“What are you sorry for?” Rafayel's eyebrows furrowed, a few wispy pieces of his hair falling in front of his face while he looked down, taking in the sight of your slick pussy. “I’m sorry that I didn’t answer you at all today… I was just so busy-” Your voice hitched as he plunged two of his fingers back inside of you, the long digits curling and hitting the spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“I didn’t ask for an excuse. I asked what you were sorry for and that’s it.” You whined at his stern tone, your eyebrows knitting together on your forehead as you felt a familiar pressure building in your gut. “Please Raf…”

He laughed mirthlessly, pressing kisses along your shoulder and up your neck, before stopping at your ear. “What makes you think you deserve to cum? You ignored my texts all day. I don’t think a good little fishie would do that.” Rafayel paused, starting to use his thumb to rub soft circles into your clit.

“Do you think what you did was nice? Hm?” You shook your head in a panic, feeling the pressure inside of you come to a head. It was so close you could taste it. Just as your legs began to tremble, Rafayel removed his hand again, leaving you to slump against him, panting and spent. The tears began to spill down your cheeks, escaping due to the frustration you couldn’t hide.

“I’m so sorry Rafayel, please forgive me. I would do anything to show you how sorry I am.” Your begging brought a rose tint to his cheeks, his eyes glinting at the implication of your words. “Anything, you say?” You nodded, letting out a moan as he pushed his fingers back inside of you. You let your head fall back onto his shoulders, mouth open as you whimpered wantonly, already feeling the pressure ready to snap again.

Rafayel’s cock was stiff against your back. He was barely able to contain himself while seeing you like this. Begging and crying, completely at his mercy. It satisfied a craving deep inside of him. He needed to punish you like this more often. 

“Raf- I’m gonna-” “Go ahead…” He purred against you, reveling in the way your legs shook and your body twitched as the pressure inside of you broke, your walls clenching onto his fingers while he worked you through your orgasm. Your whimpers echoed in his ears, tears spilling down your cheeks at the intensity of the stimulation. Slick coated his digits, some staining the sheets beneath you. Your breath came in short pants as you came down from your high, and you closed your eyes, trying to bring your breathing back to a normal tempo.

As you began to take deep breaths, you felt Rafayel shift behind you. He began to rut slightly against your back, his hard cock begging to be freed from its confinement.

“So, you said you would do anything, right?”

Xavier notices before anyone else. He picks up on the tightness in your shoulders, the change in your breathing, how you can't seem to focus. When you get snippy he doesn't get mad. He knows you're trying so hard to keep calm. Without drawing attention, he'd get you away from the noise and help you calm down. Even if that means simply waiting and being quiet.

Xavier would never tell you to "just cope" or "to deal with it". He'd start bringing an extra of everything you use to help; noise-cancelling headphones/earbuds, earplugs, ear defenders, stimming tools. His calm presence and attitude would help your nervous system settle.

As a doctor, Zayne is initially intrigued by the term misophonia. He researches it, learning how it's not a current medical term, but a helpful one for sharing people's experience. He'd look into any and all ways to be helpful. He learns how for some, a lot of sounds that are a struggle are actually "silent" to most- like the buzz of lights, the hum of the appliances.

Zayne would replace anything that made a low hum in his office and home. He'd make sure cabinets and doors didn't slam shut on their own. If there was ever a triggering noise he couldn't prevent he would kindly ask, "Would you care to leave for a few minutes?" His care is practical, patient and consistent.

Rafayel would complain dramatically about "horrible noises assaulting your delicate ears" while immediately doing something about them. If someone nearby was chewing loudly, he'd distract you with dramatic conversation or whisk you away under the excuse that he suddenly had a "far better idea."

Rafayel would fill his studio with music you enjoy, fountains, or ocean sounds that mask unpleasant noises. He'd also become surprisingly protective if someone mocked your sensory issues, making it very clear that your comfort mattered more than their opinions.

Sylus would treat your misophonia triggers like important intelligence to remember. He'd remember every single trigger and whenever possible simply make it a non-issue so you could enjoy time without ear protection. He has the money to reserve any private space for you to be comfortable. He did also buy you the most expensive headphones with the best noise-cancellation tech.

Sylus would be gentle and patient. He'd reassure you that it's not a problem or a hassle to accommodate you. He wants to.

When you were younger Caleb at first teased you about it, but as soon as you had a panic attack he realized how serious this was. Over the years he has been your biggest advocate. Telling off bullies, your grandma and friends when they were teasing you. You and Caleb didn't have a name for it until you were older. Having a name was a relief because it made it easier to explain and talk about without it becoming a mouthful.

Anytime you became overstimulated/your misophonia was triggered he'd be there to offer headphones, a shoulder to cry on, someone to help distract you or simply sitting with you until the moment passed.

Valko would understand better than most. No, he doesn't have panic attacks or get affected the way you do, but he is more sensitive. He can hear what others naturally block out. Most times you never have to specify what noise was bothering you because he already knew. He would also already be planning to leave/move or already taking out noise-cancelling protection.

Rafayel’s heat.

You’d heard whispers about it from him before– teasing jabs during one of his moods, when he’d cornered you with that sly grin and pushed boundaries just to see Caleb’s jaw tick. “What if I couldn’t control it, hmm? What if I needed you so badly I’d beg?” He’d laughed it off then, but now... now it was real. Delirious, desperate, and breaking into your home in the dead of night.

Caleb’s grip on the gun relaxed, but he didn’t holster it yet. A quiet, dangerous calm settled over him, the kind that made even seasoned fighters back down. He didn’t ask why Rafayel was here– he already knew. The air was thick with it, a scent like saltwater and burning embers, Rafayel’s need radiating off him in waves.

“Raf,” Caleb said evenly, stepping forward. Rafayel’s head snapped up, his glowing blue eyes locking onto you with a hunger that made your skin prickle. He pushed off the wall, staggering toward you, but Caleb was faster. In one fluid motion, he set the sidearm on the side table and intercepted, his hands clamping down on Rafayel’s shoulders. “Easy. You’re not thinking straight.”

Rafayel snarled, a mix of frustration and raw desire, his hands reaching out toward you. “Need... her. Please. It burns.” His voice was broken, pleading, nothing like the cocky artist who’d mouthed off earlier that day. You remembered it vividly– Rafayel lounging in your shared space, teasing Caleb about being too uptight, his eyes flicking to you with that heated promise. “Bet I could make her forget all about your rules, flyboy.” He’d pushed, and pushed, until Caleb had warned him with a low, “Don’t test me.”

Now, here he was, unraveling.

Caleb didn’t flinch. He maneuvered Rafayel back against the wall with effortless strength, pinning his arms above his head with one hand while the other gripped his jaw, forcing eye contact. “You touch her like this, and it’ll spiral. You know that. Your heat’ll drag her under too.” Rafayel bucked against the hold, but Caleb was iron, his voice a steady anchor. “If you want this, then we’re doing this my way. Controlled.”

You stepped closer, your heart racing with a mix of concern and something hotter, darker, feeling the pulsing pull of intoxicating pheromones. Rafayel’s gaze fixed on you, his chest heaving. He was embarrassed– you could see it in the flush creeping up his neck, the way he averted his eyes for a split second before desperation pulled them back. Furious at being caught like this, vulnerable and exposed. Aching, because you were right there, so close, but untouchable under Caleb’s iron grip.

“Caleb,” you said softly, reaching out to touch Rafayel’s cheek. His skin was fever-hot, and he leaned into it with a whimper, his body trembling.

“He needs help,” Caleb agreed, his eyes meeting yours. There was no jealousy there, just that calm resolve. “But we keep it reined in. You want to help him, right?”

You nodded, your pulse quickening as you knelt down, the robe slipping slightly off your shoulder. Rafayel’s breath hitched, his hips jerking involuntarily. Caleb adjusted his hold, shifting to pin Rafayel’s wrists with one forearm while his free hand pressed against Rafayel’s chest, keeping him flat against the wall. “Stay still,” Caleb commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You don’t touch. Not unless she says.”

Rafayel growled, but it dissolved into a grunt as you tugged at his half-undone pants, freeing him. He was already hard, throbbing, the tip glistening with need. His eyes squeezed shut in humiliation, but when you gave his tip a tentative touch, he shattered.

You sank to your knees before him, eyes locked on Rafayel's flushed cock. The air was suddenly thick with his musky, oceanic, intoxicating scent and you leaned in slowly, letting your hot breath ghost over the sensitive head. “Mm–” He twitched in anticipation, a bead of clear fluid welling up at the tip, and you couldn't resist flicking your tongue out to lap it up, savoring the salty tang that made your mouth water.

With the sloppiest, most indulgent rhythm imaginable, you took your time, starting with lazy swirls of your tongue around the crown, tracing every ridge and vein as if mapping him for memory. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him in, inch by torturous inch, letting your saliva build and drip messily down his length, pooling at the base and trickling over his balls. Strings of spit connected your lips to his shaft each time you pulled back for air, only to dive back in deeper, gagging yourself just enough to make your eyes water. Your moans around his cock and slurping sounds filling the room like a filthy symphony.

Rafayel's hips jerked desperately, trying to thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth, but Caleb was unyielding, his powerful arms pinning Rafayel against the wall, muscles flexing and bulging with the effort to keep the writhing Lemurian in check. "Fuck... please, oh gods, more," Rafayel whimpered, his voice cracking on the edge of a sob, high and needy like you'd never heard from him before. His pleas devolved into grunts, deep and guttural, animalistic rumbles from his chest as you bobbed your head faster, taking him to the back of your throat and humming around him, the vibrations making his toes curl.

He was an absolute mess– his body arching as much as Caleb's iron grip allowed, sweat-slicked skin shining, his free leg kicking out uselessly against the floor in frustrated spasms. You'd slow down deliberately, popping him out of your mouth to lick long, sloppy stripes from base to tip, teasing the slit with the flat of your tongue until he was whimpering like a broken thing, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Then you'd plunge back down, deepthroating him with a wet choke, grunting yourself as you felt him throb against your tongue. His grunts turning to desperate, keening whines when you edged him right to the brink and pulled away again.

You played to your heart's content, drawing it out endlessly, reveling in the power as you watched his face contort with a delicious mix of agony and ecstasy– brows furrowed, lips parted in constant gasps, cheeks flushed a deep crimson from the humiliation of being so utterly exposed and denied. His Lemurian markings glowed brighter with each denied release, pulsing through his skin like a tidal wave of heat that radiated outward, making your own body ache with sympathetic arousal. You cupped his balls, rolling them gently in your palm, feeling them tighten as you sucked harder, your other hand stroking what your mouth couldn't reach, slick with spit and his leaking fluids.

After what felt like an eternity of torment, he finally fell off the edge you pushed and pulled him from– his entire frame seizing up with a strangled cry that echoed off the walls, his cock pulsing wildly as he spilled hot and thick down your throat in heavy, endless ropes. The taste was bitter-sweet and potent, flooding you as you swallowed greedily around him, milking every last drop with rhythmic squeezes of your throat. Some of it dribbles from the corners of your mouth in messy trails down your chin. You pulled back slowly, with a satisfied hum, a string of cum and spit still connecting you to him momentarily before you licked your swollen lips clean.

But Rafayel wasn’t done. 

His eyes, still hazy, still glowing, locked onto yours. “More... gods, more. Please, I need– inside you. Touch me. Anything.” He pleaded, his voice raw, body still trembling. He strained against Caleb’s hold, desperate fingers flexing in the air.

Caleb’s eyes flicked to you, waiting. He wouldn’t relent on his own– not with the risk of the heat overwhelming everything. But you... you were the one in control here.“

Please, Caleb,” you murmured, standing and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Let him have a little more. I want to.”

Caleb’s grip loosened just enough, allowing Rafayel’s hands to drop, though he kept a firm hold on his shoulders. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But remember– controlled. We’re helping him, not letting him take over.”

Rafayel surged forward, his hands finally on you, pulling you close with a desperate moan. But Caleb was there, guiding, ensuring the fire didn’t consume you all.

Rafayel's fingers dug into your hips with a fervor that bordered on pain, his touch electric, sending sparks through your skin where his heat met your cool flesh. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, a shuddering groan vibrating against you. "Finally... you smell like home. Like mine." His voice was hoarse, laced with that delirious edge, his body pressing flush against yours as if he could merge into you.

Caleb's hand was quickly there, firm on Rafayel's shoulder, pulling him back just enough to remind him of the boundaries. "Slow," Caleb commanded, his voice holding that authoritative ‘try me, I dare you’ tone. He shifted behind Rafayel, using his broader frame to box him in, one arm looping around Rafayel's waist to steady– and restrain– him. "She's giving you this. Don't ruin it by rushing."

You felt Rafayel's frustration in the way his muscles tensed, his breath hitching as he fought the instinct to claim more. His eyes, still illuminated yet clouded with need, flicked to Caleb with a glare that held equal parts resentment and gratitude.

"Bastard... always the control freak." But there was no real bite; the heat had stripped him bare, leaving him pliant under Caleb's guidance. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks anew– he, the proud Lemurian, reduced to begging, held back like a leashed animal while you decided his fate.

You smiled softly, tracing a finger down Rafayel's chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart. "It's okay, Raf. Let us take care of you." Leaning in, you captured his lips in a kiss that started gentle but deepened as his desperation bled through. His tongue sought yours, tasting of salt and fire, and he whimpered into your mouth when you pulled away too soon.

Caleb's free hand slid up your back, supportive, grounding you both. "On the couch," he directed, steering the three of you toward the living room furniture without breaking the contact. Rafayel stumbled along, his pants now fully discarded, his arousal evident and insistent against your thigh. Caleb settled first, pulling Rafayel down to sit between his legs, effectively trapping him in a hold that was half-embrace, half-restraint. Rafayel's back pressed to Caleb's chest, his arms pinned loosely at his sides by Caleb's encircling grip.

"Like this," Caleb murmured, his breath warm against Rafayel's ear, making the artist shiver. "You get to feel her, but I decide how much." His eyes met yours again, a silent question: You good? You nodded, shedding your robe completely, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin.

Rafayel's gaze devoured you, his hands twitching to reach out, but Caleb held them firm. "Please... touch me. Mm–Let me touch her." His plea was raw, his hips shifting restlessly, his cock bouncing as if directing you to land.

"Not yet," Caleb replied, but his voice softened as he looked at you. "What do you say? Tease him a little more?"

You knelt between Rafayel's spread legs, your hands gliding up his thighs, nails scraping lightly. He grunted, head falling back against Caleb's shoulder, exposing the column of his throat where his pulse raced. You took him in hand first, stroking slowly, watching his face contort– eyebrows furrowed in agonized pleasure, his lips parted on a silent cry. Then, leaning forward, you resumed where you'd left off earlier, your mouth enveloping him once more, sloppy and unhurried. His whimpers lapping at your core as you swirled your tongue around his cockhead.

"Fuck– yes, like that," Rafayel gasped, his body bucking. Caleb's hold tightened, preventing him from thrusting up, forcing him to endure the pace you set. Tears pricked at the corners of Rafayel's eyes from the overload, his markings flaring brighter. "Caleb... let go. I need– "

"No," Caleb said firmly, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched you work. "She's enjoying this. Look at her." And you were– drawing out every reaction, savoring the power, the way Rafayel unraveled under your touch while Caleb kept the chaos at bay.

It didn't take long before Rafayel was pleading again, his voice breaking. "More... inside. Please, I can't– I'll behave. Just let me have her." His hands strained against Caleb's grip, fingers flexing toward you.

Caleb paused, considering, then glanced at you. "Your call."

You pulled back, pouty lips glistening, and met Rafayel's desperate stare. "Okay," you whispered, standing up to let your bottoms pool at your ankles before climbing onto his lap. "But gently."

Caleb released one of Rafayel's hands, guiding it to your waist, while keeping the other pinned. "Controlled," he reminded, his own hand resting on your hip to steady the rhythm as you reached behind you, holding Rafayel's tip against your slick entrance.

The connection was intense, Rafayel's cock throbbing deep inside as you sank down fully, stretching you with that perfect, burning fullness. His Lemurian heat pulsed like liquid fire through your veins, making every nerve ending spark, your walls clenching around him in response. He buried his face in your chest, lips latching onto one nipple with a desperate suck, teeth grazing just enough to send jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your pussy. "Mmph–thank you... fuck, thank you," he whispered brokenly against your skin, his free hand clutching your waist like a lifeline, fingers digging in possessively.

Caleb watched from his position behind Rafayel, his dark eyes hooded with a mix of vigilance and growing arousal. His grip on Rafayel's other arm remained firm, a silent anchor ensuring the fire burned bright but didn't rage out of control. But as you began to move– rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding down to feel every inch of Rafayel sliding against your slick heat– Caleb's breath deepened. The room filled with shared breaths, your soft whimpers mingling with Rafayel's guttural grunts, the wet percussion echoing lewdly as you picked up pace.

Rafayel's head lolled back against Caleb's shoulder, his eyes glazed and pleading. "Harder, cutie... please, ride me harder. I need to feel you come around me." His hips bucked up instinctively, but Caleb pressed him down with a low growl, his free hand splaying across Rafayel's abdomen to hold him still. "Not yet," Caleb murmured, his voice roughened by the scene unfolding. "Let her set the rhythm. You're already leaking inside her– feel that?"

You moaned at the words heating your cheeks even as you complied, bouncing now with more fervor, your breasts jiggling with each descent. Rafayel's cock hit that spot deep inside repeatedly, making your eyes roll back, your arousal dripping down his shaft and soaking his balls. He was a wreck– whimpering when you clenched, grunting like an animal when you slammed down, his free hand sliding up to knead your ass, spreading you wider for deeper access.

Caleb's control was ironclad, but the bulge straining against his pants told another story. His eyes raked over your face as it fell to rest over Rafayel's shoulder, flushed and twisted in ecstasy. Finally, with a subtle shift, Caleb released Rafayel's pinned arm completely, his hand trailing down to his own waistband. "You've got him handled now," he said lowly, popping the button on his pants and freeing his thick length. It sprang out, already hard and veined from the erotic display of you undulating on someone else's cock.

He spat in his palm, wrapping his fist around himself, pumping slowly at first, long, deliberate strokes that matched your rhythm on Rafayel. "That's it," Caleb encouraged, his voice a husky rumble. "Fuck him good. Make him beg for your cum."

Rafayel whined at the words, his now-free hands roaming greedily over your body, one pinching your nipple while the other dipped between your legs to rub frantic slicked circles on your clit. The added stimulation had you gasping, your movements turning erratic as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. "Mmph– yes– ah–"

Caleb's pace quickened, his hand slicking up and down his shaft with audible, wet sounds, thumb circling the head on each upstroke. He leaned in closer, his breath hot on Rafayel's neck, watching intently as you rode the Lemurian toward oblivion. "Look at her– taking you so well. She's dripping all over you." His words spurred you on, the voyeuristic thrill of Caleb pleasuring himself to the sight pushing you closer to the edge.

Rafayel broke first, his hips jerking up, free from Caleb's hold, burying himself deep as he came with a strangled cry. Hot spurts filled you, his heat intensifying the sensation until it bordered on overwhelming. You followed seconds later, pulsing around him in waves, your release gushing out in a messy flood that coated his cock. Caleb groaned at the view, his fist flying faster now, twisting at the base. "Fuck... yes," he muttered, and with a few more pumps, he spilled over his hand, ropes of cum arcing onto Rafayel's back, marking the moment in sticky heat.

The three of you collapsed in a tangle, breaths ragged, bodies slick with sweat and release. Rafayel's heat ebbed slightly, his arms wrapping around you possessively as Caleb's hand found both your backs, rubbing soothing circles. "Good," Caleb murmured, his calm returning like a tide. "You're not out of the woods yet– but we'll take it slow.”

Thanks for reading <3

Thank you Dee, for laying the egg(prompt) that birthed this. @deenumbahone @lostprincessofatlantica

✦ STRWBRRY'S BULLETS

ꪆৎ RAFAYEL

Your thighs are soaked and if you could, you'd feel embarrassed right now.

But that thought barely registers over the raw heat twisting in your belly. It's just the way Rafayel's broken moans and his hands trembling on your hips as you ride him that remind you just how much of a mess you are.

"Drippin' alllll over me, cutie," The wrecked gasp makes your pussy only embrace his cock in a snug hug, his grip on your hip tightening. "D-don't ya wanna take a lil break?— F-fuckkkk. M'—"

"N-nooooo, Raf'."

God, you're gonna be the death of him.

He's already at his wit's end, his spent cock barely holding onto the vicious grip of your greedy pussy. But once he heared your protesting whine over the obnonxious wet squelch squelch squelches of your sobbing cunt, he can feel his cock throbbing hard.

Your eyes meet the far back of your skull as you feel his girth swell, streeeetching your walls apart again so good.

"Don't wanna stop. Feels sooooo good, baby." The shy smile twitching up your plump lips is a stark contast to your ruthless hips slamming down onto his pelvis, and even though his dick is sweeling so angry he fears he might explode, he's still going to eat it up like he does every single time.

"Ohh-kay, cutie. G-gonna— gonna give my baby what she wants."

A strangled sound rips from his lungs as your walls clench around him again, cock twitching so frenzied inside you, glistening with your mixed juices, and so spent but still so ravenous to ram into you, deep.

He's flushed deep red now, your hands almost slipping from his sweat-slicked chest, coral locs sticking to his temple where he lies beneath you in a daze.

"Pretty." You spurt out, heat flooding your body as you take his face in hand, running your shaking flinger over his quivering, kiss-bitten lips. "You look so pretty Raf. Want— no need to—"

"F-fuck, baby, yer' gonna milk me dry," he chokes out, voice breaking on a whimper.

Oh, he's not lasting for long.

His eyes roll back as your walls clamp down on him again, fluttering so tight, so wet, it feels like your body's trying to wring every last drop out of him.

And you do.

Your hands slam down on his chest now, grinding down with reckless, mindless need. "Y-yes." you sweet growl, makes the hair on his neck stand up, teeth caging his lip. "Need you to fill me up, Raf. Need it sososo bad— hurts, it hurts!"

You bounce harder, thighs quivering, the obscene squelch of your slick echoing through the room with every punishing slam of your hips. His cock twitches inside you, overstimulated and swollen, flushed an angry red from how many times he's already shot his load into you, but your greedy cunt just won't let him go.

It’s damn near deafening—the relentless thwack, thwack, thwack of your ass slamming down onto his thighs.

The sound is soaked in slick, each impact wetter than the last. His spent, hot and thick cum already spilling out of you from your insatiable hunger, sticking messily to the insides of your thighs and the curve of your ass, smearing with every bounce, making everything sticky and so much worse.

“God, you're—fuck—you're making a mess of me, cutie," he gasps, clutching your waist like a lifeline, trying to slow you down, but your body has other plans. Your selfish walls tighten around him like a vice, milking his angry, flushed tip for every squirting spurt from his slit.

"I need you to cum again. Please," you cry out, grinding down deep, his cockhead kissing your cervix with each brutal drop of yours. "Wan' your cum, Raf! Need ya to fill me up again, wanna be stuffed, baby. Can't—nghhh!—can't stop until you breed me."

"Breed you?"

The sound he lets out is downright animalistic, his hips snapping up with brutal force, matching your pace with a ferocity that makes your eyes roll back. "Fuckin insatiable. Already dripping and it's still not enough, h-hahh?" He's fucking up into you now, ironclap grip on your hips surely leaving marks as your body jolts and falls ontop of his, your restless hips twisting and twitching against his brutal thrusts.

"G-gonna pump your greedy fucking pussy so full— o-ohhh, yeahhh."

You whimper is so high-pitched you barely recognize yourself anymore, body convulsing as your climax rips through you, and even in your haze you don't stop. You keep clenching, desperate to squeeze another load from his overstimulated, twitching cock.

He's babbling now, lost in it, eyes glazed and teeth clenched so tight he might break his jaw. "Ohhh, it's comin, m' cummin' take it take it take—"

"Mhmmm, give it ta me, Raf! Allll of it, one more, pleaseeee!"

At that, his slit spurts one last whispy load of cum into the depth of your pussy, and you grind happily down onto him to make it stay there, deep inside of you, humming in delight at the warmth flooding through you.

And as he feels your fluttering walls clench around him again, your hips slowly grinding down again, his head falls back against the sheets, a raw, desperate whimper escaping his throat.

Your walls clamp around him fiercely, squeezing so tight, demanding more.

He can't. He can't he can't he—

His hands dig into your ass, lifting you higher, up, up, up— until his cum seeps from your spent, dripping heat, a pleased sigh following suit.

But then your eyes meet his, wide and pleading, and your hands wrap around his slick, spent cock, fingers trembling as they stroke him, coated in his own mess.

Well, he can surely take—

"One more, please?"

Right?

ꪆৎ CALEB

Hot.

The only word to describe your feelings right now, because it has you wound up so tight, you're trembling. You think you might explode if you're sweet, teasing boyfriend won't fill you up this very moment.

But the way Caleb's looking at you in the mirror, he might beat you to it.

"You feel it too, don't you, Cay'?" you whisper, rocking your ass back against the bulge straining so painfully in his grey sweats.

They cling to him, snug and low on his hips, almost too tight. His bare chest is fully exposed, every cut of muscle gleaming under the low light of the room, your squirming shadow dancing over his skin and reflecting off the mirror.

His grin is sharp, eyes burning with hunger, preying over you through the mirror, a palm pressing to your lower belly, just below the waistband of your panties.

"Feel it? Baby, I smell it."

His voice is a growl against your skin, lips dragging slow and wet down the curve of your neck. He breathes you in, tongue flicking out to lick a long stripe from your neck all the way to the shell of your ear. "You're soaked."

You whimper as he rolls his hips, grinding his aching cock into you, still hidden beneath the fabric of his boxers. His other hand cups your throat from behind, guiding your gaze back to the mirror.

"Look."

You do.

"O-oh."

It's fucking obscene.

Your panties are halfway down your thighs, your legs shaking as you brace yourself against the dresser, your boyfriend's bare chest pressed to your back, hand tightening against your throat, almost daring you to look away.

Burning. Every fieber of your being is burning up, screaming at every slight touch of him. The faintest brush of his fingers against your skin sends you twitching.

A needy whimper slips out as you feel the thick press of his bulge grinding against your ass. You arch and roll your hips back into him, shamelessly, pleading without words, silently begging him to do something— anything, to ease this ache between your thighs before you actually go insane.

"In all these years together," he murmurs against your ear, voice low and dangerous. "I've never seen you like this, pips'. What's got you so hot and bothered tonight?"

You meet his eyes in the mirror before tearing them down to his fingers tugging at the hem of your panties.

"It's y-your fault. All because of—"

"Me?" His grip tightens, voice a whisper against your ear in surprise.

"Mhmmm."

"Hm. Can't have my baby all pouty now, can I?"

He whirls you around in one fluid motion, effortlessly scooping you up and tossing you onto the bed

Fuck that damned mirror, he wants the real thing.

He rips your panties the rest of the way off, strong biceps pushing your legs apart, groaning low in his throat at the sight of your weeping cunny, screaming for his attention.

"Oh fuckkk," he mutters, eyes wild and flickering between your glisterning pussy up to your flustered face. "T-this is—" he pauses, finger swiping through your folds to collect your slick, dick jumping in his pants as he sees your hole clenching around nothing, juices dripping in the process, "—heaven."

You whimper as he dips down to lick a stripe up your inner thigh, hot breath ghosting over your pussy. You could damn near scream from his endles teasing, damn near crying as your hips buck up towards his face with a frustrated groan. "N-no teasin'! Please, pleasepleaseplease—"

"Hush, baby. It's her turn now."

Before you can even think of quirking your eyebrows in question he's already burying his face between your thighs, and you let out a scream.

His tongue is fucking relentless, flicking the muscle over your clit with cruel precision before loooong drags collect your juices, his adam's apple bobbing as he's slurping up every drop.

It's like he's starving, and well, maybe he actually is.

His hot tongue circles your puffy button slow just to watch you twitch, then sucks it between his lips with so much force that your legs threathen to clamp around his head.

Until you actually do.

Thighs locking his head in place, your hands scrambling through his hair. He groans against your pussy, the sound feral, almost a whimper, sending vibrations straight through your core. Your fingers scramble through his thick brown locs, tangling and twisting until you're yanking them hard from the roots.

"Yeahhh, use me, baby. C'mon."

His rambles dissapear into your pussy, responding moan so filthy and needy. He could get used to this new neediness of yours.

God, he loves this.

He wraps his arms tighter around your thighs, locking you in place, and whining into your pussy like he's gone mad.

"Just like that, Cay'! Nghhh! don't stop, soooo good!"

Yeah, he's gone mad.

And you? You're gone.

Drooling, rutting your hips into his mouth without a shred of shame. Your body moves on instinct now, so lost in the pleasure that your eyes flutter shut, tummy sucking in as you feel yourself nearing your release.

Slurp, slurp, slurps fill the room and it's so messy— your juices coating the lower half of his face, some bleeding into the sheets below.

He glances up, pulling back just enough, and fuck, what a sight.

Your eyes glisten with unshed tears, wide and glassy pupils blown. A firm drip of drool escapes the corner of your mouth, tracing a long line down your chin. You sniffle softly, nose red and a thin sheen of sweat clings to your skin.

"My poor, poor baby."

The soft tone of his voice is a stark betrayal of what his mouth is doing to you.

His tongue is merciless, flicking and lapping at your folds with so much persicion, every lick calculated to push you further towards your limits.

He latches onto your clit with a groan, sucking hard, your thighs seizing up around his head in a headlock. Your fingers claw uselessly at the sheets, legs kicking, entire body coiled tight.

"G-god, Caleb! So good, don't stop, don't—"

Right then, your orgasm crashes over you with so much force, your head digs back into the matress. Your hips buck up wildly, unable to process the sudden pleasure washing over you, and your sweet, loving boyfriend licks you through it.

He just keeps going, keeps tasting you, even as your thighs shake and you try to twist away from from him, his wet hot tongue overwhelming you.

It's so much, too much, but still, you want—

"M-moreee! Wan' more! Need to—"

Smack!

The sharp sudden sting hits your soaked pussy before you can finish the sentence, palm cracking against your sensitive folds with a wet slap. You let out a loud, broken cry, your head twisting against the pillow as your thighs clamp together on instinct.

"No worries. Gonna give it to ya'."

Only then does he spread you open with both hands, thumbs dragging your slick folds apart to admire the way you twitch and throb. And only then does he finally pull back, tongue slipping out to taste you one last time, his chin and lips soaked, glistening with your juices.

He stays like that, lower face shining in your essance, to lazy to even bother wiping it away as his eyes lock onto you, pupils darkening.

And as he sees your hungry gaze he silently thanks the whole damn universe for your sudden neediness today.

Fucking finally a time for his inner freak to shine.

You're already moving before he says a word, scrambling weakly up onto your knees, hands clutching at his waistband like a woman possessed.

And maybe you are.

"Hurryyyyyy," you whimper, dragging the word out through a long sob. "P-please, baby! Pleaseeee, I want— Need you in me right now."

Oh, how impatient you are.

Eagerly, he shoves his sweats down and kicks them off, cock already flushed and leaking from the torture. He doesn't dare to tease, already climbing ontop of you to grab your hips, and drives into you in one deep thrust.

The stretch is so sharp and overwhelming that you scream out, white-hot blaze overcoming you.

Your walls clamp down around him so fiercely he groans, his pre squirting out with urgency, head falling back, eyes rolling shut.

He underestimated you.

"H-holy shit, baby—so damn tight— h-hahhh!"

You're already back into your drunken daze, meeting his thrusts as your heat-addled clit grinds against his faint brown trail of hair.

"Harder," you pant, nails clawing at his shoulders, his strong arms quick to lift your legs onto his shoulders, hitting your g-spot over and over again.

But it's not enough.

"I said hahhh-harder, Caleb—"

He growls, pushing your legs firmly against your shoulders, your legs dangling above your head as he slams into you faster now, rougher. Unrelenting. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, the new position causing your muscles to burn from the stretch, and every thrust hits you so deep, fat tip kissing your cervix, your vision blurs.

"Not gonna last," he blurts out, mouth covered in your slick now attacking yours, diving in as if your mouth would grant him air. "You're too fucking—shit! Toooo good—"

He's going to be the death of you.

"C-cum inside, baby." you moan, hands griping his shoulders, biceps, hips, anything to make him ram into your greddy cunny faster, longing for him to prod at your womb. "Need your cum, baby. F-fill me— uhhh! up!"

His balls tighten, almost painfully so, mouth hanging open as drool drips down, right into your awating mouth and he just know this isn't going to be the last load for him tonight.

He knocks the breath out of you with a brutal push of his hips, his girth hauling your walls further apart as his fat mushroomy head throbs, close, soooo close to fill you to the brim.

"A-alright, pips. Anything for my needy princess."

You're going to be the death of him.

ꪆৎ SYLUS

You're trembling, knees straddling Sylus's broad hips, riding him like your entire body burns with desperate need. His hands grip your thighs, trying to ground you, get you to slow down, but it's already to late.

"Gods," he groans, voice hoarse, on the brink of cracking. His dark, ruby eyes in search of yours and you swear he grows even larger inside you as your eyes lock. "You're killing me here, sweetie."

"M' sorry, Sy. Can't stop, can't—"

His lips crash down onto yours, muffling your pleas with a desperate kiss. His strong hands tighten on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, every thrust deeper and more urgent than the last.

"You don't have to," he murmurs against your mouth, voice thick with lust, ruby eyes eating you alive. "Have me. Use me."

He's done it now.

You grind down harder, hips snapping desperately against him, breath uneven and broken. And every frantic roll of yours pulls a low growl from his throat, his girthy length pulsating inside your gooey walls.

His hefty cock draaags along every sensitive nerve inside you, thick and heavy, stretching your weeping walls to their limit and you swear he gets harder with every needy rut you throw at him.

"Honey, I don't think I can—"

His jaw clenches tightly, teeth grazing his bottom lip as he struggles to maintain his composure. His head sinks into the sheets, gray hair forming a halo around his head as cheery eyes flutter before snapping back to yours, pupils blown wide.

"Y-you're so— sooo"

"Hmm? M' what, Sy'?"

You whimper, grinding down until he's pressed so deep you can feel him bulging inside your lower belly, leaving a visible imprint of himself there.

And It's only driving you further into insanity.

"You're gonna ruin me," he pants, voice thick with lust, a slight crack audible. "Ohhh, gonna fucking ruin me, sweetie. L-look at you."

You press your forehead against his, panting, your walls clench so tight you feel every vein and even the slight right curve of his girth.

Sylus's hands travel up your sides, grip ironclad, his thumbs digging into your ribs. His control is slipping, obvious in the way his dark ruby eyes widen, groan rumbling in his chest when you shift your weight and rock your hips harder against him.

He oggles at your eyes rolling to the back of your head, gripping your nape and pulling you down until his mouth meets yours agar, slamming his mouth against yours with such force, teeth and tongues clash.

"You're everything," he mutters against your lips, saliva connecting you both, voice cracking under the pressure. "So fucking perfect."

Your nails dig into his shoulders, breath hitching in desperate gasps in rythm to the bed creaking under you both as his hips jerk, matching your frantic rhythm.

"Keep going, love." He breaks into a grunt as your head falls into the crook of his neck, painting his ivory skin with bubbling drool.

"Thaaat's my girl."

There's nothing else inside your fucked out mind except for him him and more him.

Sylus. Sylus. Sylus.

Feisty hips bouncing on him, desperate to feel every inch, every frantic pulse, your walls fluttering, dragging Sylus closer to the edge with every desperate thrust.

And you notice from his deep groan, his parted lips aswell as his hands sliding under your arms, pulling you impossibly closer. His breath fans across your skin, heavy and ragged.

"You're driving me mad." He's a drooling mess himself now, thighs clenching as his balls tighten up, so damn close to filling your eager cunt up.

You lift your head before pathetically falling against his lips, saliva messily smearing all across his lower face.

He growls, hips snapping up with brutal force, obscenely loud and wet plap plap plap echoing the room, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging in like you could dissapear if he ever dared to let go.

"I'm close" He moans shamelessly into your mouth now, burrying his cock deeper, reddened tip hitting your cervix with each of his bold jerks up into you. "So close."

"N-ghhh, me t-toooo!" you sob, words barely forming through your moans.

"Gonna cum! Gonna fucking cum, Sy! Pleaseee—"

Then he surges upright, wrapping one strong arm around your waist, the other sliding down to grip your ass with a loud smack! and slam you down on him, over and over until you're voice betrays you, wails and whimpers flooding out from your lips.

His cock drives up into you so deep your toes curl, hitting the same perfect spot again and again, robbing cries from your sobbing pussy.

Plap plap plap.

"Better hold on tight, sweetie."

He grabs your hips, slams up, and fucks you like he hates you. The bed shrieks, holding on for deat life as the headboard rattles against the walls and in these moments you're thankful you live in the N109-Zone with no neighbours.

"Yesyesyes! Js like that, Sy!"

There's a thick white ring of your slick forming at the base of his cock, clinging to him with every brutal thrust, and when he looks down and sees it, something snaps inside him.

He flips you onto your stomach, quickly slipping inside your addicting heat again, as if it pains him to not be inside your for any second longer. His cock slips back inside your dripping heat with a lewd twack! and the both of you groan, breath hitching in sync as he sinks in to the hilt for the nth time tonight.

Your back arches, panting against the pillow as your nails claw at the sheets, loud whail earning a breathless chuckle from man above.

"Please Sy! Need your cum s-so bad— need you to breed me."

He lets out a broken sound, somewhere between a gasp and a growl before burying himself deep with one last snap of his hips.

His body stiffens as his cock twitches and pulses inside you, flooding you with wave after wave of hot white cum. You clench down hard, milking him for what he's worth, moaning his name as your own orgasm hits like a shockwave, body trembling beneath his.

He stays pressed against you, breath harsh against your neck, hand splayed across your lower back to keep you right where he wants you, lewd squelch from your stuffed cunny letting out a broken whine. You twitch under him, drooling into the pillow, body still shaking from how hard you came.

"This heat's not out of you yet, is it?"

You shake your head with a weak cry, drooling against the pillow.

"Then," he muses, kissing the shell of your ear, slow and almost sweet,

"Best start picking out a new bed you want, sweetie."

ꪆৎ XAVIER

"It's little moments like these,"

he pants against your ear, "that remind you just how much more my sweet princess can take."

You're out of breath, slick and shaking from everything he's already wrung out of you, but he couldn't care less. He doesn't even want you to recover and catch your breath.

And he sure as hell doesn't let you.

He spins you around like youre a mere feather-weight, palms branding into your hips as he manhandles you onto the bed, chest down and ass up.

Your hands scramble for purchase, fingers knotting into the sheets just as you feel the blunt heat of his hefty length press between your thighs again, his cock smearing pre over the curve of your ass, coating it in a shining glee.

"Could get used to you being like this, you know," he hums, one slender finger tracing up your stomach before resting on one of your breasts, giving it a tight squeeze, "you loooove getting all cockdrunk and dumb on me, huh?"

"Mhmm! Love you! Love your—"

"Say it right."

His words pierce through just like his dick through past your puffy folds, tip curving right against the spot that has you mewling out, almost like a button being pressed.

A sharp smack! to your ass follows his firm words, soon rubbing soothingly over the reddened globe as his cock slides out, leaving only his tip cramped in your hole.

"L-love it when you fuck me dumb, Xav'! Love getting drunk on your cock! But p-please..."

Your hips jerk back, earning a growl from his as he inspects your greedy pussy engulfing half of his length now, eager to suck him back in whole.

"... Still not enough. Need more."

Your pleading whimpers are muffled against the pillow face first as he fully rams into you again, body firmly pressed against yours. His throbbing girth is fully nestled inside you, his light chuckle hot against your ear.

"Talking outta that greedy pussy again."

You bite your lip in shame or amusement, you don't know. Desperate and wild grinds of your hips move back against his, rutting hard with every agonizingly slow drag of his hips.

He slides in and out of you like butter, your previous squirts of juices and his thick hot cum creating the perfect lubricant.

It's filthy— the kind of slick, nasty glide that sends sparks through your overstimulated nerves. Every time he pulls back, a string of mixed fluids clings between your swollen folds and his soaked cock, glistening, connecting you to him like a leash. The wet schlik schlik schlik of it echoes in the room, punctuated only by your choked moans and the brutal slap of skin on skin.

You're so swollen, so stretched, your body clutching at him like he's your prey.

"Tight fuckin' thing," he snarls, hands gripping your waist, forming half moons with his nails on your skin. "Keep moving those hips for me, angel— o-oh fuckkkk! Don't stop."

You don't. You can't. Rutting back with abandon, desperate and so greedy, your hips roll and slam into his with haste. You can feel every throb of his cock inside you, feel it twitch and pulse as his rhythm grows savage.

Fuck, you could die like this— pressed neatly against the sheets with your beloved boyfriend rutting you deeper into the matress for the nth time tonight.

His pace turns feral, brutal, the whaming of his hips against your ass growing harder, meaner.

"Y-yes! Yes, Xav! Gimmie more baby," you pant, hands reaching back to grip at his ass, thigh, anything to make him plug deeper into you, your stuffed cunny shrieking and squeking with every of his brutal thrusts, "m-more."

"My pillow princess can't even think straight now, hmm?. She's doing the talking for you now, huh?"

You grind faster, rubbing your clit against the curve of his pelvis, breath hitching in shaky gasps. The way he holds you, the weight of him pressing into your back, makes you lose yourself completely— heat spilling over, body shaking with need.

"Greedy little hole doesn't wanna let me go," he hisses, panting harder now, fucking you through the clench, feeling your now god-knows which-one-orgasm aproach. "A-ahhhh, hear that? Oh yeah, so fucking loud, begging me to fill her up again."

No answer, you're just cumming, squirting against the sheets, orgasm hitting you like a punch in the gut and fuck— he surely is digging in it.

His hand wretch your head up by your neck now, ocean eyes drinking up your agape mouth, lolling out tongue and your fluttering eyes, biting his lip to keep him from cummin in you right then and—

Shit.

Xavier's voice catches in his throat. His head tips back, throat bared. His hands try to grip your waist, then fall limp beside you helplessly, falling right ontop of you as now faint whisps of cum spurt out, meekly adding to the previous buckets of cum resting in your flodded pussy.

And he's still hard.

Well, you don't seem to be satisfied either. Not with your desperate arches, trying to get him to move even though he's fully laying ontop of you, barely leaving you air to breathe.

"O-one more." you purr, one hand trailing down to lock his fingers with yours.

He twitches inside you weakly, shaky sigh escaping him and glassy eyes snapping open.

You still want more?

"You're killing me, princess."

You giggle against the pillow, low lidded eyes shooting him a smug grin, spit painted mouth glisterning.

"Good."

ꪆৎ ZAYNE

In what world could he've known that his sweet little wife could get like this?

Sure, he's always pliant to your needs, always does his best to grant your every wish, make you happy. He'd kiss your ankles if you asked, worship the ground you walked on with no shame at all.

You're his wife, after all. His one and only.

But this? This has his mind fucking reeling.

He's never, not once, seen you like this—wild-eyed and sweat-slicked, mouth parted in shameless moans as you grind yourself up into him with no sign of stopping. Your nails drag hot down his spine, then grip tight around his ass, pulling him into you, holding him there like he might even think to leave.

Like he could.

Zayne groans, loud and ragged, hips stuttering as your soaked, greedy cunt sucks him right back in every time he tries to pull out. You're milking him, clenching down; your body refusing to give him a moment's rest—and it's driving him insane.

"Not e-enough," you gasp, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice so wrecked it makes his cock twitch inside you. "Need more. Wanna feel your cock deeeeep inside."

Well, he can't complain, to be honest.

"More?" he pants, almost incredulous. But the way he smiles, like he's so far gone on you it hurts says everything needed to be said. "Already fucked my darling wife dumb. Doesn't even know what nasty of a mouth she's got on her now."

You just moan, nodding that fucked-out little head of yours frantically, lips dragging across his throat as you rock your hips up again, taking him even deeper. He moans, losing his rhythm completely, slamming back into you with a helpless sound that borders on a whimper.

Your light chuckle sweels his heart—and cock. You kiss his cheek, sweet and breathless. "Yours, Zayne. All yours. Now give it ta' me."

You've done it now. You broke your poor husband's brain.

Before you can blink, he's flipped you over, your knees pressed into the mattress, arms trembling under your weight. You barely register the movement before his leaking tip is already forcing its way back in, sliding through your slick pussy.

He spanks you. Hard.

"You want more?"

"Oh fuckkk yes, I—!"

But he's not talking to you. His gazes falls directly down to your greedy cunny sucking him in, examining the mess that drip drip drips down your legs and onto the sheets.

"Want me to ruin my pretty wife, huh?"

He snarls at your snug cunny and takes the loud squelch! as an answer, bracing his hands on both of your ass cheeks, spreading you wiiiide to get a better view.

"Alright. Then take it, you nasty girl."

Skin slapping skin, his hips driving forward in brutal, punishing thrusts, fucking you with none of that usual sweetness of his. Just raw, filthy. You cry out, over and over, face buried in the sheets, hands clawing for purchase, head spinning with dizziness.

God, you're husband's out of this world. You're not even sure what you did to deserve a man like him.

"I'll take it, all of it!" you sob, hips pushing back to meet his every thrust. "Want it all, Zayne! W-wanna feel all hot and full inside—!"

He actually growls like some beast, ramming his cock damn near into your poor womb, and you scream when his hand snakes down and smacks your clit, a wet slap! followed by furious circles that make your thighs quake.

"You like that, don't you?" he growls, head falling to the crook of your neck to sink his teeth into your shoulder, earning a shriek. "Like me pounding you stupid while your pretty little cunt begs for more?"

You nod frantically, sobbing, helpless to the way your orgasm starts to crest, so tight and fast, your walls spasming around him, trying to milk him again.

"My wife's talking outta her pussy again, huh?" he huffs, snapping his hips harder, tip forming a deep buldge in your tummy. "Sloppy little hole just keeps begging. She's so loud, baby."

Your orgasm slams into you like a wave, shattering you completely. Your arms give out under the weight of it, body collapsing onto the soaked sheets as your cunt gushes around him, spraying down your thighs in a messy rush, soaking his cock and making a lewd, slick sound as he fucks you through it. And he doesn't even slow down, just drives in harder, chasing his own end with vicious rams.

"Want more, Zayne... please,"

Voice wrecked and slurred, your body's still trembling from the last orgasm. You're soaked, dripping, stretched and raw, but that greedy little pulse in your cunt won't stop—you're still needy, still aching.

Zayne's panting above you, face flushed, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’s still buried to the hilt inside you, cock twitching, cum leaking out around the base with every tiny clench of your slick walls.

"W-what about a quick break, darling? Promise I'll—"

"N-noooo," you whine, lip wobbling, eyes stinging as water builds at your lash line, hipsalready back to rutting and arching back into him, his fresh seed spilling from your overflowed hole. “Pleaseee, baby. Want more, my husband's fucking me soooo good."

"Alright then."

His voice is wrecked, but the second he sees the tears in your eyes and the desperate grind of your hips against his, he snaps. Whatever doubt or exhaustion he had left is gone.

He leans in close, presses wet kisses to your cheek as his thrusts get messier and more frantic. "Happy wife," his cock twitches deep inside you, mushroomy head pulsating with fatigue, spurting the last remnats of his whispy cum,

"happy fucking life."

Xavier had came across the open tabs on your tablet a few days into your work vacation.

You were scrolling through website after website on your tablet, searching for some hint of where your favorite childhood toy may have been made.

The plush rabbit had been a beloved companion since as early as you could remember and to have lost it was crushing. The toy had carried you through every milestone, every life trial, from the mundane to the terrifying.

To lose it now, as you transitioned into adulthood, as you struggled to build a life of your own. Hurt.

The warmth of a teacup presses into your hands, startling you from your scrolling. Xavier settles beside you on the couch, his blue eyes flickering to the screen, still open on another dead-end search for “vintage plush rabbit, brown fur, stitched eyes."”

His thumb brushes your knuckles. “Tell me about him.”

“Soft brown fur," you whisper, staring into your tea like the memory might surface there. “A little uneven from years of hugging. One ear flopped more than the other…"

Xavier listens, silent, as you describe the exact shade of its threadbare nose, the way its stitches frayed at the seams from being clutched during thunderstorms.

…and he made a silent vow.

Weeks pass. Xavier disappears into odd corners of the apartment. He spends late nights hunched over his laptop, hastily shutting tabs when you walk in. You catch glimpses of them. ‘Beginner crochet stitches," "how to shape rabbit ears," and—adorably-“why does my yarn keep tangling?"

Then, one evening, he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Close your eyes."

You humor him, until something soft and lumpy is pressed into your hands.

It’s…a rabbit.

Or, well—almost.

One ear is comically longer than the other. The stitching is aggressively uneven, with random gaps where the stuffing threatens to escape. The face is lopsided, one eye slightly higher than the other, giving it a permanently quizzical expression.

Xavier’s jaw is clenched, his ears pink. “It’s… shit. But I thought—"

You crush him in a hug before he can finish, the clumsy plush squeezed between you.

It’s nothing like your old one.

And somehow…better.

The second the bedroom door clicks shut, you’re on him, pushing Xavier onto the mattress with the lopsided rabbit still clutched in your fist. His laughter is cut short. You panties and shorts and hastily yanked down your thighs as you straddle him backwards, sinking onto his cock with a filthy roll of your hips.

“Y-y-n—holdin’ that thing while I ruin you?”he growls, hands digging into your waist as you bounce, the bunny’s floppy ear brushing your collarbone. “My bunny holdin’ a bunny huh? Silly girl.”

Every snap of his hips punches a moan from your lips, the plush crushed against your chest as he folds you deeper.

And when you squirm, he hisses.

“Squeeze that dumb rabbit,” he pants, pounding into you with reckless abandon, “But clench on this one just as tight.”

Your thighs shake.

And the bunny drops to the mattress as you cum around his length.

ᡣ𐭩 Rafayel

You tore through your jewelry box in a frenzy, fingers trembling as you overturned delicate chains and scattered rings across your vanity. The earrings, those earrings, the ones your grandmother had gifted you, were nowhere to be found. Your stomach twisted into knots. They were supposed to be your good luck charm for tonight’s ceremony, Rafayel’s grand exhibition.

“Where are they?” you hissed under your breath, raking a hand through your hair in frustration.

The door creaked open behind you.

“Hmm. Normally, I’d appreciate this level of dramatic energy. But, darling, are you redecorating, or is this a crime scene?” Rafayel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his purple eyes flickering with amusement as he took in the mess.

You whirled around. “I can’t find them! The earrings my grandmother gave me. They were here, I know they were—”

His smirk softened just slightly at the edge of desperation in your voice. He pushed off the door and approached, stepping over the scattered trinkets with surprising grace. “Ah. The pearl ones, right? With the little roses carved into the metal?”

You nodded.

Rafayel tapped his chin thoughtfully before reaching into his pocket. “Well, I might have a theory.” He withdrew his hand and dangling from his fingers were the missing earrings, glinting under the light.

Your jaw dropped. “You—you stole them?”

He gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Stole? Moi? I’d never!” Then, with a sheepish grin, he admitted, “I, uh... may have borrowed them last week for inspiration. They matched the color palette of my newest piece, and I wanted to get the shading just right. I was going to return them—eventually.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Eventually.”

Rafayel sighed, sliding them into your palm before leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Forgive me?” he murmured, all playful charm. “I’ll make it up to you. Wear them tonight and I’ll dedicate the entire exhibition to you.”

His arms snake around your waist, under the hands resting on your hips in a pout. “Well, more than I already planned to.”

The gallery buzzed with whispers and clinking glasses, filled with patrons admiring Rafayel's latest masterpieces. Rafayel himself, dressed immaculately in a black suit, schmoozed with a group of affluent guests. That is until a hand closed around his wrist.

Without hesitation, you tugged him away from the crowd.

"Wha—" he started, but you silenced him with a look, one that made his lips part in delicious surprise. Backing him into the alcove behind a towering abstract sculpture, you pressed him against the wall, hidden from view by the twisting metal forms.

His breath hitched as you sank to your knees, fingers already working at his belt.

"Miss Bodyguard," he hissed, voice half-laugh, half-plea, "Are you—mmph—ah—really doing this here?"

You looked up through your lashes, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.Consider it repayment for stealing my earrings."

His head thudded back against the wall, stifling a groan as his fingers tangled in your hair.

The muffled chatter of the gallery mere feet away only made it sweeter.

Your red stained lips encircled the swollen tip, tongue teasing his already leaking slit. The taste was so prominent on your tongue. You moaned from the taste alone and Rafayel’s knees nearly buckled.

A stifled groan, barely audible over the murmurs of the art patrons beyond your hiding spot, broke through his lips.

His other hand slapped up, bracing against the cold metal sculpture, as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Miss. Bodyguard, y-you really have an insatiable appetite."

The words were playful, a thinly-veiled moan breaking through.

You simply just hum around his soggy cock, the slurps being drowned out by the polite lives and chuckles. Your pretty eyes looking up at him through thick lashes would be his undoing.

Rafayel has to cover his mouth, his toes curled in freshly polished dress shoes. A broken whine spills from his mouth, just like how pearly white cum spills into your eager mouth.

Maybe he should steal his jewelry more often.

ᡣ𐭩 Zayne

The train station is bustling with noise. Whistles of departures, chatter of passengers, the squeal of brakes on rails but you hear none of it. Your fingers tremble around the warped, waterlogged journal in your hands, its pages bloated and ink-smeared beyond recognition. Years of memories, sketches of Zayne asleep at his study desk, ticket stubs from your first movie together, pressed wildflowers from that picnic by the river. It was all dissolved into blurred, unreadable stains.

You don’t notice the tears streaking your face until you spot him. Zayne, standing at the station gates, his hazel eyes locking onto yours the second you step off the train. His expression shifts from relief to alarm in an instant. He strides forward, strong hands reaching for you.

“What happened? His gaze drops to the ruined journal in your grip, and understanding dawns in his eyes. He knows what that book meant to you. Knows it held pieces of him you never trusted yourself to keep in memory alone.

You try to speak, but your breath hitches. Instead, you press the journal against his chest weakly, like an apology.

He takes it gently, flipping through the ruined pages once before closing it with deliberate care. Then, without a word, he pulls you into his arms, your face pressed into the warm space between his shoulder and neck.

“I remember it all," he whispers against your hair. "Every page. Every word. I’ll rewrite it for you."

And you know he will. Because Zayne has always been terrible at letting go.

A few weeks pass. You find him hunched over his desk at odd hours, dawn light bleeding through the curtains, midnight lamplight casting shadows under his eyes. The pages of the new journal fill slowly, meticulously. His surgeon’s script is neat and measured, but the content is anything but clinical.

Page 1: “You were seven when we met. Your knees were scraped from falling off your bike, and you glared at me like I was the one who pushed you. You still look at me like that sometimes.”

Page 12: “Middle school. You punched a boy who called me ‘four-eyes.’ I pretended to be annoyed. I kept the note you slipped into my locker the next day: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect your nerdy ass.’

Page 23: “First date. You took me to that terrible diner with the neon sign because ‘the shitty milkshakes are tradition.’ You stole my fries. You still do.”

He includes sketches. Your laugh lines, the way you tilt your head when you’re annoyed, the scar on your knuckles from a long-ago fight. Little things. Your things.

One night, you catch him asleep at his desk, pen still loosely gripped in his fingers. The journal lies open to a half-finished entry:

“The first time we—“

The rest is unwritten, but his thumb rests softly over a smudged pencil sketch. It’s of two intertwined figures, all tangled sheets and whispered names.

You close the journal gently and drape a blanket over his shoulders.

He’ll finish that page later. You have time.

The new journal sits heavy in your lap as you trace the familiar curves of Zayne’s handwriting. Each stroke is deliberate, each memory resurrected with painful tenderness. You swallow hard before turning to him, catching the way his gaze lingers on you, wary and waiting.

“Thank you," you say so softly, fingers skimming the page where he’d painstakingly recreated your first date, down to the ketchup stain you’d left on the diner receipt. “It’s perfect."

Zayne gives a small smile, shoulders loosening, but you’re not done. You flip to a fresh page and press the journal back into his hands, along with his favorite pencil. The one he uses for sketches between.

“One more," you insist as you slide off the couch and onto your knees between his legs.

His breath hitches.

“Here?" His hands that are normally so steady, shake around the book.

You smirk, nuzzling the hard line of his cock through his slacks before looking up through your lashes. Unless you don’t want—"

“Turn your head slightly," he orders, voice wrecked, sketching the outline of you first. The slope of your shoulders, the way the light catches your lips parted around him. His pencil falters only when you take him fully into your mouth, his free hand scrambling to anchor itself in your hair again.

The resulting sketch is messy, passionate and alive, in a way the old journal never captured.

And when he flips the page to show you, his signature is smudged.

Like he couldn’t wait to be done. Like he couldn’t wait to have you again.

You maintain unbroken eye contact as you slowly encircle the tip of his cock with your lips, tongue swirling in teasing patterns. Your hands slide up his trembling thighs before gently cradling his balls, rolling them with just enough pressure to make his breath stutter.

Zayne's pencil falls forgotten to the floor as his head thuds back against the couch, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. His hips jerk involuntarily, but you place a firm hand on his stomach to keep him still, relishing the way his muscles tense beneath your palm.

"My Love—" he chokes out, fingers twisting in your hair as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks on each upward pull. Droplets of precum bead on your tongue, the salty-sweet taste mingling with the graphite still clinging to your fingers from turning his sketchbook pages.

His breathing grows ragged, desperate, each exhale punctuated by your name. You can feel him fighting to hold on, his surgeon's discipline crumbling under your relentless rhythm. When you finally hum around him, vibrating against his length, his whole body shudders violently.

The journal lies forgotten beside you, its fresh pages waiting to capture this moment too. The way his lashes flutter, his lips part, his control completely unraveled by your mouth. But for now, it remains untouched.

There will be time for memories later.

ᡣ𐭩 Caleb

Caleb pushed open the door to your shared apartment after a long, grueling shift, only to find you crumpled against the couch. You were clutching ragged scraps of fabric and crying like something broke.

He crosses the room in three long strides, dropping to his knees next to you, one hand cupping your face, the other gently prying the fabric from your tight grasp.

“Hey—hey, hey." he soothes, untangling your fingers from the scraps. "Sweetheart, what’s wrong?"

You lean into his touch like a lifeline, your shoulders shaking with sobs too hard for words. His heart clenches, his hands shaking as he carefully smooths out the torn fabric and finally, he catches a glimpse of the familiar blue fabric. His purple eyes soften as he realizes what exactly he’s holding.

“The jacket…" He clutches the jacket in one hand and tries to get you to look at him. “Oh baby…what happened to your jacket?”

“Th-the w-washing machine!” You choke out between shuddering breaths, fingers curling tighter around the shredded fabric of his old academy flight jacket. Your jacket, the one he gave you after graduation, the one you wore every time he was away on deployment.

Almost every night after the false news that he had died in the house explosion.

Caleb's hands are suddenly on yours, gently prying them open to reveal the damage. The frayed seams, the torn lining, the way the embroidered “XIA" patch hangs by a single thread. His jaw clenches, sadness flashing in his purple eyes before he crushes you against his chest.

“Screw the jacket," he gently rocks you in his arms. "I thought you were hurt.”

His thumb swipes under your eye, wiping away tears with a tenderness that contradicts the fury in his grip. “Listen to me. I’ll get you a hundred more. I’ll burn that stupid machine. It’s not your fault Pips.”

Within less than 24 hours, he’s gotten you a replica. Unfortunately, you had cried yourself to sleep before he could deliver his surprise.

Caleb sits at the edge of the bed late that night, his hands steady as he runs the soft fabric between his fingers. He bought an exact replica of your damaged jacket, every thread, every seam a perfect copy of his academy jacket.

His eyes scan your peaceful face as you sleep, watching your eyelashes flutter against your cheek, the rise and fall of your chest. Your poor cheeks were puffy with leftover tears.

His fingers brush your hair out of your face, feather-light so you won't wake. He carefully tucks the jacket between your arms, kisses your forehead, and finally slips in behind you to catch some much needed sleep before his next shift.

But you have a very nice way of thanking him in the morning.

He wakes with a sleepy, satisfied grin, his eyes still soft around the edges. Until he sees you, riding his morning wood with nothing on but his new mock pilot jacket, the fabric of its sleeves wrapped tightly around your wrists.

“Mm Sweetheart...you know how much I like this view…” he bites his bottom lip to stifle a groan as you grind down on his aching cock. “But this is one hell of a way to say thank you.”

His hips jerk up, driving himself deeper into you as his hands slide up to palm your breasts through the fabric of the jacket. The same way he’s done a thousand times before, but now it’s different, now it’s yours again.

“Should’ve shredded that damn jacket sooner," he growls, bucking up harder. “If this is the reward."

Your words come out in broken gasps between each desperate bounce, your fingers clutching the jacket's collar like a lifeline. Just like you had during those endless nights when his dog tags sat cold against your chest and his jacket was the only thing that still smelled like him.

“N-needed it—" you whimper, riding him harder, nails scraping his chest as your thighs tremble. “When th-they said you w-were gone…”

“I know,” he growls, sitting up abruptly to wrap the jacket tighter around you, crushing you against him as his thrusts turn punishing. “But I'm here now. And this jacket?" His teeth graze your pulse. “Only thing you'll be mourning later is your dignity.”

He flips you onto your back, the jacket still clinging to your shoulders.

His calloused hands slide under the jacket, mapping every inch of your skin like he's re-learning you all over again. The familiar scent of leather and jet fuel wraps around you both as he pins you beneath him. He’s all hard muscle and still smells like the night sweats of fear that still bother him.

His hips snap forward, making you arch off the mattress as the zipper teeth of the jacket dig into your bare stomach. You can feel the embossed squadron numbers pressed between your bodies, leaving temporary marks on your skin. Just like the phantom pain of that empty year still lingers in your bones.

“Every night," you gasp, clutching at his dog tags. “I slept in this, choked on the smell of you.”

Caleb's movements turn frantic, his Evol pulsing as the jacket's sleeves suddenly cinch tighter around your wrists without touching them. The violet glow matches the wild look in his eyes when he snarls.

“Try sleeping in it now when it reeks of me inside you.”

The jacket survives this encounter, barely, but the neighbors file another noise complaint.

ᡣ𐭩 Sylus

The penthouse’s grand kitchen is covered in warm golden light, the scent of crushed spices lingering in the air. Ginger, star anise, cloves…but something’s off. The broth in the pot simmers angrily, murky and unbalanced. Your hands tremble as you grip the counter, staring at the disastrous attempt to recreate your gran’s Hong Shao Rou. Her signature braised pork belly dish.

The recipe was everything. Precise measurements, her secret touch of fermented bean paste, the exact moment to add rock sugar. And now it’s gone, vanished from your nightstand like smoke.

A shadow falls over the chaos. Sylus leans against the doorway, arms crossed, his red eyes flickering with amusement. The sleeves of his black blazer are rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with flour, as if he’d been interrupted mid-baking. Which he had, you had insisted he make you cookie to keep him away from your breakdown across the kitchen.

“Sweetie," he purrs, “-are you attempting sabotage? Or is this your idea of a midnight snack?" He steps closer, nudging a charred piece of pork with a fork. “Because if it’s the latter, I’d rather you just poisoned me directly. Less suffering."

His smirk is infuriating. But then, your vision blurs. Not from the steam, not from exhaustion. The weight of losing that tattered piece of paper, the last thread to her, crashes into you all at once.

Sylus stills. His fingers brush your wrist, startlingly gentle for a man who usually handles everything, and everyone, with roughness. "...You’re crying," he observes, white eye-brow arched. "Over pork?"

You whirl on your heel, “It was hers!" The words tear out of you, as more tears falls. "And now I’ll never—"

In one motion, he grabs an apron from a hook and ties it around his waist. “Sit," he orders, lifting you up on the counter with ease. "And tell me what you remember. Spices first."

You blink at him. “You’ll…cook it for me?"

His grin is all teeth. “I do a great many things, Kitten. Now talk.“

The scent of caramelizing sugar fills the air as Sylus adjusts the flame beneath the wok, lower, just like you’d mumbled through hiccuping tears. He works in silence at first, his movements precise, as if dismantling a bomb rather than recreating a memory.

You watch his hands, how they pause over the unmarked jars you’d described. The one with the chipped lid holding her smuggled Szechuan peppercorns, the tiny clay pot of fermented bean paste she’d buried in the garden to age.

“She—" Your voice cracks. “She never measured the dark soy sauce. Just… poured until it looked like the color of old maple leaves."

Sylus doesn’t mock you. Instead, he tilts the bottle in a slow, deliberate arc, the liquid cascading until the broth deepens to that exact shade, amber kissed by firelight. The pork belly sizzles as he adds it back in, fat rendering into the sauce until it glistens like lacquer.

But then you mention the star anise. How she’d always tucked one piece behind your ear as a joke, “For luck, and so you smell interesting." Your breath hitches. Sylus stops stirring. He turns to you with a small smile at your trembling lower lip.

His thumb swipes under your eye, wiping away a tear. "You’re ruining my concentration," he teases. He plucks a single star anise from the jar and tucks it behind your ear. “There. Now you’re sufficiently… interesting."

The dish takes shape between bouts of your fractured recollections and his quiet corrections. When the first tender bite melts on your tongue. It’s her taste, her love, resurrected in your lovers kitchen.

You nearly choke on the grief and gratitude tangled in your throat. He nudges the plate closer with two fingers.

"Eat," he says, softer now. “Before it gets cold. And next time, just ask me Sweetie.” He flicks your forehead.

Later that night after eating your fill and storing leftovers, you find him lounging in his study. He doesn't seem surprised when you crawl into his lap, the only he gives is a slight inhale at the feel of bare skin under the thin fabric of your shorts.

His fingers pause over the stack of documents, gaze flicking to your face. Red eyes narrow, gauging for the reason behind this unexpected boldness. The room is quiet, the only sounds the shuffle of papers and the faint hum of the penthouses’ night alarm.

"Insomnia, sweetie?"

The robe parts easily under your fingers, silk sliding against skin, and his jaw tightens when you guide him inside your wet hole. No hesitation, no ceremony.

A sharp exhale escapes him. His fingers finally move, but not to push you away. One hand grips the armrest, knuckles whitening, while the other finds your hip, thumb digging into the dip there. “Convenient," he scoffs, "I suppose paperwork can wait."

His gaze drops to where you’re joined. He watches the slow, slick glide. Your pussy is already foaming, a ring forming at the neatly trimmed hair at the base.

You rock forward testing, teasing, and feel the way his restraint fractures. "Be still,” he snaps, but it’s undercut by the way his hips jerk up to meet you halfway.

The papers scatter. Neither of you care.

“E-Easy Kitten, you’ll hurt yourself.”

The warning tears from Sylus’ throat as you sink down onto him completely, your thighs trembling around his hips. His hands fly to your waist, fingers biting into your skin. To steady you and to drag you into the next filthy grind. But a sound makes his thrust falter.

A sob.

Your tears hit his bare chest, hot and sudden, splashing against the scars and muscle’s that map his skin. Your hips stutter, rolling in broken, uneven motions as you cling to his shoulders.

“M-m so S-Stupid!” you hiccup, dragging yourself up only to slam back down, the force making him groan. “Y-you—" Another wet gasp. “You did the—the star anise—"

Sylus tries to calm you down. Trying to push away the tears on your cheeks to comfort you.

But his hips arch up to meet yours, driving deeper, as if he can fuck the gratitude right out of you.

“T-Thank you!” You wail, bouncing harder now, your tears dripping onto his lips when he yanks you down for a bruising kiss.

He licks into your mouth, tasting salt and desperation, and suddenly his hands are everywhere. He’s gripping your ass, dragging you back onto his cock with punishing snaps of his hips.

“What a crybaby," he coos against your mouth. "Crying over spices. Over me.”

You sob louder, clenching around him, and his composure cracks. A snarl rips from his chest as he flips you onto the desk, papers crinkling under your back. His fingers tangle in your hair, forcing you to look at him as he fucks into you. Your pretty face is smeared with drool and tears.

“Say it again," he demands, breath hot on your lips.

“Thank you—!"

“You’re welcome, Kitten. Gonna take my other batter now huh?”

He doesn’t stop. Not until your tears are for an entirely different reason.