new relationship | domestic fluff | first night together
- i have so much in my drafts it isn’t even funny
Zayne had prepared for this. For the possibility of you staying the night.
He had prepared for it in the same way he prepared for everything else: thoroughly, logically, and with an almost unreasonable amount of attention to detail.
The bathroom had been cleaned twice. There was a fresh towel folded neatly on the counter. A spare toothbrush sat beside the sink. A new tube of toothpaste. A glass. A hair tie.
He had even moved his skincare products to one side so you would have enough room for your things.
And then there was the bedroom. The sheets had been changed. The thermostat had been adjusted to what he remembered was your preferred temperature.
There was an extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed. A glass of water sat on the nightstand.
Along with a small dish containing two pieces of chocolate because you once mentioned, offhandedly, that you liked having something sweet before bed.
Zayne stared at the arrangement before glancing at the clock, then back. Something was wrong. He couldn’t determine what. His phone buzzed.
You: I’m downstairs!
His stomach dropped. Zayne stared at the message. He had operated on patients with steadier hands than the ones he currently had.
He typed.
WebMD: I’ll be down shortly.
He deleted it. Typed again.
WebMD: Coming.
Deleted that too.
Eventually, he settled on:
WebMD: I’ll open the door.
He stared at it. Why had he sent that? It was his apartment. Of course he was going to open the door. He set his phone down. Picked it back up. Checked the message. Then put it away again.
Zayne exhaled slowly as the doorbell rang. He was a doctor. He was an adult.
He was perfectly capable of opening his own front door without behaving like he was about to sit for an examination.
He opened it and promptly forgot every thought he’d had. You stood there with an overnight bag hanging from one shoulder.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
There was a pause.
You smiled which caused him to look at you for a second too long.
“You’re staring.”
“I know.”
At least he was aware, right? That makes it less weird. Thankfully, you seemed to have found it endearing and just laughed.
Zayne stepped aside, “Come in.”
You walked past him and stopped just a few steps in. Your eyes traveled around the apartment. Everything looked normal.
Suspiciously normal.
Except for the fact that there was a pair of new slippers waiting beside the entrance.
You looked down at them, “Are those for me?”
“Yes.” He replied too quickly.
Your eyebrows lifted.
“I think they’re rather small to be mine.” Zayne glanced at the slippers. “They’re house slippers.”
“You bought me house slippers?”
“They were practical.”
You picked them up. They were soft. And your favorite color.
You looked at him suspiciously.
“You remembered my favorite color.”
“I remember most things you tell me.” There was something about the way he said it that made your expression soften, like he was swearing it.
“Oh.”
Zayne looked away. He had suddenly become very interested in the door.
“Your bag.”
“I can carry it.”
“I know.” He reached for it anyway. “But let me.”
You let him take it, “You’re nervous.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” You smiled. You’d known Zayne long enough to know when he was spiraling in his head. “You’re doing the thing.”
His gaze returned to you. “What thing?”
“The thing where you pretend everything is completely normal while internally having a crisis.”
“I don’t have internal crises.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Fine,” He sighed. “Perhaps I’m a bit nervous.”
You followed him to the bedroom, then stopped again. Your eyes widened.
“Zayne.”
He glanced back.
“What?”
You took in the sight before you. The sheets were very evidently brand new and freshly washed, the new blanket still has a small plastic tab from the tag that had been on it. The chocolate and water on the nightstand were sat there as if to say, “welcome! welcome!”
Your voice softened, touched, “You bought my favorite chocolate.”
“You had it in your purse at the park last week.”
“I did?..”
“Yes, you gave me a piece.”
You stared at him. For some reason, that seemed to make him more nervous than anything else. He cleared his throat.
“If anything is uncomfortable, you can tell me.”
“Zayne.”
“Hmm?”
“This is already more preparation than I’ve had for some actual vacations.”
His mouth twitched, “That’s reassuring.”
“You really wanted me to be comfortable.”
“I always do.” The answer came quietly and with no hesitation.
You beamed, probably for the thousandth time since you showed up. “I am.”
His shoulders relaxed by the smallest amount “Good.”
He set your overnight bag down on top of the dresser as you looked around again.
“Oh, damn it!” You ran a hand down your face in realization, “I forgot my toothbrush!”
“I bought you one, don’t worry.”
“Why?”
He was silent for a moment, “Because you’re staying, and I knew you’d forget something.”
You blinked. Zayne looked toward the window. The city lights reflected faintly against the glass.
His voice was quieter when he continued, “And I wanted there to be something here that was yours.”
The room went still.
You could feel your chest practically caving in from the thoughtfulness of his actions, “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
Zayne sighed, “Do you think I overprepared?”
“Maybe a little.”
“A little?”
You walked closer, “Zayne.”
“Yes?”
“You bought me slippers. You bought a toothbrush. You went out and found my favorite chocolate.”
“Which is only sold in one store in Linkon, now I know where to take you on bad days.”
“And you changed your entire bed.”
“It was due.”
“Of course.”
He could tell you were teasing him based on your grin, and somehow, that made it easier. Until you reached for his hand. His fingers immediately tightened around yours.
“You really are nervous.”
He looked down at your connected hands, “I’m terrified.”
The honesty surprised you. You waited though he didn’t elaborate. So you squeezed his hand.
“It’s okay, Zaynie.”
His thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles, “I wanted everything to be perfect.”
“You don’t have to make everything perfect.”
“I know I don’t.”
“Then why did you?”
Zayne looked at you. For a moment, he seemed to consider giving you some sensible answer. Instead, he told the truth.
“Because this is the first time you’re staying here And I wanted your first night here to be a good one.”
Your smile grew, “It already is.”
He looked unconvinced. His brow furrowed as he thought, “When you stay again tomorrow, everything will seem less nerve induced.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“You’re assuming I’m coming back?”
“Are you not?” Zayne’s expression went completely serious. “I was hoping you would come after work. Perhaps we could make dinner together instead of ordering take out.”
Your smile softened, “I will.” A small laugh managed to escape you, “You’re unbelievable.”
“How so? I thought I was being sweet.”
“You were. You were hoping I’d stay again before I’d even stayed once.”
He didn’t answer. Which was answer enough. You stepped closer and rested your head against his shoulder. Zayne went still for a millisecond. Then, slowly, his arm came around you.
You smiled against his shirt. “I’m glad I’m staying.”
His hand settled gently at your back. “So am I.”
There was a comfortable silence.
Then you lifted your head, “One more question.”
“What’s that?”
“Did you already order take out?”
He paused, “Not yet. That part I waited for you to choose.”
You laughed and he closed his eyes. That sound had become his favorite over the past two months you’ve been together.
Zayne looked at you. Then at the perfectly prepared room. Then back at you.
For all his planning, all his lists, all his careful preparation, this was the one thing he hadn’t accounted for..
How having you there would finally make his apartment feel like home.
how the love and deepspace LIs would react to you getting ready for girls’ night.
cw: you threaten valko w/ a shock collar
₊˚⊹♡ 𝓧𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓮𝓻 ♡⊹˚₊
He knows about girls’ night because you mentioned it once three days ago.
Somehow, he remembers the exact time you said you’d leave.
When you start getting ready, he watches from the couch with sleepy curiosity.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Girls’ night.”
“…Oh.” He nods like this is extremely important information, as if it isn’t embedded in his brain already. Then, ten minutes later, “Do you need a ride?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Five minutes later, “Do you need me to pick you up later?”
“Xavier.”
“Just asking.”
He genuinely isn’t worried. He just wants to know you’ll get home safely.
But when you finally walk out the door, he quietly checks the time.
And then proceeds to fall asleep waiting for you to come home.
₊˚⊹♡ 𝓩𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮 ♡⊹˚₊
Zayne immediately becomes the unofficial girls’ night logistics coordinator.
“What time are you leaving?”
“Around seven.”
“And when do you expect to be home?”
“I don’t know.”
He gives you a look.
“That’s not a time.”
You can’t help but laugh.
“I’ll text you.”
“Good.”
He notices you’d forgotten to eat dinner while getting ready.
“Have something before you leave.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He silently puts something easy to eat beside you.
“You can take it with you.”
He also checks the weather and reminds you to bring a jacket. You stare at him.
“I’m going out with my friends, not into battle.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why are you acting like my father?”
“Apparently someone has to.”
He says it completely seriously, but he’s trying not to grin. Just before you walk out the door,
“And message me when you get there.”
₊˚⊹♡ 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓵 ♡⊹˚₊
Absolutely cannot cope with the concept of girls’ night.
He thinks it’s deeply unfair that he’s not invited.
“Why can’t I come?”
“Because it’s GIRLS’ night.”
“I can be quiet.”
“That’s a good joke, Raf”
He watches you get ready with increasing disbelief.
“You’re really leaving me here?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“You’ll survive.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Suddenly he’s following you around the apartment.
“What time are you coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if something happens?”
“Call emergency services, but they’ll just ask you if you’re being dramatic again like they did last time.. And the time before.”
“What if I miss you?”
“You’ll survive that too.”
He dramatically flops onto the couch. “You’re a cruel cutie.”
You leave.
Thirty seconds later, your phone buzzes.
Fishstick: Have fun.
Fishstick: But I think you’re making a terrible mistake.
Fishstick: You could have stayed here and admired me instead.
₊˚⊹♡ 𝓢𝔂𝓵𝓾𝓼 ♡⊹˚₊
He takes one look at the outfit and immediately knows you’re going out.
“Girls’ night?”
“Yep.”
“Have fun, sweetie.” That’s it.
No interrogation or complaints. No dramatic sighing. He watches you get ready while casually sipping his drink.
Until you ask, “Do I look okay?”
His eyes travel over your outfit, “You look prepared.”
“Prepared?”
“For whatever nonsense your friends have planned.”
You laugh. Before you leave, he casually reminds you, “Keep your phone charged.”
“It is.”
“Good.”
“That’s all?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Would you prefer a speech?”
“No.”
“Then enjoy yourself.”
And somehow the complete lack of fuss makes it even sweeter. He trusts you to have fun without making you feel guilty for leaving. Besides, Mephisto will be watching.
“My coat’s by the door, take it.”
₊˚⊹♡ 𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓫 ♡⊹˚₊
Caleb is WAY too enthusiastic about girls’ night.
“Oh! You’re going out?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“With the girls.”
“Which girls?”
“Caleb.”
“I’m just asking!”
He immediately starts helping with your hair. “Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“Money?”
“I’m good.”
“Phone charger?”
“Good.”
“Ride?”
“Already arranged.”
“Snacks?”
“Caleb.”
“What?” He eventually gives up and sits on the couch.
But when you walk past him ready to leave, he gives you an approving nod, “Have a good time, pipsqueak.” Then, follows with, “And don’t let them convince you to do anything stupid.”
“You mean like what?”
“I don’t know. Whatever girls do.”
“You sound eighty.”
“I’m being responsible.”
He texts a million times later:
CaBoom: You having fun?
CaBoom: Everything okay?
CaBoom: Need anything yet?
He tries to pretend he’s not waiting for the inevitable “I’m almost home” text.. And like he isn’t watching your location all night. Pulled up on the TV and everything. He’s so proud that he stuck that little tracker to your clip.
₊˚⊹♡ 𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓸 ♡⊹˚₊
Valko doesn’t ask many questions. He sees the makeup, outfit, and general chaos happening around him and immediately understands.
“Girls’ night.”
“Yep.”
“Good, you need a night with your friends.” That’s basically the entire conversation, until he notices you’re rushing. “You’re forgetting something, pup.”
“What?” You start checking your bag.
He points toward the table, “Your charger.”
“…Oh.” He gives you that I knew you’d forget look as you grab it. “Thanks, Ko.”
“Mm. Have fun.”
You turn around. “That’s it?”
“What else?”
“I don’t know. You’re supposed to act dramatic.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re supposed to miss me.”
He pauses, “You’ll be back later.”
“Wow. Romantic.”
“You asked.”
You laugh and leave. He watches the door close. But an hour later?
Kokonut: i was playing it cool, come home :(
Kokonut: PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE
Kokonut: i’m going to watch your show without you.
You: omw. touch the episodes and i’ll put a shock collar on you.
xavier tries secretly decorating for your birthday
- i somehow only just discovered that i share a birthday with caleb, woooo
Xavier had a plan.
It was a very good plan. Very carefully constructed and incredibly thoughtful. Your birthday was tomorrow, and he’d spent the entire afternoon decorating his apartment for you.
Nothing too extravagant. Just enough. A few balloons. Fairy lights around the windows. Your favorite snacks arranged neatly on the coffee table. A little cake he’d ordered from the bakery you liked.
And, tucked carefully behind the couch, a present wrapped in paper he’d spent far too long choosing.
Everything was perfect. Until he heard a knock. Xavier froze. He looked around the apartment.
“…No.”
Another knock. He hurried toward the door, hoping whoever it was would leave. Then he heard your voice.
“Xavier?”
His heart dropped and. you opened the door before he could answer.
“Hey!”
He stood there. You smiled. He stared. Your eyes drifted past him, immediately drawn the balloons.
Then the lights. Then the cake. Then the suspiciously wrapped present.
You slowly looked back at him.
“…What’s all this?”
Xavier’s mind went completely blank, “Nothing!”
You looked around.
“Nothing?”
“Yes.”
You pointed at the balloon floating behind him.
“That’s a balloon.”
He glanced over his shoulder.
“What balloon?..”
You laughed.
“Xavier.”
“You weren’t supposed to see this yet.” He sighed.
Your smile widened.
“See what?”
He looked at you.
“…Happy birthday.”
You blinked.
“Tomorrow is my birthday.”
“I know.”
“So you were decorating early?”
He nodded. You stepped farther inside. There were little handwritten notes tucked around the room. One on the coffee table. Beside the cake. Attached to a balloon.
You picked one up.
The sky had thousands of stars, somehow, I still only notice one.
Your heart melted.
“You wrote these?”
“Yes.”
You looked at him.
“Xavier.”
“I wanted everything to be ready.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
You smiled. “You’re really sweet.”
He looked away.
“I just wanted you to have a nice birthday.”
You stepped closer.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“This is probably the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me.” His cheeks turned pink.
“…Really?”
“Really.”
You wrapped your arms around him. He immediately relaxed into the hug. After a moment, he murmured against your hair.
“You’re still not supposed to be here.”
You laughed, “I came for my sweater.” He blinked. “Your sweater?”
“The one I left here.”
“Right,” He pointed toward the bedroom.
You headed that way. Then stopped.
“Wait.” You turned around. “Did you buy my favorite snacks?” Xavier said nothing. He looked at the ceiling and you laughed. “You really thought you could hide all this?”
“…I had a better plan before you arrived.”
You walked back over and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you.”
He smiled.
“You’re welcome.”
You grabbed your sweater from the bedroom. As you slipped it on, you looked around one more time.
“Xavier?”
“Hm?”
“You know you don’t have to make my birthday perfect, right?”
“I know.” He smiled softly. “I just wanted to make it special.”
Your heart squeezed. You walked back over and hugged him again. “Mission accomplished.”
He rested his chin on top of your head. “Good.”
You pulled away. “Okay. I’ll let you finish.”
He nodded as you walked toward the door. Then turned around once more. “Oh, and Xavier?”
“Yes?”
“I definitely didn’t see the present.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“You looked directly at it.”
“I saw nothing.”
“I’ll pretend I believe you.”
You smiled, “See you tomorrow, Xavi.”
“See you tomorrow.”
The door closed.
Xavier stood there for a moment then looked around his apartment at all his hard work. He’d expected to be upset that the surprise was ruined. But he was smiling.
drunk zayne | slightly comedic | married with children
- this is inspired by my sister telling me that her boyfriend got drunk, forgot that they’ve been dating for two years, and asked her on a first date again.
You knew something was off the moment the front door opened more hurriedly than normal.
He normally came home quietly. Shoes neatly placed by the door, coat hung up, keys placed in the little dish by the entrance.
Tonight?
His shoes were approximately three feet apart. His coat was hanging halfway off the coat rack. And Zayne was standing in the hallway staring at you.
You looked up from the couch.
“…Zayne?”
He blinked a few times as if surprised by your presence. Then smiled. A very soft, very sleepy smile.
“Hello.”
You stared at him, “You’ve been drinking.”
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
He frowned thoughtfully, “Maybe.”
You laughed.
“How much did you drink?”
“An appropriate amount.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He walked toward you with all the careful concentration of someone navigating a very complicated obstacle course.
When he reached the couch, he stopped. And stared at you again. You raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“You are very beautiful.” He smiled.
You immediately knew where this was going.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“You’re drunk.”
“Tipsy. Difference.”
He very carefully sat beside you. Then turned toward you with the solemn expression of someone about to discuss something incredibly important.
“I need to tell you something.”
You bit back a smile. “Okay.”
Zayne took a breath. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time.”
“Have you?”
“Yes.” He nodded seriously. “I’ve considered several appropriate ways to approach the subject.”
You glanced at the wedding ring on his finger. Then at yours.
“Right.”
“But I think honesty is best.”
“Probably.”
He reached over and took your hand. His thumb brushed over your wedding ring. He stared at it for a long moment but didn’t seem to truly register what it was.
“I love you.”
You smiled.
“I love you too.”
“No.”
You blinked. “No?”
“You don’t understand.” He leaned closer. “This is very serious.”
You had to press your lips together to stop yourself from laughing.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“I have fallen in love with you.”
You stared at him.
“…You’ve fallen in love with me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
He thought about it. “I’m not sure.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” His brows furrowed. “That’s the problem.”
You were starting to realize something. He had completely forgotten. Not who you were. Not your name. Not that he loved you.
He’d just somehow forgotten that the two of you had already crossed that bridge approximately a thousand times.
You decided not to tell him. Not yet. You deserved to bask in this a while longer.
“Go on,” you whispered.
Zayne squeezed your hand, “I think you’re extraordinary.”
Your heart softened.
“You make me want things I never thought I’d want.”
“Oh?”
“A family.”
You smiled.
Zayne continued, completely serious. “A home.” He paused. “Children.”
You glanced toward the hallway. Four little pairs of shoes were lined up by the door.
“You don’t think we already have those?”
He frowned. “…What?”
You nearly lost it. “Never mind.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied.
“I want to take care of you.”
“You do.”
“I want to come home and see you.”
“I hope so.”
“I want to wake up beside you.”
“You do that every morning.”
“I do?” He stared at you.
“Every morning.”
He considered this before a boyish smile lit up his face, “That sounds nice.”
You laughed softly.
“It is.”
He leaned closer. “And I want to kiss you.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve done that before.”
“I have?”
“Many times.”
“How many?”
You pretended to think.
“More than I can count.”
He looked genuinely impressed.
“I must be very fortunate.”
“You are.”
He looked down at your hands again.
Then his expression softened.
“Would you…” He hesitated, just as he had all those years ago. “Would you let me take you on a date?”
Your heart practically melted.
“A date?”
“Yes.”
“Where would you take me?”
“I haven’t decided.”
He frowned.
“But somewhere nice.”
“Sounds good.”
“And then,” He paused. “Perhaps, if you wanted, I could tell you again how much I love you.”
You smiled.
“You can tell me now.”
He looked directly into your eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
His smile was tiny now. Almost shy. Then he leaned against your shoulder. “You know…”
“Hm?”
“I think I want to marry you.”
You glanced down at his wedding ring.
“You think?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to see something?” You gently lifted his left hand.
His eyes followed. You pointed at the ring. He stared.
“When that happen?”
You burst out laughing. He looked at you as if you’d insulted him.
“What?”
“You’ve been wearing that for years.”
His eyes widened.
“Years?”
“Yes.”
He looked at you.
Then at the ring.
Then back at you.
“…Are we married?”
“Very much so.”
He stared at you for several seconds.
Then slowly smiled.
“That’s wonderful.”
You laughed.
“I’m glad you think so.”
He wrapped both arms around you and pulled you against his chest. “Then I suppose my confession was successful.”
You rested your cheek against him.
“Very.”
He was quiet for a moment, “Do we have children?”
You smiled.
“Four.”
His head lifted.
“Four?”
“Four.”
He stared at the hallway. There was a long silence.
“…That seems excessive.”
You laughed.
“You’re the one who wanted a family.”
“I did.. I do,” He looked at you as he smiled again. “I must really love you.”
“You do.”
He rested his head against yours.
After a moment, he whispered,
“I’d choose you again.”
Your smile softened.
“You already did.”
He closed his eyes.
“Good. Then will you marry me again tomorrow?”
You laughed.
“We’ll see.”
He hummed sleepily.
“I’ll ask you again in the morning.”
“You probably should.”
He tightened his arms around you.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“No.” His voice was quiet. Almost painfully sincere. “I really love you.”
You kissed his cheek.
“I know, Zayne. You tell me every day.”
And somewhere down the hallway, one of your children sleepily called out, “Mom? Is Dad proposing again?”
You covered your mouth to keep from laughing.
Zayne looked absolutely awed at the dark haired little girl peeking out of her bedroom, “She looks like you.”
You had been talking about getting a dog for months. Not casually, either. You had spreadsheets. Breed comparisons. Name lists. Pictures saved on your phone.
You had even once stopped in the middle of the sidewalk because you’d spotted a golden retriever across the street. Caleb had watched you practically melt.
“I want one,” you’d sighed.
“I know.”
“A lot.”
“Buuuut we’re never home.”
You groaned. That was the problem.
Between work, errands, and everything else, neither of you could give a dog the attention it deserved.
So, reluctantly, you’d accepted that now just wasn’t the right time.
You’d stopped bringing it up. Mostly. Caleb noticed.
So one evening, you came home to find him standing suspiciously in the living room.
“Hey.”
“Hiya, pipsqueak.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you standing like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re hiding something.”
“I’m not.”
You looked him up and down. Then you noticed the tail. You stared. Caleb stared back.
There was a fluffy clip-on tail attached to the back of his pants. And on his head—
A pair of floppy dog ears.
You slowly covered your mouth, “Caleb.”
He wiggled just enough to wag the tail, “Woof.”
You broke. A laugh escaped before you could stop it and he immediately grinned.
“It worked!”
“Oh my god.”
You were laughing so hard you had to lean against the couch.
Caleb crawled onto his hands and knees.
“Not even gonna ask if I want to go outside?”
“Stop!”
“What if I want treats?”
You were crying now.
“Caleb!”
He tilted his head, “You gonna call me a good boy?”
“You are NOT doing this.”
“Wooof.”
You buried your face in your hands.
He crawled closer and rested his head against your knee, “Pet me.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“Pet me.”
You reluctantly reached down and scratched between his fake ears. Caleb immediately closed his eyes.
“Good.”
“You bought this whole outfit?” You laughed again.
“I had to.”
“For me?”
“Obviously.” He opened one eye. “You’ve been wanting a dog for ages.”
Your smile softened as he wagged the tail again, very clearly enjoying it as much as you were.
“And since we can’t responsibly have one yet…you have me.”
You stared at him. Then burst out laughing.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot.”
He rested his head in your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, still smiling.
After a moment, Caleb looked up at you. “Does this mean I get a name?”
You thought about it.
“Caleb.”
“No. A dog name.”
“Hmm.”
You pretended to consider it seriously.
“Sir Barks-a-Lot.”
He looked offended. “Absolutely not.”
You laughed.
“Then you shouldn’t have asked.”
Both of you started laughing all over again.
Eventually, Caleb settled beside you on the couch, fake tail still clipped to his pants, dog ears slightly crooked.
You rested your head against his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
He smiled. “For what?”
“For making me laugh.”
He kissed the top of your head.
“Anytime.”
You glanced at the ears.
“…Can I keep those?”
He looked horrified.
“No.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause I’m the dog.”
You laughed.
“Fine.”
He wrapped an arm around you.
“And when we’re finally home enough for a real dog?”
You smiled.
“We’ll get one.”
Caleb grinned.
“Good.”
A pause.
“Can I name it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll name it something stupid.”
He gasped.
“I would never.”
You looked at the tail.
He looked at the tail.
“…Okay, maybe.”
You laughed and tucked yourself closer against him.
For tonight, at least, you had your dog.
He was just a little too tall, a little too human, and considerably more annoying than the one you’d eventually adopt.
CW: fem!reader, sub!sylus, forced submission (?), overstimulation, oral (both receiving), male masturbation, begging, use of mistress title, gun play, unprotected sex
Sylus froze mid-hipstroke, knuckles white against the headboard. His jaw was locked, but the sound had already escaped; a loud, involuntary yelp that hung in the air like a betrayed secret.
You pulled your mouth off his cock, slow and deliberate, and looked up. His face was a storm of red, all the way to the tips of his ears. His lips pressed in a thin line.
“Did you just—” you started.
“No,” he cut in, voice rough. “You heard nothing.”
But his thighs trembled. His chest heaved. And when you wrapped your hand around him again, just resting, just warm, he made a sound that was almost a whimper.
“Sylus.”
He flinched at his own name, like it stung. “Don’t.”
“What?” You tightened your grip, barely moving, and watched him arch off the bed. “Don’t make you feel good?”
He shook his head, but his hips betrayed him, pressing into your palm. You didn’t give. You held still until he let out a shaky breath.
“Say it,” you said softly.
“Say what?” His voice cracked.
“That you liked it. That you want more.”
He turned his face away, jaw tight. But his gentle hand found your wrist.
“Please,” he whispered, the word dragged out of him like a confession. “Don’t stop.”
You smiled and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the inside of his thigh. He shuddered. You took your time, trailing your mouth higher, feeling him tense with every touch.
When you finally took him back into your mouth, he gasped sharply. His fingers tangled in your hair. He was shaking now, undone, his pride crumbling inch by inch.
“That’s it,” you murmured against him, and he whimpered. “Let go.”
He came with a shudder, a low, wrecked groan that he tried to swallow but couldn’t. You swallowed too, slow, and pulled away to find him boneless, chest heaving, eyes wide and unfocused.
You didn't give him a second to recover. Your hand was still wrapped around him, slick and warm, and you started moving again—slow, torturous, right after he'd come. Sylus's whole body jerked.
“What are you—” His voice broke. His hips tried to buck away, but you held them down with a palm flat on his stomach. “Stop. I just.. fuck.”
You didn't stop. You kept stroking him, light and relentless, thumb dragging over the oversensitive head until his legs shook.
“Please,” he gasped, the word ragged. “Please, I can't.. It's too much.”
“I think it’s not enough,” you said, and pressed a kiss to his hip. He whimpered, a sound he would deny later, fingers twisting in the sheets. His chest heaved, sweat-slick, and he couldn't keep his eyes open. The lids kept fluttering shut, then snapping wide like he was fighting it.
“Beg properly,” you said.
He stared at you, pride warring with desperation in his blown pupils. His jaw worked. Then his voice came out wrecked.
“Please, please don't stop. I'll do anything. I'll beg. I'm begging.” The words tumbled out, broken, as your hand tightened and he arched off the bed. “Please, I need.. please make me come again. I can't take it, but I need it.. please.”
You smiled, slow, and leaned down to take him in your mouth. He sobbed, actually sobbed; a raw, broken sound as you worked him with your tongue. His hands flew to your hair, but he didn't push. He held on like you were the only thing keeping him tethered.
He came again with a long, trembling moan, body bowing, spilling down your throat. You swallowed, then pulled off, licking your lips. He lay there, utterly wrecked, chest heaving, eyes glazed.
“You're going to be the death of me,” he whispered, voice shot.
You crawled up and kissed his forehead. “Not yet.”
—
That had been four hours ago..
You straddle him, still slick from his release, and sink down without warning. Sylus's back arches off the mattress, a broken sound tearing from his throat. “Please,” His hands grip your hips, and he holds on like you're the only thing in existence.
You ride him slow, grinding deep, and his eyes roll back. Tears gather at the corners, slipping down his temples as he gasps. “Mistress,” he chokes out, the word foreign on his tongue but desperate. “Please, mistress, I can't..”
You don't slow down. “Relax.. You can handle it,” you say, and he sobs, a raw, wrecked sound that turns into a plea.
“Hit me.” His voice cracks. “Please, slap me. I need it. I deserve it for being so pathetic.”
You rear back and land a sharp slap across his cheek. His head snaps to the side, and he moans, hips bucking into you. “Again,” he pleads. “Please, again.”
You slap him again, harder, and he comes undone beneath you, crying openly now, tears streaming as he whispers, “I'm yours, mistress.”
He reaches for the nightstand, fumbling, and presses something cold into your hand. A gun. He guides the muzzle under his chin, tilting his head back to bare his throat. “Do it,” he says, voice trembling. “Hold it there. Make me yours. I'll do anything. I'll be anything.”
You wrap your fingers around the grip, and he shudders, eyes locked on yours, wet and pleading. You ride him faster, and he gasps, “Please, I need to.. to..”
You lean down and kiss his tear-streaked cheek, the gun still cold under his chin. “Go on then.”
He whimpers, but his eyes are full of surrender. “Thank you, mistress.”
You feel him pulse inside you, hot and deep, and you don't move. You stay seated, letting him fill you, and his whole body shakes beneath you. Tears still cling to his lashes, his chest heaving.
“Don’t move yet,” you say, and he obeys, even though his hips twitch with the need to pull out. You can feel him softening inside you, and you clench around him, making him gasp.
You slide off him slowly, and a thin trail of his release follows. You lie back on the mattress, spreading your legs.
“Lick it up,” you tell him.
Sylus blinks, the command taking a second to land. His pride flickers in his eyes, a last ember, but it dies quickly. He lowers his head between your thighs, his tongue flat and warm, dragging up through the mess he made. He laps at you, slow and deliberate, his eyes closed, his breath hot against your skin.
He cleans you thoroughly, tongue curling inside you, and you feel him shiver. A low noise escapes his throat, halfway between a whimper and a moan.
When he finishes, he lifts his head, lips slick, eyes dark and worshipful.
“Good boy,” you say, and he flushes, a deep red creeping up his neck.
He doesn't look away. He just waits, breathless, for your next word.
You run a thumb along his jaw, and he leans into the touch like a cat. His breathing is still ragged, his skin flushed and damp.
“You did so well,” you say, soft.
Sylus's eyes flutter shut, a fresh tear slipping free. He turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm, lips barely moving.
“Thank you.” His voice is wrecked, barely a whisper.
You lie back, pulling him with you until his head rests on your chest. He curls into you, spent and pliant, one hand splayed over your ribs.
He's quiet for a long time. Then, into your skin, he murmurs, “That was unbelievable. I love you.”
You card your fingers through his hair, slow. He makes a small, contented sound.
synopsis: caleb makes you use his evol to ride him. that is all.
tags: smut, dom caleb, mean caleb, mean dom caleb, lowkey brat reader, p in v, riding, improper use of evol, unprotected sex, coming inside, somnophilia reference, he threatens to withhold his own orgasm, teasing, mocking, caleb makes you kiss him, sweat, implied marathon sex, impact play, Caleb the Interrupter
pairing: caleb x fem reader
word count: 1.1k
“when you sink down, do it slowly. i want you to feel every inch of it.”
“isn’t this too much?” whining, you make a desperate attempt to escape—to no avail, of course. that familiar feeling weighs down on your body almost instantly. “please? i’ll help you next time, i swear! today was just a one-time thing!”
“you begged me to help you clean up the house before your big book club meeting this weekend. i take off work, get here early, and as soon as we get started, what do you do?” glaring at you from below, he clears his throat and puts on a high-pitched voice. “caleb, i’m so sorry, but my friend’s car broke down. i need to drop them off at the store, then at work, but i’ll be back soon, i swear!” he squeaks with a dry chuckle. “yeah. if by ‘soon,’ you meant seven hours later.”
“there was traffic! and i ended up just staying through their whole shift, because—”
“i’m not fallin’ for your little tricks today, so you can cut it out already.” he takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, firmly forcing you to meet his heated gaze. “our house is spotless because of me. my hard work. it’s time for you to return the favor.”
his hand engulfs yours, and the familiar warmth of resonance flows through you.
caleb gives, you take, just like usual. he lets his power becomes yours and smiles at the sight.
this time, his reasoning is far from selfless.
“don’t hurt yourself.”
it’s his command for you to start.
whimpering quietly, you sink down on his thick, hard length, breathing slowly while your body accommodates the stretch.
by now, your core is more than used to him—his size, his girth, his occasional punishing pace—but now, you hold the reins. mastering the monster bullying the rawest parts of you? it’s almost as big an adjustment as your first time together.
he watches you brazenly as you start your own rhythm, maneuvering yourself with timid, exploratory drags up and down. when you channel his evol, harnessing gravity to inch yourself up ever so slowly, you can feel his hot, tender skin slipping past your walls, promising never to leave you for very long. and each time that invisible force tugs you right back down? he grows a little bit bigger inside you.
a sharp hit to your backside disrupts your unsure movements, the loud crack resounding through the otherwise quiet bedroom. “you think you'll get any leverage like that? hold onto me harder. push at my chest if you need to. i can barely feel you.”
gritting your teeth at his wanton order, you bury your nails deeper into his skin. you tell yourself you don’t care if it hurts—he deserves it—but eye him with caution all the same. “i’m trying, caleb. you know i’m not used to this. i’m already getting tired. i’m not as strong as you.”
he tsks, knocking on your temple twice with his knuckles. “a fact hardly works as flattery.”
“i—”
“you say you’re sooo tired,” he drawls. “how? i’m doing all the work, just like always.” to prove his point, he flicks a hand in the air. your head tilts forward at his command, and he puppeteers you down for a heated kiss.
he pulls back once your air supply starts to wane, only to narrow his eyes as your skin smacks together once again. “i may get tired, letting you use me like this, but don’t think you can stop if i drift off for a sec. we’re in this for long haul. you can stop when…if…i say so.”
“can you at least help me?” even with his support, your thighs still burn like hell.
“if you’d helped me this afternoon, i’d be rewarding you right now. you’d be moaning my name even louder than normal.”
“caleb, please,” you whine. “what else do you want me to do?”
“just keep going,” he says smugly. “i did allll the work earlier. i’m not doing a single thing ‘til you prove you can pull your own weight. right now, i’m just gonna sit back and enjoy my luxury view.”
grumbling, you swipe at his neck but keep moving, gasping when the slight curve of him brushes just right against that special spot.
“are you getting close?” he purrs. “good. go faster.”
faster? since his outright refusal to help you, you’ve made enough squelches and smacks to make an erotica author blush. lines of muscle and stores of fat ripple with every slam down on him. how are you supposed to go faster?
“i can’t! this is as fast as i can— i can’t go any faster, caleb.”
your cries fill his ears, and he leans in close to murmur in yours. “make me come, and i’ll let you stop. but unless you go faster, i’ll hold everything back. we’ll be here all night. i promise you that.”
you’re babbling now at the weight of his threat, spearing yourself up and down on his length too fast to even sneak words in between. each time you rise and fall in the air, all you can smell, all you can taste, is sex. you and him, him and you. both of you, together.
despite his bravado, his head falls forward on the hardest bounce yet, slumping against your sweat-slick shoulder. he doesn't hesitate to mouth at the damp skin, groaning as his thighs finally start to tremble beneath you.
“good,” he hisses. “so, so good.” an open-mouthed kiss sears your collarbone. “can you feel it? how close i am? you’ll feel all of it soon. don’t stop.”
“not gonna stop,” you slur, shaking your head frantically. “just hurry, please. i can’t hold on, i can’t, i—”
strong arms wrap around your back and yank you downward. fully seated on his spasming cock, you feel the heat first—then the unsteady bursts flowing inside you.
each thick spurt flooding in, claiming all of you, plays its part in sending you over the edge. before his high loses momentum, your muscles clamp down on him, forcing all of what’s left into your deepest depths.
gasping to catch your breath, you all but mewl into his keen ears. “there’s so much…so much…we need to wash the sheets before we go to be—”
big, warm hands squeeze the flesh of your thighs, hovering you threateningly above his still-soaked tip. that cruel, cunning smirk you’ve come to dread curves his full lips. “i said you could stop when you made me come,” he murmurs lowly.
For the first time in weeks, there was nothing on the schedule.
No errands. No appointments. No late-night messages demanding your attention. No early morning rush that had you stumbling out of bed before you’d even properly woken up.
Just you.
And Valko.
Together.
It should have felt normal.
Instead, it felt almost strange.
You’d gotten so used to seeing him in passing that you’d forgotten what it was like to actually have nowhere else to be.
Most mornings lately had consisted of sleepy kisses and half-mumbled goodbyes. Most nights were barely better.
You’d crawl into bed exhausted, mumble something about how much you’d missed him, and be asleep against his shoulder before you could actually have a conversation.
Valko never complained.
Not once.
He’d simply pull the blankets over you, kiss your forehead, and let you sleep.
But tonight was different.
You’d finished dinner hours ago.
The dishes were done.
The lights were low.
And Valko was sitting beside you on the couch, looking suspiciously content.
You stretched your arms over your head, “God, I missed having a night like this.”
“So did I.” Valko hummed.
You leaned against him.
His arm immediately came around your shoulders.
For a while, neither of you said anything.
It was nice.
Quiet.
Warm.
Safe.
Then you suddenly sat up.
“Oh!”
Valko looked over.
“What?”
“We should go out.”
His expression changed. Barely.
But you saw it.
“We could go get dessert,” you continued. “Maybe walk around downtown for a bit? There’s that little place that stays open late, and—”
A low sound rumbled from Valko’s chest.
You stopped. He stopped. The room went completely silent.
“…Did you just growl?”
Valko looked horrified.
“No!..”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“Valko.”
He stared at the floor. “…Perhaps.”
You were trying very hard not to laugh.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer. You tilted your head.
“Do you not want to go?”
“No.”
You blinked. “No?”
“I don’t want to go.” His voice was quiet now. Almost sheepish.
You shifted closer.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
He shrugged. For a man who could be so confident about practically everything, he suddenly looked remarkably shy.
“I’ve barely seen you.”
Your heart squeezed.
“I know.”
“I know you’re busy. And I know it’s not your fault.” His fingers fiddled with the edge of the blanket. “But…”
You waited.
He finally looked at you.
“I don’t want to share you tonight.”
Your expression softened.
“Valko…”
“That sounded possessive.” He immediately looked away.
“A little.”
“I’m sorry.”
You smiled.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m upset with you.”
“I don’t, ‘ko.”
“I just…”
He hesitated. Then, almost too quietly to hear—
“I want to snuggle.”
You stared at him.
Valko’s ears were practically pink.
“I’ve missed you,” he admitted.
And there it was. The real reason. Not that he didn’t want to go out. Not that he was angry.
He’d simply spent weeks watching you rush from one thing to another, catching tiny pieces of your time whenever he could.
A sleepy kiss here.
A hurried hug there.
Five minutes together before you both had somewhere else to be.
And now, finally, he had you. He wanted to keep you. Just for tonight.
You smiled, “Come here.”
His head lifted, “Really?”
“Really.”
You opened your arms and he didn’t hesitate.
Valko practically folded himself around you, pulling you against his chest and burying his face against your shoulder.
You laughed softly.
“You weren’t kidding, you really missed me.”
“Very much.”
His arms tightened.
You ran your fingers gently through his hair.
“How much?”
He was quiet for a moment, “Enough that I growled at the suggestion of leaving the house.”
You laughed.
“Stoooop, don’t make fun of me,” He groaned.
“I’ll never let you live that down.”
“I know.”
You kissed his temple, “Good.”
He relaxed against you. After a moment, his voice came muffled against your shoulder.
“Can we stay like this?”
“All night.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Another quiet hum.
His arms tightened around you again, “Good.”
And for the first time in weeks, neither of you had anywhere else to be. Just you. Just Valko. And an entire night to make up for all the little moments you’d missed.
The people behind the latest project Sylus has chosen to invest in, some self-assured old-money pricks, have decided today is the perfect day to test his patience and arrive at his penthouse uninvited for an 'urgent crisis' meeting that apparently their entire team of overpaid experts can't tackle.
They are shown into his study, the space all dark oak and scented with lavender diffusers, lined with cases of books that are probably thought lost to the world. And right there in the middle, basking in the afternoon sun peeking from the window, curled on your side with a body pillow and sleeping away like a cat, is you.
Sylus's woman. His wife.
His very pregnant wife.
The one who had retreated from public events a few months ago for 'unknown' reasons.
Your one hand is tucked beneath your cheek, fingers loosely curled against the plush cushion. The other hand rests protectively over the full, taut curve of your belly, palm splayed wide as if protecting the life within even in the depths of sleep. Every now and then, your fingers twitch slightly- a subconscious, maternal reflex- pressing just a little firmer against the stretched fabric of your nightgown now visible thanks to the cashmere throw having slipped and pooled at your waist.
A trolley of assorted beverages- a sweating pitcher of lemon-infused water, a porcelain teapot still holding a faint curl of steam, a small glass of chilled milk- sits beside you alongside a haphazard stack of well-worn books, their spines cracked from repeated readings. Your hair spills over the arm of the couch in glossy waves, catching the afternoon light until it glints like spun silk. A few rebellious strands cling to the corner of your parted lips, stirring faintly with each slow, languid exhale.
A faint sheen of warmth glistens at your temples and the delicate column of your neck, the natural heat of pregnancy lending you an ethereal, almost otherworldly glow. The sunlight pools in the hollow of your throat, traces the delicate curve of your collarbone, and illuminates the fine, nearly invisible veins beneath your delicate skin.
Amidst the soft, sultry jazz wafting through the air, you look nothing short of an art piece- a Renaissance painting brought to life, depicting the very epitome of domestic bliss. Your breathing is slow, even, the gentle rise and fall of your chest a hypnotic rhythm beneath the thin silk, your heart beating peacefully and soft snores leaving your lips.
You are luminous. Radiant. Almost unfairly beautiful in a way that feels private and forbidden- as if the men in this room have stumbled upon a goddess in her sacred bower, never meant for their mortal eyes.
Even in stillness, there is a weight to your presence- a quiet, gravitational pull that makes the room feel smaller, more sacred.
And they make the mistake of staring a beat too long.
“Stare any longer and I’ll have to take your eyes out.”
They jump and turn as Sylus steps in, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up and a scowl plastered on his face.
"Our apologies-"
"I do not require them. Take a seat."
He pays them no mind as he makes his way to you, stopping beside the couch and adjusting your throw to cover you properly. Long fingers brush a strand of hair from your cheek with unexpected gentleness, then smooth it back over the curve of your shoulder. You make a soft, sleepy hum, nuzzling into his touch without fully waking, recognising his familiar touch even in your deep sleep. A small, private smirk touches the corner of his mouth- possessive, almost tender- before it vanishes.
You were already having trouble sleeping, and now these idiots had to come and disturb you in your home, Sylus thinks bitterly before straightening up and walking to the wide desk that faces the couch, dropping into the high-backed chair with the casual authority and irritation of a dragon provoked and at the brink of his patience. But at least from here, he has a perfect view of your sleeping form.
Exactly how he wants it.
His red eyes fix on the very unwelcome guests. "Let us begin then."
But they are too distracted by your presence, and one of them is foolish enough to open his mouth. "Mr. Sylus, don't you think we should move the Mrs-"
"May I remind you," his eyes narrow "that you have barged into my home unannounced, like an ill-mannered heathen, and now have the nerve to order my wife around in her own house?"
"I simply meant-"
"You perceive my wife way too much for my liking. Perhaps you are unaware of what happens to the ones who set their eyes on a Qin woman."
The room goes still. The kind of stillness that precedes a storm- the air thick and heavy, charged with something dangerous that makes them shift uncomfortably in their twenty-thousand-dollar suits.
You would have to be living under rock to not know the reputation the men of Qin family carried of being dangerously unhinged when it came to their wives.
The other person- a silver-haired man with the sort of face that's used to being listened to- has the good sense to look down apologetic. “He meant no offense, Mr. Sylus. We are merely... concerned. The project requires your immediate attention and-"
"Get on with what you wished to discuss." Sylus interrupts his rambling. "I would rather have you all out as soon as possible."
The men, knowing better than to test his patience and end up with his pistol in their mouths, begin the meeting, with you sleeping away peacefully on the antique couch being the sole presence keeping the Onychinus head from losing his cool.
love and deepspace boys when you’re on your period
i know so many people have done this but i can’t stop myself.
—
✧ xavier
• somehow always knows before you even say anything. you’ll catch him quietly replacing the heating pad on the charger or bringing home your favorite snacks “just in case.”
• becomes the clingiest man alive. if you’re curled up in bed, he’s curled up behind you with one arm around your waist and one hand rubbing slow circles over your stomach.
• if your cramps wake you up in the middle of the night, he’s awake within seconds. no complaints. just a sleepy, “hurts?” before he’s already getting you water and painkillers.
• kisses your forehead every time you grimace like it’ll magically make the pain disappear.
• if you cry because you dropped your spoon, he’ll nod very seriously. “that’s devastating.” and somehow make you laugh through the tears.
• lets you steal every hoodie he owns “you look better in them than i do. are you warm?”
✧ zayne
• doctor mode activates immediately, but he’s so gentle about it.
• keeps track of when your cycle usually starts because he wants to make sure you’re prepared before it sneaks up on you.
• quietly sets a heating pad in your lap while you’re distracted.
• reminds you to eat even when you insist you’re “not hungry.” ten minutes later there’s warm soup, fruit, and tea sitting in front of you.
• massages your lower back with practiced hands until you practically melt into the couch.
• loooves sitting with your head resting against his chest while he reads aloud because he knows the sound of his voice calms you.
• “your uterus has declared war on you. i knew i hated that thing.”
• spends the entire day trying to distract you with terrible jokes, little doodles of the two of you, and showing you every cute animal video he can find.
• insists on doing a skincare night together because “if your body is betraying you, then at least your skin can thrive.”
• paints your nails if you’re too tired to move.
• every five minutes: “need anything? water? blanket? another blanket? emotional support fish?”
• somehow manages to make you smile even when you’re curled into the tiniest ball imaginable.
✧ sylus
• acts like it’s no big deal, but suddenly every responsibility disappears from your plate.
• “don’t worry about dinner. i’ll handle it.”
• “leave the laundry.”
• “go lie down.”
• if anyone bothers you while you’re feeling awful, they’re dealing with him.
• sits beside you with your legs draped over his lap while he absentmindedly rubs your calves because he noticed they ache too.
• absolutely buys you expensive chocolate because “if you’re suffering, you deserve the good stuff.”
• carries you to bed if you fall asleep on the couch.
• kisses your temple and murmurs, “rest. i’ve got everything else.”
✧ caleb
• turns into the biggest golden retriever boyfriend imaginable.
• immediately wraps you in a hug the second you mention cramps.
• lets you bury your face in his hoodie while he plays with your hair.
• keeps asking, “better now?” after every tiny thing he does.
• makes a nest on the couch with every blanket in the apartment.
• happily watches the same comfort movie you’ve already seen thirty-seven times because he knows every line still makes you smile.
• if you’re craving something at 11:48 p.m., he’s already grabbing his keys.
• “ice cream?”
“yes.”
“fries too?”
“…yes.”
“thought so.”
• every time you say “thank you,” he just grins.
“that’s what i’m here for, pipsqueak.”
✧ valko
• says very little at first, but pays attention to everything. (he also smells it)
• notices you’re standing a little slower, sitting more carefully, speaking more quietly.
• the next thing you know, there’s hot tea in your hands without you asking.
• he’s naturally warm, so he’ll pull you against his chest and let you steal every bit of body heat while he gently strokes your back.
• buys enough chocolate to survive an apocalypse.
• presses soft kisses into your hair while whispering, “you don’t have to pretend you’re okay with me.”
• if you fall asleep against him, he refuses to move for hours even if his arm goes numb.
• later, when you’re feeling better, he’ll quietly admit, “i wish i could take the pain instead.”
♡ bonus
they all have one thing in common:
the second you start saying, “i’m sorry i’ve been kind of emotional..”
they interrupt you.
“you’re hurting.”
“you don’t need to apologize.”
“you’re literally bleeding every month and you’re apologizing to me? absolutely not.”
🛰️ - sighhh.. sylus keeps popping into my head lately.. i also wanna clear my drafts so.. lots of posts today bc i can
• he arrives exactly on time. not a minute early, not a minute late. he’s wearing something expensive but understated because he wants your parents to notice him, not his money.
• he brings flowers for your mom without asking if she likes flowers. somehow… they’re her favorite.
• and if your dad enjoys whiskey? sylus somehow found a bottle that’s been discontinued for years. if he doesn’t drink, it’s a rare edition of his favorite author instead. he always does his homework.
• your parents expect someone intimidating. they aren’t prepared for how polite he is.
• “thank you for inviting me into your home, mr. and mrs. ____.”
• yes, ma’am. no, sir. he has impeccable manners.
• he notices you getting nervous halfway through dinner and rests his hand on your knee under the table. just one reassuring squeeze before continuing the conversation like nothing happened.
• your mom catches it.
• she smiles.
• sylus notices that too.
• your dad tries to test him. asks difficult questions. watches for hesitation. sylus answers every one calmly without ever making it feel like a competition.
• he doesn’t need to prove he’s the smartest person in the room. everyone already knows.
• if your parents ask how you met…
• you start panicking.
• sylus smoothly redirects the conversation before you can accidentally expose either of you.
• afterward he leans over and whispers, “you looked like you were about to confess to at least three felonies.”
• he spends more time talking about you than himself.
• “she works too hard.”
• “she forgets to eat when she’s focused.”
• “i’m sure you already know, but she’s incredibly stubborn.”
• it’s obvious he’s memorized every little thing about you.
• your parents realize something before you do:
• sylus watches you every time you speak.
• not because he’s making sure you don’t embarrass him… because he genuinely enjoys listening.
• when dinner is over, he quietly helps your mom clear the table before anyone can stop him.
• she protests.
• he simply says, “it’s the least i can do after your hospitality.”
• your dad eventually pulls him aside while you’re in another room.
• “you love my daughter?”
• sylus answers immediately.
• “…more than i’ve ever intended to love anyone.”
• your dad nods once.
• “don’t make me regret trusting you.”
• sylus meets his eyes.
• “i won’t.”
• on the drive home, you ask how he thinks it went.
• he glances at you, reaches over to lace your fingers together, and says,
• “your mother already likes me.”
• “…your father is deciding whether i’m worth the privilege of loving you.”
CW: jealous!raf, fem!reader, unprotected sex, p in v, public sex (alleyway), fingering (f! receiving), raf has a breeding kink
i barely gave you any dialogue oopsy. too busy with raf.
🐟 - i think i like to write smut now.. 7am and this is the first thing i wanted to do.
“You’re staring at the waiter,” Rafayel says, his voice dripping with false hurt. He slides his chair closer, his knee pressing against yours under the table. “I thought I was the only one who got to see that look.”
You laugh, trying to push his shoulder. “I was ordering for you, drama king.”
He doesn’t buy it. His eyes dart to the bartender, who just happened to glance your way, and Rafayel practically growls. He grabs your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You’re mine.”
He makes it a point to touch you constantly; arm around your shoulder, thumb stroking your thigh, lips brushing your ear when he whispers silly compliments. When a stranger at the next table smiles at you, Rafayel turns your face to his and kisses you slow, deep, until you’re breathless. “See? No one else exists.”
—
The second you step out into the cool night, he’s tugging you down a narrow alley, pressing you against the cold brick. His breath is hot on your neck. “Can’t help it,” he mutters, hands already sliding under your blouse. “You look so good and everyone knows it.”
He kisses you like he’s claiming you, hips grinding against yours. “Tell me you’re mine,” he breathes, slipping a hand into your dress pants. “Say it.”
Rafayel’s mouth drags down your throat, open and wet, leaving a trail of slobber that cools on your skin. He doesn’t care. He never does when he’s like this, all needy, hands fisted in the back of your shirt like you might bolt.
“You have no idea,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide. “Every time you smile at someone else, I think about putting a baby in you. Right there, in front of them. So they know.”
Your breath catches. He notices, and his grin turns wolfish.
“Yeah,” he breathes, and kisses you again—messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding, spit smearing across your chin. He moans into it, like he’s tasting something he’s been starving for. His hips press into yours, and you can feel how hard he is, how desperate.
He breaks the kiss with a wet sound, lips shiny. “I’m not letting you go until you’re dripping with me. Inside and out.”
His hand finds the button of your pants, fumbling but determined. He gets them open, shoves them down just enough, and slides a hand into your underwear. His fingers are slick with your own wetness almost instantly.
“God, look at you,” he mutters, working a finger inside you. “So ready for me. You want it too, don’t you? Want me to fill you up?”
You nod, unable to speak. He pumps his finger in and out, adding a second, curling them just right. Your head falls back against the brick, a moan slipping out.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, thumb rubbing your clit. “Let everyone hear. Let them know who makes you feel like this.”
He drops to his knees, yanking your pants and underwear down to your ankles. He doesn’t waste time getting his mouth on you, sloppy and hot, tongue flat against your cunt. He eats you like he’s starving, groaning against you, spit and slick running down your thighs.
“Mnfgh.. You taste sooo good..”
“Rafayel,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.
He pulls back just long enough to look up at you, chin glistening. “I’m going to fuck you so full,” he says, voice wrecked. “No one will ever be able to look at you without seeing me.”
Rafayel stands, looming over you, and you can see the dark hunger in his eyes. He undoes his slacks with one hand, the other gripping your hip, pressing you into the cold brick. “You’re mine,” he whispers, and it’s a promise, not a threat.
He pushes into you slowly, inch by inch, and you both gasp. His forehead drops to your shoulder, breath ragged. “Unf, you feel like heaven.” He pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in, harder, making you bite your lip to stay quiet. He doesn’t let you—he kisses you, swallowing your moans, messy and desperate.
His hips find a rhythm, deep and punishing. “Look at me,” he demands. You do, and his eyes are blazing. “I’m going to fill you up so full. Everyone will know.” He grabs your leg, hooking it over his arm, driving deeper. You cry out, and he groans, “That’s it. Take all of me.”
His pace quickens, sloppy and wet. “You like that?” he pants. “Like knowing you’re mine?” You can barely nod, overwhelmed. “Say it,” he growls. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours! I belong to you, Rafayel,” you choke out, and he slams into you, coming with a shuddering groan. You feel him spill inside you, warm and thick. He stays there, breathing hard, and kisses you softly, tenderly, a stark contrast to the roughness he’d shown just seconds ago.
He pulls out slowly, and you feel his come dripping down your thigh. He smirks, sliding a finger through it and pushing it back inside you. “Try to hold it in,” he murmurs. “I want to see you leak all night, cutie.”
He helps you fix your clothes, pressing a final sloppy kiss to your lips. “Now let’s go get dessert. You’ve earned it.”
