It wasnât like he never thought it would happen, not necessarily. When you started dating, he had hoped things would progress to this point, but he also was alright with if it didnât. You are the most wonderful thing to have ever entered his life and the last thing he wanted was to make you feel pressured. Your comfort and just having you in his life took top priority. But now here he was, looking up at your gorgeous, flushed face from between your legs.
You wouldnât have known this at first, but he had been preparing for weeks. Months, even.
Research of all kinds, trying to ensure heâd have the right technique if (when) the time came. He was obsessed with it, enamored with the idea of going down on you especially. He researched everything else too, of course, but there was a special emphasis on the best ways to give oral. He wanted to turn himself into a tool you could use for your pleasure. He wanted to impress you, blow you away with how good he could make you feel. He wanted to be good for you.
There was definitely a lot of insecurity he had built up inside him due to being inexperienced. It wasnât that he wanted to be able to name a bunch of women who were notches in his bed post, no, he just wanted to prove he could be everything youâd ever need. He had the money, the stability, the shoulder to lean on, the only thing he lacked was sexual experience. So he dove head first into research, hours and hours spent collecting as much info as possible. He would take notes and, hell, he even practiced using fruit. There was one thing he was sure ofâŚhe would be prepared and he would be confident.
Except, being face to face with your clothed core, able to see a darkening wet patch in the middleâŚyeah, that confident bit was a tad more difficult than he had expected. He honestly was in awe that he was actually in this position right now. Weeks of guilty fantasies and secret exploration had actually led up to the real thing. It was odd, the first thing he did, but he couldnât help it. He pressed his nose right to your core, his eyes fluttering shut as he took a deep breath. The sigh he let out was so shaky, so overwhelmedâŚyou had never seen him so undone. The sight of him inhaling your scent made you flush a bright red, unsure how to react to such an action.
He looked back up at you, keeping his face pressed to your core as he reached up to grab your hand and thread his fingers through yours.
âMy apologies, I have imagined this for a very long time. You wonât mind if Iâm thorough, will you?â
You blinked down at him, the warmth in your face becoming hard to ignore. He sounded soâŚgone? Like he was doing everything he could to not lose himself. You were used to his icy, firm tone he used professionally, or his softer tone he had adopted only with you over the past few months youâve been dating. Not this breathy, desperate one that made heat curl low in your belly. You swallowed thickly before reaching your other hand down to card through his hair. He lifted his head to reach your hand easier, looking at you with pure adoration.
âI donât mindâŚIâve been wanting this for a while too.â
He smiled at that, grabbing your hand to gently kiss your knuckles. âThank you, darling. I promise Iâll make you feel goodâŚâ
With that, you removed your hand and he dove right in. He began to kiss around your inner thighs, even nipping lightly at times. He knew that he had to build up to the main course, no matter how badly he just wanted to shove his tongue into your leaking hole. After light kisses and licks over your panties, he finally reached for the hem of the garment, looking to you for permission.
âMay I, darling..?â
You nodded and lifted your hips for him to pull them down your legs and set them off to the side. When he looked back, wowâŚthe view was just too beautiful. He let out a shuddering sigh as he took her in. All her gorgeous folds, how she glistened, how soft she lookedâŚhe mustâve been staring too long as you had started to whine and try to shut your legs. He gently held them open.
âDonât hide, youâre stunningâŚâ
You blushed and hid your face in the crook of your elbow. He chuckled lightly, reaching up to grab your hand once more.
âDo you need a moment? I can be patient, no matter howâŚdifficultâŚit may be.â He said the word difficult with a quiet shakiness. Oh, he was desperate for a taste.
You shook your head, inhaling deeply before setting your arm down.
âNoâŚIâŚI want your mouth on me, zayne. I need itâŚâ
And that was all he needed to hear. It was like a switch flipped in his brain, one that made him dive into your pussy like a man starved. He snapped, he lost control, he couldnât help it! He tried to take it slow, but hearing you say you needed him? Gloves off, he was gone. And oh, god, your taste. You had already smelled and looked divine, but the taste was better than anything his imagination had conjured up. He knew from that moment alone that he was hooked, and he could never go without it.
His dick was rock hard, straining against his slacks. There was an obscene wet spot by his tip where he had been leaking since he got on his knees. He found his hips were grinding into nothing, and he was wholly unable to stop himself from doing so. The slight friction from his pants just felt too good.
You cried out above him, your free hand now firmly rooted in his hair as you started to rock against his mouth. This must be what heaven is like, he thought. He was getting the cues you were close, so he really began to focus. He suckled gently on your clit which earned him a tug on his hair and a whine of his name. It only took a few more licks before your back arched and your orgasm ripped through you. He held your hips down and attached his mouth to your clit as you rode out your high. Honestly, it was so intense it was almost like he orgasmed as well.
Well, thatâs because he did. Sometime during your orgasm, he had also managed to spill into his pants. Though, he wasnât worried about that right now, being more focused on savoring every last bit of your slick before finally pulling away, cheeks flushed and panting. He hadnât even taken his glasses off, so now they sit askew on the bridge of his nose. They were foggy, so with a shaky hand he plucked them from his face and sat them on the couch beside you.
You both just caught your breath for a moment, taking in the afterglow of such an intense, first time experience. That was when he looked down and seen the mess he made of his slacks. He blinked rapidly as he started to understand what happened. He had then set his head to rest on your thigh, the tips of his ears burning.
âThat wasâŚincredible. Are you sure youâve never been with anyone else?â
You had no idea the research and effort he put into this, and he planned to keep it that way.
âI have not, I suppose my knowledge of anatomy is just proving even more useful than I thought.â
You panted together in the quiet living room, your hand gently running through his hair. You had caught a quick glimpse of the dark patch on the front of his slacks, making you realize just how good it felt for him too. You smiled to yourself, but kept quiet as you didnât want to further embarrass him. As you both finally came back to earth, he peppered your lower half with gentle kisses.
âThank youâŚfor allowing me to have you this way.â He murmured, before pressing another soft kiss to your inner thigh.
âThank youâŚfor having me.â You murmured back, just as blissed out as he was.
Needless to say, the next time he went down on you wasnât far in the future. He was addicted, and there was no stopping this new craving of his. đЎ
Notes: erm anyone else like a good âmale love interest cums in pantsâ scene? Just me? Sigh, alright đ once again apologies if this reads like shit, I just needed to get it out of my system đ¤¤
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I saw this smau by @cocoaxia and immediately got blasted in the face with the inspiration to write. Honestly, it felt so good to just feel so motivated and like the words were coming so naturally again after what feels like so long
SMUT BELOW THE CUT
Warnings: smut, pwp, established relationship, married couple, public sex, oral sex, panty stealing
Word Count: 1,524
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This is so risky. You shouldn't even be humoring it. You're gonna get caught.
And yet, as Sylus gently spreads your legs apart under the table, you can't think up an escape plan.
You prop your elbow on the table, hand casually covering your mouth, and scan the restaurant. The table he chose is far in the back, with the most under-lit mood lighting, and the most privacy. You wonder how long he's been planning this for.
Other diners don't notice what's happening - or pretend not to, at least. Maybe they really don't notice. In the bid for more secrecy, Sylus had excused himself from the table to the bathroom with a smug smirk. And then, with the familiar caress of his Evol, appeared underneath the table and its heavy draped cloth.
You reach under with your other hand, closest to the wall, and dig your nails into the back of his hand where it sits on your leg. You need him to hurry up. Every second that ticks by has you even more paranoid and anxious than the last. His lips touch your skin, placating and unbearably delighted by your plight.
He grabs your hand and guides it to his hair. Teeth glance your skin in an effort to stop the purr rumbling in his throat. Then his hand glides up the length of your leg, cold metal band announcing his undying affection, to push aside the hem of your way-too-expensive dress, and curl long fingers around the line of your panties. It would be too awkward to pull them off, no doubt, so he should just move them to the side and-
He's pulling them off.
You dig your nails into his scalp, admonishing him. It doesn't deter him for even a second. There's nothing you can do as you feel him work them off your hips and down your legs, slipping them over your heels. You can just imagine the look on his face as he tucks them into his pocket.
That bastard. He never took your underwear for himself while you were dating, keeping his hoarding urges in check. Now that you're married, he gladly takes them anytime the urge strikes him.
It would be more annoying if it wasn't so hot. The pictures he sends while he's away on business trips. The videos of his fist wrapped around his cock with your underwear acting as a barrier between them. Audios where you hear him breathing in deep and groaning out sinful words muffled by fabric...
With his broad shoulders, pushing you fully open would be too suspicious. Instead, he draws your leg over his shoulder. It feels obscene to be in public like this, drooling beneath the table as your husband nuzzles against your inner thigh and breathes you in.
The first taste has you biting the palm of your hand to stay quiet, the warm metal of your own rings against your lip. Even when you want him to rush, to get out of this predicament faster, he treats it like an act of pure and utter worship. Devotion in the touch of his lips in a soft kiss to delicate flesh.
The second taste is nothing short of distilled desire. His tongue lolls out, hot and solid, and licks a long stripe from your dripping entrance to your clit. Gathering all the slick and swallowing it down greedily. He doesn't waste much time after that.
You hate to imagine what people who happen to glance over might think of you. Your face is burning hot under your hand as you try to hide without making it too obvious something is going on. Between biting your hand and biting your lip, your lipstick must be ruined. You hope you can hide it once this is over, when you'll most definitely be urging Sylus to leave as fast as possible on wobbly legs and with a desire that's only craving more.
It's all his fault, really. Texting you while he sits directly across from you about the quality of the food not being up to his impossibly high standards. How he's imagining a much better meal. How he's too eager to wait until you get back home to indulge. When he's so blunt about how much he craves you, it always gets you riled up, too.
You wish you could peek under the table, just to see his face while he buries it between your legs. The furrow of his brow from pure ecstasy. The glow of his Aether Core as he satiates his desire. The shine of your arousal on his chin. He would try to meet your gaze immediately. He loves to watch the way you fall apart at the slightest change in pattern and speed.
Instead, all you can do is watch in horror as a waiter catches your eye from across the restaurant and hurries over with a polite smile and a bottle of wine.
"Is everything to your liking tonight?" he asks, none the wiser to your husband seemingly working twice as intensely to make you break now that a second presence is right there. You tug hard at his hair. He doesn't move an inch.
You clear your throat. "Y-Yes, it's very delicious, thank you," you manage, hoping you hid the waver in your voice well enough. Teeth nip sharply over your clit. You jolt, playing off Sylus's disagreement as trying to scoot your chair forward.
"I'm glad to hear it! Would you like me to refill your glass?"
You nod, not trusting your voice. He's such an asshole, working you with such familiarity it has your mind growing fuzzier around the edges. How you wish you could be laid up in bed where it would be safe to let yourself drift into a headspace where nothing matters except the pleasure you feel and the only word you can remember is his name.
But not here. You can't lose yourself too much. You bite your cheek to ground yourself.
The waiter, bless him, pours the wine into your glass. He tops off Sylus's right after. "Will you be getting dessert tonight?"
You pinch Sylus as he grins against you, already enjoying his own dessert.
"Um, I'd like to look at a menu, please."
"Of course! I'll bring one right over."
Just in time, the waiter walks away to find a menu, and a sound slips out. It's quiet, fading into the background noise of cutlery against glass and idle chatter.
You close your eyes with a shuddering breath. You feel it. The building pressure in your abdomen. The heat that surges to life in your belly. Growing too much to ignore or overlook.
Sylus knows it, too. His hand soothes over the skin of your thigh, ring warmed by your own skin, coaxing you to give in to the pleasure. A soft hum, vibrations purring against your clit, take place of words encouraging you to give in to him.
The waiter returns, laminated menu in hand. He sets it on the table with a smile. "Will that be all for right now?"
You blink up at him. Are you acting normal still? Are you playing it off convincingly? You can't tell. "Yes, th-thank you," you murmur. He doesn't seem to notice anything amiss, turning and leaving to tend to other tables. With the limited privacy you have again, you whisper down to the table. "Oh god, Sylus..."
A messy kiss over your folds. A hot tongue flattened over your clit. It moves quickly, flicking back and forth, begging you to cum into his mouth and give him the meal he deserves.
You don't know how tightly you must be holding into him. Tight enough he's going to tease you about it later, you're sure. You're not worried - he can heal anything you throw at him, and he loves when it hurts. Your own knuckles are getting sore, though. Tugging him closer, the heel of your shoe digs into his back to keep him there.
It builds and builds and builds. A growing wave, ready to crash down at any moment. You can't even pretend to look at the menu. Trying to control your breathing enough to survive the onslaught.
And then it snaps.
You bite your hand hard to stop the cry of pleasure trying to break free. Legs shaking, Sylus's mouth works you through it, gulping your release down like it's the best thing he's ever tasted. He hums his approval against your heat.
He takes and takes and takes until you jolt in your seat with overstimulation. He leans back, easing your leg off his shoulder. While you catch your breath, he lowers the hem of your dress back into place. With a final kiss to your knee, his hands disappear. He disappears.
You're finally back to some semblance of calm when you see him returning from the bathroom. His face is clean, but he catches your eye with a smirk. His eye is still faintly glowing.
He slides into his seat across from you casually and picks up the menu the waiter left behind. "So, kitten, how about some dessert?"
â. â headcanons for how the LADS the boys react to a clumsy, flustered mc. (based on this request)
â. â content: soft, wholesome, a little embarrassing (for you). tooth-rotting fluff.
â. â word count: max 600 each âĄ
Rafayel - The Paint on Your Cheek
Youâve been at his studio for an hour and youâve already knocked something over.
A jar of brushes, this time. They go everywhereâunder the table, under the couch, one heroic survivor rolls all the way to Rafayelâs bare foot and stops there like itâs surrendering. He looks down at it. He looks up at you. Youâre frozen with both hands clapped over your mouth, eyes huge, already mid-apology.
âOh no,â he says, deadpan. âMy brushes. My livelihood. How will I ever paint again.â
âRafayel, Iâm so sorry, Iâll pick themââ
âCutie.â He tips his head, and a piece of his hair falls into his eyes in that ridiculous way it always does, because it always makes him look pretty. âBreathe. Theyâre brushes. They roll. Thatâs their whole personality, donât even stress your head, okay?â
Heâs been watching you the whole time, which is half the problem.
You always get clumsier when he watches you. He knows this. He absolutely uses it. Heâll lounge on the couch with one knee up and his chin in his hand, just looking, and youâll lose the ability to operate a doorknob. Today heâs been sketching you in the corner of his pageânot the painting heâs supposed to be working on, the commission one, the important oneâand you caught him at it earlier and went so red he had to put the pencil down because his own face was getting warm.
He crouches down with you to gather the brushes.
Youâre both on the floor now, knees almost touching. He hands you one, and his fingers brush yours, and you flinch like heâs electric.
âYâknow,â he says, conversationally, lining a brush up on the tile, âfor someone whoâs been kissed by me a frankly impressive number of times, you still go pink like itâs our first date.â
âIâ I donâtââ
âYou do. Itâs my favorite thing.â He grins, eyes crinkling. âDonât ever stop.â
Thereâs paint on your cheek and he refuses to tell you.
You only realize it when you catch your reflection in the windowâa streak of pink swept right across your cheekbone, from when youâd rubbed your face earlier. You whirl on him. Heâs already laughing, that bright, unbothered laugh of his, head thrown back against the couch cushions.
âRafayel!â
âWhat? It suits you, cutie. Itâs my color. Youâre branded now.â
âYou let me walk around like thisââ
âFor at least forty minutes, yes.â He gets up finally, and crosses to you with that lazy, unhurried gait. His thumb comes up to brush at the paint gently, careful in a way his voice never is in moments like this. The teasing slides off his face for half a breath. âThere. Almost gone. Mostly.â
He kisses the spot anyway. Light. Quick. Like heâs signing it the way he signs his canvases, which you might as well be, at this point.
âThere,â he murmurs, and heâs smiling, but his ears have gone faintly pink and he wonât quite meet your eyes. âNow itâs mine.â
You hide your face in his shirt. He lets you, one hand settled at the back of your head, and pretends, for your sake, that his heart isnât doing anything embarrassing at all.
Zayne - When You Drop the Mug Again
He hears it before he sees it hit the floor.
The clatter of ceramic against the kitchen tile carries down the hallway, followed by the small, mortified sound you always make when youâve done something you wish nobody had witnessed. Zayne is in the doorway within seconds, still holding the medical journal he was reading, one finger tucked between the pages to mark his place. He takes in the chipped mug on the floor, the puddle of tea blooming around your slippered feet, and your wide eyesâand his expression doesnât change at all, except for the faint lift at the corner of his mouth that youâve learned, over time, is his version of trying not to smile.
âDonât move,â he says.
He goes for the dustpan, not for you.
Itâs a thing he does on purpose. He told you once, late at night with your face pressed into his shoulder, that he doesnât want fussing over you to feel like a verdict. So he sweeps up the shards in that quiet, methodical way he hasâsame hands that handle patient charts, same hands that tie his scarf for him in the mirror every morningâand only when the floor is dry and safe does he straighten up and look at you properly.
âFeet,â he says, and crouches.
âZayne, Iâm fine, it didnât evenââ
âFeet,â he repeats, in the same tone he uses on patients who try to lie about whether theyâve been taking their medication.
He checks for tiny cuts even though there are none.
You sit on the edge of the counter because heâs lifted you there, his palm warm at the back of your knee, and you can feel your ears going hot in that traitorous way they do whenever heâs this close and this serious. He turns each of your feet over in his hand like heâs reading them. Nothing. Of course thereâs nothing. He knew thereâd be nothing.
âWas it hot?â he asks.
âLukewarm. I let it sit too long again.â
âMm.â That single syllable contains an entire diagnosis. You forgot it on the counter because you got distracted reading. You always do.
He kisses your knee before he lets you down. Itâs quick. Almost businesslike. If you werenât paying attention youâd miss the way his ears go a shade darker under his hair, the way he turns toward the cabinet for a clean mug a beat too fast.
âIâll make you another,â he says, with his back to you. âSit. Donât help.â
âI can helââ
âSit.â
Later, you find the chipped mug glued back together on the windowsill.
He doesnât mention it. He never does. But that night, when you apologize again into the dark of the bedroomâIâm sorry Iâm such a mess, Iâm sorry, Iâhe sighs, pulls you closer by the waist, and murmurs into your hair, âStop apologizing for being someone I want to take care of.â
And you donât know what to do with that, so you just hide your face in his chest, and he lets you.
Xavier - The Counter Is Too High Again
Heâs half-asleep on the couch when he hears the stool wobble.
Xavier sleeps the way cats sleepâanywhere, instantly, with one ear still on the world. So even though his eyes are closed and his hair is a soft pale mess against the cushion, heâs already sitting up by the time the legs of the kitchen stool screech against the floor. Youâre up on your toes, reaching for the jar of honey on the top shelf, the one he keeps meaning to move down and never does because you keep insisting you can get it yourself.
You canât get it yourself. Both of you know this.
âWait,â he says, voice still rough from sleep.
You donât wait. The jar tips. You make a tiny, panicked noise.
Heâs across the room before the honey hits the counter.
Itâs the speed that always startles youâthat quiet, easy way he moves, like distance is a suggestion he chooses not to take seriously. One of his hands closes around the jar mid-fall. The other settles, warm and steady, at your waist, anchoring you on the stool so you donât pitch forward after it.
âGot it,â he murmurs.
âI almostââ
âI know.â
He says it without any of the I-told-you-so other people would lace into it. Xavier doesnât scold. He just notes things, the way someone might note the weather, and then he handles them. You look down at him from your slight height advantage on the stoolâa rare angleâand his hair is soft and rumpled and his eyes are the color of a sky youâve been trying to remember.
You go pink. Of course you go pink.
He tilts his head a fraction. Thereâs a slow, drowsy smile spreading across his face, the kind he only ever wears for you, the kind that makes him look about seventeen years old and very far from anything dangerous.
âWhat?â you whisper.
âNothing.â He hands you the honey jar like itâs a small, ceremonious gift. âYouâre cute when youâre embarrassed.â
âXavier.â
âThatâs my name.â
He doesnât let you climb down by yourself.
You try. He doesnât allow it. His hands come up under your arms and he lifts you down off the stool like you weigh nothingâbecause to him you doâand sets you on your feet so gently your slippers barely make a sound on the tile. His thumb brushes once, absently, over your hip before he lets go.
âYou couldâve just woken me up,â he says.
âYou were sleeping so well.â
âIâm always sleeping well. Youâre more important than sleeping well.â
He says things like that all the time. Quiet, true, unadorned. Like itâs nothing. Like he isnât slowly dismantling you sentence by sentence. You hide your face in your hands. He laughs softly, low and very fond, and pulls your wrists gently down.
âNone of that,â he says. âI want to see you.â
He makes the tea himself after that.
He moves you to the counterânot the stool, he gives the stool a small, suspicious look, like itâs personally offended himâand stands between your knees while the kettle heats. You play with the hem of his sleeve. He lets you.
âHoney?â he asks.
âYes, please.â
âMm.â He reaches past you without looking, gets the jar, sets it down. Kisses your forehead on the way back. âSee. Easy.â
You donât trust yourself to answer. He doesnât seem to need you to. He finds you adorable anyway.
Caleb - The Loose Step on the Porch
He warned you about that step three times this week.
The third one from the top. The woodâs gone soft from winter and he keeps meaning to fix it on his next leave, but his next leave is this leave, and he hasnât gotten to it yet because you keep finding more interesting things for him to do with his afternoons. So when he hears the small, surprised yelp from the porchâfollowed by the unmistakable thud of someone going down hardâheâs out of the kitchen before the screen door has stopped swinging.
Youâre sitting on the floorboards with one hand bracing behind you and the other clutching a paper bag of groceries that, miraculously, youâve kept upright. An orange has escaped and is rolling, with great purpose, toward the steps.
He stops in the doorway. He takes one look at the scene. His mouth does that thing where it tries very hard not to smile and fails completely.
âHoney,â he says, holding back a laugh..
âDonât.â you hiss.
âI didnât say anything.â
âYou were going to.â you huff.
âI was going to ask if youâre okay.â He crouches down in front of you, elbows on his knees, head tipped to one side. His hair falls into his eyesâthat soft, sandy brown he never bothers to push back unless you do it for him. âWhich step?â
ââŚthe one you told me about.â
âWhich one did I tell you about?â
âCaleb.â
Heâs laughing now. Quietly. Mostly to himself.
He takes the grocery bag out of your lap and sets it aside with care. Then he takes both your hands and turns them palm-up, checking for scrapes. Methodical, unhurried, all of his focus settled on you. Thereâs a small graze along the heel of your left hand. He frowns at it like it has personally offended him.
âStings?â
âA little.â
âAnywhere else?â
âMy pride.â
âWell.â His thumb brushes very lightly over the graze. âThat one I canât kiss better. The hand I can do something about.â
He does. Just a press of his mouth, warm and quick, against the inside of your wrist. You feel it everywhere. You always do. He glances up at you through his lashes and catches the color rising in your cheeks, and his smile goes a little crooked, a little pleased with itself.
âThere it is,â he murmurs.
âThere what is.â
âThat face you make every single time. The one where you pretend youâre not embarrassed and you go pink anyway.â He sits down beside you on the porch floor, knees drawn up, shoulder bumping gently against yours.
He retrieves the orange before he retrieves you.
Itâs almost at the bottom of the top step by the time he ambles over and scoops it up, tossing it once in the air and catching it without looking. Heâs wearing the soft grey t-shirt you stole twice last month, and he looks so much like home in the late afternoon light that you have to look away for a second just to remember how to breathe normally.
He notices that too. He notices everything. Itâs a problem.
âYouâre doinâ it again, pip.â he says, settling back down beside you with the orange in his hand.
âDoing what?â
âLooking at me like I just walked through the door after six months.â His voice has dropped, lost the teasing lilt. âIâve been home a week, sweetheart.â
âI know.â
âI know you know.â He turns the orange in his palm, smiling. âI just like that you still do it.â
He helps you up like youâre made of something breakable.
His hand is broad and warm at your lower back, and he lifts you mostly with that one point of contact, the other hand finding yours and not letting go even once youâre standing. You shift your weight tentatively. Your ankleâs fine. Your kneeâs fine. Everythingâs fine. The only thing thatâs not fine is the way your face refuses to cool down, because heâs still looking at you with that quiet, careful attention, like checking you over is something he gets to do now, like he gets to be the one who does it.
âVerdict?â he asks.
âIâll live.â
âGreat.â He bends, picks up the grocery bag, tucks it against his hip. The other hand stays in yours. âCause Iâm fixing that step tomorrow. First thing.â
âYou said that last week.â
âI mean it this week.â
âYou said that last week too.â
âPips.â He pulls you in by the hand until youâre tucked under his arm, and presses a kiss into your hair, and you can feel him smiling against the top of your head. âAre you tryinâ to start a fight with the man whoâs about to make you dinner?â
He does fix the step. Not tomorrow. That evening, after dinner, with the porch light on.
You watch him from the doorway in his soft grey t-shirt, sleeves shoved up, a pencil tucked behind his ear that he doesnât appear to be using. He whistles while he works. He glances up every minute or so, just to check that youâre still there, and every time he catches you watching him he grins like heâs won something.
You think, watching him, that heâs been home a week and the house already doesnât know how to be a house without him in it.
You donât say it out loud for him to hear. When he comes back inside, dusty and pleased with himself, he takes one look at your face and says, very softly, âI know, baby. Me too.â
And thatâs the whole conversation.
Sylus - You Spilled Wine on His Shirt
The shirt is black. The wine is red. The math is, frankly, in your favor.
You realize this approximately half a second after the glass tips, which is approximately half a second too late. The stem slippedâyour fingers were nervous because he was looking at you the way he looks at you, like youâre the only interesting thing in a room full of people heâs been politely tolerating all eveningâand now thereâs a dark patch of wine spreading across the front of Sylusâ very expensive, very tailored shirt.
You stop breathing.
He looks down. He looks at you. He raises one brow.
âSweetie,â he says, in that low, gravel-and-honey voice of his, âyou missed.â
He is, somehow, smiling.
Itâs the smallest version of his smileâthe one that lives mostly in the corner of his mouth and the slight narrowing of his red eyesâbut it is, undeniably, a smile. You can feel your whole face going hot.
âIâm so sorry, Iâllâ let meââ You grab a napkin. You grab three napkins. You start dabbing at his chest with a bit too much panic, even for your embarrassed state. âIt just slipped, I donât know why, my hand justââ
âMm.â He doesnât move from his spot. He lets you fuss. His hand finds your wrist gently, and stills it. âYouâre making it worse.â
âIâm sorryâ"
âStop apologizing.â
He says it the way he says most thingsâlike an order dressed up as a suggestion.
You go still. The napkin sits crumpled in your hand. Heâs still holding your wrist, his thumb tracing one slow, idle circle against your pulse point, and his eyes are doing that thing where they soften only at the edges, where youâd miss it if you didnât know him.
âItâs a shirt,â he says.
âItâs an expensive shirt.â
âTheyâre all expensive shirts, kitten.â His mouth tilts. âThatâs the point of having too much money. You get to be casual about ruining things.â
He plucks the wine glass out of your other hand and sets it well out of reach. A precaution. You catch the small, amused tilt of his mouth as he does it, and you go even pinker, if such a thing is physically possible.
âYou did that on purpose,â you accuse, weakly.
âI did.â His voice is unrepentant. âYouâre quite clumsy with stemware. Iâm protecting my furniture.â
âSylusââ
âAnd my floors. And my staff. Andââ he leans in, voice dropping low, just for you ââmy sanity, which you ruin nightly, by the way. In case you were keeping score.â
You make a small, strangled sound. He looks delighted.
He takes the shirt off right there.
Casually. Like itâs nothing. Buttons undone with that easy, practiced flick of his fingers, and then itâs draped over the back of a chair and forgotten, and heâs standing there in a plain black undershirt that does absolutely nothing to help your current condition.
He notices you checking him out. His smile sharpens.
âEyes up here, sweetie.â
âI wasnâtââ
âOh, but you were.â
He hooks one finger under your chin and tips your face up. His expression has gone almost gentleâthe version of gentle that only exists in private, the version most of the world will never see and would never believe in if they were told.
âBreathe,â he says quietly. âItâs a shirt. Youâre allowed to drop things in your own home.â
Your own home. Thatâs what undoes you. He always says it like that, like the question of whose home it is was settled a long time ago, and you simply havenât caught up yet.
Later, he absolutely tells Mephisto the story.
You hear him from the next room, low and amused, and you hear Mephistoâs offended kraa, and you bury your face in a cushion and you think, with a kind of helpless, baffled warmth, that you have never, in all your life, been this loved by anyone half this dangerous.
Š zaynessbeloved 2026. please donât copy, repost or translate my works. thank you!
Frat!sukuna x chubby!reader (sukuna tryin be nonchalant, no use of y/n, this IS NOT ai ignore the writing at the bottom, reader is clueless asf, yorozu warning, angst??)
(IM NOT FULLY BACK MOVINGS BEEN TOUGH BUT IM COMING)
authors note: I apologise for any layout issues! This is my first post/smau and I've been testing multiple apps. I'm aware the cropping could be better :(
Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs & comments are all appreciatedđٞâ
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And he wants to give you all the space you want to deal with your emotions before you're ready to talk to him about it.
But as he sits across from you while you ignore him to watch some cliche soap opera that's been ongoing for 10 years with more than 600 episodes and refuse to eat, he can't help himself.
First, he has to rein the laughter in. He schools his features into one of grave seriousness like he's about to interrogate a criminal and in a solemn tone, finally attempts to address you again.
"Psspss, kitten"
It's almost comical how fast your head snaps up, almost identical to a real ball of fur, head snapping around before your gaze lands on Sylus who is trying his hardest not to laugh.
"Did you just-"
"Are you hungry?" Sylus shows no signs of having said something prior to this at all, looking serene but you're sure you heard him.
When you going back to ignoring him, not deeming him worthy of even a response, Sylus tries again.
"Psspss here kitty"
This time, you're sure of what you heard, indignation filling your veins at his audacity as you get up from where you'd been watching your show, aiming straight for your boyfriend, violence clear in your aura.
Sylus, for all his flaws, knows when self-preservation should take charge as he shoots up from his seat, dodging your attack and making a run for it with you hot on his heels.
"I can't believe you would psspss me like I'm some stray-!" You pick up a throw pillow in the midst of your chasing, tossing it straight at the Leader of Onychinus who ducks at the correct time and successfully dodges it.
"I tried to get you to eat with me before-" Sylus ducks again to dodge your attack- two throw pillows thrown in succession- standing up straight before he resumes running around the couch with you right behind "-and you wouldn't acknowledge me"
"Because I'm still mad at you!"
Sylus stops running at that, turning to face you as you attack him with balled up fists that land no damage at all "Be mad at me all you want" He says, long fingers encircling your wrists and holding them right over his heart "But don't skip your meals because of it"
You frown at him "Acting all sweet now won't work after you watched the season finale without me!"
Again, Sylus tries his hardest to hold his laughter in. But you catch the smile threatening to break on his features anyway.
"You're in timeout" You even point to the far wall and Sylus finally ends up grinning because he thinks you're really cute when you're joking.
His smile drops real fast when he realizes you're not.
Two minutes later, he's standing by the wall, fully grown adult, mob boss, one of the most feared beings on the planet, trying to appease his girlfriend but you know it won't be long before he can't help himself.
When you feel something collide with the side of your foot a while later, you peer down to see a bunched up ball of string at your heels.
With Sylus holding the loose end tauntingly.
The moment Sylus sees you bunch up the ball in your fist as you slowly stand to face him, he knows he's screwed.
But he doesn't need saving. He's right where he wants to be.
but grandma i love him! (and him and him and him and him)
[Sylus/Reader, Xavier/Reader, Rafayel/Reader, Caleb/Reader, Zayne/Reader â 2808 words â  Masterlist â  Series Index â  AO3]
5 times Grandma Josephine meets your boyfriend + 1 time she meets your boyfriends.
Or: AU where everything is the exact same, but Grandma Josephine lives, but wishes she didnât so she doesnât have to know how much of a hoe her granddaughter is.
A/N: I wrote most of this, days before Sylusâ myth dropped as a way to cope with the impending and inevitable pain (and oh, was there so much pain with his mythâŚ). I suddenly remembered this a month later, so I rushed to finish it before Caleb comes home again. This is very, very silly and full-on crackhead energy :â)
Tag list: @miudle @alfredosaws @nezukoo-channn @voidsylus @rose-tinted-kalopsia @valkyyriia @lavlynyan ă request to be added ă
Josephine had lived a long life, far longer than she would have anticipated for herself. When one lived as long as she had, mistakes were made and regrets inevitable. That was just life.
She knew that, of course, having pocketed many pearls of wisdom as she had navigated this long road, but that still did not make her feel any less foolish for her recent mistake.
It had seemed so innocent. So pedestrian, really.
How could she have realized that asking to meet her granddaughterâs boyfriend would be one of her greatest mistakes and biggest regret of her life?
one.
âGrandma, this isâŚSkye,â you said with a forced smile as you gestured to your partner.
âSkyeâ stifled his chuckle and extended a hand to the elderly woman. âIt is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Josephine,â he said politely with a charming smile, âYour granddaughter talks fondly about you.â
Josephine smiled in delight, never imagining her granddaughter would bring home a very attractive man. It was like she was looking at a work of art created by God Himself. She shook the young manâs hand happily. âCome in, come in, dinner is ready. We can chat as we eat.â
As dinner progressed, the conversation remained lively. This Skye certainly had a way with his words, his charisma was so radiantly brilliant. Josephine had also never seen her granddaughter as happy as she looked now, noticing how the two would often share sweet whispered secrets when they both thought the old woman wasnât watching.
Oh, youth, Josephine observed with wistful envy.
After dinner, Josephine left her granddaughter alone in the kitchen to do the dishes as she went to her bedroom to retrieve a family photo album to reminisce over. Along the way, she unwittingly walked in on Skye having a private conversation on the phone in the hallway. She was about to turn away before he noticed when she paused, hearing a peculiar comment from Skye:
âHm, so they had thought I would be there to be ambushed, did they?â
Ambushed? Josephine furrowed her brows in concern.
âNever mind, I trust you and Luke had taken care of things, correct?â
Taken care? Josephine went pale.
âHm, they should know that Onychinus does not take betrayal so kindly.â
Motherfucking Onychinus?!
Josephine immediately raced back to the kitchen, not noticing âSkyeâsâ amused smirk.
You were just finishing the last of the dishes when Josephine grabbed you by the shoulders, shaking you immediately and making you nearly dropped the plate you were holding.
âDear, you have to break up with that man!â
You stared wide-eyed, feeling completely blindsided. âB-but why? I thought you liked Skye, Grandma!â
Josephine looked at you nervously, swallowing slowly before she spoke in a hushed tone, âDear, IâŚI just heard him having a conversationâŚIâŚI think heâs part ofâŚthat notorious groupâŚOnychinus.â
âOh,â you said flatly.
Josephine stared, confused. ââOhâ?â she echoed back, flabbergasted. âDear, I donât think you understand. Onychinus is a very dangerous group.â
âUh, yeah, dangerous,â you agreed, tone flat. âSuper dangerousâŚâ
Josephine started to get annoyed, not understanding why you were behaving so flippantly about this bombshell news she had just dropped. âDear, Onychinus is wanted for many crimes. Its leaderââ
âSylus,â you said.
âRightâwait, you know his name?â
âShe should.â Josephine heard âSkyeâsâ deep, smooth voice as he stepped back into the kitchen. âShe is dating him.â
Josephine felt like her brain had just short-circuited as she watched this man walked over and leaned down to kiss her granddaughter on the lips.
âDid you even try to be discreet?â You scolded Sylus with a frown after he pulled away.
He chuckled and shook his head. âI saw her from the side,â he admitted, adding, âAnd I donât like being kept a secret soâŚâ
âYouâmmph!â Sylus immediately kissed you again before you could scold him.
Josephine watched this exchange uncomfortably, feeling like she was having an out-of-body experience as her brain tried to comprehend that her sweet granddaughter, one of the top hunters in Linkon City, was in a relationship with a notorious wanted crime boss.
âIâŚI need some teaâŚâ she managed after a pause.
âOh, Iâll make some for you, Grandma!â You pulled away from Sylus immediately, rushing to the cabinet.
At that moment, Sylusâ phone rang. He took a glance at the screen and apologized. âSorry, I have to take this call.â
Once he was out of the room, Josephine immediately rushed over to you, pulling you to the side. âDear, do you realize what you are doing?â
ââŚmaking tea?â
âDonât get wise with me, young lady,â she chided you instantly with a strong glare, âYou know what I am talking about.â
ââŚSylus?â
âHavenât you thought about how problematic this relationship could be?â
âHe does have a strange obsession with crowsâŚâ
Josephine looked bewildered. âWhat does that meanânever mind, I meant that heâs a felon!â
âA little bit, yeahâŚâ
âDear, is dating a criminal your way of getting back at me for not getting you that pony when you were eight?â
âN-no! Of course not!â You protested. âBesides, Sylus also has this amazing horse, although if I have to be honest, I prefer riding Sylusââ
Josephine had decided that was the perfect moment to black out.
ââŚmotorcycle?! Grandma?!â
two.
Grandma, I have someone I would like you to meet! :)
Josephine felt relief when she had seen that text message her granddaughter had sent. It seemed Sylus was no longer in the picture, she thought, a little worried about any repercussion that could come from splitting with a dangerous crime boss.
As she glanced at the message again, the little smiley face at the end of the sentence calmed the old woman instantly. There was probably nothing to worry about. You seemed pleasant. Cheerful, even.
This was a good sign.
The following Saturday afternoon, Josephine was positively thrilled to meet her granddaughterâs new boyfriend, Xavier. She was immediately charmed by his princely appearance and soft-spoken and polite way of speaking. He truly looked like he had stepped out of a fairy tale.
After introductions were made, you had excused yourself from the group after receiving an urgent phone call from Tara. The other woman was in such an overly anxious state, ranting something about her cat? It took you nearly ten minutes to finally calm your friend before you were able to hang up and return to the group.
Stepping into the living room, you were surprised to see only your grandmother sitting in her chair. You furrowed your brows, feeling a strange knot forming in your stomach. Nervously, you stepped over to your grandmother.
âWait, whereâs Xavier?â
Josephine smiled. âIn the kitchen,â she answered, not noticing your face was paling. âHe mentioned he wanted to heat up the dish you both brought over in the ovenââ
âIn the oven?!â
âYes, the ovenââ
The fire alarm blared as dark thick smokes billowed from the kitchen, but thanks to the bravery and promptness of the men and women of Linkon FD, the fire was put out in less than fifteen minutes.
Josephine remained in her chair, face covered in soot, her voice peculiarly neutral. âDearâŚâ
âInsurance will cover this, donât worry, and if not, I will buy you a newââ
âI donât even like tuna casserole.â
âI told you we should have made chicken potpie.â
âXavierâthatâsâŚthatâs not the issueâŚâ
three.
When her granddaughter mentioned bringing an artist over, Josephine had some doubts. She worried about her granddaughter having to support a struggling artist until he could make a name for himself, but even if she did voice her concern, it would most likely have the opposite effect and just make that man seem even more desirable in her granddaughterâs eyes.
It wouldnât do. She didnât want to meddle, but she hoped things would just naturally end on its own terms.
Her worries instantly disappeared when her granddaughter sent her a photo of the young couple at an art exhibition. Josephineâs eyes caught the name of the artist as well as the face of the young man with his arm around her granddaughterâs waist in the photo.
Wait.
Rafayel.
This was The Rafayel.
As old as she was, Josephine kept up with the news. She recognized both the name and the face of the artist. She laughed heartily to herself, tickled that her pretty granddaughter managed to catch the eyes of a well-known artist such as Rafayel.
Her worries eased, knowing her granddaughter had just secured her future being entwined with someone as successful as Rafayel. She immediately started planning a wedding. Maybe even a guest nursery in her home for when the happy couple would visit with hopefully numerous great-grandchildren.
From this moment all the way to the next Sunday for brunch, the old woman had an extra pep in her steps. As she exited a taxi, Josephine found herself at a well-known restaurant, popular with brunch for the younger crowd. It was typically packed and hard to get in, but Josephine supposed someone as influential as Rafayel would have no problem securing a table.
âGrandma, over here!â you rushed over to hug your grandmother. After kissing her cheek, you sighed playfully, âYou know Rafayel and I offered to pick you up. You didnât have to take a taxi.â
âNonsense, an old woman like me is perfectly capable of getting around by herself,â she chided you gently. She patted your hand reassuringly as you both walked arm linked into the restaurant. âThis is so exciting, darling. I have been looking forward to meeting Rafayel all week long.â
âWonderful!â you exclaimed, beaming, âHe is really the sweetest, Grandma. You will love him. He gotten us a table outside. It really is beautiful out there.â
Well, Josephine can check off meeting a famous artist on her bucket list.
âItâs a pleasure to meet you, Miss Josephine,â Rafayel greeted the older woman with a charming smile. âI have heard so much about you from this cutie over here.â
âRa-Rafayel,â you protested with a blush and then whispered harshly under your breath to him, âN-not in front of GrandmaâŚâ
He smiled, shrugging. âSorry, cutie, force of habit.â
âYou did it againâŚâ
Josephine laughed and reassured her blushing granddaughter. âYou two really are the cutest thing ever,â she said, smiling in gratitude as Rafayel helped seat the older woman.
The time passed with a lot of pleasantries and sharing stories over a delicious array of food. Smoked salmon, quiche, waffles, fruit salad, and bellinis filled three happy bellies. Just as Josephine was already planning on speed-dialing a wedding planner, she noticed Rafayelâs face did a complete 180.
âRafayel? Are you alright, dearââ
âM-m-m-monster!â
âExcuse me?â Josephine glared when Rafayel pointed at her.
âN-no, Grandma, itâs not you,â you quickly protested, standing up and rushing to Rafayel when he stumbled out of his seat shaking in fear. âRafayel, calm down! Itâs just aââ
âMeow.â
âOh!â Josephine laughed when an orange cat leapt onto the table, purring happily at the plate with some leftover smoked salmon. She laughed and started petting its head as the cat greedily licked the plate and ate the remaining morsels. âWhere did you come from, little one?â
The cat purred happily amid Rafayelâs screams.
âRafayel, ca-calm down!â You trailed after Rafayel as he backed away.
âGet that monster away from me!â
âRafayel! Come back!â
Josephine sighed.
After filling its belly with some delicious salmon, the cat napped in the old womanâs lap, purring contently as its ear was scratched. At that moment, the waiter walked over and placed the bill in front of Josephine to her surprise.
âYou have got to be kidding me,â she griped once she realized her granddaughter and Rafayel were both gone.
four.
âOh, dear, I am so excited to meet this one,â Josephine said, meaning every single word, âThe way you described him makes him sound like quite a catch.â
Tall, handsome, intelligent, and with the added bonus of being good in the kitchen! There was no way this one wouldnât be a perfect match for her sweet, darling granddaughter, who, after all, deserved only the best in life.
You laughed. âGrandma, what are you talking about? You know him.â
Josephine blinked, confused. ââŚI do?â
âYeah, itâsââ
âWhereâs my favorite pipsqueak?â
You gasped as you felt an arm wrapped around your waist, easily lifting you up. You blushed. âCaleb!â
Josephine laughed. âCaleb, you didnât tell me you were coming home to visit.â
Caleb looked confused as he settled you back down to the floor, but his arm remained wrapped around your waist. âI thought Pipsqueak mentioned it to you already?â
Josephine frowned. âI donât believe so,â she said, adding, âBut what bad timing, weâre having a guest tonight andââ
She paused, suddenly noticing how Calebâs arm still remained wrapped around your waist and the way you leaned in close against him. You were all giggly and blushing like a schoolgirl.
ââŚandâŚâ
âUm, Grandma,â You started feebly, âCaleb is my boyfriend.â
âNo, heâs not.â
âUh, yes, he is.â
âNo, heâs not.â
âGrandmaââ
âNo, heâs not.â
âCaleb!â
âGran, Iââ
âI am taking a nap!â Josephine declared, determined to wake up from this surreal dream she was having.
âCalebââ
âShh,â he quietly shushed you. âGran is taking a napâŚâ
You glared at him, sighing in defeat as Josephine sat in her chair, blanket over her lap, and she closed her eyes, cursing whatever deity who had decided she needed to deal with this weird-ass situation at her age.
five.
Josephine smiled serenely as she watched you and Zayne make dinner together in your kitchen.
Finally, a good man.
Zayne was always the sweetest little boy, and it pleased Josephine to see he had grown into a kind and caring man with a successful career and highly-respected reputation among his peers. Zayne had effortlessly ticked off every single box in Josephineâs list of criteria for a grandson-in-law: intelligent, kind, patient, respectful, charming, handsome, successful, loving. There was not a single flaw in this young man.
âMy love, come taste this,â Zayne called out as he held up a wooden spoon.
Oh, my. Even Josephine couldnât help but blushed and felt her heart fluttering at witnessing how sweetly affectionate Zayne was with you.
âWhat do you think?â he asked.
You pondered, licking your lips lightly. You smiled. âMaybe just a little more soy sauce?â
Zayne nodded. âOkay,â he said, âCould you grab the bottle for me then?â
âOf course, Zaddyââ
You froze.
Zayne froze.
Josephine stared.
âZaâŚZaddy?â Josephine questioned from across the kitchen island.
âItâsâŚnothing,â Zayne said, his ears turning red, âJust a silly nickname.â
Josephine nodded, seemingly accepting his weak explanation. âHow long until dinner is ready?â
You swallowed nervously and barely managed to rasp out: âAn hourâŚmaybe?â
âIâll just take a quick nap if you two donât mindâoh, donât trouble yourself, dear.â
âOkay, Grandma, you can nap on my bedâŚâ You said feebly, a little perplexed by howâŚcalm she seemed.
Josephine nodded again and walked to your bedroom. She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out her phone, searching up âZaddyâ online.
She wished she hadnât.
+ one.
This was a dream.
A motherfucking dream.
And not even a good one.
Josephine stared at all of the tall, handsome menâand Calebâtowering behind her granddaughter.
ââŚDear, I thought you were dating Zayne.â She glanced at the young doctor who looked away in embarrassment.
âI am,â you answered nonchalantly, confused by your grandmotherâs behavior.
ââŚDidnât you break up with these other young menâand Caleb?â
Caleb blinked.
âNo,â you said slowly, âI didnât want to bombard you with all of them at once, soâŚI staggered their introductions.â
âYouâreâŚdatingâŚfive menâŚat the same time?â
âGrandma, you are acting like I am banging them all at the same time!â
âDear, I am sorry, itâs justââ
âWeâve only done it once.â
ââŚExcuse me?â
âItâs actually harder to coordinate an orgy with everyoneâs busy schedule,â you explained thoughtfully, not noticing Josephineâs horrified expression. You continued flippantly, âZayne has so many surgeries lined up for the next three months. Then Rafayel has an upcoming art show he needs to prepare for, and Sylusââ
Josephine walked away in the middle of the conversation, heading to her bedroom, leaving you flabbergasted.
You looked behind you at your five boyfriends and they all shrugged and scratched their heads, just as lost as you were. Worried, you followed after her. âGrandma? Is something the matterâ"
You panicked and shrieked.
âZayne, Caleb! Grandma is smoking and drinking!â
Josephine mentally sighed as she sat in her bed, leaning back against some propped up pillows as she stared at the ceiling with a bottle of brandy resting on her chest.
Surely, dying in an explosion would be better than this fuckery, right?
roommate!shoko⌠who constantly has sex while youre home just so you can hear it
roommate!shoko⌠who walks around half naked. Iâm talking about a thin tank top and some panties, or just a bra and boy shorts
roommate!shoko⌠who steals your underwear, mostly your favorite ones. Youâve caught her wearing them too
roommate!shoko⌠who doesnât even knock before letting herself in your room. Purposely doing so just to catch a glimpse of you getting changed
roommate!shoko⌠who doesnât care if your in the shower, if she has a question, sheâs gonna pull the curtain and ask away.
roommate!shoko⌠who suggested to take a shower together too save waterââweâre both girls so it doesnât matterâ
roommate!shoko⌠who ends up pressing on against you because âthe showers too smallâ. Ever so slightly caressing your arms, your hips, your ass
roommate!shoko⌠who takes snakes her hand down you abdomen and starts playing with your clit. Pinching your nipples and kissing the back of your neck until your about to loose it
roommate!shoko⌠who pulls away right before you cum, casually walking out of the shower
roommate!shoko⌠who pretends nothing ever happened
authors note â just watched roommates on Netflix and got inspo
SUMMARY: As Leon starts to feel the initial effects of las plagas, Luis fills you in on a little secret about the disease that could potentially help out your partner.
CONTENT: 18+, mdni - porn with plot!! this is my version of the classic sex pollen fic; i wouldnât say this is dub-con cause they both give explicit consent but maybe(?). re4r!leon, him and reader switch, lots of whining and whimpering (cause i say so); unprotected piv (reader rides him), overstimulation, multiple orgasms (itâs a lot), creampie, handjobs, titty-fixation (leonâs obsessed); mutual pining/sex with feelings ofc (theyâre down bad for each other fr), love confessions; mentions of some narrative violence; leon is infected with las plagas (and it is not at all canon accurate, but itâs for the plot!), if youâre catching my driftâŚ
WORD COUNT: 3.8k (oops)
NOTES: listen, Iâm sure thereâs a million fics out there based on this concept, but honestly whatâs one more? this idea has literally been plaguing (lol) me for days so here yâall go.
part two
â˘
There was something wrong with Leon.
Like, really, really wrong.
He looked sick. Much paler than he usually was.
His eyes appeared glassyâfreakishly so, in a way youâd never really seen before. Lifeless and grey; there but not.
You knew something was off the moment you rescued him and Luis from the dingy basement of that house.
At first, you told yourself it was nothing.
But then, while walking to the safe house, Leon had nearly collapsed. Suddenly he was holding his head, stumbling over his words, blinking aimlessly at his surroundings like he didnât recognize them.
Then nothing became something.
You ended having to help him walk the rest of the way back to your scouted house. You shouldered the responsibility without question, of course.
He was your partner of nearly six years, ordinarily your closest friend, and in all, someone you loved intensely.
But you were still on edge.
Each snap of a twig sent your head on a swivel. Each time Leonâs boot caught a rogue tree root, youâd choke on your own breath.
Luis would call back to the both of you occasionally. You still werenât entirely sure if it was an act of sincerity, of checking in, or if he was prodding for an escape.
But really it didnât matter. Luis was the last of your problems.
Leon was sweating like crazy. It practically poured from his hair line. When you first noticed, you also saw the way his eyes threatened to roll back.
âHey, hey, hey.â You were quick to tap his cheek. âHey, donât do that, okay? Youâre gonna hurt yourself.â
Leonâs mangled groan made you wince.
âJust a few more feet. Just a few more feet then you can lie down, okay?â
Part of you expected him to collapse right there.
He didnâtâthankfullyâbut he was still sweating, he was still pale, and he was starting to look like death.
âCome on, Leon, just a little more,â you mumbled.
Suddenly, the man in question was burying his face into your hair. You felt the bridge of his nose scale the tip of your ear, and the curve of your skull.
âLeonââ
âYou smell good. âŚâS so unfair.â
You were struggling to hold him up at that point. âLeon, honeyâplease, work with me here.â
It wasnât until you were standing on the back porch of the house, that Luis finally decided to help you out.
You had watched, rather helplessly, as Luis carried Leon to the far back room. You didnât have the heart to follow either of them in. You just sat out on that porch for an hour or so, frozen, with tears in your eyes.
That was last night.
Now, as the dawning sun began to crest over the horizon, you were terrified of what would come next.
âWhat did they do to him?â
You look to your right, at the slumped over man. Luis had woken up only moments earlier, having yet to rub away the sleep from his eyes.
âÂżCĂłmo?â
You huff. âWhatâs wrong with him?â
âAh. Las plagas,â Luis yawns.
âWhat?â
Luis stands up and stretches. Faintly, you hear the popping of joints. The man then follows your stare to the door in front of you.
Turning back to you, he lets out another yawn. âItâs aâŚa virus. Some kind of disease thatâs meant to make you do whatever they want.â
Just when youâre about to interrogate him further, you hear a loud groan echo from the room. Immediately, you sit up, while Luis shifts nervously on his feet.
When the quiet returns, you clear your throat. âLuis, I need you to be honest with me right nowâŚâ
Luis has slunk back to the wall. His eyes narrow on you for a moment before quickly looking away.
âIs Leon going to be okay?â
Luis sniffles. He wipes at his nose while looking down at his feet. ââŚEventually, if we get our hands on my cure.â
âBut not now,â you confirm.
The man shrugs. âItâs different for everybody. Thereâs really no telling how heâll react.â
More noises come from behind the closed door then. One in particular makes your blood run cold.
Itâs fairly muffled, but youâre still able to pick up on what sounds like the whine of an injured dog.
Then thereâs a bang. A loud, abrupt thud to the door itself.
Your body works faster than your brain, legs carrying you to the door before you could even think twice.
Luis though is closer to the door than you are. Stepping in front of you, he raises his arm to block you. When you step forward anyway, Luis pushes back. âStay put.â
You almost bite back. Almost.
Of all people, it isnât Luisâ place to tell you what to fucking do, and it sure as hell isnât his job to protect you against your partner. But for once, you opt to bite your tongue and listen.
Slowly, Luis pries open the door.
You try to look over his shoulder, but Luis is quick. Quick to slip into the room and close the door. Quick enough to know he should hold onto the doorknob so that you couldnât open it.
âLuis.â You try the handle again, to no avail.
Still no response.
But you do hear voices.
Thereâs the melodic, almost spindly voice of Luis. Itâs much louder and more pronounced, a little distracting as you try to listen closer. Eventually you hear a hushed toneâLeonâs. His voice is dull, imperceptible even, until it turns into sharp groans.
âLuis!â
The door suddenly pops open, and Luis slips back through before closing it again.
âLuis, what the fuck is going on? You better start talking or I swearââ
The man pushes past you, crossing the small kitchen to the back door.
You stare at him in disbelief and in restraint.
âLuisââ
âSeĂąora, relax.â With an open palm he gestures vaguely to the closed door. âYour boyfriend is going to be alright. He just has the âfeverâ.â
Your mind blanks, tongue preemptively tying itself up in knots. âBoyfâwhat? No, Leon is not my boyfriend.â
Luis laughs, almost maniacally. âThatâs what youâre focused on?â If you werenât so stunned, you probably wouldâve pummelled him into the floorboard.
You roll your shoulders and strain as if itâll completely reset the conversation. âLuis, what do you mean by âfeverâ? âŚIs-is Leon going toâŚâ
âOh, no, no. Not from this, at least.â
Another pained sound echoes. Your fingers twitch at your side.
âSo, itâs like the flu? Leonâs just sick?â
Luis shakes his head, and you deflate a little. âThe âfeverâ is just what we call it. Mainly refers toâŚto the increased body temperature, theâŚâ he abandons the thought with a smirk. âIt wonât kill him, but itâll feel like hell for the next few hours if he doesnât take care of it.â
You mull over his words carefully. âOkay, so, how do we take care of it then?â
âLove and attentionâthatâs the only way to fix it.â Luis then steps onto the porch, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. âIâm going to find us all something to eat. I should be back in a few hours.â
And with that heâs gone, off to god-knows-where.
Though, at the moment, that hardly matters. Because with Luis gone, youâre free to look after him.
As softly as you could manage, you knock on the door. âLeon.â Silence. âLeon, are you okay?â
This time, thereâs a reply. It comes out choked and sounds a lot like a version of your name.
The door creaks on its hinges as you force it open. Instantly, youâre hit with stale air, and dust, and the harrowing sight of Leon curling in on himself.
âLeonâŚ?â
A mop of mussed-up blonde hair slowly rises from the floor. Through the fallen strands, you find a familiar pair of eyes. In a way, he looked much more alive than he did yesterday. But your relief was only momentary. It didnât take long to notice the web of black veins mapping out his face.
Leon groans again, flopping forward and on his side.
Despite how sick you felt, you made your way to him anyway. With a careful hand, you reach for his face.
The second the tips of your fingers graze his cheek, Leon flinches. He sits up quickly, backing into the wall, with his eyes closed and his teeth clamped down on his lip.
âDonât-donât touch me, please.â Hesitantly, you let your hand fall back into your lap.
You take a moment to regain your composure. âLuis says that youâre gonna be okay. Eventually. UmâŚapparently this is justââ
âA fever,â Leon mumbles. âYeah, he told me.â
You nod, mainly to yourself.
At his request, you keep your distance, but you canât help your wandering eyes.
Thereâs an arm strewn tightly across his stomach, holding onto his shirt like a lifeline. At his side, his other hand flexes. His knees are bent, pressed close to the rest of him as he continues to shrink in on himself.
You shift uncomfortably.
âIs there anything I can do?â Leon shakes his head. With a frown, you inch toward him. âLeonââ
âPlease,â Leon groans your name. âI just need to wait it out. Just-Iâll be okay. Just please leave.â
âYou donât have to do this alone. Iâm here for you, okay? Please, Leon, just let me help.â
Whatever you were maybe expecting to come next, it certainly wasnât the sight before you.
Leonâs limbs unfurl as he tries for a new position to wilt into. And there, right between his splayed legs, you see a pronounced bulge. So stiff, it looks painful.
You donât notice Leonâs eyes open, or how they find you: frozen, eyes wide and fixed on his erection.
You gape like a fish. âLeonâŚâ
The man in question immediately shakes his head. âIâm sorry. I-Iâm so sorry, thisâŚâ he looks up to ceiling, blinking and worrying his lip. His chest expands with a shake. âLuis said thatâŚthat this was normal. Sort of. That itâs just the virus reacting to me.â He forces a laugh. âJust my luck, right?â
Your thighs press together on their accord, and for the first time since you rescued him, you force yourself to look away. A certain kind of heat has started to creep up your neck.
Hereâs your partner confiding in you about the incredible pain heâs experiencing and all you can focus on is the size of him.
You feel horrible. Gross. Perverted.
You then hear Luis words in your head like some sick call-and-response: âlove and attentionâthatâs how you fix it.â
The words, and their premonitory meaning, finally settle within you. They pull on your lungs, and the cavity behind your ribs.
With the sharp press of your nails to your palm, you take a breath and ignore the flutter in the pit of your stomach.
âLeonâŚâ The man sighs again. Carefully, you inch closer to him. âLuis told me how we can make you feel better.â
He grits his teeth. âI know. He told me that, too.â
You swallow hard. âLeon, IâŚif you want, I can help you.â
He gulps and shakes his head. âI canât ask that of you.â
âYou wouldnât be,â you say. âIâm offering, Leon. Youâre my partner, a-and this is what we doâwe help each other.â
Leon sits up a bit more, facing you almost directly. âI canât ask this of you because this isnât how I wanted it to go.â
âWell, obviously,â you almost laugh. âThis isnât, you know, an ideal situationââ
âNo.â
That single word sends a rush of blood down to your cunt. You try to be subtle when you shift, not wanting to draw attention to yourself.
âWhen IâŚwhen I was going to tell you about how I feelâŚabout you, I wanted it to beâI donât knowâromantic? Definitely not like this.â He chuckles around the words like theyâre a loose canon in his mouth. And perhaps they are.
His eyes flicker with something unknownâsomething wilder and unkempt.
It makes you want to take a risk.
âLeon, I want to help. I wanna make you feel betterâŚâ the words die in your throat, but you know he understands. âBut I need you to be sure.â
Of this, you mean. Of me.
Leon doesnât say anything for a moment. Instead he just stares. His eyes trail over your face, they drag down your body, then back up to your mouth. His chest heaves. On his thigh, his hand is balled into a fist, white-knuckling the fabric.
Whatever little composure he had been holding onto unravels then.
âFuck, â, I need you. I need you more than anything. âŚAnd thatâs not the disease talking, either. I want you all the time.â
When you touch him, he flinches again. Except this time he doesnât retreat.
Rather, he melts. He melts and molds and he pushes his cheek into your palm with his eyes screwed shut. He hums, and you feel its vibration throughout every part of you.
Itâs a shock to your system that makes you clench around nothing.
You remember then to pace yourself. You both have time.
Moving your hands to his face, you start to inspect him. âShit, youâre burning up, Leon.â
âMhm, justâaghâjust my love for you.â Another cramp rolls through him, but he manages to still offer a smile. For you.
âI think that might be the disease talking,â you tease before pressing your mouth to his.
Leon immediately whines. Upright on his knees, he leans over you, hands sliding up your bare arms, over your shoulders and settling on the junction of your jaw. He pushes forward with the kiss, nearly knocking you backward.
âSorry,â he mumbles. Heâs sheepish now, all rosy-cheeked and doe-eyed, much like how he was when you first met some years ago. You smile into the kiss, keeping still while he chases your lips.
Heâs incessant with it. Heâs all tongue and teeth, already panting into you. You let him have his way, until he breaks free and starts to mouth at your pulse.
âLeon,â you sigh. âLeon, stop.â
With a firm hand to his chest, you try to hold him still, to get him to look at you. His bruised lips are wetâspit-covered and plump. He blinks quickly at you, like the refocusing of a camera lens.
âItâs not about me, Leon. This is about you. About making you feel good.â
You sit up to meet him, carding your fingers through his hair. With the new angle, you start your assault on his neck. You donât really kiss himâmoreso just drag your lips against the thick cords of his neck. When you reach the spot just below his ear, he huffs and nearly sinks back to the ground. Ever the observant one, you choose to suck at the skin there.
âBabyââ
His handsâerratic and hot-to-the-touchâgrab onto whatever they can. Your shoulders, your waist. Itâs as if he canât makeup his mind. Itâs only when you slightly stumble into his lap, when he grabs onto the beltloop of your pants to stabilize you both, does he finally settle. With one hand curving around the meat of your hip, another reaches up beneath the loose fabric of your shirt, until heâs lifting your breast out of the cup of your bra and palming it.
Heâs spurred on by your sighs. The sound, which makes his cock twitch, has him further kneading the flesh and kissing the top of your head. Your mouth moves down to his collarbone, exploring, tasting, and learning every inch of his skin.
âFuck, â.â His breath is hot on your scalp. âShit, youâreâfuckâyouâre something.â
You take the chance then to start working away at his clothes. Nimble fingers make quick work of his shirt, untucking it from his pants and lifting it up and over his head.
Gently, you rake your nails across his skin. You just canât help but touch him. Everything from the swell of his shoulders and biceps, to the soft lines of muscle along his lower abdomen.
As you move lower, Leonâs grip on your body tightens.
Against your lower stomach, you feel the hard press of his bulgeâover and over again. He holds you in place while he searches for friction. Into your shoulder, he groans.
âFuck, baby. Shit, Iâm sorry. I-I needaââ
Climbing onto his lap, you grab his waist and push his hips into yours. ââS okay. Itâs okay, honey, just let go.â
Almost immediately, Leon comes. The whole thing is over quickly, with hardly any recovery time on his partâan effect, you assume, of the âfeverâ.
He stays close to you; grinding and squeezing, panting into the side of your face. âPlease, â.â
You lean back as much as Leonâs frenzied hands will let you, until youâre able to snake your hands down to his belt. Once the buckle is undone, youâre tugging down the zipper. Leon lifts his hips for you as you remove his pants and the stained fabric of his boxers. âLeon,â you kiss him again. âLay down for me, honey.â
He does as you askâalmost embarrassingly fast.
Shuffling down his body, you come face-to-face with his cock. Heâs so very hard, leaking and flushed an angry red.
Sitting comfortably on his thighs, you roll your shoulders back and find Leonâs eyes. Instinctively, you reach to slick his hair back off of his forehead. You want to see all of him. Selfishly, you need to see him fall apart. Leon takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and mouthing at your knuckles.
âYouâre sure about this?â
Leon nods quickly. âNeed you. How-however you want, please, just, fuck, please.â
With your other free hand, you stroke his hipâat the indent that runs along his pelvis and down to the tuft of hair trailing to his base.
Thatâs how you start with him. Experimental.
It doesnât take long for Leon to start bucking up into your closed fist. You spit, and with a slow, purposeful pump, spread your saliva all over his cock. One particular tug has his head falling back to the floor. The valley of his chest on full display, falling quickly as you continue to work him.
Leon comes again with a low whine. The sound has your head spinning, and slick pooling between your thighs.
While Leon comes to, you quickly discard of whatever clothes you had left on, chucking them to the corner across the room.
âYouâre so beautiful,â Leon says wistfully.
Despite having just jerked him off, his words are what turn you shy. Averting your gaze, you focus on lowering yourself back into his lap.
âI mean it.â Leon sits up, hands snaking behind your back. He pulls you to him and mouths at your chest. âYouâre gorgeous.â
In a moment of clarity, you grow curious, and press the back of your hand to his forehead.
âYouâre still super hot, baby.â
Leon bites at the side of your breast. âIâm glad you think so.â
Your groan isnât the sexy kind. âThatâs not what I meant.â
Between your breasts, Leon looks up at you. âI know. Think I have an idea about what could help though.â
You kiss him deeply. With one hand you tug on his hair, exposing more of himself to you, and with the other you take a hold of his cock and start to drag it between your folds.
Leon whimpersâfucking whimpersâand ducks his head to look down to where your bodies meet.
He steadies himself as he lines up with your entrance. You hold your breath as his head catches against your walls, inch by inch, until heâs fully seated inside you.
Leon shakes beneath you. Knowing, but breathless, you simply give him a nod before you start to move.
With your knees to the floor, bracketing his hips, and his already-convulsing body, you slowly lift your hips, up and forward, then all the way back down until his pelvis is flush against yours.
Your hips roll, over and over, testing the watersâthe speed, the angleâuntil finally, with your back slightly arched, you feel him notch deliciously against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl.
This time youâre the one panting. Breaths that only become more ragged as you chase the feeling.
At that point, Leon was practically apart of you. Combined sweat glued you to each other; the firm grip of his hands nothing more than an aid for your hips, and a lifeline for him.
A tangible, tactile reminder that you werenât a hallucination. You were very much real, and you were very much there.
There with him, making the prettiest sounds heâs ever fucking heard.
Leon tried to speakâhe wanted to. He needed to tell you again just how beautiful you were. How pretty your pussy was, how much he appreciated you, loved you, how he was convinced you were made for him.
But he couldnât.
The disease had already made his mind a little fuzzy, but you had completely melted it to nothing. All that existed was the feeling of you.
Wrapping both arms around your waist, Leon continued to mouth at your chest. He felt his hips start to move on their ownâa little absently, mind youâand you reacted instantly.
You let out a cry, and held on tighter to the broad expanse of Leonâs shoulders. Taking the opportunity, he started to fuck up into you with short, rapid thrusts.
âYou feel so-fuck. Youâre so good for me. So, so good for me.â
The sound of his thighs meeting your ass, your gasps and his moans, had consumed all of the air in that little cabin.
You were starting to lose controlâboth of you wereâas the coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. No longer were you focused on maintaining a rhythm. As your legs began to give out, Leon sat you down onto him as far as he could, before lying back down. With you caged to his chest, he planted his feet and began to pistol into you.
âUmphf! Leo-oh, fuck.â
Your jaw had fallen slack against his shoulder, eyes glazing over. Your heart hammered in time with the weeping throb of his cock.
Leon held his open-mouth to the side of your face. âNeed you to come for me, baby. Wanna feel you cum on my cock. Please. Please, need to feel you.â
Each plea of his was accentuated with a breathy whine to the shell of your earâa promise only for you.
That alone was enough to send you over the edge.
The coil had snapped, leaving you to shudder helplessly against him. With your senses completely shot, you werenât sure when exactly Leon announced his third and final orgasm of the night.
You only knew it happened really when the space between your hips grew wonderfully warm. Leon had slowed to a stop, tooâcompletely spent, and heaving.
Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as the inky veins along his cheek slowly began to lighten. Some of them even had completely disappeared.
You knew deep down he wasnât cured for goodâthat was still another bridge youâd have to cross.
Someday, but not right now.
Today, for the first time in a long time, you both were allowed to rest.
description: a video game company reaches out to the dso, asking to use agents mr. and mrs. kennedy as face models for their upcoming action horror game called biohazard. while your husband is reluctant, you, being a lover of video games, are more than ecstatic to accept the offer.
fluff *:シďžâ§2.3k words *:シďžâ§ -> leon kennedy masterlist
Leon wasnât a fan of the spotlight, and thatâs the excuse intended to use when headquarters forwarded an email from some video game company asking to use âEstablished agents Mr. and Mrs. Kennedyâ as face models for a game supposedly inspired by the DSOâs handling of bioterrorism.
When he got the email, he scoffed. Firstly, the higher ups emphasized how crucial it was to endorse the release of such a game for âpublic supportââŚmore like propaganda. Are they forgetting that they basically coerced âestablished agents Mr and Mrs. Kennedyâ into the force in the first place?
And more importantly, why the hell would he want to relive his worst nightmares in an alternate virtual reality for the sake of other people's entertainment?
He ranted about the whole ordeal to you in passing after the two of you went on a nice dinner date. You agreed wholeheartedly, that is, until you froze at the mention of the company's name.
âCapCom?âŚâ You gawked, âThe Japanese video game company?â
âYeah,â Leon hummed, unimpressed as he looked back to reverse out of the parking lot.
âThey made that old game I talked to you about!â You recalled âDevil May Cryâthe one with the protagonist who kinda reminded me of you cause he was awkward with women, remember?âŚâ
Leon raised a brow, âOh yeah.â
He faltered just as quickly when his brain processed your innocently backhanded remark.
âWait-did you respond to them?â You asked, suddenly placing a death grip on the hand that rested comfortably on your thigh.
Leon furrowed his brows at your firm hold, âNot yetâŚbut like I said, Iâm gonna tell them Iâm not-â
âNO! You have to say yes!-Please? That would be so cool!â
Leon nearly snapped his neck from whip lash at the sudden change in heart.
He knew he shouldnât have told you about it, you were probably the biggest video game nerd he ever met.Â
Last year, he asked you what you wanted for your birthday, expecting you to just shrug coyly and say you didnât need anything, but you grabbed his collar and begged him to buy game cards for those vintage handheld consoles you had laying around.
He remembers squinting at the long list you sent him, showing them to the jaded young employee at the tech pawn shop about thirty minutes downtown.
Leon, being a bit old fashioned, felt wrong for just buying his wife childrenâs games, so he decided to get a little creative with it. He bought two bouquets of flowers, one of them lavishly put together by the florist down the street and another made of legos holding the little cards.
(But he wasnât about to make the bouquet himself so he gave the employee a nice wad of cash to put it together for him).
âI have to say yes?â Leon asked, an amused grin making way across his face.
âYes you do.â
âIs that so?â He huffed at your confidence.
âYes,â you affirmed, again.
âAnd if I donât?â He asked calmly.
âI wonât shower with you anymore,â you quipped, chin jutting up like you just dropped the biggest ultimatum.
âNo showersâŚâ Leon said, pretending to mull as the red traffic light cast over his features. He turned to look at you fully, âAre baths still on the table?â
âNo.â
âNo showers or baths with my wifeâŚI think Iâll live,â Leon shook his head with a faux solemn tone, but you could sense the uneasiness there.
The smug bastard was lying. Sometimes (most of the time), all he needed was to hold you close after the two of you came back from a long missionâŚor just an outing in general. He liked the way you massaged the stubborn knots in his heavy set of shoulders, the way you scrubbed his pale skin gently. How you managed to make him feel cleaner than when he showered alone eluded him.
âFine, then Iâll just sleep in my own room from now on. I like having the bed to myself anyway,â You muttered, peering at your nails as you waited patiently for the threat to crumble his resolve. Leon hated sleeping alone.
He scoffed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
The smirk was wiped off real quick when he saw your straight face. Something about that, and your offhanded tone, told him you were dead serious.
He let out a long suffering sigh, you were as stubborn as they came.
âHoney,â Leon implored, baffled at the way the maturity justâŚflew out of your body, âWhat about everything you just agreed with me on?â
âI know butâŚcâmon!â You protested indignantly, âWhenâs the next time someone is gonna ask to use our facecards like thisâŚâ
âOur face what?-â
âAh nothing,â You wave him off, âI mean, theyâre a legit company and who knows? They might do a really good job depicting what itâs like to be out on the field.â
ââŚFine. Iâll email them tomorrow.â
âHa!-I knew youâd break,â you said, leaning over the dash to give his pouty face a gentle kiss.
âYeah, yeah.â He grumbled, âBut since I agreed to say yes, you're taking an extra long shower with me when we get home.â
âWellâŚI guess itâs only fair,â you sighed as though you settled on a shitty deal, knowing damn well you were shedding all your clothes as soon as he closed the door behind you.
You and Leon had to use some of your vacation days to fly out to the studio in Japan where they scanned your guysâ faces and movements for what felt like hours. You learned theyâd name the game âBiohazardâ which was fitting considering you guys were on the front lines, fighting bioterrorism attacks for years now.
The female employees in particular were very adamant on getting nearly every nook and cranny of Leonâs figure onto the screen but hey, you couldnât blame them.
You didnât quite know what the models would turn out like yet, but based on some of the snippets you saw, you knew it would be good.
Still, neither of you expected this. There were posters, billboards, actual cardboard standees and everything.
Leon wasn't usually out and about that often, but he had been practically holed up inside since the promos came out, waiting for the hype to blow over to avoid any awkward fan interactions.
As selfish as it was, you actually enjoyed the fan support. You found their infatuation with the two of you a little weird, but oddly amusing.
There wasnât much information about you and Leon out there besides the fact that you guys were well known American field agents who were married.
You made sure to show Leon the tamer (but just a little crazy) fan commentary on the trailers and promos, your favorite being how the two of you had induced âBi Panicâ in multiple people.
Leon was speechless and a little disappointed in that jaded old man way at the sheer amount of young women who claimed they wanted him to do terrible things like to run them over or choke them out.
âWhat? Thatâs not that crazy of a thing to say in my opinion,â You mutter, snacking while scrolling through some comments.
âThatâs not that crazy to you?â Leon raised a brow, motioning toward the screen, âWho even says this stuff?â
âI think this stuff about you all the time,â you shrug casually.
âYou want me to run you over?â Leon asked in disbelief.
âDepends.â
âOn what?â He chuckled.
âWhat phase of the cycle Iâm in,â you explain like itâs common sense.
Leon pauses, albeitâŚlewd memories flashing behind his eyes, âOkay yeah that makes sense.â
A few of your superiors, also former field agents and dispatchers, were hired by the company to ensure the games missions were âtrue to the DSOâs impetusâ, so they even held a launch party in one of the fancy briefing rooms at headquarters.
Someone had dimmed the lights and rolled in a massive screen that nearly touched the ceiling. A few tables had been pushed together and covered with snacks, drinks, and those little cocktail toothpicks.
You froze in the doorway.
Leon stopped behind you, blue eyes flitting over the enormous display banner hanging over the room.
It showed the two of you standing back to back, weapons drawn, dramatic lighting cutting across your faces like some kind of action movie poster.
Your in game models looked terrifyingly accurate. Leon shook his head, âThatâs not weird at all.â
You walked further into the room slowly, staring up at a life sized cutout of the two of you holding shotguns.
âThatâs your leather jacket,â you murmured.
Leon leaned closer to inspect yours and let out a quiet whistle. âThose are the earrings I bought you last year.â
You looked at Leon, eyes wide, âThey even got the loose seam on my shirt,â you whispered.
A few of the DSO agents nearby chuckled while someone from the development team waved you both over to the demo station.
âYou guys have to try this!â
Leon visibly braced himself and he leaned down slightly toward you as you walked.
âIâm gonna hate this.â
You squealed quietly, âOo-Iâm gonna love this.â
A controller was placed into Leonâs reluctant hands while the screen flickered to life.
The title appeared first, then the main menu and suddenly the room got quiet.
Two characters appeared on the screen. You and Leon rendered in such ridiculous detail it made Leon furrow his brows.
Leon was shocked, they even got his moles right. It was nothing to you, given that you grew up with games developed at a higher frame rate, but to Mr. Born in the 70s here, it was surreal.
Your character stood on the left side of the screen, idly shifting her weight with a rifle slung over the shoulder.
Leonâs character stood on the right, arms crossed with that same brooding expression he always wore, like when they asked him to fill out a mountain paperwork before signing on.
You were staring at the screen like someone had just handed you the meaning of life.
âLeon!â
âHm?â
âThatâs literally your face.â
âYeah.â
He faltered at the side bang nearly covering his eye, ââŚI need a haircut.â
The developer calmly explained that players could choose which character to start the demo with.
Leon didnât hesitate when he moved the cursor. The highlight landed on you.
âOh, youâre choosing me?â
Leon smirked, âLadies first.â
You leaned on the back of his chair with a smug grin, âYou just want to stare at me.â
âMaybe,â Leon hummed as he pressed Start.
The demo opened inside a dark village crawling with infected enemies.
It reminded Leon a little too much of Spain, but your character moving across the screen with familiar animations eased his nerves.
They got your stance, your posture. Even the little way you adjusted your grip when aiming.
âThey nailed your walk.â
âReally?â
âYeah.â
An amused grin made its way across his previously disturbed face, âHey and you do that thing with your shoulder when youâre lining up a shot.â
A few infected enemies rushed toward you. Leon immediately crouched and guided your character through a narrow passage.
He brought out a knife and sneak attacked a zombie to stealth kill it.
Then he got another stealth kill.
Then anotherâŚ
âLame,â You slouched in your chair and crossed your arms, âCâmon, just use the gun babe!â
Leon scoffed but didnât look away from the screen, âIâm preserving ammoâŚand your health.â
âStop babysitting digital me.â
One of the enemies suddenly lunged and grabbed your character. The screen darkened as a tendon in your neck was being ripped out of you and chewed on by an infected villager.
You let out a laugh, but Leon winced slightly and immediately stiffened at the image of seeing you hurt.
ââŚI donât like that.â
You pinched his stubbly cheek, âOh relax, itâs just a game. My neck is just fine, see?â
You tilted your head back to prove it and Leon rolled his eyes at your antics, but pressed a quick kiss there anyway.
Your character's demo ended and the controller was passed to you.
You chuckled mischievously, âAlright.â
Leon leaned back in the chair, folding his arms in amusement, âLetâs see it.â
You selected Leonâs character. The game loaded and within seconds you were sprinting directly into a group of enemies.
Leon furrowed his brow, âWhat are you doing?â
You mashed the attack button and Leonâs character grabbed an enemy and performed a brutal suplex.
The entire room erupted in shock, and the developer seemed a little too proud of that one.
You stared at the screen in shock, âWHAT.â
âHm, they even got the form right.â Leon mused quietly.
You turned toward him, âIs this what it feels like to be you?!â
Leon snorted at the prospect of performing a suplex at his age, âMaybe twenty years ago.â
You had just roundhouse kicked another infected hard enough to send it flying over a fence when the demo suddenly faded to black.
âAw,â you groaned. âDid I break it?â
The developer chuckled, âDonât worry Mrs. Kennedy, this is a cutscene.â
You straightened in curiosity as the screen faded back in.
Leonâs character was walking cautiously through a foggy courtyard, flashlight sweeping across broken stone and rusted gates.
Then another figure stepped out from the shadows, your character. The two of you stopped a few feet apart, both raising your weapons at the same time before slowly lowering them once they realized who the other was.
The developers had clearly gone all in on the cinematic angle, even the lighting was all dramatic. The camera slowly circled the scene and wind stirred Leonâs fur lined collar.
On screen, Leonâs character spoke first.
His voice actor had clearly studied Leonâs tone because the delivery was uncannily dry with that teasing lilt.
The camera shifted and your character walked slightly ahead for a moment while Leonâs character slowed behind her to hear what she was saying.
The real Leon leaned closer to the screen.
Just for a second, the fake Leonâs eyes dipped briefly then raked back up over your character's figure.
Leon exhaled, âThey got that part right.â
âWhat part?â You asked.
The developer chuckled and took the controller from you to rewind the scene, using the free camera feature to replay it from a different angle.
Sure enough, his character absolutely glanced down your characterâs ass for half a second before continuing forward like nothing happened.
You nudged Leon on the shoulder, âHah! They made you a desperate loser.â
âThe female developers studied you so hard, we figured it would be a shame to leave out the small details-like your stress lines and even your wandering eyesâŚâ The developer explained to Leon in a polite and meticulous manner.
Leon shifted, putting in a faux smile, âCanât have that now, can we?â
Needless to say, when the full game came out, you made sure to play the whole way through.
You actually enjoyed the gameplay and the storylineâŚAnd you may or may not have downloaded some questionable mods for your husband's character, but that was besides the point.
Leon was slowly padding around the hallway, just about to settle in on the couch and read an article on his phone when he saw the door to your gaming room was cracked open.
You were sitting in your chair, clicking away on your mouse and keyboard as you ran around the map using his character.
Cute. He thought, shaking his head fondly.
Sure, people coming up to him and asking for pictures was weird, but maybe it was a good thing he said yes. Otherwise, you wouldnât be sitting there all occupied and content in your own little world.
He was snapped out of his doting when he noticed something about his in-game character wasâŚoff.
That is, most of his clothes.
Leon squinted, peeking through the door just slightly.
He was bare from the waistline up, andâŚwere those pink cat ears on his head?
He shook his head, rubbing his dry eyes and turning away, deciding he doesnât have the energy tonight to find out.
I hope yâall enjoy Ęâ˘á´Ľâ˘Ę Iâm on spring break so I figured Iâd post more often this week. And this has been in my drafts for a while loll :p
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Fluff, kissing, slightly suggestive? (barely). Mostly silly and fluffy because I needed it. Established relationships.
Xavier__________
The retro game section of the arcade was practically a ghost town tonight, which suited you just fine. No audience for your embarrassing losing streak. The old pinball machine flickered under the dim lighting as you squared up for another attempt, determined this would be the run that finally knocked Xavier off the top of the leaderboard.
It wasn't.
You hear his quiet laughter behind you as the ball drains for the final time and you spin around, ready to voice every complaint forming in your head. Before a single word can escape, something soft and round is shoved directly in your face. A plushie. A little star-shaped one from the prize counter, held up by a very smug Xavier who immediately pitches his voice higher, puppeteering it with exaggerated sincerity.
"Donât worry. The machine is broken. Definitely broken!" he says in a ridiculous tone, the plushie bobbing with each word. Stupid star. "Xavier will report it to the manager immediately on your behalf. He told me so."
You press your lips together hard while nodding in agreement, refusing to laugh. The star plushie continues, âYour face is too pretty to be upset. Xavier says so. I, the plushie, am simply passing along the mes-"
You push the plushie aside with one hand and kiss him instead.
You feel him go still immediately, the silly voice cutting off mid-syllable. The giggles you were holding back finally start leaking out against his lips.Then you feel him lean in, to deepen the kiss but you pull back. The playfulness on his face has shifted into something altogether more dangerous. A slow, confident smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Almost challenging.
"Ah," he says quietly, "I am happy to play this game instead."
He steps forward and you step back, the edge of the pinball machine pressing into your back as he plants a hand on either side of you, caging you in with that maddeningly calm smile. He leans in and kisses you properly this time, one hand sliding to the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. You feel him breathe you in as the kiss deepens, unhurried and entirely unself-conscious, as though he'd completely forgotten where you were.
Suddenly, a child's voice rings out somewhere deeper in the arcade and you both break apart like you've been caught stealing. You look left, he looks right. Section still empty. You make eye contact and both burst out in guilty laughter. Then you smoosh his face in your hands for being naughty while he grins with no remorse. Â
Rafayel __________
You had fully intended to text him back. Truly. The morning had just gotten away from you with work and by the time you resurfaced, there were eleven messages and three missed calls, each one escalating in dramatic flair. You figured you'd just explain in person.
That was, perhaps, a miscalculation.
"Do you know how long I was waiting?" Rafayel starts the moment you walk through the door, turning from his canvas with a paintbrush still in hand and betrayal written all over his face. "I thought something happened to you. I thought maybe a wandererâŚâ he halts for a moment in thought and you take the opportunity to continue on your path towards him, âor actually no, I thought maybe you finally got tired of me and just decided not to-"
You close the distance between you, pinching his chin between your fingers and kiss him.
There is a pause. A very telling pause where you can practically hear the gears in his head grinding to a halt. Then he kisses you back without missing a beat, leaning into it before he seems to catch himself and pulls away. He blinks. Once. Twice. Like he's trying to remember what he was upset about. Then a scowl returns to his handsome face, though with noticeably less edge. Â
He opens his mouth.
"That was dirty, you can't just-"
You kiss him again. Shorter this time.
"Stop doing that, I'm trying to-"
Another kiss. This time you linger, tempting him to continue it before finally pulling back slightly.Â
He closes his mouth. Opens it. Closes it again. The wounded expression is crumbling rapidly, a stubborn smile breaking through despite every effort to hold onto his grievance. He points a finger at you, as though he still has something important to say, but he was struggling to keep up his facade of anger. You look at him with the most innocent expression you can manage, which only makes it worse for him.
"You're doing this on purpose," he accuses, though his voice has lost every drop of its earlier indignation, now just flat and almost judgemental.Â
"I have no idea what you mean," you say. You really were going to explain but it's easier to placate his mood first.Â
He exhales sharply through his nose, the last of his resistance giving out as a laugh escapes him despite himself. He drops the paintbrush onto the table without looking and pulls you in by the waist, kissing you slow and deliberate, the complaint dissolving completely. His hand finds the back of your head, tilting it just so, making absolutely sure you aren't going anywhere this time.
When you try to pull back he just laughs against your lips, his grip tightening. "No, no," he murmurs, the smile evident even now. "You ignored me all morning. You can stay here a while." A short pause, and then with great satisfaction, "Consider it your punishment."
Caleb__________
The claw machine had made an enemy of you today. A dozen devastating losses. The little plushie in the center of the pile had mocked you through the glass each time. You were starting to take it personally.
Caleb watched every single attempt with barely contained amusement, arms crossed, head tilted, the picture of someone having the time of their life at your expense. And now that you walked out of the arcade in defeat, he was full of joy.
"I genuinely don't know how you manage it," he says, voice laced with laughter as he falls into step beside you. "Every single time. It had it. It had it and then-" he makes a dropping gesture with his hand, shaking his head with a grin. "You're going home empty handed again. No new additions to the collection. Truly, it's a gift. A terrible, terrible gift."
"Are you done?" you ask flatly. Irritation flaring with each word escaping his mouth.
"Almost." He's clearly not. "I just think it's impressive, is all. Statistically speaking, most people get lucky at least once. But you-"
Yanking his arm towards you, you reach up and seal his lips with your own. Shut up!Â
He doesn't see it coming. For just a moment he freezes, eyes wide. When you pull back he looks away quickly, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. A grin spreading beneath his palm, the way his ears have gone the faintest shade of pink. He clears his throat.
You giggle at his bashful reaction, teasing him, âAt least I still have a Caleb to bring home. Though, unfortunately, he talks a lot more than a plushie.â
You watch him with a smile, waiting. Something shifts in his expression. then the embarrassment tipping over into something more decisive. The grin turns just a little bit mischievous. He rocks back on his heels, staring at a point somewhere above your head.
He takes your hand and steers you into the narrow alley between two nearby buildings. Your back meets the wall and one hand braced against the wall beside your head, the other finding your waist. All that earlier teasing energy redirected as his lips capture yours in a frenzied kiss. His movements were so feverish and boyish and so utterly Caleb that you feel yourself smiling against his lips.
He pulls back with that grin still firmly in place, bright and just a little smug, looking thoroughly pleased. He straightens up, tugs the hem of his jacket down with exaggerated composure, and offers you his hand.
"Alright," he says, as if nothing happened. "I think it's time you took your Caleb home."
Zayne___________
It had been a long day for both of you, and somewhere between recounting the latest hospital gossip and debating whether Dr. Grayson's new haircut was a cry for help, you had stopped contributing to the conversation entirely.
You were just looking at him. The soft lamp light, the way he spoke with that calm certainty he carried everywhere, the slight crease at the corner of his eye when something amused him. You weren't even fully conscious of the decision when you leaned up and kissed him, right in the middle of his sentence.
He goes still. Not tense, just paused, as though he was waiting to see what you would do next. Then you feel the quiet exhale of a chuckle against your lips before he kisses you back softly.
When you pull apart, there's a warmth in his eyes that he dresses up as teasing. "Was I boring you?" he asks. His arm, however, is pulling you closer as he says it.
"No," you say immediately, heat creeping up your neck. "Sorry. You can keep going."
He tilts his head, studying your flustered expression for a moment longer than necessary, clearly enjoying it. You reach up to cover your face and he catches your wrist gently, pulling your hand back down. He wants to see it, apparently.
"Don't," he says simply, something quiet and sincere breaking through the amusement.
Something about the way he says it makes your heart do something inconvenient. You look away first, which only makes him smile more.
"You were saying something," you remind him, trying to recover some dignity.
"I was." He doesn't continue. Instead, something shifts in his expression, the teasing settling into something softer and more certain. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "ButâŚI think," he says quietly, "your activity is far more entertaining."
He kisses you deeply this time, unhurried and deliberate in the way that Zayne does when he wants to take his time with you. Then he moves, rolling until the weight of him is above you and you're looking up at him in the low light, his eyes dark and fond all at once. The hospital gossip is very thoroughly forgotten. You find you don't mind at all as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.Â
Sylus_________
You heard him from the hallway. The tone said everything. It was clipped, controlled, but with an edge underneath it that only you would know to look for. By the time you slipped into his office, he was wrapping up the call with the kind of finality that left no room for argument. He locked eyes with you the moment you entered, tracking your movements through the office.
You crossed to his desk quietly, settling in beside him as you leaned against the edge of it. Waiting patiently, you reach over to run your fingers through his hair while he ends the call. He sets the phone down and leans his head back with an annoyed sigh.
"Everything okay?" you asked.
"It'll be dealt with." His voice was easy, assured, and almost convincing. He leaned back in his chair further, launching into a measured explanation of exactly how and why, because Sylus always had a plan. He was already thinking three moves ahead, you could see it in his eyes, but underneath the confidence there was still that low simmer of irritation.
âNo matter what, it will end the same. They are just making it more difficult for everyone.â A bit more of that irritation painting his voice. âIf they knew better they would have agreed to-â
You reach out and tilted his chin up gently, then kiss him.
The words stop. A beat passes, and then you feel him exhale. Something loosening in him as he kisses you back. When you pull away you meet his eyes and say simply, "And you'll deal with it." You give him a playful tap on the nose, which he teasingly snaps his teeth at. Â
He laughs, low and quiet, then pulls you off the desk and onto his lap like it's the most natural thing in the world, nuzzling his face against your cheek. The tension in his shoulders is already gone.
"I already knew that," he murmurs, tone shifting into something warmer and decidedly more suggestive. "Although I could still use a little comfort. Just to be thorough."
You wrap your arms around him and pull him into another kiss, which he deepens almost immediately, his hands beginning to wander in a way that is not at all subtle. You're just starting to lose track of the point when voices drift through from just beyond the office door. Two very distinct, familiar, and undeniable voices. The twins.
To neither of your surprise, a knock rasps on the door, the voices calling out for you while ignoring Sylus altogether. Sylus pulls back with a sigh so full of irritation that tonight's incident suddenly appeared pleasant. He doesn't need to say anything. You're already laughing as you respond to your boys.Â
âąâ ââ tags: smut, teasing, oral, cunnilingus, road head, car sex woohoo, pwp
âąâ ââ about: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, itâs safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with âinspirationâ for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. Partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji
âąâ ââ word count: 6.6K
art credit to @/kaito_aii on X
This is the last time you have sex on a weekday.
When Zayne left your apartment last night, you tried to write while the aftereffects of everything he did to you- everything he watched you do- still lingered. But you were beyond distracted, unable to even sit still without being assaulted with vivid flashbacks, a mix of mortification and lust coursing anew.Â
You shut your laptop and scream into your pillow.Â
Only after feeling sufficiently lightheaded do you shut off the lights and try to sleep, but the damned thing avoids you like the plague, and you stare at the ceiling for an untimed eternity. Everything feels wrong. Your blanket feels too thick, your skin too tight, the entire room too warm, too empty.
You donât get more than three hours of sleep that night.
But it should be common knowledge that hospitals rest for no one, and you jolt out of bed to the sound of your pager beeping, rushing in while the sky is still dark.
The ambulance pulls in at the same time you do and the paramedics are already yelling out the status to everyone at the bay: forty-three-year-old male, chest trauma, performing CPR. Itâs a race, a rush and rhythm you know well. Youâre scrubbed down and entering the operating room alongside two other surgeons. The patient is intubated and they give the countdown before cutting him open.
It took two and a half hours to perform the surgery and stop all the internal bleeding, and by the end of it, you were exhausted, both physically and mentally.Â
But this was the most in control youâve felt for a while. A sharp sort of stress that forced your hands into a trained precision and your mind into a rigorous sort of calm. It was almost as though you became a different person entirely, one you both admire and hate.Â
Sheâs calm and collected, only speaking when needed in commands to the operating room. She demands respect. She is who your mother is proud of, who you were supposed to be.
Youâve only just washed your hands and finished debriefing when you feel that half of you begin to slip away once more. And as the stress leaves, your mind wanders back to last night. To Zayne.
Thoughts that haunt you for the rest of the morning.
Finally, the clock hits eight and the ER is busy with the morning crowd. You do what you can until the other residents clock in, leaving to finally eat breakfast and get some sort of caffeine before your headache gets any worse.Â
Luckily, the vending machine has your favorite melonpan and green tea, and you get two of each. Sitting down, open your laptop and begin eating in the hallway outside the surgery bay, your manuscript staring right back at you, mocking.
Your eyes burn holes through the cursor blinking at the top of the page, and you try to will yourself to just type something, anything, but it doesn't work, and you end up slamming the computer shut with a sigh.
Unintentionally, your male lead has begun to resemble Zayne more and more- not physically, at least- but in his little mannerisms, his overly formal speech habit, and even his uncharacteristic love of sweets. Your lips quirk up at the memory.
But speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
Zayne comes from the other end of the hallway, looking like he also might be coming out from a surgery. Heâs only meters away when his eyes lock onto yours.
You straighten against the chair, a shiver of heat racing down your spine as his mere presence sends an onslaught of flashbacks that are nothing short of sinful.
Stop. What happened last night is part of a professional, mutually beneficial deal. Zayne is still your mentorâ your boss too, in some contextsâ and you refuse to have these thoughts about him in your place of work.
Smiling, your fingers still against the keyboard as you hope the whole thing doesnât look as strained as it feels.
Zayne looks the opposite of amused. If anything, he appears pissed.
His gaze narrows on you, and for a second, you think you spot something else behind the cold indifference. But the look passes as quickly as it appeared, his face back to its usual stony expression, and you must have imagined it.
âGood morning, Dr. Zayne,â you say.
Zayne stalls, shoulders tensing for a moment before he nods and continues walking. He doesnât spare you another glance as he passes, doesnât say another word, the awkward tension so thick it almost makes you choke on your melonpan.
Your eyes trail after him until he rounds the corner.
Well, that went splendidly.
You try to type again, but it turns out your brain is a useless lump of flesh because no matter how many times you read over the paragraph, the words fail to register. You huff out an exasperated breath, slam the laptop shut, and drag yourself to your office to prepare for rounds.
Even so, you go through your morning routine with a strained smile, a newfound weight pulling against your chest, a sharp sort of pain between guilt and longing youâve never felt before.Â
Zayne is going to lose his fucking mind.Â
He is an adult, he reminds himself. A well-mannered, respectful, professional adult.Â
So why canât he stop imagining your face underneath him as you come undone? Why canât he get the memory of every sound you made, the overly sweet way you said his name, the very cadence of your voice out of his head?Â
And the way you said please.Â
Zayne grinds his teeth hard enough that something clicks in the back of his jawbone, his usual flat expression twisted with a scowl that sends other doctors and residents scrambling out from his path. His clipboard groans under the pressure from his grip, and Zayne canât make it to his private office fast enough before he slams the door shut and drags his palm down his face.Â
He sees you every time he closes his eyes.
âFuck.â
Zayne swore to himself that helping you would change nothing in the workplace, and yet clearly, only one of you was mature enough to hold that part of your deal up.
This must be a new level of depravity Zayne never assumed he would stoop to.
But it had been torture to only watch you last night. A beautiful, painful torture he would subject himself to again and again and again just for the chance to have you writhing against him like that once more.Â
The way your doe eyes had practically begged for him to fuck you all on their own when he forced you to look up nearly made him come in his trousers. And thank god you were too far gone to notice how desperate he was, grinding insistently against your bedsheets while you came around his fingers. And nowâŚÂ
And now Zayne was fucking hard again in his office of all places.Â
It was a wonder he got anything done anymore.
Zayne hasn't had a lover in years and it's beginning to wear him thin. And yet, the idea of finding someone else to satiate his needs doesnât appeal to him in the slightest. Not when his mind is so consumed with the thought of you, and the sounds you made, the way you looked at him, the way your eyes would roll to the back of your head every time he curled his fingers into that spot inside of you.
God, he should have just asked you out on a date first.Â
Restraint had come easy to him. Zayne was practically raised on it, his very life dependent on his ability to restrain his Evol, the lives of others dependent on his patience and restraint in the operating room.Â
But no, when it came to you, everything failed him.Â
Maybe he had been a little harsh this morning. Zayne doesnât know. He doesn't want to think about it.
Running a hand through his hair, Zayne imagines bumping into you again. Would you still be happy to see him, smiling as you did this morning, or would you ignore him just as he did you?Â
âAbout this morning,â Zayne stops, restarts. âIâm sorry for avoiding conversation earlier today.â A groan, âNo, I canât begin like that. This morning I wasnât myself, there was a patient who required percutaneous coronary intervention and the stress must have gotten to me.âÂ
He tries again, and again, gesturing to his empty office before dragging a palm down his face. âI must be going insane.â
Zayne has never felt more foolish in his life.
He doesn't even have the excuse of a lack of experience in this field. In his previous relationships, he was always the one to initiate dates and intimacy, and it was the same with any relation that had lasted longer than one night.
But you are different.
The thought of taking his time with you makes him weak. To finally have your legs wrapped around his waist, to finally hear his name on your lips, to finally have your body pressed flush against his and hear you beg for him once more.
He wants to do so much more for you, wants you to use him as you need, to take and take everything he has to give. Wants to surrender to your every whim and every outrageous idea youâve ever had floating around in that unpredictable head of yours. Wants to taste you, and see if you taste as sweet as you sound when you beg.
Wants to know how your cunt feels and what face you would make when he finally, finally fucks you.
God, Zayne wants to ruin you.
He wants so badly it drives him mad.
Zayne can't avoid you, and he shouldnât. There are still matters to discuss for your novel and a deal to hold up. He is a man of his word.
A date.
That could work. Just a way to get closer, as colleagues, as partners.Â
You would have to spend time together outside the hospital, where the air is clear of any distractions and expectations and Zayne can get his head on straight. Even moreso, it should be something nice, something that will hopefully take your mind off your impending deadline.Â
Right, that would be perfect. An opportunity to simply be providing you with the proper inspiration and guidance, as a good mentor should, and keep his end of the deal should you ask for another inspiration session.
Turning back in his chair, Zayne begins filtering through his email and paper files, until something slips from the growing stack.Â
The annual charity gala.
As a resident yourself, you were likely already invited, so proposing the two of you go together shouldnât be too ostentatious, right?
Zayne stares down at the gilded gold lettering.
No. It was definitely out of line in so many ways. But the only other option was to continue down this path, to continue fooling himself that he only agreed to be your fuck buddy out of courtesy and care, and not these wretched thoughts that plauge his every waking moment.Â
It would mean heâd be completely at your mercy for seeing you next, whenever you needed him. Or his body, at least.
Zayne doesnât have the willpower to last that long. Besides, this is more efficient.
So, Zayne opens the letter, pulls the invitation card from its envelope, and begins drafting an email to you in hopes of preserving a little bit of his dignity.Â
He didnât even have to wait an hour to get your response: you said yes.Â
______
Zayne opens the car door for you, ever the gentleman.Â
Sliding into the passenger seat, you take extra care not to snag the hem of your cocktail dress on your heels or the door. By the time you buckle your seat belt, and the car roars to life, dashboard glowing a soft orange.
"Ready?" Zayne asks, adjusting his cuff as he begins to reverse out of the parking spot.
Itâs the first time Zayne has formally invited you to be his plus one, and the thought of being seen beside him like this- at such a formal gala, no less- is all at once thrilling and nauseating.
Zayne steals another glance at you, and where your hands lay clenched in your lap. "Itâs just a hospital event, you may very well see other residents there."
A laugh. "I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse."
Even without the extra stress from attending this gala, your stomach has been in knots all day long-- your manuscript is due in less than a week. Youâve written a lot, and Zayneâs hands-on âexperienceâ helped you get ample inspiration for most of the main scenes. Yet you can feel the deadline creeping up, the sense of impending doom looming over you.
Of course Zayne notices. "We'll try and have fun, it's just a couple of hours. I heard they also have billiard tables, if youâre interested?â A tap on the steering wheel, then he adds, a little quieter, âYour dress is nice. The color suits you.â
You smile, but your eyes donât leave the road. Instead, you seem to zone out on the row of streetlights, shadows cast over your face as they pass by, one by one.Â
âYou clean up pretty well yourself, doctor.â
Zayne continues. âTell me more about your novelâs progress, then. If you need any more assistanceâŚâ he trails off, and you feel a prickling heat creep up the back of your neck. Finally, you look away from the window, and Zayne relaxes against his seat.Â
So you begin to tell him about the newest trope your editor wants you to include, a classic in enemies-to-lovers books: forced proximity. âThe concept is great. Who doesnât love it when the two characters who swear they hate each other accidentally get stuck together and turned on at the worst possible time?âÂ
You ramble, propping your arm against the car armrest as you turn to face Zayne. "So,â you say, âI'm trying to think of ways they could find themselves in such a situation. Maybe they're cornered by guards or captured by a mutual enemy, or we combine the classic injury trope so they canât move.âÂ
"That is one option," he says, eyes still on the road. A turn, and Zayne shifts gears as the car speeds ahead.Â
âA classic my mind says no, but my body says yes dilemma.â You debate telling Zayne about the premise around aphrodisiacs and sex pollen, but you think that really might be pushing him too far. You are in a car, after all, and an accident is the last thing you want.Â
Instead, you ask, "Have you read any enemy-to-lover books?"
He shrugs. "I've had some experience."
"I'm sure you have."
Zayne shoots you a sharp look. Your smile grows, slow and wicked.Â
"And I've done a bit of research," he clarifies, voice flat just to prove a point.
"Right, research."
"Well, to best help you, I thoughtâŚâ Zayneâs brows furrow as he merges lanes, letting the blinking of the indicator fill the silence before clearing his throat. âI thought reading a book or two in the same field would help me understand your own book better. I must say yours is far better written than some of these popular novels.âÂ
The mental image of Zayne sneaking a read at some filthy romantasy book has you giggling.
"And youâre sure that's the reason?â
"Of course," he says, though his face is slightly pink.
You feign suspicion, poking at Zayneâs arm. "What if this whole time, youâve been hunting me down as a means to read my unreleased books? Then the only reason you agreed to this arrangement is because you're secretly a stalker fan."
"Interesting theory,â a smirk, one you see pull at the corner of Zayneâs lips. âBut not the only reason."
"Oh? Whatâs the other then?"
Zayne smiles, the dim light from the dashboard sharpening his features. Another turn, you spare a glance at the GPS only to see youâre nearly at the gala venue. But still, no answer came, not as Zayne seemed to refocus on the road, shifting gears as the light turns green.Â
You groan, âYouâre not even listening anymore.âÂ
âI am.â Zayne shoots you a look from the corner of his eye, one hand leaving the wheel to rest against your thigh. âThere is, however, a difference between listening and answering.âÂ
But now itâs your turn to stop listening. You canât, not when his thumb does that thing again, tracing mindless circles against your inner thigh while he looks back at the road.Â
It does something, to have his hand there, warm and heavy. Something that has your thighs pressing together, heat creeping down your neck.
Zayne catches the motion. Of course, he does. And he squeezes, just a little.
And then a brilliantly wretched idea hits you.
"Do you have any suggestions?" You ask, trying to keep your tone innocent, even as you part your thighs just a little further. "I mean, you did research and all. Surely, you remember something useful about the plots. Or the sex scenes."
"The sex scenes," Zayne echoes, his voice tight.
"Well, yes. They're kind of important. They're why people buy the books." You lick your lips. "For example, surely one of those books you read for research had interesting forbidden tropes?"
"It's likely." His jaw ticks. "You'll have to be more specific.â
"Well..." you draw the word out, shifting in your seat. âYou know where else would be a really inappropriate place for a character to get a boner?â Reaching over, you glide your hand up Zayneâs thigh, mirroring his placement on your own. âIn a car, doctor.â
Zayne thanked every god for their mercy the moment he got to a red light, car jolting to a halt as he eyed you with a frown.
âBehave," he scolds. "This is beyond reckless."
The genuine frustration edged into Zayneâs voice makes you hesitate, and you move to sit up, retreating your hand from his thigh when it brushes past something unmistakably hard.Â
You feel Zayne tense beneath you, the car jerking forward before speeding along as though nothing had happened. Oh, but your lips cracked into a vicious grin as you stretched your way fully over the center console, wriggling your ass in the air on the far side of the seat.Â
Really, you should have realized that the stern, self-deprived Zayne gets off on scolding you as much as you did.Â
You watch him closely, but despite his harsh words, he never moves to actually stop you. So you continue, scraping your nails up his trousers as your mouth follows, hot breath leaving damp spots against the expensive cotton as Zayneâs thigh jumps under your touch.Â
God, the click of his belt coming undone elicited a nearly Pavlovian response at this point, the sound of metal on metal making something in your core flutter. You waste no time going for his zipper, palming at the bulge straining into your touch as it pushes out from between the metal all on its own.
Zayne laments all the trust you placed in him as a driver. Despite being only minutes from the venue, he swore he was gripping the steering wheel hard enough for it to snap. A car behind him honks and Zayne swears under his breath, thoughts clouding over as your hands finish sliding his zipper down, gently palming at his cock as he inhales sharply at the feeling of your hot breath over clothed skin.
And the moan Zayne lets out when you lick the head of his cock is enough to have you gushing. But you never take him any deeper, blocked by your position over the passenger seat, settling with unsatisfactory kitten licks up and down his length, leaving sloppy marks without ever speeding up.Â
Zayne shudders, huffing in frustration and restraint as he unconsciously tries to buck himself into your mouth, failing due to the awkward side angle you placed yourself in. Instead, you splay your hands over his lower belly, untucking his shirt as your fingers rub against his v-line, as you begin to suck just barely over this throbbing head.Â
âYou shouldnâtâ fuck." His jaw flexes, and his fingers are white-knuckled, the veins in his forearms standing out with the strain.
The shock of hearing Zayne curse was almost a physical blow. The word was spoken more like a prayer than a profanity, something desperate and violent caught in his throat, a warning and plea all at once. It made something hot coil deep in your gut.
It made you want to push him further.
You must have made some type of sound muffled over his cock because Zayne hisses, his hand coming down from the steering wheel to grab at your hair, fingers threading into your scalp and pulling, just enough to hurt.Â
"You are absolutely insufferable." Zayne's voice breaks into a moan. "Stop teasing me."
You pull off of him with a wet pop, sitting up and wiping the drool from your chin. "But Iâm hardly doing anything. Donât tell me youâre getting so hard just from a few kisses."
"Reckless. Lack of foresight. Do I need to teach you how to behave like an adult?" Zayne's grip on the steering wheel tightens, his jaw clenching. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him.
"No," you lean forward and kiss the head, lips wrapping around it as you swirl your tongue. Zayne's foot presses down on the gas and the car jerks forward. "But maybe I could use some help learning my lesson."
You swallow him down, and his hips jump. Humming around him, Zayneâs cock twitches, and before you can stabilize yourself heâs pushing your head down further. You donât think he realizes heâs doing it, not with the way his hips stutter upwards, thickly corded muscles of his thighs tensing as you nearly choke.Â
Another broken moan fills the car alongside the wet sounds of your mouth, drool leaking from the corners of your lips as his cock bumps the back of your throat. You gag, and Zayneâs grip on your head finally loosens, the wheels spinning over loose gravel as you pull off just to breathe.
You can't see him, not with the angle, but the feeling of his eyes on you, burning into the side of your face, and the heavy throb of his cock against your tongue was enough to know just how close he is.Â
You're so distracted, tears blurring your vision, that you don't notice the car has stopped, not until Zayne's other hand is reaching over to cup your jaw, forcing your mouth off his cock and forcing your head up to look at him.
The moment your eyes meet, he frowns, thumb rubbing across your bottom lip, cleaning your smeared lipstick and spit from your ministrations. "Look at you," he hums. "What a mess."
The nearby spots in the lot are empty, but youâve arrived early, and you can see cars parking close enough to send your heart racing.Â
You glance at the clock- seven forty-six- and you know despite how Zayneâs windows are tinted, it would take someone looking over from a meter or so away to see the two of you, to see the way Zayne's hands are fisted in your hair, to see you arched over the middle console, to see how hard he was and hear the slick, wet noises you made around his cock.
You nearly yelp as Zayne pushes you off his lap, messily tucking himself back into his trousers before climbing out the door. It shuts with a bang and youâre about to scramble up when you hear the passenger door open and are roughly hauled out of the car and slung over Zayneâs shoulder.
You donât even have time to scream. The next thing you know, you're being tossed on your back into the back seat, barely having time to right yourself before Zayne follows you, door slamming shut. He's pulling at your dress, bunching the fabric up and around your waist before dragging you under him.
âDid I not satisfy you thoroughly enough last time?â Zayne scolds between breaths, teeth scraping over your pulse point before he bites down. âOr perhaps what I should have realized is that youâre simply a filthy little girl who gets off on being punished?â
The sound you let out is obscene, a whiny moan that has Zayne groaning as he pulls away, his mouth slick and shiny with spit. He grinds his cock against your stomach, his hand coming around your throat and forcing you to face him.
Itâs almost effortless, the way he holds you against him, folding your thighs to your chest as he bends to avoid hitting the roof of his car. His cock is still rock hard and pressed against the back of your thighs, only the thin slip of your dress shielding you from his greedy eyes.
"Zayne- fuck, we're gonna be late." You choke out, a gasp following as his hips grind into yours.
âAnswer the question.â
Another bite to the plush above your breast and you cry, fearing more for the possibility that he leaves a permanent mark more than anything else. As if hearing that, Zayne bites again. Harder.Â
âYes!â You thrash, trying to kick him off you but thereâs little room in the back seats and the leather sticks to your sweat-slick back as Zayne works to pin your hips. âYes, Iâm sorry. I onlyâ I wanted to see how long youâd last.â
A laugh, short and cruel. âHow long Iâd last?âÂ
Zayne grabs your wrists and holds them over your head. He leans close, so his lips brush yours when he speaks, and the words are low and soft. Dangerous.
"Well, then. Allow me to return the favor.â Zayne lifts your leg, pressing a kiss to your calf as your foot hits the window, one heel falling off with a thud. âIf memory serves me right, isnât this a trope too?âÂ
Itâs almost effortless, the way he lifts your hips all the way up, your legs kicking helplessly over his shoulders as theyâre forced up against the roof of the car. Shifting his weight around in the tight space, Zayne coaxes your calves to cross behind his neck, giving a small grunt as his face is pressed into your inner thighs, one arm straining against the leather of the car seats.Â
âWhere theyâre stuck in a small space, right?â Zayneâs eyes never leave yours. âMaybe a cave,â his tongue trails up the bare skin of your quivering thigh, âUnder a desk,â licking his way up, âin a car?â
He doesnât give you a chance to answer, not when the heat of his mouth presses directly onto your clothed clit, licking over the lace of your panties as you arch off the leather seats.
Youâre already a dripping mess, writhing against the leather of the seats and the hard muscle of Zayne's shoulders, the sensation of his hot tongue pushing against your clit through the lace a painful sort of pleasure. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Zayne pulls off and stares at the string of his spit and your arousal, warm and sticky, against the soaked patch of cotton between your legs connecting to his lips. Involuntarily, he bucks into the cold emptiness underneath you.
Fuck, heâs so hard he might come from this alone.
You hardly notice, not with the way every muscle and nerve quivers and begs for release, jaw falling slack as Zayneâs lips are quick to tease you again, this time pressing his tongue flat against the crotch of your panties and laving across the entire seam. The gorgeous arch of his nose presses up into your clit, and you moan, one hand flailing backways as it slides against the fogged-up window.Â
"Zayne, fucking hell, just eat me out properly!" The curses tumble out of your mouth before you can think of the repercussions, but there was no way he could keep eating you out through the material, no matter how good it felt.
"So desperate." Zayne mumbles between open-mouthed kisses to your cunt, "So needy."
"Fuck- please," You draw one hand through his hair, pulling his face closer. "Please, please, please-"
"Poor thing. I suppose it would be against my oath to leave my patient in such pain." And he roughly presses his thumb up against the hood of your clit.
You sob, hands scrambling for something- anything- to hold on to as they slip down the window and dig into the leather of the seats. But Zayne was nothing if not observant from your last night together, and it doesn't take long for you to cum as soon as his mouth latches onto your poor neglected cunt through your panties.Â
Still riding out each trembling wave of your orgasm, Zayne doesnât fight the way your thighs clench around his head, kissing you through it until he readjusts your legs against his shoulders, forcing you higher onto your upper back. His fingers toy with the edge of the fabric, pleased with the way it sticks to your skin.Â
All you can focus on is his breathing, heavy and fast, as he stares down at your cunt so intensely it makes you blush, helplessly exposed with your thighs pinned across his broad shoulders. Spread for him like every inch of the offering he intended on devouring you as. His goddess, his sacrificial lamb. Gods, he wants to know how every part of you tastes.
Zayneâs cock twitches again, and he shudders violently, a fat glob of precum falling onto the leather seats below, mixing with your slick that has already slid down his chin and your thighs.
If left alone, no doubt itâll stain.Â
âLook at the mess you made.â Zayne scolds, forcing your jaw to the side so you can see the puddle staining the seats. You whimper, and Zayne shakes his head. âWell, we canât just leave it. I suppose Iâll have to teach you to take responsibility for your actions.âÂ
Your hips jump. It's so hard to focus when he's talking like that, and the only coherent thought you can muster is that Zayne would be a fantastic writer if he ever decided to switch professions.
But he begins to shift you around, and your brows furrow as Zayneâs hand dips between the two of you, down to the leather, sweeping across the splattered mix of cum with two fingers before forcing your jaw towards him again.Â
âClean up your mess.âÂ
You think something is permanently fucked in your brain with the way your cunt flutters at that.Â
Zayneâs unyielding face stares down at you, his dripping fingers pressed against your lips as you wrap around them and suck. Itâs heady, the scent of sex overwhelming as Zayne practically fucks the digits into your mouth, sliding them against your tongue until you gag, thumb tracing loving circles against your bottom lip as though coaxing you to take them deeper.Â
Only after gagging twice more does Zayne take mercy on you, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth. Instead, the pads of his fingers press against your tongue, and you take the hint, beginning to suck at them until the taste of you disappears.Â
His fingers slip from your mouth, a trail of spit connecting his fingers and your mouth before Zayne breaks it. Your tongue flicks out to swipe at the excess drool, and he wipes your bottom lip.Â
âGood girl, tasting just how desperate you are.â Every word of praise Zayne whispers goes straight to your cunt, nearly making you dizzy until he finally sits back.Â
âAnd nowâŚâ he finally moves to push the ruined fabric to the side, âI get to taste, too.â
The feeling of his hot tongue directly on your slit nearly has you in tears, and your hand lurches into Zayneâs hair to force him closer.Â
âNo pulling. Behave,â Zayne warns. âThis is still meant to be discipline for your earlier stunt on the road.â
Whimpering, you nod, parted lips swollen and shiny from the abuse Zayne put them under with his fingers. Satisfied, Zayne finally gives you what you need, kissing the swollen flesh of your clit directly before curling two fingers into your aching cunt.Â
âZayne-â
Heâs addicted to the way you say his name. Heâs addicted, and heâs going to come in his pants if you donât stop.Â
You begin begging again before Zayne covers your mouth with the palm of his hand, muffled cries still enough to drive him insane as he focuses on getting you past that high.Â
Despite his threats, you canât help but tug at Zayneâs hair, needing him against you as your hips began moving or their own accord, bucking and grinding senselessly against his face until you were practically riding his tongue. Chest heaving, you looked up to see him staring directly at you, silhouetted from the car window, green eyes nearly aglow with wretched desire.
Just like that, youâre coming, hard, thighs clenching down around Zayneâs head until heâs certain youâre trying to kill him. But gods, he never wants you to stop.
Addicted, Zayne presses open mouthed kisses to your cunt, swallowing everything you give him as his eyes roll back.
Desperate, you try to crawl away from him, but thereâs nowhere to go. Your head hits the car door before Zayne drags you right back, forcing your hips up higher as your back is arched into the air, nearly perpendicular as you sob, legs kicking over his shoulders.Â
But still, Zayne continues, and he knows. He feels it the moment your thighs lock up, the way your stomach goes tight and the way your senseless pleading still muffled by his palm reaches a higher pitch. And he takes advantage, not letting up as he curls his fingers until your cunt clenches down on his digits and tongue, squirting into his mouth. Â
Almost in apology, Zayne finally withdraws his fingers as he opts to instead clean you directly with his tongue, nose accidentally overstimulating your swollen clit as you weakly fight to push his head away.
Zayne takes the hint this time, lowering your sore legs onto the seats below, finally set on a solid surface after being held in the air for so long. The slit of your dress is askew across your stomach instead of thigh, and Zayne gently tugs it back into place.
Leaning down, he picks up your forgotten heel before slipping it back into your foot, buckling it as you shiver every time his fingers brush your ankle.Â
When Zayne finally faces you again, the lower half of his face is a complete mess, and you should be mortified never having squirted before let alone on your mentorâs face.Â
But Zayne merely wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smiling like the slick dripping down his chin was won in victory and not debauchery. âWell then, shall we?â
âąâ ââ about: Rafayel and Xavier have always been there for you. One is your fire, your passion, the twin flame to your temper. The other is your light, a guiding beacon, your twin star. So when you have a nightmare, they take it upon themselves to comfort and remind you of their unconditional devotion. Even if it does lead to competition every now and then.
âąâ ââ a/n: apologies to the two random strangers on the plane that I sat next to when the idea of this fic possessed me. I really, really hope you didn't read anything I was frantically writing down in the midst of me finishing my work report cause that shit was nasty.
art credit and inspiration due to the wonderful @/sakimenz
Lonely star, who do you shine for?
The weight of all your pasts- of all your futures- the guilt and pride you carry will only cause you to collapse, and all that will be left will be an all-consuming black hole.Â
Your desperation wonât bring your sun back.Â
Lonely king, donât you know a kingdom devoid of life is a crown devoid of purpose?
You were the fire that left them, and all you have to show for the betrayal is a drowned memory and a heart wrenched from your chest, a broken promise and a forgotten story.Â
Youâve changed with each lifetime, but youâll forever be at the mercy of fate.Â
And you? Youâre the very curse that haunts them.Â
Claws, so cold they burn, emerge from the darkness before piercing through flesh, tearing through muscle and bone as they dig into your ribcage, dragging you down into the shadows. Drowning, falling. Youâre spiraling through lifetimes of failure, lifetimes of pain both your own and not, all while the claws dig closer and closer to your heart, clutching the muscle like a songbird in a cage.Â
Itâs the price, the price you must pay for all this pain youâve caused, for dooming a star and killing a god.Â
The clawed hand wraps around your heart, the piercing into the fluttering pulse faster and faster untilâ
You wake up crying.Â
A hot trail of tears slides into the pillows, and a sniffle rakes through your body, the sudden movement causing a subtle disturbance to the two forms still sound asleep on either side of you.Â
Funny, you canât remember a thing, but thereâs a painful throb in your chest. Youâll take another dose of your heart medicine in the morning.Â
But for now, your bedroom is still dulled by the pale blue moonlight filtering through the curtains, and youâre in no hurry to get out of the warm covers and their embrace.Â
The nightmares have become routine at this point. You never remember what they are, but you wake up with a sense of fear and dread, as though you can feel the pain all over again. Itâs best not to think too much about it.
Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you inhale shakily one last time, trying to shake off the looming feeling when the arm around your waist shifts, tugging lightly at your loose sleep shirt before slipping under to massage the skin beneath. You let out a soft sigh, a light shudder going through your body as the gentle hands work away the tension.
âThe same?â Rafayelâs words are slurred with sleep and concern, hot breath dancing along the crook of your neck as he props himself up on his elbow. You nod.
Rafayel makes a small, displeased noise before his other arm pulls you closer, his bare chest now flush against your back. The sudden movement forces Xavier, who was once tucked against your shoulder, further away, grumbling at the loss even in his sleep.
His face scrunches, brows furrowed together before the corners of his lips turn downward, and he blindly reaches for you. He eventually finds the curve of your waist, and his hand tightens on the fabric of your shirt as it slides in above Rafayelâs.
A huff, and Xavier buries his face back into your chest, his warm breath tickling you. And then, gentle snoresâ you should've known better than to think that would be enough to wake him.
Rafayel, still pressed firmly against your back, begins to move, propping his body up just enough to look you in the eyes as he wipes a stray tear from your cheek. "Wanna talk about it, cutie?"
âI⌠I think you were there, both of you. But it felt lonely, painful.â
Rafayel's face contorts into a worried expression, his hand moves down your cheek, cupping your jaw, and you lean into his warm caress with a sigh.
You place a kiss on his palm. "It's okay, just a scary dream. Nothing real. Nothing to worry about." You repeat it, more to yourself than Rafayel, but his arms wrap around you anyway.
And yet Rafayel looks at you with a deep furrow in his brow, a seriousness youâve almost never seen on him.
You give him a questioning look, but his lips press to yours in a searing kiss, stealing the air from your lungs. He pulls away only for a second, whispering sweet nothings against your skin before returning his lips to yours, the hand cradling your face slipping down to rest on your hip.
He kisses you softly, gently. First pressing a trail of light, chaste kisses along your jaw, the corners of your mouth, and nose, then moving back to your lips. âWeâll never leave you. Weâd tear through every universe, every destiny to get back to you.â
Strange, how Rafayel says it with all the reverence of a vow.Â
You want to tease him for the sudden declaration, for making all this fuss over a stupid dream, but you never have the opportunity, not when Rafayel's signature smirk settles back onto his lips.Â
His hand slides down to your thighs, fingers teasing around the band of your sleep shorts, toying, pressing, but never crossing the self-imposed boundary of your clothes. âUnless, youâd prefer it if I proved it to you?â
âRafayel,â you warn, hoping your narrowed glare would dissuade him.
Of course the man only seems to take that as a challenge, smile widening as you flinch at the cold touch creeping under your shirt. One palm traces up your ribcage, long, nimble fingers rubbing circles against your skin until he brushes the underside of your breast.Â
You shudder, hissing out another string of curses before turning around so your back is to Rafayel.Â
Really, you should know better than to think that alone would be enough, and a hot trail of kisses now joins his wandering hands down your shoulder blade. They start innocent enough, sweet, lingering touches along the hem of your shirt, but that quickly changes when Rafayelâs arm under your shirt practically yanks it up, sucking wet, messy kisses into the bare curves of your chest.
Each nip against your sensitive flesh forces the possibility of sleep further and further away, and you resort to distracting yourself with the motionless silhouette of Xavier. Petting through his hair, your rhythm is jolted every time Rafayel decides to leave a mark, nails pulling through Xavierâs locks as you bite your lip on a moan.
You don't miss the curve of his smirk against your skin, and the next kiss is accompanied by a bite, hard enough to elicit a sharp gasp that stirs Xavier. Tense, you scan the blonde's face, but he's nothing if not a heavy sleeper, and he nuzzles further into your touch, still unconscious as his head tucks under yours.
You don't get to sigh in relief. Instead, a whine builds in your throat, the wet heat of Rafayel's teeth tugging on the strap of your underwear as he fists your sleep shorts down.
"Rafayel, stop it,â you hiss as his hot breath hits the already embarrassingly damp center of your underwear.
His smile grows, lips brushing against your clothed core as he tilts his head. âHmm? But you donât sound like you want me to stop. And she certainly doesnât sound like it either.â Two fingers dip under the band, and he parts your cunt with a lewd click.
Your face flushes in embarrassment, refusing to acknowledge just how easily your body gives in to them. One hand leaves Xavier, roughly fisting into Rafayelâs curls as he groans from the sharp pressure. âThatâs because you and Xavier refused to wear protection!âÂ
The accusation earns a hushed laugh, his shoulders shaking against the insides of your thighs. It would have been innocent, the same contagious sort of smile gracing Rafayelâs face, if not the shadows cast across his face in the dark, teeth gleaming like fangs as he traces his tongue up the entire length of your clothed cunt.Â
"Mâsorry, we thought you'd enjoy the mess," he says, words muffled over your thighs, nose practically buried in between. "How can I make it up to you, cutie?â
You donât get a chance to respond, not when Rafayelâs tongue dives into your clothed cunt, moaning against the soaked fabric as you gasp and force him closer by his hair. To muffle his sounds, you tell yourself. A pathetic lie considering how much louder he gets now, nose grinding up against your clit as his tongue tries to press into your fluttering cunt even with the barrier of cloth in between.Â
God, heâs addicted, and it doesnât take long until Rafayelâs spit and your slick soak through your underwear, the near-translucent fabric sticking to your lips as the bare minimum friction nearly drives you insane.Â
âSay it,â Rafayel whines, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. âPlease, just tell me how badly you want me. Tell me, and Iâll do anything you ask.â
Like he wouldnât already.
But how could you ever deny him when he begs so sweetly?Â
Your palm cups his face, watching his near-wrecked expression and flushed skin tremble beneath your fingers. âIâm yours, Rafayel.â
And the fabric is ripped into pieces.Â
Refusing to even breathe, Rafayel places an opened-mouth kiss on your cunt, lapping up your slick with the most satisfied moan. He doesn't waste any time, not while your confession coated his mind with the sweetest type of intoxication, eating you out like he was depraved.
He might as well have been with how he moans, hips grinding desperately against the edge of the mattress, his not-entirely human tongue curling in and out of you as it writhes with terrifying accuracy against your walls.
It feels too good to be ashamed of the noises you make, gasping and crying out until you slam your palm over your mouth, biting down hard as the other claws into Rafayelâs hair. You can barely control yourself, half fighting to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure, half rocking your hips up and down his face as you jerk him closer.Â
âMhm, greedy.â Fucked-out, broken little grunts leave his throat before his words are muffled into your cunt, not baring to part for even a breath. âPull on it, please. Harder.âÂ
You tug Rafayelâs hair almost in vengeance when he purposefully kisses away from where you need him most, licking and sucking obscenely into your thighs just to hear your frustrated cries even over your hand.Â
He loved being used like this, so long as it was you.Â
So long as it was him that turned you into such a beautiful, pathetic mess.Â
It's not long until Rafayel pulls you close to the edge, nose pressing against your clit while thrusting his tongue into you, eyes rolling back from the taste and from the thought of your tight heat fluttering around his cock instead.Â
And then, he stops, pulling away and leaving you gasping into the tear-stained pillow.
You bite back a sob, releasing only a choked little noise that has Rafayel's eyes flicking up to your face, the soft, concerned look in his eyes melting into something far more dangerous.
With viciously dilated pupils and your slick dripping from his mouth, Rafayel stares you down as every inch the dangerous siren the legends claimed him to be. He smiles, tongue raking over his teeth as though he couldnât get enough of your taste, and you swear youâd let him eat your heart and soul. Gods, youâd let him eat you whole.Â
You realize you must have made a sound, because Rafayel hushes you, pressing quick kisses to your knee. "Aw, what happened to being quiet? Aren't you afraid we'll wake the poor sleeping bunny?"Â
At the mention of your other partner, you turn to where Xavierâs nuzzling his face further into your side, each warm breath damp against your feverish skin, still lost to the realm of dreams.
Not that Rafayel allows your attention to turn away from himself for too long.Â
He leans over Xavier, the hand that wasnât supporting his weight cupping your face, and his lips are crashing into yours with all the viciousness of a summer seastorm. Your lips part, and Rafeyel fucks his tongue into your mouth the same he did your pussy, wet and desperate, the taste of yourself enough to make you dizzy.Â
"Tell me,â Rafayelâs tone dips into something darker, kissing down your throat and stomach as he eyes Xavier. âWhoâs the better lover?"Â
Xavier's fingers flex, the tips brushing against the curve of your breast as he sleeps, and Rafayel's smile is almost predatory.
"D-don't ask stupid questions you dumb fish," your voice cracks as Rafayel's mouth ghosts over your cunt, teeth bared to your thigh, threatening to bite. "I chose you both."
The confession, as expected, doesn't please him. If anything, he seems overly offended, pouting and huffing a cold breath of air right against your aching core. The chill makes you squirm, trying to force him back to your center with the grip you have on his hair.
"No. Nope. That's not an answer."
"Rafâ"
His name breaks off in a moan, sound ripped from your throat as Rafayel's thumb starts rubbing firm circles around your neglected clit. He doesn't relent, the pressure too much, too quick, your body already trembling from the pleasure Rafayel knows how to torture you with.
Only, it seems that all your sudden noise and movement have finally begun to affect Xavier. Not enough to wake him, but enough that you can hear his breathing become heavier, following your every twitch and buck from Rafayelâs onslaught as his body begins to grind into yours.
Mumbling into your neck, Xavierâs hand tightens around your waist before slipping under your shirt to palm your breasts, squeezing and kneading until the touch has you keening.
Xavier's still fast asleep, nonsensical words slurred against your skin, and yet his body is now far from it. His erection is thick and heavy against your hips, grinding desperately into your warmth almost in time to Rafayelâs ministrations, whimpering under his breath with every forceful thrust.Â
Rafayel notices too, his gaze drifting up to the blond. You can't see his face, already busied between your legs once more, but a pleased hum vibrates through his entire body, fingers finally slipping into your cunt as he curls them just right, your back arching off the sheets with a silent scream.Â
Xavier whines at your sudden thrashing, tugging you closer and unknowingly forcing you immobile and at complete mercy to Rafayelâs unfairly skilled fingers. "Mhm, so warm. Please, mâwant to..." Another needy, slow grind against you follows his sleepy request.Â
"Rafayel," you choke out a muffled plea, but his eyes only narrow, taking a breath as his free hand grabs at Xavier's ass, the touch just light enough to tease and make him rut harder against you.
"What is it, cutie? Don't pretend like you don't want more, not when your pretty pussy's drooling for his cock. Sheâs so needy, am I not enough?â
Rafayel rests his head on the inside of your thigh, fingers thrusting roughly into that sweet spongy spot inside you just as his other hand wraps around the base of Xavier's cock through his boxers, thumbing over the pre-cum staining the dark fabric.Â
You're forced to bite down on the pillow beneath your head to stop the desperate cry tearing itself out of your throat. "This isnât- ah- isnât right."
"Isn't it? Youâre dripping and the little bunnyâs still asleep, yet look how desperate he is, rutting against you." Rafayel's voice dips, a raspy edge from his throat still fucking into you making it even more sinful, slurping everything you give him around his fingers before it drips down his wrist and into a puddle below. A huff, âI should get rewarded with how much effort Iâm putting in.â
You cry out, legs trembling as his thumb begins its relentless attack on your clit, tracing mindless circles just random enough to keep you on edge. You're close, and Rafayel can feel it.
Xavier isnât faring much better, whimpering a string of incoherent pleas into the crook of your neck as his hips keep rocking into the fist around him. He doesn't take his mouth away from the skin of your shoulder, biting down on it as he cums, shuddering and whimpering as the mess splatters down Rafayel's knuckles and onto your thighs.Â
âYouâre next. If you wonât be honest with me, Iâll make your body is.â Rafayelâs taunt is the last coherent thing you remember before you come. Hard. His words ring against your skull as his fingers pump into you faster, and the pressure against your clit becomes almost unbearable, and you're falling apart, crying and thrashing, the only thing keeping you grounded is the feeling of Rafayel's weight and the scent of Xavier's strawberry shampoo, and thenâ
Rafayel finally shuts up to let you ride his face through your high, letting you use him as your thighs lock around his head, grinding desperately as though he were no more than a toy. No chance of breathing, no chance of escape.Â
Not that he could care less, not as long as he could keep his lips around your gushing cunt, humming and sucking into your release as cum sprays over his tongue and down his chin. Gods, he could never get enough of this.
You're still shaking through your orgasm, pliant and stupid from the dizzying pleasure, that you don't notice the rustle of sheets until a second pair of hands slide down your thighs.Â
"Youâre doing this without me?"Â
Xavierâs voice is a whisper, husky from sleep and his orgasm as he presses a kiss right below your ear, fingers squeezing rougher against your breasts.
"S-sorry. Didn't want to wake you," you try, biting back a gasp when his thumb flicks over a nipple. Rough. Mean.Â
Rafayel snorts. "I think it's a bit too late for that.â A glare at Xavier over your leg, showing off your cum still dripping from his lips and fingers. âBesides, I didn't need you."
You want to argue, really, but then Xavier is grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging just hard enough to push your head back, coaxing a moan from your throat as he marks down your neck with kisses intending to bruise. Heâs pouting, grabbing your jaw as he forces your gaze away from Rafayel, nipping your bottom lip until you surrender to his drowsy advances.
âWhyâŚâ Another kiss before Xavier's licking desperately into your mouth, âWhy didn't you wake me?"
The question comes out a little breathless, almost petulant, eyes hooded and dark as he looks over the mess Rafayel has made of you. He can't tear his eyes away, watching Rafayel even as he kisses you. His fingers flick over your nipple again, twisting and pinching until you're shaking, your thighs squeezing Rafayel's face, all while Xavier watches.
Said man only smiles, all smug arrogance. "Didn't you hear her, Xav? She said she didn't want to wake you, so don't blame me."
Rafayel drags a wet, open-mouthed kiss over your cunt, the overstimulation making you break the kiss with a gasp.
"Liar." Xavier's voice trembles, and you can't tell if he's referring to Rafayel's words, or the way he's staring longingly at Rafayel's lips now, still slick with your release. "You just wanted her all to yourself."
He doesn't bother giving Rafayel a chance to retort, taking the punishment out on you as he dips his head underneath your folded-up shirt, groaning as his hot tongue rolls over your nipple, sucking at the stiff peak as his hand continues to assault the other. The onslaught has you whimpering, pushing and clawing against Xavierâs shoulder to try and fight him off as he refuses to let go for even a moment.Â
Rafayel's not one to be ignored, not when he has the advantage, and his tongue is back to fucking into your cunt with no reprieve, a cruel smirk on his face as you writhe and beg for their mercy.
Your hips roll, torn between pleasure and oversensitivity, unable to escape either of the men. It's overwhelming. Too much, too quickly, you only just came and you're already getting dragged back.
"Ah! Stop, I'm already mhmâ"
You're interrupted by Xavier's tongue slipping into your mouth, a filthy, lazy slide that makes you grind up into Rafayel's tongue. It's like he doesn't even need to breathe, the wet, sloppy sounds of him eating you out drowned out only by the sound of Xavier kissing you senseless, pausing just to nip and suck at your breasts as though he'll get rewarded if he just tries hard enough.Â
"You want him to stop? Is the mermaid not enough to satisfy you, princess?" Xavier taunts, lips brushing against your ear as his hips push up, grinding his cock against your thigh. "If that's the case, perhaps we should switch. I can give you exactly what you want, remember?"
âShut up, Iâm the one making her cum.â
âOnly cause I wasnât awake yet.â
âYou snooze, you lose. Whose fault is that? Oh ya, yours.âÂ
They're at each other's throats yet again, practically clawing and snapping at each other, and you're helpless to try and intervene when they take their faux anger out on your poor abused body.Â
You can't think, can't focus, can't do anything but shake and pant and sob into the pillow, their combined weight on top of you, forcing your pleasure higher and higher.Â
âXavâ" He cuts you off with a kiss.Â
âShh, just take it."
You can't even tell whoâs sloppier anymore- Xavier fucking your mouth with his tongue or Rafayel still eating you through your second orgasm, the sudden hit of it thundering down your body.Â
âYou look so pretty when you come," Xavier moans into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and glazed, hand coming up to stroke your cheek as he watches you, a sharp contrast to the other still rolling against your swollen nipple, loving the way you jerk into his touch. Then a glare to the man below. "My turn.â
Your body is still trembling, Rafayel's merciless fingers not allowing you to come down from your high, aftershocks of hypersensitivity crashing down your spine as every muscle spasms. No more. No more, please. You canât possibly come again.Â
You don't realize youâre begging out loud, not until Xavier shushes you with another bruising kiss.Â
But it doesn't seem like Rafayel has any plans on stopping, not until Xavierâs hand skims down your thighs and yanks him up by the chain of his necklace.Â
Rafayel growls as he's practically forced off your weeping cunt, eyes bleary and unfocused as he fights the blond's grip. And god, he looks absolutely wrecked, spit and cum dripping from his mouth and chin, connecting his lips to your pussy in sticky wet strands before they break, and you feel the unmistakable bulge of his cock straining against his soaked boxers.Â
Xavier yanks him forward, pulling the necklace chain until he crashes his lips onto Rafayel's, all teeth and tongue, desperate to get a taste of your cum from his mouth. It's filthy, and Rafayel is the first to give in, still drunk off your taste and now Xavier's too.
"Mhm, you taste like her," Xavier whispers, pulling him closer until their bodies are pressed together, his mouth still moving against Rafayel's swollen, parted lips.
"Ya?" Rafayelâs grin is predatory, all fang and sin. "You wanna try too, donât you? Give in then, bunny, lie down for us.â
"I don't take orders from you."Â
Xavier scowls against Rafayel's lips, but you can feel his resolve breaking, his arm trembling where it rests against your thigh.Â
"No, you take them from her, and she asked us so, so nicely to make her come. You wouldn't dare deny her that, would you?â
The Lemurian is nothing if not dangerously persistent, one hand coaxing Xavier backward so gently you donât think he realizes how easily heâs falling, the other clawing down his abs as Rafayel bites against the erratic thud of Xavierâs pulse. Sharp and bruising, a silent promise for what to come. "Or do you wanna eat her out like I did? Have her ride your face while I fuck into her poor, desperate cunt? I can't decide, there are so many options."
âNo.â Itâs more a plea than a demand. Xavier's voice shakes with need, and you watch, dizzy and panting, as Rafayel's fingers slip underneath the waistband of Xavier's boxers. His fingers, still dripping with your cum, brush down the length of his cock, thumb circling the sensitive head and smearing the copious amount of pre-cum leaking from it. âYou had y-your turn.âÂ
He can hardly finish his objection, not when Rafayelâs thumb comes up to abuse his leaking slit, Xavierâs words slurring into a desperate whine as he practically collapses back onto his elbows. Immediately, Rafayel is atop him.
"A competition, then." Rafayel leans down to whisper into Xavier's ear, but the words are purposefully teased out loud enough for you to hear, âBut you lose if you cum first, and I get to fuck her.â
It's a low blow, a challenge he knows Xavier can't turn down.Â
A challenge that somehow has you poised once again as the torment and the reward.
And it's true, because the second the words register, the blond's eyes shoot open, and his cock jerks violently against Rafeyelâs palm, a broken sound leaving his lips as his eyes lock back onto yours with all the promise of a starving hunter.
"Deal.â
Xavier doesn't allow the agreement to go without a price. Something snaps, the bedroom flickering with a sudden darkness as all the light vanishes.Â
One moment, youâre lying against the bed, and the next Xavier manhandles you to your knees, one hand forcing your arms behind your back as he tugs you against him, the other pinning Rafayel to the mattress.
Rafayelâs the very picture of smug sin, the feral expression far more genuine, less threatening and much more amused as he nestles further into the pillows, one arm tucked lazily behind his head.Â
Cold fingers dance up your hips, and Rafayel drags your bare cunt over his thighs and onto his lap, a pleased sigh escaping his lips as you're pinned deliciously between his cock and Xavier's sculpted back.
"So needy, little bunny."
"Shut up. I'm not the one who's leaking."
Rafayel snorts, and before the two can start fighting again, you're leaning forward, a hand resting against Rafayel's abs as you cup his erection through his boxers. And when he moans you believe every myth, every fairytale singing the doom of sailors to a siren song, because every sound he gives you is addictive and sweet enough that youâd drown to hear it again.Â
Pulling Rafayel's cock out from his boxers, youâre stunned yet again by the slightly non-human beauty of it, heavy and thick in your palm, the flushed, ruddy tip already drooling precum as you thumb at it in vengeance. You know Xavier's watching from the way his own cock twitches against your back, hands digging bruises into your hips. Then, the warmth at your back disappears.Â
Instead, a pair of hands drag your ass up, forcing you into a deep arch as you scramble for purchase against Rafayelâs thigh and the bed below.
âCloser.â Xavierâs hand laces into your hair as he pushes your head down, forcing your mouth to nuzzle against the base of Rafayel's cock.Â
The movement pulls a gasp from both of you, your hot breath teasing the sensitive skin of Rafayel's shaft and forcing a shudder from his entire body.Â
Seeing the two of you completely at his mercy does terrible, horrible things to Xavier, and his fingers dig bruises into your hips as it takes him everything not to forgo the competition and fuck you right there.Â
"Good girl,â he hums, voice trembling as his grip tightens against your hair, giving you a harsh glare when you whine and squirm in his hold. "Now open."
You can't bring yourself to say no, not when the sight of Rafayel's eyes rolling back the second you do makes your stomach clench. His cock twitches against you as you lick at the copious amounts of cum leaking from his tip, then obediently wrap your lips around him.
With a smile that would have you shaking, Xavier leans down, barely able to continue guiding your head as heâs entranced with the mess between your legs, licking up the slick dripping down your thighs as he sucks against the delicate flesh, marking right over the sensitive bruises Rafayel had only just left behind.Â
 âThis- hah-â Rafayel curses under his breath, the single word breaking off into a moan, the sound muffled by his palm as his chest heaves. âThis is hardly fair.â
But his complaints feel half-hearted, not with the way heâs already rutting into your mouth, Xavierâs iron grip keeping you in place as Rafayel thrusts himself into your mouth in one breath. You yield pathetically quick, flattening your tongue against the slick underside of his cock, another stream of pre-cum flooding your mouth as you nearly choke on it all, unable to pull off to even take a breath as Xavier guides your head up and down in a steady rhythm that has Rafayel falling apart.Â
Itâs cruel, but you can't help each pathetic moan that gets muffed onto Rafayelâs cock, the vibrations forcing his back to arch off the bed, head rolling back as it thuds against the pillows, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps in shallow breaths.
You almost wish he would let you see his eyes, but then you'd miss the view of his chest, every muscle tight and twitching under his skin, the mesmerizing sight now blurry from the tears forming in your eyes. You can't resist reaching up, dragging your nails down his abs, watching his body jerk against every new line of red.
"Please,â you're not sure if the broken whimper belonged to Rafayel or yourself. âPlease, I can't wait anymore, wanna feel youâ fuckâ wanna fill you up again, please let me cum." It's like just the very thought has Rafayel keening, his hips jerking up into your hot mouth with reckless abandon as Xavier forces your spine up into a deeper arch.
You're nearly bent in half, the new angle leaving no part of you hidden from Xavier's hungry gaze as he watches you practically drool over Rafayelâs cock, lips meeting his pelvis as he breaches your throat.Â
Xavierâs going to win. He needs to win.Â
The thought makes him frantic, tongue fucking past the tight resistance of your cunt, his hand sliding up to tease at your clit. He won't be the one to finish first, not this time. Not when he's wanted nothing more than to feel your cunt gushing around him ever since Rafayel woke him up, ever since the two of you had the audacity to start this without him.
Rafayel canât last much longer, especially not when you bring one shaking hand down to massage his swollen balls, hardly in control of your own movements as you feel dizzy on the addictive combination from the lack of oxygen and pleasure as Xavier begins to eat you out like a man starved.Â
The roomâs filled with the sounds of each slick, messy movement, whimpers from the man beneath you and breathless pleas from the one behind, bed rattling with every thrust.Â
And yet youâre still so painfully empty. So, so, empty as your cunt flutters around Xavierâs tongue before he relents to kiss your clit once more, dragging a dissatisfied whine from you as you fight yourself off Rafayelâs cock.Â
"F-fuck me. Please," A sob, and you feel both Rafayel and Xavier shudder. "Itâs not enough. Want your cocks inside me, wanna cum on it. Need it, please-"
Oh, and when you beg like that, they should have known they never would have stood a chance.
"Shit."
"Ah, please-"
It's a blur. A rush of hands, of pleasure and pain, all of it colliding and dragging you to the edge. The room spins, the ceiling above you falling until the familiar, comforting feeling of slick muscle embraces you, grounding you as you focus on the erratic heartbeat between each ragged exhale.Â
You're still sandwiched between them, lying on Rafayel as Xavier's weight drapes across your back, head propped up on the former's chest as you stare blearily at his silver pendant, unable to move. You're not even sure if you can, not with the way Xavier's still gripping the backs of your thighs, spreading you open as he forces one leg higher up.
Then, the blunt head of his cock grinds between your folds.
Xavierâs pressing his forehead against your back, wrapping his arms around you before biting into the crook of your neck. "You mean it? Youâll let us come inside again?"
Rafayel laughs, a raspy sound still raw from his orgasm. "Well, we both lost. Now what, bunny? We can't just leave her like this, poor thing is trembling."Â
"Mhm,â Xavier forces you up, âWe both fuck her then."
His words only make you whimper, body jerking uselessly against Xavier's grip. His hands lift you as Rafayel flips you around so you're now facing the blond, flinching violently as his cock brushes your swollen clit, any semblance of protest quelled as Xavier pulls you into another messy kiss.Â
Itâs demanding, Xavier mumbling achingly sweet praises into your open mouth as he begins to press you down, faster, harsher, forcing you onto Rafayelâs lap in a reverse cowgirl as you slide down slowly, taking inch by inch of Rafayelâs throbbing cock. Thereâs hardly any blue left in Xavierâs blow-out pupils, too mesmerized by the slick mess youâre gushing down their thighs. And just when you begin to squirm, impatient and desperate, Xavier slows their pace even more.
"Shhh, we need to make sure you'll be able to take both of us."
Rafayel's hand is wrapped around your waist, thumb rubbing small circles into your stomach, and if it weren't for Xavier's arms locked around you, holding you upright, you would have collapsed the second Rafayel pressed into the spot his fingers had found.
"Look at you," he purrs, a low sound that has you gasping. "So pretty when youâre needy. Can you feel me?"
It's hard not to. Everywhere feels warm, and every slow thrust, no matter how gentle, has a small burst of ecstasy building in your stomach, a wave crashing higher and higher as the two of them slowly fuck you full. Just as youâre nearly seated all the way onto Rafayelâs length, Xavierâs palms come up to the back of your knees, folding them up and forcing you backward until youâre practically lying prone atop of Rafayel.
Your head lolls uselessly against Rafayel's neck, gasping at the force of the new position, and you're not sure if it's the tears in your eyes or the overwhelming pressure against your walls as they stretch around his cock that's making the world so blurry. Xavier soon follows you down, pressing you closer into Rafayelâs chest as his lips trail your jaw, your neck, your sucking against every sensitive spot behind your ears until you're distracted from the pain.
"You're doing so good, princess. Just a little more."
The sudden onslaught of pressure of both of you atop him has Rafayel flinching, and he hisses out a pained moan, hips jerking up into the slick heat of your pussy, and it's only Xavier's grip that keeps the two of you from slipping off.
"Hah- hurry up-" Rafayel's eyes are glassy, his head tipped back and face twisted in pleasure.Â
Strings of incoherent pleas are whispered against your ear, Rafayel marking up the left side of your neck while Xavierâs still busy with the right, that is, until Xavier switches sides, biting right over Rafayelâs marks until heâs pulled up into a desperate kiss.
The wet sounds of their lips are filthy and obscene, each hot breath and moan brushing past your ear as you writhe, pressed between them. Rafayel's cock is already swelling, twitching against the fluttering walls of your pussy, unwilling to fully pull out, settling to just grinding up in slow, cruel thrusts before something in him snaps and he switches to pounding against your abused walls.
Every time you think youâll finally come Rafayel switches pace, the obscene slap of skin on skin muffled only by your sobs and their kissing.Â
Youâre close, so so fucking close you feel your muscles begin to shake. Xavier only pushes you down further, every angle a new cruelty, smothering you between them, rendering you unable to do anything but take it.
Again, Rafayel slows, and you slur curses down at him as your thighs tremble from overstimulation, shaking violently until you feel something grab your calf. Xavier massages the quivering muscle, gentle until heâs suddenly pressing your knee higher and higher, going until itâs pinned to the mattress up against your head.
And now Rafayel is hitting impossibly deeper, abusing your poor g-spot with each thrust.Â
Xavier kisses your ankle, then calf, making his way up your leg until he can nip at your inner thighs now folded over his shoulder. And then you feel the pressure of his cock at your already full entrance. Xavierâs hand dips down between your bodies, trying to bully himself in alongside Rafayel, but his cock slides past your navel, slick and covered in your combined cum.Â
"No, no no, not gonna fit- ah- Xavier!"
Your words break off into a wail as he tries again, grinding closer so youâre tightly cradled between the two, Xavier leaning fully atop you both. A snarl grits through his jaw when his cock slips past again, readjusting you so your legs fall apart wider, the burn in your thighs turning delicious and overwhelming, pussy weeping around Rafayelâs cock as Xavierâs swollen, leaking head bumps against your clit.Â
Xavier watches the mess, every thrust and messy squirt of cum, brows furrowed and flushed a deep red, as he whines into your shoulder, "Please- can't stop- please let me fuck you too, you'll look so pretty with both of us filling you up, taking us so good- donât make me stop."
Heâs reduced to babbling against your neck, biting down hard enough to bleed when your cunt finally yields to him too, cockhead bumping into Rafayelâs as he slowly pushes in inch and inch, trembling from the combined pleasure of your walls and the violent throbbing of every vein now grinding together.
It's too much, itâs not enough, the stretch and the friction and the pressure leaving you fucked stupid, hands scrambling for purchase. Rafayel grunts when your nails drag across his thighs, his own hands coming to latch onto your wrists, pinning them above his head, forcing you motionless between them.
You can do nothing but sob, tears streaming down your face as your entire body convulses. And when they finally, finally bottom out together, the world goes white.
"Shh, you're alright," Rafayel soothes, although his voice is trembling, the sound broken as he tries to catch his breath. "Doing so well for us, cutie, so perfect."
Xavier growls, his hands grabbing the headboard. He's barely holding on, not with the way Rafayel's cock twitches against his own, your hot walls clenched tightly around the two of them as you beg.
"Please, can't- too much, more, I need-"
There's a broken sob, and then Xavierâs slamming his hips forward, fucking into you with a brutality he usually saves for Rafayel, the force sending the three of you rocking against the mattress, headboard splintering under the strength of his grip. The other leaves to thumb at your nipples, lips following suit as he rambles, drunk off your pussy, "These would look s'pretty filled, even more sensitive. Bet you'd let us milk you, fill you up even more."
"And here, you'll feel us here too, won't you?" A hand moves lower- whose you no longer are coherent enough to care- brushing over the swell of your abdomen, the slight bulge appearing and disappearing where both of them are thrusting violently into you. "Be a waste not to. Imagine it, a painted mess filled with us.â
And you are. You can't think about anything else, not with the way they're stuffing you fullâ every time Rafayel's cock would settle near your g-spot Xavierâs would ram back in, forcing the former up against your cervix before pulling out entirely, repeating the vicious rhythm as the pain bled into pleasure.Â
Tears stream down the side of your face, room spinning into dizziness until all that remains are the burning trails of their touch, the only things keeping you grounded.Â
Rafayel's sucking into your shoulder, biting the sweat-slicked flesh, and you can feel his hips begin to stutter underneath you, already reaching his high despite Xavier still pounding into you with the same intensity, desperate to catch up.
The moment Xavier feels Rafayel's release, it's over. Your back arches up against him, convulsing against their hold, your abused walls clenching down so tightly that youâre practically begging for them to come inside, sucking them in deeper and deeper until itâs impossible for them not to follow.
It's a violent orgasm, hot squirt of your cum drenching Xavierâs abs, the intensity of it causing Rafayelâs vision to white out too, unable to hear the desperate sounds of your moans, not when his blood is rushing past his ears.
Then, the world comes crashing back.
Rafayelâs panting, still thrusting weakly into the slick, tight heat as he emptied himself inside you, the sheer overload of it gushing down your legs and onto the sheets.Â
"Ah- Xavier," you whine, the sound muffled into his chest as Xavier continues to chase after his high, too lost in his late orgasm to pull out.
The overstimulation is torture, your body twitching and trembling with every sloppy thrust. The moment he finally pulls out, the mess follows, thick, white rivets leaking down your thighs, the sheer volume near damn concerning had you the capacity to focus on it.
Rafayel laughs, fingers swirling through the cum as though painting your thighs, "That's not going to be easy to clean up."
"S'gonna look pretty. Messy. Full." Xavier murmurs, still pinning the both of you beneath him as he collapses in exhaustion, fingers dancing over the small swell in your stomach. Pressing lightly, he watches in fascination as their mixed cum gushes out faster, and you whimper, gripping his wrists to stop before they get any more ideas.Â
You're not sure what's worse, the fact that they're both still hard and the way they're looking at you, or the fact that their words have your exhausted body already trying to recover, a shiver running through your sore muscles as the room's cool air brushes over the slick, sticky mess between your thighs.
"You're both so disgusting," you groan, the words coming out slurred and barely audible.Â
"You love it."
"Yeah," Xavier's agreement is soft and almost hesitant. "You love us."
"Yes, I love both of you. Now get the fuck off of me." A shove, your shaking arm barely affecting Xavier as he finally relents, a small smile on his lips as he rolls the three of you down into the bed, resting on your sides.Â
The muscles in your thighs scream in relief as theyâre finally placed down, every inch of your body sore and marked up in one way or another, every visible bruise and bite getting pampered in faux apologies by the two men snuggling up next to you.
Itâs a tangle of limbs, Xavier already claiming your chest again as he nuzzles into your breasts while Rafayel simply curls himself around your back. A hand there, an arm there, and a little more muffled bickering. Yet you all fit together, and sleep comes easy now.Â
you spend time together on collective days off, cuddling and watching tv in peace until he turns his head towards your cunt, rubbing the tip of his finger right over your clothed clit. you used to get shy and push him away, but youâve become accustomed to his strange habits now. it was like a compulsionâhe couldnât go a single day without exploring your pretty pussy and finding new ways he could make you feel good.
it was easy when you reacted to his every touch, a dark patch forming after a few minutes of him teasing you. he always ignored your whines and instead chose to replace his finger with his nose, swiping through your slick folds and inhaling the sweet scent of your cunt.
âxaviâŚâ
âyou just smell so good my star, wanna live hereâ
he wouldnât even bother properly taking your panties off, instead choosing to hook a finger beneath the band and pull them to the side so he could make out with your pussy. he let his tongue explore every inch of you, drinking in as much as he could before finally dipping inside your greedy hole. you were already close before he even had his mouth on you, but the way he was moaning into you had your thighs pressing tighter around his head.
âoh fuckâŚplease my girl, need you to cum on my tongueâ
he was so whiney, nearly tearing up as he tried to press you even closer to his mouth. it wasnât until you saw him desperately rutting against his hand, a big dark stain forming on the front of his sweats, that you finally let go, crying his name as you rode the aftershocks of pleasure on his tongue.
he kissed your inner thighs as you tried to calm your breathing, stroking your waist and praising âhow well you didâ. after a few minutes passed though, heâd return to his task, now focusing his relentless stimulation on your clit, determined to have you squirt on his face.
Š all work belongs to @luvyizhou on tumblr, 2026. do NOT use, repost, or feed any of my work into AI or other websites.
⥠ŕžŕ˝˛ęąáŠ ŕŁŞÂ Â × Â Â âš kento covers himself while eating u out !
kento is the biggest munch you've ever been with! he'll eat it for breakfast, lunch, & dinner if he couldďźand trust me, he absolutely tries to !ďź
but there's one little peculiar thing he always does . .
he always covers himself with a blanket over him while his face is buried deep in your sweet core. when he did it the first time you two ever got intimate, you just thought it was something he did out of respect for you and you wouldn't put it past him to do something like that so you let it be.
as time went on though, he continued doing this and so you couldn't help wonder why. so today you decide to find out just that.
while he's ever so sweetly lapping at your slicked folds, you very slowly lift up the blanket and peek in to see your beloved. he doesn't seem to notice at first since you're still letting out those cute whimpers of yours. but then, he soon hears a soft giggle from you and that makes his eyes shoot up to look at you.
and gosh, he looks so goddamn cute & sexy at the same time â so greedily suckling on your puffy clit and stretching you out with those thick fingers of his, it's like he's completely lost in the moment. then . . his eyes flit up to meet yours whose peaking so adorably with that pretty smile on your face.
kento stops like he'd just been caught doing something naughtyďźtechnically he had been!ďźand then his entire face flushes a shade of pink, smushing his cheek to your inner thigh. you'd never seen him get flustered like this & you genuinely feel your heart do flips at how cute he looks.
"honey . ." he mutters, squishing his face even more into the plush of your thighs. ". . what are you doing?"
"just looking at my lovely boyfriend." you muse, running your fingers through his hair. "because he's always hiding himself when he's eating me out."
the flush on his face gets darker as he lets out a tiny groan, embarrassed & bashful. ". . i just get shy about it, sweetheart. i don't know why but i just do."
your heart flutters at his adorable admission, and with that, you lower the blanket back down & you can hear kento hum in delight as he dives right back in to devouring you â¤ď¸ !
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ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne who has an insane knowledge about the menstrual cycle. A little too much actually. you swear he may know more about it than you. though his position as a cardiologist doesnât focus on menstrual cycles, of course he had to learn about it in his health class! He believes everyone should know the basics of periods.Â
ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne who keeps the same period tracker as you on his phone. and you are completely unaware he has the same app downloaded.  he would carefully analyze your different behaviors throughout each phase (ovulation, folicular, etc.) up until the day you start.Â
youâre so grateful for him, hes always so prepared. more prepared than you think youâll ever be. He would keep extra pads/tampons on him if you have an accident, a small bottle of painkillers, and an icepack and heating pad. either or for your decision <3
ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne whoâll try to help you get you moving around the house and get you to exercise as much as you can. he doesnât force it upon you, itâs more as a recommendation to just get you up and moving.
now, you do know exercising on your cycle has a lot of good benefits to come with. but have you realllyy tried to do it? HECK NO. who has the energy for that?
all you wanna do if just curl up into your covers with a heating pad and sulk the rest of the day.
but whether itâs taking a walk or slow jogging with zayne around the neighborhood block or you two doing some simple stretches together, he will be proud of you no matter what for trying.
and if you get tired and feel too weak, heâll walk beside you supporting you against his shoulder or even pick you up and carry you back home in his arms <3
ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne who wouldnât allow you to go into work on the first day on your cycle. he actually refuses to let you go because thats putting wayy to much pressure on your body and giving unnecessary energy burnout when you should be resting.
it actually surprises you how zayne is willing to not let you go in, knowing how he is about his own job and schedules.
âË・âââ・Ëâ
you wake up to your work alarm blaring in the background. the moment you reach over to turn off your alarm you immediately feel that horrible groggy feeling start to settle in. oh you started..
you slowly prop yourself up on your arms, gathering the little strength you have to stabilize yourself.
you let out a small whimper, wincing in pain as you feel your cramps start to kick in.
zayne passing down the hall, hears your whimpers and see you start to curl in on yourself clutching your stomach from the doorway. walking into your shared bedroom, he worriedly pads in to your side.
â.. hey you feeling ok?â he whispers. so much care heavy in his voice. he places his hand on your hip rubbing you gently
ân-no⌠ugh.. i need to go into work today..â you mutter weakly, words barely audible.
zayne can barely look at the state your in. seeing you like this makes his heart wrench.
âlook at you, you can barely get your words out...." his words trails off. eyes scanning your scrunched up face in discomfort. he sighs.
"youâre staying right here in bed, love.â he assures firmly, hearing the concern in his voice.
he kneels down to your level and gently pushes you back down in bed, lifting the covers over you and plants a small kiss on your forehead.
"youâre going to get your rest. Iâll call your boss and let them know. Iâm going to take care of you today, okay?â he whispers reassuringly against your ear and gently cups your face in his hands softly stroking your cheek with his thumb.
â..zayne are you sure? I really ne-â you start to protest but he shushes you putting a finger to your lips. âshhhh. no more talking.. just lie back and close your eyes.â
ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne who would instinctively go into doctor mode when taking care of you. like youâre one of his precious personal patients. (you are <3)
he would regularly check up on you, remind you to change your pad/tampon/cup (whatever you use)to eat full-healthy-balanced meals and of course to stay hydrated by drinking water. getting the best and utmost care. <3
ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne tries to make it a habit to take off when he can when you start your period. he understands how it gets. especially when itâs the first day. he canât leave you at home feeling sick and lonely :(
heâll spend the whole day taking care of you as he should.
running a nice warm bubble bath for you as soon as you wake up to soothe your cramps and your poor aching muscles. accompanying you beside the tub and help you wash yourself, slowly washing up and down your back with care.
and staying by your side and holding you as long as you want all day while your cramping. not caring if his arm goes numb.
ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne who's pretty boastful about being a good massager. youâve always considered him to be a professional massager and you constantly praise him for it.
always saying how he knows to hit the right spots, rolling out those hard kinks in your back muscles and releasing the pain in your neck.
so just imagine how useful those strong hands can be to relieve your cramps.
he would sit behind you and have you placed in between his legs with your back resting against his chest and wrap his arms around you and start to slowly work his hands.
his warm hands slowly massaging your tummy in circular motions right above your uterus, adding the right amount of pressure to not harm your inner organs.
you sit there comfortably in his embrace closing your eyes. letting yourself be ate ease focusing on his hands as you slowly start to drift off.
you would always massage yourself to relieve your cramps but when zayne does it its 100x better. it puts you right to sleeppp.
ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne who uses to his evol mimicking an ice pack to help cool down your heated body during cramps. if your body is too overheated heâll offer instead of typically using your heating pad. him running his cold hand over your stomach softly to soothe you in circular motions releasing the discomfort.Â
ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne who would of course make his famous red date tea he always makes for you. filled with all the good nutrients for relieving cramps and helps with blood circulation! the perfect tea to keep your body warm.
ââ Ëâboyfriend!zayne would definitely monitor your food intake throughout your period. those spicy chips you bought the other day and you were salivating to eat later? yea about that..
âzayne where are my chips, I canât find them anywhere?â
âI ate themâ he says stoically. straight forward.
"what??â you exclaim in disbelief. you were really looking forward to eating those :(
âits not good to eat spicy foods on your period they can worsen your cramps. so to prevent that from happening, I ate them.â he beams seemingly proud of himself.
but, oh, he knows he messed up. seeing how sensitive you were about it and walked away sulking. he would instantly go out to the store and replace your chips and buy you more chocolate and sweets.
normally he would advise against it, but he knows how you are on your period so heâll let you get away with it.
he just hopes you donât find out about your ice cream that was supposed to be untouchedâŚ
: ĚĚâ a/n: ik this isnt about nanami but i started earlier this week and needed a lil something self indulgent đ
Šrrainbowshrbrt â彥 plss no copying, modifying, plagiarizing, stealing, ai, etc. on any platforms! ty! ^^