Master Lists: Levi Ackerman | Sylus Qin | Love and Deepspace
**Please note I currently only write for Love and Deepspace. Levi will always hold a special place in my heart, but it's been a long while since I have properly written for him.
In Progress:
The Choices We Make (Sylus X femHacker!Reader)
The Destiny Barista (LaDS LIs & Barista!Reader)
Deliveries in the N109 Zone (Sylus X DeliveryDriver!Reader) (w/ @peascribbles)
Fanfic Summer Bingo 2026 || Author Update - July 2026
I know I haven't been super active lately, and my last update kinda explained why. I have been mainly shoving things in queue, but I know I've missed a lot.
Everything happened the way I thought it would - all at once, and quickly.
Thankfully, though, after tomorrow, I think I can breathe again.
But I'm going to peace out for a little while, to get my world back in order. Once that's done, I'll be back to goon and gush over works with the best of them.
Hug your loved ones tightly for me. Give that friend a call you've been pushing off.
Thank you, @loveandpeaceanddoughnuts and @sagetitan , for the tag! (I'm sorry I'm beyond late for responding)
Rules: if tagged, copy the questions into a new post and let us know your answers!
When did you start writing?
First grade - that's when I realized the joy of writing my own stories. (Not that they were any good lol). But middle school / high school is when I started to write fanfiction and use it as a way to escape the world a little.
What fic do you wish could get a little more love?
I'm so thankful for any and all love on my fics. I feel greedy asking for anymore.
If I'm totally honest with myself, it would probably be my Levi fics, just because that's how I came back into writing. However...there's been a lot of writing growth since then, too.
First famous or fictional crush?
...Seto Kaiba - It was his coat, I tell you! đ€Ł
How open are you to people irl about your writing?
People know I write, but I'm very careful describing what I write. There are some people that know I write fanfic, but I don't tell them over what. Even fewer people (try two) irl people know what I write and where to find it, but they are fanfic writers themselves, so I don't worry about judgement.
After a very bad bullying incident in sixth grade, I don't share my writing with people who know me. A dream of mine has always been to be published, but it'll be under a pen name.
What is a mundane fact about you?
I have a stationary hoarding problem. đ€Ł I love to journal and to make planners pretty, but I have a bad habit of collecting more than I can use.
No Pressure Tags: @humanitys-strongest-brat , @amywritesthings , @sixpennydame , @valkie-moon , @lostparadis , @heartofafiend , @abyssyby , @xxsyluslittlecrowxx , and anyone else that wants to join!
"it's ok to show (x) in fiction as long as the bad guy gets punished!" the bad guy doesn't have to get punished. in fact the bad guy can win altogether. the bad guy can entirely get away with it. hope this helps
and this part might make some people's head explode but: characters can be written to forgive things you personally wouldn't ever forgive. not everything is written as what you'd perceive to be the right choice. not everything is a self-insert & protagonists don't have to be relatable.
Thank you for the tag, @sixpennydame ! (I didn't know that you occasionally read tarot! That's so cool!
1. Something that might surprise your moots about you.
I hate gardening đ . I know it's supposed to be this relaxing task, and most of my family is very into it, but I hate having to do anything with it.
I can appreciate it visually and I know all the hard work that goes into it! I just don't want to do it myself lol.
2. Your favorite drink/soda đ„€
A tie between Reign energy drinks and Dr. Pepper Zero.
3. An activity or hobby you do âïž
Crochet - specifically amigurumis!
4. A TV show/movie youâre watching rn đż
Series: Phantom Lawyer
Anime: Isekai Office Worker: The Other World's Books Depend on the Bean Counter
5. A book youâre reading đ
This Inevitable Ruin by Matt Dinniman (Book 7 in Dungeon Crawler Carl Series)
6. Your favorite dessert đ«
Anything with chocolate! Although, if I'm in the movie theater I'm always craving something sour. đ€
Tagging: @humanitys-strongest-brat , @sagetitan , @abyssyby , @xxsyluslittlecrowxx , @heartofafiend , @heartfairy, @valkie-moon , @lostparadis , and anyone else that would like to join!
you were never much of a PDA person, but sylus loves it. if he could have it his way, heâd be kissing and loving on you in public 24/7, while still being respectful of courseâarms around your waist, hand in his, or arm around your shoulders to pull you close and murmur sweet nothings into your hairline.
âwhatâs wrong, sweetie?â your husband asks, when you dodge his kiss with a sheepish smile, that teasing lilt ever present in his voice. âweâve been married for how long now? itâs okay if people know you like me.â
you ignore the warmth in your cheeks, the part of you thatâs still prone to his negging, before lacing your fingers between his as a consolation prize and scoffing, âwho says i like you?â
âyouâre the one wearing my ring, wife,â he raises your joined hands, placing a loud smooch onto the back of yours. âyou said yes to this.â
âthatâs because you literally got on your knees and begged me,â you fire back, trying your hand at ragebaiting him.
but sylus just laughs, red eyes just sparkling, before leaning in to whisper into your ear, âand iâd do it again.â
i just think valko would love being friends with sylus & sylus also holds him in high regard he just isnât as open to sharing those thoughts with him đ good thing kyros & lucian are the openest books in the world
Your beautiful face, the way your eyes light up when you smile at him, the little crease between your brows when youâre concentrating, the way your lips part when you moan his name. Your lovely personality that somehow balances his perfectly. Your voice, especially when you laugh, when you tease him, when you whisper âI love youâ against his skin in the middle of the night.
And your body.
Heâs obsessed.
Ask him âass or titsâ and the man will genuinely start tearing up because how could you make him choose?
Your tits are perfect, so soft and warm in his big hands, so responsive when he squeezes them, when he leans down to suck marks into the soft flesh, when he slides his cock between them and fucks them eager and messy while you look up at him with those pretty eyes.
But your ass⊠fuck.
The way it jiggles when he has you bent over, hips snapping against you hard enough that the sound echoes. The way it recoils so beautifully when he slaps it, leaving his handprint glowing on your skin. He loves gripping it while he fucks you from behind, spreading you open so he can watch himself disappear inside you.
And donât even get him started on your thighs.
He could live between them.
He loves biting them, leaving little marks that only he gets to see. Loves when you wrap them around his head while heâs eating you out, tongue buried deep as you squeeze and shake around him. Loves when theyâre wrapped around his waist as he fucks into you, or when he props your legs up and slides his thick cock between them, groaning at how soft and warm they feel.
No matter what position youâre in, his hands are on you; grabbing, groping, squeezing, squishing. He canât help it. Heâs addicted.
One night he had you on your back, legs over his shoulders as he thrust into you. His hands were everywhere, kneading your tits, sliding down to grip your ass, then gripping your thighs so tight you knew youâd have bruises tomorrow.
âFuck⊠I love every part of you,â he groaned, voice wrecked as he leaned down to bite the soft flesh of your thigh. âall mine.â
You were barely coherent, lost in how good he felt, how full he made you. âValko- please-â
He growled softly, hips snapping harder as he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.
âMy beautiful mate,â he whispered, hands still roaming like he couldnât get enough. âEvery single inch of you⊠I love it all.â
NERD! ZAYNE TEACHING THE GUYS HOW TO MAKE YOU CUM, SQUIRT AND OTHER TRICKS part 5.
Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here Part 4 here
CW: Smut. Oral. P in v. Dirty talk. Jealousy. đMDNIđ
Your thighs still ached from Wednesday. Thursday you'd walked across campus with your hip cocked wrong, teeth gritted, praying nobody would ask why you were limping. You took the long way to your first class just to avoid the stairs. That took effort. Hiding from Caleb took more.
A week of it now. A week of catching sight of him near the library or across campus and ducking behind whatever was closest. A pillar. A food truck. A cluster of strangers you pretended to know. Once you'd hidden in a bathroom for eleven minutes waiting for him to clear the hallway.
Today was Saturday. Simone's birthday, the one you'd been planning with her for two weeks, color coded playlist and all.
You knew who'd show and who wouldn't. Zayne never came to anything with more than five people in a room; he'd send a gift and a text. Sylus would be there past midnight like the party had been waiting on him, which, in fairness, it usually was. Rafayel was still out of town and Xavier âXavier had walked you to class yesterday and mentioned that he had a test to study for.
He hadn't brought up Wednesday. Hadn't asked for a repeat. He seemed happy just walking beside you in silence, matching his pace to yours, and that was enough. You were relieved because your thighs couldn't take another round like that. He'd made you cum more times than you could count and you'd blacked out before his second orgasm. You woke up to him wiping you down with a warm cloth, humming something under his breath.
And still. You missed Caleb.
He was the only friend who'd been there since high school, back when he felt like a brother âcarrying your backpack when your arm was in a cast, threatening a guy who stood you up sophomore year. Then something shifted senior year, some line neither of you named, and it took root over the summer before college and never let go. He hadn't texted you all week. Not once. Not even a meme, not even the thumbs up emoji he used when he couldn't be bothered to type words. That had never happened before, not even the semester he broke his wrist and had to write messages one finger at a time.
You got to Simone's early to set everything up. Gideon showed up a couple of hours later hauling two bags of ice against his hip and Caleb wasn't with him. That was wrong on its own. Those two attended every party together.
"He's coming," Gideon said, before you'd even asked. "Said he had something to take care of."
The party filled up fast after that, someone's playlist too heavy on bass. You stayed near the kitchen with a cup you angled just right so you could watch the door without looking like you were watching it. By the second hour your stomach had knotted itself tight enough that you'd stopped tasting your drink.
Then he walked in.
Not alone. A girl had her hand curled around his arm, up on her toes to say something against his ear, dark hair falling over her shoulder as she leaned in. He laughed at whatever she said, that laugh you'd have recognized anywhere, head tipping back just slightly.
You didn't stay to see if he'd notice you. Cup abandoned on the counter, bag already in hand, the last thing you saw before you were out the back door was him still bent toward her, listening and laughing.
It was cold outside. Colder by the time you'd cut halfway across campus, arms wrapped around yourself, and ran into Greyson. One of Zayne's friends from pre med, someone you'd shared a class with and one very unfortunate group project. He took one look at you shivering in your thin top and shrugged his jacket off without asking.
"Here. You'll freeze before you make it back to your dorm"
"I'm fine," you said, already pulling it on.
He laughed and fell into step beside you anyway, talking about an anatomy exam he was dreading and his girlfriend's alarming obsession with plushies. Easy conversation that didn't ask anything of you, that let you nod and half listen while your mind kept circling back to the door, to the laugh, to the girl's hand on his arm.
At your door he said goodnight and jogged off toward his building as you went inside to let the quiet close over you.
You tossed the jacket over your desk chair and started peeling off your shoes when your hand brushed something hard in the pocket. Keys. You fished them out, it was a single silver one on a carabiner with a chewed up rubber duck keychain.
Not even ten minutes later, someone knocked.
You smiled, already reaching for the keys on your desk. Of course he'd come back for them. You scooped them up, grabbed his jacket and draped it over your arm and pulled the door open, keys dangling from your fingers before you'd even looked up.
"A bit soon to be giving me the keys to your place, don't you thiâ?" it was meant to be a joke.
Caleb stood in the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes went from the keys swinging from your hand to the jacket slung over your arm, and back again. Whatever smile he'd walked up with was already gone.
"Whose is that?"
His voice had lost the party in it. Gone was the easy tone, replaced by something flat that landed somewhere in your belly.
You knew that tone. Dug in. Stubborn. It was the same voice he used when men tried to put their hands on you. You'd forgotten what that sounded like until now.
Something reckless flared up under your nerves. Days of avoiding him and now he was standing in your doorway looking at you like that. You leaned your shoulder into the frame, unhurried.
"Just a friend's," you said, letting the jacket slip a little on your arm so he'd notice how big it was. "He walked me back from the party. It was cold."
"A friend."
"Mm-hmm." You tilted your head, biting back a smile you didn't try very hard to hide. "Nice guy. Gave me his jacket without me even asking."
"Did he?"
"He did." You shrugged, one shoulder, watching the muscle in his jaw tighten. "Very sweet, actually. I might keep it."
Caleb moved, one step, closing half the distance between you, and you found yourself backing up without deciding to.
"What's his name."
"Why does it matter?"
"I just want his name."
"Jealous?" The word came out lighter than you felt. You tipped your chin up, daring him.
His eyes narrowed. "Should I be?"
You didn't answer. You just held his gaze, arms crossed loosely, jacket bunched against your ribs, and let the silence do the talking. You'd meant it as a tease. It landed like a confession.
Caleb's hand caught the door before you could think to close it, and stepped over the threshold like he had every right to be there. The door closed behind him with a heavy sound that cut off the hallway light and the cold.
"You've been running from me all week," he said.
"I haven'tâ"
"Don't." One word, quiet, and it stopped you cold. "I saw you by the food truck Tuesday. Wednesday you turned around and walked into a building you don't even have class in. Today you bolted out the back door the second I walked through the front." He took another step. You were nearly at your desk now, nowhere left to go. "So don't tell me you haven't been running."
Your ass met the edge of the desk. He didn't stop until there was almost nothing between you, close enough that you caught the cold night air still clinging to him, and under it, the same warm cedar smell you'd have known blindfolded.
"Maybe I like it when you chase me," you said, the teasing thinner than you wanted it to sound.
Something shifted in his face. "Yeah?"
"Maybe."
He leaned in, slow, until his mouth hovered a breath from yours, close enough that if either of you moved even slightly you wouldn't be able to help it. Your heart was beating hard against your ribs.
"Say that again," he murmured.
You didn't say anything at all.
"Maybe I should go find him, thank him properly for lending you his jacket."
"Calebâ"
"What's his name?" A ghost of a smirk, infuriating. His nose brushed yours, and you nearly closed the gap yourself before he pulled back a fraction, just out of reach.
"You're impossible."
"You like impossible." He tilted his head, closing in again, slower this time, until his lips almost grazed yours and then he stopped there too, breath warm against your mouth, watching you through half lowered lashes. "Tell me to stop."
"Stop," you whispered, and it came out all wrong, breathless instead of firm.
"Try again." He was smiling now, a smile that didn't reach his eyes so much as darken them. "Say it like you mean it." he pulled back again, like he had all the time in the world and you had none.
Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt "You're doing this on purpose."
"Obviously."
He came in again, and this time you swore his mouth grazed yours, barely, gone before you could be sure it happened at all. A soft, frustrated sound climbed up your throat.
"Caleb."
"Yeah?" he still hovered there, he needed you to break first.
Fisting his shirt, you hauled him down and crashed your mouth into his.
He groaned like you'd finally given him something he'd been starving for, one hand sliding into your hair, the other gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. The jacket dropped from your fingers, forgotten on the floor. He kissed you like the last few days had been sitting in his chest the whole time, like the wait had worn through whatever control he'd been holding onto.
He walked you backward until your knees hit the mattress, and when you sat down hard he followed you down "No more running," he said against your jaw "Not from me."
Your fingers shook, but the urgency in your chest didn't leave room for nerves to win. You caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it up his torso, and he lifted his arms without being asked, letting you drag it off and drop it behind you. You slid your hands down to his belt and he took over from there, working it loose himself, shoving his jeans down with one impatient kick until he was standing in nothing but his underwear.
The fabric strained. The thick outline of his cock was impossible to miss.
You didn't mean to stare and he didn't give you time to. He leaned over you, pulling your top over your head in one motion, and his hands went around your back a second later, unhooking your bra like he'd done it a hundred times in his head already. The marks Rafayel had left were still faintly there. You didn't notice him catch sight of them, you were too busy working your jeans down, kicking them off.
The room's light hit the bruises on your inner thighs.
Caleb went still. His breathing turned loud and something crossed his face you'd never seen on him before, not once in all the years you'd known him.
"Who?"
It wasn't even a full question. You couldn't answer it. You couldn't even lift your eyes to his, heat crawling up your neck, half shame, half something closer to fear.
His hand found your jaw, careful even now, but firm enough that you couldn't look away from him.
"I'll find out either way"
You said nothing. Your mouth stayed shut, lips pressed together, and he pulled back like he meant to walk away from the whole thing. Panic shot through you and you grabbed his forearm, held on.
"It wasn't a stranger," you whispered.
"Then who."
He was already working through it, you could see him doing it, running through the short list of people close enough to you that this made sense. He didn't need the full story. He just needed a name.
"Rafayel," you said, and then, because there was no version of this where you got to leave it there, "and Xavier."
The color left his face. "At the same time?"
"No." You shook your head fast. "No, it wasn't like that..."
That was as far as you got before he pulled his arm free and stepped back from the bed like it had burned him.
He didn't look at you. He started pacing between your desk and the window, one hand dragging through his hair over and over, like he could pull the thought straight out of his own skull.
"Rafayel," he muttered, more to the wall than to you. "Of course. Probably had you half convinced it meant something, didn't he?" A short breath, no humor in it at all. "And Xavier." He said the name like it left a bad taste. "Quiet Xavier. Too tired for a party, but not tired enough for that."
He stopped at the window, both hands braced on the sill, shoulders locked up tight. For a second he just breathed.
"I gave you space," he said, quieter now, and the quiet was worse than the pacing had been. "After Zayne's, I backed off. Thought you needed space. Figured if I pushed, you'd run, so I didn't." He turned around, and the storm on his face had gone raw underneath. "And they didn't. They just moved into the space I left. Used it."
"Caleb, that's not fair, they didn'tâ"
"Didn't what?" his jaw ticked. "Know you were vulnerable right after? Because I think they knew exactly what they were doing." He crossed the room until he was close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep his eyes. "Did either of them ask what you wanted? Or did they just take what you were too shaken to say no to?"
"It wasn't like that."
"Then tell me what it was like." He crouched slightly, hands braced on the mattress on either side of you, caging you in without touching you "Because I waited. I told myself slow was better than not at all." His eyes dropped to the marks on your thighs and back up, something dark moving behind them. "They didn't wait for anything."
You fingers curled around his wrist "You're the one standing in my room right now."
Something flickered across his face ânot a smile, too sharp for that, but close to one. "Yeah," he said. "I am."
His fury was still there, sitting in his jaw and his hands but his touch when it landed wasn't rough. It was heavy.
He didn't look for unmarked skin.
He went straight for what they'd left behind.
His mouth found your chest first, closing over the fading marks Rafayel had put there, and he sucked âslow and thoroughâ his tongue working until the skin flushed dark underneath his lips. His. Over the top of someone else's, but his now. When he was done he moved down, his thumbs pressing into the bruises on your inner thighs, pinning your legs open while his mouth found the soft flesh there and bit down soft enough not to hurt but hard enough to mark.
"Mine," he said, against your skin. "Every single one. By morning."
His fingers hooked into the leg bands of your underwear, pulling the fabric taut against you. "Your pretty pussy is already soaking through these."
He didn't take them off.
He dragged his tongue up the center seam instead, one slow stroke, and the friction of it through the soaked fabric hit your clit with a sharpness that snapped your hips off the mattress. He caught you, both hands pressing your hips back down, and then his mouth was on you again, lips closing around the swollen bud through the thin wet cotton, sucking in slow pulls that made your vision blur at the edges.
"I should have been first," he said, against the fabric, his voice vibrating through it and into you. The pressure of his lips didn't let up for a second while he talked. "I'm going to spend a long time thinking about that. How I had years and I waited and now I have to share something that should have been mine from the start."
The build was fast, mean and gave you no warning. You came with your fingers twisted in his hair and his name in your throat, soaking through the fabric completely.
He watched you, gave you approximately three seconds.
Then he pulled your underwear down your legs, dropped them off the side of the bed and his mouth was back before you'd finished shaking â bare now, his tongue flat and heavy against you, licking with an attention to detail that made your spine curl. He used two fingers to spread you open, his tongue pressing into your entrance, drawing back up to your clit.
"When I'm inside your mouth," his breath felt warm against your wet skin "I'm going to make you taste what you do to me." He kept going until you came a second time. This one was quieter and left you with tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, his name coming out in pieces.
He gave you a moment. Not a long one. Just enough to take his underwear off and then his hands grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly off the mattress, guiding himself to your entrance. He pushed inside â just the crown and the first two inches â and stopped there.
The sound you made was filthy.
It was everything you had imagined. The stretch, the fullness, the weight of him just sitting there while your body tried to accommodate it and couldn't decide between pulling him in and pushing him out. He stayed there until your mind went blank and your hands found the sheets and gripped. Then he pulled out.
The emptiness felt awful.
He shifted up the mattress and settled on his knees in front of your face, fully hard, the evidence of the last few minutes glistening on his skin, and looked down at you.
"Tell me when to stop and I'll stop."
"Don't stop." Your voice had no strength left in it. Just the words, barely above a whisper.
"Open your mouth when I tell you to."
His thumb came down to your lower lip, pressing into the center of it, pulling it slightly down. He watched your mouth part under the pressure "Do you want me inside your pretty mouth?"
"Yes."
He leaned in just enough. Dragged the tip across your upper lip, leaving a hot wet streak against your skin, watching your face while he did it.
"Say it."
Your hands came up to grip his thighs, fingers pressing into the muscle there. "I want to suck your dick."
The exhale that left him wasn't quiet. "Good girl."
He took his time, dragging the head of his cock across your lips, down your cheek and back to your mouth, leaving a trail of pre across your skin that made something in your chest clench with how much you wanted it.
You kept your eyes on his the entire time. You wanted him to see how much you wanted this.
"Open up, sweet girl"
His cock came back to rest against your lips and your mouth opened wider on instinct, the whole talk flashed through Caleb's head in the same second âZayne's voice, clipped and deeply irritating.
She isn't built like you. Don't push inside when she isn't ready or you'll hurt her throat. She has to breathe through her nose. Don't fight her jaw. Let her drool on it as much as she can, you'll thank me later. It needs to be slow. If you rush it, you hurt her.
His knuckles had gone white against the mattress. He slowed down.
Pressed inside carefully, just the tip, feeling your lips wrap around him and your breath change as your body adjusted. He stopped there. Watched your eyes. Waited for the slight shift in your expression that meant you were ready before he went any further.
"That's it," he managed, his voice mostly gone. "Breathe through your nose. Take your time."
You did. Your hands wrapped around the base, thumbs tracing the veins there while you let the saliva build and run, coating him in a way that made the slide easier and the visual of it more overwhelming than anything else that had happened tonight. You started to move, slow forward bobs that took him a little deeper each time, your tongue working the underside on the draw back.
Caleb made a sound above you that had nothing controlled left in it.
He matched the pace âhips rolling forward in shallow, careful thrusts that tested the back of your throat, a hand in your hair gripping without pulling, his whole body wound up and trembling slightly with the effort of not taking what he wanted at the speed he wanted it.
"You're soâ" He stopped, jaw tight, trying again. "Suck it harder. Taste yourself on me. You can feel it, can't you."
You could.
You sucked harder, felt his thighs tense under your hands, felt the groan that moved through his whole body when your lips slid all the way down and your nose pressed into him and you held it there, looking up at his face.
The sight was doing something to him.
Your mouth stretched around him, eyes wet at the corners, saliva running down your chin and onto your chest in slow trails, and you were looking up at him. That was the part that was killing him. You were not looking away, not closing your eyes. You were loking directly at him with a ruined stare while you took him apart with your mouth, and every time he thought he had some grip on his composure you'd do something with your tongue and it was gone again.
He wanted to grip your hair and drive forward and lose his mind entirely.
Not yet. He held still. Let you set the pace. Let your mouth work him at the speed you'd decided on.
"God," he breathed, his head dropping back for a second before he forced it back down because he couldn't look away from you. "I've thought about this. Exactly this. More times than you can imagine."
The tears running from the corners of your eyes weren't distress. He knew the difference. Your hands were firm and steady on his thighs and every time you pushed forward to take him deeper there was a small sound in your throat that sent a pulse straight up his spine.
"That's it, just like that. Keep going just like that and don't stop."
You swallowed around him in response. His hips snapped forward an inch before he caught himself.
You noticed. Your eyes said so.
He pressed his thumb to the corner of your mouth, feeling the stretch of your lips around him. "You're so good at this," he said, the words coming out unsteady. "So fucking good. Look at you taking all of it. Other girlsâ"
He'd said it without thinking, his brain running three seconds behind his mouth, and he felt the exact moment it landed because your rhythm changed.
Faster.
Your eyes had gone somewhere else âstill on his face, but different now, something sharp moving through them that had nothing to do with what you'd been doing a second ago. Your hands tightened on his thighs. Your mouth pushed forward, taking him deeper than you had been, the angle shifting in a way that made his breath leave him all at once.
"Waitâ" he started.
You hummed. It wasn't accidental. A low vibration right around the tip of his cock, your throat working, your cheeks hollowed, and whatever sentence he'd been constructing about other girls dissolved completely because his brain stopped producing language.
"I didn'tâ" He tried again. Failed again. Your head was moving faster now "That's not what I â, I wasn'tâ"
You hummed again, deeper this time, and took him further.
"Okay. Okay. There are no other girls. There have not been â in any meaningful way â other girls. You are the only girl. You are the onlyâ" His thighs were shaking. "Please, you have toâif you keep doing that I'm going toâ"
You didn't stop doing that.
Your hands moved to grip his ass, pulling him forward, inviting a depth that made his whole body seize up.
"You'reâ" he looked down at you with an expression that was completely gone for you. "You're jealous and you're doing this on purpose and it's working. You've made your point."
You hummed a third time. Longer. Right over the most sensitive part of him. Your eyes were saying everything your mouth was otherwise occupied with.
The sound that came out of him was not quiet. He didn't have time to pull back. He didn't even try.
He came hard, the first pulse hitting the back of your throat without warning, and he felt you swallow â fast and determinedâ and then the next wave and the next, each one heavier, the volume of it backing up past your lips and running down your chin, dripping onto your chest.
You were watching him fall apart and made sure he knew you were watching.
His thighs were shaking and he was coming back slowly, the room reassembling itself around the two of you.
He looked down at you.
Lips swollen, chin a complete mess, eyes bright and entirely satisfied with yourself.
He reached down and dragged his thumb slowly across your lower lip.
"Other girls do not exist. As far as I'm concerned, going forward, they never did."
Something in your expression shifted. The jealous edge softening into something warmer.
"Good," you said, and your voice was ruined too, something he found extraordinarily satisfying.
He brought his thumb to your lip. "Open."
You opened. He pressed inside, watched you close your lips around it, watched you hold his gaze while you tasted what was on it.
He pulled his thumb back.
"You're going to be the death of me," he said. Just a fact. A fact he was making peace with.
He brought his mouth to yours. Tasting everything, not flinching from any of it.
When he pulled back his forehead dropped to yours "I'm not done," he said, into the space between your faces.
"I know," you said.
"I want to do this right." His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, "I've been waiting too long to rush it."
Years. Easy laughter. Carefully maintained distance. Him looking at you the whole time with that steady certain gaze that you'd been pretending not to understand.
"Then don't"
He kissed you again. Softer this time. And then he laid you back against the mattress and took his time.
-NERD!ZAYNE TEACHING THE GUYS HOW TO MAKE YOU CUM, SQUIRT AND OTHER TRICKS. Part 4 (Xavier)
Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3-here
đMDNIđ
The walk to Xavier's dorm on Wednesday felt nothing like the panicked sprint you'd made a few days ago, but the knots in your stomach felt exactly the same.
Things with Rafayel had beenâa lot. Since that night your phone hadn't stopped, a steady stream of dramatic updates about an exhibition schedule pulling him out of town, and the occasional message that was just a reminder of what his mouth had done to your skin. He'd be gone two full weeks. You'd exhaled when he told you that, and then immediately felt guilty about it, and then felt annoyed at yourself for feeling guilty, and that had been Tuesday afternoon.
You kept checking your phone anyway. Paranoid he'd said something to the others, let something slip in the group chat without thinking, like he sometimes did when he was caught up in his own head. Nothing so far. That was either reassuring or a bad sign and you couldn't tell which.
But today was Wednesday. Wednesday meant math tutoring. Wednesday meant Xavier.
He'd been helping you with your math classes because he never sighed when you asked him to explain something twice. Never made you feel stupid for losing the thread halfway through a formula you'd understood perfectly ten minutes ago. He'd just turn the notebook around and start from the beginning, patient in an unhurried way that was so him. You'd gotten used to his dorm, his desk, the way he organized his notes in colored tabs that he denied caring about.
What you hadn't gotten used to was the five days of silence sitting between you now. Or the fact that the last time you'd seen him, he'd been on his knees with his face between your thighs and his fingers inside of you.
You shook your head hard, like that was going to do anything.
The morning had been a whole exercise in damage control. You'd stood in front of your mirror for a long time, turning sideways, checking necklines, holding up three different tops before settling on a sweater. The marks Rafayel had left weren't subtleâhe'd been thorough about that, almost pointedly soâand the last thing you needed was Xavier noticing something you'd have to explain. Comfortable sweater. Favorite jeans. Just enough makeup to look like you'd rolled out of bed this way, which had taken an embarrassing amount of effort to pull off. You'd looked at yourself in the mirror and thought, this is fine, then left before you could change your mind.
Campus was busy, it was mid afternoon and people were moving between buildings, someone's music was bleeding out of a cracked window on the second floor of the humanities block. You walked with your hands in your pockets and tried to think about literally anything else.
It didn't work. Your brain kept circling back to that night in Zayne's dorm.
You arrived at his building a few minutes early on purpose, not wanting to be standing awkward in the hallway when he showed up. The spare key he'd given you months agoâback when this was all still simple, back when tutoring was just tutoringâwas already in your hand before you reached the door. You let yourself in, dropped your bag on the desk, and stood in the middle of the room for a moment just breathing. It smelled like him in here.
You pulled out your textbook. Pulled out your notebook. Uncapped a pen, stared at the blank page, and wrote the date at the top like that counted as being productive.
He'd be back from lecture any minute. You pressed the pen down harder on the page and stared at the date until the words stopped swimming.
----------
Xavier had been having a terrible day and was not going to pretend otherwise.
The past two days had been running on a loop he couldn't shut off. He'd seen Rafayel walking with you across campus. He knew that look on Rafayel's face. He knew it because he felt it himself every time you were within arm's reach.
Since Zayne's dorm, Xavier had been hiding a hunger that had nothing to do with food. He'd had his mouth on you. Had felt you cum on his tongue and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it.
You hadn't texted back. Not once in five days, not even a heads up about today. He'd checked his phone every 30 minutes and by early afternoon he'd made his peace with the fact that you weren't going to show up and settled into a foul mood about it.
It was jealousy. He wasn't going to dress it up. He'd been crazy about you since day one and the idea of Rafayel getting there first while he sat in his dorm being patient and reasonable was the kind of thing that made a bad day significantly worse.
All he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe eat something. Sit in the quiet of his room and not think about any of it for a few hours.
He unlocked his door, pushed it openâ
And stopped.
You were at his desk. Exactly where you always sat, textbook open, pen in hand, looking up at him the second you heard the door.
"Hey," you said softly, and smiled.
Xavier didn't move.
He stood in there with his keys in hand and just looked at you. The afternoon light from the window. The way you were watching him, trying to read him. The small smile that was starting to waver as you noticed something was off.
He dropped his keys on a small table and stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him.
"You look tired," you said carefully.
"I am."
"We can reschedule." Standing to give your back to him you started stacking things, moving with a nervous energy he'd learned to recognize over several months of Wednesday afternoons. " You should rest and we can figure out anotherâ"
"I've been texting you for five days"
You went still. Your hand stayed flat on your notebook.
"I know,"
"And you've been what...Busy."
It wasn't a question and you both knew the answer. You looked at him and he watched you try to figure out what version of the truth to offer.
"I just needed some time," you said finally. "To think."
"About what happened?"
"Yes."
Xavier unslung his bag and let it drop to the floor. He crossed the room without rushing, footsteps silent on the rug, and came to stand directly behind you. He felt you register how close he was, the slight change in your breathing, your shoulders pulling in just slightly.
He didn't touch you yet.
"And?" he said, low, right behind your ear. "What did you decide?"
"Xavierâ"
"I've been thinking about it too." His hand found your waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of your sweater "Every single day."
You made a small sound, your knuckles had gone white around the notebook.
"I thoughtâ" you started and then stopped.
"What?"
"I thought maybe it would be easier if we just... didn't talk about it."
He almost laughed. "How's that working for you?"
"Not great," you admitted, barely a whisper.
His lips found the skin just below your earâbarely, just the suggestion of a kiss, the warmth of his mouth hovering more than landingâand the breath you pulled in was loud enough for him to hear.
"You've been avoiding all of us"
"I haven'tâ"
"You are taking a different way to class now." Another barely there brush of his lips, this time along your jaw. "I've seen you."
Your knees buckled slightly.
"You're not going to say anything?" he asked softly.
"You're not giving me a lot of room to talk."
"You've had five days to talk."
"That'sâ" You let out a shaky breath. "That's not fair."
"You're right." His lips brushed along your jaw again, in no particular rush. "It's not."
Despite everything, something close to a laugh escaped you, breathless and reluctant. Your fingers were still around the notebook, the only thing keeping you grounded.
"You are genuinely terrible at math and you still show up every week. You're not scared of hard things."
You went very still.
"So stop running," he said. Simple.
Before you could find an answer to that, both his hands settled on your hipsâgrip firmâto turn you around and then lifted you onto the desk in one easy motion, papers scattering off the edge to the floor.
Neither of you looked at them.
Your arms went around his shoulders and you held on, fingers twisting into his shirt. He leaned in close and stopped just short of your mouth. His lips brushed yours so lightly it barely counted.
"Do you want me to stop?"
You shook your head.
"Words." His thumb pressed into soft skin under your sweater, "Bunny."
You looked at him and noticed the sleepy ease was completely gone. What replaced it was something dark and very, very hungry.
"Don't stop"
He stepped between your knees.
His mouth came down on yours and his hands gripped your thighs to hold you at the edge of the desk. He kissed you with the full weight of however long he'd been waiting to do exactly this. Months of Wednesday afternoons. Months of watching you chew the end of your pen, pretending he wasn't. His tongue slid into your mouth and you felt all of it at once, his patience and restraint and the end of both.
When he broke away his hands dropped straight to your waistbandâbutton, zipper, no hesitationâhead down, focused entirely on the task. You pulled your sweater over your head. He didn't look up. You got the sweater off and dropped it somewhere and sat there in your bra watching him work the denim down your legs.
The jeans hit the floor and his eyes moved up your body, you watched the shift happen. His focus didn't leave his face, it changed into something else. Something colder. You'd seen that expression exactly once before, at a party freshman year when a guy behind you had gotten too comfortable, and Xavier had gone very still across the room. He hadn't even needed to move. The guy saw him and took two steps back on instinct.
He was looking at your chest.
The bruises. Rafayel's bruises. Clear in the afternoon light. The silence in the room was excruciating.
"Was thisâ" He stopped and then started again, quieter. One thumb came up and traced the edge of the darkest mark with a touch so light it made your throat tighten, while his other hand found your hip and held it in a grip that was the opposite of light. "Rafayel."
He already knew the answer and was just giving you the chance to say it.
You nodded. Your voice wasn't available.
The sound he made was low. Short. A sound that meant something had cracked open and he was choosing not to let out all the way. He stood there for a second with his thumb still resting against the bruise and then he got his hands under the backs of your thighs, lifting you off the desk.
He carried you to his bed and set you down against the sheets, the light from the window was not on your sideâit hit every mark with even more clarity, nothing softened, nothing hidden. Xavier stood over you and looked at them for long enough that you started to feel every single one.
"He paints like he does everything else," he said as he climbed over you, hands trailing down your sides. "Loud and fast. Like the point is for everyone to know he was there." His fingers traced the edge of each bruise, one after the other, "He wasn't thinking about you. He was thinking about what he wanted to leave behind."
"Xavâ"
"I'm not angry at you." His eyes came up to yours briefly, clear about that. "I'm not."
He reached behind you and unhooked your bra with one hand, pulling it off and dropping it over the side of the bed. The breath he drew in through his nose when he saw more bruises all over your soft breasts was slow and controlled.
"He's known you two years," Xavier said, almost to himself, hands cupping you, thumbs moving in slow circles across your skin. "Two years and he still went at you like he was on a timer." His eyes flicked up. "Were you even ready?"
The question caught you completely off guard.
"Iâyes."
"Did he ask?"
"He did"
His hands moved back to your waist, then the waistband of your pantiesâslow the whole way down, no sudden movements, making a point about the difference between his way and the alternative.
He pulled them off and sat back on his heels to look at you for a moment.
"I've known you for two years too," his hand ran up the inside of your calf, unhurried, no destination. "I know when you're stuck before you say anything. I know which problems make you want to give up and which ones just need more time." His palm reached your knee and stopped. "He doesn't know any of that. He doesn't know you."
His eyes came up to yours and held there, you knew he wasn't just talking about math problems anymore.
"I do," he said. Not a boast. Just a fact he'd been sitting on for a while.
His hand moved higher, and your breath caught, the afternoon light kept falling across both of you while the room got really warm, really fast.
His hand pressed flat against your pussy and you felt it everywhere, a warm steady pressure right where you'd been aching since he'd lifted you onto the desk. He held it there and then his body slid lower on the mattress and his mouth found the inside of your thigh.
"You're soaked" he murmured against your skin, and you could feel him almost smiling when he said it.
"Xavieâ"
"I heard you." He pressed his lips to the other thigh, higher this time, dragging slow. " And no matter what you say, I'm not rushing."
Your hips lifted off the bed and his hands came down on them immediately, pinning you back to the mattress without looking up.
"I need you toâ"
"I know what you need." His mouth moved higher. Still not close enough. "That's exactly why I'm taking my time."
You made a sound that was mostly frustration and he had the audacity to hum against your inner thigh like he was perfectly comfortable staying there all afternoon.
"Please..."
He looked up from between your thighs, chin resting against your skin, watching your face with that particular focus that had been driving you insane for months. "Tell me what you want."
"You know what I want."
"I want to hear you say it."
Your hands twisted into the sheets. "My pussy. I want your mouth on my pussy."
His next kiss landed directly beside where you needed him, deliberately off center, and you cursed loud enough that it surprised both of you.
"Say it again," he said, lips hovering close enough now that you could feel his warm breath.
"Xavier, I swear to godâ"
"Again."
"I want you to eat my pussy." The words came out steadier than you expected.
That was what he'd been waiting for. Not the polite version of you that sat across from him every Wednesday with a highlighter and a textbook. He wanted the other one. The one underneath that. The one that had come apart in Zayne's dorm and hadn't fully put herself back together since.
His mouth found your clit.
Your hands flew to his hair before a moan finished leaving your throat, fingers twisting in, and your thighs tried to close around his head on reflexâtoo much, too directâbut his hands had your legs pinned wide.
"Don't," he said against you.
"I can'tâit's tooâ"
"You can." He pressed a single open mouthed kiss to your entrance "Stay open for me."
Then his tongue moved again. Long, slow strokes from your entrance all the way up to your clit, learning you, tasting how long you'd been waiting for this to happen again. You stopped trying to be quiet. Stopped trying to be anything in particular. Your hips rocked against his mouth and your fingers pulled at his hair. He swallowed every bit of you and kept going.
Your hips rolled harder, chasing pressure, and Zayne's voice surfaced somewhere in the back of Xavier's head with terrible timing.
"Her body will tell you when she's ready to take control. Give it to her when she does. There needs to be trust, or she'll feel uncomfortable."
Xavier pulled his mouth off you.
The noise you made was indignant. "Don't you â"
"Come here." He was moving, shifting his body flat against the mattress, hands at your waist pulling you up with him. "Up."
"Fuck, I was literally about toâ"
"I know." He looked up at you from where he was lying, mouth still wet "Come up here."
You stared at him. He waited. His hands were steady on your hips.
"You want me toâ"
"Sit on my face." He said it the same way he explained math. Clear. Direct. No room for misunderstanding. "Put your weight down and let me finish what I started."
His words made your face go hot all over again. You shifted forward anyway, bringing your knees to either side of his head, hovering just above him.
"You're not sitting down," he observed.
"I'm aware."
"I'm not going to break."
"I know that."
"Thenâ"
"I'm justâ" You exhaled. "Give me a second."
He gave you time. His hands stayed loose on your hips, not pulling, just present. Waiting. His eyes were on your face the whole time, just watching you work through whatever was keeping you hovering five inches above him.
"What if I'm tooâ"
"You're not."
"You don't know what I was going to say."
"You were going to say too heavy, or too much, or something like that." His thumbs moved against your hip bones. "You're not. I promise you're not."
Something in your chest went a little loose at that.
You let your weight down.
His hands pulled your hips flush against his face the second you did, tongue finding your clit immediately and the sound that came out of you echoed off every wall in the room. Your hands grabbed his shoulders and then his forearms, whatever you could reach, your whole body trembling with the effort of staying upright.
He was thorough, paying attention to every small reaction. Every time your breath snagged on a particular stroke he came back to it. Every time your thighs tensed he slowed down and built it back up from the beginning. Your fingers ended in his hair, pulling harder than you meant to, and he made a rough sound against you that meant he didn't mind.
"Xavieâ" His name came out wrecked "Fuck, I'm gonnaâplease, Iâ"
His mouth lifted.
"Nononononono, I will fucking kiâ"
"Ask me." his hands were holding you just above his lips with an iron grip. "Properly."
"I'm going to kill you."
"Ask me first."
You looked down at himâhair completely destroyed, mouth slick, looking up at you with those eyes and something short circuited in your brain.
"Please make me cum," you begged. "Pleaseâ"
"Dirtier."
Your face went crimson. His expression didn't change.
"Please," you said, the embarrassment burning through your whole body and dissolving into something else, "make my needy pussy cum on your mouth."
He groaned, the sound vibrating against the inside of your thigh as he pulled you down hard and put his mouth back on you, making every previous thing feel like a warm up.
He used his thumb and middle finger to spread your pussy open, forefinger lifting the little hood over your clit so there was nothing between the bundle of nerves and his tongue. He licked into you in heavy, soaking strokes, relentless and consuming, like he'd been waiting specifically for those words and was paying back every second of the wait.
You broke. Completely and loudly and without a single shred of composure.
Your hands twisted so hard into his hair you felt him grunt against you, thighs shaking around his head, his name and sounds that weren't words spilling out of you into the quiet of his dorm room while the light from the window fell across both of you steady and indifferent.
He didn't stop. Even after. Even when you were too sensitive to bear it and your hands were pushing weakly at his head instead of pulling, he kept his tongue moving through every aftershock, slow now, drawing out every last shiver, like stopping would mean missing something he wasn't willing to miss.
"Please stop, Xavieâ"
"But you just saidâ" he started.
"Don't."
"âvery clearly, very specificallyâ"
"Xavier."
"âthat you wantedâ"
"Don't say it"
"âyou are being," he paused and smiled "remarkably shy. We've done this twice"
"I hate you."
"No you don't." His hands were still on your hips. "Sit down again. I'm not done"
NERD!ZAYNE TEACHING THE GUYS HOW TO MAKE YOU CUM, SQUIRT AND OTHER TRICKS. Part 3.
Guess who's free from the mature label? đ„łđđ»
Part 1 Part 2 Part 4
The walk back to your apartment felt surreal, it felt like stepping out of a fever dream into something cold and sad. Zayne's dorm room had been suffocating before you left. Caleb, Rafayel, Xavier, even Sylus fought over who'd take you home. Zayne stayed by the window, quiet, but his eyes followed every move you made. You turned them all down. Heart hammering, you scrambled out the door before anyone could stop you, desperate for air, for space, for anything that wasn't his room.
How were you supposed to look at them now?
The images wouldn't stop. You had seen them hard and visibly leaking through their clothes just from watching you. The memory of Xavierâs dark eyes right before he buried his face between your thighs made your stomach flip. And ZayneâGod, his voice. That calm cracking into something that ordered you to let go. It wouldn't leave you alone.
Now, sitting in the university library three days later, you couldn't focus on a single line of text in front of you. You were supposed to be studying, but the quiet just made the noise in your head louder. Close your eyes for even a second and you felt it again, four fingers buried inside you, stretching you past what you thought you could take, your pussy clenching around them in little aftershocks. The warmth of Zayneâs cum soaking through his trousers against your bare ass.
The library's silence felt exactly like the silence after you'd come.
Dread settled low in your chest. Was this it? Had you wrecked the only thing that ever felt safe? You hadn't seen any of them in daysâdodging texts, taking the long way to class, hiding in corners of campus you didn't even know existed. Two years of friendship and you'd thrown it all away because a little bit of alcohol got you horny. Fuck!
You didn't hear the sneaker scuff against carpet a few rows over. Didn't notice the eyes tracking the nervous way your finger kept dragging across your bottom lip.
Rafayel stood half hidden by art history, knuckles white against the shelf, watching you with the same burning focus he'd had three nights ago.
Forty eight hours after you fled Zayne's dorm, the deadbolt on his door slid shut again. Everyoneâexcept youâ was back again.
Caleb leaned against the wall spinning a basketball on his finger until it dropped, thudding against the floor. He'd mutter something under his breath, scoop it up, start over. Rafayel paced the strip of carpet between the twin beds, flipping through a stack of index cards he wasn't readingâsnap, snap, snap. Sylus stood by the window with his back to the room, fingers tapping some restless rhythm against the glass. Xavier was the only one still, flat on his stomach on Zayne's bed, chin in his hands, staring blankly at a stray bobby pin left behind on the floor. Zayne sat at his desk pretending to study an anatomy chart. He'd adjusted the lamp three times. Tried to ignore the testosterone fogging up his room. But between the ball, the pacing, and the tapping, focus was a lost cause.
He slammed his textbook shut, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Caleb dropped the ball.
"Stop pretending," he said, voice dropping into flat calm. "You didn't come here to study. Just say what you actually want to say so I can kick you all out."
Silence. Quick, guilty glances passed between themânobody wanting to be the one to crack first, to admit they'd all been picturing the same thing. You, two nights ago, coming apart under their hands.
Rafayel cleared his throat first, tossing his index cards onto the bed "Fiiiiine. Hypothetically. Say a guy's already inside a girl. All the way in. How do you hit that spot? Is there a specific angle?"
A muscle jumped in Zayne's jaw. "The angle doesn't change just because your dick is inside her, Rafayel. Shallow thrusts, angled up. Not just slamming into her. Though I doubt you have the stability to hold that for long."
"I have great stability!" Rafayel hissed, ears burning pink, thumb rubbing against his middle finger as the memory of you made his pulse spike.
"He once held a paintbrush at the exact same angle for an hour straight," Xavier offered, not lifting his chin from his hands.
"See? Stability."
"That's your wrist, Rafayel. Different muscle group entirely," Caleb said.
From the bed, Xavier's voice cut through again, quiet and lazy. "What about when she's on top? Or on the edge of a desk. How do you go down on her so she can grind as hard as she wants? For when she needs to control the movements herself."
Caleb snorted "A desk? Real smooth, Xavi."
"Better than what you're about to ask."
"You don't even know what I'm about to ask."
"I've known you for two years. I know exactly what you're about to ask.â
Caleb's ears went red, but he plowed ahead anyway. "Okay. Hypothetically, say a guy's bigger than average. How's he supposed to use her mouth without hurting her throat?â
"Bigger than average?" Rafayel repeated.
"I am."
"Compared to what?â
"Compared to the general population."
"You've never seen the general population's dick. You've seen yours and you've seen ours and apparently that's all the data you needed?."
Caleb opened his mouth, found nothing, and closed it again.
Sylus finally stopped tapping the glass and a low laugh rumbled out of him "If a guy's significantly bigger than averageâŠâ
âNot you tooâŠâ Rafayel groaned
âHow does he make sure he actually fits, without hurting her? If she's tight. Really tight. Where's the point her body just gives up and takes it?â
Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose again. "I cannot believe I'm hearing grown men compare dick sizes in my dorm room while pretending it's for science."
"It is for science," Caleb said.
"It is not for science, Caleb."
"Reproductive science."
"Get out of my room."
Nobody moved. Zayne let out a long breath through his nose, the kind that meant he was three seconds from actually losing it.
The silence came back, heavier.
Zayne put his glasses back on slowly, fingers locking onto the edge of his desk until his knuckles went white, whatever calm he usually wore was completely gone.
âEvery single one of you needs patience and a lot less idiocy than you're currently showing," Zayne said "I'll answer each question once. Once. And then you're all getting the hell out of my dorm. Am I clear?â
Their faces stayed blank. None of them realized they were all in the same boat.
Rafayel thought he was the only one picturing your breasts. Caleb thought his face fucking question was a private fantasy about your mouth, Xavier was silently planning how to put his tongue to use on you again and Sylus was quietly calculating exactly how to stretch you open and how slow he'd have to go. They were entirely oblivious to the fact that not a single one of them was thinking about an imaginary girl. Every single question in that room had your name underneath it.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The shadow over your book solidified into something real. Rafayel had stepped out from behind the art history shelves, and walked straight over, pulled out the chair across from you, and dropped into it like he owned the table.
He propped his chin in his palm and smiled at you. Easy. Unbothered. Like three nights ago he hadn't had your leg pinned wide open over Zayne's leg, staring at you with eyes blown wide and wild.
"You've been reading the same page for ten minutes," he said, voice smooth, carrying that familiar teasing lilt like nothing in the world had changed. "Is it the most boring book ever written or are you hiding in here?"
Your mouth had gone dry. You closed the book slowly, hoping he wouldn't notice your hands weren't steady. "Just studying, Raf. Got a lot going on."
"Clearly," he said, dragging one finger in a slow circle against the table, eyes never leaving yours.
He didn't take the hint to go. He pulled a sketchbook out of his bag instead and started doodling something on the margins while you tried, and failed, to read the same sentence for the fourth time. Every few minutes he'd glance up, catch you watching, and smirk like he'd won something. You'd duck back to your notes. He'd go back to sketching. The cycle repeated itself until you couldn't tell if you were studying or being studied.
"You're doing it again," he murmured eventually, not looking up from his sketchbook.
"What?"
"Biting your lipâŠâ He flipped the sketchbook closed before you could see what he'd drawn. "It's distracting."
"You're the one distracting me."
"I'm just sitting here, very quietly, minding my own business."
"You sat down across from me, uninvited."
"I go to this school. I'm allowed in the library." He grinned, and it was the same easy, infuriating grin he always wore.
When you finally packed up, he packed up too, slinging his bag over one shoulder and falling into step beside you without asking if that was okay. You walked across campus together. He talked sbout a canvas he was prepping, about a professor who kept docking him points for too much emotion in his color theory, about some gallery downtown that wanted his portfolio. Normal things. Easy things. He never once brought up the dorm. Never said Xavier's name, or Zayne's, or anything about orgasms or the sounds you'd made that day.
But it was there anyway. In every silence. In the half second too long his eyes dropped to your mouth mid sentence before flicking back up like nothing happened. In the way his shoulder kept finding yours on the narrow sidewalk, brief and electric, like he was doing it on purpose and daring you to call him out. You grabbed coffee. He ordered for you without asking, remembering exactly how you took it, and didn't comment when your fingers brushed his over the cup and you both pretended not to notice.
The whole afternoon felt like holding your breath.
By the time you made it back to your building Rafayel was still beside you. Still talking. Still walking like he had every right to be there. You didn't stop him at the stairs. You didn't stop him in the hallway. And when your key finally turned in the lock and the door swung open, whatever fragile, careful normalcy you'd both been playing at for the last three hours fell apart completely.
You barely had time to kick the door shut.
Rafayel's palms hit the wood on either side of your head, and then his mouth was on yours and there was no easing into it, no polite preamble, just him, kissing you like he'd been thinking about nothing else for three days. He tasted like dark coffee and barely leashed desperation. Your hands found his chest on instinct, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
He'd been your first crush out of all of them. The beautiful, dramatic, slightly impossible artist who always seemed to exist outside of your reach. And now he had you pinned against your own door.
"Three days," he breathed against your mouth "Three days of you hiding and leaving my texts on read."
"Rafâ"
"I counted the hours." His forehead dropped to yours "I had to stop because⊠it was embarrassing."
His hands moved before you could say something elseâdown your neck, across your shoulders, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt and pulling it up and over your head. He dropped it somewhere. Didn't look where it landed. He was too busy looking at you.
He'd been replaying it for three nights straight, stroking his cock raw. The light catching your skin. Zayne's hands on you. The sounds you'd made. The image had lodged itself somewhere behind his eyes and refused to leave.
His fingers found the clasp of your bra, knuckles brushing the curve of your spine, and you shivered so hard it traveled through his hands. He undid it carefullyânot slowly, he wasn't capable of slow right nowâand slid the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside.
"I kept thinking about this," he said, half to himself. "Zayne had his hands on you and I was sitting three feet away going completely insane." He had been dying to see your breasts again since he had seen your nipples turn tight under Zayne's fingers.
He cupped you gently, and the slight roughness of his palms against your skin pulled a sound out of you immediately. He felt it more than heard it.
"Yeah, just like that" he murmured.
His hands were trembling slightly, he noticed and hated it but couldn't stop it. His hands never trembled. But this was you, and you were looking up at him with those eyes, and his hands were shaking like he was an eighteen year old that had never touched anyone before in his life.
His thumbs dragged over your nipples as he watched your face, not your chest, the way your lips parted, the way your head tipped back an inch. Cataloguing. Filing it away. Learning the shape of you the way he learned everythingâthrough touch, through attention, through taking his time even when every instinct was screaming at him not to..
"You have no clue," he said quietly, thumbs circling again, "what it was like to watch you and not be able toâ" He stopped. Pressed his lips together. His jaw worked like he was deciding how honest to be. "I kept thinking about what sounds you'd make if it was just me. If I got to take my time."
His hands lifted your breasts slightly, testing the weight with the same attention he gave to everything he cared about. His eyes tracked the movement.
"I want to draw you like this someday," he said, almost offhand, like the thought had just surfaced. Then his gaze flicked up to yours. "Can I?.â
Your back arched off the door and he took that as the invitation it was, mouth closing over your right breast with a hungry sound that vibrated against your skin. His tongue worked tight circles around your nipple before he pulled it deep, sucking hard enough to make your knees buckle, hands moving to grip your waist to keep you upright. When he finally pulled off, he dragged his mouth across to the other side, slower this time, lips brushing the soft underside before he bit down carefully and then sucked until a mark bloomed red against your skin, exactly where he wanted it.
He pulled back just far enough to look at it. Something satisfied moved across his face.
"There," he said quietly before he pressed his face back into your skin and groaned like you were killing him.
You didn't fully register the part where you moved from the door to your bed. Clothes came off in piecesâhis shirt somewhere by the desk, your jeans a problem that took both of you longer than it should have, both of you half laughing for about three seconds before his mouth found your throat and the laughing stopped. The sheets felt cold against your back when you finally went down. Rafayel was all heat, hovering over you, weight braced on one arm, looking down at you with the same burning eyes that had been watching you from across that library for the better part of an hour.
He'd shed his pants and underwear at some point. He was fully hard, thick and leaking, a bead of moisture gathered at the tip that made your stomach flip because you remembered what he'd looked like three nights ago, damp fabric, clenched jaw and eyes that couldn't look away from you.
He parted your thighs and settled between them. He'd painted you in his head a hundred times in the last three days. He kept going back to the image of you spread open and wanting, the way you'd looked when you were right at the edge. He'd tried to work through it. Picked up a brush, stared at a blank canvas, put the brush down. Made coffee. Stared at his phone. Almost texted you seventeen times.
He guided himself to your entrance, and Zayne's voice chose that exact moment to surface in his memory. "Shallow thrusts, angled up. You have to use your hips to angle the pressure up against the anterior wall with every thrust. And internal targeting alone isn't always enough. You'll need to add direct stimulation to her clitoris at the same time if you actually want her to cum."
He almost laughed. Instead he shifted his weight and looked at you with an expression that was equal parts focused and insufferable.
"I did some research..." he said.
"Raf..."
"For artistic purposes." He pressed forward, just barely, just enough to feel the heat of your pussy against the tip of his cock, and watched your face.
He let out a slow, shaking breath and pushed inside you.
The sound he made wasn't dignified. It was pulled out of him by the way you gripped himâtight and hotâyour body drawing him in like it had been waiting specifically for him. He sank all the way to the hilt, pelvis pressed flush against yours, and stayed there for a moment with his forehead dropped to your shoulder and his jaw locked so hard it ached.
He needed a second. Just one second.
You were clawing at his shoulders, nails dragging, and the sting of it helped him focus.
Pull back. Shallow. Angle up. Zayne's voice was sitting in the back of his skull like an annotation in the margin of a textbook. He wanted to be annoyed about it, but not right now, he was going to be annoyed about it later. Right now he pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, felt you clench around the tip of his dick like you were trying to keep him inside, and thrusted back in with his hips tilted up.
The sound you made rattled something loose in his chest.
He felt it, the moment the angle caught, the way your whole body seized around him, legs snapping tight around his waist and heels digging into the small of his back trying to pull him deeper. He'd hit it exactly. The spot Xavier had worked open with his fingers three nights ago, and the memory of watching thatâwatching you cum for Xavierâmade something possessive and dark curl through him.
It was his turn now.
He reached down between your bodies, fingers sliding through the slick until his thumb found your clit, swollen and twitching, and pressed down.
"Is thatâ" His voice broke halfway through the question. He cleared his throat, face burning. "Is that it?"
You answered by moaning his name, which he was choosing to take as a yes.
He kept the same rhythm, thumb working circles around your clit. Your walls fluttering around him in little pulses was making it extremely difficult to think. He had to remind himself several times that he was an artist. He had the patience. He was going to make you cum and squirt just like Xavier did.
His hands were shaking again.
"I've got you," he pressed his mouth to your temple, your cheek, wherever he could reach. "I've got you, I've got you, cutie"
He picked up the pace slowly, maintaining the angle through sheer stubbornness. The sounds filling the room were obsceneâwet and unavoidableâand Rafayel didn't care about any of it because you were falling apart underneath him and he couldn't look away from your face.
He'd painted a lot of things. Spent years chasing the right light, the right color, the right moment that made something ordinary look like it meant something. He'd never painted anything that looked like you did right now and he was already furious at himself because he knew he would never be able to.
He drove into you harder, felt the headboard knock once against the wall, and decided he didn't care.
"You're so tight," he choked out, the words barely making it past his teeth, pressed into the wet skin of your neck. His lips dragged down to your collarbone, teeth grazing, and his thumb kept its pressure on your clit without mercy. "You keep...fuck...every time I hit it you...It feels so good"
The pressure was building fast, coiling low in your abdomen, that same terrifying weight you'd felt under Xavier's fingersâexcept this was different, this was Rafayel, his chest against yours and his mouth on your throat and you couldn't think about anything else.
You bore down without thinking, muscles releasing the way Zayne had told you to, pushing back against him, and Rafayel made a sound against your neck that was almost pained.
"Raf...please, I'm gonna..."
"Don't hold it, cutie. Give it to me" he whispered right against your ear.Â
A rush of heat soaked the sheets beneath you as you cried his name into the quiet room. Not a whisper. Not a gasp. His name, loud and completely undone.
Rafayel groaned like something in him gave way.
Whatever control he'd been holding ontoâthe careful rhythm, the patience, the angle, all of it, shattered the second he felt you cum around him. He buried himself as deep as he could go and followed you over the edge, shaking, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he poured into you in long spurts.
He collapsed onto your chest.
His heart was slamming against your ribs, your fingers were tangled in his hair from some point you couldn't remember. The room was quiet except for both of you trying to remember how lungs worked.
His lips moved against your collarboneÂ
"I sketched you. In the library today. While you weren't looking." His fingers traced something slow and shapeless against your ribs. "You looked like you were carrying something heavy." A breath. "I wanted to take it from you.â
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