evvergreene

[evvergreene]

this is the cutest thing i've ever read <3

current boyfriend

li’s x femreader | my (late) take on the ‘current boyfriend’ trend! | minors dni

my first fluff attempt :,) let’s all please be kind to lovergirl jade she’s sensitive

xavier

xavier has never had much of a social media presence, only ever logging into moments to see what you post yourself. trends aren’t something he’s familiar with and he honestly likes it that way— keeping a low profile means inner peace. simple, not having to worry about what the rest of the world is up to.

he just so happens to be a sucker for you, so when you beg on your hands and knees for him to record a video with you, he doesn’t even consider denying you. he finds your excitement cute, contagious even. there’s a small smile on his face as you set up the camera against a cup on the coffee table, the two of you sat on the floor and in frame.

“introduce yourself,” your elbow nudges his arm gently as soon as you press the record button. xavier pulls back on reflex, opting to drape the arm across your shoulder instead. “they don’t know your name.”

“they?” he murmurs, brows knitting in confusion yet deep blue eyes holding that same blank stare that they usually do.

“yes, they. the audience.”

he’s silent for a moment, taking a pause to process you and your lingo. if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have bothered to get comfy and cozy on video, but he has time today. his hoodie covers most of his upper half, puddled at the collar where he gently tucks his chin inside.

“hello. i’m xavier. i hope all is well.” he murmurs word by word, eyes reluctant as they lock onto the camera lens. he’s cautious and a little awkward despite how unfazed his expression remains, redirecting his attention to the burgers that the two of you were meant to show off. “this is our lunch. i’m starving, so i’m gonna take the first bite.”

fulfilling his promise, his teeth sink into the sandwich without much time for protest. you watch with playful eyes and he feels doubt clouding his thoughts, your constant mischief helping him build a second sense for bullshit.

“this is the first time i get to show off my current boyfriend,” your cheerful tone throws him off, the words actually falling from your lips making him jerk away when you go to wrap your arms around his waist.

“huh?” he sputters into his sesame seed bun. “did you mean to say that?”

“say what?” he watches as you bat your babydoll lashes up at him, feigning innocence, looking up at him as if you didn’t just light a fire of inner turmoil in his brain. “boyfriend? i thought we were official.”

his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, xavier shifting to turn and face you fully, camera forgotten and burger left abandoned on the coffee table.

“uh? we are? we have been for months now, what do you mean current?” he murmurs back, a bit of disappointment laced in his tone. the reaction was priceless but going through with it any longer only felt wrong, seeing how hurt he genuinely looked.

there was no holding back your coos and apologies, careful to wrap your arms around him, shushing his questions and doubts between your endless giggles. “no, it’s just a joke, xavie.”

“i’m not a fan of your jokes lately.”

zayne

dropping by the hospital to visit zayne while he was on break has become implemented in your daily routine. it was the perfect way to make sure he was eating while simultaneously feeding that part of you that craved his presence.

he’s grown used to your antics, not batting an eye when you court around some takeout or a cozy blanket to keep tucked away in his office for your scheduled visits. his colleagues know to avoid him during lunch, that this time of day was reserved for dr. zayne and his missus.

this time around, you claimed a seat right on top of his lap, phone mysteriously sat up against his hydroflask. he takes note of the way you tap open the camera app, barely giving it thought before going back to e-signing his latest order.

“hey guys,” you start with a sudden clap of your hands, causing him to jump and readjust his glasses. your body reclines back into his, back flat against his chest, his arms reaching past you to type. “i’m on my daily akso visit. my current boyfriend also happens to be the current chief cardiac surgeon.”

no visible reaction is given to your very obvious jest, not one that could be caught by the regular human eye. a twitch in his brow gives him away to you and only you, yet he chooses to stay silent. a hand leaves the keyboard to settle on your tummy, laying flat, flexing his fingers.

even if he isn’t correcting you or questioning the choice of words, his attention is now exactly where you wanted it. he leans back, expression flat, studying your playful eyes through the screen.

“he’s always like this,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand, leaning forward to grab his badge from where it sat on the desk, bringing it to view. “don’t let that face fool you. my current boyfriend is a softie deep down.”

it’s zayne’s turn to lean forward, pressing his hand down on your abdomen to keep you steady as he ends the recording, locking your phone and guiding you to sit sideways on his lap instead.

“what’s on your mind, darling?” he starts, eyes locked with yours, one of his legs bouncing in that same way he does when something bothers him. it only makes you smile at him as if you didn’t just imply twice that zayne wasn’t going to be your eventual forever love.

“oh, nothing. just happy to see you and show you off to the viewers.”

“did i do something wrong?” zayne reiterates, eyes narrowing. “current? how about you tell me when i upset you instead of announcing to your viewers that i’m only temporary.”

you immediately back down, giggling and hugging his head close to your chest, shooting down his concerns with several kisses of reassurance.

“it’s a prank,” your giggled explanation makes him huff in both disbelief and ease. his body physically relaxes underneath you, having tensed the second you started the video and introduced him so cruelly. “you’re my forever boyfriend. is that better?”

“not really. i don’t want to be a ‘boyfriend’ forever,” he can’t help but crack a small smile, nuzzling your cheek with his own when you lean in. “i’d like to be a husband someday too.”

rafayel

rafayel jumps at every single opportunity to procrastinate. thomas has been on his ass for days now about a specific piece that needs finished up by the end of the week.

is he working on it? sure, here and there. inspiration doesn’t just respond to his every beck and call— he has to be struck in order to work. it’s a slow process that only reaches full potential when he listens to his own body and brain.

so, instead of going out and seeking some matches to start that fire of motivation, he sits with you in the backyard of his studio. grass freshly cut, the flowers and herbs growing in his garden flourishing. the hammock has been neglected for days and he loves nothing more than being in your personal bubble, wrapped up in the fabric as it sways with the wind.

“this is my dearest rafayel,” you open up the video with a bright smile, wind blowing his hair into his eyes in a way that distracts him, brushing purple bangs from his eyes. you frame his face with your hand and he tries to smile before your words cut him off.

“my current boyfriend and i are bored out of our minds. we decided to play would you rather.”

his posture straightens immediately, almost prickly in defense, smug smile still plastered to his face. rafayel himself loved pranks about as much as the next guy, always teasing you and finding ways to make you scoff and smack him on the arm. he realizes now that it’s not so fun when you’re on the receiving end.

“let me do the honors,” he cuts you off, shifting to turn his gaze over to your own, taking the phone from your hand and holding it at a higher angle. “would you rather rephrase that sentence or rephrase that sentence? think long and hard about this one.”

the response is short and curt, immediately ripping a laugh out of you. your eyes squeeze shut and he can’t bring himself to be truly offended, placing a hand on your head to cradle into his chest. he mocks your giggles with his own high pitched squeals.

“excuse her. she’s got the brain of a goldfish,” he explains to the camera with a dramatic eye roll, gently shoving your face away from his neck with his free hand, silencing your wounded gasps. “she meant to say i’m her very loyal and handsome husband of twelve years.”

leave it to rafayel, the only man who could ever flip the switch and make a prank backfire right into your face. his wit and charm is unmatched and catching him off guard is next to impossible, something he proved during the earlier stages of your relationship.

“you gotta be careful with me, you know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now as he peers down at you where you’re tucked into his side. “i’m delicate. you can’t just say things like that. plus, you’ll lose credibility if you keep lying to your viewers.”

as fun as it was to gauge his reactions, there was that underlying pout in his tone. it made you relent in turn, bringing a hand up to squish one of his warm cheeks between your thumb and index finger.

“i’m sorry, my loyal and handsome husband. you’re right. no more kidding around. i don’t want to be made into a liar.”

he hums in satisfaction, leaning his face down to kiss the tip of your nose. his lips brush over your cheek, your cupids bow, landing on your lips in quiet conquering. just a little peck of forgiveness, cheeky and quick but so very him.

“that’s much better.”

sylus

sylus used to fiddle with his phone when he would sit and stake out enemies, possessing calculation and patience that allowed him to sit for hours without getting restless. onychinus had been dealing with a hefty issue as of late and when he mentioned going out to smoke out rats, you tagged along.

instead of being bored and left with his own mind for company, he had his right hand woman. you were quiet when he needed a moment to think, you were receptive to his every direction and command. most importantly, you filled the silence.

the past few hours of waiting have been painfully long, but not as bad as it used to be when he’d do this on his own. all you two have done is talk and talk, never a dull moment.

then, you brought your phone out. you slipped it onto the dash, supported against the metal barrel of his handgun. he cocked an eyebrow when you hit the red record button, the dim lighting casting nothing but shadows between both of your features. after all, it was dark outside aside from the shitty parking garage’s overhead lights.

“hi everyone,” you wave at your phone and it almost makes him snort, propping his elbow on the middle console, resting his chin against his fist. you take advantage of the position, wrapping your arms around his propped forearm, snuggling into the material of his sleeve.

“i’d like you to meet someone.”

“who are we talking to?” he muses, voice deep as it holds the smooth tone of mirth, using his index finger to tap your nose when you lean in to kiss his knuckle. “are you sending this to a friend? i don’t think this should be the way you introduce me to them. in person usually leaves a better impression.”

his questioning makes you bite down on your lip, masking the giggles that threaten to slip. sylus was unpredictable in situations like these and putting him on the spot is always a good time. there’s no telling what he’d say, how he’d react.

“my fans,” you gesture to the camera with a flick of your wrist, sylus huffing out a gruff laugh. “you’re not the only one obsessed with me, sy. there’s a whole audience on my socials.”

claiming you had a large following was funny, considering sylus stalks your page infamously. he knows when you post, he knows who comments, he knows the exact number of followers you have.

“right, did your platform grow overnight?” he teases, red eyes glinting with playfulness, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck in an effort to feel more comfortable after being crammed in the seats of his porsche.

“ignore him,” you dismiss to your imaginary listeners, shooting the camera a smile. “this is my current boyfriend. i wanted to tell you guys about our love story.”

a hearty chuckle leaves him, much louder this time, gentle in the way he swipes your phone off of the dash and stops the video. a few taps and he’s started a new one, returning the phone back in its place, eyes fluttering in challenge.

“let’s try again.”

caleb

having grown accustomed to your stunts, caleb doesn’t bat an eye when you settle your phone up on the windowsill, getting the two of you in view. he’s elbow deep in dishes, suds covering his arms and hands, eyes peeking up to see you recording a video.

the past hour was spent crafting a jar of caleb’s special apple jam, something you brought up in passing a few days ago. he never complained when you came to him with a request, whipping you up a batch of his specialties at the drop of a hat.

“what’s this for?” he hums with a gentle smile, eyes falling from the lens back down to the bowl he’s washing, ridding it of the sugar that was previously packed inside of it. “making a video diary to look back at when you miss me so, so much?”

his teasing earns a gentle smack to his ass through his sweatpants, causing him to jump, shooting you a glare behind his shoulder where you stand.

“straighten up and introduce yourself to my followers.”

that earns a laugh from him, rinsing the dish out and eyeing the camera once again, standing up straight. you were constantly sending him tiktoks and reels, so suspicion aside, he indulged you the same way he always does.

“i don’t want smacked again,” he starts with an obnoxious hiss, discarding the bowl into the drying rack, drying his hands off with a towel. he takes a step back to stand next to you, tugging you into his side with a lazy hand. “i’m caleb. she usually holds back from hitting me on camera so i’m glad you got to see her true colors.”

“you’re dramatic,” you scoff in a way that makes him smile, huffing when he bends to kiss the top of your head. “today, we experimented and made a batch of my current boyfriend’s famous apple jam. we wanted to show it off.”

you leave his side before he has time to even respond, turning around to swipe the jar off of the kitchen island, only peeking at his dropped jaw when you return back under his arm. he’s dead silent as you twist and turn the jar in display, still stunned and at a loss for words.

“what?” you question as soon as you lower the jaw, resting your cheek on his bicep.

“what?” he spits back at you, unsure of whether to laugh or drop to his knees in devastation, gently shrugging your face off of his arm in favor of gripping your shoulders and turning you to face him directly. “baby. what do you mean by that?”

his voice softens, weak with disbelief. he’s usually great at responding to jokes, at taking it on the chin— but when you’re involved? he can’t help but get a little sensitive.

you don’t last nearly as long as you had hoped, utterly defeated against those puppy dog eyes. how could such a big and beefy man be so fragile? lips jutting out into an apologetic pout as you cling to him like wet clothes, giggling into the soft fabric of his hoodie. “oh, stop it. you know this trend. you’ve sent me videos of this trend, dummy.”

it occurs to him then that yeah, he has. he’s fully aware of this. the prospect of you actually referring to him as a placeholder was too distracting to even catch the familiarity of it. embarrassment comes and goes, choosing to suck up your sudden affection.

“apologize,” he insists, tugging you closer, giving you absolutely no wiggle room.

[evvergreene]

[evvergreene]

studying with caleb . ݁₊ ⊹

caleb x fem!reader, mdni, caleb helps you "study"

“You’re awful,” you had said.

But was he really? All Caleb wanted to do was help (in his own way). And you’d be lying to yourself if you said he wasn’t. 

You two were sitting on the couch, old exam papers and class notes scattered on the seat and the floor around you were long forgotten. But you were perched on his lap because, “It’ll help you focus more.” You knew it wouldn’t, but how could you resist? Not when he wore those low rise sweats—with no underwear, a full print practically begging to be seen—and sleeveless tank that displayed his delicious biceps, his hair still damp and ruffled from the shower he took moments before. 

It was exam season, and you were trying desperately not to literally pull your hair out of your scalp. Who had even told you to take classes this hard? 

But Caleb, ever your knight in shining armor, saw just how hard studying was treating his girlfriend and knew he just had to help. It just wouldn’t be in the way you expected.

So when he sauntered over to you, lazy hands shoved in his pockets carrying that scent that was so unmistakably him, you peered up from your textbook with a heavy sigh. He regarded you with a sympathetic expression, warm and honest. But the glint in his eyes told you he was up to something. 

You squint your eyes and set your pen down. 

“Yes?”

He shrugged. “Having fun?” 

You rolled your eyes and brought your head down into the book below you. 

“No,” you muttered, voice muffled by the pages. You were knee deep in research, barely finished with the paper you had to submit for your final, and all you wanted was to breathe.

Caleb released a deep chuckle before coming behind you. Two large hands grasped your shoulders with a firm grip, massaging the rigidity away. Picking your head up, you lean back into his touch with a soft groan. You rest your head on his torso, eyes screwed shut.

“You are surprisingly good at that,” you said through a moan. He rubbed his thumbs into one particular sore spot, eliciting another sweet sound from your lips. 

“Why don’t you take a break, Pips? You’ve been at it for hours.”

But you couldn’t. You’d made the horrible decision of waiting until the last minute to cram everything, so now you had to deal with the consequences. And failing wasn’t an option.  

“Can’t,” you mumbled.

His hands stopped their euphoric movements. He leaned down to meet your ear and closed the textbook on the table.

“Then let me help you,” he whispered.

And that’s what brought you here: sitting on top of Caleb, thighs spread wide to accommodate his larger frame, and his steady hands on your now bottomless hips, guiding your movements on the growing tent in his pants. 

“Fuck, Pips.” A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his eyes meet where your hips meet his, a wet spot from your arousal pooling on his sweats. 

“Look at the mess you’re making,” he chuckles. A gasp falls from your mouth when your clit snags on your cotton underwear. And Caleb notices, angling his hips right on that same spot. 

Your cunt flutters around nothing as he pushes you down harder on him. He reaches a hand up to your face, guiding your gaze to his. You look into his lust-filled eyes as he bucks up into you. 

“Caleb, I-I need to be study—” But he pinches your nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers, and tugs. 

“Fuck!” 

He laughs, the sound settling deep within you. 

“Haven’t touched you in forever,” he says solemnly. “Been so busy. Barely get to see you.” He tugs on your nipple again, and his name is sugar on your tongue. His other hand dives to feel your clothed slit, pressing up into the wetness.

“Or her.” 

“S-Shit, Caleb.” He slows his pace, but only briefly.

“You want more?” You nod your head with vigorous intention, selfishly craving more. Craving him.

“Then ask nicely.” His voice was damn-near saccharine with how sweet he sounded. Like he wasn’t delaying both of your orgasms. 

You could feel how wet you were—not just in your underwear, making the heavenly friction of grinding your hips on his clothed cock only slightly uncomfortable, but on your thighs and soaking through his pants. It was true, what he said. You both hadn’t done anything for a couple weeks, work and school getting hectic. When you eventually got home, he was either asleep or working late again. And rarely, when he got to go home early, you were still out finishing up work for the program you were in . It was unbearable.

You had missed how he made you feel. How he knew exactly what to do and when. The spots he never failed to hit, how each time he prioritized your orgasm and kept you wanting more even when you were fucked beyond what you thought capable of. 

“C’mon, Pips, you can do it.” He pushed your hips further down on him, and you braced your hands on his shoulders. He sucked small, yet prominent marks on your neck, biting the column of your throat as you moaned his name. 

“You’re awful…” you whispered, too caught up in how he filled every sense.

He leaned forward, his ear right in front of your ear.

“What was that?” he teased. You throw your head back and roll your eyes, from annoyance or pleasure you weren’t sure, but you were so close to cumming. 

“Please?” you asked forcefully. And he didn’t even reply—not verbally at least. His fingers pushed your panties to the side, thumb slowly rolling over your clit. You bite your lip, suppressing a cry. 

He pushes two fingers into your slit to the hilt, curling the pads of them right on that spot. Your vision turns white hot as pleasure sears down your spine. You bite down harder as you reach the edge, his fingers thrusting steadily in and out of you.

“You wanna cum?”

“F-Fuck, yes, Caleb. Please?”

“Then let me hear you.”

You lean forward on his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck. Your mouth falls open, drool slowly dripping on his skin, as candied moans exit your throat. His breathing picks up at your noises, his hips bucking up into you once again. 

“Caleb–” you squeak.

“I know Pips, m-me too.”

The band of torrid heat snaps. You twitch and spasm around his fingers as they thrust into you, Caleb keeping the pace as you ride out your high. You buck into his touch, chasing after your orgasm with fervor. 

And Caleb’s not too far behind. He throws his head back onto the couch as he drives into your hips. Then he cums right there; sweatpants still on and a vice-like grip on your hips. He’s panting in your ear as he makes a mess in his pants, thoughts of you, the smell of you, the feel of you, invading his mind. He rubs your clit in languid, slow circles as your thighs shake around him. 

“Fuck, I need to be inside of you.”

a/n: yall I'm working on a dilf!rafayel x reader fic that may or may not be based on irl events and set in yet another art gallery :) not sure if it's gonna be a full blown story or just smut lmao. more to come!

[evvergreene]

orgasm denial with sylus ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪.

mdni | fem!reader

You looked so pretty all dressed up. 

You wore the dress he picked out for you. The garnet red strapless one that hugged your tits like a promise, the skirt bunched around your hips as two elegant fingers dive in and out of your pussy making a mess of your kitchen countertop. 

The one he told you was for his eyes only.

You wore the red bottoms he slipped onto your feet countless times when you were just about to leave the house, but got lured back in by your convincing—and extremely disappointed—husband. Digging the heels of your shoes into his lower back, you arch into him when his fingers curl deep within you. 

Your neck displayed the purple bruises he lovingly gifted you as you craned your neck back, eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open and releasing the prettiest sounds only his fucked out wife could make.

He’d been edging you for an hour now, his pace unrelenting and mouth dripping with the anticipation of tasting your arousal all over his tongue. But he wanted to savor the moment; wanted to watch you—his little doll—get painstakingly closer to her release then stop just when you reached the edge. A groan fell from your lips. 

A dark chuckle resounds in the room as Sylus drags his lips over your ear.

“You were in such a rush to leave. Didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of having you all to myself, did you?” He pressed a soft kiss on your temple, curling his fingers once more. You let out a sharp cry as he presses against that gummy spot in your cunt, hands flying to his shoulders.

“S-Sy–,” you mutter, voice tired but laced with unbridled need. 

“Needa cum…” You looked at him with hooded eyes, a dark smile spreading across his face. His thumb rubs small, languid circles on your clit, teasing your orgasm out of you. 

Your hips buck to meet his pace, your body aching for release. You had surely missed your reservation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All that was on your mind was cumming all over his fingers, being the prettiest mess for him, and you were getting so close. 

His fingers scissored inside of you, eliciting a whimper from your throat. You brought your head to rest on his chest, heaving out a sigh. 

“Sylus, please…,” you said through a sob. His pace quickened, the knot in your belly getting tighter. Tighter. Tighter.

“Look at me.” 

You picked your head up and looked at him with glassy, pleading eyes. Your breathing grew erratic, your thighs shaking as he brought you closer. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, right before removing his fingers from you completely. 

A tear slips down your cheek, the makeup you meticulously put on falling with it. He takes your chin in his fingers and brings you close to him. His lips were a whisper away, steady breaths fanning your skin, honeyed tone dripping with authority.

“You can take it.”

₊˚⊹♡

a/n: sylus is literally plaguing my mind but I’m not complaining

[evvergreene]

me as a writer

[evvergreene]

#obsessed

"don't leave."

his hand circles around your wrist when you shift ever so slightly, rustled clothing filled the once peaceful silence. his voice is muffled into your shoulder, his brows furrowed at the disturbance... and a pout on his lips.

a small breath fans the skin of your exposed shoulder, his nose skimming almost the surface. half asleep. words jumbled and not quite awake. but his grip is assured. seeking.

"don't..." he trails off, grumbling incoherently, and the sight almost makes you laugh. your mirth is greeted with an eye lazily pried open. "'s not funny. you're leaving me all alone. it's cold."

"i'm just going to the bathroom..."

your reasoning falls on deaf ears, much to your growing amusement and disbelief. sylus lets out a huff and turns around on his side, petulance evident in the seemingly nonchalant manner of his body language. his bare back expands with an exaggerated sigh of resignation.

"sylus—"

"no, no. if you loved me, you would have used the bathroom beforehand. clearly love is not something your bladder has for the sanctity of sleeping together."

he waves you off, a light waggle of his fingers, and draws the covers over himself. you can only exhale and laugh quietly to yourself. unable to help it, you linger just for a few more seconds and crawl back into bed.

"marriage has made you soft." your voice teases him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "you used to go days without seeing me and now you can't handle five minutes."

sylus turns, sleepiness doing little to hide the devotion in his gaze. his hand gently cradles the side of your face before he speaks. "i waited for you for years. forgive me for being greedy."

"it's just the bathroom," you protest weakly. damn him and his penchant for making your heart flutter. his head tilts, unmoved at your rebuttal.

"so? i would sit on the toilet while you showered if you let me. i want to be everywhere you are."

[evvergreene]

thinking about needy caleb ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪.

mdni | fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

The words died on his lips when yours met his. 

You kissed him fervently, like if you both were to somehow stop, he’d disappear— again. But you’d just gotten him back and would do anything to keep him from slipping through your fingertips.

And he’d allow you to. 

Your fingers slipped beneath Caleb’s suit jacket before moving it off his shoulders. You fisted his shirt and brought him impossibly closer. Your hands traveled to his hair and tugged until he was moaning in your mouth, pleading for more. You pulled away from him to stare into his pleading eyes, his swollen lips, then smiled. You drew your bottom lip into your mouth and he whined at the sight. It had been so long since he felt you like this; your heated skin underneath his fingers, his lips on yours. But this time it was different— you were different. The dynamic had switched, and Caleb wasn’t displeased with it. 

“Please?” he implored. 

“Please what, Colonel?” you teased, grabbing his hat and setting it on your head. 

He looked down at where you stood, taking in the purple slip you’d put on tonight. He rubbed small shapes on your hips, savoring the feel of the bare skin above the lacy hem. He felt his cock strain against his pants, swollen head leaking onto his underwear. 

He grabbed your hand resting on his shoulder and placed it on his prominent bulge. You gasped as he rutted into your palm over and over again. His fingers dug into the meat of your hips before bringing his eyes to meet yours.

“Please…” he trailed off, resting his head on your shoulder. He breathed you in before muttering something incomprehensible. You tilted your head back slightly when his lips met your neck, his mouth ghosting over your skin. 

His lips latched onto your skin as he continued his movements against you, and you felt his marks blooming on you. His tongue darted out to sooth the tiny aches on your neck, eliciting a soft sound from your throat.

You felt what Caleb needed completely. But you were never one to give in that easily.

You gripped his tie and guided him to your bedroom. He followed as if that were his life’s purpose; like he was a lost traveler searching for his saving grace, something to quell the ache deep within him. He would follow you to the ends of the earth, worship you, please you. 

“Shut the door,” you ordered when you both arrived. He obliged.

You sat on your bed, waiting, watching to see what he’ll do. He walked over to you in a trance and stood in front of you waiting for permission. For what, he didn’t care. Just something. He needed you in ways he couldn’t comprehend. He craved your touch, your taste, for years, having to settle for your underwear that “miraculously” went missing when he was back home from the academy.

He remembers those nights, rummaging through his drawers and plucking out the red lacy pair he loved. How he brought them up to his nose to smell you, knowing it would’ve been better if you were actually there with his head trapped between your thighs. His tongue darted out to taste your essence left on the underwear as he pushed it further into his nose, throwing his head back onto the mattress. The countless nights he spent with his hand wrapped around his cock with you on his mind, how suffocating it was not to have you there with him.

But you’re here now, and he grew harder at the thought. 

  Caleb desired to even just look at you. And when you looked at him the way you were now? 

He was ruined and you’d barely even touched him. 

“Please,” he reiterated desperately. But you shook your head, still tormenting him.

“It’s not about what I could give you.” You got up finally, crossing the room to meet his pitiful frame. You stood before him, looking up into Caleb’s solemn expression. Into the eyes you would happily die in. 

“It’s about what you’re willing to do for me.” Your fingers gently clasped his chin, dragging him down to meet your lips. He leaned in hurriedly, just for a single taste, but you pulled back before his desire could be satiated. You shook your head. 

His mind tried to piece together what to do— whatever he could do for you. 

He fell to his knees swiftly. 

You let go of his chin and look down at his trembling body. He looks up at you, a silent question hanging between you.

You nod.

A piece of him fractures into the palm of your hand. 

His gloved hands slide up your legs— from your calves, to your thighs, and he grips down on them like a lifeline. He brings his head to rest on your leg, inhaling your scent and moaning at the sweet intrusion. He rubs his cheek against you as if he weren’t close enough. 

He moves his hands further up, hands splayed on your sides, before going further just underneath your tits. He rolls a thumb over your nipple, feeling your body tense and hearing your sharp intake of breath. He looks up.

Your eyes are closed, feeling every movement he makes. He hazily smiles, pleased with his efforts.

He moves further, replacing where his hands previously rested with open mouthed kisses. He continues to look up through his lashes, waiting for the moment you look down at him and break. 

He trails further until the skirt of your dress is bunched at your hips. His kisses and touches leave a trail of fire leading to where you needed him most as your breaths filled the space.

He barely pulled away before mumbling, “Can I?”

You opened your eyes and looked down at him.

He looked drunk. Eyes half-lidded, cheeks dusted with pink, hair tousled from your earlier torments. You loved it. 

He sat there, eagerly waiting for your command. And the more you stalled, the more impatient he got. All he could feel was the feel of your skin, the blood humming in his veins, and the steady pulse of his cock. He humped against you like a dog.

He inched closer toward you, his lips inching to taste the wet spot on your panties. You took in a sharp breath. 

“Don’t make me say it again.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his head, cheek, lips against you. 

“Say what?” you replied knowingly, but the question came out a lot breathier than you wanted. 

“Please,” he answered quickly, like he wanted nothing more than to utter the word again. You gripped his hair and forced him to look up at you. 

“Yes,” you finally said. But before you could finish the word, with your hands still laced between his strands, his mouth was on you. He sucked on your clothed entrance, whimpering at the taste. His tongue pushed into you and you shuddered. You rutted against his mouth, selfishly wanting more.

“Fuck, Caleb,” you whined. 

“Wanna be good for you. Wanna make you feel good.” He pulled your panties down agonizingly slowly, watching as your arousal glistened for him. 

“This all for me?” He watched your cunt in awe, drool pooling in his mouth at the sight.

“A-All for you Ca–” His mouth was back on you before you could finish your sentence. 

It was so sloppy; his spit mixed with your wetness, the lewd noises his lips meeting your pussy made. He sucked and licked at you with hooded eyes that were trained on you. He watched as your face contorted and his name fell from your lips. 

His lips latched onto your clit and you released a cry.

“Tastes so good,” he muttered, hips bucking into you at a hurried pace. He was so close it nearly hurt. But he needed you to cum first. He had to taste it on his tongue. 

You gripped his hair in a tight fist, pushing him further into you. His tongue made expert work on your clit as he flicked and rolled the bud. 

You pulled him back briefly, panting as he caught his breath. But he didn’t want to breathe. He wanted to remain latched onto your weeping cunt, bringing you closer to your orgasm. 

“What’s wrong, Pipsqueak?”

“Fuck, Caleb, it–it’s too much.” You backed against the edge of the bed and sat down, but he followed. He kneeled between your thighs and pulled them apart further. 

“Too much?” You nodded. He leaned in closer until his mouth was ghosting over you. He looked up at you before spitting on your cunt and diving back into you. His tongue moved in and out of you at a brutal pace. You tried to inch away from his face, but his hands settled on your hips, keeping you from moving.

“Too much?” he mocked, sticking his tongue all the way in. You fell onto the bed, your back in the most beautiful arch.

“Not enough, Pips,” he said, pulling out. He rested a palm over your stomach and pressed. 

“You’re gonna cum for me, yeah?” 

You were so gone that you could barely comprehend what he was saying. So he helped you.

He brought a thumb to your hole and inched it inside, hooking the digit. You threw your head back in ecstasy. 

“Fuck, look at you, Pips. What happened, huh?” He pressed further.

“Weren’t acting like this earlier,” he teased. He once again wrapped his lips around your clit, giving you a harsh tug. 

“Though, I like it when you get like that. When you command me.”

He pulled away completely. 

“Look at me.” You lolled your head up and looked into his eyes.

“Want you to cum on my tongue. Can you do that for me?” 

You sat there, too fucked out to reply.  “Nod your head, Pipsqueak, there you go.” You followed his motions and bobbed your head.

“Gonna taste you now,” he said to your cunt before pushing his tongue into you again. Your fingers feathered through his hair as you bucked up into him, his name on your lips. You were getting closer by the second, breathing heavier, sweat on your brow. Caleb kept his pace, latching his lips on your entrance and sucking you into his mouth. His tongue darted in and out of you faster but with intention. 

Your thighs spasmed around his head, and you felt the heat in your belly grow in intensity. 

“G-Gonna—”

“Cum,” he finished for you.

You felt the knot snap inside of you. Your walls convulse around his tongue as your hips lifted off the bed and further onto him. 

“Caleb–!” you moaned. 

He continued pushing in and out of you as you rode out your orgasm, a smile adorning his face. 

“You did so well, Pips,” he said, pulling away, placing small, wet kisses on your thighs.

“Always so good for me.”

a/n: is this another fic of caleb being a munch? yes. men who yearn, earn :)

[evvergreene]

this was so good omg <3

hair wash day

⟡— an injured arm leaves you unable to wash your hair. luckily, your boyfriend is more than happy to help, sylus x mc/reader, domestic fluff, lots of kisses, pet names, self-indulgent, wc: 2.2K

⟡— a/n: this is a little something inspired by this post where i thought sylus would think that he could brush your curly hair dry. so this is for my peeps with curly hair routines! i know some of you have routines that take up 3 hours because of different curl patterns, porosity levels and whatnot but let’s just pretend that this is a condensed version. and if you have straight hair, be grateful that you don’t have to deal with this and keep on reading /j.

p.s. if i got the steps wrong just know that i only apply mousse and call it a day, so don’t come for me.

⟡— read on ao3.

“Come here so I can brush your hair. It’s messy.” 

You’d whack him on the head if you could. Anything and everything sets you off lately, especially with how itchy your scalp feels. You can literally feel every single hair follicle on your head—painfully. 

Before your arm had to rest in a cast, you used to wash your hair once every week, dedicating half a day to maintain your curls. It’s been well over a week and more, and your boyfriend who has set foot in your place for the first time today, now scrolling on his phone on the couch, thinks he can brush your curls dry. Completely clueless about how much time it actually takes to make your hair look remotely presentable. 

“You absolutely cannot brush my hair, Sylus.” 

Turning off his phone and chucking it between you two, he leans in, his competitive side bearing its head. “Why, you think I can’t do it?” 

“Not that. If my hair was straight, I’d let you brush it any day. You can’t brush curly hair. I mean you can, but it would look terrible and the brush would literally get stuck in there. I need to wash it first.” 

“And how are you going to do that with that arm, sweetie?” 

“I’ve been putting it off,” you admit with a  sigh, letting your head fall back against the couch.. “I don’t know, I’ll manage. I need to do it like yesterday. My head hurts and I feel disgusting. Maybe I’ll go to a hair salon tomorrow.” 

“Let me do it.” 

Your head snaps up. “You can? I mean, it takes a lot of time. You’ll be here for a while. And you’ll get tired.” 

“That just means more time with you.” His thumb gently smooths the crease between your brows, releasing the tension there. “I doubt I’ll get tired from washing your hair.” 

Oh, how wrong he was.

Sylus somehow manages to fit a chair in your cramped shower stall for you to sit. He has you tilt your head back to make washing easier, then positions himself outside the shower doors. Crouching slightly, he reaches in to turn on the water.

“You need to make sure all of my hair is wet,” you note. “it may look like it’s wet enough from the outside but the very middle part declared its independence and doesn’t want to soak up the water.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

And he does. His large hand forms a shield around your hairline, making sure water doesn’t get in your ears or eyes. You try to keep your eyes open as much as possible to see your boyfriend’s focused face, though the whole thing feels like you’re getting your hair washed in a salon, so you keep closing your eyes once in a while. Especially when Sylus lifts the shower head higher and unintentionally gets water on your forehead, despite his best efforts. 

Once he’s sure that your whole hair is thoroughly soaked, he shuts off the water. “How’s your neck?” 

“Fine.” It isn’t, the weight had started to pull on your neck towards the end, but you don’t mention it. You’re used to it. 

Sensing the white lie, he cradles the back of your neck, lifting it just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. His fingers gently squeeze the muscles beginning to tense.

He’s so considerate. 

“Now which one’s the shampoo?” 

His big hands are a gift sent from heaven, you think. Firm yet gentle, working through the stubborn itches on your scalp, even scratching behind your ears with his knuckles. If he keeps this up, you’re going to fall asleep right here.

“Sweetie, you with me?” 

“Mhm.” You melt into the chair but manage to open your heavy eyelids. “How are you so good at this? Did you do this before?” 

He meets your eyes then, an indulgent smile playing on his lips. “No, you’re the first. I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

The sound of soapy friction fills the bathroom again. You can’t take your eyes off Sylus, your gentle giant of a lover. Reaching out to cup his cheek with your free hand, you stop his fingers in your hair, distracting him from his task.

“What is it? Want to take a break?” 

“No, please continue. I just wanted to touch you,” you murmur, stroking your thumb across his cheek. “let you know I appreciate you.” 

When your thumb presses down on the corner of his mouth, he bends down, and your lips are already puckered, eager to welcome the tender kiss. 

“Is this how you usually treat your hairstylist?” he chuckles against your lips. “Does seduction get you a discount?” 

Playing along, you smirk and hook your index finger to the collar of his shirt. “I only seduce the ones who are stupidly good-looking. You’re the first.” 

He grabs your hand from his collar, raises it to kiss it, forgetting the shampoo coating his fingers. “Using my lines against me, huh?”

The second round of shampoo is even more touchy. You nearly poke his nostril. Nearly. He keeps your finger away by pretending to bite it. “Behave.” 

“But I love your nose,” you whine. 

After the shampoo is rinsed off, you can feel the hanging weight of a big clump. Of course, your hair was a tangled mess, with how long you’ve put off washing it. You tell Sylus to reach for the detangling brush and he spends a good minute trying to choose the correct brush from the rack. 

His first mistake is starting from the roots of your hair. He was too quick for you to catch on. 

“Ow! No, that’s not—start from the ends, please. And work your way up until you can smoothly brush it down.” 

A kiss to your forehead again. “Sorry, sweetie. That was stupid of me.” 

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.” 

This part takes forever because Sylus diligently plucks the dead hair from the brush after each stroke, making sure nothing is preventing him from smoothing your hair down, asking every now and then if he’s hurting you. 

“Look at how much hair you shed. You’d think I brushed a cat.” He straightens his back. Even if he feels a strain, he doesn’t let it show on his face. “The next step is conditioner, right?” 

“Yup,” you hum. “right next to the shampoo.” 

Cupping the back of your neck with both hands, he lifts it carefully, alleviating your own strain. “Let’s take a break first.” 

“Tired this soon?” you tease. 

“I don’t need a break, sweetie. But you do.” You think he’s about to kiss you again when he leans in, warm breath brushing your lips, his eyes low and intent. “You haven’t had water for a while.” 

And he leaves you there waiting with a pout while he gets a glass of water. 

After that, Sylus thinks you’re finally ready to sit upright. The conditioner only needs to be applied to the ends, after all. But trying to explain that you still need to bend your neck? That’s a sport in itself. 

Bottle in hand, he tilts his head. “I don’t understand. What’s the catch?”

“I usually do this step with my head upside down. Since I can’t do that now, I still need to throw my hair back, so you can do it for me.” 

“Upside down?” His confusion is adorable. However, thinking about the bajillion steps that still remain after the shower, you take a deep breath. 

“Yes, with my hair in front of my face. For volume. Otherwise my roots stay flat. Now lightly squeeze the water out. Not all of it. We still need moisture—no, not like a towel!” 

You teach him the praying hands method, he’s appalled by the amount of conditioner in his palms. “Sweetie, are you sure you need this much product? This is almost half of the bottle.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Now you know where all my money goes.” 

He looks at the brand name on the bottle, making a mental note to stock it up for you. 

“Okay, thank you.” You bat your eyelashes at him, luring him in for a smooch. He obliges immediately, a big wet smack sound echoes in the bathroom. 

The following step is scrunching the hair up to the roots with the excess product left on his hands. Yet again, he’s confused about why you need to do this. For the curls to form, of course. 

“And when you scrunch all the way up, keep squeezing but not too hard.” 

“Not too hard…” He murmurs to himself. 

You skip the hair mask, because you’ve already been in the shower long enough, and tell Sylus to find a soft cotton T-shirt instead of a towel for drying, after he rinses about seventy percent of the conditioner out. Gotta keep the moisture, after all.

You’re sitting on the floor, pillows propping you up against the couch. Laid out in front of you on the coffee table are a spray bottle, leave-in curl cream, mousse, gel, oil, a curl brush, claw clips, and a dryer with the diffuser attachment. A handheld mirror rests in your hand. 

Once he’s finished taking pictures of each product—including the different brushes and the diffuser attachment, “since you’ll need them back at the base”—Sylus settles behind you on the couch, legs bracketing you as he gets comfortable.   

You guide him through the next steps: clip your hair into sections, begin with the bottom strands, mist them with water, and smooth in the curl cream. Later, he’d be applying mousse. The gel cast step is skipped. You’re not in the mood for that kind of commitment today.

He picks up the brush with the odd indents, combs through the section, then shakes the strands gently between his thumb and index finger.

Voilà. The curl forms on its own.

“If you tried this on straight hair, it wouldn’t hold,” you explain while he’s still figuring out how to flip the brush properly. “But this way, the curls last about a week.” You tilt the mirror higher, amused as his elegant long fingers wrestle with the brush. 

His lips brush your temple as he asks, “You really do this every week?”

“If I have to be perceived by people—which is always—then yes.”

Sure, it takes him twice as long as it would take you, but the quiet “Poor thing,” he mutters, followed by another kiss to your temple while you watch through the mirror, makes it more than worth it.

Eventually, the styling phase is over. Time to diffuse. Your least favorite. Yay. 

“This thing looks like a space weapon,” he says, inspecting the diffuser attachment like he would a gun. 

“It sure does drain my life,” you groan, using his knee as leverage to stand.

Here you are again, head thrown back in the chair, while Sylus butchers the tune with a grin:

“Rapunzel, let down your haaaair.”

You squint your eyes at him. “I’ll see you with your sore arm when you’re done, mister.” 

With the dryer on the lowest setting (two words from you: “heat damage”), your hair nearly takes one hour to fully dry. Sylus does not complain one bit, keeps humming a tune. Relaxed but focused. 

The final step is softening the curls with a bit of oil by scrunching again. 

“We are done?” 

You laugh. “Why do you sound disappointed?” 

“With the way you were exaggerating, I thought it would take longer.” 

“Well, we skipped a couple of steps.” 

His hand comes to rest over his heart as he gasps mockingly. “When I asked you to teach me everything? You wound me.” 

“Next time,” you promise. “You know I’m stuck in this cast for a while.” 

“Plenty of time to perfect the routine.” He nods. Coming to stand in front of you, he examines his work, seemingly satisfied with the result. 

“Do you prefer cash or credit, sir?” 

Gripping the back of your chair, his mouth is on yours again. A content sigh escapes his lips when he pulls back. “My preferred form of payment is cuddles, miss. No discount.” 

Your fingers dive into the hair at his nape, scratching affectionately as they drift toward his ears. You roll and pinch his earlobe. Just because. 

(It’s so soft.) 

With the perfect amount of pressure, he begins to massage your neck. 

“I’m so down,” you whisper against his lips. “How about we cuddle, order food, watch a movie, cuddle some more… and then you stay the night?” 

“I was waiting for you to ask.” 

Later, curled up on his chest and halfway across his lap, you drift off to the sounds coming from the movie. His nose rests in the crown of your head as he murmurs, “You smell divine, sweetie.”

“Thanks to you.” 

“Don’t hesitate to ask me for help,” he says gently. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

His voice, quiet and warm, draws you back from the edge of sleep. You giggle. “Okay, I’ll call you next week for a hair wash. You asked for it, don’t regret it later.” 

“I never would.” 

“Big words,” you sneer. 

He nuzzles deeper into your freshly washed hair and presses a kiss into it, almost without thinking. “You know what I learned today?”

“Hm?” 

“That I need to think twice before ruffling your hair again.” 

“It’s okay. You get a free pass.” You turn your head toward him and meet his ruby eyes. A beat, maybe two, passes in silence before your smile takes over. “Thank you Sylus, I needed this.”

[evvergreene]

FOREVER

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ zayne x fem!reader

summary: you're at a work holiday party with your childhood friend, and boss, Zayne Li. as you spend the night together with drinks in hand, uncovered feelings rise to the surface.

₊˚⊹♡ tags: zayne x fem!reader, yearning, banter, drinking, tension, praising, fingering, orgasm denial, p in v, angst, zayne's love letter to you, tipsy sex, porn with plot

word count: 4.7k

₊˚⊹♡ a/n: this might be my favorite one that I've written. I based some parts/lines from absolute zeal (in bold) and some of his secret times. am I getting better at writing smut? who knows. smut is hard but zayne is harder. Enjoy!

Love isn't something anyone can truly describe. It moved in unpredictable ways, like a wave of nostalgia hitting you at a sound, sight, or feeling. It spreads across your skin like a chill, but it’s not uninvited. Love is warmth, something vaguely familiar. But it only becomes something you know when it’s ignited. 

It was humming beneath your skin for ages now, sometimes crawling at the surface to be set free. But you both quelled the feeling for as long as you’ve felt it because as sweet love was, it had a tendency to bring pain. So you both pushed it down further on the lonelier days and allowed its presence to grace the surface when you two were feeling a little destructive. 

Much like tonight. 

It was the annual hospital Christmas party, something you looked forward to five years ago when you first started in the cardiology department. Or better yet, when you met him. 

Now, you only showed up for the free food and drinks that offered a more than welcomed buzz after a long week. You dressed up every time because why not? Any excuse to take off your scrubs with questionable stains on them and put on something nice was a reward, so you dressed yourself in a dark green number that definitely did not resemble his eyes.

You stood at the bar, drink in hand as a co-worker you hardly knew talked your ear off about a new policy they were implementing within the department. But your mind wasn’t there, not even on your drink that would have been way overpriced had you chosen to spend your evening elsewhere. It wasn’t paying mind to the low hum of Christmas songs, the decadent display of appetizers and pastries, or the sensual lights strung around the space. No, it was stuck on the man—the head of your department— as he spoke with colleagues of his own.

He carried himself with a quiet assuredness. He was always calculated and precise, mistakes rare if not impossible for him to make. You’d always admired his work ethic. The countless amount of lives he’s saved, how he cares so deeply for each patient. The more than handsome paycheck he received. 

The list goes on. 

He nursed a glass of one of the set drinks on tonight’s menu in his hand, the other reaching up to the bridge of his glasses. He pushed them up and it should be a crime to make that look so good. Navy colored suit tailored perfectly to his frame that he somehow managed with 12 to 24 hour shifts, black hair falling effortlessly on his forehead, and his usual firm expression on his face.

He was perfect in ways most men dreamed of. 

You took another sip of your drink, breathing into the glass. Your eyes averted back to the woman across from you, now going on about… her pet lizard?

You give her a polite nod and take another sip. All you had to do was stay for another hour and wait for the tree lighting.

But as you turned back to continue your silent ogling, your eyes met his green ones. The glass fell from your lips as you set it back onto the counter. His gaze told you one very clear thing: “Save me.”

You giggle softly to yourself before walking over to him. His eyes followed your every move as he took another sip of his drink. He peered at you over the rim as the dark liquid hid his small smile. You were stunning. 

Finally approaching him and his group, you rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Dr. Li, could I bother you for a quick second? I wanted to talk about the proposal I mentioned earlier this week.” 

Your touch warmed the skin underneath his suit, giving rise to something else beneath the surface. He set his drink down and nodded.

“Of course,” he replied, following your lead to a more secluded area of the room. 

Your back now against the wall, you look up at him and smile. “That bad?”

“It wasn’t… the best conversation.”

“So pretty bad.” You chuckle and he follows suit.

“Yes, it was bad.” His voice brought a wave of peace over you as he spoke, nearly sobering you from the drinks you had tonight.

Speaking of, you thought.

“Why were you drinking tonight? You hardly ever.” 

He ponders your question before answering. “It seemed fitting this evening.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but before you could question it, he spoke first.

“What about you?” he questioned. “I’ve never seen you drink as much before. You’ll kill your liver at this rate.”

You roll your eyes at his remark. “I drink when the occasion calls for it.” You cross your arms across your chest in defense. 

“My liver is fine, but it appreciates your concert, doctor.”

The smile on his face fades at the emphasis on the name, but he’s not entirely upset at the label. You’re not sure what exactly is on his face right now, but just like everything with Zayne, he’s impossible to read. You brush it off.“We’ve known each other long enough for you not to be upset when I tease you, Zayne. Don’t tell me you’re upset, it’s literally what you are.” You uncross your arms and place your hands on your hips, a challenging glint in your eyes.

“I never said I was upset.” A step closer. “And I never said I didn’t like it,” he said closer this time, his hand itching to reach down to your face and cup you in his palm. But he couldn't. He wouldn't allow himself to. You were essentially his employee and with his standing, if anything were to happen between you two… He didn’t want to picture it. 

But each moment that passed between you two, he contemplated risking it. 

“Yea, okay, Zayne. I’ll take your word for it.” You give him a playful wink, silently wishing for another drink. But he didn’t back away. He stayed in front of you with his hands lazily placed in his pockets, studying you. He did that so often and you weren’t even sure why. Was a hair out of place? Something in your teeth? Were you doing something wrong that he’d give you the courtesy of pointing out to you when you two were alone? You never questioned it and now was no different. You simply looked at him right back, challenging him. Waiting to see who would look away first. 

You’d lost more times than you’d like to admit, but you were a kid back then. Now, you were slightly less agreeable, but you wanted to be. For him. Almost everything you did was for him, his attention. It was selfish, pointless even. But who were you to care when you’d gotten so tired of trying to escape these feelings for him? 

“Something wrong?” 

“You tell me, Zayne,” you replied a lot breathier than you wanted. 

The fully lit tree was gorgeous. The warmth of the lights pooled around the room and reflected off the plethora of glasses littering the tables. But his eyes were stuck on how your gaze held the light so intimately. How the excitement glittering in your eyes rivaled the twinkle of the lights, captivating him. He wanted to be the light that made your face brighten. He wanted to brush his thumb against your lips when you smiled to somehow transfer the expression to him. He wanted to hold you between his hands and cherish every inch of you. To put it plainly, he needed you in ways he’d never be able to describe. For years he felt like this, this warmth simmering beneath his skin, begging to spread to his heart. And lately he let it. He gave up fighting and allowed it to spread rampant like the diseases he'd dedicated his life to curing.

But he didn’t want to cure it. He wanted to love you freely, fully. 

“You’re not even looking at the lights,” you said playfully. But he didn’t spare a glance at the tree. He instead kept his gaze on what mattered most to him. 

“You…”, he replied, letting his thoughts escape him.

“What?” You laughed. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink.” You reach up, rubbing a gentle thumb across his flushed cheeks, and giggled. 

His hand moved to ghost over yours and the laugh died in your throat. You looked up at his skin basked in the warm light, mouth slightly ajar. It was barely there; you didn’t even feel him. But you were all too aware of how he moved around you. How lately, he’d been closer than normal. It was strange for Zayne Li, but you welcomed it all the same.

He finally grabbed your hand and placed it to your side, his fingers lingering too long for comfort. 

“I think you’re right. I should go home.” He nodded finally. He started to turn but you grabbed his wrist. He looked down at your hand touching him like it pained him. 

“I really hate to ask you this–”

“Anything,” he replied all too quickly. 

“Could I catch a ride with you? My place is on the way. If not it’s–”

“Of course.”

You followed him closely as you two left the space and made your way to the parking garage, the whole time thinking about possibilities that will never see the light. 

The ride to your apartment was quiet but not uncomfortable. That’s usually how it went between you and Zayne. You both had a lot to say but bringing those things to the surface would unleash another world of problems that you didn’t want to deal with. 

But maybe actually talking it through would save you from the heartache that already exists within you. 

What if he doesn’t feel the same? It’s not like he makes it obvious if he does…, you think. You rest your head on the headrest and sigh. You turn your head to look out the window and watch as snow lightly falls around the city. Lights from busy company buildings have changed to red and green, children run between their parents, laughing without a care in the world, and time just seems to slow down around you. You watch as the flakes gracefully land on the window, the warmth of it turning it back into liquid. You follow the path it takes down the glass before his voice interjects. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yea, I’m fine. Why?”

“That was the fifth time you sighed.”

“So you’ve been counting? Glad to know you care, doctor,” you tease.

“I always care,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

“Always.” His voice was softer now, but his grip on the wheel tightened. 

“We’re almost there. Then you can get some rest.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not tired, Zayne.”

“Aren’t you drunk?” he asked seriously. 

“No,” you said chuckling. “If anything you’re drunk and shouldn’t be at the wheel.” You turned in your seat to face him. 

“Plus you’re a dead giveaway.”

“What do you mean?”

For the second time tonight you reach out and poke his cheek. 

“You’re all red.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“It’s not from the alcohol," he said finally, rendering you speechless.

You drop your hand and place it back on your lap. A sigh escapes your lips. 

“Sixth time tonight.”

“Oh shut up,” you mutter, warmth creeping up your neck now. 

“It’s not from the alcohol.” Then what could it be from? It couldn’t be you because… well why would it be? Zayne wasn’t the kind of guy to just say anything, but he also wasn’t the kind of guy to avoid the truth. Growing up, he was always telling the truth. So much to the point where you’d have to beg him to not tell your grandmother when you did something you and him both knew you shouldn’t have. And each time without fail, he wouldn’t, but not without scolding you himself. Either way, you could never escape his truth. 

Or this pesky feeling for him.

So if–if– for some mysterious reason you were the culprit for the flush on his cheeks, why wouldn’t he say anything?

Why don’t I say anything?

You knew it wasn’t that easy. But oh how you wish it was. 

He pulled up in front of your building and killed the engine. You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door. You hesitated. 

“You know,” he looked over at you and adjusted his glasses, “You can come up if you want.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. 

“Okay…” you drawled out. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you also don’t have to give me that look–”

“I’ll come up.”

He undid his seatbelt and got out of the car.

“Okay, Mr. Eager,” you mumbled sarcastically and followed suit. Once out of the car, the sudden wind from the growing snow storm made you shudder. 

“Coming outside without a jacket wasn’t a good idea,” he stated, shrugging his suit jacket off his shoulders. He walked behind you and placed it on your shoulders.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he whispered in your ear.

This time you shuddered but not because of the dropping temperature. He was close in more ways than one. His hands lingered on your shoulders, his scent on the jacket, his body right behind you.

It was overwhelming. Consuming. And you wanted more. 

He moved to the front of you and gripped the jacket tighter around your body, dragging you closer to him. You look up to him, the expression in your eyes unmistakable. 

“Let’s go inside.” 

He went into your building like he was the one who lived there, and a part of you wished he did. You two reached the elevators and rode up to your floor in silence. But it wasn’t as warm as in the car. It was imposed with something else that you wanted desperately to dissect. 

You fumbled for the keys to your place before opening the door and shuffling your shoes and his jacket off. Zayne followed your lead as you made your way to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses of water for you both. 

“Since you think I’m so drunk,” you muttered into the glass as he chuckled, taking a seat on the stool by the counter. 

“Fine, you’re right.” He brought the glass to his lips.

“Exactly,” you replied proudly. You finished the water and set the glass in the sink before taking a set next to him. 

“What are these?”

You followed his line of sight to the box of chocolates on the island and laughed.

“Just a gift from Tara.” You grabbed the box and opened it. “It’s chocolate with a… twist.”

“A ‘twist’?” he asked. 

“It has alcohol in it.” He gave you a look. 

“I promise it’s not bad. The amount in it is small.” You unwrapped a piece and took a bite. He watched intently how your lips wrapped around the chocolate, how your tongue darted out to wipe the excess around your mouth, how your mouth formed the words, “You want to try?”

He shifted in his seat, cock straining against his pants, and nodded.

You brought the half-bitten piece to his lips and he hesitated. You looked down at his lips waiting for them to part, waiting for the invitation. He instead looked at you, your now flushed cheeks, the way you were just waiting for him to take the chocolate into his mouth. 

He leaned forward. 

His lips met the chocolate, but that’s not what forced the air into your lungs. No, it was his lips brushing your fingers, a damn near kiss. But it wasn’t. 

His eyes peered at you over his glasses, heated and heavy. The genial green of his eyes morphed into something darker as he dragged his lips away from your fingers, but he didn’t lean away. He chewed the chocolate before releasing a soft cough.

“Not much alcohol?” he questioned softly.

You giggled in response and reached for another. But his hand stopped yours.

“You shouldn’t. We’ve both been drinking and we shouldn’t go overboard.” You sighed. Seventh time, you thought and laughed internally. 

“You know Zayne, a lot of doctors know how to have,” you poked his chest before adding, “fun.” 

He wrapped his fingers around yours, keeping it in place. 

“A lot of those doctors aren’t that good at their job. You aren’t one of them.” Your breath hitched. 

“I appreciate that. Seriously.” You try to remove your finger from his grasp, but he’s quicker. He holds you tighter and pulls you in. 

“I never say things I don’t mean.”

“What, are you trying to suffocate my finger?” you offer weakly, trying to avoid whatever this was between you two. You felt it the whole night, this charge. It was electric. And one wrong move… 

It would be catastrophic. 

But he doesn’t reply. He looks at you–studies you. Just like he did earlier, just like he’s done for your entire relationship. But here, with this stuck between you two, lingering—festering, you had enough.

“Okay what is that?”

It came out sharper than you wanted, but you meant it nonetheless. He dropped your finger in response and bashfully looked away. 

“And you know what I’m talking about, Zayne.”

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

The first time you’ve heard Zayne stutter. Your pent up confusion and frustration nearly cracks. 

“I think you do,” you say, softer this time. 

He takes a breath and closes his eyes, like he needs to collect his thoughts.

He is so unlike himself tonight, you think. 

“I used to think being rational was indispensable… Perhaps it could be considered the pinnacle of everything.”

A moment passed between you two.

“And now?” you ask.

“Now… It’s not that important anymore.”

Your mind momentarily freezes at his words, but he continues. 

“I admire you deeply,” he says. 

“So you stare at things you admire?” you tease to alleviate the tension. 

“You could say so.” He pauses. “But if I’m being honest, simple admiration doesn’t begin to cover it.

“I’m infatuated with you.” He says it like it’s a well-known fact that even you knew. But you didn’t.

“Did this just come out of nowhere? Or are you just drunk?” You pan. 

“My level of sobriety has nothing to do with how I feel at this moment. Or how I’ve felt for you for years.”

He reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers together. 

“How you make me feel.”

Your eyes soften, but your heart hammers in your chest. You attempt to swallow the feeling but it proves pointless. You look at him, then to where your hands lay. He brushes the pad of his thumb on the back of your hand, the movement a gentle caress. 

“Zayne–”

“This could ruin a lot of things. I’ve thought it over so many times in my head.” He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the flesh. 

“But I can’t seem to bring myself to care anymore,” he mumbles on your skin. 

I might die right here. 

“But our careers, our friendship…”

“Both expendable.”

A light gasp escapes your throat. “Zayne, your career isn’t something to just throw away for—”

“For you,” he finishes. “My career won’t be ruined over this. Neither will yours. I’ll make sure of it.” A small smile graces his face. A promise.

You release a shaky breath as he trails his kisses further up your arm, your arms soon breaking out in goosebumps. He leaned in closer to your body, his other hand finding its place on your hips like it belonged there. 

His lips made their way to your collarbone and nipped on the skin there. You gasped and he squeezed your hip tighter. You craned your neck back and he understood completely. He moved up to your neck, kissing, licking, sucking at the skin. 

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you tugged him closer. But it wasn’t enough.

“I want you closer…” 

He leaned away from you to look at you how he does.

‘I’m infatuated with you.’

The words resounded in your head like a never-ending echo.

You didn’t want it to end. Want this to end. 

He placed his other hand on your hip and lifted you gracefully from your seat to his lap. Your arms circled around his neck as he made quick work of continuing his actions on your neck. One hand rested on the nape of your neck, the other on the small of your back, pushing you into him.

“All night I’ve been like this.” He nipped harder this time. “You were so distracting.” 

He rutted up into you and a moan fell from your lips. His head spun from the sound you made.

“That dress, the look in your eyes, the nickname, the chocolate… It was all on purpose wasn’t it?”

Something between a laugh and a moan exited your lips. “You’re blaming me for you being a lightweight?” Your hips met his as your dress bunched at your hips. You felt everything and you felt him. And the two weren’t mutually exclusive. 

“Possibly,” he teased back. He pulled away from you to admire the work he’d done to your neck, before tightening his grip on your hips and picking you up. He walked you both to your bedroom, knowing the layout completely from numerous trips to your place. He sets you on your feet before invading your space, engulfing your face with his hands and kissing you like it was the only thing on his mind for ages.

And it was.

You stumble backwards, but he catches you. He splays a hand on your desk right as you begin to unbutton his shirt. He shrugs it off, throwing it somewhere in your room. You take in the sight that is Zayne Li and heat settles in your belly. 

Hot and respectful, you say internally. 

Your lips meet his again in a torrid rush of desire. Your tongue invades his mouth, earning you a soft groan from him. His hand wraps around your neck and pulls you into him closer. You explore each other like two people who are unfamiliar, but you were so far from unfamiliar. You knew almost everything about him, save for the hunger pooling in and around him. 

You reach up to take off his glasses, but he beats you to it. He takes them off and tosses them far away from you two. You were the only thing he needed to see. 

He reaches behind you and unzips your dress with a sensual slowness. You feel the cool touch of his fingertips follow the path of the zipper and shudder. The straps of your dress naturally fall off your shoulders, and the fabric pools at your feet soon after. 

“You’re perfect.”

He lifted you so you were sitting on the desk, legs spread wide to accommodate him. His hands find purchase on the inside of your thighs, and you buck your hips up for more. Anything. 

“Please…” 

“Say my name.” 

You look into his eyes with reckless abandon. 

“Please, Zayne.”

“Good girl,” he praises. 

His fingers move to slide your panties down your legs, the sight of your glistening arousal nearly making him cum in his pants. He releases a shaky groan before pressing a thumb to your hardened clit. Your body jerks in response, hips grinding against him. 

“F-Feels good,” you thoughtlessly mumble. 

“Yeah?” You nod your head and he presses harder. 

“Zayne!” you yelp. 

He smiles at your reaction as he circles your clit with slow movements. He watches your face contort in pleasure; eyes screwed shut, mouth ajar, brows furrowed, head thrown back. It felt so good; Him in between your thighs as you dripped onto your desk and made a mess on your thighs. 

His middle finger toyed with your sticky entrance before pushing the pad in. 

“Look at me.”

His other hand wrapped gently around your neck as he brought you into him. 

“I won’t repeat myself,” he said when your eyes remained closed. You opened them and were met with a Zayne you’d never seen.

He was so vulnerable with you, yet so in control of the situation. And you. 

You whimpered. 

“Do you want a finger?” You nodded eagerly.  

“Use your words.”

“Y-Yes,” you say.

He complies, pushing a lithe finger into your leaking entrance. You squeeze around him immediately, drawing him in further. He pumps his finger in and out of you so slowly.

“For years I’ve wanted to do this.” He presses down on your clit again and you nearly scream. 

“I’ve only imagined what this would be like.” He curled his finger inside of you, this time you did scream. He rubbed that gummy spot inside of you repeatedly, looking at you like you were it. Like you were all he needed. 

“You feel amazing around me,” he praised. 

“Want another… Please?” 

He pushes his index finger into your cunt and pumps faster, building and tightening the knot inside of you. Your cunt spasms around him, your breathing picking up. 

“Are you close?” You nod your head but he squeezes your neck. 

“Words, My Love.”

My Love. You got impossibly closer.

“I’m close.” He pumps faster, his wrist coated in your arousal. But as soon as you reach the edge, he stops. He removes his fingers and spreads your wetness on your bare pussy, the lewd sound filling your ears. 

“The first time I make you come will be around my cock, love.” 

Your body shook with the heightened need to cum as you moved to undo his belt. He allowed you to, but stopped before you could pull his pants down. He instead picked you up again, carrying you to the bed.

He was going to fuck you properly. 

You watched as he pulled his pants and underwear off. Watched as his pre cum beaded on his flushed, glistening tip. Watched as it rolled down his shaft to the base. Watched as he pumped himself, eyes locked onto your frame.

He planted his knees on the bed and moved in between your legs. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. 

“You’re beautiful.” He lined the head of his cock with your entrance. You hissed. He pushed only the tip in.

“You’re everything.” He pushed in another few inches, and the stretch was apparent. Your eyes screwed shut, focusing on both the pain of trying to fit around him, but the pleasure of how he filled you perfectly. He grasped your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re mine.” He pushed to the hilt, his hips meeting yours. He stayed there and brought his lips to yours. It was slow this time, but the need between the both of you never dissipated. 

 He pulled out until his tip kissed your entrance before thrusting back into you with a reverent force. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he picked up the pace and kissed you senseless. Your mouth hung open in a silent cry when he kissed and sucked the area right below your ear. 

“Let me hear you.”

Your whimpers, moans, and screams filled the room as he moved within you, loving and cherishing every part of your body. He whispered a litany of praises in your ear as his pace picked up, the head of his cock knocking against your cervix beautifully. 

He moved in and out of you like he was made for it, like he was praising your body. He loved you like no other has or ever could. And you squeezed around him like call and response. You would always answer; he’d never stop calling.

He took hold of your ankles and brought your legs around his shoulders, the new position and his unrelenting pace making your vision blur. You were so high on him. You were so close. 

“Cum,” he ordered, placing gentle kisses on your ankle. 

And as you were brought closer and closer, it unknowingly slipped from your lips.

“I love you, Zayne.”

He pulled you into him, one hand wrapped around your middle and the other smoothing your hair. You were already fast asleep, both of you cleaned up and quickly fading. He nuzzled your neck and breathed you in. 

“I love you too.” A kiss.

“Forever.”

[evvergreene]

my king raf would DEFINITELY paint this

[evvergreene]

SUNRISE

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ lads guys x reader

summary: you spend your self-care morning with the lads guys

₊˚⊹♡ tags: pure unadulterated fluff

word count: 1.8k

₊˚⊹♡ a/n: I named this after the song by Norah Jones. take a listen when you get the chance :)

Sylus

“Sweetheart?”

His smooth voice filled the bathroom for a brief moment before the music you were listening to filled the space once again. You were applying a face mask you found online that claimed to target your skin concerns, but you knew the better of it. It probably wouldn’t work, but nevertheless, you needed this time to yourself.

Well, not anymore you suppose. 

“Are you hiding out here?” he questioned. 

You shook your head, mind focused on applying the greenish-white cream on your face. You looked at yourself in the mirror as you applied the finishing touches. You turned on the faucet to wash your hands, but his hand turned it off.

“What about me?”

You gave him a look. “You mean to tell me that you want to put a face mask on?” He shrugged, giving you a sly smile but his eyes were soft. 

“I can’t reap the benefits of,” he picked up the container and read it, “anti-aging?”

You snatched the container out of his hands and set it back on the counter with a sigh. 

“Kitten, you don’t need any of that stuff.” He approached you gently and rested his hands on your hips. You shrugged.

“And why not?” You crossed your arms. “I don’t want wrinkles,” you stated matter of factly.

His lips turned into that signature smile you’d grown to love. “Fine.”

His grip on you tightened before gently lifting you up onto the counter. He reached behind you and grabbed the face mask and opened it. Handing it to you, he says, “At least let me join you.”

You spent the better of that morning with Sylus in between your legs as you applied the face mask on his skin. You were so focused on applying the cream perfectly that you failed to notice the look on the man in front of you. It was nothing short of an unbridled love most could only dream of. He regarded you as someone to be treasured.

You were his to be treasured.

His eyes took in your features for the umpteenth time. He could never grow tired of seeing you, feeling you as his hands found their rightful place on your hips again, and partaking in even your silliest hobbies.

Zayne

He placed the finishing touches on the set up in your shared bathroom right as you walked in yawning.

“Zayne?” you said in between the yawn. Your eyes were still hazy from sleep as you dragged yourself from the bedroom to get ready for the day. But when you entered the bathroom, you took in the sight of varying face masks, massage tools, matching robes, softly scented candles, and slow music humming in the background.

“What is all of this?”

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he walked up to you and wrapped his arms around you in a warm, comforting embrace. He settled his head in the crook of your neck and inhaled gently. 

He took in your warmth like he needed it more than anything. Oftentimes he did, and you were always there to provide. His grip tightened around you, fingers moving to slowly massage the nape of your neck. 

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered. 

You returned his affections, wrapping one arm around his back, the other threading through his hair. 

“Good morning to you too. Now, answer my question.”

He pulled back, keeping his arms tight around you. “I prepared a ‘self-care’ day for you.” 

The sentence sounded so foreign on his lips. Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“A self-care day? Why?”

His answer was immediate. “You’ve been stressed. You work late hours and you’re coming home more tired than usual. I…” he looked away, almost shy before continuing, “wanted to do something to help you.”

He turned back and nodded at the set up behind him, but you didn’t spare a glance. You grabbed his face and turned him back to you. You leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. But before you could pull away, he brought you in closer, deepening the exchange. 

You lingered when he retreated with flushed lips, wishing you could stay there forever. 

“I take it you like my idea?” You chuckled lightly. 

“I love it, Zayne.”

Xavier

It was a peaceful morning. The early morning sunlight spilled through the windows of you and Xavier’s bedroom. He had a lazy arm draped over your waist, keeping you close to his chest. 

You felt his steady breaths grounding you as you awoke. You softly face his sleeping form, brushing an ash blonde strand away from his eyes. The light captured his face in a way that forced a smile on your lips.

He was perfect.

“It’s rude to stare.”

But all you could do was smile harder.

“You look so peaceful when you’re sleeping.” You brushed a hand on his sleep-flushed cheek. His eyes fluttered open to greet yours, pooling with affection. He took in your freshly awoken face, the remnants of sleep being held in and around your eyes, and returned your soft smile.

But it wasn’t just a smile. Something laid beneath the surface, and Xavier knew he was in for something special this morning.

You dragged him by his wrist and he followed, but not begrudgingly. He would follow you anywhere, even if it meant disrupting his sleep. 

“Come on, Xavier,” you begged as you took him to the bathroom. “I promise it’ll be fun!”

“I thought you said ‘relaxing’ before? Now we’re going to have fun?” You dropped his arm as you opened the bathroom. 

“You know what I mean.” You rolled your eyes but not out of annoyance. You walked up to the sink, showing off your hard work with a bright smile. He mimicked your smile with his own.

“See? It’s a whole thing.” You picked up a container of cream, gently shaking it in front of him. He reached out and grabbed it from your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. Your excitement was adorable in the way you were trying to garner his own. And though he didn’t verbally express it, his smile spoke for him. 

When your faces were both covered in cream, matching headbands keeping your hair out of your faces, he took hold of your hand and drew lazy circles on it. 

Rafayel

You weren’t exactly sure how you ended up with a pink face mask on, nor did you understand the need for the cooling circles of cucumbers on your eyes. 

“How much longer, Raf?”

“Oh don’t complain, Cutie. This is what people call ‘quality time.’” You rolled your eyes at his sarcastic tone and threw a pillow at him.

“Hey! You’ll ruin my face!” he chided.

“Maybe that’s the point.” You took a cucumber off your eye and looked at him. Despite your torments, he looked at peace with his hands crossed over his torso and eyes closed. He breathed steadily in and out before saying, “You know, if you keep looking at me the mask won’t take effect.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works,” you replied, hand itching for another pillow. He opened his eyes and gave you a stubborn look.

“Just put the cucumber back on your face.”

“Why should I? I don’t even like cucumbers…” you muttered. 

“Well sorry for wanting to take care of your beautiful face,” he huffed.

You eased the pillow out of your grip as he closed his eyes again, face more tense than before. Your eyes softened. 

You decidedly took the other cucumber off your eye and set it on the table next to you. You got up from the couch you were both lying on and made your way over to his side. You wrapped your legs around his waist.

His eyes remained closed, but you felt his hands creep up onto your hips. You leaned down to his ear. “You think I’m beautiful?” You planted your hands on his chest with a sly look adorning your features. 

He opened his eyes to meet you, but looked off to the side. “If I say yes, will you lay down and be quiet?”

For someone who talks a lot, he has a lot of nerve telling me to be quiet, you think.

“Sure,” you reply.

He looked at you before replying. Really looked at you. His pupils expanded, the corners of his eyes softening, a smile blooming on his mouth. As an artist, he found it to be his duty to acknowledge beauty whenever he saw it, even when it was covered in a poorly placed face mask. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, voice in a faraway place.

Caleb

“Caleb, you need to stay still,” you said firmly. 

Both you and Caleb were in your shared bathroom with his arms wrapped around your hips, and you trying (but failing) to apply a face mask on him.

It was his idea after all. 

“I am still, Pipsqueak,” he said, an edge of mischief in his voice. His hands snaked up your shirt right to the spot he knew you were ticklish. You sighed.

“This is your last warning.” You gave him a deadpanned look, taking your finger away from his face. He smiled brightly and you shook your head.

“Don’t shake your head, Pips. I’m just messin’ with ya.” He leaned down and placed a quick kiss on your lips, intentionally smearing some of the mask on your face. 

“Really?” You gently pushed him away with a laugh building in your throat. “I didn’t even want this mask on my face.”

But he kept his hands underneath your shirt as you attempted to wipe his actions off your face. His fingers made quick work on your bare skin and you jumped in response.

“Caleb!” you shrieked. His laughter sounded in the room, filling the space with a particular lightness. His fingers moved faster around your stomach as you tried to escape but couldn’t. You threw small fists at his chest in an attempt to break free, but it was pointless.

“There’s no use, Pipsqueak. You can’t escape this,” he said in a mocking tone. 

But you could. You just had to get crafty.

You grabbed the cream through his attack and squeezed a hand full in your palm. Too enthralled by your laughter-filled protests, Caleb hardly noticed when you smeared your hand down his entire face.

His eyes, nose, mouth, and even neck were covered in the mask. He paused, hands slipping from underneath your shirt and going to wipe his eyes. 

“I look pretty good, don’t you think?”

Your laugh bubbled out of your mouth. He looked from the mirror to you at the sound and his smile grew. You threw your head back, holding your cream-covered hands away from you. Your shoulders shook with laughter as he observed you with fondness. He took your hands into his.

You looked at him through your tear-lined eyes and bright smile. “What?” you asked in between chuckles.

“I love you,” he proclaimed with your name on his lips.

[evvergreene]

[evvergreene]

MUSE

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ rafayel x fem!reader

summary: you have a chance encounter with a stranger at an art gallery. when you run into him the next time, you can't seem to get him out of your head. but neither can he.

₊˚⊹♡ tags: rafayel x fem!reader, stalking, obsession, f masturbation, fingering, riding, references to raf's lumerian form, pet names, p in v, rafayel fucks you in front of a painting of yourself, porn with plot

word count: 5k

₊˚⊹♡ a/n: obsessed mc AND rafayel? sign me up. hope you enjoy!

The first time you saw it, you felt it. Something deep within you called you to it. You walked up to the piece in a hypnotic state, its glittering waves luring you in as if it were saying your name like a hymn. As you were pulled closer to it, the crowd in the gallery slowly faded away. They simply became background noise, obsolete to the painting in your sight. You stopped in your steps, still as the painting itself. But in your mind, it was alive, buzzing with life. You were there, on the dimly lit beach. Waves crashing over the rocks, bioluminescent creatures floating in the water and creating a path to a distant place.

And in that distant place, was something you’d never seen. A creature— no, a man. Tall in stature, purple hair cascading around him and adorned with charms of the sea. He was accompanied by a woman in a tight embrace. It was… ethereal. 

You slowly reached a finger out to touch it. To really see if it was real. But before you could, you heard a voice breaking your trance.

“Hey, lady! No touching the paintings.”

You dropped your hand to your side, paying little attention to the stares you’d garnered. Your eyes remained locked on the art piece, and you tilted your head to perhaps see it in a new light. But another voice interjected.

“I see you like the painting.” His voice was like honey; sweet, yet rich. But you didn’t turn to face him yet.

“Yes, it’s breathtaking. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

He chuckled. “Are you interested in art?”

“To be honest no,” you laughed, “but my friend dragged me here. I saw this and… I can’t even place the emotion I feel.” 

You finally turned to face the man, and much like the person in the painting, his hair was a deep purple but shorter. His eyes were trained on you, choosing to analyze your reactions over the piece itself. They were composed of varying hues, his skin pale but not lifeless, and the white button up fit his lean frame expertly. 

He was hauntingly beautiful.

“What about you?” you asked. 

“I… enjoy art, you could say.” He looked back at the painting, but your eyes remained on his. He appeared to be a kind man, but you could see in his eyes that there lived something else. Perhaps pain and misunderstanding. Maybe something a little darker. Nevertheless, he looked almost cheerful. You turned back to the painting. 

It was silent between you two, but not painfully so. When you turned to ask another question to the mystery man, he had disappeared. You looked around the gallery to see the head of purple hair but came up short. Your shoulders sagged, but what for? You hardly knew this man. 

Rafayel had seen you in the distance of his gallery. He saw how you drifted over to his newest painting; a painting of himself— his true self— and a woman he hadn’t known, but had dreamed of for years. Her hair resembled yours, her smooth skin like yours, almost everything like yours. 

He kept his eyes on you as your hand reached out to touch the painting. But before you could, a security guard had stopped you. His eyes flickered over to the stocky man in brief annoyance, but she hadn’t minded. He wanted to approach you. To see if you really did resemble her, or if his mind was simply playing tricks on him. So he did.

Your conversation was short-lived, but he gathered everything he needed to know. It was clear that you were her. Not a copy, not someone who vaguely looked like her. No, you were her. His muse. 

He decided at that moment that he would have you. Sketch every feature, draw the smallest details of your curves, and capture the essence that was you. He wanted to see your face as it screwed up in distaste or pleasure. He wanted to see how your body would react to his touch, to see whether you wanted him gently or something more vicious. He wanted to lay your bodies on a canvas and create something worthy of praise. 

He left you alone, but not for long.

He found out everything about you. It started with the basics: how old you were, where you worked, your socials. But he wanted more, so he went deeper. He found where you lived, even where your friend, the same one that dragged you to his gallery, lived. Just in case you visited there. But knowing these things about you weren’t enough. If anyone tried hard enough, they could find the same information. He discovered places you frequented: your favorite cafe, occasionally accompanied by a man with raven-like hair and glasses, much to Rafayel’s displeasure. Your grandmother’s house, which you visited often. He could only imagine you introducing him to her, how he’d sweep her off her feet just to prove his worth. How much harder you’d love him if he did. But the dark haired boy with violet eyes took his place at your dinner table. 

But only temporarily. 

There had been times where he questioned why he was doing this. Yes, he had confirmed that you were the woman in his dreams, in his paintings. But you barely knew of his existence. Why would a successful artist, a sea god, be so enraptured by this mysterious woman from his gallery? 

It was something he chose to brush aside. It didn’t matter why or how. All that mattered was when he would see you next, and just how far he was willing to go to earn you. 

It was raining out, which meant it was the perfect day to grab coffee with a friend. You ran from the taxi to the café’s awning, your hands making a futile effort to shield yourself from the downpour. You had forgotten your umbrella in your apartment as a result of rushing out the house to meet Tara, but as you peek into the building, she was nowhere to be seen. 

You enter the café and the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and decadent pastries fill your nose. You dust your wet shoes on the mat before finding an empty table by the window. Before you can get settled, a text appears on your phone.

Hey! I’m so sorry, but I have to cancel today. Last minute mission. I’ll call you later! Promise. 

Seriously? You thought. Despite how sweet Tara is, she had a track record of bailing last minute. Either way, you wouldn’t let this ruin your afternoon. You looked at the menu and placed your order shortly after. Soon enough, you were warming up from the warm coffee entering your system, save for the tiny droplets of rain falling from your hair. 

It was quiet. Nice. But you wished you had company. 

Being a hunter was by no means easy. You could really only confide in Tara and Xavier, but with their own busy schedules, it was nearly impossible to even see them. You sighed into your drink, feeling a little more alone than usual. 

But you weren’t. Far from it actually. He’d been there, across the café, waiting. Watching. He’d known you would be at this café from your most recent post, but you’d mentioned coming with a friend. Now, you were alone, cupping your mug and bringing it to your plush lips. 

He wanted nothing more than to go over there. Maybe introduce himself again as the man from the gallery. But what were the odds? It would be too obvious, and Rafayel is anything but obvious. 

His thoughts quieted when you stood up. You were walking in his direction, most likely to the bathroom. He pretended to busy himself on his phone.

You were going to use the bathroom, pay for your drink, then catch a taxi home. Simple as that. But that was until you saw him.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you.” 

He looked up and you were greeted with violet and gold eyes. 

“You just looked really familiar… were you the man I spoke with at the gallery?”

He didn’t say anything at first. He sat there and looked at you with something you couldn’t quite place brimming in his gaze. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest second, you nearly missed it. 

“Maybe not,” you said more to yourself. “I’m sorry.” You almost offered a wave goodbye until he interjected. 

“No, I remember you. You were the woman whose friend took you to the gallery, right?” You nodded, smiling softly.

“Yea. You disappeared so suddenly,” you remarked while chuckling. 

A waiter holding a tray suddenly came behind you, brushing past your shoulder in the narrow space. Rafayel pointed to the seat across from him.

“Please. Take a seat.”

You accepted his offer and sat down. “Thank you,” you muttered shyly.

You were able to get a good look at him in this light. He was just as ethereal as the man in the painting. His face was scattered with tiny moles, barely visible to the naked eye. He was easily one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen, but the feeling of something else lingering beneath his shackling beauty remained. 

“Have you already ordered?” But he knew the answer to that question already.

“Yes, I have, but I wanted to try their creampuffs. I’ve heard only good things.” 

You felt slightly… awkward. You didn’t know this man. Didn’t even know his name yet, but you felt a strange pull. If he hadn’t offered you a seat at his table, a part of you would’ve wanted to just take it. 

“Order as much as you’d like,” he said softly.

“No, trust me it’s fine. You don’t have to spend your money on me.”

“But I’d like to…” he replied in search of your name. So you gave it to him.

“Rafayel,” he followed.

Rafayel. Rafayel. Rafayel.

You liked it. 

“Well thank you, Rafayel.” You gave him a genuine smile. His cheeks flushed.

You both fell into a simple conversation. You told him what you did for work, your ruined plans (though not anymore) for the day, and other little things about your life. 

“I’m an artist.”

You paused.

“Seriously? I mean I knew you liked art, but that hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Really? What did you think I did?” You thought before answering.

“If I’m being honest? Unemployed.”

His mouth hung ajar as you laughed. The flush on his cheeks deepened. It was cute.

“Well that’s a first,” he said both bashfully and annoyed. 

“I’m sorry,” you replied in between laughs. “What have you painted?” 

He looked at you intently. 

“What if I told you I painted the piece you saw at the gallery?” He sounded proud of himself.

You were mid bite into your pastry and you stopped. You looked at him with wide eyes. Placing the dessert down, you lean forward in your seat. 

“Really?”

“I own the gallery,” he said as if it were no big deal.

“You own the gallery?” He nodded.

“It was my newest piece.” He looked off to the side. “It’s… personal to me.” He scratched the back of his neck. You absorbed all that he was telling you before answering.

“I’m glad you decided to share that with the public. I know I enjoyed it. Perhaps too much,” you laughed.

“What do you mean?” He was searching. Not for a right or wrong answer, but something— anything that you felt even the tiniest bit of how he felt. 

“When I saw it, everything around me kind of stopped.” Your eyes were in a faraway place as you spoke. “I could only see the varying hues of blue, the stars in the night being reflected in the water, the attention to detail. I don’t have the words to truly describe it.”

His eyes darkened as you finished speaking, his cock swelling in his pants at the sight and sound of you. You were just so fucking pretty. Your small smile whenever you looked at him. Your hair slightly frizzy from the rain. The trace amounts of cream around your mouth that he has to stop himself from reaching out and tasting on your skin. 

He had to stop.

You’d only just learned more about him. You couldn’t possibly feel the same. But a part of Rafayel, a deeper part, didn’t care. Even if he had to convince you, he would do anything to feel you. Taste you. Compel you into becoming his.

You exchanged numbers before you took your leave.

You returned to your apartment with a smile on your face, your face hot from your interaction. There was hardly any suggestiveness within the conversation, but it had felt so good to be seen. He didn’t touch his tea, nor the creampuffs he had bought you. It seemed as if his appetite was more focused on you. Not that you minded.

You sat on your bed and sighed. 

You wanted to see him again. You wanted to learn more about him. Everything about him. You closed your eyes and imagined his face. What would he look like if you two went on an actual date? What does he look like when he’s painting, his undivided attention on the task at hand? What would he look like when his attention is on you? His lips ghosting over yours before kissing your jaw, down to your neck, right above your breasts.

Where would he put his hands? Would they cup your cheek as he kissed you? Or would they wander, exploring just how sensitive your nipples get? Would he place the flat of his palm on belly as he pushed into you, reaching places your fingers never could?

You didn’t notice your hand underneath your shirt, cupping your breast, fingers gingerly rolling over your nipple. Or the other hand sliding into your now unzipped jeans, pressing your clothed clit. No, you didn’t notice these things. You imagined him.

Rafayel. Rafayel. Rafayel.

You whispered his name like a mantra as your thighs shook, and his fingers pushed your underwear to the side, and slowly slid in. They curved gently inside of you and you whimpered. He pinched your nipple harder, and your breathing picked up. His pace increased and he zeroed in on your ear.

“How does that feel?” He nudged your clit with the heel of his palm.

“Good?” You nodded your head, beckoning him to continue.

“So tight around me… Wonder if I’ll fit. What do you think, Cutie?”

His voice was sin in your ear. You threw your head back on the mattress as his fingers stroked in and out of your soaked cunt. 

“Rafayel,” you whimpered as his fingers moved faster. 

“Come all over my fingers. You want to, don’t you?”

He curled his fingers and you nearly cried out. His name was a litany on your tongue as you reached closer to your orgasm. You lifted your hips off the bed, chasing his fingers. The knot in your belly tightened further and further, until it couldn’t anymore. You screamed as your orgasm hit you hard, harder than ever before. 

And it was the mere thought of Rafayel that had your legs spread and dripping for him.

Nearly a week later, you woke up to the sound of a text. You sat up in your bed and reached for your phone, only to discover another apology text from Tara. You told her countless times that the other day with the café was fine and you two would reschedule another day, but she persisted. 

You also didn’t want to admit to yourself that you secretly wanted to hear from him. Did he even want to talk to you? Did he feel the same way?

You shoot a quick but honest response, set your phone face down, and groan.

To say you were slightly embarrassed from the last few nights was an understatement. You had gotten off to the idea of another man you didn’t fully know. If he had known, you imagine he’d want nothing to do with you. You plop your head back onto the bed and contemplate going back to sleep.

It was slowly approaching noon when you got a call.

Probably Xavier wanting to discuss the new mission details, you thought.

But a faceless contact picture came into view with the name “Rafayel” resting above it. You stared at the incoming call. You couldn’t accept it too fast, but if you waited too long, would he just hang up? 

After a few rings, you answered.

“Hello?” You were greeted with silence. 

“Rafayel?”

“Oh, yes,” he finally responded, making sure to ask your name.

“Yea, it’s me. I didn’t think you’d call.” You race into your bedroom and nearly scream into a pillow. 

“I’ve been thinking about you and wanted to ask something.”

You choked on your spit. Was he…?

“Would you like to stop by my studio? I know you weren’t that interested in art, but I figured I could change your mind,” he said, an edge of charm in his tone. 

“Yea I’ll be there,” you replied all too quickly. 

“How does tomorrow sound? If you’re not too busy.”

“I’m free all day.” You were so obvious.

“I’ll send you the address. See you around six.” His tone was cheerful but carried an edge to it, like he couldn’t wait to see you yet didn’t want to make it too obvious. 

You hung up the phone with a drawn out sigh. 

Finally. 

He watched you walk up to his studio, a frilly skirt moving with your steps and a simple lacy shirt hugging the swell of your breasts. He stood up from his stool with a quick sigh, trying to calm his body’s reaction to you, and walked over to the door. You knocked twice before he opened it.

“Hi,” you said, slightly dazed. 

He was dressed in all white today, with an open collared shirt and white linen pants. Even with the loose fit of his clothes, you could see his muscles peaking through, teasing you. 

“Come in.” He stepped aside and you entered.

Immediately, your eyes were drawn upward to the high, white ceilings. Every wall had both finished and unfinished paintings, splatters of color along with it. White and beige tarps rested on the wooden floors, nearly a dozen easels on top of them. Grand marble pillars stretched from floor to ceiling, and a soft evening glow cascaded through the windows near the top of the studio. 

“It’s gorgeous in here.” 

The light caught your features in a way that made him want to spin you around and kiss your lips raw. By the time you were in the middle of the studio, you stopped in front of a painting covered with cloth. He stood there with his hands in his pockets before steadily approaching you.

“I figured I could teach you.” You could feel his breath on your cheek as he bent down to whisper in your ear. All you could do was nod. 

He rested a gentle hand on your hip, guiding you to a fresh easel. He picked up a palette with fresh paint, colors you’d never seen before. 

“Take a seat.” You walk over to him and sit on the stool in front of him. He places a brush in your hand, but he doesn’t let go. His hand stays on yours as your fingers hold the brush, and he bends down again to meet your face. 

You couldn’t believe you were here in a studio with a man you met a week ago. Who’ve you only talked to twice, but not even, in your whole life. But he invited you. He wanted you here.

He guided your hand to dip the brush in the paint, and then brought it to the canvas. You two made languid strokes on the canvas, slowly filling it with color.

“What are we making?”

“Don’t focus on what you’re making.” His hand left yours for the briefest second, but not your skin. His fingers trailed up your forearm, guiding it closer to the canvas. 

“Let your hand guide you. Just feel.”

You turned to face him. His eyes were intently set on the canvas. His love for his craft shone through his gaze and his movements. You smiled and turned your head back to the easel.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All he could feel was your body's warmth on his. But when the canvas was filled, he pulled back. Your body followed, resting your head and shoulders on his torso. He stilled, looking down at you.

You looked so proud of your work.

“You did so well.” He rested his hands on your shoulders and gently massaged the muscle. You softly moaned at the contact before catching yourself.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” You turned around to meet him with apologetic eyes. He smiled.

“It’s fine, Cutie,” he said with a wink. Your face warmed at the pet name. The same name that you had—

“Come with me,” he said, interrupting your thoughts.

You got up from your seat and followed him closely. He brought you to an area of the studio you hadn’t seen. It was void of windows, but the ones from across the room provided just enough light to see. It was another painting covered in tarp. You stood in front of it, wondering what hid beneath. 

He brought his fingers up your arms, a trail of goosebumps littering your skin. His fingers graced your shoulders, collar bones, then eventually your neck. His lithe fingers circled your neck, forcing your head on his chest.

“Rafayel,” you whispered.

“I want you to do something for me.” He brought his mouth down to your exposed neck, licking a small strip along the column of it. He kissed the trail of saliva to right beneath your jaw. 

“Remove the covering.” 

You reach your arm out as he plants kisses on your body. You tear down the covering to reveal—

You?

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Look at it. Look at you.” 

You did. You were—

“Breathtaking,” he answered for you. You were painted as a siren of the sea, covered in kelp, pearls, gold, your skin and eyes glowing. Your hair long and vibrant. You look otherworldly, like a goddess fit for a god. 

“Ever since I saw you at the gallery, looking at my painting like that,” he pointed at the look he captured in the painting, “you wouldn’t leave my head.”

You release a shaky breath.

“I spent hours here trying to capture your beauty. It was nearly impossible.” His hand was back on your neck, squeezing lightly.

“I knew you were the one. My muse.” You moaned when his other hand cupped your breast.

“I wanted to wait. Get to know you more. Get to know you properly.” He palmed your breast and rolled his hips into you. You could feel him everywhere. Your skin, your head, your heart.

You needed him. 

“I wondered if you felt the same. Then I saw you.” Your eyebrows screwed in confusion. Or maybe in pleasure. His fingers moved from your breast to beneath your skirt. He cupped your cunt in his hands and pressed.

“What do you—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence.

“I saw how you moaned my name as you pushed your fingers into this pretty little cunt. Couldn’t go too far, could you?”

He saw you? How was that even possible?

But before you could ask, his fingers slipped beneath your underwear and stroked your folds. 

“I bet you were like this the whole time, weren’t you Cutie?”

You dumbly nodded your head, blissfully unaware of who you were allowing to touch you like this. He pressed his thumb against your hardened clit and groaned into your ear. His mouth made quick work on your neck, sucking marks onto your cherubic skin. He rolled your clit in slow circles, eliciting small whimpers from your throat. He pushed two fingers in and you whimpered at the stretch. They filled you up perfectly. You bucked your hips to meet his pace.

The hand gripping your neck moved to your jaw. He pulled it away from his chest to force your face forward.

“Look at yourself. Fucking perfect.”

You turned around to meet him, his thumb still working on your clit and his fingers moving faster and deeper within your weeping hole. You leaned into him, pressing your mouth to his and tangling your fingers in his hair. You gave the strands a soft tug. 

He kissed you like he was making a promise: He was going to cherish every inch of your body until you were begging him to stop.   

His tongue entered your mouth and he searched you like uncharted waters. You moaned into his mouth, bucking your hips faster. You were so close.

“Cum,” he ordered, and putting his mouth back on you. 

It wasn’t long after until you came on his fingers. You threw your head back on his chest and moaned his name. His fingers slowed before taking them out, snapping your underwear to your wet cunt. You bashfully faced him. His eyes were dark and trained on you as he placed his fingers on his tongue and pushed in. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt you coat his tongue. 

“Taste even better than I imagined,” he said, taking his fingers out of his mouth with a lewd trail of saliva following. You grew impossibly needier.

“Sit.” He directed you to the blankets on the floor. You hadn’t noticed them before, but it didn’t matter. He pulled his pants down just below his hips, freeing himself from the confines. He gave himself a few slow strokes before continuing. He makes quick yet purposeful work on removing yours and his clothes, the articles scattered somewhere in the studio. 

You take him in, lean muscles and a soft yet pronounced ‘v’ leading to what you wanted most. You almost drooled at the sight. 

He sat down, back laid flat on the blankets beneath him. 

“Come here,” he said smoothly.

You obliged, soon straddling his waist. He grabbed fistfulls of your ass, bringing you in closer to his aching cock. 

“Wanted to fuck you in front of this painting. Want you to see just how perfect you are.”

Your eyes shoot up to the portrait of you. How could someone you’d hardly known feel so inclined to create such a masterpiece? You look back down at him, eyes glossed with need.

He placed his hands on your hips and slowly guided you down his leaking cock. Your hands rested on his sculpted chest as you were brought down on him.

“You fit perfectly, don’t you?”

A breathy sigh escaped your lips as you sank down on him. You weren’t even half way and you already felt so full. He hit spots that you’d never before with how deep he was already, and when your hips met his, a sultry moan ripped from your throat. 

You were leaking around him. The heat emanating from his cock, the size of him, the feel, how he was looking at you right now. 

It was intoxicating. 

He reached up to cup your cheek in his palm. With your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingled in the minimal space between you. Your mind could think of nothing but him, and he hasn’t even fucked you properly yet. 

Without warning, he thrusted into your heat, keeping a steady but brutal pace. The sounds of skin against skin, the mess you were making dripping onto both of your thighs, and your sweet moans filled the space. You met his thrusts with your own. It was messy, but not sloppy. He filled you with precision and purpose, like you were an art piece he had the fortune of creating. He kissed down your body until his lips met your nipples. He sucked them into his mouth as he pistoned inside of you. Your head lolled back in pure ecstasy. 

“Rafa–”. Your breathing was quick, almost erratic. His tip kissed your cervix in the most delicious way as he continued his attention on your nipples. His hand reached between you to rub your clit, rolling and pinching and squeezing until you were brought closer to your second orgasm. 

“Look at us when you cum.” His voice was heady, dark, full of need. He wanted you to see yourself how he saw you. A being worthy of praise, of adoration. Something that needed to be captured, yet whose beauty could never truly be grasped. 

He watched as you turned your head to look at the piece. He felt your pussy clench around him, how you rode him harder, chasing what you wanted for weeks now. He followed your gaze, his cock twitching inside of you. He groaned, picking up the pace. 

Your hands on his chest began to slip, so he caught you. Your chest was brought to his, head still turned to face yourself. 

“G-Gonna cum,” you warn.

“Me too, love,” he replied, voice wavering. 

“Want it inside, Rafayel.”

Something inside him almost fell apart at your words. He gripped your hips and kept you still. He moved methodically within you, bringing you both closer to the edge. He spills into you with a loud groan, and you follow quickly after. Your vision is spotted with fucking stars as you cum around him, your thighs spasming.

But as you’re cumming, you study the painting closely. You’re not sure what it is. Maybe it was magic, maybe it was the dark room. Or maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you. But you swear you hadn’t seen it before.

A man tall in stature, glowing purple hair cascading around him, and adorned with charms of the sea. His hand splayed over your middle, possessive and firm. It was him.

[evvergreene]

TASTE

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ caleb x fem!reader

summary: caleb eats you out. that's it :)

₊˚⊹♡ tags: caleb x fem!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, pet names, use of evol

word count: 1.4k

₊˚⊹♡ a/n: caleb is a munch and I fully support. I used some voice lines from the main story and affinity lvl 70 <3 (also why is smut impossible to write... y'all are some talented mfs)

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

You were trapped underneath him, but not quite unwillingly. You hardly understood how you got here; below Caleb on your couch, your heart fighting its way out of your ribcage. He was so close, but barely even touching you. 

“Anything,” he said, this time with more emphasis. His body caged you in as if you were his prey, but you didn’t feel hunted. You felt wanted. Wanted in a way only he could show you. He brought one of his hands to your cheek and instantly you leaned into his touch. You released a shaky breath.

“Caleb…,” you whispered. He chuckled darkly.

“What’s that, pipsqueak?” His thumb trailed down to your lip and he smiled.

“You look so pretty like this. All needy for me.” He brushed your lips, smearing your lipgloss on your cheek down to your chin. He leaned down further to meet the mess he made and licked a stripe up your cheek.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll help you soon enough.”

You rested your hands on his shoulders to bring him towards you, your lips aching to feel his. 

“Oh no no no no. I’m not going to let you win that easily.” You whimpered at his response. He could be so mean sometimes. 

“You said you’d do anything, Caleb," you countered.

He brought his face to the crook of your neck and breathed you in like your scent itself was oxygen. He released a soft groan, the sound sending a wave of pleasure to where you needed him most. 

“I meant it, pips.” He nipped at your skin, chasing it with a kiss. 

“But let me savour this. Savour you.”

You nodded, but not in agreement with his words. No, you nodded at his hands slipping into your pajama pants and toying the lacy border on them. 

“I’ve always wanted to feel you.” He rested his fingers right above your clothed entrance, the heel of his hand pressed against your clit at a delicious angle. 

“I’ve always wanted to know what you sounded like when I touched you like this.” He pressed his hand harder into you. You released a soft whimper.

“Nuh uh, you can do better than that.” His fingers slipped past your underwear and stroked your soaked cunt. You cried out, much to Caleb’s satisfaction. He looked down at your state; your head thrown back onto the pillows in complete bliss, your mouth slightly ajar and releasing the prettiest fucking sounds he’d ever heard. 

You picked your head up and met his violet eyes. He looked…

Hungry.

“You know what else I’ve wondered, pipsqueak?” He was at your ear now, his tongue lightly tracing its shape. He brought his other hand over your clothed breast dressed in his shirt, with no bra underneath.

You were going to ruin him.

“What I’ve wondered for years now?” He planted small, open-mouthed kisses from your ear, all the way to the seam of your lips. 

“How badly I’ve wanted to do it because I just can’t seem to get the thought out of my head?” He looked at you with hooded eyes that carried the promise that whatever he said next, he would do. His fingers ceased their motions, and he removed them from your pants. You watched as he brought them up to his lips, the light of the moon and stars outside catching your arousal perfectly. 

“I’ve always wanted to taste you.”

He rubbed his fingers across his lips before sucking them into his mouth and rolling his tongue over it. He groaned, taking his fingers deeper into his mouth, all while looking at you. His other hand continued its work over your nipple as he rolled it in between his fingers. Your breath hitched as you took in the sight before you.

He released his fingers, a trail of saliva following. You followed it until he invaded your space yet again. “You want some?” 

He leaned down to press his lips to yours, putting his tongue immediately in your mouth. You tasted yourself on him, and it was heady. Full of want. You interlaced your hands into his hair and brought him closer into you. He kissed you fervently, like if he were to somehow stop, you’d disappear from his grasp. You gave a firm tug on his hair, pulling the two of you apart.

You stare into his pleading eyes, at his swollen lips, and eventually to his hand going back into your pants. But instead of his fingers feeling you, he slowly drags both your pants and underwear down your legs. You lift your hips instinctively, and once they’re off, he’s already off the couch and on his knees. 

He moved your hips to sit right in front of his face. He looked drunk off of you, your taste, the noises you made. He grabs you again to bring you in closer, his nose barely nudging your clit. You take in a sharp breath and release it with his name on your lips. 

“Look at you, pips. This all for me?” he drawled, voice heavy with need. His tongue darted out to prod at your entrance. You bucked your hips to his face, but was immediately brought back down onto the couch. You felt a slight pull around your body, something keeping you from moving around.

His evol, you thought. Of course he would use it. You sighed, throwing your head back onto the couch and he chuckled.

“I can’t have you movin’ around while I taste you. I need to focus.” He sounds serious when he says it, but when his tongue abruptly sinks into you, and his nose presses against your swollen clit, he laughs as if he didn’t even mean it at all. You try to squirm, to bring your hips closer to him, further on his tongue. But he keeps you still and wanting. 

He drags his tongue out so slowly, curving the tip of it right before he leaves your warmth. A small whimper leaves your lips, a cry of his name. 

“Caleb, please…”

“Please what? Gotta be specific.”

You release a strangled breath, your head too full of needing him inside of you to focus properly. So he answers for you. 

Two fingers push into you, all the way to his knuckles but unmoving, and his lips wrap around your clit. He looks up at you through his lashes and smiles on you. He pulls away slightly, taking his fingers with him. He opens his mouth and spits onto your cunt, then pushes his fingers back into you.

“Fuck, Caleb!” you whine.  

His fingers move at a steady pace, but you need more. “Faster,” you plead. And he happily obliges. He moves his fingers in and out of you, curling them just where you need them. Your body jerks off the couch, your hands fly to his hair, but your hips remain at his will. He sucks your clit in ever harder, nipping lightly on the bundle of nerves. You feel yourself getting closer to your release, but it’s all coming too fast for your mind to keep up. 

“C-Caleb… slow down,” you offer shakily. 

He pulls back briefly from you, but his fingers continue its torment. “You’re so hard to please,” he taunts.

“Don’t you wanna cum?” He speeds up slightly and you nod your head.

“Then do it,” he commands.

Your eyes screw shut, and you focus on the feeling of his fingers moving in and out of you. His mouth is back on you, licking and sucking and nipping at you. He moans into your cunt and ruts his hips into the base of the couch. It’s nearly painful how hard he is, how ready he is for you. How desperately he needs to be inside of you. 

You tighten around his fingers and your thighs twitch around his head. You're close and he knows it. 

“Thaaaat’s it, pipsqueak. Cum for me.”

You let out a sharp cry as you come around his fingers. He slows his pace down, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. As you slowly come down, he removes his fingers. His lips adorn the inside of your thighs as you shudder from his touch. 

“If I kept you here with me like this,” he said in between kisses.

“Would you think I’m being too selfish?” He nips your skin and you sigh. He looks up from where he is, his eyes glossed over with love, adoration, and something darker. He looks at you like you’re his world. His sole reason for living. 

He gets up and lays you out on the couch. His body hovers over yours, and he brings his mouth to your ear once again. 

“Promise me.” A kiss. “Promise me you’ll never leave.” 

[evvergreene]

DRINKING GAME

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ sylus x fem!reader

summary: after playing a drinking game, you're left heated- but not from the alcohol. sylus, being the gentleman he is, decides to "help" you.

₊˚⊹♡ tags: established relationship, fem!reader, implied drinking, teasing, marking, spit play, dry humping, pet names, p in v, fluff

word count: 2.1k

₊˚⊹♡ a/n: first fic kinda nervy, but sylus literally won't leave my mind. hope you enjoy!

It was unmistakable. The way your breaths mingled in the small space between you two, the faint smell of alcohol lingering on your tongues. You thought it was that slight buzz beneath your skin and running in your blood that made you feel so light. Maybe it was the relentless heat outside and the fact that your air conditioning somehow still refuses to work that made you heat impossibly more. Or maybe it was your cramped one bedroom apartment that you just had to get, even though you knew he could take care of you for the rest of your life, that forced you both to be this close. But he knew better. He knew the truth.

It wasn’t the liquor that made his hand move to pull your face closer to his. It wasn’t the heat that made his tongue dart out to almost taste the mix of alcohol and sweat on your bottom lip. And it wasn’t the tight space that forced your proximity and the small noise you made from his actions. He could hear the excuses forming in your head. You had always tried to make an escape from what this was. What you guys were. But he refused to allow you to slip from his fingers when you were this close.

As if it were possible, he moved closer to you, a small smirk forming on his lips. He didn’t give you what you wanted—not yet. No, he would make you wait, just like he had to. You moved your mouth closer to his, lips slightly parted, but he pulled back.

“Aren’t you eager,” he taunted. You somehow found it in you to roll your eyes, though you were far from annoyed. All you could really feel in the moment was the beating of your heart and the dampness between your legs. It wasn’t annoying, no—it was infuriating. You craved him in ways you never had for anyone else. 

And he knew it.

He leaned back on the couch, putting the most distance between yourselves on record for the night. You sighed softly, trying to not show your frustration. He looked at you with equal parts pity and adoration, before sliding his hands around your waist and lifting you onto his lap. 

“Sylus!” you squealed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He chuckled. “You looked sad that we weren’t as close anymore. Are you not happy with this?” He kept his hands around your hips, just underneath your shirt, his thumb making small circles on the skin above your shorts. 

“Do you not want me to touch you?” He moved further underneath your shirt, his hands spanning the width of your torso, going up, up, up. Your breathing picked back up and you turned your head away from his scarlett gaze. 

“Don’t be shy now, kitten. You weren’t during our game.”

You turned back to him with an accusing glare on your face. “It was a drinking game, Sylus. I had no choice but to be bold with what you were making me do.”

“Yeah?” His hands traveled further up, barely ghosting over your bra. “And what did I make you do that you didn’t want to do already?” His thumbs rolled over your clothed nipples and you shuddered.

“That wasn’t an answer, sweetheart. But I do appreciate how your body reacts to me.” His voice was darker, hungrier.

“I didn’t want to do any of it.” You square your shoulders. “I was simply playing the game. It was only fair.”

“No?” he questioned, removing his hands from your skin, taking note of the small sound you made at the loss of contact. He instead placed his hands on your bare thighs, moving, no—caressing your skin until he reached your ass. He cupped and squeezed you, relishing in how you felt. 

“Maybe I was mistaken.” He pushed you further onto him, connecting you where you both needed each other most.

“It just seemed like you really wanted this.”

You suddenly found it hard to breathe. His voice had become raspier. Between that and his clothed erection deliciously rubbing against your soaked cunt, you were burning up— suffocating. You wanted more. 

“It, I mean. It seemed like you had fun, that’s all,” he corrected. 

It was all so unfair. How easily he took control of the situation. Of you. How badly you needed him right now, and how you knew he would take his sweet time in delivering. But beneath your frustration resided something similar to the look in his eyes.

Understanding.

You both knew the game you were playing at, and both knew each other's limits. Limits either would never dare cross. But the space in between? It was free reign. And he would take his time slowly, methodically breaking you apart. 

Your head fell onto his and you breathed him in. He looked up at you and smiled. 

“Was I wrong, kitten?” He tilted his head and waited for your response. You breathed out.

“I–” your sentence was cut short by his wandering fingers. They squeezed the plushness of your thighs then slowly rubbed the pain away. He leaned into the area where your shoulder met your neck and bit down. Not hard, but deep enough to leave a mark. You moaned at the contact and felt his smile on your skin. He followed his torment with a lewd kiss that trailed up your neck to just beneath your ear. You felt the beginnings of his marks blooming on your skin. He bit your ear lobe, then sucked it into his mouth.

“You what.” His demand was hot on your ear. You needed something to ease the ache in between your legs, and since you were positioned on either side of him, rubbing your thighs together was out of the question. So, you opted for the next best thing.

He groaned into your skin.

“Careful, sweetheart.” He pulled back slightly to look at you. You were so devastatingly beautiful, he nearly gave in on his torments and kissed you properly. You trapped your bottom lip between your teeth and looked down at his mouth expectantly. 

“You only get what you want when you ask.” He brought his thumb to trace your lips, and you instinctively took it into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around him and sucked all while he watched you with heated eyes. You released him when he steadily retreated, and he rubbed the remnants of your saliva on your lips.

“But you know that already, don’t you?” 

He opened his mouth and placed his thumb on his tongue, tasting you. You whimpered at the sight. The way his ruby eyes were lidded and wanting and trained on you. How his tongue moved against his thumb, the only taste he’s allowed himself thus far, groaning around his finger. He took it out of his mouth and trailed the wet finger down your neck, paying close attention to the light purple marks he made moments ago. 

You moved against him again, desperately searching to quell the growing ache in your belly. Then again and again and again. He chuckled.

“Maybe you don’t know. This could all be over if you simply asked.”

You rolled your eyes, but you weren't sure if it was from your simmering annoyance or the friction between your thighs. “I-I know.”

“Yeah? You’re not acting like you. Look at you,” he taunted. You looked at him then to where their bodies connected and whimpered when he bucked into you

“You need it don’t you? I’ve barely touched you.” At that, you release a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan. 

“I’ve hardly touched you either, but you seem to like it just fine,” you challenged. He smirked at your response before grabbing your hips and slowing your motions.

“You’re right.”

Then why did you stop? You think out loud.

“Because you’re the one in control here. And though I know you can, I won’t allow you to cum like this. It’s only fair,” he said, echoing your earlier statement. 

He was right. You were in control. All you had to do was ask and he’d give you whatever you wanted. That simple. But fuck was it hot how you both prolonged it.

A few beats passed between you both, a knowing silence. You looked at his parted mouth, to his exposed chest, back to his pink-dusted cheeks. You looked into his eyes.

“Please?”

He leaned in and cupped the back of your neck, pushing your mouth flush against his. It was all heat and quickened breaths and untamed desire. 

It was pure satisfaction.  

He rested one hand on your hip and guided your motions again. You whimpered into his mouth. The other hand found its rightful place in between your shoulder blades, pushing you onto his chest. Your hands found respite in his silver hair, tugging at the strands as he groaned into you. His tongue met the seam of your lips and you obligingly opened your mouth. He searched you as if you were a new treasure begging to be found. 

He pulled back after a few moments to look at your state. Your lips resembled your cheeks in the dusting of warmth on them. Your eyes carried a certain hunger that only he could tame. And you wanted it. Wanted him.

“Stick your tongue out.” You did.

He leaned forward and sucked on your tongue, moaning at the contact. You pulled at his tresses harder and he reciprocated your motions in your mouth. He closed his lips around you and breathed you in, pulling away only to tug your shirt off. He unclasped your bra, throwing it somewhere in the room. He palmed your breasts, rolling and pinching your nipples in between his fingers. You pulled away from the kiss, throwing your head back in ecstasy. 

“Sylus…” his name a prayer on your lips. 

He brought his lips to your nipple and sucked. You rocked faster in response.

“Please…I–” 

“You what?” he murmured, gently this time. 

“What do you need?” He pulled back briefly to take you in.

“I need you.” 

And that was all he needed to hear. He tugged on your shorts.

“Take these off.” And you did, standing up to take them off, left in only your underwear. He shook his head.

“All of it.”

You guided your panties down your thighs slowly as he watched, legs spread on the couch. Your arousal glistened on your thighs in the dimly lit room. His mouth watered. 

“What about you?” you asked. 

“What about me?” 

“You know what I mean.”

He did. But still. “I don’t think I do, sweetheart.”

“Your pants, Sylus,” you panned. 

“You want them off?” You nodded.

“Words, kitten.”

“Yes,” you breathed out.

He obliged, standing to meet you. He undid his belt buckle, and zipped his pants down. Once off, he stood there in front of you knowingly.

“All of it, Sylus.” 

He chuckled at the slight annoyance in your voice before tugging his briefs down. He sat back down on the couch, arms splayed on the back of the seat and taking in the sight that was your as if you were his last meal on Earth. 

“Sit,” he ordered.

You hesitated before complying, taking your place back on his lap. You rested your hands on his bare chest and he shuddered underneath your touch. You trailed your movements down his chiseled torso, the muscles gently spasming, and he released a heavy breath. You stopped right above where he needed you most. His breathing quickened.

He looked up at you, gaze softened. He brought his head to yours and much like before, you breathed each other in. You gave him languid strokes. His mouth parted and you kissed him. It was slower than before, but with equal amounts of desire. 

You sat up a little higher before guiding him to you. His breath hitched as his tip kissed your entrance. 

“Sweetheart…please.” 

The game you both played earlier had come to a close. Neither player wanted to prolong the inevitable: this moment right here. Two bodies aching with need soon to become one, satiating both their desires. You needed him in ways you had only dreamed of before meeting him. You knew he would be the only one to quell the fire within you, but only through feeding it. He knew you would be his ruin, yet his saving grace all at once. He was like a man traversing through an endless desert, praying for even a drop of water, and you were an ocean; overflowing and abundant. 

You eased down on him and screwed your eyes shut. He wrapped his arms around your frame, bringing you in closer, and placed a small kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you,” he said against you.

“I love you too, Sylus."

[evvergreene]

coming soon...

eme | 18 | she/her | mostly LaDS + random blurbs

mdni