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zaynezone · 2 days ago

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while you were sleeping

synopsis: Zayne can't sleep when you're next to him warnings: well it's me so...tooth rotting fluff pairing: Zayne x fem!reader wc: 1.2k an: this one feels a little different to me, idk but I hope you like it! It's very loosely inspired by something my friend once wrote

Zayne should really go to sleep.

The rational part of him is very aware of the time ticking away, each minute dragging him closer to the moment his alarm will scream at him to get up, throw on his work clothes, and face a long, draining shift. He knows he should be catching up on some much needed sleep. But he isn’t.

Because you’re here.

Because you’re sleeping next to him, soft and warm and tangled up in him like you always are when you’re too tired to notice how clingy you get. Not that he’s ever minded. Your cheek is smushed gently against his chest, your breath brushing slow and steady over his skin. One of your legs has wormed its way over both of his, and your arms are wrapped around him like you're afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.

He can feel the weight of you, the heat radiating off your skin. You always run hot when you sleep. It used to surprise him, how much you gravitate to his naturally cooler body temperature. Now it’s one of those little facts he tucks away and holds dear, like the knowledge of your favorite tea or the way you need a sweater whenever you’re reading, even in summer.

His hand rests lightly on your back, fingers tracing lazy circles against the curve of your spine, up and down, over and over. You make a little sound in your sleep, soft and muffled, and it makes his heart do that stupid thing where it trips over itself for you.

He remembers the very first time you’d ever slept next to each other. It wasn’t even supposed to happen.

You had fallen asleep on his couch after a movie night, face buried in a throw pillow and your feet tucked up awkwardly. He didn’t have the heart to wake you, though he did try. You just blinked up at him groggily, whispered something incoherent, and promptly collapsed against his chest. Somehow, that evolved into the two of you curled together under the thin blanket he kept on the back of the couch. His neck was sore for a week. But the memory of it had stayed warm in his chest for far longer.

The first night in an actual bed was even worse for his sleep. You’d curled into his side so naturally, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Your arm flopped over his stomach, your knee nudged between his. He was too nervous to move a muscle. His body ached by morning, but he didn’t regret a second of it. That was the night he learned you talk in your sleep sometimes, mostly nonsense, but once you said his name and sighed like it was a prayer. He’d laid awake the rest of the night, hand over his heart like it could hold the feeling in place.

So many little things stick in his mind.

The time you fell asleep on his shoulder at the theatre after he had taken you to see a movie after a long mission. The time you dozed off mid-sentence while curled up on his lap and he just sat there, perfectly still, afraid to wake you. Even now, he remembers how your lashes fluttered against his shirt and how you mumbled something about “noodles” in your sleep.

He loves that you’re like this with him, unguarded and easy. He never realized how rare that was until he found it with you.

He shifts slightly, just enough to watch the rise and fall of your breathing. You’re wearing that worn-out shirt you stole from him, the one with the faded graphic and the tiny hole at the hem. It’s way too big, hanging off one shoulder, but you always choose it from the pile like it’s the only thing that feels right. It does feel right. His clothes always look better on you anyway.

Your hair is a mess, half fanned across the pillow, half sticking to his neck. He doesn’t care. He lifts one hand and gently brushes a few strands behind your ear. Your skin twitches at the contact, and you shift, nuzzling closer into his chest like you’re trying to climb inside him. He lets out a breathy, soundless laugh.

How is it that he feels more himself when you’re holding onto him like this?

Zayne remembers the time you both got caught in the rain on the walk home and he offered you his jacket, even though you insisted you were “tough.” You were soaked, cold, and grumpy when you finally made it inside, and he wrapped you in blankets and made you tea while you pouted at the window. Then you fell asleep with your wet socks still on and your head in his lap, and he didn’t dare move for over an hour.

He remembers the weekend you spent rearranging his living room, turning it into a strange little nest of pillows, books, and half-sipped mugs of cocoa. You’d declared it a “cozy zone,” and he had just nodded and let you do your thing. That night, you fell asleep with your head against his stomach, and he ran his fingers through your hair until he could barely keep his eyes open too.

And then there was that one morning when he woke up early and you were already curled into him, whispering sleepy, nonsense compliments while half-awake. He didn’t even bother moving. Just lay there and listened, letting the words soak into his skin. You said he felt safe. You said you liked how he always smelled like fresh laundry. You said his heartbeat made you feel calm.

No one had ever said things like that to him before. Not like that. Not like it mattered.

You mattered to him. More than anything.

He realizes now that there are entire chunks of his life that he doesn’t remember clearly anymore, the years without you, the weeks and months that blurred together. But in every memory with you, everything’s sharper. Brighter. Slower in the best way. You fill the room, even when you’re asleep. You change the way the air smells. It’s like being next to a fireplace when it’s snowing outside.

He doesn’t even notice his thumb is stroking slow arcs against your spine. He just knows he doesn’t want this to end. Doesn’t want to fall asleep and miss a second of this closeness.

He looks down at you, his whole chest close to bursting.

Your breath catches slightly, like you’re shifting into a new dream, and your hand flexes against his ribs. He holds you a little closer, presses a kiss to the crown of your head, light as a secret, and tucks you in tighter against him, like he can protect you even in sleep.

It’s late. It’s quiet. It’s perfect.

And for once, the words come easily.

He doesn’t say them loud, just a whisper into your hair, barely carried by the still air between them. But he says them.

“I love you.”

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fiendsgf · 4 days ago

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Jealousy, Jealousy‎ . ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

synopsis: oh no! all 5 of them are jealous :( better fuck it out!

content: smut (mdni), yearning, no plot

zayne . ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

You hadn’t meant to flirt.

It was just conversation — harmless, light — with one of the guests at the clinic benefit. A diplomat’s son, charming in that bored, well-dressed sort of way, who lingered just a little too close as he asked about your role. His compliments came wrapped in silk and wine, almost forgettable, if not for the way Zayne had seen them land.

You noticed the shift in him later — not in words, of course, but in how his hand came to rest at the small of your back. How he guided you through the crowd with a little more pressure than usual. How he didn't quite smile when the man shook your hand in farewell.

Zayne said nothing until much later, until the house had gone quiet and the fire in the living room had burned low. You stood in the middle of his room in the glow of moonlight, slipping off your gown when he finally spoke from behind you, voice even but unmistakably edged.

“He seemed very taken with you,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours as he helped you slip on a robe— his touch too gentle to be casual. “Charming. In a practiced sort of way.”

You turned to face him, finding that composed expression — calm, always — but his eyes were darker tonight. Sharper. As if weighing something unspoken.

“Were you jealous?” you asked, half a tease.

“No,” he said softly, stepping in close. “Just... reminded.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Of what?”

“That others may admire you.” His hand settled at your waist, warm and grounding. “But none of them know how to touch you.”

His lips brushed your cheek, then lower, to your jaw. His voice was velvet when it returned.

“None of them know how you tremble when you’re about to fall apart. How you like to be kissed here—” a soft graze behind your ear, “—or how your breath catches when I hold you like this.”

He drew you closer, lifting your chin with two fingers, his tone still gentle. Almost reverent.

And then, the unmistakable warmth of his palm on your hip. The way he leaned in close and said, with deceptive calm, “How beautiful you sound when you scream my name,”

You smiled faintly, not answering, letting your hand drift over the buttons of his shirt. “You’re so jealous.”

“Am not,” he murmured, drawing you into his lap.

You settled there, straddling his thighs, the fabric of your robe slipping open just enough for him to slide his hands along your bare skin. He held you like something precious—like you might vanish if he didn’t. His thumbs stroked absent circles into your waist, his gaze fixed on you with quiet purpose.

The kiss was inevitable. Slow at first—almost tentative. But then deeper, drawn out, his lips moving over yours with the careful deliberation of a man who knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid to take his time claiming it.

Your hands buried in his hair as he pulled you closer, tongue sliding past your lips with measured ease. His grip firmed on your hips as he guided your weight into him, coaxing the smallest gasp from your throat.

He caught the sound—of course he did—and his mouth curled faintly against yours. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me hear you.”

Your head tipped back slightly as he kissed along your jaw, his breath warming the curve of your throat. “You always know exactly what to do to me,” you breathed.

Zayne hummed low in his chest, mouth dragging against your pulse. “I study you,” he said softly. “Every sigh, every shiver. I could draw you from memory.”

There was a note in his voice then—something more than reverence. It sounded almost like a question he wasn’t quite asking.

You shifted against him, body arching subtly as his hands skimmed beneath your robe and slipped it off your shoulders. “No one else knows me like you do,” you said quietly.

He stilled, just for a moment, his hands pausing as he took you in.

Then, “Good,” he said. Not smug, not possessive in the traditional sense—just certain. A simple truth, spoken like a vow.

You kissed again, deeper this time, your bare skin pressed flush against the crisp cotton of his shirt. He eased you forward, holding you steady with one arm while the other slipped between your thighs. His fingers stroked you slowly, parting you with a patient, practiced touch. He worked you open in silence, save for the hitch of your breath, the soft wet sounds of his fingers circling your entrance.

“You’re trembling,” he said softly, brushing his knuckles along your inner thigh. “Already?”

“You’re too good at this.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “Only for you.”

You let your head rest against his shoulder as he slid two fingers inside, slow and careful. He knew exactly where to angle them, how to curl them just so, until your hips were rolling in time with his movements and your breath came out in stuttered gasps.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “No one else could ever make you feel this way.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement—and a challenge.

You whispered his name against his neck, voice breaking as he twisted his fingers just right. He exhaled through his nose, satisfied, and withdrew only to guide you onto him with practiced ease, the head of his cock catching against your entrance.

His hands held your waist, steadying you as he slid in, inch by aching inch. You buried your face in his collar, clutching at his shirt as the stretch overwhelmed you—so slow, so deep it nearly bordered on pain.

Zayne groaned softly, low and tight in his throat. “You’re always so warm for me.”

You whimpered, sinking fully down into his lap, the feeling of him rooted inside you sending shivers up your spine.

He didn’t move at first—just let you feel it. The way he filled you so completely. The way your body fluttered around him as if trying to draw him deeper still.

Then his hands moved again. One slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine. The other cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you—slow, reverent, utterly consuming.

And then he began to move.

Measured thrusts, hips rolling beneath you with perfect control. He kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips—again and again—like he couldn’t get enough of your taste. Each press of his hips had your breath hitching, your body tightening, your hands clutching his shoulders as the slow build wound tighter inside you.

“Who else could possibly understand you like I do?” he asked quietly, lips brushing your ear. “Who else would know how to love you like this?”

“No one,” you gasped.

He picked up pace slightly, hips grinding up into yours with exquisite precision, dragging your pleasure out, teasing you with the edge of release until your thighs trembled around him.

“I don’t need to be told I’m the only one,” he whispered, “but it’s nice to hear it.”

You cried out when he hit that perfect spot again and again, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Say it,” he breathed.

“You’re the only one, Zayne,” you whispered, falling apart for him.

He followed soon after, clutching you to him as he spilled inside, burying his face in your neck with a soft, unsteady exhale.

And then he stilled, holding you there as the aftershocks trembled between you.

A long silence. Just the sound of your heartbeats, your breath slowing.

Then, as you traced a hand over the back of his neck, he murmured against your shoulder:

“I want to spend my whole life learning you.”

His voice was soft, measured—almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

You didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his chin up, pressed a kiss to his lips, and smiled.

“I hope you do.”

xavier. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

You hadn’t even noticed Xavier at first.

You were in the hallway, still holding your mail, chatting with the neighbor from two doors down—the one who always seemed to be around when you got back from a mission. He’d asked about your latest patrol, complimented your boots in passing, made some offhand comment about how quiet your apartment had been lately.

It was all friendly. Harmless.

But Xavier stood just out of view, leaned in the doorway of his own apartment, watching.

His arms were crossed. His expression unreadable.

By the time you stepped back inside, the conversation already forgotten, you felt it—the tension. The presence. He was there, leaning in your doorway now, one shoulder propped against the frame.

“How long were you going to stand out there?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked. “What? I was only out there a minute.”

A pause. Then, calmly: “He’s interested in you.”

You laughed, but he didn’t. “He’s just a neighbor.”

“I’m not blind.” He stepped forward, slow and fluid, until the air between you tensed like a wire. “He smiles at you like he thinks you might invite him in one day.”

“He was just being polite, Xavi” you said, voice softening. But Xavier’s gaze didn’t waver.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m polite. He was imagining what your skin might taste like.”

You swallowed. Hard.

And Xavier’s smile—the one he wore only when he was angry in that particular, possessive way—made an appearance. It was faint. Crooked. Dangerous.

“You like being seen, don’t you?” he asked, stepping in closer. “All gentle eyes and soft smiles. So good. So kind. Makes men forget themselves.”

“Xavier—”

“Do you forget?” he asked quietly, hands finding your waist. “Who you belong to?”

You gasped as he pushed you back gently until your spine met the nearest wall. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like a caress. He leaned in, voice velvet-dark.

“Let me remind you.”

You were still catching your breath when he kissed you—deep, slow, unrelenting. Not angry. Not rushed. Just intentional. His mouth slanted over yours again and again until your knees weakened and your arms curled around his shoulders.

He carried you to the bedroom without a word. Lit only by the pale blue spill of Linkon moonlight, the room felt colder than usual. Or maybe that was just his restraint. He laid you down gently. Methodically. As though he was still trying to decide how best to ruin you.

He undressed you in near silence, his hands lingering longer than necessary. Touching places he already knew by heart, rediscovering them with maddening slowness. “He doesn’t know what you sound like when you beg,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your ribs, “or how your voice breaks when I go deeper.”

You reached for him—too impatient—but he caught your wrists and pinned them gently to the mattress above your head.

“No rushing,” he said, his voice almost sweet. “You had time to smile at him. You’ll make time for this.”

His mouth followed his hands—kisses dragged across your collarbone, tongue teasing the underside of your breast, lips sealing around your nipple as his fingers drifted lower.

And lower.

Until they found you, already slick and twitching for him.

“Of course,” he whispered against your skin. “Always so wet for me, even when you pretend to be innocent.”

Two fingers slid in, slow and curling, hitting a spot that had you bucking beneath him—but he held you down, pinning you with nothing more than a look.

“Do you think he could make you feel like this?” he asked. “Does he even know where to touch you?”

You whimpered, arching into him. “Xavier, please—”

“Oh,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear, “I love when you beg, little star.”

He worked you open with patient cruelty, bringing you to the edge with agonizing precision—only to stop.

Again and again.

By the third time, you were trembling, nails scraping at the sheets, voice hoarse from whimpering his name.

“Just say it,” he whispered. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, without hesitation.

He rewarded you with his mouth then—hot, wet, relentless between your thighs. Your back arched off the mattress at the first flick of his tongue. He took his time, lapping and sucking with languid control until your vision blurred and your thighs threatened to close around him.

But he held you open. Watched you come undone.

Only once you were gasping his name like a prayer did he finally undress, movements slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving yours.

When he sank into you, it wasn’t fast. It was deep. He held your gaze the entire time, watching your mouth fall open as he filled you, inch by slow inch, until you couldn’t breathe around it.

“There,” he whispered. “No one else gets this. Just me.”

He dragged it out, every roll of his hips designed to torture. His hands never stopped moving—stroking your waist, brushing your hair back, pinning your wrists when you reached to speed him up.

“You’ll take it like this,” he murmured, “until you forget every other name but mine.”

You did.

When you came again, it was with your legs wrapped around him, voice broken and high, clinging to him like you’d fall apart without his body tethering yours.

Only then—only then—did he let go, fucking you through your climax with enough force to shake the bed. He spilled inside you with a groan, head buried against your neck, breathing ragged and voice thick when he spoke again.

“No one gets to see this part of you,” he said softly, his hand stroking your stomach. “Just me. Only me.”

He looked at you then, hair mussed, eyes dark and hungry even after everything. “I don’t mind others seeing you smile,” he murmured, “but don’t let them forget who owns the rest.”

You pulled him in again, lips brushing his, breath still shaky.

“They couldn’t forget if they tried.”

sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

You didn’t mean to steal the spotlight.

The auction had simply unfolded that way — the room full of powerful people in fine suits and darker intentions, all turning to look when you walked in. Their gazes followed you like tides pulled by gravity, lingering too long. Some approached under the pretense of polite interest: asking for your thoughts on the collection, inquiring who you were with. You’d smiled, demure and polite, but it didn’t stop the way their eyes slid over you — speculative, appreciative, hungry.

You caught Sylus watching once from across the room — a glass of dark wine suspended in his hand, half-raised, half-forgotten. He didn’t look angry. Not even annoyed. Just still. Perfectly still. His crimson eyes held you like a blade pressed flat to your throat — silent and unmoving, but keen.

On the way home, he hadn’t said much. His hand rested on your thigh in the car. A murmur about the art. Something vague about the way the auctioneer’s accent curled. Polite, as always. But you felt it: the tension beneath his calm, like a storm pressed behind glass.

It’s only once the door closes behind you — the quiet of his penthouse folding around you, city lights flickering low — that he shows it.

He doesn’t let you get far.

His arm wraps around your waist and draws you back into his chest. You feel the heat of him before you hear the low hum of his voice near your ear.

“Still carrying all that attention with you, sweetie?”

You blink, about to ask what he means — but he’s already sliding your coat from your shoulders. Gentle. Reverent. His fingers ghost down the line of your back as he slips the fabric away, letting it fall to the floor.

You turn in his arms.

His gaze drinks you in — the line of your gown, the soft flush of your skin from the wine, the delicate rise and fall of your breath beneath silk.

“You looked…” His eyes drop lower. “…dangerous tonight.”

You raise a brow, lips tilting. “Dangerous?”

“Mmh.” His mouth brushes your jaw. Just a ghost of contact. “Pretty little thing like you — standing there with a thousand eyes on you, smiling like that.” His voice thickens, slow as honey. “Of course they wanted you.”

You laugh, soft and teasing — but he doesn’t. His hands slide lower, curve over your hips with more pressure. One lifts the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg around his waist. You let him. He carries you with no effort, steps sure and silent as he takes you to the bedroom.

“You’re being awfully sweet,” you murmur, hands brushing his chest.

He smiles. Slow. Knowing.

“Aren’t I always, kitten?”

He lays you down like you’re the most delicate thing in the world — not because you are, but because tonight he wants you to feel that way. Kept. Claimed. Cherished.

His jacket slips off. His shirt, undone with aching precision. As each button comes loose, you watch the careful reveal of his chest, the sharp cut of his abdomen, the faint line of a scar you’ve traced before. He watches you, too. Watches your hunger, quiet and reverent, like he needs to see it written across your face.

He kisses you with the same slow worship.

Not frantic. Not forceful. Just… knowing. Like he’s trying to wipe away every gaze that touched you, every word that wasn’t his, every breath you gave someone else.

His mouth trails from your lips to your neck, then down — lower, tasting the soft skin at your collarbone, the hollow between your breasts. When his fingers slide the gown off your shoulders, he moves like he’s unwrapping something sacred. Each inch of skin he reveals is met with his mouth, warm and lingering.

He doesn’t speak, but you feel the tension under his touch. The possessiveness coiled tight beneath the surface. It shows in how slowly he parts your thighs. How long he lingers at your knees. How his eyes lift and lock to yours before he kisses the inside of your thigh like a confession.

“I want to take care of you tonight,” he says, voice so low you barely catch it. “Will you let me?”

You nod, breath already caught in your throat.

His mouth lowers — and when he finally touches you with his tongue, it’s like silk drawn over a flame.

He takes his time.

Every flick, every slow circle of his tongue feels intentional. He doesn’t chase your pleasure — he builds it, patient and precise. His fingers curl against your thigh, anchoring you as his mouth works you open, lavishing you with long, unhurried strokes. When your hips twitch, he murmurs quiet praise against your skin.

“That’s it, sweetie… Just like that.”

He knows your body too well. Every tremble. Every soft sound. He listens for them like cues, adjusts with barely a shift, lips sealing over your clit just right, just long enough to make you sob out his name.

When the orgasm hits, it’s slow and shattering. Not sudden — inevitable. He pulls it from you like a string being drawn taut, then snapped, and when your body arches and your thighs quake, he doesn’t let go. He keeps you grounded with his mouth, one hand firm on your waist, the other stroking soft down your thigh.

When he finally rises, his lips are slick, his eyes molten.

He kisses up your stomach, your ribs, your sternum. Every inch of you loved, mapped, and claimed.

And when he finally pushes inside — slow, deep, deliberate — it feels like coming home.

“You feel that?” he whispers, voice frayed. “How perfect you fit me?”

You gasp his name, legs wrapping tighter around him. His hips roll slow, careful, each thrust brushing deep and smooth. He keeps you close — chest to chest, skin to skin — every movement drawing you tighter, closer.

“You’re mine…” he breathes against your jaw. Then quieter, almost too soft to hear — “Aren’t you?”

You freeze — just for a second. Not in fear. In knowing.

“…Sylus?” you whisper.

He lifts his head. Something flickers there. A softness cracking. A need barely hidden beneath all his polish.

You smile, kiss the corner of his mouth. “Are you jealous?”

His eyes narrow. Not angry. Just… caught.

“Tch. Don’t be absurd.”

But then he thrusts deeper. Slower. Possessive without force — just depth. Just heat. Your body responds instantly, moaning into his neck.

He leans down, voice low.

“Let me remind you.”

He doesn’t stop until you’re breathless. Until your fingers cramp from clinging to him, until your throat is hoarse from moaning his name like a prayer. His control never slips — but his need is written into every touch. Every inch of him buried deep in you, every whispered word brushed against your skin like a claim carved from silk.

And even when you’re both spent, your bodies tangled in the sheets, his hand never stops moving. Thumb brushing your hip. Knuckles tracing the curve of your waist.

He doesn’t say the word.

But in the way he presses a kiss to your temple. In how his eyes stay on you even after sleep begins to pull you under—

You know.

He needed this.

He needed you.

caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

You noticed it the moment his eyes cut across the room.

A too-familiar glance from a Fleet lieutenant. A compliment disguised as professional praise. A hand that lingered just a beat too long at the small of your back.

You brushed it off — but Caleb didn’t.

He didn’t say a word on the way back. No cold expression, no clipped tone — just silence, taut and simmering. And that was worse. That meant he was thinking. Feeling. Holding it in.

When the front door clicked shut behind you, the silence broke — not with words, but weight.

The air pressed down. Subtle, at first. Then heavier. Your breath caught.

“Caleb—”

“Stay there.”

His voice was calm. Too calm. He didn’t even look at you yet, just shrugged off his uniform jacket and let it hit the floor. “You always let them get close like that, honey?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” He turned finally, eyes darker than usual — not glowing, not angry. Just hurt. Like he’d seen a glimpse of something he wasn’t supposed to witness. “Pips… he touched you.”

“Caleb—”

“He touched you, and you smiled.” A step closer. “You let him.”

“I smiled because I was being polite. That’s all.”

His Evol pressed in tighter around your wrists, then your hips — firm, invisible hands holding you still. His voice didn’t rise. It dipped, lower, like it ached to stay steady.

“I’m not mad,” he murmured. “I just need—” Another step. Closer now. “I need you to remember whose you are.”

Then he kissed you — hard and deep, desperate, like he was trying to drown the memory of someone else’s touch with his own. He tasted like tension and guilt and need, his hands finally real where the gravity had only suggested — one cradling your jaw, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise.

He backed you to his bed without breaking the kiss, and you fell into the sheets with him following. His body covered yours like he couldn’t risk even the air touching you before he could reclaim it.

“Look at you,” he breathed, voice rough. “You’re always so sweet when you want something. But tonight…” His teeth grazed your neck. “I think you want to be reminded.”

You whimpered as he pushed your legs apart and settled between them, dragging your underwear down like it offended him. He slid his fingers through your slick folds with a sharp inhale, his restraint fraying at the edges.

“Fuck. Already this wet?” His voice cracked. “God, baby, tell me it’s not for him.”

“It’s not,” you gasped. “It’s you—only you.”

He exhaled hard, like he didn’t quite believe it, even if he wanted to. Even as he lined himself up and pressed in deep — one long, thick stretch that made your toes curl — his expression didn’t fully settle.

His rhythm started rough. Fast. Desperate. His hands held your thighs open, and every thrust hit deeper, firmer, like he was trying to bury himself so far inside you nothing could ever take you from him.

But even as he claimed you, his voice cracked again. This time not with anger — with fear.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

You looked up, startled — but he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. His hips kept rolling, skin slapping yours, sweat beading along his temple.

“Pips,” he breathed, and this time it sounded like a confession, a prayer. “I try so hard— I try to be everything—” His forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing. “But I’m not like I used to be. I know that. I’m not good enough for you.”

“Caleb—”

His thrusts stuttered just a little — not in weakness, but like the words hurt more than anything.

“But I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so fucking much it hurts. And I can’t— I won’t watch you slip away. I need you to want me like this.”

You whimpered as his grip on your hips tightened, dragging you into each thrust, his eyes fluttering shut like the sensation grounded him.

“Say it,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged. “Tell me I’m enough. Please, baby—just say it.”

“You’re enough. You’re more than enough—Caleb, please—”

You came hard, the wave crashing over you with a sob of his name. But he didn’t stop.

He leaned over you, still thrusting through the aftershocks, his voice unraveling completely now — soft, whiny, broken. Almost angry at himself.

“I don’t care if it hurts, just let me stay like this—let me feel you, baby, please—”

You kissed him, trembling, and he kissed you back like he needed your mouth to breathe. His pace grew erratic, choked sounds escaping him as his hips lost rhythm.

“I’m yours,” he groaned, spilling deep inside you. “Yours, Pips. No one else. Just—just yours.”

He stayed inside you, still moving gently, too raw to stop.

And then he collapsed into you, arms pulling you close like if he let go for even a second, you might disappear. Voice barely audible, breath hot against your skin:

“I don’t know what I’d be if I lost you.” A pause. “Whatever you want me to be— I’ll be that. Just please stay.”

rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

The gallery was full — too full — but Rafayel didn’t complain. Not out loud.

He watched from across the room, champagne glass untouched, as you laughed at something some man in a velvet blazer whispered near your ear. The man gestured vaguely at one of Rafayel’s paintings — a piece in pink and carmine tones, intimate, unmistakably you — and smiled like he thought he had a chance.

Rafayel’s jaw flexed. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t make a scene.

But oh, he watched.

And when the evening ended and the man dared to kiss your knuckles, Rafayel’s fingers were already curling around your wrist before the door even shut behind him.

He didn’t say a word as he tugged you down the path to his studio. Just smiled — a little too wide, a little too perfect — and pressed the buttons on the keypad with a single flick of his gloved hand.

“You’re quiet,” you said.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Just thinking. About how pretty you looked tonight. Especially when you were giggling at his jokes. I didn’t know I had competition.”

Your heart fluttered. “You don’t.”

He smiled wider, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, cutie. I know that. Now.”

The moment the studio door shut behind you, his mask cracked.

Rafayel was on you in an instant — hands in your hair, lips at your neck, hot and breathless. “Do you like making me suffer?” he murmured, tongue sliding along your pulse. “Because I was suffering. All evening.”

You barely had time to speak before he swept you up — literally — into his arms and carried you straight through the studio. Paintings lined the walls, moonlight casting shadows across the hardwood, and he sat you down on the edge of a velvet chaise like you were a centerpiece.

“I was good tonight,” he said, dragging off his jacket with a sharp flick. “So good. I didn’t even interrupt. I let him talk to you. Let him look at you like he had any right. And you—” He knelt between your legs, gripping your thighs possessively. “You just smiled so sweetly, like you didn’t know how insane that was driving me.”

You opened your mouth, but his fingers were already slipping under your dress, dragging your underwear down with a wickedly slow pull.

“Don’t you dare apologize, cutie,” he whispered, mouth brushing your inner thigh. “I don’t want ‘sorry.’ I want to hear how much you missed me.”

“Rafayel—” your breath hitched as his lips pressed hot and slow where you were already aching.

“Say it,” he murmured, eyes flicking up — those vibrant blues with their soft pink glowing in the dark. “Say you missed me.��

“I missed you— I always do—”

“Good,” he cooed, grinning. “Then stay still for me.”

And then his mouth was on you — lush and relentless, tongue flicking, curling, sucking until you were gasping. He held your thighs open with an iron grip, moaning against your heat like he was starved for it.

He didn’t let up when you bucked. Didn’t stop when you cried out his name. He just kept going — murmuring sweet, devastating things between licks.

“This is mine, cutie. All mine. You can let them look—but they don’t get this, do they?”

“No—nngh—only you—”

“That’s right,” he purred, slipping his fingers inside you without warning, curling them just right. “Only me. Because I’d burn the world if anyone else touched you like this.”

Your orgasm came fast, nearly shocking — and still he didn’t stop.

You tried to pull away, thighs trembling, but he only made a soft sound and pulled you back in.

“Raf— I can’t—”

“You can,” he said sweetly. “You will. That was just for the exhibition. Now this one’s for the way he looked at you. And the next? That’s for smiling at him like he was interesting.”

“Rafayel—!”

He grinned against your overstimulated clit. “Aw. Are you gonna cry for me, cutie? Look so pretty when you do.”

Your vision blurred. The pleasure, the heat, the shameful delight in how needy he sounded — it all tangled into something delirious.

He finally pulled away, face wet, lips red and glistening. He kissed your thigh with a little sigh, like he was soothing the wound he caused.

Then he stripped — both of your clothes disappearing in an instant — until you were both bare and golden in the moonlight, muscles tense and hungry with restraint.

“Lie back,” he said. “Let me inside. I need to feel you. Need to ruin you a little, so you don’t forget who you come home to.”

You reached for him — dazed, aching — and he slid into you with a sound that was halfway to a whimper.

“Oh, fuck— you’re perfect,” he moaned, dropping his head against your shoulder. “Tighter than I remember. Were you teasing me on purpose, cutie? You wanted to see me like this, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t speak. Could only cling as he rolled his hips in deep, smooth thrusts — dragging out every sound from your throat, chasing every tremble in your body.

“Say it,” he gasped, breath hot against your collarbone. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours— always—”

“And you love me?”

“I love you.”

He groaned — long and low, thrusting deeper. “Again.”

“I love you—!”

He came with a choked breath, hips grinding as he spilled inside you, his body trembling against yours like the tension had finally snapped. But he didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t even pull out. He just wrapped his arms around you, still buried deep, and nuzzled into your neck with a pout.

“…I hate being jealous,” he whispered. “Makes me dramatic.”

You huffed a laugh, boneless and warm. “You’re always dramatic.”

He smiled, kissing your temple. “Yeah, but this time I was right, wasn’t I? You’re mine, cutie. And I’m never letting go.”

a/n: next fic is probably gonna be some crazy angst w/ sylus so im dropping this as an early apology... enjoy <3

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fates-violet · 5 days ago

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Part 2 of Alternative Darkborne Photo Dump (Pre Sylus's Suit)

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illumivier · 2 days ago

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a piece of your mind

silent communication with the lads guys. alternatively, how they can tell you’re upset without you saying anything.

content: fluff, all lis included, mentions of anxiety/overstimulation

note: i’ve been in a bit of writing block but i am working on another full length xavi fic 🥰 if you have any requests please feel free to send them to my ask! <3

XAVIER

it was an anxious tick; a sign that something was worrying you or your social battery was dutifully running out. xavier picked up on it immediately, the way your hand snuck under the table and clasped over his. with a flick of his wrist, he laced his fingers with yours and rested your intertwined hands in his lap. no one would’ve even noticed your distress since the two of you were still all smiles, pretending to be interested in the conversation that was bustling around the dinner table.

the sounds of chatter and laughter, the music blaring from the speakers, the constant movement of people walking around the restaurant, you could barely tune out any of it. a headache was slowly creeping behind your eyes and your leg was now noticeablely bouncing against your chair. xavier’s thumb stroking the back of your hand was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“should i fake diarrhoea so we can run out of here?” xavier asked, his tone so serious that it made you laugh under your breath.

“yes please do.”

ZAYNE

dr. zayne wasn’t one for overt displays of affection. he’d keep an arm draped over your shoulders when you were crossing the street or a peck on the forehead when he dropped you off at work — that was it. but, despite his caring yet aloof demeanour, he was a highly intuitive man that always knew when you needed him to step things up a bit.

the two of you were at his colleague’s wedding, standing a respectful distance apart as he chatted to a few of the guests. a particularly nosy aunty of the groom began attempting to set zayne up with her daughter and, while the man did his best to calmly diffuse the situation, she wouldn’t budge.

feeling fed up, you discreetly reached out for his hand. you intended to just give him a little tap to communicate your discomfort, but zayne knew you better than you knew yourself. he knew you were more than just uncomfortable. so as soon as your fingers brushed against his, he clasped them together and tugged you forward to stand at his side, a quiet gesture to show he’s taken.

RAFAYEL

in your relationship, you never had the opportunity to initiate any physical intimacy because rafayel always beat you to it. he was clingy, in an endearing way, that always left you flustered. oh how you wished to wipe that smug look off his face and for once have him be the one taken aback. the opportunities to catch him off guard didn’t come often, but you were ready to take any chance you got. so you planned your surprise for days on end; a cute new lingerie set and an array of his favourite scented candles that would surely make him melt.

but of course, your always observant boyfriend caught you out immediately and you watched in horror as he pulled the hidden lingerie out from under the bed.

“you can’t fool m—“

he cut himself off when he saw the smile on your face. it wasn’t your usual smile, he could instantly tell that you were genuinely upset. it was a look that he hated seeing on your pretty face.

“um actually cutie? could you go put this on for me?” he asked softly, holding the garment out to you.

the rosy blush that appeared on his cheeks was enough to flip your mood.

SYLUS

kieran and luke were like your little brothers and you loved cooking for them. they were the perfect blend of sweet and annoying, but unfortunately that evening they preferred to be the latter.

“i can do it!” kieran yelled.

“i’ll do it better!” luke countered before a lump of pizza dough went flying into the air.

at that point, the blank look on your face would’ve had anyone believing you had everything under control. you quietly busied yourself stirring the sauce on the stove, your expression serene as kieran and luke continued to bicker and make a mess of the kitchen.

when sylus strolled in, his sharp eyes immediately took notice of your distance demeanour and he knew you were becoming overstimulated.

“i just got new tires on the bike,” sylus exclaimed, grabbing the two boys’ attention instantly, “go break them in for me.”

“on it boss!” the duo said in unison before darting out of the kitchen.

sylus silently walked closer to you, pressing a kiss to your head before leaving you to cook in peace.

CALEB

it started off as a harmless joke. caleb would hide your things on the highest shelves from time to time, forcing you to either clamber up the kitchen counters or ask him for help. you usually laughed it off, knowing your boyfriend loved to play silly pranks on you. but, after a long, debilitating day at work, you weren’t in the mood.

your eyes stared at the jar of peanut butter taunting you from the upper cabinet and you had to hold back your frustration. half expecting to see you already climbing up to retrieve the jar, caleb stopped in his tracks. just from your still figure, your back facing him, he knew you were pissed.

he rushed into the kitchen and scooped you up into your arms. he held you up around your waist while he used his other hand to grab the peanut butter before you reached your breaking point.

“don’t be mad, i’m sorry baby.” he giggled softly, hugging you close as you melted into his loving embrace.

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memephi · 2 days ago

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this is technically part II to this post

I didnt have time to color it this time 😔

also im usually headcanon mc and fat mephie to be good friends i just thought this would be funny

#also i subscribe to letting mc be immature every once in a while #let my girl be silly #love and deepspace #lads mephisto #lads #lnds #love and deepspace mephisto #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace mc #lads mc

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satrs · 2 months ago

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Overdrive! ♡

✎A/N; here it is babes!! sowwryyy for the eternal waittt! CALEB'S IS SOOO LONG OMG IDK WHAT HAPPEND Y'ALL!!! Regardless, rlly hope ur enjoying it^^ xoxo

SYNOPSIS. Requested by anon ↳ ❝ [..."YOUR WRITING IS DELECTABLE OMG. I was wondering if you’d ever consider writing the lads men with a reader who is insatiable/has a high sex drive and/or ovulating and has her way with him until he’s completely worn out/begging to take a break 🫠" ] ¡! ❞

FEAT. RAFAYEL. CALEB. SYLUS. XAVIER. ZAYNE. xfem!reader

TAGS. NSFW CONTENT. MDNI! MARATHON S€X!!!! breeding. size k!nk unprotected intercourse. dirty talk. gripping their a$$, oh em gee dirty mouth zayne??!!. prone bone in Xav's. doggy. ur insatiable lmao, overstim, riding, begging. slight dumbification in sum. messyyy s€x. Caleb matching your freak(per usual). lotsss of spit and drool. oral (f & m receiving in caleb's), possessive guys. multiple positions.

ꪆৎ RAFAYEL

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

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

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

"N-nooooo, Raf'."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, he's not lasting for long.

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

And you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Breed you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can't. He can't he can't he—

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

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

Well, he can surely take—

"One more, please?"

Right?

ꪆৎ CALEB

Hot.

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

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

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

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

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

"Feel it? Baby, I smell it."

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

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

"Look."

You do.

"O-oh."

It's fucking obscene.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's y-your fault. All because of—"

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

"Mhmmm."

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

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

Fuck that damned mirror, he wants the real thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you actually do.

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

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

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

God, he loves this.

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

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

Yeah, he's gone mad.

And you? You're gone.

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

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

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

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

"My poor, poor baby."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"M-moreee! Wan' more! Need to—"

Smack!

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking finally a time for his inner freak to shine.

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

And maybe you are.

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

Oh, how impatient you are.

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

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

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

He underestimated you.

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

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

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

But it's not enough.

"I said hahhh-harder, Caleb—"

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

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

He's going to be the death of you.

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

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

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

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

You're going to be the death of him.

ꪆৎ SYLUS

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

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

"M' sorry, Sy. Can't stop, can't—"

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

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

He's done it now.

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

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

"Honey, I don't think I can—"

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

"Y-you're so— sooo"

"Hmm? M' what, Sy'?"

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

And It's only driving you further into insanity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thaaat's my girl."

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

Sylus. Sylus. Sylus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plap plap plap.

"Better hold on tight, sweetie."

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

"Yesyesyes! Js like that, Sy!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ꪆৎ XAVIER

"It's little moments like these,"

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

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

And he sure as hell doesn't let you.

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

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

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

"Mhmm! Love you! Love your—"

"Say it right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Talking outta that greedy pussy again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

And he's still hard.

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

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

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

You still want more?

"You're killing me, princess."

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

"Good."

ꪆৎ ZAYNE

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

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

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

But this? This has his mind fucking reeling.

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

Like he could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He spanks you. Hard.

"You want more?"

"Oh fuckkk yes, I—!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Want more, Zayne... please,"

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

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

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

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

"Alright then."

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

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

"happy fucking life."

#◛⑅·˚ ᵂᴼᴿᴷ #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #caleb smut #sylus smut #rafayel smut #xavier smut #zayne smut #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #caleb x reader #sylus x reader #lnds #lads #love and deepspace x reader #♡˳ᴸ&ᴰˢ #lec writes!۵

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syhli · 5 days ago

Text

i offer my lads mc except she's in a perpetual state of corruption

#sylusmc in case anyone is curious (:#concept stuff that will forever remain in the vault now that i'm fighting a unique case of creative block #and was the only thing i managed to create in spite of everything #i have her lore figured out in depth (complementary to sylus) but i'll just keep it to myself #sylusmc #lads mc #love and deepspace mc #love and deep space #lads #lnds #l&ds #love and deepspace #love & deepspace #lads fanart

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applecaviar · 2 days ago

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Would you be down to do headcanons for how the lads boys would react to reader edging them?

I'm sorry pookie, I had this sitting in my drafts and I forgot to post it 🤦🏻‍♀️.

Edging the LADS men

🔞🔞🔞

*He thrives under your dominance, reveling in the way you take control and guide him. It sets his nerves alight, every touch igniting like a spark against his skin. Seeing the hunger in your eyes is his greatest aphrodisiac, making his cock throb with need.

* Those silk ties he wears? They are his favorite for a reason. They're soft and sleek, slipping between your fingers as you bind his wrists above his head. Watching you wind the fabric around his wrists, securing him to the bed, makes his heart race. He's at your mercy, yours to do with as you please. The thought alone is enough to make that tip of his cock drool.

*He loves it when your fingers dance over his sensitive nipples. His cock jumps in response, it's a direct line, every flick and pinch sending blood straight to his dick. He's so responsive, so desperate for your touch. Just the barest graze of your fingertips and he's putty in your hands.

*The sounds that spill from his lips are pure sin. They're low and resonant, rolling over his tongue like the deepest notes of a well played violin. He moans like he's singing, pouring every ounce of feeling into it. It's erotic as hell, the way he vocalizes his pleasure, it makes your blood sing.

*He loves it when your hand wraps around his cock. Slick with sweat and arousal, it glides up and down with a grip that's just right. The drag of your palm against him is exquisite, and the light scrape of your nails over his soft heavy balls. Heaven. He twitches in your hold, steel encased in velvet. His eyes follow the path of your hand, drinking in every stroke.

* His eyes flutter shut, as he braces himself, ready to coat your hand with his hot seed. But then, just as the first tingles of release start to spark up his shaft, you pull away. cool air hitting the slick skin and making him gasp.

Every. Single. Time.

No matter how many times you've done this to him, the shock is always the same. It punches the air from his lungs, leaving him momentarily stunned, eyes wide and disbelieving. His cock jumps and pulses, aching and empty, yearning for the heat and pressure it was just cradled in.

*Finally, when you sink down his cock, he bursts. A pretty cry tears from his throat, back bowing off the bed as he hilts inside you. The heat of you, the velvet vice grip, it's always too much. His hands fist the sheets, gripping for dear life as he cums. He doesn't have time to adjust, to get used to the feeling of being buried inside you. You don't give him the chance. No, you just keep moving, bouncing on his cock until he is seeing stars.

*He loves it when you edge each other, It's thrilling to see who can hold out the longest, stretching moments into a night that always seems to go on forever. The back and forth play keeps things lively. However, when you take charge of edging him on your own, that's a whole different story.

*He can grow restless, even antsy. He craves your pleasure above his own, so much so that he has trouble focusing on his own sensations. It's a beautiful, if sometimes frustrating, dynamic between you. He lives for your satisfaction, and everything else comes second.

*But when he does allow you to edge him, his favorite way is a slow handjob. He sits in a chair, hands tied snugly behind his back, leaving him helpless, at your mercy. This position lets you take full control, setting the pace and pressure just how you like it.

*He enjoys being edged this way because he knows you can't resist using your mouth too. Your hand moves agonizingly slow on his shaft while your mouth works magic on the sensitive head, lips and tongue swirling and licking.

*He shakes, fighting to stay quiet, but it's always a losing battle. His moans start low, before rising in pitch and volume. His hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust into your mouth. The colonel's iron control frays, unravels, replaced by needy pleas ""Please, let me... I can't... please, Y/N!"

*His orgasms are always strong but after being on the edge for a while when he cums, he cums hard. His body locks up tight, muscles coiled. It's a release so massive, it steals his breath and leaves him gasping. He thrills at the overwhelming force of it, craving that brutal, mind blowing finish so much that he's learned to chase this high even when he is alone, edging himself whenever he masturbates.

*Xavier loves to edge you. He could happily spend hours with his head between your thighs. But when you try to edge him with your hands, mouth, or thighs, it's a fleeting victory.

*He allows you the brief illusion of control, letting you think he will beg this time. But in the end, you inevitably find yourself pinned beneath his body, trapped in a nasty mating press. No matter how you try to bind him, he always manages to break free, using his Evol to easily remove any restraints separating him from your body.

*The easiest way to tease him is to climb on top and ride him. He'll let you set the pace at first, watching you bounce on his fat cock with hooded eyes. When he reaches that desperate, frenzied edge, that's when his composure starts to fray.

*At the exact moment he's about to lose himself, you clench down hard on his cock, gripping him hard. But instead of continuing your movements, you stop. You remain still, your hips unmoving, even as you feel his cock throb inside you. His eyes fly open, a fierce blush staining his cheeks as he stares up at you with a desperation he rarely shows. "Fuck, do something bunny"

*He indulges your games, letting you have your fun while you ride him. Each clench of your walls makes him groan, his hands gripping your waist tighter. But he maintains his composure, refusing to give in to the building pressure inside him.

*You start to think that maybe, just this once, you'll be the one to drive him to the brink until he loses control. But Xavier always finds a way to turn the tables. Just as you're sure he's about to give in, you find yourself pressed against the floor to ceiling window of his bedroom, wrists pinned above your head with him railing you into next week. You know then that he won't be the one begging. Not tonight. Tonight, he's out for revenge. And you'll be lucky if you can still walk tomorrow.

*Zayne loves to be edged. This man works under pressure every day. He finds this helps him unwind and manage stress.

*Despite his typically stoic and controlled demeanor, when nearing his peak, he lets out enticing whimpers and moans that betray his desperation for climax. This loss of composure from the usually unflappable Dr. Zayne is delicious.

*He likes it when you use your hands and mouth on him. But he loves it when you make him use a cock ring. He lets you edge him until he's at the very limit, painfully hard and desperate.

*His eyes roll back when you start playing with his balls and then he starts begging " Please let me cum...I need to come so bad for you, my love..I don't want to hold it anymore, please"

*When he reaches that precarious edge, he delights in having you sink down his cock slowly. He knows you will turn on the vibrator feature of the cock ring at the right time to stimulate your clit, you always do. The extra stimulation pushes Zayne over the edge and he comes with a growl that sends shivers down your spine and makes your pussy clench with toe curling pleasure.

*Edging sylus is hard. He seems to have the stamina of a wild beast, but you've managed to do it many times before.

*His praise kink makes an appearance every time he manages to hold back and you call him a good boy, his cock twitching in your hand. He also finds it incredibly erotic when you take charge, the loss of control intoxicating.

*He acts like a brat first, spouting cocky remarks, until you start sucking his cock, his bratty attitude turns into filthy moans. You know his tells, the subtle shifts in his breathing and the way his abs start to clench as his climax approaches. This knowledge allows you to expertly push him to the edge again and again without tying him up.

*His hips rut up into nothing, chasing friction he needs so badly. His face flushed, eyes glazed and lips parted around needy little whimpers. But he resists, and lies there, trembling and panting, trying to will his body to calm, to pull back from the edge. His cock leaks, thick drops of precum dripping down the shaft, making it glisten obscenely

*As he gets closer and closer he starts to beg " Fuck kitten...I can't hold back any lon...any longer" " Youre going to make me fucking cu...please don't stop now..."

*With a single word of praise or permission you can make Sylus cum, his cock pulsing as he spills himself. There are other times, however, when Sylus' desperation and lust reach a fever pitch, and the switch in him flips. You end up screaming his name while he fucks the life out of you.

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