allowed to see you .ᐟ

CW :☆: MDNI! unprotected sex (p in v), semi-public sex, blindfolding, spit play, overstimulation, edging, dirty talk, thigh-fucking, creampie, rafayel nearly ebbing, LIs being mushy

ZAYNE LI ☆

It’s a modest wedding—just close friends and family gathered to bless the two of you. Still, you’re getting married. So here you are, dressing together, and Zayne—god, zayne, is overwhelmed at the sight of you in white. Ready to marry him.

And he doesn’t know what to do with it than to—

“y-yes, use me.” His hand comes up to your chin, grip trembling as he pulls you into a messy, desperate kiss, your lipstick smearing across his mouth. Your wedding dress is bunched at your waist, layers swallowing your husband-to-be as he pistons his hefty dick into you from below. You grind down into him, fingers tangled in his slicked-back hair, holding him there.

“hah—! how are you deeper than before?” you mewl, face in his neck, sucking marks into his heated skin. “can feel you s’deep…”

“you can, can’t you?” he bites back a sound only for it to rip through as a whimper. Your hot, gummy walls spasm around the whole of his length and his hand spreads across your back, holding you flush to him as his hips falter.

His cock twitches inside you before stilling. “on second thought, stay still.” he pulls away. “Let me move. We can’t have you getting too hot.”

He’s moving before you can nod. And all you can do is clutch him tight while his cock grinds into your cervix at each long stroke of his. Your knees dig into the strong muscles of his thighs.

“mmfuuck—!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut.

“spread your legs. We’ll ruin your dress.” His legs part, guiding you wider for him. and somehow, it gives him enough leverage to pull out of you alllll the way out and then bury himself to the hilt, dragging his thick cock over every sensitive inch of your walls in lewd schlick schlick schlicks despite the layers.

His hand disappears in your dress, fingers brushing over the lace garter around your thigh and then higher to part your soaked folds.

“w-wait I’m gonna cum.” You tell him. his pace grows desperate.

“mngh… don’t worry,” he pants, losing whatever composure he had left. “I am too.”

His thumb finds your clit, moving through your slick—down to your hole—where your puffy pussy lips are stretched around him to the limit—and back up to the throbbing bud.

waves of heat roll over your body as you cum with a silent cry. You feel him jump in you, balls tightening against your ass. “finish in me,” you tell him.

He lets out a strangled moan—unable to muster up the composure to protest—spurting jets of warmth in you, pumping you full of his load. Your spasming cunt wriiings out every last drop of release.

He pulls your face close to his, nose bumping with yours as you come down together. He places a small, shy kiss on the bridge of your nose.

“shall we go get married now?”

CALEB XIA ☆

It was supposed to be right. And it was—on paper. It was a wedding ripped right out of the cheesy dramas you binge. except. Your hair didn’t get the memo. Your bridesmaids sat helpless while you handled it in tears—only to toss the curling wand away.

“heyy, what’s wrong?” caleb invites himself in the room. The women step out immediately.  Screw the not-seeing-the-bride-before-the-wedding bad luck. This was bad enough.

You sniffle, pressing your face into his chest. “caleb it’s all falling apart…” you look up at him with teary eyes and before you can even stop yourself, your lips crash against his.

“fuck baby—you’re extra soft today, mm?” his long cock pummels into you. his hand reaches down, peeling away a layer of your dress. “hold it up f’me, pips.”

You’ve clutching the thick layers against your chest like your life depends on it while your fiancé absolutely obliterates your leaky cunt one thrust at a time. “s-slow down ‘leb…” you whimper, back arched like a bow for him.

“slow down? how do you plan on making it on time to our wedding?” he chuckles, leaning down to spread your swollen, slick coated pussy lips to reveal your pulsing little bud for him. he drools at the sight. And doesn’t let it go to waste. His warm spit lands on your aching bud, trickling down to mix with the juices you ooze out.

He watches the way your poor, overstretched cunny still manages to swallow him—and god he knows he’s too big for you but look at you. tears prickling at your eyes, whimpering under him dressed in white to be married to him. how on earth did he get so lucky?

“m’so clooose—!” you whine, thighs attempting to press together.

“good god, pips. Y’look so pretty round my cock…” he groans. His hand curls around your thighs hiking it up, letting his fat cockhead drill its way into your sinfully soft channel. His thumb brushes against your clit, rubbing it in tight circles, making you yelp beneath him.

it doesn’t take long for you to finish, clamping around him in wet pulses that his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. Still, he keeps moving. He keeps pounding you through that vision blanking orgasm, until you’re practically sobbing under him.

“mmf—please… s’too much—hic!” and still, you make no attempt to escape. You’re exactly where you want to be—your overstimmed pussy being bullied into another orgasm.

“jus’ like that, keep clamping baby. I’m right there…” he pants, leaning down to kiss a tear away. “you’ll let me cum in you, right? Let caleb stuff you full?”

“y-yes! yes please—oh?!” His dirty talk alone tips you over the edge again, milking him for his release. And he does. Ropes after ropes after ropes of hot, creamy cum pumping into your pussy.

And when you finally calm, he gathers your hair, fixing it into an elegant low bun—murmuring quiet “thank you”s through sniffles for marrying him.

XAVIER SHEN ☆

“I couldn’t sleep either.” You jolt at your fiancé’s voice behind you. You’re ecstatic. And in that excitement, you were dressed and ready before time. In 5 hours, the wedding you dreamed of begins. an early morning ceremony, walking the aisle under stars, sealing it with a kiss as sunlight finally breaks.

The venue lies hushed as you stand together on the balcony, gazing down at the flowered arch where you’ll soon be married.

“xav—ngh!” you grip the railing harder. Your pussy moulds so perfectly around your fiance’s cock, stretched obscenely wide.

His hand reaches around your throat to tip your chin up to have you watch the place you’d soon say vows at. “a-are you sure this will help you sleep?” his voice sounds too normal for his actions.

He’s nearly jackhammering into your velvety hole, causing it to squelch and ooze more of your love juices down your thighs. His foot nudges your legs farther apart, the need to drill deeper into you consuming him enough to bury his face in your hair and groan low.

“mmhm, mhm ye—ah!” you nod, hips pushing back to meet his deep pounding. “don’t want eye bags.”

By the pace at which he’s ramming into your pussy heat, you can already imagine it—imagine yourself walking toward him with shaky legs, his cum still leaking down your thighs. Fuck. There’s no way you were going to clean up after your session. Your legs are quivering at this point, held apart only by his knee.

“alright,” he murmurs, halting entirely. You bite back a whine. “keep them pressed if you want it that way.” He pulls out. His fingers find your gaping hole, two plunging in to coax out translucent strings of your arousal and his pre cum, smearing it between your thighs. And that’s when you feel the fat head of his cock again—pushing its way where your plush thighs press the tightest, and yet, making sure that your swollen clit isn’t left out.

“you keep looking at the arch,” he leans in, one of his hands guiding his cock between your syrupy slit. Your thighs press harder. You’re so close but there’s no way you’re cumming empty like this. He lets out a chuckle, soft enough to be mistaken as innocent. “are you going to cum to the thought of our wedding?”

He breaches your puffy lips again, sliding in with ease with the lewd amount of slick gathered there. “filthy girl… I’m right.” His hand presses down on your lower back, arching you for him as he buries himself balls-deep.

“oh! Hic—just… just let me cum, already!” you clamp around him, all the obscene ideas making your pussy walls stir.

Xavier’s fingers spread your ass cheeks for him and he sinks deeper than ever. You let out a choked sob—very close to rutting your needy clit against the glass if he keeps you on edge any longer. “it’s okay. I’m thinking of that too,”

He pinches your clit once and that has you creaming around his pulsing length. Your pussy clamping around him like heartbeat has him finishing too, keeping you plugged like that for a moment until you come down from the high.

“there’s no way I can sleep after this,” you pout. Xavior huffs out a fond laugh behind you.

“pfft okay, we’ll take a long nap together after the wedding,”

RAFAYEL QI ☆

You wanted to give him something unforgettable for your wedding—something truly special, because he’s been certain about marrying you for as long as you can remember. No exaggeration. And you knew simple nudes wouldn’t cut it.

Until an evil idea pops in your mind. You were no stranger to his “bride kink”. So why don’t you just play with that?

“fuckfuckfuck cutiieee,” he whines pathetically.

his eyes are snapped shut. All he can do is push his stuttering hips flush against yours, feeding your leaking cunt more of his stout inches—all while holding your dress as far away as he can from the mess. Your hole pulses, dribbling out a mixture of your cream and his pre cum that his angry red head can’t stop spilling.

“mngh you’re suuuch an angel—hah!” he grips your thighs, holding them apart as he destroys your overstimulated cunt. “such an angel for letting me fuck this pretty pussy in your wedding dress babymmff—”

He’s made you cum several times—on the pink muscle in his filthy mouth, his slender fingers and even on his pretty cock. And yet, he hasn’t finished once—holding back for lord knows what.

“ra-raf s’enough already!” you whine. It only spurs him more—he buries himself to the hilt, nudging your spongy spot, now swollen from his cruel overstimulation. “we’re gonna be late. Just cum!” your hips chase his as he pulls back and then with a lewd schliiick, slides back home.

“I know I know,” he rasps out too quickly. He’s flushed, dazed. Delirious. And god help you, it’s pushing you closer to that delicious edge. “wanna hold it out. Wanna tattoo the patterns of your pussy walls onto my dick,”

You let out a groan at that, walls fluttering around him in response. He starts moving once again. long brutal strokes, massaging you perfectly, warming you for yet another orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum…” you tell him, your hand coming down to rub your clit. He frowns before swatting your hand away with a pout, replacing it with his.

“me too,” he says fucking finally. “m’gonna fill my pretty little bride up.” he angles his cock to your sweet spot, making you cum so hard that you see stars.

“ohhh baby fuck—!” he groans deep, hips faltering as he spills into you. “take my cum, my pretty bride. Love feeding your womb…” he pumps his load into you, as deep as your body can take it. Until he begins to melt—

you nearly kick him away before he can start again.

“ow! What was that for?” he looks down, momentarily admiring the trail of white dribbling from your hole before he jumps to his feet.

“uh-oh uh-oh!” he grabs a rag and cleans you up in time.

And later, as you walk down the aisle toward him, you both can’t stop breaking into ugly, snotty laughter at the memory.

SYLUS QIN ☆

“boss lady!”

“boss-man’s back!”

The only downside to marrying the leader of Onychinus was the interruptions—even on your wedding day. You believed Sylus when he said you wouldn’t have to dirty your dress over “pests,” that he’d handle it himself. Still, that didn’t stop you from pacing, restless as you waited for him to return.

“how scandalous,” he lets out a rumble of laugh as you fuck yourself on his impossibly fat dick. “my fiancé ravaging her husband-to-be while our guests outside wait for us to be wed,”

“consummating our marriage before we’re even ma—"

“mmffuck! B-be quiet, sylus.” His cockhead brushes against your sweet spot and you keep him there, grinding.

His fingers hook under the blindfold to see that fucked out expression on your face that only his dick manages to poke out of you. “do-don’t! keep it on.” You swat his hand away. He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I can’t see you before the ceremony but you can fuck me? you’re only following rules that are conveni—” you silence him with a kiss, teeth sinking into his plump lower lip. He hisses, before kissing you fervently, holding you still as he pistons his cock into you, just where you want it. You sob into his mouth—all which he happily swallows.

He flips the two of you. “sylus don’t take it—”

“mm im hurt, kitten. do you truly think i need to see you to fuck you proper?” with that, he’s dragging you to his hips, sheathing himself back into you.

“sy o-oh!” your voice cracks as you let out a scream—too far gone to care about the people murmuring outside. “m’gonna cum,”

Sylus leans down, his hot breath fanning over your temple. “I know you were worried. But we are getting married.” He promises, his pace slowing to deep, long thrusts—still managing to knock the air out of your lungs. You sob out, nodding in agreement. “right after I make you cream,”

His hips slam into yours, each thrust punching out choked sounds out of you. his fingers find your clit, gathering all that syrup you’ve dribbled for him. and ohhh the way he touches you down there is nothing short of obscene. A stark contrast to your perfect, innocent white wedding dress you’re getting fucked in.

He massages your pussy lips, fingers moving from your wide-stretched hole, to your clit and back down. he parts your slit only to close your puffy pink lips back around his length as he spears into you with reckless abandon.

Your back feels like it snapped in two as you finish, chanting his name. one more thrust into your juicy, quivering hole has him pumping his thick load into you.

“am I to marry you in this?” he plays with the edge of the cloth over his eyes, still huffing.  

“touch it again and you will,”

[thewrldx]

in heat!

oh no! today just happens to be peak ovulation day...

STARRING: caleb, sylus, zayne, xavier, & rafayel [separate] x f!reader

CW: needy bsf!caleb, dry humping | husband!sylus, breeding | lots of reader solo play (sorry snow girlies i failed us w this one), mirror sex | light somno?, eating out | teasing, orgasm denial

happy late valentines day <3 i hope i proofread good enough lol

✮⋆˙— caleb

The soft glow of the tv is the only light in the room, flickering blues and golds across the walls. Rain taps gently against the windows in a soothing beat, an excuse you happily use to curl a little close to Caleb on the couch. Best-friend movie nights were a ritual. You never missed them. Caleb never missed them. One night a month where the world didn't exist and it was just the two of you, uninterrupted. 

And tonight just happened to be the night for your body to betray you. 

You’d been squirming for the last five minutes, trying to find a position that doesn’t make you hyper-aware of the stickiness that won't stop gushing into your panties. First you’re to hot, then you’re too cold. Every brush of the blanket feels like too much. 

You huff and pull back from Caleb, slumping into the cushions and pretending to watch a scene you haven’t followed for the last twenty minutes. 

He glances sidelong. “You alright?”

You nod too fast, cheeks heating as you tug the blanket higher, squishing your thighs together, praying the movement looks causal.

“Are you sure? You’ve been… I dunno… weird tonight.”

“Weird?” you squeak. “What do you mean?”

Caleb turns fully toward you, and you stubbornly keep your gaze locked on the screen. Something shifts in the air under his attention, the room warming and suddenly shrinking two sizes too small. 

“Hey,” his voice is gentle. “Look at me.”

You swallow hard, finding your will, and turn your head. 

Caleb’s eyes are wide, but not with concern alone. They drift over the blanket wrapped around your body, then back to your face, soft but intent. 

“You don’t have to lie,” he murmurs. “I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not!” you defend quickly. “I could never be uncomfortable with you. I’m just… having one of those days…”

“Yeah?” His voice drops then, like he already knows. He shifts just an inch closer and it makes everything worse. “Y’know you don’t have to lie to me, pips.”

You close your eyes, exhaling. He’s not going to let it go.

“It’s just… that day during my cycle,” you mutter, fingers twisting in the blanket. “It… makes me all flustered and…” you trail off, never more embarrassed. 

“Can I help?”

Your eyes snap open. “W-What?”

“Can I help?” he repeats, already moving closer to crowd your space. Large arms brace on either side of your hips. His gaze goes hazy, hungry in a way you’ve never let yourself notice before. “Please?”

You choke on a gasp, the sound breaking into a needy whine. Your mind pulls in two opposite directions–your pussy throbbing helplessly at the offer while your heart twists at how much could change if you give in. 

The decision is made for you. Caleb sees the hesitation, but the desire in your eyes win. His lips crash onto yours.

You melt instantly. Of course you do. Your fingers tangle in his hair, dragging him close while you pant into his mouth like you’ve been craving this for far longer than just tonight. 

Your heart pounds in time with the pulse between your thighs, completely soaking you through the dainty fabric. 

No more words. Caleb's hands do the talking, rough and impatient as they yank your shorts down your legs. His gaze immediately darts to your panties and he groans low in his throat. 

“Oh my… fuck…” he breaths, already shoving his sweats down. “Why didn’t you let me help you earlier?” 

“I–I was embarrassed.” You admit, failing against the cushions. 

“You never have to be embarrassed, baby…” the pet name curls around you, warm and possessive. “Never for this.” 

He settles over you, sweats pushed low but boxers still on. His cock is painfully hard, straining against the fabric, but he doesn’t touch himself—just presses the thick length right against your soaked, cotton covered core. 

You gasp, the contact is electric, exactly what your pussy’s been begging for. Caleb dips down and captures your lips, the kiss turning messy almost instantly. You cling to each other, exhaling loud out of your noses to not separate. His hips drag, pulling sweet little whines from your throat.

Caleb’s lip part as a raw moan slips free, his lips still dragging wet kisses across yours. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded and completely fixated, like he can’t believe this is real. The hard line in his boxers grinds against the thin cotton covering your heat again. 

Best friends definitely weren’t supposed to be doing this. But the forbidden edge tastes so sweet, and the simple, devastating fact that it’s him, only makes it more addictive.

You lift your hips aggressively, chasing friction when the head of his cock brushes your swollen clit through the layers. Your panties are drenched now, letting him slide easily, every drag spending sparks up your spine. The wrongness of it, the rightness of him, is intoxicating.

Your sweet, protective best friend, reduced to nothing but a man desperate for any form of contact from you.

“Pips…” he groans, pressing harder. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

A wicked smirk curves your lips before you pull him back into a messy, open-mouthed kiss that's full of a hunger neither of you wishes to hide. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip, then your tongue soothes the sting. 

His large hands roam up from your hips to squeeze your breasts through the thin fabric of his t-shirt you’d stolen tonight. You–all bare legs, skimpy panties, and his shirt–has him twitching in his boxers. 

“Fuck…” he pants, pulling back from the kiss, but never stilling his shallow thrusts. Conflict suddenly flashes in his eyes. “We…we shouldn’t be—ah!—doing this.”

You manage a sweet, dangerously innocent voice, slowly rocking your hips—just once, over his throbbing need. “W-Why not, Caleb? You’re just helping me. We’re…mmph…not doing anything wrong.”

He groans at the obvious lie, bracing himself on his forearms to suspend his weight over you. His muscles are wound tight, straining against his restraint, which crumbles with his next sentence.

“I need to… see you,” he grunts. “See what I’m doing to you, pretty girl.”

Before you can think, his trembling hand hooks your panties aside. The choked sound he makes at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy, goes straight to your core, then he’s slamming his still-clothed cock right over your directly exposed wetness.

His hips lose rhythm, jerking wildly in a desperate, uncoordinated rut. His cock throbs violently in his boxers, chasing a release he can’t hold back. The friction is filthy, intoxicating, your whimpers mixing with his wrecked moans. 

“So beautiful…” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut.  “God, you’re so beautiful, honey.”

The most captivating sounds spill from Caleb’s lungs, a mix of whimpers and guttural moans as a sudden warmth blooms and soaks the material of his boxers, seeping out onto your puffy core. He collapses forward, breathing ragged against your ear.

“Did you just–”

“Mhmm…” he hums, voice shaky but completely unashamed. “All in my boxers. I couldn’t help it.”

You huff a gentle laugh, still trembling with want, thighs slick and aching. “Wanna do it inside me now?” 

✮⋆˙— sylus

Your bare feet pad into your shared bedroom, steam spilling out behind you and curling along the ceiling like a lingering sigh. Droplets cling to your skin, sliding down the curve of your throat and between your breasts before disappearing beneath the collar of your robe. You tug the fabric tighter, shifting your hips as the restless heat returns low in your belly.

The bath had meant to ease the tension that haunted you all day, yet all it’s done is make you more aware of it.

To your surprise, Sylus sits propped up against the headboard in nothing but a pair of black pajama pants, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, a book open in his hand. He must have returned home while you were submerged. 

The second you step into the room, his gaze lifts slowly and pins you in place. The pupils in his eyes widen, something soft but hungry in his gaze. 

He knows exactly what today is. 

“Come here,” he says sweetly, patting the mattress beside him.

You oblige without hesitation, climbing onto the bed and crawling up the sheets before flopping onto your stomach with a muffled groan. The cool fabric against your flushed skin makes you shiver. 

“You didn’t enjoy your bath?” he hums, palm gliding over your robe-clad back in slow, soothing passes that only only makes the ache worse. 

“No, I did,” you mumble into the pillow. “I’m just…” your voice trails off, embarrassment tangling your tongue. The words feel too exposed, even to your husband. 

“I know.” His tone drops, husky and threaded with quiet amusement. “You’re so warm.”

The mattress dips as he shifts to settle behind you. Strong fingers slip to your front to find the tie of your robe and loosen it, peeling the damp silk from your shoulders. His lips follow the path of exposed skin, pressing hot, lingering kisses along your shoulder blades. 

“You even smell sweet today,” he murmurs against your skin.

Heat floods all over again, a slick gush seeping from your sweet hole and onto the mattress. A quiet whimper slips free as you lift your hips, brushing your ass back against the firmness straining beneath his pajama bottoms. 

“Sylus…” you breathe. 

“Yes, kitten?” his hands slide down to your hips, thumbs kneading the soft skin. “Use your words.” 

He rolls his hips forward in a slow grind, letting you feel the heavy weight of him exactly where you’re aching most.

“I need you…” you whimper, voice small. 

Sylus smirks, peppering kisses just beneath your ear. “And why do you need me?”

You're grateful your face is buried in the mattress because your cheeks burn instantly. His teasing is gentle, but relentless–he wants to hear it.  

“Because…” you swallow. “you know… ‘m ovulating.”

Sylus groans as he presses his cock deeper against you. Your robe is peeled down your arms, the silk whispering against your skin as it gives way before it’s tossed aside. Cool air kisses your heated skin, replaced quickly by the warmth of his body hovering over yours.

“Is that so, kitten?” his hands trails down your bare back, fingers tracing every dip of your spine. “Do you want me to take care of that for you?”

“Please.”

A kiss is pressed to your head before he lifts himself long enough to push his pajamas down. You feel him a second later, the gentle tap of his cock once against your ass, a bead of precum smearing onto your skin. The sensation makes you shudder, hips instinctively pressing back for more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with admiration as his hands spread over your lower back, keeping you still. “You’re so wet for me.”

His cock drags slowly between your slick folds, the glide torturously slow. You can feel every vein, every pulse, your pussy clenching around nothing as he coats himself in your arousal. Praise falls from his lips in soft murmurs—good girl… so sweet… so ready for me—each word sending another wave of heat through you.

When he finally lines himself up and begins to push inside, it's agonizingly slow. Sylus wants you to feel every stretch until you’re gasping into the sheets, fingers curling into the favor. His hand rubs soothing circles into your hip while his forehead presses between your shoulder blades.

At first, it’s gentle. Deep, steady thrusts rock your body forward, the headboard tapping the wall in rhythm. But your soft, broken mewls and the way you push back against him, smearing your slick heat across his abdomen, wears down that compose.

Fingers dig into your hips, tightening until you’re certain the marks will linger. The pace quickens, each thrust landing harder than the last, the quiet room filling with the wet sounds of skin meeting skin and the desperate hitch of your cries. He has you exactly where he wants you. 

Well, almost. 

His arm snakes around your waist while his other hand splays possessively across the top of your spine. The weight of him forces your body into a deep, supplicating arch that maximizes the depth.

There.

He grunts a low, satisfied sound as your walls flutter around him in reply to the new angle. “You like that, sweetheart?”

A round of sharp, breathless inhales answers his question. “Y-yes–hicc–y-yes!”

His hips surge forward violently at the sweet sound, losing any remaining gentleness.

“I’m so deep like this, kitten,” he gasps, each word punctuated by the heavy slam of his cock driving into you again and again. “Could stuff you so full right now…”

A needy whine spills from you, drool dampening the pillow as pleasure muddles coherent thoughts. “C-Could you n-now?” The question tumbles out with a desperate sincerity between gasps.

Sylus leans forward, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “I could. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

A shudder runs down your spine as he pulls you upright against him, your back flushed to his chest. Your head falls onto his shoulder, baring your throat. He takes immediate advantage, slowing his frantic rhythm to deep, punishing thrusts that make your toes curl while his lips work at the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking dark love bites onto the supple skin. 

“You’re already so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with affection as he drags himself out to the tip before slamming back in, forcing a sob from your lips. “Imagine how beautiful you’d be swollen with me right—”

His hand slides from your waist to your stomach, palm spreading wide as his fingers splay possessively over the skin there.

“—here.”

Your eyes flutter shut as the image floods your mind—round and full of him. The thought alone makes your pussy clench, slickness leaking down his length in a fresh rush. 

“Oh, you’d let me, wouldn’t you, kitten?” His hand glides upward, fingers curling around your jaw, firm but tender as he tilts your face back towards his. He needs to see you, need to see the honesty in your eyes. “You’d let me fuck a baby into you?”

The words ignite something molten in your core, spewing a string of moans from your lips. Your gaze locks with his, and the seriousness in his expression steals what little breath you have left. 

His grip on your jaw tightens just enough to keep your focus as his thrusts pick up again. “Words. Use them.”

“Y-Yes,” you sputter.

“Yes what, sweetheart?”

“Yes I’d l-let you—hah!—fuck a b-baby into me, Sy!”

A strangled growl tears from his throat. Your answer unlocks something feral in him. His pace turns ruthless, ramming his cock into you with one intention.

“Gonna fuck you so full, sweetie,” he promises hoarsely. “I’ll make sure it—nngh—takes.”

He’s already throbbing inside you, completely captivated by the sheer thought of getting you pregnant. His lips crash against yours in a heated, desperate kiss, swallowing your moans as his movements grow sloppy with need. With a groan that rumbles through both of you, his tip slams against your soft cervix, releasing hot pulses of his seed. He doesn’t stop, rolling his hips in slow thrusts to ensure it took. 

When he finally stills, he rests his sweaty forehead against yours, a dazed smile tugging at his lips. 

“We have to ensure it takes, kitten,” in a smooth motion he flips you both, letting you sit atop him. “Show me how badly you want it.”  

✮⋆˙— zayne

You watch the clock tick past, the small hand resting on the hour, officially signaling that Zayne is off shift.

Unfortunately, he still won’t be home for at least another hour. Judging by his lack of reply to your texts, there’s probably mountains of paperwork, last-minute calls, and traffic standing between him and this house. You’ll be lucky if you see him before nightfall.

You groan, slumping against the edge of the bed, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. The one day you really need Zayne, and he’s nowhere in sight.

Your body aches with need, each pulse a reminder that ovulation has turned you feral. Heat blooms in your lower belly, soaking your panties, and you can't stop pressing your thighs together to try and relieve it. 

Your gaze flicks to the mirror. Your reflection stares back with flushed cheeks. You bite your lip and glance at the clock again. There is a solution. 

Zayne will probably be exhausted when he gets home. If you take care of yourself now, you can tend to him later. 

Fuck it. 

With zero ceremony, you kick off your shorts, the fabric of your soaked panties clinging to your pussy. Your cheeks burn an even deeper crimson as you push them down, peeling away the damp material and leaving your lower half exposed to the reflective glass. 

Desperation makes your movements sloppy. Your fingers dip inside your dripping cunt, index and middle finger instantly slick with your need. You twitch as they withdraw, then drag up to twirl them in gentle circles over your swollen clit, shivering at the surge of pleasure. 

A tiny moan escapes your lips, high and breathless. It's been a while since you’ve touched yourself solo—because you usually have Zayne. But tonight, he’s just an image in your head, and that thought alone is enough to make you squirm. 

You mimic his touch, spreading your folds and teasing your swollen bud just like he would. Stop. Start. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the delicious burning building in your core. 

“Z-Zaynie…” you whimper to the air, eyes flicking to your reflection, watching your pussy flutter around what would be his cock if he were here. Your thighs threaten to slam together, but you force them apart. 

You lose yourself in the sensation of your fingers' newfound rhythm. Pressure builds, threatening to boil over the edge. Your breath catches, lips parting in moans that are muffled but urgent. 

And then—

Your eyes snap open and they aren’t just seeing you in the mirror. Zayne is in the doorway, tie loosened from work. His expression is unreadable, but dangerously hungry. His arms are crossed, like he’s trying to seem annoyed—but you know that look. He’s definitely turned on and fully amused by your shame. 

“Shit—mmgh—Zayne—!” you squeak, yanking your hand back and slamming your thighs together as if that could hide the evidence of your crime. 

He steps in slowly, never breaking eye contact as he sets his glasses on the nightstand. 

“It’s not—” you start, then stop, as you realize it is. “I’m sorry, I just… ugh.” You bury your face in your hands, cheeks burning hotter than ever. 

“There’s no need to be ashamed,” he says evenly, taking a single step in the room. “Continue.”

You glance at him, confused. “But Zayne—“

“Did I misspeak?” His voice is unnervingly calm. 

“N-No,” you stammer. “B-But I don’t understand. I only did it because you weren’t here, and now that you are—”

“That doesn’t change anything.” He interrupts, voice low and commanding. “You were doing it when I wasn’t here. You couldn’t wait. So go ahead. Finish without my help, just like you intended all along.”

A shiver runs through you. His words are cold, but utterly thrilling. You stare at him, searching for a crack in his expression that isn’t there. 

Swallowing your embarrassment, you part your thighs again and place your hand back between your legs. The time you look at him—not at the mirror—as your fingers slide inside yourself. Your slick folds glisten under the bedroom light, fully displayed for him, yet he doesn’t even look. Zayne moves around the room, loosening his cuffs, rolling his shoulders, and going about his normal post-shift like you’re not bare and dripping a few feet away. 

The normalcy of it makes your stomach twist. He’s doing it on purpose, and every second he doesn’t look is a silent command to keep going. 

So, you continue. The pressure builds, unbearable now, and you bite your cheek to hold back a moan. “Zayne…” you pant, eyes fluttering shut as you buck helplessly into your own hand.

Before you can register it, he’s crouched beside you. His presence is sudden, the faint scent of soap and hospital antiseptic clinging to his skin. When his voice comes, it’s soft, but firm. “Are you going to come?”

You nod, breath hitching, unable to answer. His hand darts out, cradling your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he tilts your face towards the mirror.

“Watch.”

You whimper, locking onto your reflection in the glass. Your fingers move of their own accord, gliding across your puffy clit as you push yourself over the edge. Your body trembles and tips sideways, instinctively leaning against him as the waves roll through you. 

But he isn’t done with you. 

You can’t even fully recover, because suddenly he’s pushing off his pants, his cock springing free before he’s settling in right behind you. One hand tugs greedily at your shirt, dragging the fabric up and off so your tits spring free, nipples tightening instantly in the cool air at the heat of his stare in the mirror. 

“C’mon,” he orders quietly, fingers digging into your hips as he guides you back. “Ride me.” 

You flush as you move to hover over him, still sensitive from your release. The reddened tip of his cock nudges against your entrance, smearing the sticky precum as you line him up with shaky hands. 

“You get so needy when you’re ovulating,” he murmurs, amusement threading through the lust as he fixates where you will be joined. His hips raise once to poke your entrance in impatience. 

“H-How do you–”

He chuckles under his breath, nipping your shoulder. One hand slides up your side to pinch your perked nipple, then swipe the bud of his thumb over it to soothe the sting. “You think I don't know my sweet girl?” 

You whine and shake your head before you sink slowly onto his length, a lewd moan spilling free as the stretch makes your thighs tremble all over again.

But the pace is too slow for Zayne. His fingers flex, then grip your hips and pull you down until you're seated flush against him, his swollen tip nudging your cervix.

“Is it better than your fingers, love?” he asks, lips brushing the curve of your spine as his hand smooths up your back, pressing lazy kisses against the overheated skin. 

“Mmm, y-yes. F-Fuck, yes,” you whimper, rolling your hips while your eyes stay glued to the mirror. Your breasts bounce with every motion, your juices slicking his pelvis. The obscene intimacy of watching yourself take him making your stomach flutter. 

A breathy, almost strained groan slips from him. Zayne’s grip tightens, just shy of rough, as his thumbs dig into the soft flesh of your lower back.

“That’s it… look at you,” he mutters, voice dipping darker, a little mocking. His cock twitches inside you as he leans in, lips grazing your ear. “I love how you feel like this. When your body’s begging for me.”

You clench at the words and ride him harder, chasing the friction. The mirror shows everything—your flushed face, his hungry eyes, the way he watches you fall apart for him.

“Next time,” he groans, lifting his hips to meet your thrusts, never once breaking eye contact with your reflection. “You’ll wait for me.” His hand slides up to your throat, not squeezing, just holding. “Or at least send me a picture. Understood?”

Your pussy throbs in time with your heart, moans punching out from each snap of your hips colliding. “Y-Yes! I understand—!” 

“Good. Now come for me again.” 

✮⋆˙— xavier

Your eyelids flutter to the barely-there presses of his lips. 

It starts on your cheek, then trails to your jaw. You keep your eyes closed as he buries his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent before peppering a few more kisses along the sensitive line beneath your ear. His breath is warm and uneven as he savors you before you fully wake. 

Your body reacts subconsciously, shifting closer to him and giving a tiny shiver at the affection so early in the morning. If you had to guess, the sun hasn’t even risen. The world feels dim and soft, wrapped in the stillness.

You’re aware you lie on your side. Of the weight of the comforter. Of the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back. 

You’re also aware of his stiffness pressing against you—but it floats through your mind like a distant thought, something you register without fully grasping. 

“Good morning, angel.” Xavier’s voice is a hoarse rasp near your ear, signaling that he too just woke. His hips subtly shift, pressing him more firmly against you before he exhales. “You can go back to sleep, lovely.” 

You hum in reply, still drifting. His hand glides down the curve of your waist, slow and absentminded at first, like he’s memorizing the shape of your curves. The touch keeps you suspended in the blissful space between dreaming and reality—where every sensation feels warmer, heavier, and sweeter. 

You almost sink back under. Until his kisses don't stop. 

They linger longer now, and his fingers toy with the hem of your waistband as if testing whether you’ll stir. You inhale softly, something incoherent slipping from your lips when his warm hand slips beneath the fabric, his palm settling on your abdomen. His thumb traces patterns that send quiet sparks up your spine, each pass making your thighs tighten just a fraction more. 

You should wake. You should turn and face him, acknowledge the warmth that you are suddenly very aware is pooling in your panties—and fast. But you're so comfortable, so pliant against him, letting his touch wander while your thoughts drift like mist. 

“Do you know what today is?” Xavier murmurs, breaking through the haze.

Your blink your eyes open slowly, the dim room slowly taking shape in blurred outlines. You search your memory, but nothing important surfaces. Only the steady rhythm of his breathing and the way his hand stills, waiting. 

But your body seems to know before your mind does. There's a heightened sensitivity humming under your skin, every brush of his fingers sending a ripple through you that feels unfairly intense for how half-asleep you still are. 

Oh.

“It’s a good thing,” he continues softly, his words threaded with a gentle hunger. He finds the hem of your panties, gently rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re extra sweet today… softer. Smell so good…”

Heat creeps into your cheeks even in your drowsiness, and your legs part slightly without conscious thought. The small movement draws a low breath from him, a quiet surrender to how much he wants you. His forehead rests against your shoulder as his hand dips beneath your panties. 

He finds you wet and murmurs out grateful praises into your skin, kissing you again and again like he can't help himself. His fingers instantly begin a gentle dance against your clit, making you arch back into him with a soft, sleepy moan. 

“I saw the calendar… that cute little app,” he pinches your bud softly, soothing the action with slow passes of his fingertip. “So you’re super sensitive for me. Especially in the morning.” 

You whimper, clutching your pillow as you let breathless sounds slip free, your body melting into the pleasure despite how foggy your mind still feels. Even though his touch only abandons you for a second, a needy whine escapes your throat. He pushes your pants and panties down just enough, the material pooling at your ankles. 

“Just stay where you are, star,” he says softly as the warmth of his body leaves yours. 

Xavier trails a path of wet kiss along the back of your thighs, unhurried and worshipful. You shudder but stay curled like he asked, fingers tightening in the sheets. When he reaches your pussy, finding it dripping and open, he lets his warm breath ghost over you first, making your hips twitch.

He inhales deeply, his hips shifting mindlessly against the mattress at your sweet scent. He doesn’t wait another second before his mouth finds you.

You grasp a handful of blonde hair, whining as his tongue licks a stripe from your entrance upwards, then settles to circle your clit. He continues to lap at your heat, devouring how syrupy you are today, sucking you into his mouth and burying his face deep between your thighs like he never wants to come up for air. 

“Feels s-so good, Xavi…” you moan, trembling. 

Your orgasm is already hovering. He groans against you, one hand gripping your ass, kneading the skin encouragingly. Each swipe of his tongue is a silent plea.

Come for me. Let me taste you. Let me make you feel good. 

You break seconds after, squirming against the sheets as pleasure takes over you in warm waves. Pants leave your lips as he doesn't let up, his mouth relentlessly working you through the euphoric waves, and long after they pass. His face is sticky with your cum, dripping down his chin, making him look as if he’s the one who just finished. 

“B-Babe–” you cry out, trying weakly to push his head back. “Honey… ‘s too much…”

He presses one last lingering kiss to your puffy pussy before finally lifting his head. His cheeks are flushed, blue eyes dark and thoroughly satisfied. “Sorry,” he breathes, brushing his thumb along your thigh. “I couldn’t help myself.”

His hands are gentle as they turn you from your side onto your back. Your gaze drifts downward, catching the darkened patch of precum blooming against the front of his tented sweatpants. The sight sends a fresh pulse of heat through your still-sensitive body. 

He follows your gaze before palming himself through the fabric. 

“Think you can handle a bit more for me?”

✮⋆˙— rafayel

The car ride was silent. 

You knew you’d pushed Rafayel’s buttons a little too far at his gala tonight. But honestly… could he even blame you? 

He’d shown up dressed like sin in one of his sharpest suits, hair styled to perfection, eyes gleaming the entire duration of the exhibit. And all of it—all of it—on the exact day you were ovulating. 

Of course you were going to touch him.

Of course you were going to kiss him. 

Of course you were going to corner him beside a marble sculpture and slide your hand a little too low.

“Raaffff,” you drawl into the thick quiet of the car, leaning over the console with a pout that’s half apology, half provocation. “C’mon. Please don’t be mad. I said I’m sorry!”

Rafayel’s brows turn downwards, but there's a sparkle behind the annoyance. “Sorry for kissing my neck while I was speaking to that artist,” he replies coolly, “or sorry for grabbing my dick before I had to greet the commissioner?”

You smirk, entirely unrepentant. “Both. And you liked it! You were hard when I touched you.”

He scoffs, but the sound melts into a quiet laugh under his breath. He isn’t mad, he never really is, and when you poke his side to confirm, he squirms just enough to betray himself. The twitch at the corner of his lips is your victory flag.

You think you’ve won.

That is, until you get home. 

The moment the door clicks shut behind you, he moves. There's no warning. One second you’re toeing off your heels, the next his arms are around you, sweeping you up bridal-style. A startled laugh leaves you as he carries you down the hall, his hold possessive and unhurried. 

His lips find yours before you reach the bed, and they are soft but insistent, pulling quiet gasps from your chest. The heat that’s been simmering in your belly all day flares hotter, burning brighter. 

You land against the mattress with a muted thud, sheets cool beneath your back. “Undress,” he tells you, already slipping open the button of his shirt with graceful fingers. 

You obey immediately, giggling as you shimmy out of your dress, fabric clinging to your hips before you kick it away. Anticipation hums under your skin like static. 

Rafayel, meanwhile, is still mostly dressed. His shirt hangs open just enough to reveal his toned skin, a teasing glimpse of chest that makes your fingers itch for a touch. You reach for him instinctively, only for his hand to close around your wrist mid-air and guide it back to the mattress, pinning you there.  

“Raf–”

“Do you really think I’m going to let you have your way after tonight?” His voice is playful, smug, and dripping with amusement. The smirk he gives you is pure trouble. “You’re so cute.” 

You squirm, a fresh gush of warmth gathering between your thighs. “But… I said ‘m sorry.”

“Oh, I know you did, cutie,” he hums, leaning down to brush a single kiss against your cheek. Then your jaw. The column of your throat. Each one is soft and savoring.

“So then…” you mumble, tilting your neck to give him more space. “Why are you still dressed?”

His lips curve against your skin as he trails lower, the  gentle presses of his lips turning wetter, slower. Goosebumps rise across your body when his hands find your thighs, and ease them open for him. 

He pauses, eyes settling on the soaked material clinging to you. His thumb presses against it, just once. You squeak, and arch into his hand, sensitivity dialed painfully high today. He chuckles, rubbing your pussy through the panties in lazy strokes, up and down, just enough to make you ache. 

“I’m going to take care of you,” he coos, but his eyes are dark. “But you teased me all night… so I’m getting my revenge.”

You gasp when his thumb circles firm over your swollen clit through the fabric. The friction is electric and not enough all at once. 

“Raf… please, this isn’t fair,” you whine.

“Not fair?” he juts his lip in a mock pout. “I didn’t think it was very fair when you were handsy in public.”

Before you can argue, he hooks a finger under your panties and slides them aside, revealing your dripping cunt. He huffs in amusement, admiring the slick evidence of your arousal like its art he curated himself. (He did)

His finger drags through your folds, collecting the sticky mess. He spreads you open, glides over your clit, circles your entrance, but never lingers enough to satisfy. 

Your thighs twitch. Your hips lift. Your fingers clutch the comforter.

It’s torture. Sweet, earned, torture. 

And just as a complaint forms on your lips, his fingertip settles over your clit and begins slow, gentle circles. Pleasure sparks outward, instantly bowing your back and spewing moans from your lips. Every sensation feels amplified. 

“R-Raf… Raf, fuck—baby,” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, winding tighter and tighter. 

Rafayel laughs softly, continuing to play with your pussy, admiring how much more wetness gathers at his touch. “You close, cutie? Gonna come?” 

You nod in rapid succession. “Y-Yes…yeah ‘m gonna—“

His fingers stop. 

The sudden absence makes you gasp, blinking your eyes open “W-Why did you stop?”

He lifts his gaze to yours, expression all polished mischief and arrogance. His thumb is still resting maddeningly close to where you’re throbbing. “Did you really think I was going to let you come?” 

Your frustrated whine only makes his smile widen. He leans down, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, taunting kiss. 

“After the way you behaved tonight?” he murmurs against your mouth. “You’re going to beg for it.”

His fingers return before you can even form a reply, and they're faster this time. The slick sounds of how wet you are fills the room. What started as gentle coaxing turns into purposeful rubbing that makes you fist the sheets and sob out. When your legs try to close, he simply prises them back open. 

“You want it so bad, don’t you?” he whispers. “All worked up and needy… yet you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” His thumb presses just right, drawing a broken sound from your throat. 

“I do… f-fuck I really do…” you whimper, hips chasing him without shame. The pressure builds once again, and just as the waves begin to crest, he stops. 

The absence is devastating. His words following are cruel. 

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing his slick finger against your thigh. His cock strains against his pants, a visible twitch he pointedly ignores as he keeps his attention on you. “You’re soaking our sheets.” 

You lie there in the heat of it, trying to gather yourself. When your heartbeat finally slows enough to think, he starts over. Fingers dragging through your warmth, starting slow, then faster. Each time he brings you near the edge, letting desperate cries and whimpers that you’re close spill from your lips, he stops again.

By the fourth time, tears sting the corners of your eyes. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, pleas dissolving into half-formed syllables that barely resemble words.  

“R-Raf… p-plea–suh–ahh–” his fingers slide into your gummy walls. 

“Think you’ve been good enough?”

“Y-Yea–mmgh–yes–!” 

He exhales through his nose, finally satisfied. His fingers curl to your sweet spot, and this this they don’t pull away. 

“Fine,” he mumbles. “You can come.” 

2026 © thewrldx

[notmedicli]

𐔌 . ˚ IN YOUR FANTASY ┆LOVE & DEEPSPACE ֹ ₊ ꒱

the lads men discover your secret kink when they stumble upon all the x-rated videos you’ve been hoarding on twitter. busted... but why hide it when your boyfriend’s more than willing to take a seat in your fantasy? — wc. 6.1k

STARRING ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb

WARNINGS ♱ X-RATED VISUALS ARE LINKED. must be logged in to twitter/x to view. fem!reader, ungodly amount of pet names, heavy praise — (sylus) free use, bondage, cum eating/swapping, switch!sy, oral (f. receiving) — (zayne) spanking, meanie!zayne, heavy praise, use of good girl, lowk cervix fking — (rafayel) dubcon-ish (?), somnophilia, degradation (use of slut), mean dom!raf, some yandere themes — (caleb) facesitting/fucking, some use of gravity evol, brief mention of insecurities — (xavier) sub!xavier, begging, edging (m. receiving) — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+

KIT’S NOTE ♱ hehe new year, new medicli layout >:3 i hope you all enjoy my first multi hc of the year! if u see any mistakes, no u didn’t! reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, i’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts on this :)<3

ᯓ 秦彻 ⟢ SYLUS ˖᯽ ݁˖ — big bf lets you have your way with him #freeuse

sylus shouldn’t pry—this much he knows. there are boundaries that should never be crossed and this? this is one of them. 

your phone is open to a twitter profile. some blank account with an obscure user and the locked symbol next to your name. it’s a private twitter account following 20 people with 5 followers. but it’s the most recent tweet that catches his attention—a man naked and bound to a chair with a blindfold covering his eyes and a woman using him how she pleases.

he picks up your phone with a dry throat and his cock hardening under his slacks. the retweet reads, ugh wish he’d let me use him like this </3

you walk out of his bathroom to see his back facing you and you perk up immediately. “sy, you’re back!” you say, cheerily, but when he turns around with his jaw clenched and your phone that quietly plays the sound of one of the many videos you were watching on twitter moments prior, your smile drops. 

“i didn’t realize you were into amateur adult films, sweetie.” he drawls nonchalantly, like his cock isn’t aching for your touch. but you can sense an edge that isn’t typically there. 

you stammer on an excuse, feeling your face burn in mortification at having been caught retweeting porn on your alt account. “i—it’s… well, i-it’s not what it looks like.”

“yeah? because it looks like you want to use me… just like this.” he stalks towards you and waves the phone in your face, a small smile pulling at his lips. “is that true? you want to tie me to a chair, blindfold me and have your way with me?”

you pull your lip between your teeth, gnawing at the flesh anxiously. you avert your eyes, staring at your sock clad feet before you feel his fingers tip your chin up and force you to look him in the eye. 

“c’mon, sweetheart. you’ll tell me, won’t you?” he murmurs, thumb pulling your bottom lip from your teeth. 

“yes,” you respond, throat dry and voice wavering in lack of confidence. “i want to have my way with you.”

he gives you a wolfish grin and all he says is, “okay then.”

—

you never thought you’d see sylus like this. in a chair with rope wrapped around his torso and one of his silk ties covering his eyes. there’s a permanent smirk plastered on his face and it makes you buzz with excitement. 

“don’t make me wait for so long, kitten.” he drawls, his cock bobbing up and down in dire need of attention. 

you grab his neck, tipping his face up and pressing your lips against his for a sloppy kiss. you push your tongue into his mouth, savoring the deep groan that rumbles in his throat. the kiss doesn’t last long—you pull away just as he starts to get needy, watching how he chases your lips with a growl.

your hand trails down his chest, squeezing at his peck before turning around, back facing him, and grabbing his cock. a small gasp of surprise fills the room right before it’s replaced with the sound of your paired moans as you sink onto his cock. 

“shit,” he curses, the word coming out breathless. his hands itch to grab you and they could if he really wanted to. he could break free from the lousy restraints, but he knows how much you want this and he wouldn’t dare rob you of this experience. 

and you take him like you were made from it, bouncing on his cock, your ass clapping with every thrust. you whine for him, testing his patience. “does it feel good, sy?”

another deep growl fills your ears and shoots straight to your core. “you know it does, sweetheart. what about you, hmm? does, hah fuck, does using my cock like this satisfy you?”

you choke out a sob, sitting on him completely and grinding your hips against him with vigor. “mmhm, you’re such a good boy, baby,” you moan out, feeling his cock throb at the praise. “b-but you know what would make me feel even better?” you ask, voice cracking. 

he tries to thrust into you, but you don’t give him a chance. he’s stuck in this chair with you on top of him so all he can do is pant out a strained, “what?”

“if you—mmm, if you came inside of me,” you whimper. “fuck, sy, please? please fill me up with your cum. want you to shoot it so deep inside of me, please please please?”

your pleas are so desperate, almost as if you aren’t already taking everything you want. as if you aren’t already making his cock twitch and his stomach tighten. as if you aren’t already milking him dry while he lets out a drawn out groan. 

a happy moan rips from your throat when you feel his cum spray inside you, filling you so deep just how you wanted. you let him empty himself, waiting till every drop of cum is spilled into you before pulling off his cock, grabbing a fistfull of his hair and bringing his face to your messy, filled cunt. 

his surprised moan is muffled by your pussy. you figured he’d rip through the rope and push you away, but he happily laps and sucks at your hole, licking up every bit of your mixed arousal that leaks out of you. 

you whine, heat flooding your body as you grind your ass against his face. “y-yeah, eat your cum out of me, just like that, sy,” 

“dirty girl,” he murmurs against your cunt before devouring you whole, the sounds of smacking and slurping and groaning resuming. 

your knees nearly give out, the only thing holding you up is the death grip you have on his silver locks. you jolt and tremble before him and he doesn’t need to see to know you’re close. 

all it takes is a raspy, “cum on my face, sweet girl,” for you to completely unravel, legs shaking uncontrollably as you paint his face in syrupy arousal. you’re reduced to whines and whimpers of his name and sylus just wishes he could see you. 

and his wish is granted mere seconds later when you’re weakly tugging the blindfold off of him, taking his gleaming face in your hand and pressing your lips to his to taste the two of you on him. 

he groans, passing the release into your mouth while pulling on the restraints in a need to grab you. 

“you did so well for me, sy.”

“mmm, thank you, sweetie. and,” his voice drops to a whisper. “next time you want to recreate something… just tell me.”

ᯓ 黎深 ⟢ ZAYNE ˖᯽ ݁˖ — meanie!bf makes you ask for permission to cum #spanking

zayne never uses social media. especially not twitter. but you convinced him to download it so you could send him funny tweets and cute cat videos. he shook his head and downloaded the app just to get you to shut up, but he never actually opened it. 

one rare and quiet day, with nothing on his schedule and you stuck at work, curiosity finally got the better of him. he made an account on a whim, and that’s when he saw it: suggested accounts. yours, right at the top, labeled as someone he “may know.” a small, fond smile curved his lips as he tapped on your profile, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight of your cute icon staring back at him.

but that smile fell just as quick as it came when he scrolled a bit too far and found a quote retweet captioned, “does anyone wish their bf would do this to them too??? :((( being spanked then doted on… sigh.” 

he watched the video with a dry throat and widened eyes. the first thought that came to mind was that you posted this on your public profile—but then he noticed you only had 15 followers. still, he’ll have to remind you of your digital footprint. 

once the initial shock wore off… he watched the video again. is this what you wanted? to be ruthlessly fucked from the back and spanked… by him?

zayne closes the app, clears his throat and throws his head back against the couch he’s sitting on. he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a shaky exhale. 

if that’s what you want… then that’s what you’ll get. 

—

he waits patiently for you to trudge past the door, trying to keep himself busy with god knows what till he hears it. the sound of your keychains rattling and the click of the door as you unlock it and walk in. 

“hi, zaynie,” you breathe, skipping towards him and pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. one whiff of you and all he can think about is doing all the naughty things you’ve been secretly wanting. his cock aches. his blood thrums. he needs it now. 

“are you okay?” you pull back, concerned by his silence and even more deterred when you see his hardened face. 

when he speaks, it’s low and stern. a voice you’ve only heard a handful of times. “bedroom. now, please.”

you let out a confused chuckle. “what for?”

when he raises an eyebrow at you, you cower, nodding your head and scurrying to the bedroom like he asked. 

it’s nothing like what you expected. you didn’t expect zayne to walk in and strip you bare without a word, didn’t expect him to bend you over the bed and press himself into your tight, waiting warmth. and you definitely didn’t expect his hand to come down hard on your ass—the sharp, thunderous crack filling the room, followed instantly by your startled squeak.

“this is what you wanted, is it not?” he pants, fucking into you with vigor melting at the sound of your sweet, surprised moans. “this is what you were talking about on your twitter, right?” 

your voice comes watery, confused. “wh-what?” you ask, hands fisting at the sheets, your body jolting with every sharp, rough thrust. 

his hand comes down, your other cheek meeting the same fate and it has another desperate moan crawling out of you. “you wanted to, what was it? get spanked and doted on, huh?” 

and then it hits you suddenly—vividly. you remember the video. it was a faceless man taking a faceless girl from behind, ruthless, almost cruel in the way he fucked her. you remember the sharp smack of his hand against her skin, how badly you’d wished it were you and zayne instead. but what turned you on the most—what lodged itself deep inside your core—was the contrast of it all. the way the stranger’s rough, unyielding actions clashed with the softness of his words. the concept of being fucked like a slut while being praised like a good girl. it made you spin. 

it only made you think of zayne. zayne and his large, calloused hands. zayne and his sweet voice. zayne and his cock that stretched and fucked you so good that it makes you cry. 

and you’d be lying if you said the thought of him realizing this… realizing it’s what you’d wanted all along… didn’t make heat pool low in your stomach all over again.

you clench tightly around him, turning your heated face into the pillow that smelled just like him. this only makes him laugh, humorlessly. 

“yeah, you’re remembering now, aren’t you, my darling girl?” his throaty voice only turns you on further. you arch your back and wiggle your ass as an invitation. an invitation for him to give you more. to go hard. “that’s it. good girl.”

you shudder at the praise. “f-fuck,” the curse is whimpered against the silk fabric of his pillow. “fuck, zayne, it’s s-so—god! so deep. feels so good!” you feel him everywhere, but especially in your tightening stomach. you’re already at the precipice of an orgasm and it only makes zayne want to fuck you right to the finish line. 

zayne hums, spanking you again just to hear a giggly moan and it makes his heart want to beat out of his chest. “you’re so precious,” he whispers before his hand laces in your hair and pulls your face away from the pillow. “did you want me to find that tweet, sweetheart? so i could spank you and pull at your hair? so i could fuck you stupid on my cock?”

you don’t bother hiding it. you wanted this more than anything. you craved this more than anything. “yes, yes, yes! please!” 

“gooood girl,” he murmurs softly. it’s a perfect contradiction to the way his cock drives into you, the tip just barely brushing your cervix. it’s too much. you’re wound tight as hell, a dam on the brink of bursting, and zayne feels it instantly.

“you wanna cum?”

you can barely form the words, desperation breaking your voice as you beg, “can i…? please?”

“yes, baby. cum for me,” he grunts, fist tightening in your hair, pulling you into a deeper arch. “come on. cum all over me.”

you shatter almost instantly. your body trembles as you come apart on his cock, a needy, broken moan slipping free while the tight knot in your stomach unravels and you soak him completely.

he doesn’t stop—he only fucks you through it, steady and relentless, before pressing a gentle kiss to your spine. 

“you did so well,” you feel his lips curve into a smile as he murmurs against your slick, overheated skin, “he but we’re not done yet.”

ᯓ 夏以昼 ⟢ CALEB ˖᯽ ݁˖ — bf lets you sit on his pretty face #facesitting 

it was no secret that caleb kept tabs on you. he was very open about it—he has all your post notifications on, he knows where you are at all times, and he always knows what you’re up to. it didn’t bother you in the slightest, he’s always been protective of you—watching over you like it was his life’s purpose. 

but there’s one secret that you keep from caleb. and it’s nothing major, truly! it’s just… an alt twitter account you use to retweet your soft porn. while there’s no reason to keep this from your boyfriend, you don’t have the heart to show it to him. it’s the home of all your fantasies, more than anything, it’s embarrassing. 

even so, the last thing you want is for caleb to know. you’ve done everything in your power to keep this secret. you used an obscure email to create the account, a password with a series of random numbers and letters that he’d never be able to guess and an alias. it was practically impossible for him to trace it back to you. 

one day, you were scrolling on said account, thighs pressed together as you came across a video of a girl sitting on a guy's face, tugging at his hair while she glided across his mouth and nose. all you could think about is caleb—how good it would feel to fuck his face like you were in heat.

it was something you thought about often. you’ve had caleb eat you out before, yes, but you’ve never asked to try this in fear that you’d either A. suffocate him or B. he’d be turned off. 

so you do what you always do, quote retweeting it with a caption that read: “wanna sit on my bf’s pretty face just like this :,(” 

you shut out the app and flop back onto your bed, trying—failing—to chase the thoughts of him away. especially the image of him stretched out against these very pillows and you hovering over him while your arousal drenches his face. you lose yourself in the fantasy, hands sliding down your body in need.

but then your phone starts to blow up—message after message lighting the screen, all from your boyfriend:

caleb ♥︎: baby, are you serious?

caleb ♥︎: is that really what you want? 

caleb ♥︎: you wanna sit on my face?

caleb ♥︎: forget it, I’ll be there in an hour. we’ll talk about this when I see you.

your breath hitches and brows knit in confusion—then it clicks. your tweet. maybe you should’ve been more careful before hitting send. maybe the app glitched. either way, when you open the app again, dread crashes over you as you confirm that you’ve posted it from the wrong account—the account where caleb has your notifications on. meaning he saw it immediately. 

you delete it in a panic, humiliated, praying none of your other mutuals caught it in time. there’s nothing you can say or do to stop caleb from coming over. so you stand, pace, draw in a shaky breath and wait. 

—

caleb lets himself in, shuts the door, and locks it behind him. the talk he mentioned in his text never comes. no greeting. no anger. instead, he strips down to his boxers and climbs into your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you’re frozen where you stand, lip caught between your teeth, thighs pressed tightly together. when he settles against the pillows, he lifts his gaze to you so calm that it almost scares. he looks at you expectantly.

“well?” he starts. “what are you waiting for? i’m here. you wanted to sit on your boyfriend’s pretty face, did you not?”

you exhale a sharp, nervous laugh, “c-caleb, we don’t have to…” you let shyness take over. “i’ll—i’ll suffocate you. it probably won’t feel good for you either…”

he scoffs incredulously. “come sit on my face before i make you. you do remember my evol, don’t you?”

you barely have time to process it before you feel weightless, a surprised yelp slipping out as he drags you toward him with nothing more than a flick of his hand.

you give in instantly, nodding as you stumble, “okay okay!”

he lets go and watches with hungry, unblinking eyes as you push your shorts and panties down, letting them pool at your feet. you climb onto the bed and crawl toward him slowly until you’re hovering just above his throat, suspended in the tension and your own personal fear.

“caleb, are you sure i won’t be too heavy?” you whisper. 

“i’m sure, baby.” he says reassuringly, his hands grabbing your hips and lifting you till your cunt is just inches away from his face. “come on, sit. lemme taste you.”

you let out a shaky breath and start to lower yourself before you can talk yourself out of it, but his arms hook beneath your thighs and force you all the way down, drawing a satisfied moan from him and a startled gasp from you. your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through the silky strands as you cling to him, grounding yourself before your strength gives out entirely.

you bite your lip, desperate to keep your moans quiet, but the drag of his nose against your clit paired with the warm suction of his mouth has your resolve shattering. it feels even better than you ever imagined. and when his hands come up to palm at your breasts? his fingers tweaking your nipples? you’re a goner.

“fuck,” you whimper, fingers tugging at his roots hard enough to draw a pained groan from him, though it barely registers. all you can focus on is the way he devours you like he’s starving, the vibration of his moans coursing through your body and lighting your nerves on fire, the relentless grind against your swollen, sensitive clit.

“caleb,” you cry, breathlessly, “ah! feels so good.”

“keep fuckin’ my face, pretty girl,” he moans, the words muffling into your cunt. “wanna taste you cummin’ all over me. you can do it.”

he pulls you onto him harder. like he wants to run out of oxygen. 

and you obey—even if you wanted to stop, you couldn’t. not when you’re this close—not when caleb wants this just as bad as you do. you hump his face desperately, like a woman depraved, chasing your orgasm. you let your moans out freely, high pitched and needy, letting them join the sounds of slurping and smacking.

your body trembles violently, fingers fisting in caleb’s hair as you shatter, a mix of arousal and slick cum painting his face while you squeal his name like a broken record. “caleb, caleb, caleb—” his name is all that exists—all you can cling to at the moment.

he groans into you, relentless, licking and sucking every last trace, his hips lifting off the bed with desperate urgency. his cock throbs in his boxers, twitching with need for a taste of your cunt. 

a sob tears from your chest when he doesn’t slow. “w-wait!” you gasp, legs shaking, body on the verge of giving out. “i’m s-sensitive, ca-caleb!”

“no, baby, please,” he whimpers, raw and earnest. “please let me keep going. you don’t know how bad i’ve wanted this.”

“w-what?” you breathe, dazed.

“for so long, pips,” he admits softly. “just sit there… let me do all the work. please?”

ᯓ 祁煜 ⟢ RAFAYEL ˖᯽ ݁˖ — crazy bf fucks you while you pretend to be asleep #somno

despite his bubbly, sassy exterior, rafayel carried his demons quietly. the kind that kept him watching you—both in real life and through the glow of a screen. the thought of losing you makes something dark twist in his chest. you’re his cutie, his heart, his muse, his entire world wrapped into one person.

he knows it’s wrong to have all your passwords. knows it crosses a line. so he tells himself he’s careful—only checks when he has to, when the ache gets too loud to ignore.

it’s been a while since he last logged into your account, but it’s also been days since he’s seen you. that has to count for something, right? just a quick look. just to scroll through what you’ve seen, what you’ve liked. just enough to feel close to you again.

a smile touches his lips when he sees all the silly tweets you’ve liked. 

but then he sees it. a tweet that looks so out of place in the midst of cute cat videos and senseless jokes. a tweet that reads “gf who pretends to be asleep x bf who was gonna fuck her either way,” along with a video of just that. the smile falls immediately, his lips pressing into a thin line while his brows furrow. 

his darkened gaze catches on the yellow bookmark, curiosity winning out before he can stop himself. the moment he opens your bookmarks aka the little trove of soft porn, his cock hardens. it’s all amateur and intimate, but worse, there’s a pattern. a theme. every two minute video was a girl getting fucked while she slept. fucked. bred. all while she laid pliant, eyes closed. 

rafayel’s eyes drag over the captions again and again, each one making his thoughts spin faster. he loses track of time, an entire hour slipping by as he clicks through every video, cock aching and heart racing, torn between guilt and the thrill curling tight in his chest.

he pictured you like that—lying awake at night, thoughts circling him…his cock… until you finally drifted asleep. he imagined the wetness that pooled in your panties when you drifted off, the way desire followed you even into your dreams. it made something deep in him ache.

how long had you wanted this? with the sheer number of tweets tucked away in your bookmarks, he can’t help but think this fantasy has lived with you for a long time now, growing quietly… patiently.

but why not make your fantasy a reality?

—

rafayel asked you to spend the night, and of course you said yes please. you’d been missing your boyfriend like crazy, and with work constantly getting in the way, time together had become frustratingly scarce.

when you arrived, he’d planned something sweet—movies, cuddling, takeout you both loved. an innocent night in. except you wanted more. every subtle advance you made was met with a gentle deflection. he ignored them all, letting the tension build until you were needy with it. you were wound tight, and he still refused to touch you the way you ached for.

by the end of the night, you felt coiled and restless, yet too perverted to voice what you wanted aloud, especially after being brushed off. so you climbed into his bed with a sulky “goodnight,” a pout tugging at your lips, and tried to will yourself to sleep.

it didn’t come easily. all you could think about was him. your eyes squeezed shut, brows knitting together as the ache lingered, basically impossible to ignore. you were wet beyond belief. and only after you felt slumber slowly pulling at you, you felt your boyfriend press against you.

you felt his hard cock through his pants as he slowly, subtly rocked himself against you with barely steady breaths. your heart raced, holding in the little gasp that’s threatening to spill out of you.

“i saw all the videos you’ve been watching on twitter, princess,” he whispers, rutting against you a little harder, the words hitting just as deep as the motion. “all those videos of girls getting fucked while they sleep… is that what you want?”

both your heart and your thoughts stutter at once. for a split second you think you’re dreaming—but you can feel him, and you can differentiate fantasy and reality. the truth finally settles in as his hand slides beneath your sleep shorts, drifting lower, touching you in a way that leaves no doubt at all. this is real. 

he hums when his fingers are immediately met with your slick arousal. “the idea of getting fucked while you’re unconciouis gets you this wet?”

you swallow the whimper trying to break free and let your deepest fantasy unfold. you force yourself to relax, to go pliant in the way you’ve always imagined this—but the moment rafayel circles your clit, your body betrays you, tensing on instinct.

“this slutty pussy wants me to fuck her, doesn’t she, baby? your body’s practically begging for me…” he groans into your ear, grinding deeper into you. “it would be so bad for me to fuck you while you sleep, though. i’d be such a bad boyfriend…”

you want to scream when he slows down. when he starts to retract his hand like it’s some bad idea. 

“i shouldn’t touch you while you’re trying to sleep.” he murmurs, a hint of amusement threading through his words. 

his hand nearly slips away from your shorts when a frayed plea falls from your lips. “please,” you whimper—and that’s really all the confirmation rafayel needs. he flips you onto your stomach and presses over you like a man starved.

your shorts are barely tugged down and his sweats are pushed just low enough for him to free himself. his hot, thick cock slaps against your bare skin and the contact makes you squeak. he pushes into you, filling you in one deep motion. gasps and moans spill from both of you in tandem, but he doesn’t give either of you time to settle. his hands grip your ass, fingers digging in as your flesh spills through the gaps all while he drives into you relentlessly.

“i knew you were pretending to sleep,” he grunts and it’s barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds of his skin slapping against yours.

you’re breathless when you manage to answer. “h-how?” the question breaks on a whine as his cock drives deeper with every hard thrust.

“i could hear how fast your heart was beating,” he chuckles darkly, never slowing, his pace mean. ruthless. “the way your breathing changed the second you felt me behind you.” his grip tightens as he leans in. “you were just waiting for me to take your clothes off and fuck you, weren’t you?”

you whimper, utterly exposed. “yes…”

“naughty, naughty girl.” he laughs. “should’ve told me you wanted to get fucked while you slept.”

you moan, clamping tightly around him and taking the painful stretch in stride. your back arches for more. like your body needs his cock or you’ll die. the knot in your stomach has been winding tighter all night, waiting for this exact moment, and you’re already embarrassingly close.

“no need to hold back,” he whispers. “soak my fucking cock like the slut you are.”

his sharp words tear a mewl from you, your walls clenching around his cock so tight it steals the breath from his lungs. you break as he drives into you without mercy. you fall apart around him with a beg, “please, please, please—” the word dissolving into a wrecked sob that fills the room.

“good girl,” he breathes. “now go back to sleep and let me have my fun, yeah?”

ᯓ 沈星回 ⟢ XAVIER ˖᯽ ݁˖ — dom!bf lets you edge him and begs you to cum #edging

tara is your best friend in the entire world. the kind of best friend who knows every corner of your life, including the private parts you don’t share with anyone else. especially when it comes to you and xavier.

at first, her curiosity overwhelmed you. her questions were invasive, relentless, sometimes overly embarrassing. but over time, you got used to it. more than that—you started to look forward to it. your weekly dates where you can rant about work at the association and the gory details of your relationship with xavier. 

telling tara everything became its own kind of thrill. the late night giggles when she’d come over, the hushed voices so he couldn’t hear anything while he lived in the apartment above you, the way she’d squeal or gasp at every insane detail. it felt good to have someone who wanted to hear it all.

you’d even told her about wanting to try something new with him—something you were pretty sure he’d never agree to. you wanted xavier to be the one begging you for once. he was always so dominant in bed that the idea of flipping the script… of him giving in and taking everything you had to offer, felt almost absurd… which was exactly why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

you remember when you saw the video of your ideal fantasy on twitter. a video of a guy being dominated by a girl. she made him beg for permission while she rode him and all you could think about was him. how cute he’d be with his blushy cheeks and the yearning look in his eyes. how pretty he’d sound whimpering out pleas and begs to cum inside of you. it shook you to your core. you saved the video to your bookmarks immediately and came back to it from time to time just to fantasize. 

the night after you told tara about said fantasy, you decided to send her a visual, just so she knew exactly what you wanted. it’s not like you wanted to tie him up, you just wanted to watch him break underneath you. 

@/starringmc: this is exactly what i want to do to xavier!!! 

you hadn’t heard anything from tara for a while. you half expected her to open your dm immediately. she’s basically chronically online whenever she’s not on a mission or training, but there was nothing. 

a knock at your door pulls you from your scrolling, brows knitting as you get up to answer it. when you swing the door open, your breath catches. xavier stands there, cheeks flushed, posture oddly sheepish.

“xavier? come in.” you step aside automatically, shutting the door behind him before turning back, confusion etched across your face. “what are you doing here? did we have plans?” worry slips into your voice.

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he lifts his phone and turns the screen toward you—the twitter dm meant for tara, unmistakable.

your throat runs dry. heat rushes through you, mortification blooming in your chest, your face, the tips of your ears.

“i-i can…” you start, words tangling as his gaze pins you in place. “i can explain?”

he cocks his head to the side and asks. “so you don’t want to do this to me?”

“no! i mean—y-yes, but i… i just didn’t mean… i didn’t mean to send that to you.” you splutter. “this is not how i envisioned telling you that i wanted to try something like this. i’m sorry.”

“let’s do it.” he says, tossing his phone on your couch. “let’s recreate it—i want to.”

—

xavier sensed you were nervous. it took you a minute to fully get into it—the headspace, the dominance, but you eventually got there and he believes it’s the sexiest you’ve ever been. 

you sat on his cock, slowly grinding against him like you were trying to tease him. your hands gripped at his pecs, palming and squeezing them in a way that made him breathless. 

it was a struggle… to let his guard down, to let you dominate him. his hands were on your hips and he urged you to move faster. he wanted you to bounce on his cock till he came, but you said no. 

“beg for it.” you whisper. “i won’t move the way you want me to unless you beg.” 

he whimpers, the beg slipping past his lips all mumbly and cute—just the way you imagined they would. “please. please, go faster. i want you to go faster.”

you hum, delighted, your walls hugging him nice and tight as his words shoot straight to your core. you kindly oblige, lifting your hips and dropping them to which xavier lets out a blissed out moan. his brows knit in the utmost pleasure and his eyes flutter close. 

his hands slide up to your waist, gripping you tight and holding you in place while his cock rams in and out of you. you let out little squeaks with every thrust and it only makes his cock throb intensely, loud whimpers following your sounds in suit.

he tries to hold back. to not get so close, but he can’t help it. you look so pretty riding him with your tits bouncing in his face and your pussy tightening around him like a vice. it makes him twitch frantically. 

and you can feel it. the way he jerks and shakes—you know he’s close. you find it oddly endearing…how he’s been reduced to this, but you bite back the smile and school your features into something firm instead. “don’t cum,” you warn quietly. “you can’t cum… not yet.”

his hands still you, keeping you grounded and speared on his length as he begs for permission. “fuck, please—please let me cum.” he pleads, voice broken. 

“no, not yet.” and the sound it pulls from him makes your chest ache—the choked, desperate sob torn from his throat at the denial, raw enough to make your heart constrict. “keep fucking me, xavie.”

he shakes his head incessantly, “i c-can’t, baby—fuck, i’ll–i’ll cum!”

“you can hold it.” you say, breathlessly, resuming your wicked motions. “be good ‘n fuck me faster.” 

he clenches his teeth, pounding into you just the way you want. his hips snap against you with vigor while his cock helplessly throbs. he wants nothing more than to press deep inside and spill his load into you. 

“i wanna cum, please, please, please. baby, please—i’ll do anything.”

you can’t resist him… his pretty face, his sweet voice. you offer a saccharine smile, lean in so your lips ghost over his and whisper. “cum inside of me, xavie.” 

a loud, relieved groan slips out of him, his hands grip on you bruising as he pounds into you before he stills. his tip kisses your cervix before he’s pouring his hot, long awaited release into your cunt. 

he crashes his mouth against yours, allowing you to swallow his moans as his arms wrap tight around you. he pulls you flush to his chest before he rolls you beneath him, hard cock still pressed inside of you. you squeal into the kiss, breathless and startled as the world tilts.

when he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, foreheads pressed against one another. you catch the darkness in his eyes, the heat flushing his cheeks, the way restraint is barely holding.

“can i make you beg now?” he whispers, voice low. then, softer… much more vulnerable, “please?”

© all works belong to MEDICLI 2026. do not copy or repost.

[sayuni1234]

Zayne: Knead Therapy 🫱🫲

[mwphisto]

LaDs: Nasty Habits I Think They Have (18+)

~ 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.

[calebsfavoriteusedthong]

When you accidentally send them a (p)🌽 link...

Cw: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh riding. Size kink. Panty sniffer Caleb Jealous Xavier. It includes links to 🌽 videos on X for visual examples on what was sent. 🔞 MDNI🔞

Sylus/Xavier/Rafayel/Zayne/Caleb

Yeah*sigh*I'm ovulating again. Enjoy 😝

Part 2 here When they accidentally send you a porn link...

The blue light of your phone screen is the only thing cutting through the darkness of your bedroom. You really should have been asleep an hour ago, instead, you’re spiraling down a rabbit hole you didn't even know existed.

Size kink.

You’d never really thought about it before, not until you started dating Sylus and tonight you were just scrolling, looking for something to satisfy the empty ache Sylus left all week.

This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.

Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.

"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.

Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.

You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.

By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.

"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"

You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.

Sent.

You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message.  Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.

Sylus.

You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.

🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.

“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”

And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.

Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.

“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”

His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.

“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.

He’s wrong.

Don't you dare.

Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.

He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.

You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.

Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.

In the end, you don't choose. You do both.

The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.

He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.

Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.

"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."

The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."

He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.

So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.

God, yes.

You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.

Buzz. Buzz.

A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.

[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.

A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.

But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.

You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.

Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.

Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.

He's so indecisive.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"

Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.

"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.

"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."

You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...

Smack!

The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.

"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."

He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.

His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.

You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.

"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.

"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."

His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.

He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"

You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.

"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.

He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.

"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.

The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.

"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.

He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.

The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.

Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.

With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.

You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.

“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”

You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.

Your phone vibrates.

It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.

It’s a notification from Rafayel.

Rafayel: Is that so?

Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.

Wait.

Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.

But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.

Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"

🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.

You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.

Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit. 

Thump thump. Thump thump. 

"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"

The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.

But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.

It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.

He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.

Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.

You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.

The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.

Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.

He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.

And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.

You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.

It feels like a collision of two fires.

In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.

He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.

Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.

“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"

It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.

Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.

Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.

You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."

You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.

And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.

🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺

It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.

And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.

The friction is driving you completely insane.

Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.

His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."

He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.

You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.

A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.

"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.

His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.

Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.

He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.

You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.

"Look at me."

His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.

When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.

"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.

You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.

"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.

He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.

The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.

"Zaynie... Zayne..."

His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.

You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...

A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.

You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.

A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.

Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”

You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.

You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.

In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.

🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷

It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.

He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.

“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.

“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”

Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.

“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."

Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.

He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.

The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.

He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.

You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.

But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.

He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.

The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.

He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.

“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”

You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.

His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.

And then, the teasing ends.

His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.

Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.

He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.

"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.

He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.

"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."

[cherryscript]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 THE ART OF GIVING HEAD ᝰ.ᐟ

𓏲ּ𝄢 featuring 𓂃 XAVIER, RAFAYEL, ZAYNE, SYLUS & CALEB — how lads men would give you head.

𓏲ּ𝄢 content warnings 𓂃 lots and lots of cunninglingus, they EAT it (that's the main point here), pwnp, somno in xav’s part, lots of focus on female orgasm, praise & degradation, clitplay, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, fingering, sixty-nine position in zayne’s, oral for both f&m in his part too, riding nose for sylus, caleb is stealing panties (.... again), whimpering and begging for him as usual... (I don't know what else)

𓏲ּ𝄢 cherry’s note 𓂃 I've spent embarassing amount of time and effort into this. so, if this flops I'll blow up with everyone here. thank you @lunarkyn & @beatricetonguedi for helping me sorting out xav ’n raf’s part...also, this ask right here....you guys saved me there. big kisses for y'all <3

沈星回 ⛦ XAVIER !

Xavier slips through the door just past three a.m., the apartment dim and quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside. His shoulders sag under the weight of the day —endless missions, blood, light-blades, paperwork— but the moment he sees you curled in the middle of his bed, everything else fades.

You’re wearing his favorite oversized sweater, the one that smells like him even after a wash, sleeves slipping over your hands, hem riding high on your thighs. Nothing underneath but a whisper-thin pair of panties—pale blue, already darkened at the center with the faintest hint of want. You’re on his sheets, in his clothes, breathing slow and sweet… it’s the only reward he ever needs.

He exhales, long and shaky, kicking off his boots. Doesn’t bother with the light. Just shrugs out of his jacket, peels away the holster, and crawls onto the mattress like a starving man finally allowed to eat.

You stir when the bed dips, murmuring his name in that sleepy-soft voice that makes his cock twitch painfully against his zipper.

“Shh, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing your knee as he settles between your thighs. “Go back to sleep. Just need my dessert.”

He starts slow—god, so fucking slow—like he has all the time in the world. Mouth warm and lazy, kissing over the damp cotton first, breathing you in through the fabric until the panties are soaked twice over. Only then does he hook a finger under the gusset and tug it aside, humming at the sight of you make—swollen, glistening, already fluttering for him.

The first lick is a long, flat stripe from entrance to clit, deliberate, savoring. He groans like he’s tasting something forbidden and perfect, the sound rumbling straight into your core.

“Fuck… missed this all day,” he mumbles against you, voice thick with exhaustion and hunger. “Missed this pretty pussy waiting for me.”

His thumb settles over your clit, pressing in slow circles—just enough pressure to make your hips jerk—while his tongue pushes inside you, slow and filthy, curling like he’s trying to drink you dry. Every tiny reaction you give him—the gasp, the whimper, the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head—he catalogues it, stores it, uses it. He learns you like he learns constellations: reverent, obsessive, permanent.

Hours. He stays down there for hours.

Sometimes he pulls back just to watch his thumb work you, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, lips shiny with you. “Look at you leaking for me already… such a messy girl.” Then he dives back in, lips sealing around your clit in a tight, perfect “O,” sucking soft and steady while two fingers slide in to stroke that spot that makes your back arch clean off the bed.

You’re close—so close—when he suddenly changes.

It’s like a switch flips.

The lazy worship turns feral in a heartbeat. Tongue flicking fast and hard, thumb grinding rough circles, fingers curling and pumping with ruthless precision. The wet sounds are obscene—loud, sloppy, echoing in the quiet room. He growls against you, hips grinding into the mattress because he’s so hard it hurts, chasing his own edge just from the taste of you.

“Give it to me,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Cum on my tongue—wanna feel you fall apart, baby, please—”

You shatter—sobbing his name, thighs clamping around his head, whole body shaking as he drinks down every pulse, every gush, licking you through it like he’ll die if he misses a single drop.

When the aftershocks fade, he doesn’t stop. Just slows again, gentle now, soothing, pressing sleepy kisses to your swollen folds, your inner thighs, the soft crease where leg meets hip. His lower face is drenched—chin, lips, even his nose glistening—and he doesn’t care. Wipes it off on your thigh and smiles, drowsy and satisfied.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

He gathers you close, pulling you into his chest, your back to his front, legs tangled. His cock is still hard against your ass, but he ignores it, nuzzling into your hair.

“Love you,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Love how you taste… love how you sound you make when you come for me… love you in my sweater, in my bed…”

You feel him smile against your neck, hear the soft, contented hum as he finally lets sleep take him.

“Just needed my dessert,” he mumbles, already half-gone. “Best part of the whole damn day.”

And with your taste still on his tongue and your body limp in his arms, Xavier drifts off—happy, full, and utterly yours.

祁煜 ⛦ RAFAYEL !

Rafayel comes to you pouting.

You hear it before you see him— the dramatic sigh, the keys tossed onto the counter with theatrical flair, the soft thud of his shoes kicked off one by one.

“Cutie ignored me all day,” he announces to the empty living room, voice lilting like he’s wounded. “Left me to rot in that boring studio while you were out doing… whatever mysterious human things you do.”

You’re on the couch in nothing but his silk button-up—three buttons done, the rest hanging open) and a pair of lace panties he bought you “as a joke.” The joke’s on him; they’re already ruined.

He stops in the doorway, eyes narrowing, lips curling into that dangerous little smirk.

“Oh. Look who decided to dress up like a present.”

You don’t even get to answer before he’s on you, knees hitting the rug, hands sliding up your thighs and spreading them wide like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.

“Missed this pretty cunt,” he murmurs, voice velvet and venom. “Bet it missed me too, hm?”

He starts slow, cruelly slow. Kisses everywhere except where you need him: soft presses along the crease of your thigh, the delicate skin just above your clit, the lace edge of your panties. Every time you twitch toward his mouth he pulls back, laughing under his breath.

“Rafayel—”

“Shh. Good art takes time, baby.”

He drags the flat of his tongue over the soaked fabric once, just once, then blows a cool stream of air right through it. Your hips jerk; he pins them down with one hand like it’s nothing.

“Sensitive tonight? Cute.”

Finally, finally, he tugs the lace aside with his teeth. The first real touch is just his lips: plush, warm, closing over your folds in a slow, open-mouthed kiss. He makes out with your pussy the way he kisses you when he’s trying to ruin your lipstick: deep, lazy, filthy, lips sliding and catching and sucking like he’s trying to drink you through them. A soft, wet sound every time he pulls away and dives back in.

You feel it in your spine.

He hums some annoying pop song that’s been stuck in his head for three days, the vibration rolling straight into your clit. Your hand flies to his hair on instinct.

“Yes—fuck—pull it,” he breathes against you, tongue flicking out to trace your entrance. “Use me, cutie, c’mon.”

You do. You fist those soft violet strands and shove his face exactly where you want it. He moans like you just gave him a gift, nose bumping your clit, rubbing it in messy circles until it’s shiny with you. Then he pulls back just far enough to spit, once, twice, watching it drip down your folds with half-lidded eyes.

“Pretty,” he whispers, and seals his mouth over you again.

He edges you twice. Brings you right to the cliff with that wicked mouth and those long artist’s fingers curling inside you, then stops, blowing cool air over your throbbing clit until you’re shaking and cursing his name. The third time you sob, actually sob, he laughs softly and gives in.

“Alright, alright. Greedy baby.”

And then he doesn’t stop.

He sucks your clit between those sinful lips and flutters his tongue so fast your vision whites out. Fingers scissoring, stroking, spitting again just to hear the wet sound when he pumps them back in. You come with his name cracked in half on your tongue, thighs clamping around his ears, and he just groans like he’s the one unraveling, drinking every pulse like it’s paint and he’s starving.

You’re still trembling through the aftershocks when he starts again.

Second orgasm. Third. Fourth. By the fifth you’re crying, oversensitive, pushing weakly at his forehead while he licks you open like he’ll never get enough.

“R-Raf—please—too much—”

He pulls off just long enough to flash you a lazy, smug grin, lips swollen pink, chin dripping, eyes glassy with lust.

“One more,” he coos, voice hoarse. “You can give me one more, can’t you? For your poor neglected boyfriend who missed you all day?”

He waits until your hand falls limp against the cushion, until your body going soft and trusting again.

Then he dives back in.

By the time he finally lets you breathe, you’re boneless, tears drying on your cheeks, his silk shirt twisted around your waist. He crawls up your body, kisses you slow and deep so you taste yourself all over his tongue, and smiles against your lips.

“Best welcome-home ever,” he whispers, nipping your bottom lip. “Next time leave the panties off. Save me thirty whole seconds.”

You’re too wrecked to even roll your eyes.

He just laughs, tucks you into his chest, and hums that stupid song again, content, smug, and absolutely drenched in you.

黎深 ⛦ ZAYNE !

You come home dragging your feet, shoulders knotted, temples throbbing from twelve straight hours of deadlines and idiots. Zayne is already there—white coat traded for a charcoal sweater, sleeves pushed to the elbows, glasses low on his nose while he reviews charts on the couch. He glances up once and immediately closes the tablet.

“Bed. Now,” he says, voice calm, clinical, final. “You’re presenting with acute sympathetic overdrive. Heart rate elevated, trapezius spasming, cortisol through the roof.”

You groan. “I’m fine—”

“You’re not.” He stands, towering, gentle but immovable. “Doctor’s orders: you need to relieve yourself properly. Thoroughly.”

You flop face-first onto the mattress still in your work clothes. He follows, fingers already working the buttons of your blouse with surgical precision.

“And you?” you mumble into the pillow. “You pulled a double shift yesterday. You must be just as tense.”

A low hum behind you. “I am. Which is why we’re going to treat both of us at once. Efficiency, darling.”

Before you can ask what that means, he’s sliding your skirt and panties off in one smooth motion, lifting you like you weigh nothing, settling on his back in the center of the bed. His cock is already hard against his slacks—thick, flushed, curving slightly toward his stomach when he frees it. He pats his chest.

“Straddle me. Face down.”

You know the position. You love the position—sixty-nine. Still, your thighs shake as you climb over him, knees bracketing his ribs, hands bracing on either side of his hips. He guides you back until your soaked cunt hovers an inch above his mouth.

“Good girl. Now lower yourself. Let me take care of you.”

The first touch of his tongue is precise—one long, deliberate lick from entrance to clit that makes your arms buckle. He groans, deep and satisfied, hands clamping on your hips to pull you flush against his face.

“Labia minora engorged,” he murmurs, voice muffled, vibrating straight into your clit. “Clitoral hood retracted. Perfect autonomic response.”

You whimper around the head of his cock as you sink down, lips stretching wide. He’s thick, hot, pulsing against your tongue, and the taste of him—clean skin, faint salt, pure Zayne—makes you dizzy.

He starts slow, academic, like he’s mapping you. Tongue tracing every fold, cataloguing every twitch.

“The levator ani is fluttering beautifully,” he says, breath ghosting over your clit. “Pelvic floor tension releasing already. Excellent.”

Then his fingers slide in—two at once, no resistance because you’re dripping for him—and crook upward in that cruel, perfect angle that hits your front wall dead-on. His mouth seals over your clit, sucking in steady pulses while his fingers pump slow, deep, relentless.

You choke on his cock, eyes watering, throat working to take him deeper. He rewards you with a throaty moan that you feel in your spine.

“Sexual release triggers oxytocin and prolactin cascade,” he lectures between licks, voice wrecked now. “Reduces serum cortisol by up to thirty percent. You’re going to come for me at least three times. Minimum therapeutic dose.”

You try to pull off to breathe and he growls, hips flexing up, fucking shallowly into your mouth.

“No. Stay. Breathe through your nose. Relax your soft palate—yes—like that.”

His fingers speed up, scissoring, curling, while his tongue flicks your clit in tight, merciless circles. You come the first time with a muffled scream around his cock, thighs clamping on his head, entire body seizing. He doesn’t stop —just switches to soft, soothing licks while you ride it out, murmuring praise against your folds.

“First orgasm achieved. Heart rate one-thirty and climbing. Preparing second.”

The second hits harder, faster, because he adds a third finger and sucks your clit like he’s trying to leave a bruise. You sob around him, tears streaking into his trimmed hair, hips grinding helplessly.

He’s leaking steadily now, precome painting your tongue, cock jerking every time you swallow around him. You can feel him getting close—his thighs tensing under your hands, breath ragged against your cunt.

“Cum with me,” he orders, voice cracking for the first time. “Third one. Now.”

He curls his fingers hard, tongue lashing your clit without mercy, and you shatter again—vision whiting out, whole body locking up. The clench of your throat around his cock drags him over with you; he spills hot and thick down your throat with a broken groan, hips stuttering, fingers buried to the knuckle inside you while he licks you through both climaxes like he’ll never get enough.

When it’s over you collapse forward, cheek against his thigh, panting. He gently maneuvers you off him, turns you around, gathers you close. His face is flushed, lips swollen and shining with you, glasses fogged and crooked. He kisses your temple, voice soft again.

“Cortisol levels should be negligible now,” he whispers. “Sleep. I’ll run a warm bath in twenty minutes. Hydration and electrolytes next.”

You laugh, hoarse and wrecked. “You’re such a nerd.”

He hums, already half-asleep, arms locked around you like steel bands.

“And you’re cured,” he murmurs against your hair. “For tonight, at least.”

秦彻 ⛦ SYLUS !

Sylus is sprawled on the couch in nothing but low-slung grey sweatpants and that infuriating little smirk, scarlet eyes flicking across the tablet in his hand like the numbers on the screen are more interesting than you.

You’re curled against his side, wearing his black dress shirt and literally nothing else, pretending to scroll on your phone. Except you’re not pretending very well. Your gaze keeps sliding to the sharp, arrogant line of his nose, the way it cuts through the dim light like it was sculpted for sin.

The words slip out before you can stop them.

“Your nose looks so rideable.”

Silence.

Then the tablet lowers, slow and deliberate. Those crimson eyes lock onto you, amusement and pure danger swirling together.

“Come again, sweetie?”

Heat floods your face. You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified, but it’s too late. The smirk spreads, wicked and slow.

“Didn’t know my kitten was so obsessed with my nose,” he drawls, voice velvet and smoke. “How long have you been thinking about grinding that pretty little cunt all over it, hm?”

You squeak. Actually squeak.

He tosses the tablet aside, stands in one fluid motion, and scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Two strides and you’re in his bedroom, the city glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows behind the massive bed.

Sylus drops onto his back, arms folded behind his head, looking like a king waiting for tribute.

“Well?” He arches one brow. “Ride it, then. Ride until you’re satisfied, kitten. I’ve got all night.”

Your thighs are trembling before you even straddle his chest. He watches, hungry, as you crawl forward, knees settling on either side of his head. The moment your slick folds brush the bridge of his nose he inhales, deep and filthy, eyes fluttering half-shut.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re already dripping for me. Greedy girl.”

You sink down slowly, gasping at the first contact (his nose is perfect, straight and firm, slotting right between your lips, the tip nudging your clit). The groan he lets out vibrates through your entire body.

“Move,” he orders, voice rough. “Use me.”

You do.

It starts tentative—little rolls of your hips, testing, savoring, but his big hands slide up to grip your ass, spreading you wider, guiding you harder, faster. Every forward drag smears your wetness along the sharp ridge of his nose; every backward glide has the tip bumping your clit so perfectly your vision sparks.

“That’s it,” he growls against you, tongue flicking out to lap at your entrance between breaths. “Fuck my face exactly how you want. Make a mess.”

You lose it.

Hands flying to the headboard, you start riding him in earnest—hips snapping, thighs burning, tits bouncing under the open shirt. His tongue spears inside you every time you glide back, nose grinding your clit mercilessly when you rock forward. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds and your broken moans echoing moans of his name.

“Sylus—oh god—right there—”

He laughs, dark and filthy, the sound muffled against your cunt. “Not God, sweetie. Just your very devoted boyfriend letting you ruin his face.”

You’re dripping everywhere—down his nose, his cheeks, his chin, pooling in the hollow of his throat. He drinks it like wine, tongue thrusting deep, nose rubbing hard circles until your legs start shaking uncontrollably.

“Close,” you sob, nails scraping the headboard. “Sylus, I’m—”

“Do it,” he snarls, fingers digging bruises into your ass, forcing you to ride faster. “Come all over my fucking face. Mark me up, kitten. Want to smell you for days.”

The orgasm slams into you so hard you nearly collapse. Your whole body locks, a silent scream tearing from your throat as you gush against his mouth, hips jerking helplessly while he keeps licking, keeps rubbing keeps you riding the peak until you’re crying from overstimulation.

When the tremors finally fade, you try to lift off, legs jelly. His arms lock around your thighs like steel.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he rasps, voice hoarse, face absolutely drenched and gleaming. “I said until you’re satisfied. We’re nowhere near done.”

You whimper, because you’re still pulsing, still empty and aching in the best way.

He grins up at you, wicked and adoring, nose shiny with you, lips swollen and red.

“Round two, sweetie. And this time I’m setting the pace.”

He flips you effortlessly, pinning your thighs open with his broad shoulders, and dives back in like a man possessed.

You’re not leaving that bed until the sun comes up—and neither is the smug, perfect, rideable nose that started it all.

夏以昼 ⛦ CALEB !

You can’t even remember how you got here.

One minute you were storming into Caleb’s room, cheeks burning with second-hand shame embarassment—finding your favorite pair of panties balled up under his pillow like some dirty little secret. The next, he was on his knees in front of you, sunshine smile gone, pupils blown wide, begging in that cracked, desperate voice you’d never heard from him before.

“I’m sorry, pipsqueak—fuck, I’m so sorry, I just—your smell—”

And now it’s been hours.

Hours of him on his knees between your spread thighs, face shoved into the soaked cotton of the panties you didn’t even bother taking off. Hours of his tongue dragging slow, worshipful stripes over the fabric, nose buried so deep he’s practically suffocating himself in you. Hours of him whining like a kicked puppy every time you let him up for air.

You’ve got one leg hooked over his shoulder, knee locked around the back of his neck, heel digging into his spine to keep him exactly where you want him. His hands are fisted in the sheets because you threatened to stop everything if he touched himself.

“Please,” he mumbles again, voice muffled and wet against your crotch. “Please, I’m sorry—”

“Please what, huh?” You tug his hair hard enough to make him gasp, forcing his red-rimmed eyes up to yours. “You thought you’d just get away with stealing my panties like some gross little pervert? Look at you now.”

A broken whimper spills out of him. His hips jerk forward involuntarily, grinding against nothing, and you feel the wet spot on his sweatpants brush your ankle.

You laugh, mean and sweet. “Licking my cunt through my own panties like a dog. Pathetic.”

He sobs—actually sobs, hot breath fanning over the soaked fabric. His cock is outlined obscenely in his pants, flushed angry red at the tip, a steady drip of precome darkening the grey cotton. When his hand twitches toward it you kick it away with your free foot.

“Oh no no no. This is a punishment, remember? You don’t get to touch that filthy cock of your’s.”

Caleb’s whole body shakes. He leans forward again without being told, tongue flattening against the gusset, licking broad, desperate stripes like he’s trying to drink you through the barrier. You reward him with a slow roll of your hips, grinding your clit against the bridge of his nose, and he moans like he’s the one coming undone.

“You humiliated me, Caleb,” you sigh, threading fingers through his hair just to yank harder. “Ruined everything we had. Our friendship, everything. Least you can do is feel a fraction of it.”

You glance down and, oh. There’s a fresh, darker patch spreading at the front of his sweats. He came just from this. Just from tasting you through cotton and being called a pervert.

You laugh again, delighted and cruel. “Aww, did you just come in your pants? Already?”

He whimpers, nodding frantically, hips still twitching through the aftershocks.

“Poor baby,” you coo, and finally, finally hook your thumbs into the waistband of your ruined panties. “Guess I’ll be nice—ah!—wait, wait—ahhh, fuck!”

The second the fabric is pushed aside Caleb snaps.

Hands shoot up to grip your thighs hard enough to bruise, spreading you open like he’s starving. There’s a sharp rip as he tears the panties clean in half, and then his mouth is on you, no hesitation, no teasing, just pure, sloppy desperation.

He buries his face so deep his nose is flush against your clit, shaking his head side to side to coat himself in you. Tongue plunging inside, curling, licking up every drop like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted anything good in his life. The noises are obscene, wet, animal, his moans vibrating straight into your core.

You cry out, back arching, fingers tightening in his hair until he whines. He doesn’t care. He’s humping your leg now, cock still hard and leaking through his soaked sweats, dragging himself against your leg like he can’t help it. You twitch at the sheer size of it, the feeling of it dragging against your skin through his pants.

“F-fuck—Caleb—”

He pulls back just long enough to gasp, “Taste so fucking good, pipsqueak, please don’t stop, please—”

Then he’s back, sucking your clit between his lips, tongue flicking fast and messy while his hips rut helplessly against your calf. You can feel how big he is even through the fabric, thick and ridiculous, and the thought alone makes you clench around nothing.

Your thighs start shaking. You’re close, so close, and he can tell because he doubles down, licking into you like he’s trying to crawl inside and never leave.

When you come it’s sudden and brutal, a full-body spasm that has you yanking his hair hard enough to hurt. He moans like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, drinking you down in greedy gulps, hips stuttering as he spills again in his pants just from the taste of you cuming on his tongue.

When the haze clears you’re both panting. He’s still on his knees, face shiny and wrecked, eyes glassy with devotion and shame.

You loosen your grip in his hair, petting gently now.

“Friendship’s not the only thing ruined,” you whisper, breathless.

Caleb just smiles, small and sheepish and utterly fucked-out. “Good,” he rasps, voice raw. “Was getting tired of pretending anyway.”

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