Imagine Zayne who teases you with his fingers under the table during a dinner party, maybe even a ceremony of some sorts. Only to act like a perfect gentleman when someone asks him to pass the salt.
Apologies if a couple of these got sent twice. Tumblr gave me an error when I first sent them, so I sent them again. But when I later opened the app again, it suddenly showed that I had sent them both again. 🤦🏼♀️
Zayne looked exactly the way everyone expected him to.
Impeccably dressed, perfectly composed, seated beside you at a table draped in white linen and sparkling crystal. Someone was telling a long story that had already lost half the room's attention, yet Zayne still listened with the same polite focus he gave everything. He nodded when appropriate and offered a quiet smile at the right moments.
No one would have guessed what was happening beneath the table.
His hand rested on your bare thigh.
At first it was innocent, then his thumb began moving in slow, absent circles, and suddenly you couldn't hear a single word of the conversation around you.
You stared straight ahead, determined not to react, but every pass of his thumb made it harder to focus.
When his hand moved higher, pulling your dress up along the way, you nearly forgot how to breathe.
You tightened your grip around your napkin and forced yourself to keep a neutral expression. Around you, glasses clinked, silverware scraped softly against plates, and conversation flowed without interruption. The normalcy of it only made the situation worse.
You risked a glance in his direction. Big fucking mistake.
Zayne wasn't even looking at you.
His attention was fixed on the guests speaking across the table, his expression calm and attentive. There was a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. The smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
His hand moved higher, his finger reaching the edge of your panties until a voice cut through the conversation.
"Zayne, dear? Could you pass the salt?" the woman across from him held out her hand expectantly.
Instantly, his touch disappeared and you nearly sagged with relief.
"Of course."
His voice was smooth and pleasant. He picked up the silver shaker, passed it across the table, and offered one of those warm smiles that made people think he was incapable of causing trouble.
The woman thanked him and everything returned to normal, for at least three seconds before Zayne shifted slightly in his chair.
His shoulder brushed yours.
Without turning his head, without breaking from the discussion now happening beside him, his hand found your thigh again as though it had never left.
This time, a slow hook of his pinky caught the edge of your panties, dragging the fabric to the side, just enough to clear a path. Your breath choked in your throat as his index and middle fingers pressed directly over your pussy, slowly parting your lips.
The quiet breath through his nose told you everything you need to know.
He wasn't going to stop. He was going to make you cum right there, forcing you to take his fingers while everyone else ate, completely oblivious that the most respectable man in the room was ruining you under the table.
Don't worry anon friend, I LOVE LOVE LOVE your ideas. I'm going to write something short for each one when I can. Thank you for sending me your horny thoughts😘🩷❤️
He stops writing on your chart at the words. Zayne knows you well enough to know that this conversation isn't for Dr. Zayne, so he sets aside the clipboard and gives you his full attention.
"See...the Association offers an all-included week long vacation for all it's employees and their p-partners." You shoot him a pointed look, to which he nods. His eyes dart back to his papers, scanning them.
"I see. And because of your condition, you need a note from me. I'd be happy to provide one for you. I...didn't know you were seeing anyone."
"W-well that's the thing. I'm not. But I'm sure you might...have some spare vacation days."
A long moment goes by. Long enough that your throat goes dry and your heart starts to hammer in your chest. Oh god, this was a stupid idea. Maybe if you pray hard enough, a wanderer will spawn and kill you now, just to free you from the awkwardness.
"Are you suggesting we go together? Isn't being romantically involved a prerequisite?" His fingers interlock, resting on the desk as he stares at you. But he hasn't said no yet, so you press on.
"We could just pretend! It's not like we have to do anything. And I figured you might enjoy some time off! You work more than I do." You smile in what you hope to be a collected manner, but probably comes off more insane.
"I'll check my schedule. Is that all?"
You try not to openly deflate. Of course he wouldn't want to come. Why would he want to spend a week pretending to be your boyfriend for a vacation he could take whenever he wanted?
You're still moping later that evening, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone to take your mind off your humiliation when it buzzes with a text.
Zayne: I have a week's worth of vacation to take at any time. When do we leave?
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 😝
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."
Wear these around them and they won’t be able to keep their hands to themselves… hot take??
Sexy slips and matching sets = Zayne, Rafayel
Oversized Tees and Moo-Moos = Xavier
A lil bit of both = Caleb, Sylus
Now this is not saying Xavier wouldn’t be into it if you showed up wearing a lacy set of lingerie. Nor is it saying Zayne wouldn’t pop a hard on coming home from a shift to see you sprawled in bed in one of his oversized tees. But like, do you guys understand what m’sayin?
abstract: your boyfriend just does things that makes your heart flutter and your panties dampen <3
ft. rafayel, sylus, zayne, xavier, caleb
cw: insp by the tiktok trend ; fluff + smut; body worship, somno, riding, fingering | [implied short reader with caleb + chubby reader w/ rafayel; implied yandere! caleb] - unedited <3
⊹ ࣪ ˖ rafayel qi ; the way he’s so clingy
whenever rafayel manages to get some time with you, of course he's going to be clingy. his arms are going to be glued around your plush tummy for the whole time he's lounging around with you. his head resting on your shoulder while doing any task with you in front of him. even when he paints, he'd have you sitting between his legs or on his lap, one hand caressing and rubbing circles on your love handles or plush thighs, while the other focuses on the canvas in front of him.
but of course, his clinginess isn't only limited outside the bedroom. and that alone, gets you so turned on.
"shh, don't run away. stay w'me..." he'd whine, an arm wrapped around your tummy and only tightening the more you arched your back away from him. it was tortuous—absolutely insane. normally, he'd be sassy with it, still having a little bit of a joking tone, but when he's fucking you, holding your leg up while he bullies his cock inside you from the side, he turns so needy and clingy, and you fucking love it.
"so pretty... so gorgeous... c'mon, i like it when you're close to me..."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ sylus qin ; the way he moves you gently by your waist
even though you're at a stage in your relationship where you're comfortable with everything sylus does, you still find your heart beat faster every time sylus gently moves you by your waist to get you out of his way.
"move, sweetheart." he'd speak so smoothly while he just moves you so gently, so . of course you'd be acting all shy and flustered. but oh, even when you two have sex, his touches just hold so much weight.
he’d be sitting on one of his elaborate chairs, with you propped up on his lap grinding against his cock before he could ever be inside you. then, even when you try to sink down on him, sylus would have his hands on your hips, slowly pushing you down and helping while you cried out.
“don’t cry, pretty girl. shhh, don’t cry…” you’d be clinging onto him, arms wrapped around him while you could feel him fill you up—and not even being able to take all of him. you would be struggling, but of course, he’d help you. he'd angle his own hips, slightly slouch while keeping the hold on you firm while slowly slamming you onto him. and then when you choose to move your hips all sensually in figure-8s, his light touches would continue and he would rub circles on your skin—a contrast to how he'd move you.
"shit...yeah, sweetheart. keep moving those hips like that."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ zayne li ; the way he lifts his sleeves up + holds eye contact
you know that zayne gets busy as a doctor. but you can't help but just stare at he way he lifts his sleeves up whenever he has a demanding task. you really can't help but stare at the way his arms. the way that the veins on his forearms would be more evident every time he flexed without even knowing how that affected you.
"you know, some people try to be more subtle when they stare." he’d say something like that, because of course zayne pays attention to how you’d stare. he'd notice how you'd look away or how your expression would falter every time he held eye contact with you. you just got flustered over everything.
oh and it's especially even hotter when he enacts on his observations.
"so impatient for me, aren't you?"
he’d roll up his sleeves, crouching down while you’d sit on his desk, panties pulled down while he played with your pussy. he would be rubbing on your clit with one hand and thrusting his pretty fingers with the other; a slightly flustered expression would grace his face. but god, every time he did so, every time he would do that, he would look up at you and hold eye contact, wanting to see your cute little reactions as he ruined you on his desk.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ xavier shen ; the way his voice gets when he wakes up
there's something about the way that xavier's voice gets every time he wakes up beside you. maybe it's the way that it's much quieter and deeper than usual, or that hot vocal fry that adds onto his usually meek voice. he can get quite clingy, especially in the morning, but the way he says things when he barely wakes up—the way he speaks so gently, makes you so flustered.
"shh... just 3 more minutes. let me just hold you for a bit more." he'd snuggle up against you, muttering some weak pleas on how he doesn't want to get out of this position with you just yet. and same thing for morning sex…
“don’t wanna get out of this position…” he’d have you in pronebone, with his arms caging you and yours wrapped around his neck while he’d slowly fuck you, his body and weight pressed against you. the both of you would still be half asleep, clinging onto each other under the covers.
maybe if you were in a hurry, you’d yelp a little ‘we have to get up!’, but your pleas would fall upon deaf ears.
“mmm..not yet.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ caleb xia ; the way he would condescendingly tease you
the nickname he's implaced upon you being 'pipsqueak' is teasing and condescending enough, but sometimes when he's feeling really sassy, caleb just keeps going with that. it's bad enough that he's taller than you, but he would just crouch down—a smile etched on his face and speak with a tone that was laced with playful malice.
"mhm? yeah? how nice." and of course, even with that dark tone and accompanying mocking smile, your heart just does a little leap in your chest; you can't help it, despite him doing so just to mess with you. something is too high up? he'd mess with you with a 'awh, can't reach up and get it?'
but when you have sex, that condescending tone gets worse; his teasing overall gets worse. "awh, pips. can't take it, huh? c'mon sweet girl... you can do it, can't you?"
even in the most basic position like missionary, it's hard to get away from whatever remarks he might make, but regardless, it was still hot. just the way he would slam into you, pressing your tummy bulge hard with his free hand while he held your hand with his other, tangling your fingers together.
oh god... he was mean. you would be crying and he’d have such a dark look on his face, relishing in the fact that he’s the only one to have you like this.
because he knows damn well you like that.
-
-
-
a/n: first lads post ever... what do we think...? (i'm so fucking scared i'm a baby lads fan i'm not that seasoned yet...)
mmm thinking about exhausted, med-school student Zayne who needs money bad but doesn't want to bother his parents. His favorite pass time is jacking off because it puts him right to sleep after a really tense shift putting in hours upon hours of unpaid interning. Then it finally clicks for him one night as he's tryna rub one out while revisiting an old cardiology textbook... he could become a camboy.
mmmm but I don't wanna share any more of my thoughts because @zaynezone is writing Sylus angst (¬⤙¬,,)
Fucking sp did it again they removed sakura from the flower scene and made sarada do it in dropping the anime I'll come back when Sasuke comes why do they do this shit I do not understand
At this point, I've kinda become desensitised to SP's bullshit, so all I can really say is 🤷♂️. I could try and look on the bright side and say that at least they made it clear that Sakura was the one who ordered those flowers for Sasuke, so the overall message from that scene essentially remains the same. But what was the point in changing it? Why remove Sakura from the scene? It just makes no fucking sense. Regarding the 4th ask, Sasuke most definitely wasn't in the village, so I'm really not sure what that person is talking about.
Honestly, I'm surprised it's taken you this long to reach that conclusion. I mean, I certainly watch more anime than I read manga, but when it comes to truly understanding the story, it's always been manga > anime supremacy. Adaptations can't always fully include everything from the source material, and even when they can, you get studios like Pierrot changing things for no reason anyway.
Sylus: it's not like he doesn't hold your whole hand (he insists on doing so, even), it's just... that holding such a tiny part of you, that's unwilling to let him go, it's almost electrifying. If you seek his pinky first, he won't admit it, but the tip of his ears gets a little red.
Caleb: holding your hand is also a natural thing for Caleb, and you've been doing it since you were kids. While crossing the street, taking a walk in the park, or simply watching TV together, somehow your or his hand reached for the other's. But as you two grew up, holding hands became more intimate in the eyes of others. So, when you two wanted to avoid awkward questions or looks, you'd seek each other's pinkies and discreetly keep each other close.
Playful headbutts
Zayne: while waiting in line or standing close to each other, he suddenly leans his body to the side and gives your head a little bump, looking straight all the time. It's a cutesy way to kill boredom and, if you do the same, he smiles a little. It doesn't matter if you can only reach his shoulder or his head, bumping into each other is somehow amusing for him.
Xavier: he does it the most when he wants your attention. Let's say you're both drinking with colleagues, and you've been distracted or too engrossed with your friend's chatter, that's the moment when you feel a little bump from your side. He'd be looking at you with doe eyes while his hand supports his head. He wants you to look at him sooo bad, and it works. He also does it when you're sitting together on the bed or couch, it's past your bedtime and he quietly reminds you to go rest.
Hip bumps
Rafayel: also a way to kill boredom, or to tease you. He does it the most when you're both in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth or hair. Starts with a gentle push, barely swaying your body, but of course you push him back, so it escalates. Never strong enough to make you fall, but enough to make you stumble a couple of steps as you lose balance. Loooves and bursts out laughing if you get mad and rely on actually pushing him with your arms.
Randomly play fight
Caleb: another habit from childhood. You want to tickle him, he defends himself, you grab each other's hands, push and pull, he tries to make you trip a little with his legs (he always catches you !!), you pull his arm, and suddenly he has you pinned down on the bed/sofa, both of you giggling. While growing up, he might've accidentally hurt you, something you laughed off because you knew it wasn't intentional, but he still learnt to measure his strength around you.
Poke you out of nowhere
Xavier: it's his version of play fights. Since he likes to pull pranks, he tends to poke the small of your back when you're distracted, sometimes making you yelp, then your sides or cheeks. It can turn into a tickle war easily.
Rafayel: pokes your shoulder and acts as if he doesn't know anything, and somehow it always works because he only does it at his exhibitions, so there are a lot of people who randomly pat your shoulder to get your attention, but when he is barely containing his giggles, that's when you smack his arm.
Sakura is an incredibly over hated character and i think it comes down to two things.
1- she’s in a trio with the protagonist and the deuteragonist while not being a main character herself but people still hold her to those standards. she’s a side character and is a fairly well developed side character but if you start expecting her to have the journey and the growth of the other 2 you’re going to be disappointed and think she falls flat but it’s not fair to compare her to them in the first place. don’t get me wrong i wish she had the same opportunity to be explored, i think instead of road to ninja we should’ve had a Sakura heavy story but as is she is still a side character but people hold it against her that she isn’t as well developed as the other 2.
2- she never folded in her feelings for Naruto and that is her most unforgivable crime to a lot of the dudebro anime/manga lovers. even her confession seemed to come more out of desperation because the person she actually wanted seemed out of reach and she was trying to make herself like the one she’s supposed to like, he’s the hero after all but her heart was never in it. Sakura is the closest thing to a heroine in Naruto and she chooses his rival in the end and that breaks the fantasy for a lot of those guys.
Grand Duke!Zayne and you are so loud during sex that there is an unofficial consensus among the staff to avoid your wing at night completely, and most of the times during day after finishing essential housekeeping💀;
The heavy oak door to your chambers had barely clicked shut before Zayne's lips found your neck, his large hands already working at the laces of your nightgown.
"You're impatient tonight, Your Grace," you breathed, though you made no move to stop him.
"Hush." His voice was a low rumble against your skin. "I've been in council meetings for six hours listening to the old baron droning about grain taxes. Let me have this."
It doesn't take long till both your moans shadow the ominous creaking of the bed and the rattling of various ornaments in the room.
...
Your two handmaidens, Elara and Mina, look up as they hear the noise, before facing each other and shaking their heads, scurrying out before they traumatise their poor ears.
"I swear by the gods," Mina whispered, her cheeks flushed crimson even as she pressed a hand to her chest, "last week I went up to fetch my embroidery scissors. I forgot he'd returned from the border. The things I heard..."
Elara winced. "How long did it take you to recover?"
"Three days. I walked past the door at the wrong moment." Mina's voice dropped to a horrified hush.
They rounded the corner into the servants' stairwell, where the stone walls offered blessed, deadened silence.
"The new stable boy asked me yesterday why no one goes to the east wing after supper," Elara said, adjusting her wimple. "I told him it was being renovated."
"Renovated." Mina let out a choked laugh. "That's one word for it."
...
Down in the kitchen, the cook had taken to serving late-night tea with a knowing look and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder for any servant who emerged from the upper floors looking particularly haunted. The head housekeeper had a rotation schedule that mysteriously exempted the entire eastern corridor from evening duties. Even the guards had been known to draw straws for who had to walk the night patrol past the Grand Duke's chambers.
"The chandelier," one guard had whispered to another just last week, his face pale. "I watched it swaying. And no windows were open."
...
Upstairs, oblivious to the quiet terror they had inspired among the staff, Zayne's hand braced against the headboard as the bed (solid oak, reinforced twice by a skeptical carpenter) protested loudly beneath you two.
"Ah...Zayne...the bed..." He drove deeper, hooked his hips just so, and your warning dissolved into a sound that would have made a nun blush to the tip of her toes.
"Don't worry about the bed, my duchess," Zayne growls against your throat. "It's not more valuable than your pleasure."
He hikes your leg up higher over his shoulder and thrusts deeper, dissolving whatever you were about to say into a loud moan.
...
There is a thud and a sprinkle of plaster and ash, and a porcelain vase wobbling dangerously close to the edge of its console table, and your handmaidens, chef and two of the night guards stare at each other awkwardly.
"Do you think," whispered Elara, "they realize we can hear them from the kitchen?"
Mina finishes her tea, and produces a pack of earplugs "Not if I can help it. Take some, and goodnight." she stuffs two into her own and walks back to her quarters.
I realized something about Sakura haruno that no one talks about is that her character is often judged through extremes instead of being understood as a progression-driven character who evolves in uneven but very human ways.
A lot of people reduce her early portrayal in Naruto to “useless” or “annoying,” but that misses how deliberately she’s written as someone whose starting point is emotional insecurity, not competence. She isn’t introduced as powerful or naturally gifted like Naruto or Sasuke; she’s introduced as intellectually capable but socially and emotionally unrefined, which already sets up a different kind of growth trajectory.
What makes her arc interesting is that her weaknesses aren’t just “combat skill issues,” they’re identity issues. Early Sakura doesn’t really know how to define herself outside of attachment, first to Sasuke, then to the idea of being useful, and later to the responsibility of being a kunoichi. That makes her struggles feel more psychological than purely physical.
The Sasuke fixation is often criticized, but it also functions as a narrative anchor for her early development. It’s less about romance in a mature sense and more about misplaced emotional dependence. Over time, that attachment becomes something she has to outgrow, and the series slowly forces her to confront the fact that admiration without self-definition doesn’t lead to growth.
Her turning point is subtle rather than sudden. Instead of one clean “power-up moment,” she accumulates shifts in mindset, especially after the Chunin Exams and the Sasuke Retrieval Arc. Even when she fails to keep up physically, she starts recognizing her limitations in a way that pushes her toward a different kind of strength-building.
When she trains under Tsunade, the direction of her character finally changes in a concrete way. This isn’t just about becoming stronger; it’s about choosing a role where her intelligence, precision, and emotional control actually matter. Medical ninjutsu isn’t just a power upgrade, it’s a redefinition of what “strength” means for her specifically.
One underrated aspect of Sakura is how she becomes one of the few characters who actively bridges the gap between frontline combat and battlefield support. While Naruto and Sasuke are framed as destructive and offensive forces, Sakura’s value increasingly comes from preservation, recovery, and precision under pressure, which is just as important in the war context.
Her emotional development also becomes more grounded in responsibility rather than desire. Instead of chasing someone else’s approval or identity, she starts operating with a clearer internal compass. That shift is gradual, and it doesn’t erase her earlier flaws, it reframes them as part of her starting point rather than her definition.
Even her moments of hesitation or emotional intensity later on don’t contradict her growth; they highlight that she’s still human under pressure. She doesn’t become a detached or flawless strategist, she becomes someone who can act despite fear and emotional weight, which is a different kind of maturity than stoicism.
By the time of the later arcs, Sakura’s strength is less about whether she can “keep up” with Naruto and Sasuke and more about how she fits into a system where not everyone is meant to be a god-tier fighter. Her role becomes more grounded, and that grounding is often misread as underdevelopment when it’s actually specialization.
What gets overlooked most is that Sakura’s narrative isn’t about becoming equal to Naruto and Sasuke in raw power, but about redefining relevance in a world where power scaling dominates the story. She represents a different axis of contribution: healing, endurance, coordination, and survival under extreme conditions.
Ultimately, Sakura’s character works best when viewed as a long-term reconstruction of identity rather than a traditional “rise to power” arc. She starts uncertain, builds competence through discipline, and ends up with a role that is intentionally different from the main combatants, which is exactly why her arc feels divisive but also more layered than it first appears.
