☾ howdy! you can call me turnip! 29. she/they. american located in new zealand. cancer sun. leo moon. aries rising.
☆ this is a place for me to write about whatever I'm fixated on at any certain time. feel free to take what you enjoy and leave the rest! currently I've got LADS brainrot
☾ MDNI - 18+ only (no blank age blogs)
☆ main blog: ultimateturniplord ao3: ultimateturnip
☾ I don't actively do requests right now but if you've got an idea you'd like to me write, send a message and there's a chance I might whip up a little something!
𝟅ϱ sum. nerd caleb stifles your sounds! cw : mdni, exhibitionist kink, stomach bulging, squirting, mean dom! caleb.
you weren’t supposed to be doing this— hell, you were supposed to be doing everything else in the world rather than getting broken into by caleb. in a library of all places.
“ f-fuuuck,” caleb swallows, making a point to quiet his moans, as the sheer volume would get you both banned from every library across the world. your sopping cunt slurps him in fully, with sultry sounds and your pleasure stricken face to top it all off. or maybe it’s how he’s taking you in a public area where anyone could walk in at any time; the sheer feeling of being outside and careless fills him with unexplainable glee. your fingers desperately hold onto the rocking table, legs spread open wide to fit his slim hips slamming into you, struggling to hold back every mewl of encouragement and his name. “ you’re one nasty girl, seducin’ me just to get fucked out in the open, but you don’t care, do you?”
the answer is evidently no.
you whined, hazy, glossed over eyes staring into his as your manicured nails pinched and pulled at your perked nipples. caleb was impressively thick, a fact that never failed to surprise you once you remembered he was a loser virgin before you who somehow adapted to what you liked, being able to fuck you into a speechless mess as of today. “ haaaarder, caleb! need it to be meaner, please.”
“ h-hah, would if i could, you know t-that. but we’re in a public space, or did that airy head of yours forget, huh?” he groans, pressing a hand to firmly push down on your bulging lower stomach, making you whine out. you feel so full, devastatingly so as the hand pressing you further into the rocking table makes you keenly aware that your walls are being stretched fully to accommodate the thick span of his staggering cock. you whine, legs squeezing around his hips, locking your ankles around his broad back to pull him in impossibly deeper, giving a cute, dick drunk giggle as caleb prays to every god there is to be quiet and not to cum quickly. “ not a thought in your brain besides getting fucked and being a dirty mess for me, but you like it that way. just look at how yer’ squeezin’ me in.”
“ i don’t care who’s around! want you to be mean, c-caleb. fuck! don’t a-act like you don’t want to be.”
caleb loved studying your facial expressions. the way your eyes would brighten with lewdness as the tip of his cock would bottom in your walls, or how you cutely scrunched your face when he hit your sweet spots with little to no effort. and he especially loved the sweet sounds you’d make— a gasp when he briefly brushed against your cervix, or the punctured out gasps that would leave your chest in hot heaves of air when he felt like being extra degrading and using your body until it was close to breaking beyond repair.
you open your mouth to voice another complaint, where a strong hand cuts you off, albeit rudely.
“ nothing. don’t say anything else. bite on my necklace ‘n keep your mouth shut, yeah?” he removes his hand, and you do what he demanded. your teeth bite down on the jiggling dog tags hovering above you, for which he rewards your obedience with firm swirls against your twitching clit. the indecent, sopping sounds filled in the environment where your usual moans lacked, continuing to keep teary eye contact with the man above you, making your senses surrender and fill with him. “ goood girl, you can listen after all, hmm. from now on, your pussy ‘s doing all the talking.”
you moan, feeling his length buck into your pussy with animalistic thrusts, kiss-plumped lips turned into a teasing smirk, while his eyes intensely stare at yours— in fact, he reaches out his hand, entwining his long fingers with your strands, refusing to let you look away from his hypnotizing gaze. not even for a second.
caleb’s thick cock broke into you with frightening velocity; seeing how you jerk with a shrill but quiet mewl, he knew that he had hit past your sweet spot and firmly against your sensitive cervix. the dog tags in your mouth are the only thing keeping you grounded, preventing you from slipping beyond a frenzied state as you slobber around the warming silver in your mouth.
“ feel ya clenching around me, you’re close aren’t you? mmph, you don’t know it, but you’re way cuter when your mouth is full.”
unexpectedly, your orgasm crashes over you. the pressure builds and builds until you’re clenching desperately his cock, suffocating every length, including his thickened base, with juices squirting from your pussy. your back arches into a deep bend, as your nails dig into your palms, moaning around the intruder in your mouth as you’re still being fucked into the table— rocking the object obscenely against the floor.
“ pussy’s so g-greedy, yknow how to take it all like a good girl.” his breath hitches in his throat, both hands are now littering your hips with deep, purple blooming bruises as you’re aware he’s keenly close to pumping you full of cum. his glasses sit crooked on his nose bridge, as sweat drips down his forehead and his neck— despite that, he doesn’t look close to tired, having the stamina of a pro it seemed like. his length drove into you so deeply, making your upper body push back into the rocking object beneath you, teeth still caught around his necklace, making his body follow where you tugged him. the action doing more to him than you realized as he came.
and fuck is it a lot.
filling every corner impossible inch of your pussy with lewd fluids, until most of it spills out onto the table. not that either one of you are present enough to care. “ we’re making such’a mess, pips. not that you care, fuck, think they’re gonna check the cameras later?”
“ what?”
“ ah… i should’ve stopped, but the library attendant definitely heard us, i bet she’s still looking over here.”
“ what!” you sit up with panic, completely ready to fly out the cursed library and somewhere to the nearest airport to move far away and change your identity, lust got in the way of all rationality once again.
“ hah, made you look! i honestly didn’t think you’d fall for it.” it doesn’t matter where you are or how nasty you fuck, caleb is still a virgin loser.
mc being slipped a potent aphrodisiac at a charity party and luckily xavier is there for her (with a whole ton of squirting involved as he helped her through it - in one of the private room at the bar the party is held at bcos it couldnt wait or back at mc/xavier’s home if he is teleporting them)
mhm, mhmmm, delicious!! i don't condone any of this stuff though!!! sooo proceed with caution & check the cw! (p.s. not proofread)
🔞MDNI ⋆. — content warnings: canon-compliant, established relationship, aphrodisiac (mc being drugged by third party), hurt/comfort, squirting, possessive & soft xavier, death threats mentioned (by xavier), public setting, fingering & rough sex
The marble was cold against your cheek and you could not stop fucking moving.
Xavier’s hand was at the small of your back, pressing you down enough to keep you folded over the bathroom counter while his other hand worked between your thighs. Two fingers. Three, now. You’d lost track somewhere between the second time you’d gushed all over his wrist and the moment you’d started begging into the stone.
“Easy, starlight.” his breath was a warm flag against the shell of your ear. “I’ve got you.”
You did not feel got. You felt like you were burning to death from the inside out, and every drag of his knuckles knocked another sob out of you that did not entirely sound like yours.
Twenty five minutes ago you’d been laughing at something a senator’s wife had said. Forty minutes ago you’d been adjusting the strap of your dress in the mirror of the gala bathroom and thinking, smugly, that you looked like the kind of woman men wrote songs about. Forty five minutes ago some bartender or someone in the crowd—you couldn’t say, you couldn’t remember faces—had pressed a flute into your hand and you had drunk it.
You knew, the way you knew when a Wanderer was in the building before the alarms ever sounded: something is wrong.
Your skin had gone hot in patches. The floor had tilted under you. The voices had thickened into syrup, and your underwear had soaked through, embarrassingly and immediately, before you’d even managed to set the glass down. Your nipples had gone hard and tight against the cup of your strapless bra and the silk was suddenly too much, too rough, dragging across your skin every time you breathed.
You’d grabbed Xavier’s sleeve as a purchase for something solid, almost on instinct.
You did not remember how you got here. You remembered the look on his face, though. Dangerous in a way you had only seen him be once, a long time ago, on an important and rather dangerous mission in the N109 Zone.
“Xavie—Xavie please, I can’t—”
“I know.” his mouth dragged against the hinge of your jaw, his fingers curling inside your clenching cunt. “I know, baby. Look at you.”
You looked. You couldn’t help looking. The mirror gave you both back to yourselves in cruel, perfect detail. Your dress shoved up around your waist, mascara melting down your cheeks, hair plastered to your temples in curling, sweaty strings. Behind you, Xavier in his ruined dress shirt, two buttons popped, throat flushed, eyes fixed on you with an attention so total it almost hurt to be inside of.
He was so calm. That was the thing that got you all excited, body buzzing in his hold. His voice stayed low and even and obscenely tender, like he was talking to you through a doorway in the dark, and meanwhile his hand…
“Whoever did this to you,” he scissored two fingers inside you, stretching you open, “I’m going to find them.”
You whimpered. Your hips twitched back into his palm of their own accord, seeking more.
“You like that, hm?” the smallest smile in his voice. He noticed everything. He always noticed how tight you got whenever he talked, no matter what he said. “Like the idea of me handling it for you, bunny?”
You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t do anything except clench around his fingers and make a noise that would have mortified you any other night of your life.
“Mm, apparently you love it.” Xavier curled his fingers again, a slow, patient hook. “I’ll find them, starlight. I’ll find them and I’ll make it the last thing they do.”
You came again. You hadn’t even realized you were close.
It hit you in a wave that started behind your knees and broke against the back of your throat, and you watched yourself in the mirror—eyes huge, mouth slack and open, a stranger—as another rush of slick spilled hot over Xavier’s wrist, soaking the front of his trousers and the marble and god knew what else. That was supposed to be the one, you thought wildly. That was supposed to do it. But the fever was still under your skin. Still climbing up your spine.
“It won’t stop,” you sobbed, and you sounded ridiculous, you sounded eight years old and—
“I know, bunny.” his fingers slid out of you, slick to the knuckle. The sound it made was wet enough to make you flush. “Come here. I’ll make it all better.”
The clink of his belt was the most pornographic noise you had ever heard.
You felt him line up. Felt the hot, blunt drag of his cock against your soaked thighs, and made a noise into the marble that was undoubtedly the most embarrassing moan that ever slipped past your lips. He rocked the head against your entrance a few times, spreading his precum through your arousal, watching you in the mirror.
“Look at me.”
You tried your best, with the last still functioning brain cell.
“Eyes up, starlight. There she is.”
His cock went inside you in a long, delicious thrust, making you scream at the sudden feeling of being filled. Your forehead bumped the mirror and he caught the back of your skull in one big careful hand before it could hit twice, holding you there, cheek smashed to your own reflection while he sank in the rest of the way.
“Fuck,” he grunted against your neck, twiching inside you. “Watch yourself—taking me like that, soaked through for me—and to think someone tried—”
You whined when the hand on your hip grew tight, almost bruising.
“No.” his hips snapped harder, making you wail. “No, listen to me. They don’t get this, bunny. They don’t get to know what you sound like, do they? That’s only mine to witness.”
You wiggled back against him, sloppy, desperate. Move. Please, please.
Xavier—bless him, bless him forever—read you like he always had. He didn’t make you ask twice. He didn’t say a word, in fact. He just shifted his stance, bracketed you tighter against the counter, and started fucking you in earnest.
“Whoever it was—” he pushed your head harder against the glass, “—is already dead—” his cock pistoned straight into your g-spot, “—starlight—” drool slipped out of the corner of your mouth with every word that accompanied his perfect thrusts, “—they just don’t know yet.”
You were babbling. Yes and please and Xavie and a long stream of nothing coherent enough, breath fogging the glass inches from your nose, every word he gave you tightening another knot low in your belly. You squeezed around his cock on instinct and felt him shudder.
“That’s it,” he rasped, palm splayed warm against your spine. “That’s my girl. Make as much mess as you need to. I’ll clean every inch of you after.”
You came around him with a scream you didn’t recognize, and the marble beneath you was a flood, all the while your boyfriend kept fucking you in abandon.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who you first notice in your advanced painting seminar because he’s always the one turning in pieces that make the professor pause and nod approvingly, and you can’t help but feel a spark of annoyance when he smirks at you across the studio like he knows his work rivals yours out just a little.
You catch him glancing at your canvas during critiques, his eyes lingering a bit too long, and when you ask him what he’s staring at, he just shrugs and says, “Nothing, just wondering if you’re going for abstract or accidentally messy.”
It stings, but you fire back, “At least mine has intention behind it, unlike your show-off splatters.”
Academic Rival!Rafayel who starts showing up at the same late-night library sessions you do, claiming the table right next to yours even though the place is almost empty, and you try to ignore how he hums under his breath while sketching, but it distracts you enough that you end up rereading the same art history page three times.
One night, you snap your book shut louder than necessary and whisper, “Do you have to do that here? Some of us are trying to focus.”
He looks up with that lazy grin, leaning back in his chair. “Am I bothering you? Good, maybe it’ll push you to work harder. Your last piece could use some… fire.”
You roll your eyes, but you feel a flush creep up your neck, wondering if he’s actually paying that much attention to what you create.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who surprises you by offering a casual critique during a group session, pointing out how your color choices could pop more if you layered them differently, and it’s solid advice, but you don’t want to admit it, so you mutter, “Thanks, but I think it’s fine as is.”
He chuckles softly, “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t try to help my competition.”
Later, when you’re packing up, he lingers by your easel and adds, “You know, you’re not bad. Almost as good as me.”
You shoot him a look, “Almost? Keep dreaming, Rafayel.”
Academic Rival!Rafayel who you run into at the campus coffee shop during a break, and he slides into the seat across from you without asking, holding out a spare muffin like it’s no big deal. “Figured you might need fuel for that brain of yours. Can’t have you falling behind.”
You take it, suspicious but hungry, and say, “What’s the catch? Did you poison it or something?”
He laughs, a real one that crinkles his eyes. “Nope, just being nice. Or maybe I like watching you get all worked up.”
You bite into the muffin, and for a moment, the conversation shifts to complaining about the professor’s impossible deadlines, and you realize he’s actually fun to talk to when he’s not being so fucking smug.
But then he leans in a bit, voice dropping, “Admit it, though. You check out my work as much as I check yours.”
You feel your pulse pick up, but you play it cool. “Only to see what not to do.”
Academic Rival!Rafayel who starts leaving little notes on your locker in the art building, stuff like “Try warmer tones next time” or “Not bad, but mine’s better,” and it irritates you, but you find yourself smiling when no one’s looking, tucking them into your bag instead of throwing them away.
One day, you corner him in the hallway after class and hold up the latest note. “What’s this about? Trying to psych me out?”
He steps closer, that teasing glint in his eyes. “Or maybeee I’m flirting. Ever think of that?”
You blink, caught off guard, and mumble, “You’re full of it.” but your heart races as he walks away, and you wonder if he’s serious or just messing with you.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who pairs up with you for a joint project because the professor assigns it randomly, and you both groan at first, but as you work late in the empty studio, arguing over composition, you notice how his hand brushes yours when reaching for the same brush, and neither of you pulls away right away.
“You’re hogging the palette,” you say, nudging his arm. He nudges back, closer than necessary.
“Make me stop.”
The air feels thicker, and when he looks at you, it’s not just the smugness you came to know so well. There’s something a little warmer there.
You swallow, focusing on the canvas, but your mind wanders to how his fingers felt against yours earlier.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who, after a long night of painting, wipes a streak of blue paint across your cheek as a joke, and you retaliate by smearing red on his nose, laughing until you’re both a mess, and suddenly he’s close, thumb tracing the paint on your skin a little too gently.
“Missed a spot,” he murmurs, his breath warm on your face.
You freeze, then whisper, “You’re distracting me on purpose.”
He smiles, slow and knowing. “Is it working?”
Before you can answer, his lips brush yours lightly, testing, and you kiss back without thinking, the tension that’s been building finally sparking out of control.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who pulls you into the supply closet during a break from class because “we need more charcoal,” but once the door clicks shut, his hands are on your waist, kissing you deeper, and you press against him, fingers tangling in his hair as things heat up fast.
“We shouldn’t,” you gasp between kisses, but you don’t stop.
He chuckles against your neck. “Says who? We’ve earned a break.”
His hand slides under your shirt, tracing your skin, and you arch into it, the thrill of doing this somewhere hidden making it all feel more intense.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who still teases you in class the next day like nothing happened, but his eyes linger longer, and during a quiet moment in the library, he pulls you behind the stacks, hand slipping between your thighs under the table later when no one’s looking.
“Focus,” he says innocently, but his touch says otherwise.
You grip the edge of the book, whispering, “You're making it pretty hard to.”
He grins. “Aw, you're so easy to distract.” his touches feel more electric, and suddenly, you don't seem to care as much about being distracted.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who sneaks you into the rooftop access after hours for “inspiration,” but it turns into him backing you against the wall, hands exploring as you kiss, the city lights blurring in the background while you focus on the way he touches you, careful but bold.
“You’re so addictive,” he whispers, fingers dipping lower.
You bite your lip, guiding his hand. “Get addicted, then.”
It’s quick and heated, both of you breathless by the end, but he holds you close after, like he doesn’t want to let go.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who keeps up the teasing in the studio the morning after your heated moment on the rooftop, critiquing your brush technique out loud like it’s just another day, but you catch the way his gaze drops to your lips when no one’s paying too much attention, making your skin heat up as you remember his hands on you.
You try to focus on mixing paints, but he leans over your shoulder, close enough that you feel his breath on your neck.
“That shade’s off,” he murmurs. “Need help fixing it?”
You swallow, whispering back, “I got it.”
But your hand shakes a little, and he notices, his fingers brushing yours as he adjusts the palette without asking.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who texts you later that afternoon about meeting up to “discuss the project,” but when you show up at his dorm, he’s got the door cracked open, shirtless and casual like he forgot you were coming, and you feel a pull low in your belly as you step inside.
“You’re early,” he says with a smirk, closing the door behind you.
You cross your arms, trying to play it cool and not stare at his bare chest. “I'm on time. You, on the other hand, seem to have forgotten about inviting me over.”
He steps closer, backing you toward the bed without touching you yet. “Admit it, you couldn’t wait to come over early so we would have time for...other extracurricular activities.”
Your heart pounds, and you don’t deny it, letting him crowd you until you’re sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands finally settling on your thighs.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who kisses you slow at first, like he’s savoring the win, but it builds very fast as his fingers slide up under your skirt, tracing the hem of your panties, and you gasp into his mouth when he presses against you there, rubbing gently through the fabric.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, voice low and rough and a little bit too smug for your taste, pulling back just enough to watch your face.
You nod, breath catching as you reach for his belt. “Yeah,” you manage, “but don’t stop.”
He groans softly, helping you undo it, his free hand guiding yours to wrap around his cock, warm and hard in your grip.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who lays you back on the bed, peeling off your clothes piece by piece, his mouth following his hands down your body until he’s between your legs, tongue flicking out to taste you, making you arch and grab at his hair as waves of heat build inside.
You feel every stroke, wet and maddening, and you whisper his name, urging him on.
He looks up at you, eyes dark. “Tell me how it feels, cutie.”
You bite your lip. “Good… feels g-good, keep going.”
He does, adding fingers that curl so, so right, pushing you closer and closer until you come undone, shaking under him.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who flips you over after, entering you from behind in one smooth thrust that makes you moan into the pillow, his hands on your hips pulling you back to meet him, the rhythm steady and deep, filling you completely.
“Fuck, I've waited so long to be inside you,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.
You push back against him, matching his pace. “Then go harder.”
He obliges, one hand slipping around to rub you again, and the double sensation has you clenching around him, both of you chasing the highs of your orgasms until he tenses and spills inside you with a low groan.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who collapses beside you, pulling you close as your breaths slow down, but even then, he still finds the energy to be smug and flirty when he traces lazy patterns on your skin.
“Still think you’re better than me?” he teases softly.
You laugh quietly, turning to face him. “In painting, maybe. This… we’re even.”
He smiles, kissing you again, like there’s no rush to define what comes next.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who sneaks more moments like that over the next weeks, like in the empty lecture hall after a late seminar, where he locks the door and bends you over the desk, skirt hiked up, thrusting into you quick and urgent while you brace against the wood, trying to stay quiet.
“Someone could walk in,” you whisper, but it only makes you wetter.
He chuckles against your ear, hand covering your mouth gently. “Then be quiet, yeah?”
His movements speed up, hitting that spot that makes your legs weak, and you cum first, muffling your cry against his palm before he follows, pulling out just in time.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who takes it to the campus art gallery during a quiet evening event, pulling you into a shadowed alcove behind a sculpture, his fingers dipping inside you while you pretend to study the exhibit, your back against the wall as you bite back moans.
“You’re so wet already,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. You reach down, stroking him through his pants until he’s hard, then guide him inside you right there, the risk making it intense as he rocks into you slow and deep, both of you finishing fast and breathless.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who keeps inviting you over to his place under the pretense of reviewing notes, but as soon as the door closes, he’s got you against it, kissing you deeply while his hands work your shirt up, palms warm on your bare skin as he lifts you slightly, your legs wrapping around him.
“Couldn’t focus all day,” he murmurs against your neck, carrying you to the couch. You feel him hard against you already, and you grind down a little, drawing a groan from him.
“Tease,” he says, setting you down and stripping off his shirt before settling between your legs, fingers hooking into your pants to pull them down slowly.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who now takes his sweet time undressing you there, kissing every inch he reveals, soft and attentive, until you’re bare under him, and he pauses to just look, his gaze making you squirm.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says simply, then lowers his head, mouth on your breast, sucking gently while his hand slides between your legs, fingers circling your clit in lazy strokes.
You arch into him, whispering, “More.”
He adds a finger inside you, curling it just right, his tongue flicking your nipple in time, and you cum just like that, soft waves of pleasure rolling through you as he watches your face, kissing you through it.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who lets you return the favor after, pushing him back on the couch as you kneel between his legs, hands undoing his jeans and pulling him free, stroking him firm and slow while you lean down to take him in your mouth, tongue swirling around the leaking tip.
He threads his fingers in your hair, holding you, “F-fuck, that feels good,” he breathes, hips lifting slightly.
You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and he tenses, warning you softly before he cums, spilling hot on your tongue as you swallow, looking up at him with a satisfied smile.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who pulls a teasing stunt during a group study session in the library, sitting next to you and acting normal at first, but then his hand slips under the table to your thigh, fingers inching higher under your skirt while everyone else discusses the assignment.
You try to focus, but when his fingers brush your underwear, rubbing lightly, you grip your pen tighter.
“Rafayel,” you whisper warningly.
He leans over like he’s pointing at your notes. “What's wrong? I'm just..." he trails off, circling firmly on your clit, only once, "...helping you concentrate.”
His touch gets bolder, slipping inside the fabric to stroke you directly, and you have to bite back a sound, shifting in your seat as the orgasm builds fast.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who stops just before you tip over, pulling his hand away with a smirk when the group goes for a coffee break, leaving you flushed and glaring.
“Payback later,” you hiss through your teeth.
He chuckles. “Counting on it.”
Academic Rival!Rafayel who makes up for it that night in your dorm, showing up with takeout as an excuse, but soon you’re on the bed, him above you, entering you slow and deep, rolling his hips in a rhythm that hits every spot perfectly, his mouth on yours muffling your moans.
“Like this? Is this good enough for your pretty face to stop glaring at me?” he asks smugly between thrusts, hand on your breast, thumb teasing your nipple.
You nod, nails digging into his back. “Yes, yes, don’t stop.”
He picks up pace gradually, until you’re both close, and he pulls out to finish on your stomach, warm spurts that he wipes away gently after, kissing your forehead.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who keeps teasing in subtle ways, like brushing his foot against yours under the table during a cafe meetup for project work, or sending you a quick text during class with a winking emoji that makes you remember last night, heat pooling low between your thighs as you try to pay attention.
One afternoon in the empty art lounge, he corners you by the window, hands on your hips as he kisses you, then drops to his knees, lifting your skirt and mouthing you through your underwear until they’re soaked, his tongue pressing fabric against you teasingly.
“Want me to stop?” he asks, looking up.
You shake your head. “N-no.”
He pulls them aside, licking directly now, soft and insistent, fingers holding you open until you cum against his mouth, legs shaking.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who balances the heat with softer moments, like the time he draws you while you’re napping on his bed after sex, his pencil scratching lightly, and when you wake, he shows you the sketch, simple lines capturing you relaxed.
“My beautiful muse,” he says, pulling you into a gentle hug that turns into slow, grinding sex, with him behind you, hand between your legs as he thrusts lazy and deep.
You feel every inch, the closeness making it so intimate, and you cum together quietly, his breath hot on your neck as he holds you tight against him.
Academic Rival!Rafayel who admits over late-night snacks in bed that he’s falling for you. His fingers interlaced with yours, and you came to admit to yourself that you feel the same.
You bend and kiss him softly before it heats up again, you on top this time, riding him slowly, hands on his chest as you control the pace, drawing it out until he’s begging quietly.
“Please,” he says, hips bucking up.
You lean down, whispering, “Not yet...tonight, I think it's best if we both feel it...”
When you finally speed up, he grips your hips so tightly when he finally cums hard inside you. As you follow, you collapse onto him, spent and content.
if you liked it, you can buy me a coffee here! it would be very appreciated<3: https://ko-fi.com/zaynessbeloved
.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.
.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!
CW: Smut. Dry humping. Use of cum as lube. Pseudocest 🔞 MDNI🔞
Apple Masterlist
The night before he was set to leave for college, a fierce thunderstorm erupted outside. The sky was tearing itself apart in jagged streaks of violet and white, but inside his darkened room, the air felt thick, almost stagnant.
Caleb stared at the ceiling, tracing the faint shadows cast by the lightning. He was supposed to be thinking about tomorrow. College. New beginnings. Moving away from the only constant he’d ever known. But his mind wouldn't settle. He was just waiting. Counting the seconds until the inevitable happened.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
There it was. The uneven footsteps he recognized even in his sleep. Then, the unmistakable, agonizingly slow creak of his bedroom door.
"Caleb?"
Your voice was practically swallowed by the roar of the wind outside. In the sliver of light spilling from the hallway, he saw you looking far too small, dressed in those ridiculous pink bunny pajamas that he secretly adored because they belonged entirely to you. Your eyes were huge, shimmering with a familiar terror of the thunderstorm.
"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"
It was such a simple, childish request. An innocent plea. Yet, hearing it sent a violent jolt through his chest, a tightening so intense it actually hurt. Part of him wanted to tell you no, not to be mean, but because if you stayed, if you crawled in there, how was he supposed to ever leave? How was he supposed to survive a world where he wasn't centimeters away from your heartbeat?
"Of course, Pips," he managed to say. He forced his voice to remain level, playing the role of the reliable protector, the sturdy anchor in your storm. "Come on in."
You scrambled onto the mattress, burying yourself under the duvet as if trying to merge with him. Almost instantly, he felt the weight of you pressing against his side, your small hands bunching the fabric of his shirt in a desperate grip.
For a split second, his discipline slipped. Fuck, she smells so good, he thought, his lungs hitching as he inhaled deeply. Then, the internal slap followed. Get a grip, you fucking pervert, he scolded himself, his face heating up in the dark.
Your face pressed deeper into the hollow of his neck, and your lips, soft and warm, brushed against his skin. Your breathing was fast, shallow puffs of heat against his jugular that made his pulse turn into a riot. A shudder raced down his spine, primal and uncontrollable. He clamped his jaw shut, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper, fighting the urge to groan, to pull you closer, to wrap his arms around you and never, ever let the morning come.
He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat feeling like a serrated stone. Control yourself, he commanded his brain, a desperate mantra he repeated behind his teeth. She’s just trying to sleep. She doesn’t know. Don’t be a freak. But logic was a losing battle. His body was reacting to every microscopic shift of yours with a visceral heat that pooled low in his belly, making his skin feel several sizes too small. It was a heavy, aching sensation that demanded attention he wasn't ready to give.
"I'm going to miss you"
Those words were a wrecking ball. The sadness in your voice, so quiet and fragile, sliced right through the carefully constructed walls of his composure. It wasn't just a sentiment, it was a physical blow to his chest. Hearing you admit it, feeling the tremor in your body as you clung to him made the impending separation feel less like a transition and more like a death sentence.
"I'm going to miss you too," he rasped. He tried to aim for comforting, but it came out wrecked, his voice dropping into a gravelly register he couldn't quite smooth over. "Way more than you could ever possibly know."
He was lying. He wouldn't just miss you, he would ache for you. He would hunger for you until it became a sickness.
Before he could talk himself out of it, his hand moved. It was an impulse, innocent and instinctive, as he reached up to cup your cheek. His thumb traced the curve of your jawline, a feather light touch that felt electric in the silence of the room. Slowly he tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze.
In the silvery light bleeding through the curtains, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful. He could see the wet shimmer of unshed tears pooling in your eyes and the way your bottom lip trembled in an involuntary pout.
Everything about you screamed for protection, for him to swallow you whole just to ensure nothing could ever hurt you again. His gaze drifted, helplessly, to your soft lips, and for a terrifying moment, he wondered if the storm outside was loud enough to drown out the sound of him finally breaking his promise to stay "just a friend."
Inside his chest, a literal civil war was erupting. One half of him the boy who had grown up beside you, the one who promised to protect you from monsters and bad dreams wanted to simply hold you into his arms and kiss your forehead until you fell asleep. But the other half? The shadow growing in the corners of his mind? That part was starving. It was greedy, irrational, and utterly consumed by the sight of you.
Don't you fucking dare, he snarled at his own soul. Stay sane. Stay the guy she trusts.
Yet, despite the warnings screaming in his head, his body was already betraying him. Gravity seemed to tilt, pulling his head downward, until the only thing left in the universe was the damp sheen of your lips.
"What are you so afraid of?" you whispered.
The question was a knife. He opened his mouth to lie, to weave one of his usual deceptions, but the words died in his parched throat. "I'm not..." he choked out, the falsehood sounding pathetic even to his own ears.
"You are scared," you insisted, your voice lacing with a gentle intuition. "I thought you were..."
"If you don't stop talking right now..."
The warning was cut short by a sudden shift in tension. Before you could finish your thought, Caleb’s hand moved upward, his fingers tangling deep into the hair at the nape of your neck. He gripped it, not gently, not like the brother you knew, but with an intensity that forced your scalp to tighten and your eyes to water.
An involuntary gasp wrenched itself from your throat, a sound halfway between surprise and a plea.
"Caleb..." your voice wavered, breathless and uncertain.
"This is on you, then," he hissed, his voice dropping into a timbre you had never heard before. There was no kindness left in his eyes, only dark desperation.
With a sharp yank he pulled your head back, forcing your chin toward the ceiling. The movement exposed the vulnerable line of your throat to him. You were pinned, trapped between the mattress and the weight of his presence
What the hell am I doing? he wondered, even as he descended. He was supposed to be the stable one, the one who kept his shit together while you drifted. But right now, his common sense was a distant, muffled noise, drowned out by the roar of his own blood.
He shouldn't be this close. He shouldn't be smelling the heat of your skin or listening to the erratic thumping of your heart.
But the moment his lips found your skin he dragged his mouth across your collarbone with desperation. It was an admission of defeat, a total surrender to the gravity of you. When he found that single, fluttering pulse point at the base of your throat, he didn't hesitate. He caught it between his teeth in a sudden nip that was half kiss, half bite.
The sound that broke from your throat, that breathless moan was the final blow. It shattered what was left of his restraint.
His arm locked around your waist, hauling you upward until there wasn't a single inch of air between you. He wanted to merge with you, to pull you so deep into his chest that you’d never be able to find your way out.
“This is wrong,” he breathed, his voice a jagged wreck, a low vibration against your jaw. “This is so fucking wrong.”
He was lying to himself, and you both knew it. He could feel the way you were melting against him, the way your own hands had found their way into his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more.
“I know,” you whispered.
The words were a permission slip, a green light that sent him over the edge. He needed you like air, like the very ground beneath his feet. The line between "brotherly" and "obsessive" had blurred into nothingness, leaving only the reality of the two of you in the dark, listening to the storm outside and the chaos within.
“Fuck it.”
The decision didn't just arrive, it exploded. All the careful boundaries, the years of pretending, the polite smiles they all burned to ash in a single second. His mouth crashed against yours, he kissed you with the kind of desperation born from someone who had been dying of thirst for years and finally stumbled upon a spring.
Your startled gasp was swallowed by the force of his hunger, muffled somewhere deep in the heat of his throat. He knew what people would call this. He knew the labels, the judgments, the wrongness of a man kissing a girl he’d grown up alongside like this. But none of that mattered. None of it could compete with the adrenaline racing through his body.
Let the world call it sin. Let them call it madness. As he tasted the honeyed sweetness of you, all he could think was that he would burn the heavens down just to keep this feeling alive.
She's mine, the thought roared in the dark recesses of his mind, fueled by a sudden surge of possessiveness. Mine to worship. Mine to hide away. Mine to fucking ruin.
He didn't wait for an invitation. He guided you backward, his strength effortless as he pressed you down into the yielding softness of the mattress. He hovered over you, his hips sliding firmly between yours, creating a delicious friction that made you catch your breath in a broken moan.
“Just for a second,” he murmured against your lips. It was a lie that neither of you believed for a damn second.
“Yeah,” you managed to choke out, nodding frantically against him, your heart hammering a rhythm of pure chaos. “Just for a second... then we have to stop.”
As if to mock your resolve, he caught your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging on it with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your toes curl.
In the heated silence of the room, amidst the crashing thunder, the physical reality of him became impossible to ignore. You could feel the hard, insistent press of him against your thigh, a blunt testament to just how much he’d been suppressing. And you felt it too, a heavy, hollow throb between your own legs, a silent demand that mirrored his own, making the impossible task of stopping seem like a cruel joke.
He swallowed your gasp whole, devouring the sound before he wrenched himself away.
“We’re fucked,” he breathed, his chest heaving, “We are so fucked.”
He didn't move for a minute. He just sat there, staring at nothing, trying to stitch the fragments of his composure back together while his heart hammered against his ribs. He had to get out. He had to leave the room, leave the house, leave the city, anywhere but here, in the suffocating silence of his bedroom. If he stayed he knew exactly how this would end.
He stood up and stumbled toward the door. His hand clamped around the knob, knuckles turning a ghostly white as he gripped it. He could have turned it. He could have walked away and pretend this never happened, pretend that the air hadn't ignited the moment your lips touched his.
But he couldn't.
He turned back, his gaze sweeping over you. You were still on the bed, a disheveled, beautiful wreck, your hair a wild halo around your face, your lips swollen and stung red. The sight of you so fragile and yet so maddeningly powerful made his stomach roll. It made him want to scream, it made him want to crawl back into bed and never leave.
What the hell am I doing? he asked himself, but there was no answer, only the distant rumble of thunder.
“I...” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
“Caleb, please,” you cut in, voice trembling, eyes fixed on his white knuckled grip on the doorknob. “Tell me the truth. Did you feel it too? Or am I just some stupid girl dreaming of something that can’t exist?”
The question hung there, thick and heavy, filling the room. He felt the weight of it crushing him, a physical pressure that made it hard to breathe. He looked at you and the mask he’d worn for years finally cracked.
“You’re not stupid,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “But this isn't a dream. It’s a fucking nightmare.” He took a step back toward you, his resolve crumbling in real time. “Because I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
For a split second, a jagged bolt of lightning bleached the room in a harsh, blinding strobe, casting your silhouette against the walls like dancing ghosts.
"Damn it all to hell!"
Forget whatever version of sensible he had been pretending to live by. He strode back toward the bed, each step purposeful and heavy, closing the distance he had just started to build between you.
When he reached the bedside, he loomed over you, his breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in visible jerks as if he’d just finished a sprint.
"Tell me you didn't feel that fucking kiss," he challenged, "lie to me. Lie to my face and tell me it was just me, that I'm the one losing my goddamn mind."
The vulnerability in his aggression was staggering. He was offering you the chance to save him, to send him packing and preserve things as they were, but he was already leaning in, waiting for the impact.
"I felt every single thing," you whispered.
The confession felt like surrender, your voice thin and shaky but anchored by a brutal honesty that left no room for doubt.
At that, the last thread of his legendary discipline snapped like a dry twig.
He lunged forward, his hand coming up to cradle your face, his thumb dragging over your swollen, bitten lip, marking the territory he had already laid claim to.
"You can't take it back now," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips, tasting of salt and desperation. "You've sealed your fate. Just like I have."
He didn't give you a chance to answer. He crashed down onto you, his body eclipsing the light, pinning yours into the mattress. His hands slid down to your waist, fingers digging into your hips as he reclaimed your mouth, drowning out the storm outside with the force of his kiss.
“Fuck, I need you,” he groaned, the words vibrating directly into your lips. His tongue delved deep, searching, mapping every inch of you, trying to memorize your essence through taste alone. “I need you so fucking much it’s driving me insane.”
Outside, the rain transitioned from a rhythmic drum to a violent assault, lashing against the glass panes in sync with the tempo of your heart. Every ounce of the longing he’d suppressed since childhood, every lonely night, every stolen glance, every stifled sigh was poured into the brutal pressure of his mouth against yours.
He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes glazed and unfocused with lust. "Tell me you want this too," he demanded, his voice cracking, a command masked as a plea. "Tell me you're mine, just like I'm yours. Say it."
"I've wanted this for so long!" The words tumbled out of you in a breathless rush. Your hands flew to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair to haul him back down, needing the friction, needing the weight. "I feel like I've been waiting forever for you to kiss me like this... to touch me like this..."
The admission broke whatever remained of his tether to reality. With a sudden movement, Caleb rolled onto his back, dragging you along with him in a tangle of limbs and heat. Suddenly, you were perched atop him, straddling his hips, the position leaving you exposed to the magnetism of his body.
His large hands clamped onto your hips and he let out a strangled groan, a sound of pure torment as you instinctively rolled your hips against him. The friction was electric. Even through the layers of fabric separating you, his heat was searing, a brand against your skin.
You could feel him thick, rigid, and pulsing. As you ground down against him, a small, broken sob escaped your lips, your entire frame shivering with a craving so intense it felt like you were being unmade from the inside out.
He was undone too. Completely ruined by the simple friction of you.
"Fuck stop!" Caleb gritted out, the words strained through teeth so tightly clenched they might snap "If you keep moving like that... if you don't stop, this is gonna be over before we even get started."
An embarrassed flush crept up his neck, staining his cheeks as he admitted the truth. "I'm too fucking close already. Please... I want to make this last. I want to make it perfect for you."
But you weren't interested in his careful pacing. Despite his attempts to pin you in place, you remained relentless, chasing the friction he was trying so hard to regulate.
"Shit... you're fucking drenched, aren't you?" his hands stopped trying to restrain you and instead began to guide you, helping you grind yourself senseless against the length of his cock.
"Holy fuck, you feel incredible," he whispered before he threw his head back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering closed. "I can feel how soaking wet you are... it's everywhere."
He was fighting a losing battle. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming, tuned solely to you. His breath hitched sharply when he felt his pajama bottoms begin to move, the waistband becoming a torture device of tightness around his cock. The pretty tip peeked out, flushed a deep pink and weeping with pre cum, catching and nudging provocatively against the damp fabric of your own shorts with every undulation of your hips.
Driven by need, you reached down. Your fingers were trembling and clumsy but you managed a quick, desperate tug, shoving your pajama shorts and panties aside.
The cool air hit your skin for a second before the heat of him replaced it, leaving your glistening cunt completely bared and begging for the contact you'd both been craving since the first raindrop hit the roof.
"I'm sorry, Caleb... I need this"
"Don't you fucking dare, don't you... !" he warned, but he was far too late. A groan ripped from his throat when the direct contact hit him, the dripping heat of your bare, soft folds sliding perfectly over the sensitive tip of his cock.
"No, wait! Wait!" he grunted, his hips bucking upward in a reflexive jerk. The dam had broken. All that built up tension suddenly gave way, and his orgasm crashed through him "I'm sorry, I can't... god, I'm going to...!"
He didn't even finish the sentence. You felt the convulsions of his body beneath you, a series of intense tremors that signaled his complete loss of control. Hot, thick ropes of cum spilled out of him, coating his abdomen and spilling over onto you. The slick, warm flood coated your pussy, turning the friction into something incredibly intense. Rather than slowing down, the new sensation drove you mad, you continued to roll your hips, seeking more of that heavenly, slippery glide.
Caleb’s hands flew to your waist, his fingers digging deep into your soft skin as he rode out the aftershocks. He was panting, his eyes rolled back, a portrait of absolute, blissful wreckage. "Shit, I can't... can't stop...won't let me stop..."
The momentum was a runaway train. You were past the point of mercy, past the point of caring.
"Fuck, Caleb, I'm gonna... Ughnnhh!" you were grinding shamelessly on the pulsing head of his cock. The combination of your own arousal and his spent provided a frictionless, divine sensation that centered entirely on your swelling clit. "I'm gonna cum, Cay fuck, fuck, fuck!!"
As the first spasm of your climax seized you, Caleb moved upward. He crashed his lips against yours, effectively stealing the scream of ecstasy from your throat. He smothered your cries with a kiss that was profoundly passionate, his tongue invading your mouth to catch the sounds of your undoing.
He wasn't just a witness to your pleasure, he was fueling it. His hands slid down from your waist to grasp your ass, his palms squeezing the curves of your cheeks and pulling you down even harder against him. He held you there, pinning you to his warmth, determined to ride every single twitch and contraction of your orgasm until you were both nothing but shivering, exhausted wrecks in the dark.
Even in the hazy, post orgasmic fog, those violet eyes remained terrifyingly intense, darker than the shadows pooling in the corners of the room, smoldering with a fire that hadn't quite been extinguished.
The exhaustion didn't settle, instead, it transmuted into something sharper, something heavier. A slow, wicked grin began to spread across his face.
"That little stunt..." he began, his hands, still warm and slightly damp from the sweat and fluids between you, slid from your ass back up to your waist.
"It's going to cost you, sweetheart," he murmured, his grin widening into something devastatingly handsome and altogether too dangerous. The playful nickname was laced with heavy intention. "I think it’s time I showed you exactly what happens when you tease me like that."
There was no hesitation in his eyes this time. Only the promise of a reckoning.
synopsis. trying to win over your bully... watch out!
pairing. bully! rafayel qi x reader
content/mdni. DUBCON. COERCION. fem!reader, implied uni!au, goodie-two-shoes!reader, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, delinquent!rafayel, dom!rafayel, bully!rafayel, mean!rafayel, pervert!rafayel, manipulative!rafayel, possessive!rafayel, angry!rafayel, needy!reader, ashamed!reader, MANIPULATION, GRINDING, spanking, groping, rim job (kinda), hair pulling, finger sucking (m receiving), DACRYPHILIA, begging (m receiving), SPIT PLAY, fingering (f receiving), teasing, slight praise, slight degradation, pet names (princess, good girl, whore, slut, a lot of names), TW: forced raw sex, CREAMPIE, allusion to caleb x reader and sylus x reader, mention of anal sex and pierced cocks, WILD.
word count. 5.4k
a/n. it's too late at night for proofreading sorry! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
the days after that accursed encounter in the abandoned humanities building passed like runny honey — slow, sticky, and suffocating.
you told yourself you were relieved.
your bully had stopped bothering you: no more taunting whispers in the hallway, no more cruel hands finding your waist and hips when no one was looking. no more of those dark, knowing smirks that made your stomach twist into knots you couldn’t untangle even after doing breathing exercises.
you should have been grateful.
but instead, you found yourself scanning every crowded corridor for him.
your eyes would catch on the back of someone’s head — purplish shade between the sea of students — and your heart would thump, only to freeze when the guy turned around and it wasn’t him.
rafayel was always surrounded by people, just like before. unlike you, he was always with people. his new friends, his old friends, people who laughed at his jokes and touched his shoulder and existed in his surroundings like it was the easiest thing in the world.
meanwhile, you couldn’t even catch his gaze across the cafeteria.
it was driving you insane.
and the worst part — the truly humiliating part — was how aware you have become of your own body.
every brush of fabric against your skin reminded you of his hands. every time you crossed your legs in class, you felt the phantom press of his fingers against your thighs. at night, tangled in your sheets, you’d squeeze your eyes shut as you rutted against your blanket, hating yourself for remembering the way his voice dropped when he said your pet name.
you needed him to pester you again, you needed him to touch you again.
you hated that you needed it, you really did. who, in their right mind, would cry after their bully? who, in their right mind, would regret being freed from such a torturous situation?
but the craving had infiltrated your skin deep, and no amount of logic or self-loathing could pry it loose.
as such, you decided to find him on your own.
and you knew exactly where to search for him.
•••
the humanities building sat at the union between two new constructions, a crumbling relic that administration kept in hopes of restoration. but everyone knew what was happening there and that no restoration was in sight.
the delinquents, the smokers, the kids who sold things they shouldn’t have. they were moving around the building like insects, swarming any chance of retribution.
you, a goodie-two-shoes that minds her business, never had a reason to set foot inside before last week.
and now… today.
you walked its shadowed corridors with your arms wrapped around yourself, university uniform thin against the cold of non-habitation, shivering now and then despite the humidity.
the air smelled like old books and burnt cigarettes. graffiti crawled up the walls in violent, colorful streaks, standing like warnings for people that shouldn’t be there. every sound seemed too loud — the scuff of your shoes, the distant drip of water from a leaky pipe, your own nervous breathing.
but you were almost there.
you remembered the door, the one rafayel was leaning against when he encountered you. third floor, end of the hall, the one with the broken chairs and a long wooden table in the hallway.
you knocked before you could turn around and abandon your mission, before all your arousal-fueled courage ran out.
and, to your joyous surprise, the door swung open.
but the man who filled the frame was not rafayel.
he was taller, broader, with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. dark ink curled up both arms, veins intertwining with intricate designs that fell beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt. his eyes, a crimson red, raked over you like he was assessing merchandise, slow and unimpressed.
definitely not rafayel.
“what.” he said as he let out a puff from his cigarette, fumes splashing in your face.
it was not a question, but a demand.
you swallowed, suddenly feeling more intimidated than you usually feel with rafayel around. his eyes were pinning you down just by simply looking, earning him a tremble in your weak knees. “i’m– i’m looking for rafayel.”
the white-haired man — definitely heavily bleached — let out a short laugh that was more smoke than sound. you were once more washed by the cigarette fume, but he didn’t bother stopping.
“rafayel’s not here. and even if he was, i doubt he has anything to do with… you.”
that you almost sounded like a slur, drawing a clear line between delinquents like them and obedient, sweet girls like yourself. he didn’t wait for you to explain yourself, dragging once from his cigarette, and reached out a tatted arm to close the door.
“w–wait–”
he wasn’t gonna hear you out because there was nothing you could’ve said that would make him trust you. there was no point in wasting time with you.
but someone else’s voice floated from inside, surprisingly honey-sweet and curious. “sylus, don’t be ruuude.”
the door stopped moving. sylus’s mouth twitched in annoyance, cigarette almost dropping, but he stepped back from the doorway.
allowing the second man to come into view.
this one was different.
where sylus was all sharp edges and disinterest, this man was… soft — soft brown hair falling across his forehead, soft smile curling his lips, soft amethyst eyes that crinkled at the corners like he’d just seen something that delighted him.
he was handsome in an approachable way, and you felt your entire body relax at his easy-going demeanor.
you didn’t realize he was looking at you the way a cat looks at a bird that’s flown straight into a window.
“caleb.” sylus muttered, brows knitted in rebuttal. “don’t.”
“whaat? i’m not doing anything.” caleb pushed the door open wider, his smile never wavering as he passed by sylus. “i’m just being friendly. isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
the endearment landed strange on your cheeks, like a whip inciting the hidden heat beneath your skin.
“can you–” your voice came out smaller than you wanted, still wary of sylus and his sharp, bloody gaze. “do you know where i can find him? rafayel?”
caleb tilted his head, eyes widening with a sudden realization. behind him, sylus rolled his eyes and disappeared back into the room, muttering something about consequences.
“mhm, rafayel.” caleb repeated, like he was testing the waters, a knowing smile gracing his lips. “that’s who you’re after?”
you nodded slowly, cheeks heating up at the implication that you were looking for a man.
at that, he stepped closer. not quite into the hallway, but near enough that the distance between you shrank. his cologne smelled like vanilla and smoke — maybe from sylus, maybe from his own cigarettes... it made your head feel fuzzy.
“he’s not here today.” caleb said. “were you hoping he’d show up? open the door for you?” his voice was gentle, almost sympathetic. “poor thing.”
almost.
your throat tightened, embarrassment creeping up your neck. “i just… need to talk to him.”
“i’m sure you do.” caleb leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, almost mirroring the way rafayel stood last week.
his gaze dropped — just for a second — down to your chest and legs, then back to your face. so quick you almost thought you imagined it. “you’re cute. really cute. but you’re going about this all wrong.”
“huh? i– i don’t understand.”
“it’s obvious what you want.” he laughed, but it wasn’t mean. it was almost kind. almost pitying you. “look, i’ll help you out. for free. because i’m nice like that.”
you should have left. every instinct you had was telling you to walk away, to find another way, to not stand here letting this stranger dissect you with his soft eyes and softer voice.
but you didn’t move.
even worse, you were dragged by his gentle tone inside the room.
“the way you’re dressed now.” caleb continued, gesturing vaguely at your long skirt and oversized shirt. “you look like every other girl on campus. invisible. forgettable. rafayel’s not going to notice you if you blend in with the wallpaper.”
your cheeks burned at his mentioning of your skirt, memories of your last encounter flooding your senses. “but it’s the uniform. i just respect i–”
“pff, of course you are.” he pushed off the bookcase he was leaning against, and suddenly he was closer, close enough that you could see the shine in his purple eyes. “but you came all the way to this building. you knocked on this door. you asked for him by name.”
“don’t pretend you don’t know what you want.”
you opened your mouth to protest. nothing came out.
caleb smiled, softer now, as if he hadn’t just accused you of seeking pleasure, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers brushed your cheek, feather-light, then cupped your chin.
you flinched, but he didn’t pull away.
“here’s what you do.” he said, voice low, like he was letting you in on a secret. “short skirt. something that shows off your legs. and cuter underwear– doesn’t matter if no one sees it, you’ll feel different. wear something lacy for him. then come back here, on friday afternoon.”
“and rafayel will–”
“rafayel will be on you in two seconds max.” caleb’s hand dropped back to his side, sliding in his pocket. “guys like him can’t resist a sweet girl like you. especially if you show how much you want it.”
he said it so easily. so confidently. and you were so desperate, so hungry for any scrap of advice, any wat that might lead you back to those hands, that voice, the way rafayel made you feel like you were falling apart and being put back together at the same time.
his words were partially registered, as if your brain purposefully avoided the strangeness in them.
“thank you.” you whispered back, nodding briefly.
caleb’s smile widened, pleased at your compliance. “of course. it’s my pleasure, sweetheart.”
he reached past you to open the door, and his chest brushed your shoulder — accidentally, you told yourself. but the contact lingered longer than it should have, warm through the fabric of your shirt.
“friday.” he said. “be here for your prince.”
then the door clicked shut, and you were alone in the hallway, heart pounding, skin buzzing. already planning where to buy a shorter skirt.
you didn’t see the way caleb’s smile twisted after the door closed. you didn’t hear sylus’s scoff from inside.
“you’re disgusting, you know that?”
or the easy shrug in caleb’s reply.
“i’m just being helpful. if she’s going to give herself to someone, it might as well be me. raf already abandoned her, no?”
you didn’t hear any of it.
you were already gone.
•••
friday came faster than you expected.
or maybe you just couldn’t stop thinking about it, going through your week without much thought for anything else.
the skirt was shorter than anything you’d ever worn — a pale gray thing that barely reached mid-thigh, shorter even than your mandatory university white shirt. you’d bought it that wednesday, hands shaking as you handed your card to the cashier, convinced everyone in the store could see exactly what you were planning to do with it.
the underwear… a thong fashioned from a pinkish lace. you’d never worn one before, so that was also purchased together with the skirt.
and when you put it on, it felt like nothing and everything all at once; barely there, but somehow more distracting than any pair of underwear you’d ever owned. every step you took reminded you that you were wearing it. every time you sat down, you felt the whisper of skirt fabric against bare skin.
you felt exposed.
maybe powerful.
definitely terrified.
the walk from the school bathrooms — where you changed your modest outfit — to the humanities building was a mission in itself. you kept your head down, arms crossed over your front, trying to shield your skirt from the afternoon breeze.
thankfully, the campus was mostly empty. on friday afternoons, most students had already escaped to their dorms or the pubs downtown.
yet, you hurried, not wishing to catch attention with your promiscuous outfit.
the building loomed ahead, gray and indifferent to your turbulent mind. you were almost there, passing fast through the floors. just a few more steps, past a pile of old books, past empty cans of graffiti, past–
someone grabbed you.
an arm closed around your waist, iron-tight, and yanked you sideways. you stumbled, barely catching yourself, and then you were being pulled through a doorway you hadn’t even noticed, into a room that smelled like dust and old, inked papers.
and, most importantly, like him.
“rafayel?”
he slammed the door behind you.
the powerful sound echoed through the small space. it was some kind of private office, you realized from a small glance, quite well-furnished and maintained. but you couldn’t explore more of your surroundings, couldn’t wander your eyes around the desks and shelves around you.
you couldn’t focus on anything except the figure caging you against the wall, blocking you in with his body, his face inches from yours.
his eyes, those mischievous purples and pinks, were blazing.
“rafayel.” you tried again, this time avoiding any questioning tone. he was here, as planned! you could talk to him and maybe reconcile. yes, yes– “i was looking for–”
“i know who you were looking for., princess” his voice was low, rough, tinged with something that sounded like anger. “caleb. you were going to see caleb.”
huh?
“what? no– he said you would be–”
“oh, i know what he said.” rafayel’s arm was still around your waist, his grip too tight around your mid, while his other hand came up to smash against the wall beside your head. he was taller than you remembered. broader. covering your entire body by just pushing you against the wall.
the light from the grimy window threw half his face into shadow, sharpening his jaw, his cheekbones, the dark fury in his expression. “caleb told me aaaaaall about your little conversation. how you came looking for me like a needy puppy. how he generously offered to help you.”
your stomach dropped, cheeks burning up at the derogatory term he used. “h–he told you?”
“of course, he told me. he wanted me to know. he wanted to watch me squirm.” rafayel leaned closer, his nose almost brushing yours. his lips almost touching your own quivering ones. “but you know what he didn’t tell me? his instructions...”
his instructions? wha–? oh.
your skirt. your underwear. the whole pathetic, desperate outfit you’d put together just for–
“is this what he ordered?” rafayel’s gaze dropped, tracing down your body with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “walking across campus in a miniskirt, your little legs bare. out for everyone to see?”
“you’ve been ignoring me.” you managed, and your voice came out wounded, accusatory. “you wouldn’t look at me. you wouldn’t–”
“because i was trying to be nice., princess” he said between his teeth, hand thumping against the wall behind you to punctuate his words.
the word nice sounded like a curse in his mouth.
“i told you i’d stop bothering you.” he continued, and his arm finally released your waist… only to grip your hip instead, fingers digging into the slimsy fabric of your skirt. “give you a chance to go back to being a good little girl who doesn’t know what her own body wants.”
“but i don’t–”
“don’t lie to me.” his voice cut you off, hitting like a whip. “i felt you. you were soooo soaked for me. you wanted me to keep going, and you loathed that you wanted it.”
he was right. he was so right, and you hated him for it. hated yourself for it, hated the way your thighs were pressing together even now, responding to his proximity and dominance like a reflex.
“you want to know why i’ve been avoiding you?” rafayel’s hand slid from your hip to your thigh, snaking beneath your pleated skirt, pushing up the hem for more skin to show. his fingers finally touched you bare, and a whine escaped your lips.
“because i knew if i got close to you again, i wouldn’t stop. i knew i’d take you apart just the way i wanted. i’d leave you exhausted, cheeks stained with tears...”
your breath hitched, air suddenly refusing to enter your lungs. his palm, needy with desire, burnt hot against your bare skin as it ventured towards your inner thigh — brain suddenly refusing to work.
“… pussy swollen and filled with cum.”
“but then you went to him.” his fingers pressed into your thigh, almost painful. “you went to caleb. you let him sway that little brain of yours. you let him tell you what to wear, how to act, like i’m some dog that can be trained...”
rafayel was mad. and if his words weren’t a clear indicator of that, his facial expression made sure his point was made: furrowed brows, darkened eyes, gritted teeth.
he was infuriated by caleb getting to you.
“i didn’t know–”
“you wore this for me.” he said it like an accusation, showing how you did comply with what that fucker told you. “this short fucking skirt. it’s–” his hand slid higher across your inner thigh, but he suddenly stopped. froze.
his eyes widened visibly, pupils blown out of proportion, as his fingers brushed against lace instead of cotton against naked skin instead of fuller underwear. “fuck– is that a thong?”
your face was on fire, the shock in his voice accentuating your embarrassment.
but he disregarded your own emotions.
rafayel made a sound — part laugh, part growl — and his hand pressed harder, now cupping your cunt through the lace. feeling the heat that had been building since the moment he pulled you into this room.
“you really are desperate.” he murmured, and his voice had dropped an octave, gone dark and honeyed with cruelty. “coming here like this. dressed like a slut for a delinquent.”
“please, i–” it was hard to voice your thoughts, especially when rafayel had his hands right on your clothed pussy.
“shut up.” he bit back, trailing his other hand lower, down to your skirt, and effectively pinning the hem up. giving himself a clear view of your crotch.
goddamn, seeing that pink lace against your innocent skin made his dick jump in his pants, slowly but surely bulging against the zipper.
“if you wanna be treated like a slut, princess, i will do it.”
you should have pushed him away. should have run. should have done anything except stand there trembling while his fingers explored the edge of your thong, while his breath ghosted hot against your neck.
“you know...” rafayel said. “he was gonna take advantage of you?”
you gasped as you felt his fingers dipping towards the back of your thighs, inching closer and closer to your exposed ass. his warning words about caleb meant nothing now — it was too late.
“y–you do too.”
“that’s right.” his lips brushed the shell of your ear, softly biting down on the cartilage. “but you want me to. you craved this all along, like a nasty, deranged slut.”
“raf–fayel.”
he finally found the plush meat of your ass, both hands engulfing the fat in a strong, possessive grip. you jolted in his grasp, feet going on their toes for a few seconds from the increasing pleasure surging in you.
“say it.”
his digits moved lower, just barely, just enough to make your hips buck forward involuntarily. just enough to feel how close he was to your sopping hole.
“say you want me.” he whispered, looking to satisfy his egoistic desires, not to check for consent. “say it, or i’ll leave you here in this room with your little lace panties and your short skirt. i’ll let caleb find you instead.”
“let him have what you’re so desperate to give.”
no. no, no, no– there was no way you’d let it all go to ruin, not when you were so close to obtaining what you want. not when you could feel his boner puncturing your thighs, feel his fingers digging crescents so close to your core.
“please…”
so you opened your mouth, and you said the words he wanted to hear. between gasps and wines, between trembling vowels and shy articulations of syllables, you finally told him how much you want him to take you.
and when his smirk turned satisfied, triumphant, when his hands increased their grip on your ass to carry you away from the door and onto the desk of the abandoned office—
you knew you’d made a terrible, wonderful mistake.
“fuck, princess, i’m gonna fucking ruin you.”
and his gorgeous, twisted face was the last thing you saw before he spinned you around, slamming your upper body flat on the desk. you left out a grunt, tits forcibly pressing onto the wooden surface, arms jumping forward to grasp the opposite edge for support.
your lower body was dangling over the margin of the table, supported by the soles of your feet that pushed into the old, creaky floorboards of the abandoned office.
you could no longer see rafayel, but he could see you — all of you.
he could see the delicious tremble in your legs, the subtle sway of your hips that were urging him to go along with his plans. and with an honorary push, folding the pleats of your skirt up, on your lower back, he could see your underwear.
that innocent yet sultry pink lace that barely covered your core, collapsing somewhere in the middle from your abundant arousal and taking the shape of your pussy lips. your swollen clit greeted him too, a little peak that was hard to ignore.
and, fuck, the cherry on top — the string of the thong was swallowed by your ass cheeks, all plump and jiggly as his calloused hands started to knead the flesh earnestly.
“ugh– ah– r–raffffff–” you let out when his hands began to abuse your butt, gripping the meatiness of your ass and pulling it apart to observe the thin string of your panties.
“oh, to think you hid all this from me! all this time… your cruelty knows no bounds, princess!”
“i– i’m s–sorry, ngh–”
your whiny apology was cut short by a stinging slap, rafayel’s right hand freeing your ass only to come back down for a burning smack. and you moaned, sharp and unashamed, body jittering forth against the table from the impact.
“this…” slap. “naughty…” another slap. “ass.” and another.
and with each slap, your voice pitched higher and higher, turning from grunts to pathetic whines — a convolution of pleasure and pain you’ve just discovered.
“to think caleb could’ve gotten this, nuh huh.” rafayel groaned, leaning over your upper body to whisper in your ear, hand ceasing its abuse over your reddened skin. “you know what would’ve happened to you, stupid girl?”
“h–huh?”
“he would’ve taken advantage of your desperation…” he stated through gritted teeth, angered by what could’ve happened to you if he didn’t intervene. “taken your body…”
straightening his posture, his hands returned on your ass. but this time, his fingers ventured beneath the string — latching his digits around it and pulling it up without notice. your legs shot up, following his movement, but couldn’t mirror it fully.
as such, the gusset of your panties were dragged forcefully between your pussy lips, grinding against your puffy clit and taking a strong yelp from your lips. the string was now freed from between your ass cheeks, allowing rafayel to pull at your skin.
and show off your perky asshole.
“would’ve wrecked your tight little hole like you’d never imagine.”
“ughn– w–what?”
“haaa, that bastard would’ve had a field trip with you, pounding your ass until you’d forgotten your name.” rafayel muttered, utterly displeased by caleb’s intentions with you. displeased because he would’ve fucked what’s his, like the dog he was.
“but…” and with the clearing of his throat, he gathered enough saliva in his mouth to spit on your twitchy hole, foamy liquid wetting your ass and dripping down towards your cunt. “you’re mine. my toy.”
“o–oooh, rafayelll.”
“that’s right, princess.” he murmured as his thumb travelled along the spit, circling your asshole and pressing slightly against it. “he’d never have you. never.”
the stimulation was shooting straight through your whole body, prickling at your skin and making goosebumps arise all over. and, worst of all, it made your hips twitchy, pushing back against rafayel’s hands in an attempt to receive more friction.
onto your other hole.
“awww, does princess want me elsewhere?” he was taunting you like he always did, using that condescending tone of his to point out embarrassing stuff about you. “does she want her soppy cunt played with, hmm?”
“ah, ah, ah–”
“maybeeeee… even filled up with cock?” and he rutted into you, pressing the prominent bulge in his pants against your bare skin. “hm, what do you say, princess? do you think you deserve it after all you did?”
“ye–yes. yes, pl–eease.”
“nuh huh, wrong!”
“b–but, but…” and you tried to justify yourself, raising from the table slightly. only to be pushed back down, cheek slamming down onto the wood.
“don’t fucking move. you will take what i give you, slut!”
and what you deserved was immediately revealed to you. or rather, felt by you.
“oh, fuckkkkkkk.” rafayel groaned as he positioned his cock between your ass cheeks, trapped under the stretched-out string of your thong. “you’re– shit– so soft, princess!”
and with that, he started to rock against you, the length of his cock traversing back and forth against your asshole, weeping tip peeking out every now and then from between your mushed-together cheeks. the friction was less than you expected, so far away from your neglected pussy, but it was enough to draw out pathetic moans and whimpers from your lips.
“goooods, i should’ve done this a long time ago.” rafayel contemplated as his hips sped up, upper thighs slapping against your ass in fluid, measured strokes. “should’ve just goddamn– pinned you down between classes and humped you until your skirt got strained with cum.”
“p–please, please, ugh– ngh–”
“ahh, you would’ve loved that, wouldn’t you? nasty fucking whore.”
you definitely would’ve. knowing your mean, charming bully could’ve cum on your clothes between classes, rutting his long, thick cock against your modest skirts as you begged to be left alone. having to go back to class with your garments stained, knowing everyone could’ve seen the disgusting person rafayel turned you into…
it made your hole flutter, your legs quivering in rafayel’s hold.
“did you just clench up, princess? does that turn you on? make your pussy all drenched for me?”
“i–it did…” you answered honestly, no longer caring about your reputation.
your mind was full of lust, clouded by the need to be fucked by rafayel.
he moaned at your desperate honesty, cock suddenly drawing backwards between your asscheeks — his tip effectively stopping at the entrance of your cunt. “that makes me want to pound this pussy into oblivion.”
“do it, please. i– i need it so bad.” you begged more explicitly, pushing your hips back until the head of his cock caught onto the stretchy skin of your hole. “d–do you have a condom?”
a pause then…
“condom?”
“yeah…”
...
shit, did you ruin it? did you ruin the moment by asking to have safe sex? as much as you wanted to be fucked by rafayel, you couldn’t risk getting knocked up. you couldn’t…
“of course, princess. help me out, will you?”
not only did he accept — to your utter surprise, but he also dropped four or five packets of condoms next to your head, inviting you to open one on your own.
“yes, ye– ughh–”
what he forgot to mention was how he’d finger you through the process, two nimble fingers pushing and prodding against your contracting walls as you tried your best to open the packet. try was the keyword here, as you were utterly and unavoidably failing at getting it out.
“hurry up, princess!” he sang from behind, words mixed with mischief like he expected something to go wrong. but you didn’t register that, not when a third finger was added into the mix, pumping alongside with the others.
making squelching sounds permeate the room.
“i c–can’t…” you whined, but couldn’t go on a rant.
because his fingers were instantly replaced by his cock.
“ah, wait, rafayel. is that–?”
“can’t wait, princess. i need to make this pussy mine now.”
“oh my gods, i–its so–”
“big? of course it is.”
and with another glob of spit landing on your skin, falling between your cheeks to the almost-swallowed head of his cock, he pushed forth into you. your hole stretched to his size like it was expecting him, allowing rafayel to push every single inch into your virgin pussy.
“it hurts, ah– ah–”
“that’s how it usually goes, princess.” and he inhaled deeply as he finally sealed his hips shut with yours. “fuck– virgin cunt, so fucking tight and warm. sucking me in so greedily.”
tears bloomed along your waterline, the pain of the penetration making you let out sniffles against the table. but rafayel didn’t seem to care — rather, it convinced him to start moving, drawing his cock back out almost fully…
before slamming back into you.
making you topple over the table even more.
“raw is the only way to take you, ughh.”
his pace was definitely not friendly, aggressively rutting into you. his heavy balls, pent up from his self-inflicted break from you, slapped again and again against your clit.
all of it, pain and pleasure, made your head boom with dizziness and confusion.
“ah, rafayel– s–slow do–”
“slow down? but princess…” he chuckled between thrusts, leaning over you to reach your ear. “i’m soooo considerare. you could’ve had it worse…”
“worse?” you repeat back as you felt his teeth nibble your earlobe, grazing the skin.
“mhm, with that ass-fucker caleb…” he reminded you once more, cock plunging harder and deeper into you, almost kissing your cervix. “orrr… sylus.”
who was that again?
“s–sy–lush?” you babbled between moans, your ears barely registering the name, your mind barely remembering the man.
“bleached hair, tattoos…” rafayel described him as he pulled away from your ear, returning to his initial position in order to clutch your ass. and spread you once more before his eyes.
“he–” rafayel began as he observed the creamy ring around his cock and the way it moved in and out of your drooling cunt. “would’ve crushed your pussy with his pierced dick.”
you didn’t retort back at that, but you did clench harder around his cock. your grip on his cock was tight, pushing him closer to the edge. and he could feel you were too, by the way your legs trembled and your hips fucked back into him.
“you like that? should i get pierced too? get my dick alllll nice and pretty for you?”
“mhm, mhmhmmm…”
“ah, i think i’ve turned that brain to mush.” he tangled one hand in your hair, pulling you up from the table, forcing you to hold an arch for him to observe you.
your pupils were blown wide, your lips were open and stained with drool. and when he reached out to touch them, to stimulate a response, all you did was wrap them around his digits.
sucking on them.
“nasty fucking girl. my whore princess.” grunts after grunts, pet names after pet names, rafayel dropped you back on the table as he returned to pistoning your cunt with vigor.
adamant to make you finish this time.
“slutted out for me, pussy soon to be creamed.” he was blabbering now as well, ranting about your body and the way it felt against his.
his words were turning incomprehensible as the slapping of skin became deafening, taking over the entire room. it got louder and louder and louder…
until both of you reached climax.
“stay fucking still for me.” he ordered at last as he emptied his balls in you, shooting multiple ropes of cum deep inside you, successfully filling up your no-longer-virgin cunt.
“atta giiiirl, that’s it.” praises replaced the sounds of sex that previously dominated the room, so uncharacteristic for the relationship the two of you have.
but the image of your hole gaping out his cum, dripping down your slit, your thighs… staining the old floorboards.
it made rafayel lose all sense of reality.
…
at least for the moment.
“don’t fucking wear that in public. if i catch you like this again… i will fuck you with everyone else around, like the whore that you are.”
tags: @yuunileb, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world, @demonicangelll, @dreamydaredevil, @glitterykingdomangel, @damianalily, @weirdothatwrites, @cherrytokkiz, @brailsthesmolgurl, @maplewood-valley, @happyshark2222, @velomira, @darkchococwoissant. if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅. mornings w caleb always end up in you gasping for breath as he salivates bw your thighs ♡
〷〨 cw. oral(f receiving), morning smex, caleb in love ARGHHHH, caleb is a certified pussy-muncher, long ass eating out post SORRI, that wolf cut and those mullet kinda did sum to me so him in a lil ponytail yummm
you awaken slowly, pulled from your slumber by a force that you have no name for, your back arching off the mattress and your legs quivering with pleasure. your lips part in a silent groan as you reach down, eyes fluttering as you grasp blindly at the dark head of hair working determinedly between your spread thighs.
“cal-caleb?” the syllables escape you in scarcely more than a whimper. your fingers find purchase around the soft little ponytail that sits messily atop his head, tangling in the silky strands. “caleb-nnngh.”
your tormentor pulls away for the briefest of seconds, and you keen at the momentary loss of his wet mouth. “shh,” he breathes, chuckling lowly when you jolt. “It’ll feel really good soon.”
warm hands smooth up your thighs, sending shivers up your spine as his arms wind around you in an ironclad embrace. you’re rendered immobile, helpless in his grasp, and your mouth falls open when he envelops your clit between his lips and gives it a harsh suck. your hips buck at the burst of pleasure, but he’s quick to splay his hands against your stomach and pin you back down against the rumpled sheets. almost apologetically, he licks a stripe up the length of your clenching pussy, dipping inside for a split second before the wet, hot suction of his mouth returns to your clit in full force. a sharp moan tears from your throat, escaping into the open air of your bedroom.
blinking blearily against the sunlight flooding through the gap in the curtains, you finally take in your gege’s prone figure, his head and bare shoulders illuminated in hazy gold. his hair is gathered up at his crown, a few stray tendrils escaping from the elastic and standing at odd angles, and affection blooms in your heart at the sight. your fingers trail gently through his ponytail, and though you can’t see his face, you can feel the way his lips curl into a smile against the soft skin of your inner thigh.
“pretty girl,” he coos fondly. “wanna make you feel good. Wanna make you cum.”
you arch breathlessly when he punctuates his sentiment by slipping two fingers inside your pussy with no warning at all. his mouth wraps around your clit again, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud in time with the steady cadence of his fingers, and you shudder deliriously when he easily finds the spot that has you seeing stars.
your grasp on his hair tightens, further mussing the soft strands, but he doesn’t even seem to notice as he digs a little deeper, releasing your clit to groan in approval. deliberately, he replaces his mouth with the heel of his palm, grinding insistently against the nub until your hips are spasming in his grip.
“caleb-” you gasp. “oh, god-”
“tell me, pips,” he rasps. the hand that’s still wound around your legs releases its steely grip, coming up to close over your fingers on his head. slowly, he encourages you to grasp his ponytail more tightly, a low groan escaping him when your nails scrape against his scalp. “show me where you want me.”
you’re wide awake now. exhaling shakily, you spread your legs a little wider, guiding his face back between your thighs until his nose is brushing against your clit. he retracts his fingers from where they’re sheathed inside your core, and you’re about to reprimand him when he seemingly reads your mind and licks a long, slow stripe up the length of your entrance. your eyes flutter shut at the warm wetness of his tongue, your lips parting in a moan, and when he dips inside you gasp his name.
your gege is no longer teasing. he eats you out now with an enthusiasm that puts all his previous efforts to shame, alternating between long licks and soft sucks on your clit. pleasure coils in the pit of your belly, tightening with each swipe of his tongue. you’re teetering at the edge, dangerously close to the brink, and caleb seems to sense it because he doubly renews his efforts. two fingers slip inside you, curling up just so to reach that soft spot, and the resulting wave of pleasure nearly has your vision going white. your hips spasm as you ride out your orgasm, your walls clenching wildly around his fingers, and he chuckles as his thumb pets you in slow, sure circles.
“that’s my girl,” he murmurs. still feeling rather boneless, you glance down to see him smiling happily at you, the ponytail atop his head askew and his chin slick with your juices. giggling, you smooth a hand over his messy hair, tugging gently at the loose strands near his nape until he takes the hint and crawls up your body to give you a kiss.
“i like your hair,” you tell him once he’s pulled back for air. “thought you should know.”
he grins, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “and I like you. thought I should show you.”
summary: Rafayel has organized a little surprise for you at the arcade
pairing: Rafayel x Reader
word count: 2.7k
content: MDNI, explicit sexual content, AFAB!reader, nipple play, fingering, slight exhibitionism, slight dom!Rafayel
author's note: I don't even know where the inspo for this fic came from, but I do know I'll be thinking about it every week I play with Rafayel at the claw machine. Enjoy! Crossposted on ao3 if you'd like to read there instead.
The neon lights of Linkon City surrounded you and Rafayel. You were lazily walking the streets, winding down from a rare evening spent entirely in each other's company. There were no calls from Thomas, no alerts from work — just a perfect evening spent between you and your lover.
"God, I am stuffed!" you exclaimed, stretching your arms over your head.
As your hand fell to your side, Rafayel quickly grasped it with his own. He lifted your hand to his mouth and gave your wrist a chaste kiss with a smile.
"If you liked it so much, we'll have to make it our new go-to spot."
"We've only been once. Making it our new go-to feels a little pre-emptive."
"It's a gut feeling! You can't argue with my intuition."
You could not help but smile at his earnest argument. You sighed, with no hint of annoyance, and gave in. "Okay, okay. It can be our new spot."
"You won't regret it, cutie. I've got a good feeling about this."
As you approached the turn that led to the parking garage, Rafayel pulled at your intertwined hands to keep you on the main street instead.
"Wha-"
"I've planned one more activity for us this evening."
You dragged your feet, causing Rafayel to struggle to keep moving forward. "What? No, I'm tired! Let's go home. We have to get up early anyway and-"
"Cutie." The drop in Rafayel's voice stopped you in your tracks. Your heart pounded just a little bit harder. Your breathing got just a little bit heavier. "I went out of my way to plan something really special for you. So, behave."
Swallowing, you nodded. "O-okay."
Rafayel beamed. "Great! Follow me!"
His grip on your hand got just a little more tight as he led you through the busy street. You almost had to jog to keep up with his relentless pace. Restaurants, bars, and stores passed you by in a blur. Then, suddenly, you stopped.
"Raf…" you said, staring at the three story arcade building in front of you, "I'm pretty sure the arcade is closed at this time of night."
"To the public maybe." Rafayel confidently walked towards the closed, automatic doors. After a second, they opened, accompanied by an upbeat chime. "But not to us."
"Welcome, Mr. Qi," an attendant said, bowing as you entered the arcade. All of the lights were shining, the machines were running, and music played over the speakers. On a table, just beyond the entryway but in a place of prominence and importance, was an iridescent, pearl colored Boing Fish plushie in a glass container.
"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, running towards the table. Your hands clasped around the glass display case as you leaned forward to get a better look at it. "Rafayel! It's the limited edition Boing Fish plushie! But, they don't get released until tomorrow morning…"
"I will leave the rest to you, Mr Qi. Just lock up when you are done."
"Thanks, Ben. I owe you one."
"Think nothing of it. Have a good night."
The sound of the front doors opening and closing again dragged you out of your stupor. You turned to face a smug, grinning Rafayel.
"What exactly is going on here?"
"I know you were excited to get up in the morning and wait in line to try and win one of these little guys tomorrow. But I just kept thinking about how upset you would be if you finally got to the front of the line and they were all gone already…"
For the first time, Rafayel's facade of confidence wavered. He looked down at his feet for a moment, eyes dark with a storm of sadness and worry.
You reached out and grabbed his hands, interlocking your fingers with his. He looked up and softly smiled before continuing.
"So I talked to the owner of the arcade. Turns out, he's a fan of my work. So, in exchange for me giving him a private tour around my gallery next week, he let us come here tonight to have an early chance of getting the plushie."
"A-are you serious?"
"Yes!" Rafayel said as he squeezed your hands. "Very serious. Now, we only have one hour to achieve our goal, so we should get started, don't you think?"
Heat flushes across your cheeks and up your ears. A small prick of pain pulses as tears begin to form in your eyes. You bring your hands up to cover your face.
"Hey, hey, don't cry!" Rafayel moved forward and hugged you tightly. His body was tense. "Do you hate it? We don't have to stay. We can go-"
"No! I love it!" You tightly hug him back, a few tears escaping from your eyes and over your smiling mouth. "I love it so much. I love you so much. Thank you."
Rafayel relaxed in an instant. All of the stress he had been holding in his body melted away at your words. "I love you too, cutie. Now, pick out the machine you want. Let's bring that plushie home."
You wiped at your face, not caring if you messed up your make-up or got stains on your sleeves. Head clear, you began to examine each and every machine on the first floor of the arcade. The limited edition plushies weren't in every machine, and they only appeared one at a time when they did show up. A few of the arrangements caught your eye, but nothing quite felt… right.
"At this rate, I'm going to use my whole hour just trying to pick the right machine…" you muttered to yourself as you paced the walkways.
"Cutie!" Rafayel called out from a row over. "How about this one?"
Heart pounding, you headed over immediately. You knew it was the right machine immediately. The plush was right in the middle with a good amount of space around it, away from the other plushies. This was it. You saw your victory play out in your mind as you looked at the round pufferfish.
"This is perfect!" You started to step forward, but then you stopped and turned to Rafayel. "You want to go first, don't you?"
Rafayel shook his head with a smile. "Tonight, it's all you. I'll just be here, cheering you on."
"Well then, prepare to be impressed!"
You rushed to the machine and eagerly inserted one of the tokens Rafayel had stacked to the side of the machine. The lights of the machine flashed and danced as it registered the token, and a joyful tune played through the speakers.
Before you could grab the joystick, you felt a ghost of a touch dance over your waist. You looked down to see Rafayel's long fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt and your shirt that was tucked into it.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" you asked, your tone laced with flirtation.
"Mmm," Rafayel hummed as he slid his hands under your shirt. He caressed your bare skin, each touch leaving a small fire in its wake. "Motivating you."
A delicious shiver flowed through you at his words. With a barely held together calm, you put one hand by the buttons and one hand on the joystick. The moment you began to move the crane, Rafayel pinched your nipple through your lace bra.
"Ah-"
"Eyes on the prize, cutie," he whispered in your ear. His ministrations were frustratingly consistent — just enough to keep your senses heightened, but not intense enough to scratch the itch that was growing under your skin. "You've got a time limit, remember? Better focus."
All you could focus on were his fingers and the way they artfully stimulated your nipples. But you knew this game that Rafayel liked to play. He needed you to try and resist at first, to try to not show how much he affected you. He loved the moment you could no longer feign indifference, when you had to give in to all the deliciously sinful feelings he was stirring up inside you. If you gave in too early, you would spoil his fun, and your own. No — better to hold out, to keep playing along until it was all too much.
Using every amount of your willpower and focus, you once again began to use the joystick. The crane gently swayed back and forth with the momentum of the movement. You were headed right towards the Boing Fish, its pearl lustre finish reflecting the lights of the machine and creating small rainbows against the glass.
The crane was almost on top of the plushie when a shock of pleasure blossomed across your body as Rafayel bit your neck. In a jerk reaction, your right hand slipped and pressed the button to lower the crane.
"Ngh! Raf!" You watched with disappointed eyes as the crane lowered and grabbed on to nothing. "Not fair!"
"I can't have you finishing this little game before it's even started cutie," Rafayel whispered into your ear, his voice huskier than his usual timbre. His mouth returned to your neck, giving more little bites and kisses before he continued. "You didn't actually expect me to play fair, did you?"
"Two can play at that game," you whispered back. You pushed your ass back and rubbed against Rafayel's crotch. He groaned, and you could feel his erection through his pants immediately. "Looks like I'm not the only one getting worked up."
"How could I not?" He rubbed his crotch back into your ass, creating a perfect friction for both of you. "Every noise you make, every action you do — all of it makes me so goddamn hard for you. Even the way you scrunch your nose up when you're concentrating. It's all so fucking hot."
"Fuck, Raf," you moaned. A violent pulse of pleasure burst from your core at his words. "How can you expect me to concentrate if you keep talking like that?"
"I'm sure you'll find a way." He reached out, grabbed another token, and placed it on the machine next to your hand. "Time for the next round."
You grabbed the token and bent over to insert it into the machine. Rafayel took the change in angle as an opportunity to drift one of his hands across your skirt, lift it up, and expose your ass to him. He revealed the black lace panties that barely covered your ample backside. With practiced form, Rafayel massaged one of your ass cheeks for a moment before giving it a playful but powerful spank.
"Fuck cutie, I love watching your ass shake and go red when I spank it. So fucking sexy."
You moaned loudly, delighting in the mingling of pain and pleasure. Rafayel was a master at striking the perfect balance between the two, keeping the sensations at the edge of being too much. He could always read your reactions; he knew when you were at your limit sometimes even before you did.
"Start the next round. Now."
You inserted the token and straightened back up, trying to keep your attention on the machine. Your hands itched to reach back, to thread into Rafayel's hair and pull him into a deep kiss. But you resisted the urge. Your desire to give in to pleasure was not quite enough to overcome your desire to hold out just a little longer against him. You grabbed the joystick and tried again, focusing all your attention on the plushie and not on Rafayel's wandering hands.
"Wow, look at you go, cutie," Rafayel teased. "So focused. You're such a good girl. I guess I'll need to redouble my efforts."
With his hands still under your skirt, Rafayel hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down with surprising force. You felt the wetness between your thighs more acutely with the fabric gone. Being exposed in a public place, even though there was no one else there, sent a thrilling arousal through you. The ache that had started as something small had grown to a desire that could not be ignored. If Rafayel did not touch you between your thighs soon, you would scream.
"My, my, my…" Rafayel reached one of his hands to your aching core and slid a finger into your wet folds. His fingertip just lightly brushed against your clitoris before moving down further, exploring you with a frustrating slowness. You moaned at the intrusion. "All of this for me? I'm flattered, cutie."
"Mmm… don't be a tease," you whimpered as you attempted to operate the machine while Rafayel stimulated you with a practiced familiarity.
"Me? A tease? I would never." Rafayel's hot breath fanned over your ear before he began to suck on your neck.
You wanted to close your eyes, to luxuriate in this decadent feeling of your lover's attention. But you had a goal to achieve — a plushie to win — and you would be damned if you gave up just before getting what you wanted. The crane was hoisted just over your prize and you slammed down on the button. At the same time, Rafayel slid two fingers into you. Pleasure rocked through you at his intrusion.
The crane grasped the plushie and raised it into the air. Your anticipation of winning your prize and your anticipation for your impending orgasm rose together. Then, when the plushie reached its height, it fell out of the claw back to the bottom of the machine. Simultaneously, Rafeyel pushed further inside you and stroked your g-spot.
"Ah! Fuck! Rafayel!"
Rafayel pulled his mouth away from your neck and started nuzzling it affectionately. "Fuck, cutie, you're clamping around me so tightly, even though you just lost again. I think you're enjoying me playing with you more than you playing with the machine."
"Nnf- yes! Yes, I am!"
"Oh, now you want to admit it, huh? Well, I'm flattered, cutie." He kept pumping into your, stimulating your g-spot with every stroke. The palm of his hand rubbed against your clit with every thrust, heightening your pleasure to an almost impossible level. "But you still need to win that plushie. I'm sure you'll get it this time. Let me help you out."
Using his free hand, Rafayel grabbed another token and inserted it, starting up the next round. All the while, he kept fingering you, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing into you with every thrust of his talented fingers.
Your moans and pants were coming in hot and heavy now, almost drowning out the music playing over the arcade speakers. Every part of you wanted to just turn around, pull down Rafayel's pants and have him rail you against the machine right then and there, but he had you locked in place. He guided your hand back to the joystick and helped you move it again, lining up the claw with the plushie.
"Good job, cutie," he praised. "Now, press the button."
With your last drop of self control, you reached up and pressed the button. The crane began to lower and Rafayel picked up his pace, thrusting into you with a power you desperately needed to push you over the edge.
The crane dropped. You grabbed the console for support. The plushie was grabbed. You cried out in pleasure. The crane moved the prize over the hole. Your walls clamped down tightly on Rafayel's fingers. The plushie dropped into the prize chute. You came.
"Fuuuck yes, cutie," Rafayel groaned, his mouth right by your ear.
You couldn't hear the triumphant music play as your prize was dispensed to you, couldn't see the way the lights of the machine lit up in an array of beautiful colors. All you could focus on was the unending pleasure shooting through you as you rode out your orgasm on Rafayel's fingers.
Eventually, after several moments, the pleasure subsided into a pleasant ache between your thighs. Rafayel slid out of you and curled his arms around your waist in a tight embrace. You leaned your head back on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.
"Good job, cutie. I knew you had it in you."
You chuckled. "I think we still have some time left if you want a turn."
Rafayel shook his head and looked into your eyes, his pupils wide and dark. "I think I'd rather take you home and finish what we've started here. How does that sound to you?"
synopsis. what starts as a curious night encounter quickly darkens into a sinister seduction. rafayel, an ambiguous being of pale beauty and a toxic, possessive longing, uses his charm, his nectar-laced touch, and his otherworldly powers over water to strip away his visitor's will. he is of the spring and so will you.
pairing. nymph! rafayel qi x mercenary! reader
content/mdni. fantasy/medieval era. non-canon. DUB-CON (coercion/aphrodisiac). fem!reader, mercenary!reader, strong!reader, nymph!rafayel, YANDERE!RAFAYEL, possessive!rafayel, pervert!rafayel, obsessed!rafayel, not-right-in-the-head!rafayel, aphrodisiac-like saliva, a lot of solo masturbation (m receiving), fingering, clit stimulation, tit stimulation, MONSTER-FUCKING (long tongue, webbed hands, ton of cum, big cock), pussy eating, tongue-fucking, teasing, dirty talk, praise, pet name (human, my female human), tummy bulging, water manipulation, kind of public sex (the nymphs might be watching!!), MATING PRESS, raw sex, creampie, a lot of cum, CHOKING, kissing, A TON OF PLOT (sorry i had fun).
word count. 7.4k
a/n. this idea bloomed thanks to @yuunileb and our nasty talks about supernatural beings. rafayel is kind of spoiled and doesn’t understand humans that well here. also, it’s not an accurate portrayal of nymphs, so don’t read too much into it! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
the first thing rafayel knew was the water of the spring — a womb of liquid sunlight and silver bubbles, hugging him tightly and motherly. his small infant body formed from the very essence of the water. his skin, the pale hue of moonlit lilies, was brushed by the hum of the spring, carefully parting around him to reveal his birth.
he burst forth from the spring’s embrace one afternoon, in a high-pitched giggle.
“a new nymph!”
rafayel’s first memory was of his sisters’ hands — dozens of them — cradling his tiny form, their voices whispering like rushing water.
“ah, gods, is that–?”
“male? male.”
rafayel became the only male nymph the spring had ever produced, a curiosity in a world of females. despite his… uniqueness, he wasn’t shunned or marginalized.
the loving nymphs welcomed him with open arms.
his sisters swarmed him instantly, their hands soft and curious as they touched his blushy face, his chubby arms and legs, plucking him from the birthing waters of the spring and twirling him up in the air.
“he is so beautiful.” one whispered, her voice like the haste of rivers over stones. “his hair is like wild irises.” another chimed in, caressing his short strands of hair with admiration.
the nymphs raised him in a world of unrestrained adoration.
when he was just a toddler, stumbling on plump legs, his sisters would clap and cheer, their laughter like tinkling stream stones. they’d place wildflowers in his silken purple hair, kissing at his round cheeks with joy each time he took a step unattended.
“raffy, our cutie nymph!”
his sisters cherished him. they would sit him by the water’s edge, their laps full of flowers picked from the banks. the oldest nymph would take a wood-carved comb and gently untangle his long hair, her fingers gentle yet sure against his amethyst locks.
“you are special, rafayel.” she whisper-sung, her breath cool against his temple. “the spring has never made a male before.”
another sister would adorn his hair with a flower crown — he could wear it comfortably now that he was older — weaving white water lilies and blue bells into it. “you are our precious little brother.” she said, her eyes shining with love.
“the prince of the spring.”
as a child, he would actively participate in his sisters’ activities. rafayel’s slender fingers, tipped with a faint pearlescence, would move with a mesmerizing grace. he’d weave stems together, his touch causing the buds to unfurl obediently, their colours deepening.
“a crown for you, my dear sister.” he would sing-song, his voice the sound of water slipping over smooth pebbles, still soft and delicate. he’d place a circlet of dove-grey hellebores upon one head.
“and for you too, tara.” this one of violets so deep they were nearly black.
he saved the most vibrant for last, crowning his own twilight hair with a riot of primrose and celandine, mirroring the sun he truly loved and adored.
in his adolescence, the spring was his canvas.
with a laugh that rippled the surface, he’d splash at his sisters, the droplets hanging in the air like scattered diamonds before falling. he would press his palm flat against the water and draw it upwards in a shimmering, impossible arc, a liquid sculpture that held its shape for a breathless moment before collapsing with a sigh.
he’d trace spirals and lazy, intertwining patterns on the surface, symbols that glowed with a faint bioluminescence before fading, as if the water itself was fainting at his command.
life itself came to him.
ducklings, a fuzzy, cheeping convoy, would paddle fearlessly between his legs, quacking at him to join the waters. he’d submerge himself until only his strange pink eyes were visible, watching them round around the spring with their tiny, webbed feet, following behind in low strides.
swans, those haughty monarchs, would bend their necks for him to stroke. sometimes he’d even challenge them, disturbing their peace with one of his games. he’d surge from the water, scattering light, and race them across the water-meadow, his feet leaving no imprint on the tender grass, his laughter mingling with their harsh, musical cries.
he was faster, a streak of lilac and pearl blooming in his wake, but he always let them believe they could win.
just so they would return to play with him.
•••
as he grew, so did his beauty. his hair fell like a waterfall of mauve down to his torso, shimmering in the dappled sunlight. his eyes, the color of blushing roses, contrasted strangely against his now piercing masculine features.
as he grew, so did his manly body.
he had no longer a soft and squishy flesh, like his sisters, but a hardness and sharpness unfit for the gentleness of the spring. his height tripled, his shoulders broaden; his chest and hips never widened, but something else beneath his loins disrupted the order.
he loved his sisters and the spring, the welcoming flowers and the occasional animal companions stumbling into their part of the forest.
but sometimes, in the quiet of evening, loneliness crept in like mist.
why did the spring birth a male nymph like himself?
why did his reflection look less and less like his sisters’ as the seasons passed?
why did he feel… unfit for the world he adored?
the water did not answer. it only held him, shimmering, silent.
•••
his body began to change drastically at around the same time the first blood-blossoms of a cherry tree burst from its bark. rafayel, now what the forest would have called an adult, felt a strange tightness in his lower belly, a throbbing heaviness beneath the leaves and water lilies that covered his hips.
he had worn them since birth, as all nymphs did — not as clothing, but as a part of themselves, a living crown of foliage that wrapped around his body on its own accord.
one afternoon, while basking on a sun-warmed rock at the spring’s edge, he ran his hands over his stomach and pressed.
“a-ah.”
the tightness in his tummy was worse: it felt like a knot of rope, hard and hot. he pushed the leaves around his crotch aside, curious about his uneasiness.
beneath, his body had transformed. where there had been only soft, flaccid flesh before, now there was a rigid, swollen length of pale flesh, stiff and unyielding. it was heavy. it was wet at the tip, a gleaming pearl of slick moisture beading there and drooping along the underside veins.
he touched it, and a jolt — electric, painful and pleasurable — shot through him. he jerked his hand away, breath hitching.
“what is this?” he whispered to the empty air.
he touched it again, more lightly this time, and the jolt returned, a warm feeling spreading up his spine. he decided to stroke it, up and down, up and down, trying to get out the strange sticky substance.
perhaps he has been poisoned.
but the warmth in his belly intensified. his thighs, too, tensed the more his hand moved on it, jutting the shaft up into his fist with vigour.
“oh-ooh–”
he felt his heart beating in his ears, as more and more creamy liquid seeped out of his mushroomy tip. the painful pull in his groin became a pressure, a craving he had no name for.
he needed to investigate further.
•••
that night, he slipped away from his slumbering sisters, drifting to a hidden nook of the spring, shielded by willow trees. the moon was a sliver of pearl overhead, mirroring the beads of precum still pumping out of his slit.
as he sat in the shallows, water lapping at his thighs, he took his swollen, throbbing flesh in his hand once more.
“ah…”
he tugged, tentative at first. then harder. the pleasure-pain flared, and his breath hitched.
he pumped his hand, fisting the hard, aching length in a rhythm he instinctively craved. his whole body bunched tight, muscles flexing. the tightness in his groin built to a peak, a torrent of heat and need. he felt on the brink of something — some release — so he kept fisting, harder, faster, until his knuckles ached and the skin of his cock turned raw.
he panted, eyes squeezed shut, as ropes of that sticky substance finally splashed away into the rushing waters.
“w-why?” he groaned, letting go abruptly, his softening member dropping heavily against his thigh. “what is wrong with me?”
his question was to receive an answer sooner than he’d have expected.
•••
it was his sister tara, the one who twisted lily crowns for his hair. she was taken by a man — a human hunter who stumbled upon the spring one rainy twilight.
“she has been… enchanted.” his oldest sister said, her voice careful as she recounted the incident. “the man loved her beauty, so she has gone with him.”
“enchanted?” rafayel asked, the word strange on his tongue.
humans possessed such magical abilities?
“a tie that binds. a wanting that is not adoration, but… lust.” her eyes filled with sadness and shame, as if the topic itself make something inside her twist in pain; she knew she’d never see tara again. that’s how it usually goes.
“he wants her to be his alone.”
a hole tore itself open in rafayel’s chest at his sister’s sorrow, understanding the heaviness of the situation as she hugged her own stomach unconsciously. that enchantment she was speaking of must have a connection with the weird coil his own body was fostering in his belly.
poor sister tara.
but beneath the grief, something else sprouted inside rafayel — a hunger, thick and hot.
that night, in his hidden spot, his hand on his cock, he didn’t jerk off to relieve the pain. he pumped his fist, his eyes closed, and imagined.
he imagined a human woman. he had never seen one, but his mind built her after the few men he’s observed, focusing on the soft, warm flesh. you would stumble into his spring, your skin pearled with sweat and sunlight, seeking fresh water for your journey.
then you would see him and not look away.
you too would be enchanted.
he pictured your blown-out eyes gazing at him, hand reaching out, touching his hair, his face. “take me!” you would plea so beautifully, your human voice contrasting with the sound of the spring.
“you are mine.” he whispered back to the fantasy, his hand flying along his dripping length with hurried moves as he pictured himself dragging you down into the waters. “you came here for me.”
the pleasure that night was intense, primal. he groaned, his head thrown back against the willow’s trunk as he thought of you more. he imagined you arched beneath him, his body between your thighs, your heartbeat matching his.
rafayel imagined you begging him to release the ache in your own tummy. he imagined filling you, overflowing you, marking you with his seed.
“inside.” he hissed, hips jerking into his fist faster, biting his lips at the delicious image in his head. “inside you.”
his release burst in a white, hot stream that spattered on his stomach and the surface of the humming water.
once more, his cum was wasted.
but now, with an actual goal in mind… that was to change.
•••
after that epiphany, his whispers to the spring were no longer for flowers or playful ducks. he passed the meadow where his sisters would sit, and he would ask the sunlit water about you.
“when? when will she come?”
he watched the tree line, where the world of the spring met the mortal pathway.
he saw more and more humans — always men. soldiers in battered mail, their boots heavy with mud. hunters with bows, their eyes hard and scanning the trees for game. merchants, their voices gruff and filled with practicality. they traveled in groups, singly, or in pairs.
but never, not once, did he see a woman.
“why?” he asked his sister one evening, his voice thin with a longing he laid bare. “i see them. the men. but the women — they do not come.”
was his wish just–
“are there no human women?”
fingers paused in his hair, where his sister was weaving sprigs of crocus.
“there are.” she said, her tone gentle but unyielding. “but they do not travel the land like men, rafayel. their fate is different. they are kept, in their homes, in their villages. the world outside is for male feet.”
he recoiled at that, eyes full of bewilderment. “kept? like caged birds?”
“they call it protection.” she sighed, her eyes gloomy with disdain. “it is their way.”
the words should have cured him of this nonsensical desire. but instead, they fed the hunger bubbling deep down. if human women were so closely guarded, so rarely seen… then any woman who did stray near his spring would be more than rare.
you would be unique. just like him. the spring’s special offering.
he grew more... persistent. his jerk-off sessions, always in that same hidden spot, became rituals. he would close his eyes, take his aching cock in hand, and pray to the spring.
let her be lost.
let her fall in.
let her come to me.
his hand moved faster and faster, his release rippling through him like a peak of thunder. he spilled his cum into the spring every night, watching it spread like a perfect, ephemeral lily.
“come to me.” he breathed, his fantasy a painting bright in his mind. “stay with me. be enchanted by me. forever. be mine, and mine alone.”
the spring offered no answer, as usual. but the water seemed to hold his seed, to swallow it into its depths as if making a promise. rafayel smiled at that, his heart pounding with excitement — the spring did miracles like himself, so it will not ignore his pleas for a woman.
he would wait. he had all the time in the world. and when you do finally come, he would never let you go.
“come, my stunning human.”
his sisters would never understand. but you would. you would be his first, his only, his true treasure.
and the spring, and rafayel, would keep you for eternity.
•••
a few nights passed and something finally happened.
“go clean yourself!”
when the men’s voices carried over the hills, spiky with laughter and the smell of campfire, all the nymphs but one fled. they burst into a storm of echoing splashes and flashes of pale body, dissolving into the springs and trees, leaving no trace behind.
afraid to follow tara’s footsteps.
only rafayel remained embodied. he sank deeper into the spring, his purple hair floating above him like a weed beneath the surface, his pink eyes peering through the rippling curtain of water.
“go, the nymphs won’t mind a woman.”
woman?
rafayel first heard your footsteps as you approached, sensed your fatigue, your tension, the coppery tang of blood still drying on your skin.
and then you stripped right at the edge of the spring.
your loose shirt, bespoke with the smell of sweat and dust, slipped off your shoulders. your dagger, placed on a nearby rock. your hands — strong, scarred, yet undeniably feminine — moved to undo the bonds of your trousers, to let them fall to the damp moss. then your underthings, flimsy and functional, followed.
woman.
he watched, his eyes unblinking. he saw your bare back, the curve of your spine, the shadowy nipples and the soft curve of your breasts as you turned, scanning the tree line. he saw your legs, strong and cut with human muscles, and a new scar crackled across your thigh, a fresh red line of violence.
his woman.
your body was not like his sisters’. it was not a dream of pale silk and woven flowers. it was real. real and warm, flesh and sweat, dust and blood. your skin bore the stories of a life lived on the road — wind-chapped knuckles, a bruise blooming like a rose on your ribcage.
you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
he sank lower still as you stepped into the spring, water lapping at your ankles, then your calves, then your knees. you gasped, a sharp, brief sound that was picked up by his pointy ears.
the water was cold, and it made your nipples perk and your skin prickle with bumps.
so beautiful.
“oh, so relaxing.”
you sighed, letting the chill wash over you, and slunk deeper, until the water cleansed the dried blood from your ribcage, leaving it clean and smooth in the moonlight.
your arms moved over your skin, scrubbing away the dirt and grime of a week on the road. your eyes closed, a pleasured smile touching your lips as the water’s coolness began to soothe your aches. then you washed your hair, tilting your head back, your throat bare, your breasts breaking the surface of the spring.
offering him the image of a goddess.
so fucking beautiful.
rafayel watched, and his cock, hidden beneath the foliage at his loins, stirred. it swelled, hardened, became heavy and aching in the cold water. the tightness in his stomach returned; that hot, throbbing need called for you.
you were here.
you were real.
and he would have you.
he swayed in the water, his hair floating like a mantle of living vines. he began to move forth, sliding soundlessly through the deeper channels, gliding toward you. the water parted the flora for him, its undulation responding to his will.
his pinkish eyes were fixated on your captivating form.
you were standing waist-deep in the spring, your arms stretched towards your back, scrubbing at a stubborn spot, when a shiver ran down your spine. you stilled, your sharp eyes opening to scan your surroundings.
you stared at the water around you, then down, into the darkness.
you saw nothing but your own reflection, the sky above, the dark bottom.
“hello?” your voice came out soft, uncertain, testing for danger.
it was probably a curious nymph, nothing too alarming… yet you turned, slowly, your hands raising to your sides, prepared to equip your dagger. it was probably a curious nymph, but you didn’t know their intentions towards you.
he ruptured through the surface a few feet away, his hair pouring down his back like a waterfall of purple and silver. the moonlight glinted off his skin, off the foliage around his hips, off the slender plane of his chest.
you stumbled back at his appearance, sloshing the water, your dagger clumsily slipping from the rock straight into the waters. your eyes wide, your mouth opening to let out a breathy curse.
“fuck.”
there goes your protection.
you were bracing for impact, hands drawn to your chest, fighting stance ready. but then you saw his hair, his face — a strange, exquisite beauty, soft and yet sharp.
oh, what a fascinating nymph.
…you thought he was a woman. so your fear melted slowly, replaced by innocent interest, even a touch of awe. you’ve never encountered nymphs, especially not this up close.
“so mesmerizing.”
he smiled at your compliment, a small, gentle quirk of his rosy lips. he tilted his head, showing you the expanse of his neck, the fine bones of his collarbones. making himself look harmless and naïve by showing you his vital points.
he floated closer, the water moving with him, swirling in lazy, hypnotic circles.
“hello…” he said, his voice the melodious sound of a stream cascading over smooth stones. it was a sound that captivated, that soothed, that wrapped around your mind.
it did wrap around yours.
you did not run, you did not fight. you stayed, your heart beating fast with uneasiness, but your body deciding to trust. your hands dropped without a second thought, letting your arms hang at your sides, combat long forgotten.
“who… who are you?”
he was close now, so close you could see the fine droplets of water on his eyelashes, the pale pink of his lips. the way sharper teeth poked from beneath.
he reached out, his webbed hand trembling slightly.
not in fear, but in excitement.
he touched your cheek, his webbed fingertips as cool as the spring water, yet underneath them you felt a hidden heat. you shuddered, not because of the cold, but from something else. your skin prickled, your nipples tightening again. even your breath hitched at the contact of his soft skin with your warm face.
why was your body reacting like that?
“i am rafayel.” he cooed, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “i am of the spring. and you are mine.”
your eyes widened at the last part, the threat-like affirmation making your pulse spike. you tried to step back, but the water beneath you suddenly felt thick, like molasses. it held you in place, sweetly, cruelly.
“w-what?” your voice was but a gasp, trembling as you tried to free yourself from the clutches of the spring.
nuh huh, he won’t allow that.
he moved closer, his body gliding against yours underwater. the proximity made you suddenly hyperaware of this strange nymph… he was taller than you, his shoulders broader. you felt his chest against your nipples, noting the contrast of his flat, sturdy muscles against your soft, swelling flesh.
your nipples rubbed against him, and a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through you.
wait, flat? could she– he…?
rafayel smirked, his mischievous pink eyes gleaming in the moonlight. he slid his hand down your arm, then up again, over your shoulder, to the nape of your neck. he tilted your head back, exposing your throat.
“do not be afraid.” he murmured, his breath a cool mist against your pulse point. “i will not hurt you. i have been waiting for you.”
“waiting?” your voice came out as a whisper, terror washing your expression with every word of his. “how?”
“the spring knows.” he said, his lips brushing your jaw now. “the spring wanted you here. with me.”
and with that, he kissed you.
it was not a gentle, tentative kiss. it was deep, possessive, wet with the taste of the waters and something sweeter. your mouth opened under his ministration, and he took advantage, his long tongue exploring you, tasting you.
feeding you his saccharin saliva and making you dizzy with want.
you felt yourself melting into the kiss, your knees growing weak against his rigid body as your tongue was wrapped in his longer wet muscle.
as more of his saliva was pushed down your throat.
mine, mine, mine.
your hands raised from your sides at last, but not to push him away, but to grasp his neck, your fingers digging into his bare skin and pulling him in.
“you’re mine.”
rafayel moaned against your nectar-coated lips, the sound low and rough. that fragile voice from before was replaced by a deeper tune, reverberating masculine and powerful. he pulled back just a smidge, his eyes half-lidded, studying your enchanted state. you were slowly but surely losing yourself, succumbing to pleasure and his otherworldly charm.
“…mine?”
you repeated, the word feeble and distant in your own ears. your mind was beginning to fog, the edges of reason blurring like a stream’s bank under rising water. his voice filled that space, sweet and irresistible — drawing you in and drowning you.
“you came to my waters.” he tutted, his mouth inches from your ear. “you stripped for me. you are mine now.”
he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his body. the allure in his voice became a physical thing, a heaviness in your limbs, a surrender in your soul. you didn’t resist as his other hand came up to cup your right breast.
“ahh.” your sharp intake of breath fanned across his own exposed skin, making it flush with arousal.
“just like that.”
he hummed, a low, vibrating sound that made your skin break out in another wave of bumpy awareness. his thumb swirled over your nipple, rolling the taut, hardened bud between his fingertips.
a jarring, familiar pleasure shot directly to your core, forcing that well-known coil of arousal to tighten just a bit.
“so sensitive.” he murmured, his eyes flicking down to watch his own touch. “so real. your heart is pounding like a flock of frightened birds.”
he dipped his head, and his mouth swiftly replaced his thumb. the wet, hot swirl of his monstruous tongue over your nipple made you cry out, a short, sharp sound that echoed in the silent grove. your hands, of their own accord, ran into his wet hair, the mauve strands coiling around your fingers.
“r-raf–”
he sucked, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, the scratch of his pointy teeth pinching at your skin and making you arch beautifully into him. your knees weakened with every tug of his lips on your chest, legs turning to putty beneath the spring.
the water suddenly moved, a slick current wrapping around your legs, holding you up when your own strength failed.
“that’s it.” he cooed, his mouth leaving your nipple with a soft pop, choosing to lay wet, open-mouthed kisses along your sternum. “let me support you. let me take care of you.”
his hand left your waist and dipped below the spring’s surface. the water beneath his palm calmed down, creating a perfect, clear medium that allowed you to see his webbed hand sliding flat across your lower belly.
“a-ahh.” you gasped, your abdomen clenching already in anticipation.
he hushed you with a shushing sound, then spread his palm, pressing down against your heated skin — right where he himself felt that knotty desire bubble.
“hush… you are so tense, my human. so filled with violence and vigil.” his hand slid down further, the water again obeying him, creating no waves or crease in his wake.
his fingertips skimmed the soft, puffy lips of your cunt, tracing from your swollen clit down to your gaping hole. you shook as if struck by lightning, the feeling of his touch too intense beneath the waters.
you wished to say something, but another sharp gasp emerged, this one cut short as he pressed two fingers inside you.
“so warm…” he breathed, his pupils dilating with something hungry and primal as the digits got swallowed so easily by your ravenous pussy. knuckles deep, he curled his fingers, the pads rubbing against a spot that sent another jolt of delirious fire through you. “and so tight.”
“f-fuckk…” your head rolled back at his intrusion, your mouth open in a silent scream.
the hum of the spring became louder, a roar in your ears that wasn’t just sound but sensation. your pulse thundered everywhere, singing together with the waters.
singing together with rafayel.
“look at me.” he commanded, his voice losing its sing-song quality for a moment. it was darker, deeper, imposing. your eyes snapped to his, glazed over with that honey-like colour of his nectar. and he smiled, a blessed, innocent twist of his lips that denied the predatory desire in his gaze.
“good, keep it like that.”
he stilled his hand abruptly, and then withdrew his fingers completely from your pussy. with a gentle pull, he dragged you closer, until your soft belly flushed against his own. you felt it then — the hard, hot length of his cock, partially hidden by the foliage, pressing steadily against your navel.
“you’re… a male nymph…” you whispered through the haze, the shocking statement slipping out more like a fact. you might have tried to flee the spring had you know from the start such a creature haunted it, but now it was too late.
your eyes, which should’ve been filled with terror, were chambers to carnal lust.
“i am.” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “i am the only one. just as you are the only one.” he nudged the tip of his cock against you, pushing against your belly button, the beady precum staining your skin. “we are special.”
“mhm...”
“and i will have you.” he said, not a promise, but a fact. “in my waters. on my land.”
he dropped under the water without further notice, a smooth disappearance that left you panting for more of his touch. you stood alone in the spring for what felt like ages; the curse fully upon you, your body trembling with want you never allowed yourself before.
“wha–” you started, looking down at your parted thighs. he was kneeling in the water, his long hair spread around him like a shimmering mantle. his pink eyes looked up at you, unwavering in their focus.
and, with a cheeky smirk, his mouth closed the gap with your cunt.
his long tongue first laid over your swollen clit, lazily, like he was tasting a rare fruit. your hands flew back to his hair, tangling themselves at the roots, holding on to keep him between your thighs.
“oh god.” you whimpered, the words strangled, mixing with the cascading water.
he hummed against your bundle of nerves, the vibration against your flesh driving you insane. then he prodded deeper, the tip of his tongue sliding inside you. you bucked, your thighs quivering shut, but the water wrapped around them — a slippery restraint that kept you open.
he kissed, licked, and sucked, building the pressure inside you with ruthless efficiency, as he was thrusting his tongue inside your gummy walls.
he was taking you apart, piece by piece, with his mouth alone.
your vision spotted. your breathing turned to ragged sobs. the tightness in your lower stomach stretched, coiled, wound too tight; your fingers mirrored it all, tugging at his hair harshly, pushing his mouth deeper into you.
and then…
“ra-af, noo–”
he pulled away.
you cried out in protest, a cruel, whimpering noise that sounded like music to his ears. he shook his head lightly, water spraying, and began to rise from beneath the spring. but he didn’t leave you hanging for long.
instead, he wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted your body from the spring. the water helped him, pushing you up and forward, laying you down nicely for him. you were now out of the pool, sprawled on your back on the cool, damp grass bank.
the moonlight filled your vision.
“better.” he murmured, his body now towering over you, pinning your thighs apart with his strong arms. “i can feel you better now. all of you.”
he lowered his mouth back to your cunt, and this time, there was no water barrier. he sank his tongue inside you with a teasing thrust, pushing as much of his monstruous muscle in, then moved back to sucking hard on your clit. flicking his tongue, laying it flat, rolling it into strange patters only known to him.
his fingers returned his ministration against your tight walls, now scissoring your weeping hole and making your arousal drip down your thighs and onto the meadow.
“ah-aa-hh.”
it was too much.
the pleasure, foreign and brutal, pounded through you, like a horse galloping relentlessly on a beaten path. you began to toss your head, the grass and flowers crushing beneath your pleasure and pain.
“st-stop… please…”
he didn’t.
he sped up, the movements of his mouth and hands losing all pretense of rhythm, becoming a raw, predatory feast. your hands grabbed the plants from the earth, uprooting them in your violent climax. your legs, pathetically dangling from rafayel’s shoulder, dug into his body, clamping around his head and burying him deeper into your cunt.
“i’m gonna–” you sobbed, the warning unheard by the nymph.
he only grunted, the sound vibrating against your sickly convulsing flesh, as he replaced his mouth with his thumb. pressing down on your clit as he’d rather bit down, just softly, on your inner thigh.
“ff-uuck.”
that was it.
the coil snapped.
the orgasm ripped through you, stopping your heart and your breath in the same instant. you stared up at the moon, mouth agape, no sound escaping. it was relentless, a tornado of sensation that stripped you of every thought, every memory, every time you had ever been anything but a bundle of nerves being milked by a nymph.
he waited, his mouth nuzzling into your pussy, slowly lapping at the spasms that wrenched you. he only pulled back when you slumped, when the fire had consumed your fuel.
when tears, damp and hot, tracked down your temples, mixing with the spring and the sweat. your sobs began in earnest, wrenching, shaky things that come only after an unbearable pain.
he waited until they subsided into a still, drained silence. then he crawled up next to your body, like a light being raised from beneath the water, and gathered you into his arms. he held you, his face nestled in the wet spot where your neck met your shoulder.
trying to prepare you with sweet words for what was about to come.
“shh.” he said, his voice pure and sweet again. “we’re almost done, my human. you’re almost mine.”
the calm did not last.
the nectar in his spit, that potent aphrodisiac, began to fade from your veins like a receding tide. the haze of pleasure and compulsion lifted, revealing the raw, horrified clarity beneath. you lay in his arms on the damp grass, and your body began to tremble.
not with afterglow, but with a primal, rising dread.
he felt it. he felt your heart begin to race with a different rhythm — fear, not desire. he stirred, his chin lifting from your shoulder. his pink eyes, a moment ago soft and lidded, sharpened.
“ugh–”
you made your move.
a jerking, desperate twist of your hips, and you rolled away from him. the cool moss slammed against your back. you crawled. your legs, jelly-like and trembling, dragged underneath you. the memory of your dagger, lost in the pool, was a phantom pain in your palm.
“h-he–” your voice was a ruined thing, rasped from screams. only one word escaped it. “–lp!”
you got to your knees, your nakedness exposed under the moon. the camp. you needed to get to the camp. to your peers. to your fellow mercenaries, their blades and practical decencies.
“he–”
you stumbled forward, chaotic, one hand grasping at the air as if for a weapon.
behind you, there was no sound.
then, a low, inhuman sigh. it wasn’t anger. it was immense and scalpel-sharp disappointment.
“you are leaving?”
his voice was a cloud of mist from the spring, chill and dense. the charm was gone from it. it was pure, leftover power. you froze, but only for a second. you didn’t look back. you began to crawl faster, your bare feet slapping against the cold earth. the tree line, the campfire coals — it was only a few yards.
“you are leaving me.”
this time, the words were closer. right behind you. a rush of air, and then a hand — cool, wet, iron-strong — clamped around your ankle.
you screamed. a short, guttural sound of pure panic. you kicked back, your heel connecting with his mythical flesh.
…it felt like kicking a boulder.
he didn’t let go. he yanked. the ground felt away from your knees, and you fell, your chin plowing a short channel in the mud, your jaw locking forcefully. and before you could gather another breath, he was on you.
his weight pinned you, his body long and lithe but immovably heavy. his hands — one wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head — felt like water-smoothed rock.
the other hand went to your throat.
not to strangle. not yet.
“you would run from me?” he hissed, his face inches from yours, long hair falling around you like curtains. the exquisite, androgynous beauty was gone, erased by a snarl that bared his teeth. a bit too long, a bit too sharp. “you would leave the only thing in this forest that cares for you?”
“get off!” you spat, trying to buck, to knee him. the grass and moss were slippery with dew and your previous sweat. “you’re a monster! you touched me! you–”
he clamped his hand harder on your throat, not cutting off your air. but… silencing you. his thumb pressed into the dipping hollow at the base of your throat, making your eyes bulge.
“i cared for you.” he bit back, his breath fanning the tip of your nose. “i cleansed your wounds. i gave you pleasure you could never fantasize. i welcomed you.”
“you–”
he brought his mouth down suddenly, forcefully. it wasn’t a kiss. it was a seal. an act of ownership so violent it tilted towards punishment.
his lips were cold and unyielding as he forced them against yours, prizing your jaw open with his own. you resisted, clenching your teeth, shaking your head. he growled, a deep, dark sound that made your gut clench, and then bit down on your lower lip.
“ah!”
the pain was sharp, a perforation of coppery blood flooding your mouth. you gasped, and he took advantage of it.
his tongue shoved inside, not teasing, not tasting, but conquering. it was larger than a human tongue, slightly rough as it passed your teeth and scraped the roof of your mouth. he spat within you, a flood of that same sweet, spiced nectar. it was hot this time, burning a little as it sluiced down your throat.
you coughed, choking, but he swallowed it for you, his throat moving against yours, forcing you to process the liquid.
the effect was near instantaneous: a drunken, heavy warmth spread from your stomach outwards. your limbs, tense with panic, began to go limp in his hands. your jaw slackened, allowing him deeper access down your throat.
and oh, he knew. he relished this new state of yours.
he drank your surrender from your mouth with vigour.
when he finally pulled back to admire you, a silver string of his nectar and your saliva connected your lips for a moment before breaking. your eyes were glazed, your breathing hitched and shallow, barely registering the man straddling you.
“there.” he whispered, his rage cooling into a scary, triumphant calm.
he released your wrists, but your arms didn’t move. they lay back in the grass as he had placed them, obeying his will. he trailed his fingertips down your arm, across your collarbone, over your marked breasts.
your nipple peaked under his touch, not with chill nor pleasure, but with a drugged, involuntary arousal. he leaned down and lavished a hot, wet kiss on the tip, earning a whine from your docile lips.
“so pliant again.” he murmured. “so perfect for me.”
he adjusted his position, his knees pressing your thighs further apart. you felt his erection — heavy, throbbing, the tip brushing against your clit. then down to the entrance of your sopping, trembling cunt.
the foliage that was previously there dispersed completely, choosing to tangle along his torso and legs.
“i would fuck you right here.” he breathed, his voice rich with possessive lust and restlessness. “in the grass. where any of the forest could see. and i would. but…”
he looked down at you, at your half-lidded eyes, the tears tracking through the dirt on your cheeks and chin. “you might make a sound. your peers… they might come.”
he frowned, a childish, sulky dip on his brow. “i don’t want to share.”
with that, he shifted. he kept his weight on you, but pushed away with his arms. he propped himself between your thighs, his cock pressed against your sticky folds.
using one hand to guide himself, while freeing the other to clamp over your mouth.
“don’t.” he ordered, his eyes narrowing. “not a sound.”
then he pushed in.
there was no further preparation, no care for your tenderness. the nectar had relaxed you, made you slippery, but the sheer size of his inhuman cock made you choke — it was like being rammed open by a tree root.
you arched your back, a silent scream slashing your soul. your nails scraped at the earth, digging tiny graves in the soil.
he sank in one swift motion, up to the hilt, then paused. his eyes were closed, his breathing uneven. he was savoring the feel of you, the tight, hot clench of your warm human body around his.
finally…
“mine.” he breathed, and then began to move.
his thrusts were not the graceful glides of a lover. they were possessive ruts, deep and measured, each one aimed to mark you from the inside. he used his whole body, leveraging his weight to drive himself as deep as possible.
the sound was a wet, slapping cadence that tore through the night.
“see?” he hissed, leaning down to nip at your ear. “see how we fit? you were made for me.”
you couldn’t answer — from pain and pleasure. your eyes rolled back, washed over by tears, fixed on the branches above. the world tilted more and more towards an otherworldly reality.
“f-fuck.”
he grabbed your twitching legs, his hands slippery against your skin, and hoisted them up. he folded you as he pleased, pushing your knees up towards your chest. your ass lifted from the grass, and this angle — deep, made for breeding — made his penetration feel even more profound, more punishing.
he lost his rhythm completely, his thrusts becoming a series of brutal, tumbling drives as your hungry pussy devoured every inch of his cock.
“you’re mine.” he growled with each push, a mantra of irrational possessiveness spoken into your flesh. “mine. mine. forever. i will keep you here. in my spring. in my embrace. you will never leave.”
his pace became punishingly fast, a piston-drive of carnal lust. the pleasure, relentless and bred from pain, began to coil again inside you, thumping into your lower tummy. your body, soaked in his nectar-like saliva, started to clench around him harsher, drawing him deeper.
milking him of everything he got.
he moaned, a high, sorrowful sound. “i’m close… i’m… no, not yet…”
but his body overruled him. he drove into you one last, teeth-clattering thrust, his chest collapsing against your folded legs.
spilling inside you.
it wasn’t a climax as mortals knew it. it was an overflow. a river of him, hot and copious, flooding your insides. it kept coming and coming, each pulse laying another claim on your hot mortal flesh. you felt it filling you, washing against your cervix, pressure building inside your abdomen.
“ah-ah…”
when he finally stilled, his body heavy and limp on yours, your lower belly was swollen, bloated outwards in a soft, impossible way. he slid a hand down between your bodies, parting your pliant legs, and pressed a palm down on your stomach.
you moaned, a low, guttural sound of satiation. of fullness.
“yes.” he whispered, rubbing his webbed hand over the slight bulge. “yes. imprinted. filled with me.”
he slowly, carefully withdrew from you, and the only thing keeping his cum from cascading out of you was the plump, heavy weight of it in your belly.
he lay next to you, propped on an elbow, and watched you.
he watched as his cum leaked out of your ravaged hole, a pale, pearlescent stream on the grass. he watched as the plants of the forest, drawn by his own essence, began to grow. tendrils of ivy, fragrant jasmine, and delicate, creeping black roses sprouted from the earth beneath your body. they coiled around your limbs, fine vines wrapping your ankles, blossoms blooming in the hollow of your collarbone.
they too were marking you, blending you with the forest, making you part of his territory.
“you see?” he said, his voice soft and enchanting once more. he plucked a blossom of moonflower and twirled it between his fingers. “the forest already claims you. in one week, you will forget them. in a month, you will forget there is anywhere else. your world will be this grove. your skin will smell of my moss, your hair of my rain. your womb…”
he trailed his hand down to your belly again. “your womb will always keep a trace of me.”
he leaned down and kissed your bloodied lips, tongue prodding at your heavy-lidded eyes to gather the salty tears of your demise. it was gentle, almost apologetic — at least on the surface.
“sleep now, my mortal love.” he murmured. “your life has yet to start.”
he gathered you in his arms, cradling you like a precious trinket, and he disappeared with you into the darkened shadows of the grove. the only sign that remained of the encounter was a patch of crushed, blooming grass, the pearlescent pool of his essence seeping into the soil.
oh, and the distant, growing light of a mercenary campfire — a light that would never guide you home again.
bully! sylus and bully! caleb make you squirt during lecture
tags: dubcon, fingering, public foreplay, forced squirting, petnames very brief mention of daddy, sylus + caleb are ragebaiting besties,
“Saved us a seat eh? How nice of you pipsqueak."
Sylus and Caleb unceremoniously enter lecture hall. They stalk down the row heading straight to you. They invade your space with a certain level of ease at the back of the hall where attendance is sparse. It's the last three rows occupied by the people who will disappear like they were never there before the semester is over. No one pays any attention to Sylus or Caleb as they make themselves at home beside you, removing your personal items to retire them to the floor.
Sylus on your left, Caleb on your right. Their knees widen to manspread over you, pushing your legs together with their knees.
“Wasn’t saving them for you..” You mumble as a weak offense fidgeting.
Caleb leans forward with an ear pointed in your direction like you're a kid that said a very nasty word.
“What was that?”
He spares you a look with it too, one that tells you nothing you say would make a difference. So you say nothing.
Like a hit of static, you jolt when fingers graze your calf muscle. It’s Sylus hiking up the tiny desk to have it rest above your thighs.
“Class is about to start soon kitten, get your stuff out” He suggests with one of his I know what you are smiles, “You didn’t do so great last exam remember?”
The worst part of it all is that you're all alone in your poor performance. You saw their grades. Exam 2 from last week came out to be a 98% and 99% for them. They compared their answers, they argued, they gloated. Then they hounded you for your score and wouldn't take no for an answer. Sylus took your computer and Caleb typed in your password as if he thought about it himself. All that to reveal a whopping 69%. And yes they made sure to tease you with every joke they could think of.
“Bet you’re blaming us for that aren’t you?” Caleb says, unzipping your bag. He fishes out your tablet, “If it weren’t for these two dummies I’d be straight A student.”
He mocks your voice at a completely different octave on purpose to rile you up. To make sylus laugh because it’ll just further piss you off.
"I think she's smarter than that" Sylus defends, and something in your chest flutters as a silent betrayal. “She knows we had nothing to do with it. If we did, the numbers might’ve been flipped.”
Assholes. Both of them. You bite your frown as you avoid their line of sight.
"Poor thing" You hear sylus coo as he studies the irritation deeply settled on your mouth. They both stare into your eyes that look ahead to watch the Professor set up his computer.
Sylus comes close, lays a thick meaty arm along the back of your seat like you’re his. You're instantly consumed by the crisp scent of leather, the kind of scent that hints a good looking man is nearby.
No one notices the way he gets really close to where you retreat by leaning the other way. Towards Caleb.
"Lucky for you, you have the two top performing students at your disposal" he promises and his smile is so kind it startles you, "S no need to look so pouty, you'll get wrinkles."
"You leave us with no choice” Caleb adds with a shrug, “You’re GPA's gonna tank without our help."
His knee knocks into yours, "Man pipsqueak..where would you be without us?"
A thousand of responses that you’d never say generate in your brain. Something about if it wasn't for caleb constantly distracting you, you'd be able to take notes. Maybe you would've made a friend or two instead of sylus scaring everyone off.
You definitely would no longer dread entering the lecture hall or start sweating the moment you sit down, waiting for the chaos to arrive.
The room lights up with the neutral color of the professor's slideshow. Big and small black font spell out on the massive projector in front and on the two side screens. The professor’s voice fills the room and he's the type of lecturer that never idles. He goes straight into the lesson after a basic greeting.
"Good afternoon. Is everyone alright? Yes? Good. Let's continue where we left off…"
At the same time you feel another touch on the side of your kneecap. It's Caleb tracing a knuckle in a straight line over the side of your thigh. Instantly, you regret wearing a skirt today.
“Interesting choice of outfit today pips” He comments and it’s dry. His cheek lays in his hand that’s propped up, “you notice that too right Sylus?”
“I’m not blind” He responds like a deep purr. “She has a great body”
You swallow at that, the emphasis and the implications of it. He makes you sound like a meal, and you’re tensing up below your skirt.
“Why wouldn’t she want to show that off?” He questions
You decide to distract yourself with your tablet, downloading the slideshow as they blatantly talk about you. You try to make yourself feel like a real student despite everyone around you doing the opposite.
Caleb’s touch doesn’t depart from your knee, in fact it rises, but you’re only glad they're not messing with your tablet like last class. Caleb trying to get into your hidden photos, Sylus creeping through your search history.
“But during the winter though? Nah" Caleb counters and Sylus hums like he makes a good point, " Pips gonna catch a cold.”
You sharply inhale through your nose when you feel his knuckle expand to a full hand, big and warm smoothing over the fat of your thigh. He coasts over you like a new car, shifting your skirt with the graze of his fingers. You know he catches the way your muscle firms when you squeeze.
Somehow they’ve found a new way to amp up their antics, and to your horror it works effortlessly.
You grip your pen and write down a word from the presentation. Just a single word, and you attempt to direct your brain to the concept as Sylus's voice drops into dangerous territory.
“Maybe we should keep her warm then”
By the middle of class your pencil is down and your tablet is asleep.
You’ve long abandoned the intellectual journey of electromagnetism. The professor and the rest of the class leave you stranded while you feel as though you're slipping back and forth from reality.
It's hard to remember that you're still in a lecture hall and there's people around. That the hall is quiet except for the professor. You can even hear the rumble of someone's stomach in the near distance.
And yet caleb whispers, and it's a mockery of a inquisitive tone.
“Hey Sylus.." He asks slowly, "What’s that noise?”
You’ve got an elbow on the side desk to bury your mouth into your palm. It helps to stifle the sounds they pull out of you with every flex of their thick fingers rubbing deeply inside your pussy.
Sylus whispers back to Caleb at your left,
“Not sure..” He goes just as taunting, and you feel the long stretch of his middle finger. It curls like it's sweet to press deep. The ice silver of his ring kisses your hole smeared in your arousal that they use to their advantage. The same ring that costs the amount as your tuition without aid, rubs your slit at his finger settles in. Your cunt drools exactly how your mouth does in your palm.
Sylus’s voice is a low hum, “Sounds familiar though doesn't it?”
He thinks aloud, and the two grin like they exchange words telepathically.
There’s another timid squelch..! as they push, “It kinda sounds like somethin' really wet" Caleb ponders,
The girl sitting in the row ahead, three seats down glances over. Her face reflects her doubt, surely she didn't hear that right?
Sylus and Caleb don't stop (why would they?). They ride out your frightful squeeze inside that pulls them in like quicksand, and don't say anything until her head turns back to her game. You feel them quiver with internal laughter as you try to recover from the humiliation.
"Huh. I wonder what could that be?" Sylus whispers
Caleb hums like he’s stumped too, and you want to tell the both of them to shut the fuck up but you don't.
“You hear that too, right pips?” Caleb asks you
Duh and you’re dizzy about it. It’s absolutely ridiculous how full you feel with just two fingers. Two different sizes and heat, but they're both so big and too good to you. Sylus and Caleb move in perfect tandem that you can hardly believe it. Knuckles sticky with your juices brush against each other as they fondle the feel of you dripping in their hands. It's like they just so happen to know what buttons to push, where and how to find them as they slide along where you're most sensitive. Because of that you’re body is more than willing to give them what they want even if your mind isn't. They both softly inhale as your tight gummy walls clutch around them, pressing their fingers together.
You try to keep it quiet by shutting your thighs. You shake your head as your final answer. You hear nothing but the rattle of your heart as it lubs quickly in your chest. They stifle their laughter again but fail poorly.
“Really?” Sylus sings in a melodic voice, and by the bass in his vocal cords it sounds hollow. In your peripheral you can see his crooked smile like the thought of sin, “You sure?”
His grin grows wider and more smug. He moves his finger faster than the slow aching drag they both settled on. He pumps into you earnestly, like he would if he was fucking you. It purposefully makes the noise from your cunt louder. You twitch inside again and again and squeal into your hand biting the fat of your palm.
“Don’t start lying now” Caleb murmurs lowly, honest advice and a threat wrapped in one. Alongside sylus, he's shameless and you tremble. Your thighs collapse to spread like a whore. There's another disgusting squelch! that dribbles out “Nah no way..you know exactly what that is” He says with a slow convincing nod
You shake your head in admittance, despite how it burns your face iron hot to acknowledge this highly unnecessary fact to point out. In a way it’s your last desperate attempt to get them to slow down before someone hears and says something. You want to go back to the way they were carving your insides to memory. It was their strange way of playing nice.
“You do?” Sylus says like he's mildly impressed. He's still not done with this stupid interrogation. His breath fans over the side of your face like a thirst, “That’s good. As punishment for lying, why don't tell you us? We're very curious."
You swallow, your pride keeps your lips shut. The words you know but god you can’t say it. The girl on a crossword game would hear, and saying it aloud is so stupid within a space meant for learning and not whatever this is.
It's too much and they know it, you feel them move your skirt way up. Chills roll over down your spine as cooler air kisses the mess between your thighs.
“Pipsqueak..” Caleb voice sends another sharp current to your stomach, his voice and his finger is scolding, precise and mean against your sweet spot, “Tell us what’s making all that noise.”
“It’s-” You shut your mouth and briefly inhale another moan less quiet as Sylus follows after Caleb, when one pushes in the other pulls back. Sylus even flexes his hand, the side of his thumb putting emphasis on your clit instead of the subtle teasing.
“It’s what pips?” Caleb presses, “We can't hear you”
He frowns as if you're the one way out of line. And Sylus looks so elated, eyes shining dangerously.
The embarrassment of it all makes your lips tremble like you’ll cry. They know it well and little do you know that’s one of the things about you that gets them off. You're so small compared to them, you just can't help but be so cute, so stubborn and angry. Even so, you always end up giving in.
Your head raises a little to whisper so low they hang off every word,
“It’s my pussy..”
Caleb's lips fall apart while Sylus softly inhales like you touched his cock.
“Oh is that right?” He whispers, your face further stings from the condescending tone layered in their voices,
“It’s this slutty little cunt actin’ up again huh?” Caleb bites to your ear, “Makes sense. You're leaving a mess everywhere tsk tsk..”
Sylus chuckles, “I wonder why though.. I thought you hated us kitten" He muses, "But it looks like you really” his fingers stroke your pussy with every word, “really like us. Am I right?"
You nod and it’s easier this time. There's no hesitation because despite the anxiety of getting caught (again), you really need this. They pull deep levels of pleasure from your core you’ve never experienced, even with your own toys and a dorm to yourself. All with just their fingers and you squeeze at the thought of their cocks.
But then they slow down, one after the other. They hold you right on the edge and your body settles out of relief and utter disappointment.
Sylus spares you bright eyes with an even brighter grin. He whispers against you, shaky as if he’s somehow connected to your leaking pussy, “I’ll play with your clit if you beg nicely for me.”
Caleb snorts, watching your thighs where you clench bashfully against their fingers , “Please..” you whisper and Sylus shakes his head.
“You know what I like kitten” He gives you an unimpressed look, “Say it for me.”
You find yourself rocking at their torturous speed. You try again, wiggling, and his eyes are fiery when you mewl, “Please daddy..”
You’re horrified when the two look mildly taken aback as if you suddenly spoke another language. But both of them duck their heads down as they contain a hard laugh.
Snickering, Sylus slides achingly slow out of your hole, and smears the wetness from your pussy over your clit, “Daddy huh?.. I wanted you to say my name kitten, but I guess that works too."
"B-but-"
“Knew you were a dirty girl and you just keeep provin' me right.” Caleb cuts you off, "What about me? What's my name?"
Sylus fingers twirls a point under the hood of your clit for extra incentive. He and caleb force it out of you incredibly easily, "C-caleb.." You whine, you hear hear him curse under his breathe , " 'leb-"
“Yeah that’s it” He murmurs as your hips buck into their hands. Sylus hums like you said something profound. Your eyes momentarily shut as Caleb slows to slide in another finger.
"Fuck you're gettin even wetter baby" He whispers lowly, it's rushed and the ghost of a lustful groan, "God you feel so good.”
You can't help but nod in agreement, head bowing, eyes shutting. It’s too much especially with sylus twirling over your clit, just like the way you would when you need to get off really bad. You don't have the will power to make it stop. Instead your hand holds his wrist, completely dwarfed by the utter size of him. There's something deep and strange that's emerging, and they’re the cause of it you know it. Sylus playing with your pussy and caleb fucking his fingers into you. They're both dragging something that shouldn't come out. Not here at least.
Your blood runs ice cold then searing hot from it. “wait..s..stop” your lips covered in drool, you whisper without squealing.
“What’s wrong this time?” Caleb sighs slightly vexed, staring into your face with a bone straight expression, “Don’t say you’re not enjoying this, my fingers are getting all pruny because of you”
You miss the way that girl on the crossword game flinches and goes to text her friends.
"Something's gonna c-come out" You try to say and it takes them a moment before Sylus goes, "Oh"
It triggers something inside the both of them. Makes them more eager and even more relentless. You’re completely helpless between them.
“Don’t hold back kitten” Sylus assures you again, “Make a mess for us.”
“Do it already..” Caleb murmurs at your other ear, eyes narrow, dark with possession, “Come on..make your pussy squirt in your seat”
“I can’t-please ” You writhe under his seedy gaze, and sylus who whispers your praise.
“Yes you can"
They grab your thighs to keep them spread wide before you sealed them shut. Fingernails digging into your skin persistent as they pull where you legs try to flee from them. Their persistence is enough to make you break and it comes all at once and hard.
You can barely brace yourself at the peak and caleb slides his fingers out just as a water clear wave bursts from your pussy and slides over the curve of the seat, leaving a glistening trail that drips.
“Fuck yeah..” Caleb rubs against your hole before sliding in again. Your lips form to say the words no and stop but you can’t trust yourself to keep quiet enough.
“Just a little more sweetie” Sylus says, his fingers still toying with your clit, the overstimulation makes you shake your head again no no but he shushes you softly, “Trust us, you can handle it. Besides..class isn’t quite over yet.”
$15.99 MAIN COURSE 1 ━ ZAYNE 黎深
synopsis. when you lose your memory from a strange wanderer's protofield, zayne takes it upon himself to nurture you back to health. but he just can't help but remind you just who he is.
wc. 7.3k please mind the content warnings.
━ ✧ cw: mdni, explicit sexual content, coercion and manipulation, inappropriate doctor-patient dynamic, dubious consent, angst with comfort, reader has amnesia and zayne takes advantage, prev. established relationship, mating press, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering
━ ✧ an: day one of kinktober! please note that for kinktober i am doing slightly darker themes. you could consider this out of character for the guys, but i've tried to write it as realistically as possible. i did provide a good amount of plot and build-up to give more depth to the situation and make it less ooc. the coming kinktober fics will NOT be as long as this one. i got carried away. please make sure you read the warnings. if you are uncomfortable by them, do not read.
Zayne supports you across the threshold of the front door of his home, making sure to keep his hands on yours shoulders and upper arm. His jaw clenches as he watches you look around curiously, noting the lack of recognition in your sparkling eyes.
"You'll be staying here while you recover," he murmurs softly, "Let me bring you to your room."
You turn to him, your eyes wide and trusting while you nod. Your fingers clutch him desperately, almost fearful that he might disappear and leave you all alone in this unfamiliar place.
"Is this your home?"
Zayne's heart clenches painfully. You really didn't remember.
"Yes, it is."
"It's really nice," you say, almost awkwardly. Zayne doesn't say anything. Even if he trusted himself to speak, he'd have difficulty finding the right words.
Zayne gently pushes the door open to the master bedroom. As he assists you to the edge of the bed, he quickly moves to the nightstand to turn over the photo frame that sits there, deftly tucking it away into the drawer. It'd only confuse you if you saw them now.
"Isn't this your room?" you ask, noting that despite how modern, clean, and minimalist it is, it has an air of comfort that would indicate it's been frequently lived in. Zayne pauses as he makes his way across the room, subtly hiding mementos and keepsakes that might reveal the true nature of your relationship with him.
Beyond the convenience of the attached bathroom, Zayne wanted you to be surrounded by something familiar, even if you didn't remember it. And you'd definitely spent countless hours in this very room.
When he gives you a curt nod, your eyes widen and you stare down at your fingers as they fidget nervously, "I-I can sleep on the couch. I don't want to impose."
Zayne chuckles, almost darkly—undeniably fractured at your words, "No, absolutely not. This bedroom has an adjoined bathroom and you'll need the privacy."
You jump in surprise when a hand gently grips your shoulder, not realizing Zayne had made his way beside you. At your reaction, Zayne releases you instantly. A myriad of emotions that you don't understand briefly flicker across his face before he returns to the stoic and professional doctor you knew him to be.
"I'll be sleeping in the guest room, no one needs to sleep on the couch," his tone leaves no room for protesting, "You're my patient—it's my job to ensure your recovery."
His gentle tone and reassuring words appease you, and you nod slowly. Even if you wanted to insist further, you didn't want to upset him—unbelievably grateful that your doctor would go so far to take care of you. You didn't want to be a burden, much less do anything that might upset him.
"I…" you trail off, intimidated by his intense gold and olive eyes, "I'm sorry you have to do this. It must be troublesome…to have to bring a patient home."
A patient.
Right. He was your doctor and nothing else.
At least that's what he'd let you believe when they brought you into the hospital—the effects of a wanderer's protofield causing you to develop a type of memory loss similar to retrograde amnesia.
But it wasn't quite the same. The effects of this specific Wanderer were highly random and had little rhyme to its reason. You remembered your name, small things like your favorite color, your favorite foods. But things that shouldn't have disappeared, like instinctual human connections, had been wiped clean from your memory.
The blank look of confusion on your face when he'd hugged you would always haunt him. It wasn't just that you didn't remember him—which you didn't—but it seemed you'd also forgotten what it meant to embrace someone, your hands hanging limply at your sides when he'd held you.
Zayne had fought tooth and nail to be the doctor to treat you. Yes, he was your primary care provider so you were allowed to have your routine appointments with him. But when you were brought into the emergency room, trauma procedure dictated that doctors were not to treat loved ones—especially not their significant others.
But you latched onto the him as your doctor. Someone you could trust. The only person you seemed to trust, as when anyone tried any orderlies tried to touch you, you panicked and instantly sought him out. Something about him you just found comfort in.
You—your state of mind—had been far too fragile, understandably confused, agitated, and scared. He couldn't bear the idea of taking away the one thing that had become a constant for you, when you felt like you had nothing.
Especially not when no one could be certain if this was permanent. More than anything, he wanted to protect you. Your memories…maybe they'd come back, maybe they wouldn't. But that was nothing compared to the idea of you fracturing further if he didn't tread carefully.
It was agonizing to see you like this—not knowing if you'd ever remember him. Remember what you'd had together.
"It's no trouble," he finally says, clearing his throat of his strangled emotions. He hesitates before continuing, "It's…normal. I'm your doctor. It's my job to make sure you're taken care of."
Not knowing any better, you nod, accepting the explanation. You watch Zayne busy himself around the room, coming in and out of the connected bathroom. Finally, he comes to sit beside you on the edge of the bed, gently setting a towel into your hands.
"I started the bath for you. You're not injured too badly but you have quite a bit of bruising. The warm water will be good for you."
"There will be clothes on the bed for you when you come out. I'll redress your bandages after you're done."
As he turns to leave, you find yourself clutching him.
"W-Where are you going?" you say, almost panicked. The idea of being alone in this unfamiliar place terrified you, the echoes of your lost memories deafening in your mind.
Zayne visibly softens. His hand impulsively raises, just centimeters shy of your cheek. He aches to hold you, but decides against it, instead tucking your hair behind your ear.
"I'll just be in the kitchen," he murmurs, "You need something to eat."
He pauses, hand lingering before he pulls it back to his side and speaks again, "Do you want me to stay?" He hopes you'll say yes—craving proximity and connection. It was easy for him to be reliable and strong, you needed him and that came above all. But he was suffering too.
Yes—your mind cries out. But you purse your lips, determined to not bother him more than you already had by just existing.
"No…no. I'll be okay," you give him a half-hearted smile, trying to reassure him. He keeps his face stoic, not wanting you to see the disappointment he feels deeply. He looks reluctant, regarding you for a few moments before standing again.
"I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Anything at all."
His eyes linger on you for a second longer before he forces himself to leave. The sight of you, beautiful as ever, but vulnerable and broken, threatened to barrel through his sensibilities—through his resolve.
You watch his back as he retreats, not understanding the ache you felt in your chest at the sight of him leaving.
—
"Not hungry?" Zayne says gently, watching you twirl your spoon in your congee.
Your eyes snap to his, surprised, "N-No, I am." You bring the porridge to your lips, taking a spoonful and forcing yourself to swallow.
Zayne's lips tighten, catching on immediately to what you're doing. He gently pries the spoon from your hands, setting it back into the bowl.
"Please. Don't appease me. It's alright if you can't eat. It's alright if you don't want to be alone."
You find your eyes stinging, inexplicably drawn to the raven haired doctor's words—finding immeasurable comfort in them amidst your inner turmoil.
"I am hungry," you admit, "I just…" You struggle to find the words, not wanting to articulate the depth of the wallow of your anguish. You'd spent the entire day willing yourself to remember something, anything.
But of course nothing came.
Zayne stands from across the table and makes his way to the seat beside yours. He gently takes the bowl from your fingers—his hands incredibly cold but you don't flinch.
"Your memories don't define you. You'll always be…" he clears his throat as he trails off.
"Your memories will return with time," he tries to ease your worries, though he knows his promises are uncertain. Blowing gently on a spoonful of congee, he carefully brings it to your lips. Your eyes widen with surprise, not expecting this level of care from a doctor.
But for that reason it makes you more inclined to eat, wanting to show your gratitude for the man that had taken it upon himself to care for you until your memories returned. If ever.
After you swallow the spoonful, the hearty porridge warming your entire body, you whisper, "What if they don't?"
Zayne doesn't think twice as he gently lifts your chin, his eyes searching yours, "If they don't…We—You can always make new ones."
He catches himself, nearly letting too much slip out. You don't notice his brief stutter, instead wondering why this man's words had such a hold over you.
Zayne's eyes aren't on yours, irises pointed downwards before they flicker back up. His jaw ticks, knowing he shouldn't be touching you like this but he can't stop himself.
A warmth blooms in your chest as his breath fans across your flushed face. You don't understand it, figuring the congee was probably too hot.
As your cheeks flourish, looking up at him like a trusting baby deer, Zayne loses himself just slightly. For a second, he forgets that you'd been been gone for weeks, on the same mission that led to your current state. He forgets the ache in his heart that you occupied, that still throbs even as you sit right in front of him.
He forgets that he's supposed to be nothing more than an overbearing doctor to you. That second is all it takes for instinct to take over, his body drawn to yours by forces far greater than his measured self control.
It's second nature for him to nuzzle his nose against yours—his lips drawn to you like two opposing magnets. You stop breathing when his lips brush against the corner of yours, but you don't pull away.
Before you even have a chance to decide if you like or hate the feeling, Zayne pulls away and clears his throat—cursing himself inwardly.
He'd kissed you—if even just barely. He couldn't take that back. All he could do now was hope you wouldn't think too deeply into it.
You watch him curiously as he resumes feeding you, "Why did you do that?"
The green-eyed doctor freezes before bringing the spoon to your lips again, doing his damn best to remain impassive.
"Why did I kiss you?"
You cock your head with intrigue, searching your head for familiarity, "Kiss?"
Zayne keeps his concern to himself, not wanting to concern you further. How was it possible that the Wanderer's protofield could manipulate your memory this drastically? That long standing symbols of emotion would lose their meaning?
He could practically feel the ice freezing over in his veins as the depth of your vulnerability sinks in.
"A kiss…It can mean a lot of things."
Zayne didn't often find himself speechless. But these waters were incredibly treacherous to navigate—he had to find the perfect words to explain himself.
"Sometimes, you don't have to use words to express how you feel."
He blows onto the steaming spoon, "A kiss is to show affection. Gratitude. Or even remorse. It can mean many different things." He clears his throat briefly, hoping you'll buy into his ridiculous explanation.
"It means I care about you," he settles on, "I'm your doctor."
He looks composed, save for his red-tipped ears, leading you to believe the brief touch against your mouth was normal. A normal doctor and patient interaction. It shouldn't make your heart race—like it currently was.
Finding the right words to explain how you felt had been a struggle for you ever since you came to, in the Akso Hospital. And they were particularly difficult to form right now.
Quickly, almost so quick Zayne doesn't even have the chance to register it, you lean in and press your lips to his, like he had done to you. Except they land square on the center of his mouth.
The metal spool clatters against the table, Zayne clearing his throat and scrambling to pick it back up. His voice is hoarse.
"What was that for?"
"You said a kiss could show gratitude," you explain, "I'm grateful that I have a doctor who takes such good care of me. Thank you."
Zayne's eyes darken and he looks down, stirring the bowl, "Right, of course."
When he looks back up, there's an expression on his face you don't understand. It makes you think you've done something wrong.
"You're welcome."
"So if I care about someone, I should kiss them? Just like that?"
Zayne's lips press together, his grip tightening on the spoon before setting it back in the bowl.
"No."
Before he knows what he's doing, he's taking your face gently in his fingertips. His quiet voice underbellies his stern words—the commanding nature of them sending shivers down your spine.
"You shouldn't do that with anyone else."
His eyes nearly glow as he beholds you with an intensity that made your heart quicken.
"Only your doctor. Only me. It wouldn't mean anything with anyone else, not until your memories return."
Releasing you before you can speak, Zayne stands abruptly. He clears the table, bringing the bowls to the sink.
"It's getting late, you need to rest."
Only when you leave does he exhale, quickly readjusting his painfully tightened pants.
—
You awaken with a start, breaking free from a terrifying nightmare. Images of bloodshed, hospital walls, creatures that weren't human.
You were certain these were fragmented memories. And that scared you more than anything.
Burying your face in the pillow, you desperately try to fall back asleep. But it's hard to ignore the hollow echoing in your brain—scarily devoid of anything meaningful. Except now, bits and pieces of terrifying memories.
You're not sure which was worse.
Nearly in a trance, you find yourself standing at the foot of the room Zayne had said he'd be sleeping in, your fingers gently grasping the doorknob. Biting your lip, you contemplate turning it. He'd said you should come to him with anything.
But the thought of being a burden, of bothering him until he got sick of taking care of you, made you physically sick to your stomach.
You had nothing. You couldn't lose the one person who cared. Even if it was just your doctor.
But still, you carefully and quietly push the door open—almost as if possessed by instinct.
The glow of an open laptop screen, the only light in am otherwise pitch black room, surprises you. The light bounces off the reflection of Zayne's glasses, the doctor sitting up against the headboard, typing on the keys.
He looks up from the screen as the door creaks open, your hesitant eyes peeking through.
Instantly he's up and beside you, cold fingers gently enclosed over yours, "Are you okay sweetheart?"
You're so surprised by his quick movements you don't even register the foreign nickname.
"N-No! I'm fine. I just had a hard time sleeping," you whisper sheepishly, looking down at your hands, enjoying the feeling of his skin against yours.
He looks at you skeptically, seeming to be able to read you like an open book, "Did you have a nightmare?"
Your hesitation answers for you. It almost scares you, how well this man knows you.
Gently, he takes your hand and leads you back to the room you were sleeping in.
"I'll sit with you until you fall asleep."
Warmth blooms in your chest, the relief visible on your face. But still, the heavy weight of fear crushes you—not wanting to burden him further.
"No it's okay, I—"
But Zayne pulls you along gently, wrapping an arm around your waist. His cold fingers tickle the exposed skin of your hip.
"Please. Let me."
The desperation in his voice shuts you up. You couldn't quite figure him out.
As you climb back under the covers, Zayne sits where your feet are. The space between the two of you feels charged, awkward even. Honestly, you doubted you could sleep this way either.
"You can lay down too," you suggest, intimidated by his shadow at the foot of the bed. He's quiet as you tap the comforter beside you—his voice strangled when he finally speaks.
"Don't worry about me. Just get some rest."
Summoning your courage, you sit up, voice small and hesitant, "P-Please? It'll help me sleep."
At the tense silence, you instantly feel idiotic for even having asked—your cheeks burning, "F-Forget it, I'm sorry."
Your eyes burn a hole in your fingers that rest on your lap, feeling too shameful to look up—until the bed beside you dips. Zayne softly grasps your chin, tilting your face back up to stare into his.
"Don't be."
He coaxes you back onto the bed, laying down beside you. Zayne doesn't dare face you, instead staring at the ceiling above—afraid what would happen if he looked at you. His entire body burned knowing yours lay just inches from his. That if he reached out, he could touch you. The thought alone made the pressure build beneath his pants.
But he couldn't.
With Zayne beside you, the weight in your chest seemed to dissipate. Like clockwork, your eyes start to droop and it isn't long before you fall back asleep.
You're unsure how long you're asleep before you're gently awoken by the feeling of fabric pressed against your cheeks, scratching you softly. The first thing you notice is how warm it is—how safe you feel. Happily, you snuggle closer to the source of comfort.
When a tentative, but sturdy and strong, arm wraps around your waist, your eyes dart open in surprise.
Your heart starts to pound as you peer up, realizing you'd curled up next to Zayne in your slumber, pressed right against his solid body.
"Zayne?"
He stiffens noticeably, but he doesn't release you—praying you don't mention the obvious. He shifts infinitesimally, careful to make sure his groin doesn't brush against your body.
He clears his throat awkwardly, "Sorry. I must've…fallen asleep."
There's a brief silence before you respond, "You're hugging me again."
Again. Zayne realizes you must be referencing when he'd embraced you at the hospital—when he'd had to explain what a hug was.
"I should let you go."
But he doesn't.
You look up at him shyly, "You don't have to. You're warm."
The darkness hides Zayne's widening eyes. At your words, he's encouraged to hold you tighter—throat constricting with emotions. Gently, he buries his face into the top of your head—breathing you in slowly.
He'd missed this—missed you—so terribly.
But unfortunately, the deceptively innocent action only makes his cock harden further and his shame grow deeper.
Your eyes flutter shut at the undeniable coziness of his body. Something repeatedly pressed into your scalp, tickling you. You're reminded of dinner, when he'd pressed his lips against yours.
"Are you kissing me again?"
Zayne's lips still, but his fingers tighten against your hip, his restraint wearing thin with you so damn close to him, so close he could feel your breath against his collar.
"I suppose I am."
You look up at him—repeating his earlier words, "Because you care about me?"
"Yeah. You could say that," he whispers, voice husky with unidentifiable emotions. Your curious gaze lets him really see your eyes, and he finds himself instantly lost.
Feeling emboldened by the safety and comfort he provides you, you crane your head towards him—wanting to convey the depth of your gratitude for him. This new method of sharing how you felt was far easier than finding the right words to say.
Zayne freezes when your soft lips meet his. He's still—almost as if not wanting to move, lest he scare you off. Not when he needed this intimacy.
The kiss is innocent, just a simple show of gratitude. Your breath is heavy when you pull away, trying to regain a steady rhythm. But Zayne gently pulls you back, tucking your head under his chin. He holds you tightly, almost so tight you can't breathe.
"Please…" he whispers, your name rolling off his tongue desperately, sounding tortured. Your heart falls when you realize maybe you've upset him somehow.
"D-Did I mess up? I'm sorry—"
Your words drown out when Zayne kisses you again, his lips cold and soft against yours. You squeak with surprise but hold still, trying to understand the emotions he was trying to convey. A kiss meant he cared about you.
Why did he care about you so much?
Zayne's cold fingers weave into your hair, gripping the back of your head—holding you captive. Your body tingles when you feel his tongue swiping against your mouth, eyes widening and lips parting in surprise.
A foreign sound escapes you as the feeling of his tongue against yours overwhelms you.
Zayne groans, instantly consuming your moans—relishing in the sound. You don't kiss him back, but your tongue yields to his. You let him gently probe your mouth, more curious than you are submissive.
The guilt gnaws at the recesses of his mind, knowing he shouldn't be doing this. Not when you barely knew who he was, when you barely understood what this meant.
He pulls away, breath labored. Your own breathing is uneven, entire body tingling.
"What did that mean?"
Zayne hesitates, the guilt echoing loudly, "Kisses…are also signs of physical affection. In some cases…"
The words tumble out of him, desperate to repair any trust he may have just shattered. He needed to be the one to take care of you—he wouldn't let anyone else be responsible for that.
"Physical affection can be therapeutic. As your doctor, I'll do anything to aid your treatment."
The words come out so smoothly—so confidently, they put you at instant ease, "Oh. Does it feel good for you, too?"
Zayne's jaw clenches. Your inadvertent admission that you'd enjoyed it sends his mind reeling, his restraint wearing thin, "It does."
He clears his throat—using every shred of discipline he has remaining to pull away, "You should get some rest. I'll check on you later."
"W-Wait," you clutch at his shirt, your eyes flutter unassumingly, "I-If it feels good, then can we…keep doing it?"
His heart hammers painfully. How could you be so trusting? So innocently naive to the effect you had on him? He clears his throat, trying to maintain his sorry excuse for a professional and nonchalant facade.
"Of course."
He grasps your chin again, molding himself against you—trying to hide how eager he's grown. Your fingers tug at his shirt as his tongue finds yours again. His fingers tentatively latch onto your hip, his thumb rubbing the exposed skin there.
Your soft mewls drive him to insanity, practically hypnotizing him. His hands are compelled, moving on their own and finding deeper purchase in your unbearably delicate skin.
Zayne has mapped and memorized every single bruise you came into the hospital with, making sure his touch is nothing but tender and healing. Therapeutic, as he'd claimed.
He's trapped in a never ending cycle of guilt, shame, and desire. He knows he's taking advantage of your vulnerability, of your innocence, but he can't stop himself. Not when you're being so beautifully receptive to him.
"This is normal?" you ask, a glimmering streak of saliva on your chin. The sensations you feel are so foreign, yet familiar—scaring you. So you seek reassurance from the one person you trust.
"Doctors do this for their patients?"
"…Yes. They do," he whispers huskily, pushing away the guilt and pulling you towards him instead. You feel something hard and warm pressed against your stomach, enjoying the sensation of his body against yours.
This was a different kind of hug than you'd grown accustomed to, but it was pleasant nonetheless.
"But I'm your only doctor," he states firmly, stroking your jaw tenderly, "Remember that."
You nod. You only wanted him as your doctor anyways.
"Good girl," he murmurs, fingers gentle on the back of your neck—pulling you in for another kiss. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on what was right and what was wrong.
His praises make your tummy flutter. This time when his tongue enters your lips, you try your best to reciprocate. Your own tongue gingerly strokes his, your body burning.
Zayne groans at your boldness, the sound making you squirm in his arms. You feel his fingers trace the curvature of your spine, resting at the small of your back against your bare skin.
He moans your name, rocking gently against you. The longer he kisses you, the more your muscles ache—tension building in your flesh at the sensation.
The sensation terrified you. It didn't hurt, but the feeling was so foreign you couldn't be sure if it was normal.
"Z-Zayne," you whimper, "Something feels weird."
Zayne instantly rips himself away from you, "Am I hurting you?"
"No," you croak—unsure what it is you're even feeling, "B-But something feels wrong…"
Zayne holds your face with both of his hands, inspecting you, "What hurts, sweetheart?"
"M-My legs," you whisper. The term he uses for you rings loudly in your ears, but you're too nervous to ask about it. You part your thighs and gently take his hands off your face, guiding them to the space between your legs.
"Here."
Zayne goes rigid, his breathing so audibly strangled it terrifies you. His fingers tremble against your body, almost hesitant to touch.
Was something wrong with you?
It takes a moment before he speaks, choked, "Let me see what's wrong."
You nod shakily, letting Zayne lay you on your back as he gets on his knees and descends—situating himself at your calves. His fingers softly grip your ankles, spreading your legs apart.
"I need to examine you," he explains while he gently tugs your sweatpants down.
In nothing but your panties now, you feel incredibly exposed. The cool air is drafty against your bare skin, making you realize there's an uncomfortable wetness between your legs.
Were you bleeding?
The look on Zayne's face doesn't make you feel any better. His jaw is slack, his eyes intense as he stares at you, and his fists clenched at his sides. His mind is a tempest of desire and disbelief as he feasts on the sight of your soaked underwear, glistening against the moonlight.
For a second, he just admires you. He can feel the sweat forming on his temple as he takes it all in—mouth starting to water.
You'd gotten this wet from just a few kisses?
"May I touch you?" he rasps, his doctor's pretense trembling pathetically. You nod instantly, trusting him without fail.
"Tell me if this hurts," his strong voice reassuring you. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers move your panties to the side.
A moan rips from your lips when you feel his cold length fingers graze along the sensitive area at the apex of your thighs.
"Painful?" he whispers, withdrawing slightly.
"N-No," you whimper, "It just feels…w-weird. I don't know how to explain."
It felt like someone took a match and lit it inside you, you're entire body burning. The fire seemed to emanate from just below your tummy, spreading in all directions from where Zayne's skin met yours.
"You're okay, nothing's wrong. Don't worry," he reassures, one hand stroking your hair while the other remains glued to your body—thumb rubbing up and down your slit gently.
"This sometimes happens…" he whispers, "With physical affection."
You writhe under his touch, still unaccustomed to the odd sensation. But perhaps it had to do with his earlier words.
"Mmmmgh…o-oh…" you moan, toes curling, "S-So it's nnngh—normal?"
Zayne hesitates to answer, knowing he should stop—go back to his room and leave you alone.
But he can't. Not when your entire being intoxicated him to insanity—your trust, your vulnerability. You.
"Yes, it is."
You cry out when his thumb presses against a particularly sensitive part on your core, your body thrashing upward. Zayne's other hand carefully presses against your stomach, securing you back down.
"You're okay," Zayne presses his lips against your ear, ghosting a kiss along the shell, "Does it feel good, love?"
The name slips out before he can stop it. Deliberately, he strokes your clit—hoping to distract you from it.
"Ahh y-yes…" you whimper, clutching his shirt—his muscles bulging underneath. The feeling was similar to how you'd felt when you were kissing him. Only more intense.
Zayne watches hungrily as your hips rock ever-so-slightly against his fingers, mesmerized at how your body reacted—as if you hadn't completely forgotten him.
How much were you willing to accept?
"Tell me when to stop," he coaxes you, fingers finding your entrance—stroking it tenderly. At your pleasured sounds, Zayne carefully breaches your defenses, one finger finding its way inside of you.
"Zayne—!" you pant as you feel his finger inside of you.
"Don't worry," he preemptively soothes concerns you had yet to voice, "Just relax. This is normal."
He could deal with the regret later.
His middle finger bottoms out inside you, his thumb pressed diligently into your hardened clit. His own erection throbs furiously but he ignores it, drunk on your pleasure.
"I-Is it supposed to feel like this?" you wail as your fingers dig into the comforter.
"What does it feel like?" His words coax more from you while his finger continues to gently work in and out—tender and slow.
"L-Like…" you gulp, struggling to string words together amidst this sensation, "Like I need to use the bathroom?"
Your face burns with embarrassment, mortified by that idea. But Zayne's lips quirk in a slight smile as he realizes your body wants release.
"Yes, that's normal."
Zayne continues his ministrations, breathing heavily as he watches his finger disappear repeatedly inside of you, glistening with your nectar.
You'd let him past every instinctual barrier, trusting him completely with your body. That though alone made Zayne greedy for more—knowing you'd more than likely give it to him.
His finger slips out of you, coming up to his nose so he can smell your essence. The scent makes him groan audibly, pushing him closer to the border of desperation.
"Let me inspect you a bit closer," he says, "Just to make sure everything's okay—no abnormalities."
"Closer?" you ask curiously, gasping at the emptiness. But even before he has a chance to explain, you nod. There was no reason for you not to trust him to safeguard your well-being.
"Closer," he reaffirms, hooking his arms around your thighs and tugging you closer to him—to his face. Your eyes widen when his warm breath hits your quivering lips.
"I just need to make sure everything's okay."
"Okay," you breathe out slowly, trying to settle your erratic heart as Zayne comes increasingly closer.
"Good girl," he murmurs. It's the last thing he says before you feel the tip of his tongue in between the wetness between your thighs.
Zayne holds you firmly when you thrash, choking on your own breath. The sensation is unreal, spreading like wildfire throughout every appendage in your body.
"O-Oh god—Zaayne—!" your spine aches as you arch off the bed. The shock and confusion in your voice is clear, but your legs wrap around his head—caging him to your cunt.
With precision, his tongue breaches the last of your defenses—exploring desperately. Your cries of pleasure spur him on, that familiar sound like music to his greedy ears. his own arousal grows so thick it feels like it might burst.
"You're doing so well," he grunts into your core, his nose stroking your clit.
His praises make you mewl, wanting more than anything to be perfect for him. The perfect guest, the perfect patient, the perfect person.
"I-It feels…" you whimper, trying to find the words.
"Good?" he suggests, croaking with delirium—giving your clit a gentle flick.
You squeal, tightening around his tongue.
"S-Soo good," you cry, "Is it—nngh..supposed to? Feel this good?"
"Yes," Zayne growls, working you close and closer to an explosion you can feel coming, "Only with me."
Your stomach flutters at his words. Only with him.
Only he, your doctor, could make you feel like this.
His words—combined with his expert tongue— makes your gut coil tightly, almost painfully. And Zayne can tell instantly, knowing your body better than you ever had. He reaches out to untangle your fingers from the sheets, intertwining them with his own.
"Oh god, I feel like I—oh god!" you cry, trying to stave off that same feeling from earlier. It felt like it might tear you apart.
"It's alright," he murmurs sweetly, coaxing you towards oblivion, "Just let me take care of you. It…It's my job to take care of you."
When Zayne's finger enters you, just like it had before, his lips latch onto that sensitive bud crested between your legs. The dual stimulus cause that knot in your abdomen to burst—painfully and explosively intense.
After lapping up your pearly essence, Zayne releases your poor clit and replaces his mouth with his fingers. He repositions himself so he can devour your lips, wanting you to taste yourself on his eager tongue.
"Zayne, I…" you trail off breathlessly when he pulls away, at a lost for words and oxygen. Your entire body was covered in goosebumps, trembling with riveting sensations that made it difficult to think.
"Shhh," he soothes, kissing your temple once more and laying back beside you, "Sleep now. You're tired aren't you?"
Your heavy eyelids make you realize perhaps what Zayne had done to you was also a means to help you sleep better. He really was an incredible doctor.
Just from the way he was treated by the other staff at Akso, you could tell he was held to the highest pedigree. But now, you really understood why.
What would happen when he couldn't take care of you anymore? When he didn't want to?
You start to panic at just the thought alone, deciding then and there you want to make sure you are perfect for him. That you can make him feel like he's just made you feel.
"Zayne," you croak, voice still broken from the way you'd screamed, "C-Can we do more? Can I…"
You pause and gulp as his unreadable stare makes you shrink. But the anxiety of losing him makes you press further.
"Y-You said it feels good for you too, right?"
Zayne does his best to remain calm—but his erection lurches at your sweet, naive, little inquisitions, "Yes, that's right."
He wants to tell you that you don't have to worry about this—about reciprocating or pleasing him. But the mere thought of burying himself inside of you once more is more than he can bear.
"Of course we can do more," he whispers huskily, "Are you sure?"
You nod, trying to keep your nerves from showing. Zayne kneels beside you again, capturing your chin with his fingers.
"I'll show you. I'll teach you what to do," he does his best to keep his voice level—professional even.
You watch, teeth digging into your lip as Zayne kneels between you, slowly pulling his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion. His cock, thick and swollen, springs free and hits his stomach, leaving a shiny path of pre cum against his abdominal muscles. It makes you gasp with awe.
He wraps his fingers around his base, stroking languidly—never taking his eyes off of you even as you watch his hands.
"You can touch me," he encourages—driven insane by the way your gaze, practically begging you to do something.
When you hesitate, Zayne gently takes your hand and wraps your fingers around him. He hisses softly, hips bucking just slightly as he fights to maintain his composure.
Mesmerized, you jerk him slowly in your fist—just like you'd seen him do himself.
"I-Is that okay?" you ask, looking at how he leaks onto your fingers. It's warm, making your body tingle with excitement.
Zayne bites the inside of his cheek so harshly that he almost draws blood. Genuinely, he wants to say no. That it's not okay. That having you touch him like this, with those innocent and unassuming eyes, was undoing him in terrifying ways.
"Yeah, you're doing great," he groans, his head thrown back.
Your chest flutters excitedly and you find yourself briefly wondering if Zayne has ever done this with anyone else. He'd said it was normal after all.
"D-Do you do this with your other patients?" you ask, cheeks flushing.
Zayne's face snaps to yours, quickly scrambling for what to say.
"No. But it's…normal. Doctors will sometimes do this if their patient's prognosis is particularly….complicated."
His explanation rings empty on your ears; all you care to hear is that he doesn't do this with anyone else.
Zayne removes your hand and gently raises your arms to remove your pajama top, pushing you down—hovering above you. He pries your arms away from your chest as you move to cover yourself.
"Skin-to-skin contact," he explains, "Is known to have healing properties."
He seals his body against yours, lowering himself until his abs press against your stomach. His cock rests in between your thighs.
You gasp at the pressure, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. Your entire body shudders as his hardened member parts your lips, pressing against your quivering entrance—still sensitive from his tongue.
Before he pushes into you, he finds a way to justify himself and ease the guilt, "This will help relieve some of the tension. Promote healing."
"O-Okay," you whisper, consenting fully. It was more than just wanting to appease him now. You craved the way his treatment made you feel.
The wind is knocked out of your diaphragm as Zayne pushes himselfinto you. Your name rips out of Zayne's mouth like a mantra, his muscles trembling as he eases himself into you, inch by torturous inch.
"O-Oh—Zayne…" you moan, arching into him, inadvertently taking him deeper.
"God…You're doing so well," he grits, trying to control his enthusiasm, "P-Perfect."
You mewl with ecstasy, entire body tingling at his sweet words and massive erection splitting you open. It doesn't hurt like you thought it might. The stretch stings at first, but mostly…it feels good.
"Hah…J-Just like that. This will help, I promise," he gently thrusts as he continues to reassure you, doing his damn best to normalize this situation. Luckily for him, it didn't seem you suspected anything.
The way you respond to him, your perfect little moans, slowly whittles away his resolve—his pace increasing, fingers digging in harder, kisses growing more torrid.
His mouth trails down your jaw, dancing across your collar, until they find your hardened nipples. He latches on gently, rolling it between his skilled lips.
You can already feel that same tension building in your abdomen again, growing increasingly intense with every thrust.
"Zaaaayne," you slur, squealing as his teeth deliberately graze against your pebbled flesh.
He releases you with a wet pop, "Yes, sweetheart?"
Your mind goes blank, forgetting what you'd wanted to say, instead asking, "Nngh…Why do y-you—o-oh…call me that?"
Zayne's hips freeze, his fingers flexing in the soft plush of your ass—contemplating how to respond. For a moment only the sound of your beautiful moans and skin slapping against skin can be heard.
Finally, he speaks, "It's just something I call you. It suits you."
Your mind reels at the implications, but before you can voice your thoughts, Zayne drives into you hard. Your eyes roll back, his name spilling from your lips.
Zayne groans at how receptive you are, "We used to do this all the time." The confession comes out without thinking. The closer Zayne gets, the more he craves connection—lowering his inhibitions and obliterating his carefully crafted filter.
"You'd always let me," he gasps, burying his face into your neck, "Always gave yourself to me."
Zayne's cock repeatedly slams into a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, making your vision blur.
"O-Oh—!" Your body tightens, making Zayne groan—grinding his pelvis against your thighs, the obscene amount of bodily fluids starting to drip onto the sheets below.
"Y-You're squeezing me so tightly, beautiful," he rasps, unable to stop himself, "Hah…Your body remembers me, doesn't it?"
"W-We did this before?"
Zayne growls, not letting his rhythm break for even a second—chasing a release that was just within reach.
"We used to do this all the time."
That admission drives you wild, your stomach churning with that same feeling you'd felt when Zayne had his tongue buried inside you.
And Zayne can feel it too—the way you tighten at his words, how excited you get from the knowledge that this wasn't the first time time he'd claimed your body.
"Yeah, do you like the sound of that, sweetheart?" he rasps, maneuvering your legs from around his waist to over his shoulders.
As you whine and nod, Zayne continues, "You might not remember, but I do. Every inch of your body. Every time you cried out my name. Every single time we did this."
"I-I want to remember too—" you gasp, "O-Oh God Zayne, c-can't hold on anymore—!"
Zayne lets out an unnatural sound, pressing deeper into you until your thighs touch your chest.
"You will remember," he rasps, getting increasingly closer as he jackhammers into you wildly, "And even if you don't, I'll always be in here."
He gently taps on your forehead, tracing his finger from your forehead to your breasts, right over your thrumming heart. He keeps moving down, down, down…
You squeal when Zayne presses into your clit with his thumb, never breaking eye contact with you as he whispers, "And here. Inside you."
Your nails rake down his back as his words push you to climax, sparks of vicious electricity searing through every nerve in your body as you scream his name repeatedly.
"You'll never forget me, my love," he croaks as he prepares to unleash inside of you—not even thinking to stop and pull out.
"I won't let you."
Zayne clutches the headboard to tightly the entire bed groans in protest—his cock throbbing as he explodes inside of you, groaning out your name repeatedly.
You gasp as something hot seeps into you, intensifying your orgasm until you're convulsing under Zayne's heavy body. He holds you gently in place, whispering sweet words into your ear as your eyes roll back.
"Just like that my love, let it out," he murmurs, voice muffled against your hair. His own climax still courses through his muscles, causing him to tense up as he holds you. But he focuses on soothing your tremors.
He releases your legs, rolling gently to the side and pulling you with him. He holds you from behind, his cock still buried inside—plugging you with his seed.
"You're perfect," he kisses the top of your head, deeply enjoying your scent mixed with the smell of sex and sweat.
You mumble happily, your eyelids heavy—matching the way your body now felt. Ragged, exhausted, and unbearably satisfied.
As you fall asleep, you can vaguely make out his deep dulcet voice.
.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.
✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. the dividers in this post are by @/cursed-carmine. please do not reuse my usual blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.
Summary: All of the lads men owning a garage together. They decide to hire a new assistant to help out but soon come to realise they’re completely obsessed with their pretty little assistant. NSFW UNDER CUT!!
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Xavier - He notices when you skip meals when stressed about work. He offers up his snacks he had bought to work that day until it turned into routine. He claimed it as he just had extra but deep down they were extra but only because he deliberately packed them just for you :) He doesn’t usually bribe anyone but with you? He would sneak you your favourite things just so that he could nap in the office and that you wouldn’t tell anyone (everyone knows where he is but they just don’t say anything) if he ever catches a customer calling you sweetheart or any other cute names, he just looms around you - keeping an eye on the customer and also saying something like “Either call her by her name or nothing at all”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Zayne - Zayne’s desk is cramped and filed with a computer filled with pictures stuck to the frame of everyone in the garage. His favourites were the ones with you smiling in them. Whenever he’s not nose deep in import documents for different car parts, he’s dealing with customers payments. It was mind numbing but not when you come in. You love to vent to him, about customers, the other guys or just personal issues. He listens and never judges but he remembers everything, especially when it’s a shitty customer - adding another unknown charge to their invoice claiming it was for ‘other issues found’.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Rafayel - Raf treats cars like they’re canvases and your car is his personal project. Every time you mention a new favourite colour, he’ll vinyl wrap your cars body for free. Whenever you try to offer up money for his services he just waves it off and says that you can take him out for lunch (which he pays for before you can. Every. Single. Time.) he just loves to watch you drive around in something he made for you, you can’t exactly blame the guy. And if you didn’t like anything about it, he’d change it overnight, making sure it’s perfect for you.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Sylus - Sylus insists that if he’s gonna fix an engine you have to stand close to him. He positions you so you’re close enough to see inside of the cars main engine, but also close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from your body. He likes to explain the ins and outs of an engine to you, patient and keeps looking over at you every time to see if you’re understanding. When you get something right, he feels a sense of pride in his chest. He also takes you on test drives in the customers cars, hand resting on the middle console close enough to touch you if he wanted to. He would usually say something like “Hear that? That’s how a car is supposed to sound.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Caleb - Caleb hates seeing your pretty outfits ruined by grease or oil. So every time you step out onto the shop floor to help, he’s approaching you with his overalls that have his name embroidered into the breast pocket. They’re too big, sleeves covering your hands and smell exactly like him and motor oil. He rolls up the sleeves, not caring about the protests coming from your lips. “Can’t have you getting dirty, yeah?” He says with that smile and a chuckle leaving his mouth. Customers assume that you two are together, he never corrects them and just swings his arm around your shoulder pulling you close to his side.
!!NSFW BELOW!!
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Xavier - He doesn’t care who comes into the office, he has you spread out on the desk head between your thighs as he eats you out like he’s starved. He loves the feeling of your thighs squeezing his head when you come so easily on his tongue, laps up the taste of your cum. He’d also draw it out for as long as he could, having to bring you to climax at least twice before even fucking you with his cock. If someone came in he’d just look over his shoulder, chin shining with your slick and smirks “Can’t you see I’m busy. I’ll be out in a second” is all he says before doubling his efforts into making you see stars with his tongue.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Zayne - THIS MAN LOVES IT WHEN YOU COCKWARM HIM!! If he needs to get an order done, oh he gets it done, with you sitting on his lap, pretty pussy swallowing him whole. While you’re there, why don’t you help him out? He lets you type in what he needs, he has one hand on the mouse while the other is teasing your swollen clit. His breath hot on your ear as he hums things in your ear. “You’re doing such a good job, just two more documents and you’ll get exactly what you want” is what he says as he gives your cunt a little playful pat.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Rafayel - Loves taking you for a drive and parking up somewhere scenic and beautiful only to fuck you so good and deep in the backseat. He bullies his thick cock into your dripping hole, slick dripping onto the seats below as he presses your knees to your chest. The windows fog up, car rocking from the force of his thrusts but god if it didn’t feel like fucking heaven. He loves it even more if it’s your car, the same one he vinyl wrapped, it just means that you’re surrounded and filled with him and only him.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Sylus - Whenever he’s teaching you about engines, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows and hands dirty - it’s always a sight that turns you on. The first time he fucked you was against a customers car, the hood of the car was down and your body was bent over it, ass in the air as Sylus fucked you hard and deep. Your shirt was pulled up over your chest, bare tits on display as he pawed at them leaving traces of dirt and grime behind on your skin from his hardworking hands. Hopefully the customer never finds out ;)
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Caleb - He loves it when you’re in his clothes but he also loves to see you out of them. His overalls you wore were unbuttoned at the top, his lips attached to your breasts while your hips ground against his leg. His hands were dug in your hips, guiding your covered pussy against his strong thigh. He loved seeing you like this, messy and his - head tilted back as you lost yourself against the friction of your two bodies. “So fucking pretty pips” he whispered against your skin as he looked up at you through hooded eyes, his gaze fixated on the shape of your mouth falling open to let out mewls and gasps. Totally sniffs the overalls when you're done with them.
summary: As the Empress, rumors have reached the your ear of your close relationship with the Sanctide Court and their Sanctarch, Rafayel. You cannot ignore the whispers, so you must take action. On the eve of the one year anniversary of your coronation, you return to the Butterfly Nebula with Rafayel. Will you be able to move forward together, or will the fear of repercussions stop you from achieving your desires?
pairing: Sanctarch!Rafayel x Empress!Reader
word count: 3.2k
content: MDNI, explicit sexual content, AFAB!reader, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, slight Dom!Reader, slight Sub!Rafayel
author's note: This is my first LADS fic so I hope you enjoy! I really loved the Throne of Eros event and the dynamic between MC and Rafayel in 'Fires of Devotion'. As a lot of us felt, the ending was a little rushed so this is my attempt at an epilogue to their story. I just can't help giving them a happy ending. Crossposted on AO3 if you prefer to read there.
The stars danced brightly across the sky on the first anniversary eve of the Empress’s coronation. You had once again returned to the Sanctide Court’s chapel, to the same, familiar room you had occupied before. But unlike last year, your mind is not filled with questions about the Sanctarch, his motivations and desires, or the nature of the dangerous but irresistible relationship that was growing between you.
Everything had been revealed when the Sanctarch had forced you to confront the truth of your heart — the deep, uncompromising devotion that you felt for him. A feeling that some might call love, but both of you knew that that was too common a word to describe what existed between you.
Your ladies-in-waiting believed you to be resting in your chambers, preparing for the celebrations that would endure from one dawn to the next. But you had long absconded from your room. You waited beside the prepped airship, staring at the door that you had once blindly opened last year. Despite wearing only a thin nightdress, you were not cold. Together, you and the stars waited in anticipation for his arrival.
"My dear Empress," a familiar, seductive voice whispered into your ear from behind. "What a surprise to see you here, and on the eve of such an important day no less.”
You released a small chuckle. "A pleasure as always, your Quintessence."
Rafayel circled you, letting his fingers dance across the small of your back as he moved. Goosebumps erupted over your skin in his wake. He stopped in front of you and smiled. As he always did during their secret meetings, he had forgone the vestments of the Sanctarch. With you, he was just Rafayel.
“Are we feeling sentimental, your Majesty?” he asked, his eyes glimmering with fondness.
Years of training allowed you to keep your desire under control — to stop yourself from grasping his clothes and pulling him into a deep kiss, forgoing all the plans you had taken months to organize.
"Your appearance here raises the same questions. It would appear that we are both feeling sentimental this evening."
A rare smile bloomed on his face; a smile that you were only graced with when you were alone, able to be yourselves instead of the titles you wore daily.
“I was hoping you might join me for an excursion.”
Rafayel's attention turned to the airship behind you. "So, is this the night where we finally elope?"
"Something like that."
"I've felt your nervousness all week through the bond." Rafayel's hand stroked your arms. Soft, gentle caresses that excited rather than soothed. "What mischief do you have planned?"
"You'll just have to wait and see."
You reached out and took his bare hand. Feeling his skin against yours was a special kind of bliss — a private indulgence that you could never get enough. Your moments alone were too few and far between; however long you got to bask in the feeling of being uncovered was never long enough.
You boarded the spaceship together. In the cockpit, you took the helm and began to pilot with a practiced confidence. Rafayel watched your every movement, eyes tracking the sure way you flicked each switch and pressed each button to get the ship up and moving.
The flight was a familiar one. Despite recognizing the route you were taking, Rafayel did not comment on it. Instead, you spoke about the week's events — what each of you had noticed at the numerous celebrations. You discussed which nobles were taking the festivities as a chance to show true fealty to the Empire and which ones were showing deference to the Sanctide Court.
Others might view using your limited time together for politicking as a waste, but to you, it was part of the thrill of finally being alone. In public, you were reluctant allies that barely managed to keep up polite conversation when in each others’ presence. In private, you shared everything with each other. There were no secrets between you. The future of the Alore Galaxy was decided by your hands together; every move and countermove was a delicate dance that you had choreographed together.
Finally, you arrived at the Butterfly Nebula. The cockpit was abandoned and you moved to the viewing balcony. Two stunning silver goblets sat with a bottle of wine on a side table. Rafayel reverently traced the cups before pouring out the wine. He approached you from behind, handing you your wine before snaking one arm around your waist possessively. Your back met his firm chest with a gentle thud; it felt like home.
Together, you gazed at the nebula in awe. Witnessing the purple and red hues of the phenomena ignited a storm of memories and emotions in the small space. It was impossible to ignore the echoes of your last time being here. The offer Rafayel had made. Your rejection.
"Do you still envy the meteoroids?"
You took a sip of your wine and considered the sight ahead of you. The way the tiny pieces of each meteoroid fanned out across the cosmos to create a dancing butterfly. The result of the collision was mesmerizing — a stunning spectacle that spoke of fated, mutual destruction.
"No. I suppose I no longer yearn for destiny. My future is what I make of it, and that thought fills me with hope."
A content and companionable silence filled the airship as the truth of your words settled into your bones. You drank from your goblets at a languid pace, savoring a rare moment in your lives when there was no need to hurry or rush. You could simply... exist.
"Several rumors have reached my ears of late."
If Rafayel was surprised by the change of topic, he did not show it. His eyes remained fixed on the view ahead. His dexterous fingers continued their idle coaxing at your waist. Despite the thin, silk fabric that separated his hand from your skin, you felt every soft touch like you were naked. Tiny sparks of desire ignited at every tap. "Is that so?"
"The strengthening relationship between the Empire and the Sanctide Court has been the topic of much speculation. The masses wonder what sparked such a change between two factions that were on the brink of war before the new Empress came into power."
"Much has changed in the last year of the new Empress's reign."
Gingerly, Rafayel grabbed your goblet and placed it and his own back on the table. His hands, which had been lazily toying with you just moments before, began to move up your sides. He stroked your exposed skin, following the edge of the nightdress to the area below your breasts. It was a ghost of a caress; you were almost unsure if he truly touched you at first. But the change in his intention was clear. Your breath hitched as a deep, unreachable desire coiled in your stomach.
"They wonder if perhaps… If there is a personal reason for the collaboration. After all, they all saw the Sanctarch and the Empress leading up to her coronation."
“Mmm...” Rafayel hummed. His fingers stroked higher, making lazy circles around your areola, avoiding your nipples by the slightest margin. Every pass that narrowly missed caused the ache between your thighs to intensify. "They did have wonderful chemistry during their play."
"So I wonder if it is time to put these rumors to rest."
This took Rafeyel’s attention away from his ministrations. You slipped out of his arms and turned to face him. His blue and pink eyes met yours with an intensity that took your breath away.
"What do you have in mind, your Majesty?"
"A union. A marriage between the Empress and the Sanctarch."
The colors of the nebula swam across Rafayel's face as he stared at you with surprise, and then with deep hunger. He surged forward, cupping your face, and devoured your mouth with his own. You moved as one, him pushing and you relenting. You slammed against the viewing window. The wings of the Butterfly Nebula bloomed from your back.
"Finally," he groaned. His hot mouth moved over your jaw and to your neck. He nipped and sucked at the tender flesh, drawing out soft pants and whimpers from your throat.
The heat of Rafayel's body fought with the harsh cold of the glass behind you. You were sweating and shivering simultaneously, every sensation heightened by the opposing temperatures surrounding you.
"Do you know how long I have waited for you to come to the same conclusion? To see our future with the same clarity that I have seen it with for months?"
He bit down hard on your neck. You cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure as he replaced his teeth with his tongue, gently lapping at the bite to soothe it.
"R-Raf-" you moaned.
"How hard it was to keep my thoughts to myself, resisting the urge to kneel at your feet and demand that we let the whole Empire know that you are mine?"
The strap of your nightdress fell down your shoulder, revealing your left breast. Rafayel paused, his eyes hungrily drinking in your exposed skin. The attention made your nipple stiffen. You knew that if he was to reach between your thighs, he would find you dripping for him, even now before he had truly begun to try in earnest to make you write with pleasure. With a controlled slowness that made your throat feel tight, Rafayel's mouth descended to your erect nipple and sucked.
Groaning, you pushed your chest forward, urging him to suck harder, to keep giving you everything you wanted; everything you needed. His response was immediate. Shock waves of pleasure bloomed across your breasts with each pull of his lips against your hardened peaks. When the pleasure began to almost become too much, when the words ‘stop’ began to almost form in your mind, he switched his attention to the other breast, keeping your arousal from reaching a point that he was not quite yet ready for it to reach.
“Rafayel, please...”
He lifted his head and stared into your eyes. Without looking away, his hand began to pull down the other strap. The nightdress fell into a heap at your feet.
“What is it that your Majesty desires from her Sanctarch?”
With steady hands, you caressed the collar of his robes. “I wish to see you laid bare on your knees before me.”
“As your Majesty wills it.”
The warmth left with Rafayel as he pulled away. A shiver raced across your wired body; a desperate, delicious ache between your legs accompanied it, causing you to whimper.
Rafayel never looked away as he disrobed at a maddeningly slow pace. Every small reveal of smooth, perfect skin was a feast for the barely contained hunger that lived within you. Though you had seen him naked many times in the past year as you explored each other, his body never failed to make your heart race.
He fell to his knees with an air of devotion and reverence that made your head spin. It was an act of vulnerability that never failed to stoke the fires of your desire. Another flush of arousal rocked through your core. Slick wetness slid down the inside of your thighs as he leaned forward, rubbing his head against your thigh.
“Your smell... please let me taste you, Empress,” he whined, face ghosting just below where he so desperately wanted to be.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as you gazed down at the sight. Everything in you demanded that you lace your hands into his lavender locks, suffocating him in your cunt. But denying him, and yourself, was almost as perfectly delicious as giving in.
“You haven’t given me an answer yet, Rafayel,” you reminded him. Gently, you brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead. He shivered as your fingertips ghosted over his cheek.
“Your Majesty has yet to formally ask.”
You moved with surprising quickness, one hand snaking into his hair and sharply pulling his head back. The other gripped his chin, forcing his head into the position you desired.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” he groaned. Relief flooded through your body, causing you to loosen your grip. He took the opportunity to launch forward. His hands gripped your ass with an impossible firmness and his mouth descended on you.
“Oh fuck!” you moaned as he assaulted you with an uncontained passion.
Long strokes of his tongue coaxed out moans and gasps of pleasure. He quickly narrowed his focus to your clitoris, causing the slowly building pressure to quickly escalate. Using his grip on your ass and your back on the window as leverage, you lifted your trembling legs up onto his shoulder and around his head. He hummed in approval and redoubled his efforts.
"Yes, yes! Ahh- yes, Rafayel!"
Without warning, Rafayel grabbed your waist and pulled you from against the window and brought you to the floor of the spaceship. Your legs remained wrapped around his head, but now, his hands were free to roam. You barely noticed the hard surface of the metal floor as Rafayel took the opportunity to slide two fingers into you. There was no resistance as he entered you, and your walls quickly clamped down on his fingers, pulsing in rhythm with each lick of his tongue.
"Shit! Please, yes!"
The only indication that Rafayel heard you was the quickening of his pace. He pumped into your core with his two fingers, dragging against your g-spot with every stroke. The wet sound of him fucking you with his fingers echoed through the spaceship, overlapping with your loud and breathy moans.
Your back arched as he added a third finger. The burn of the stretch spurred on your impending climax. Everything around you faded away and all that was left was Rafayel. He was all you could smell, feel and see.
His tongue flicked over your clitoris once, twice, and you burst.
"Ahh!"
He continued to pump into you through your orgasm, extending your pleasure over several moments. As you came down from your high, he planted soft kisses along your stomach, over your chest and up to your waiting lips. All the time, his fingers remained inside you, gently stroking your inner walls, keeping you almost delirious with pleasure.
"My dearest Empress," he whispered between kisses, "you are perfection given form."
"And you, Sanctarch," you replied amidst your own lazy pecks, "are more precious to me than the entire Empire. And tomorrow, the entire galaxy will know it."
"So soon? Have you no patience?" The bite of his teasing was lessened by the boyish grin plastered on his flushed face.
"I've had enough of waiting, Rafayel."
"And what will you do when the nobility inevitably refuses to accept our betrothal?" Rafayel traced his fingers down your chest, absently doodling small patterns across your stomach in your release that still clung to his skin.
You wrapped your thighs around Rafayel's middle and twisted, reversing your positions so that you are straddling him, looking down at him from above once again.
"The punishment for treason is execution, is it not?" You began to move back and forth, letting your still dripping core rub against his rigid cock. He hissed at the contact and instinctually gripped your hips tightly, keeping your centre against him. Your hips moved without you even thinking, chasing the delicious friction between your two sexes. "Surely the threat of death is enough to keep them in line."
"And if it's not?" His eyes were locked on the space between your thighs, watching as his cock disappeared and reappeared between your glistening folds with every rock of your hips. "What will you do then?"
"Then I will go to war." With a single motion, you rose up just enough so that you could sink down on his entire length in one action.
"Fu- fuck!" Rafayel's head snapped back as he squeezed his eyes closed in pleasure. "You feel heavenly…"
You began bouncing at a relentless pace atop Rafayel. The obscene sound of flesh slapping together spurred you on, causing you to clamp around him even tighter than before.
"Will the Sanctide Court go to war for me?" you asked, maintaining your composure as best as you could as Rafayel fell apart below you. You reached out and inserted two fingers into his open mouth. He immediately began to suck on them, moaning loudly as you matched the pace of your hips to the thrust of your fingers. "Will you be my sword if I ask?"
"Yes," he groaned. "I will destroy the entire Galaxy if you will it. Everything I have, everything I am, it is yours. As long as I can- fuck- as long as I can stay by your side."
"Good."
You leaned forward and Rafayel rose to meet you part way. Your mouths met in a wild dance of teeth and tongues. He began to thrust up to meet you, quickening the already brutal pace you had set before. You grasped at his back, trying to find a steadying anchor in the turbulent sea that was Rafayel.
"I need- I need to feel you cum around me," Rafayel begged, his forehead against your shoulder. He kept one arm wrapped around your back and snaked the other between your bodies. He found your clitoris easily and began swirling his fingers over it. "Please."
"Mh- so c-close!" Each and every thrust already had you hurtling towards release, and Rafayel's fingers were the final thing you needed to push you over the edge. Your climax shot through you, setting every nerve alight inside you.
"God, so good… the way you squeeze me, fuck-" Rafayel babbled as his pace became broken and messy. With one final, powerful thrust, his body shuddered hard as he found his release within you. You could feel each pulse of his cock inside you, almost sending you right back to the edge of another orgasm.
You refused to release each other as you came down from the high of your mutual climaxes. Both your bodies were hot and wet from the exertion. The colors of the Butterfly Nebula danced across your bodies.
"I love you," you mumbled between labored breaths.
Rafayel's grip around your back tightened. He nuzzled your neck affectionately before lifting his lips to your ear.
"No matter what the future holds for us, your Majesty, you will always have me at your side. I love you."
