@nationsss

he pulls your body into the living room, leaving a trail of his clothes haphazardly on the ground. 

he’s panting—hot, desperate breaths fanning over your skin as he drags your shirt up and off like he’s been starving for the sight of you. “missed you so fuckin’ bad, baby,” he rasps, voice raw with need. his fingers find your bra clasp without even looking, popping it open in one smooth motion. the second your breasts bounce free, a filthy moan breaks out of him.

“fuuuuck… my pretty baby,” he groans, mouth crashing back onto yours like he can’t get close enough, can’t breathe without you. “a whole month,” he slurs against your lips, needy and disbelieving, “a whole damn month without you…” the hunger in his voice makes your head swim.

you’re so lost in his kiss, in the heat of him, that you don’t even notice his hands working lower—your jeans unbuttoned, unzipped, pushed down—until he nudges your legs, urging you to kick them off, voice wrecked as he murmurs, “c’mon, baby… off.” 

you do as you're told, kicking them off your feet and letting them pool on the ground before caleb is pushing you onto the couch.

he drinks you in, taking in every perfect part of your body. his pupils are blown out like he’s on a drug, breath ragged like he’s run a marathon, cock aching in his boxers like he hasn’t been fucking his fist every night to all the innocent (and not so innocent) selfies and voice messages you’ve sent in your time apart. 

then he pounces on you—your panties are shredded and he’s discarded of his boxers and he’s ready to give you the fucking of your life. but then he remembers. it’s been too long—he should definitely prep you and stretch you out with his fingers. 

“caleb,” you whimper out when he takes too long to move. “just fuck me. please, i need you s’bad. ‘s been too long.”

“shit, i know, baby, but i need to prep you—”

you shake your head, hand moving down until your fingers pull your folds apart. he zeros in on your gleaming pussy, soaked and dripping with honeyed arousal. caleb all but whimpers at the sight. that alone could make him bust his load all over you, but he restrains himself—he tries to, at least.

he doesn’t keep you waiting for another second, he presses his fat tip into you and bites his lip at the visual of it disappearing inside your cunt. he feels your velvet walls latch onto him for dear life—almost like your pussy missed him too. 

“fuck, y-you’re so, ugh, tight, pips,” he grunts, forcing himself in past the resistance, keeping his ears open for any sign of discomfort. by the way you tighten even more at his words and the blissed out moans slipping past your swollen lips, he doesn’t think he needs to be worried. “you miss the way i stretch you out like this?”

you arch your back as he inches in deeper, feeling your cunt mold to the shape of him with ease, “god, yes! ca-caleb, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” 

his cock throbs at your desperation, at your vice like cunt, at the adorable fucked out face you’re sporting. you’re taking him like you’re made for it… no time apart could make your pussy forget whose cock belongs here. 

caleb finally bottoms out inside of you, his tip kissing at your cervix. your pussy strangles him so tight that his cock can’t help but twitch uncontrollably—the same way it does when he’s close… and then it happens—so fast he doesn’t even register it until his whole body locks up. he’s cumming inside you with a string of the neediest, broken moans you’ve ever heard from him, every sound high and desperate.

he goes still the moment realization hits. his face burns red, mouth parted, eyes blown wide in a mix of shock and absolute mortification. he came early… no—worse. he came before you.

“baby—” he gasps, glancing down where his cum is already leaking out of you, and the sight alone rips another helpless moan out of his throat. “god, ‘m sorry… ‘s just been so long, a-and i couldn’t help mys—”

“caleb.” you cut him off gently, your smile soft and easy. “‘s okay, baby. really.”

he exhales shakily, the relief on his face undeniable as he nods. he’ll make it up to you—he’s already determined. and with how hard he still is, still buried deep inside you, you both know you’re not going anywhere.

especially when you tighten around him, lean up to his ear, and whisper something wicked enough to make him choke on his breath.

“you have a month’s worth of cum saved up just for me, don’t you?”

#ZAYNE: OVERWORKED/UNDERFUCKED

zayne is an admirable man—hardworking, successful, the kind of perfect that makes people stare. but even perfection has its cracks. his? he neglects his own needs. the heat that coils low in his stomach, the way his cock strains in his slacks when you cross his mind… he always forces it down, choosing work over want.

and that’s where you come in.

what starts as an innocent visit—dropping off the lunch he “forgot” on the counter—quickly shifts into something far less innocent. the moment you step into his office, his desire finally demands to be heard.

you don’t say anything when you walk in. your face, the way you wordlessly set the cute lunch bag on his desk—it says it all. you walk around his desk where he sits, a small smile tugging at his lips and his cock twitching in his pants when he gets a whiff of your scent. then, like clockwork, you sink to your knees in between his legs. 

“hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

“four days, dr. zayne…” you lean into his hand, closing your eyes as the warmth seeps into your skin. “four days you’ve gone without an orgasm. that’s quite unhealthy, don’t you think?” 

a soft, amused laugh erupts in his throat before he muses, “is it? i don’t remember that being on any of my exams while i was in medical school.”

your eyes flutter open and your hands reach for the button and zipper of his slacks. “nevermind that, doctor. why don’t you just let me take care of you, yeah?” you pull his boxers down enough for his cock to spring out and slap against his button up. 

zayne chuckles wryly, nodding his head. “okay, but my lunch is over in 30 minutes–” he hisses when your lips wrap around his tip. “ah, sweetheart,” he breathes in surprise, fingers instinctively lacing into your hair. 

you work his tip, tongue swirling around his slit, lapping up his leaking precum. your eyes dart up to gauge his reaction and it sends a rush of arousal through you. his cheeks are flushed—that pretty shade of pink that dusts over his skin every time he’s high on adrenaline and overcome by need. 

it urges you on—coaxing you to take more of him, to stretch your lips wider and let him sink deeper. with zayne’s firm guidance at the back of your head, you’re already halfway down his length, the tip brushing the back of your throat. the sound he makes when your throat tightens around him is raw, almost feral.

“fuck, darling,” he growls, fingers twitching with the urge to push you down until he’s buried to the hilt. “you feel so good. y-you… ah—you're taking me s-so, so well.”

the praise sends a shiver through you. you moan around him, picking up your pace, hungry for every broken sound you can drag out of your usually composed, painfully put-together boyfriend. your hand curls loosely around the base of his cock while your other drifts lower, cupping and gently squeezing his balls, eager to unravel him completely. 

and zayne’s weak. your hands and mouth work in tandem to make his chest heave and soft sighs slip out of him. you moan and whine around him some more to add to the sensation and it works… boy, does it work. 

the vibrations shoot right through him, his entire body tenses and he moans—so shaky like he doesn’t trust the sound coming out of him, so low, yet so loud that the sound echoes in his office. loud enough to test the sound-proofing on the room.

“baby—” he gasps, fingers tightening in your hair, tugging at the roots. the moment you gag around him, his hips jerk forward on instinct. “b-baby, f-fuck, wait—slow down. slo—oh—!”

but you’re past the point of hearing him. your pace only grows messier, hungrier. you drop your hand and force yourself down as far as you can, swallowing every inch you can take. the second he feels himself lodged deep in your throat, his whole body goes rigid.

a rush of broken curses tumbles from his mouth as he falls apart. you choke when the first hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat, spluttering in surprise before greedily swallowing every pulse of him like you were made for it.

when you finally pull off, you give him a few tiny coughs, your cheeks wet with tears and your breaths uneven. you recover faster than he does—fast enough to see the way he slumps back, bliss-drunk, his hands—just moments ago tangled in your hair—now clamped around the armrests so tight his knuckles have gone bone-white.

his eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, and when he sees you watching him with that smug, satisfied little smirk… a shudder of embarrassment rolls through him.

“my love,” he pants like all the air in the room has been sucked out of the room. “please don’t tease.”

“that might’ve been a new record, baby.” you say, voice raw. “i don’t even think you came that fast during our first time.”

his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, “please, enough… you know i’ve been stressed.”

“my poor, pent-up doctor.” you rise to your feet, towering over his slack body like you’re savoring the view. he looks spent, dazed, completely undone beneath you—you’re not sure how he’ll get back to work after this. “don’t worry, baby,” you murmur, trailing a finger along his jaw. 

“you’re in very good hands now.”

#SYLUS: WEAK

sylus is far from weak. he carries a kind of strength—mental, physical, commanding—that made him leader of the onychiuns in the first place. he has to be strong-willed. unshakeable. untouchable.

but all of that falls apart when you’re in sight. 

especially when he walks into his room after a long “business” meeting and finds you nonchalantly stretched across his bed reading a book in nothing but red lace that barely hides anything and his oversized, burgundy robe sliding off your shoulders like you want him to be on his knees. he tries not to falter, tries to keep that cool, indifferent mask he’s known for… but you see right through him. you always do.

you see the way his eye darkens, glowing a deeper shade of red. you see the hitch in his breath. you see the way he starts toward you—slow, deliberate, each step slower than the next. 

a predator closing in.

“what’s all this, sweetie?” he hums, voice low and airy. “i wasn’t expecting you to still be awake. you’re usually passed out by this hour.”

“i thought about it… but i wanted to see you, is that so wrong?” you cock your head innocently, abandoning your book in favor of putting your eyes on him. “just wanted to greet the big, bad leader of onychinus when he got home…” you say, slowly rising to sit on your knees before him, his robe nearly swallowing you.

any second now, he’s going to pounce.

he suppresses a groan when he notices your breast practically spilling out of your bra. “and how would one greet the big, bad leader of onychinus?” 

once he’s within arms reach, you can see in his eyes that he’s waiting for your permission. the little glint in your eyes or the smile etching into your face that says ‘it’s okay, you can touch me.’

before his hands can touch you, you fist the front of his shirt and yank him forward, catching him completely off guard. in one swift motion, you flip him onto the bed, climbing over him and settling on his lap like you’ve claimed a throne.

he stares up at you, lips parted, eyes just a little too wide—like he’s scrambling to hide the shock, to pretend he saw it coming. but it’s already written all over his face.

he’s the one caught now.

and it’s not that sylus minds when you rip his shirt open, tearing some of the buttons on the crisp fabric off or when you lay sloppy, wet kisses to his burning skin. it’s only when your hips begin to move and your lips trail down his neck and his heaving chest that he realizes what you’re doing.

“is this a punishment, baby?” he pants, groaning when your teeth sink into his large pec. “mad that i kept you waiting for me?”

you grind your hips against his aching cock and he can feel the shape of your pussy… how wet it is through all the layers of fabric between you. 

“you were gone for so long, sy… promised you’d be home soon and you lied.” you try to keep your voice steady, but it’s difficult when his cock, slotted between your thighs, stimulates your clit in the best way possible. “so you keep your hands off of me and let me have my fun like a good boy, yeah?”

he smirks up at you, cock twitching, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “yeah, sweetie. go on and punish me… i’ve been bad, haven’t i?”

and maybe it isn’t much of a punishment for sylus at first, but the moment you start grinding your hips down harder—faster—it becomes torture of the sweetest kind. his fingers curl into the satin sheets beside him, knuckles straining as he fights the urge to touch you. to grab you. to flip you beneath him and shove his cock deep into your cunt. he wants to fuck you until you gush all over him, until your tiny hands press against his broad chest, trying—and failing—to push him away.

your lips trail down his chest, slow and teasing, leaving soft, blooming love bites in your wake. each time a deep groan vibrates through his chest, the sound reverberates against your mouth, sending shivers down your spine. and god, the way he moans for you—raw, unrestrained—only makes you grind down harder, delight curling warm and wicked in your stomach.

then your lips wrap around his peaked nipple, teeth tugging and tongue lapping like you’re willing something to come out. you whimper around him and it sends shockwaves through all 6 feet and 2 inches of him. 

he gasps as a jolt of pleasure shoots straight through him. were his nipples always this sensitive? he’s never reacted like this before.

“w-what are you— f-fuck, gorgeous, don’t do tha—hah!” his voice breaks beautifully, the last sound spilling out of him in a deep, helpless, breathless cry.

he bites down on his lip hard when you move to his other nipple, giving it just as much attention—just as much torment. it’s abuse in the prettiest form, and he’s completely helpless to it. he tries—really tries—to think about anything other than the overwhelming mix of sensations… your hips grinding down on him, your mouth teasing his chest, the heat pooling low in his stomach way too fast.

but he can’t. he’s drowning in you.

your scent, your soft little whines with every roll of your hips, the way the red lace clings to your body—his favorite set, the one he can never resist. it’s all too much, and he feels himself unraveling beneath you.

when he lets out a long, drawn out groan and you feel the warm, wet patch grow on his pants, you giggle uncontrollably. sylus, leader of onychinus sylus… just came in record time, in his pants at that. all because of some dry humping and nipple play. 

you lift your head and take in the defeated sight of him and let a cocky grin etch into your face.

“who knew the big, bad leader of onychinus liked getting his nipples played with?”  

#XAVIER: SIDE EFFECTS  

there was something wrong with him. something truly, terribly wrong. he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, feel his blood thrumming in his veins, see his cock swelling in his pants and taste you on his tongue even though you weren’t even in the room—let alone the same floor. the need was unbearable. the need to fuck and breed you was almost disgusting, but he couldn’t help it. 

he chalked it down to the candy you gave him—you’d told him to save it for a special occasion with a cheeky smile on your face, but xavier didn’t understand what that meant. he figured “save it for a special occasion” meant save it for when he’s craving a sweet treat. 

he grabbed the wrapper and, sure enough, the back read “sex chocolate” in big, bold letters. he moaned, throwing it away and pulling out his phone with shaky hands. 

xavier: Angel I need U

xavier: I ate the sex chocolate U gave me

you: you did what???

xavier: I ate the whole thing 

you: oh fuck. i’m coming up now.

he stands in the open doorway, skin flushed, breaths strained, sweat beading at his forehead. when he sees you, panic across your face—concern etched into your features—he’s not sure why. he doesn’t care. the second you’re within reach, he yanks you into the apartment and slams the door shut, the impact rattling the picture frames of the two of you lining the wall.

“xavier, we need to get you water and—”

you should’ve known you wouldn’t get the chance to finish. his lips crash into yours, hot and desperate, a low moan spilling into your mouth as he all but devours you. his tongue pushes past your lips, demanding, and his hands steer you toward the bedroom. you let yourself melt into him. after all, the fastest way to deal with the heat of an aphrodisiac is to fuck it out of your system.

xavier shoves you back onto the bed, ripping his shirt over his head and fumbling out of his pants before climbing over you to kiss you again. the movement makes your tank top ride up, fabric bunching beneath your chest as his weight presses you into the mattress. his tongue tangles with yours, frantic, like he doesn’t care about the burn in his lungs or the lack of oxygen to his brain. all he can think about is you—feeling you. loving you. fucking you. it’s driving him insane, lighting up every nerve ending until he’s completely consumed by desire. you feel it when the heavy bulge presses into your abdomen, the sticky heat of precum seeping through his boxers and smearing against your skin.

he grinds against you fervently, moaning and whining into your mouth before he pulls back, panting and gasping for air. 

“pl-please help me, baby,” he whimpers, he drags his hips down and ruts against your clothed cunt. “need you, need to fuck you s’bad. it hurts… fuck, it h-hurts s’much.”

you nod, mind in a haze from the searing kiss. you voice comes out gravelly. “f-fuck me—you can fuck me, xavie. fuck me till it’s out of your system.”

your permission sends him buzzing, his mind dissolving into static as his hands move before he can even catch up to himself. he tugs your little shorts and panties down your legs, baring you for him—glistening, open, all his.

his gaze devours you, drinking in the way arousal coats your swollen lips, the way your cunt pulses like a living thing, the way your body twitches beneath him with barely restrained anticipation. he doesn’t get long to savor it. with a sharp breath, he frees his cock from his boxers, letting it slap against his toned abdomen.

he doesn’t waste another second. dragging the tip through your soaked slit, he gathers every bit of slick he can before pressing inside with a loud, broken moan, his brows drawing tight as he finally sinks into you.

“f-fffuck,” he curses, pulling his lip between his teeth like he’s trying to will himself to stay strong. to not succumb to the thoughts mixing in with the static. the thoughts that scream: cum in her. fill her to the brim. pour every ounce of what you have inside of her—because he wants to last. he wants you to feel just as good. 

but he can’t. he’s hypersensitive. he feels every vein on his cock brand into your walls, every little ridge of your pussy glide against him, that slight resistance that’s trying to push him out— and it’s entirely too much for him to handle.

it’s why a choked, startled moan gets stuck in his throat before he collapses forward, hands clutching your hips for support as he spills inside you far too fast. silver hair clings to his flushed forehead, sweat-damp and wild, his eyes blown wide with shock as the realization hits.

he came first.

and he came fast.

“xavier—you came…”

his words come out ragged as his cock twitches inside of you, still hard and throbbing with need despite his explosive orgasm. “i know, ‘m s-so pathetic—shit, but i-i can keep going… need more. so much more, angel. can’t get enough—feels like ‘m on fire.”

and with his cum beginning to leak out of you, he pulls out, gathers every drop that’s spilled out and pushes it back inside of you. 

“gotta fuck you full of my cum and keep it there, you understand, don’t you?” he babbles, thrusting in and out of you with a mix of his cum and your arousal coating his cock. 

“after all, it was your chocolate that did this to me, so you should take responsibility, right?”

#RAFAYEL: SORE LOSER

“raf, if we were to go ten days without sex, who do you think would last longer: you or me?” you’d asked, a cheeky smile plastered on your face. 

rafayel scoffed at the question—why would you ask such a thing? obviously the answer’s going to be—

“duh, me, of course. i’m much more resilient than you are, cutie.” he answered, a cocky smirk etched into his complacent face. 

you hummed, your smile wide despite the fact that he practically called you weak. “if you’re so much stronger than me,” you teased, tilting your head, “then you don’t mind if we test that theory, do you?”

“bring it on.”

rafayel regrets it almost immediately—regrets being so hasty, so quick to agree to ten days without sex. he’d gone far longer than that before you, but now that he has you, even three days feels unbearable. ten is torture.

by day five, he’s already itching to give in. but then he sees how unbothered you are—how calm, how unaffected you seem by the forced celibacy in your committed relationship—and he bites his tongue. no complaints. no cracks.

he’ll win this bet. even if it kills him a little.

when day ten finally arrives, rafayel unravels completely. he’s rougher with you now—pinning you to his bed and kissing you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. he silences every cheeky remark you throw his way, every tease about how he’s about to lose, how he’s seconds from proving just how weak he is.

for a fleeting moment, he considers shoving his fingers into your mouth just to shut you up—but he decides against it. no. he wants to hear those silly little words falter, crumble, and disappear entirely when he proves his point by making you cum first.

“you really are a brat, y’know,” he grumbles once parting from your lips. his hands peel your clothes off your soft, pliant body and when you finally lie naked under him, his cock—the cock that’s been aching for this—throbs with need under his all too tight boxers. “‘m gonna show you that i’m the winner here, okay cutie?”

you offer a lazy smile and sing, “you can try.”

and it only adds fuel to the fire.

he’s pressing inside of you with an involuntary moan. your pussy envelopes his cock like that’s exactly where it belongs. ten days did nothing, your pussy takes shape to his size instantly and it’s both a blessing and a curse.

a blessing because it means he’s successfully molded your cunt to the shape of him—he’s ruined you for everyone else. not that he’d ever dream of letting you go. ever. 

a curse because the mere thought of you being wholeheartedly his, on top of the feeling of your tight pussy for the first time in a third of a month and the sound of your pretty moans—the ones he missed so much—it unnerves him. it’s too much for his brain—his body—to handle. 

but he has to hold on to his threading strength. his pride counts on it. the little tug at your lips counts on it. and it might be dramatic, but the entire dynamic of your relationship counts on it. if he loses—if he spills right now like he wants to—then you’ll tease him for eons to come. your last breath will be a teasing remark about how he lost this bet.

then you clamp around him, hugging his cock tighter than before and rafayel lets out a broken moan. “fuck,” he curses, voice cracking weakly. 

he’s barely bottomed out before you’re coaxing him with sweet words and a saccharine voice. “c’mon, baby. just cum inside me. i know you want to… can feel your cock throbbing.” you purr, clenching even harder, eliciting a hiss. “let go f’me… ‘s gonna feel s’good, won’t it?”

“sh-shut up.” he grits out, hands fisting at the sheets at both sides of your head. 

your arms loop around his neck and your legs hook around his slim waist. your feet dig into his lower back and rafayel just… can’t. “cum, baby.” you whisper. 

any last shred of restraint snaps, the tightrope finally giving way. his cum spills inside you as he breaks, a broken whine tearing from his throat—caught somewhere between despair and earth-shattering pleasure.

you moan at the warmth, eyes fluttering shut as you sink into it—the feeling of him filling you, and the delicious realization that you’ve won, that you now have permission to gloat for the rest of your life.

but rafayel doesn’t give you much time to let it sink in because a short while later, he’s pulling out, his fat load of cum dribbling out of you in the process, and slamming his overstimulated cock back in, burying himself at your hilt. 

you squeak in surprise, eyes shooting open in shock and you see the mean glower on rafayel’s face. he’s pissed—you can see it in his furrowed brows and his lips turned down in a pouty frown, but especially in his darkened eyes. the playful look that usually resides on his face is replaced with one of indignation. 

“raf—” you don’t get the chance to finish because his long fingers fill your mouth and it muffles the rest of your protest. 

“j-just shut up and take it,” he grunts, snapping his hips against you like he has something to prove. “your time for talking is up since you just wanna act like a brat.”

you suck and moan around his fingers, losing yourself in the pleasure he gives you. he doesn’t miss a beat—thrusting into you with perfect precision, the tip of him hitting that sweet spot dead-on. the sensation is overwhelming, sharp and delicious, and it sends your eyes rolling back as your body melts around him.

“gonna fuck you till you forget about this stupid bet, cutie—you’ll wish i won instead.”