yoonbeans

[yoonbeans]

5 o' clock, zayne

[yoonbeans]

zayne x non-mc!fem reader -- married, but you worry it's only because mc (emcee) had left and was never sure on when she'd return. six years later, emcee moves back to linkon, and you feel your worst nightmares start to fester. self-indulgent angst (tw: miscommunication), mentions of alcohol and getting drunk , use of Y/N wc: 5.4k | part 1

a/n: thank you to everyone who has interacted with and enjoyed part 1! i sincerely hope that this final part does not disappoint. stay safe and hydrated, and i hope you all are well <3

You can do this for as long as you need to, no matter how draining it may be.

When you wake in the morning, you find yourself tucked into your blanket the way that Zayne would often do if he felt the material wasn’t doing enough to keep you warm. A pang of guilt makes itself known when you come to the realization, and it’s clear that Zayne had to leave early again. The side of his bed is cool beneath your fingers, but after a single grip of the cotton, you fling the blanket off your figure and get up to start your morning routine.

It’s a tiny hassle to make your own coffee and figure out a quick breakfast without Zayne – tiny in the sense that you had done it yourself before having moved in with him, and you shouldn’t be so reliant on a partner whose schedule is as crazy as his. There had been a time when things were more consistent and regular, but ever since Emcee returned…

Like clockwork, you step on the scale in your shared closet, letting the device gather all the numbers it needs. It gives you a chance to observe the sorry state of your feet. The bandaids that you slapped on are worn at the edges, your toenails looking a little rough, wrinkles and blisters decorating other parts of your toes. You feel the roughness on the balls and arches underneath. When you step off the scale, you move towards the counter and lean back against it so you can lift a foot up and get a better look at the backs of your heels.

The sight of them makes you wince internally, bloodied and skin peeling. Once pristine, the cotton pads of the bandaids are splotched with crimson, paint from yours truly. You take little care in replacing the bandages and dolloping some antibiotic ointment on them to make you feel like you’re doing something at least. After getting dressed, brushing your teeth, and deciding to buy coffee on the way instead, you’re out the door in your most comfortable pair of work flats.

As you walk towards the nearest bus station, your phone vibrates, and the music in your earbuds softens before returning to its original volume. The notification tone sends a spike of anxiety through your system, your fingers shaking as they push things around and fish your phone out from your bag.

Husband 💙: Have you left for work yet? I can come back and drop you off.

It’d be rude not to reply.

You: I have, so no need. Thank you though.

An immediate reply.

Husband 💙: Don’t walk around too much today, and replace those bandaids when you’re on your lunch break.

You: Okay, I’ll try.

Needless to say, you don’t – more like, you can’t. No one in your office has bandaids for some reason, nor can they remember where the first-aid kit is. To be fair, you hadn’t planned on changing them had Zayne not said anything.

The hours tick by, and your boss stops by your desk to ask if everything was okay yesterday. You thought you could fake it, but your voice is telling when you reply, “Oh yeah, everything’s just fine. We’re fine.” Your boss cocks an eyebrow at your tone, and you assume a facial expression that screams, “Really, we’re not fine but there’s nothing you can do about it, so thank you for even asking.”

Just as you’re putting your stuff away to leave work for the day, your phone buzzes.

Husband 💙: Don’t forget to eat dinner. I have a late surgery. Also, kettle corn is not a meal.

You can’t help but quirk a smile at his words, as they rarely fail to elicit a reaction from you. But you’re tired, still feeling the effects of everything that happened yesterday, and you type out a quick response.

You: Okay. Good luck.

In another part of the city, a man with hazel eyes reads his phone for a little too long, his eyes squinting slightly as they circle around those three words. Your bland, unfeeling response is highly unusual and unsettles him. But he has to toss it aside somewhere in his mind so that he can focus wholeheartedly on saving this upcoming patient.

You, on the other hand, have decided to camp out at the bookstore again until late. Unable to hide forever, you slip back outside and are greeted by a slight chill in the air. It seeps through your thin blouse, and it isn’t until your head hits your pillow that it is, in fact, the middle of a hot summer. 

-

Zayne has texted you more this week than he has in the last month.

At first, you thought things may be returning to a sense of normalcy, and that whatever you heard come out of his mouth that fateful day was just a fluke. But when he mentioned offhandedly that Emcee was gone for a week or two because of a mission a few hours away, you deflated and berated yourself for even hoping.

The second choice, weren’t you?

Every day, there is something. A reminder to change your bandaids, dry humor, some slightly snarky comment about the highly incompetent doctor in the neurology department that he swears must’ve bought his way to become board-certified, the occasional picture of his makeshift meals, general questions about your day – you don’t know how to feel about all of it. Because what happens when Emcee comes back?

What happens when you can no longer be the priority again?

The very question makes you throw a shot of soju back at this company dinner to celebrate someone’s promotion. You had taken it as a chance to, once again, stay away from your actual sanctuary, while also getting a free meal. A win in your books, right?

Even in your drunken haze, when your phone, face down, vibrates on your table by your chopsticks, you know immediately who it is. When you flip your phone over, your husband’s face greets you, and you have a slight moment of panic. Did you ever get around to telling him you were at a work dinner tonight?

“Fuck,” you murmur before nonchalantly swiping up the green circle.

“Hello?” you quietly answer, your voice already a little heavy.

Zayne seems to pick up on it almost immediately. “Is everything okay?”

Before you can answer, a crowd roars at some drinking game happening two tables down, and your phone cannot be bothered to filter it out.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“Work dinner,” you reply while trying to step away from your table and towards somewhere quieter.

“Was it an impromptu dinner?”

“No,” you say, tone sheepish and sluggish, much like your steps towards the bathroom. “I think I forgot to tell you about it.”

“Do you need me to pick you up? I’m about to leave the hospital.”

You pull your phone back and search for the time. Was it already 10:30PM?

“You don’t have to, it’s late. You should go home and get some sleep.”

Several miles away, a tiny layer of ice decorates Zayne’s right hand.

“I can’t imagine you need to be there any longer. Surely your boss would understand. Where are you?”

For the life of you, you could not recall the name of the restaurant. Looking around, you hum, almost lackadaisical, until you catch sight of a flashy sign. “I think it’s called Chodang? Korean barbeque.”

“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

“No,” you nearly whine, “it’s okayyy.”

There are the jingling of keys and two quick beeps in the background. “Y/N.”

His voice is final, stern, and sobers you just a tiny bit.

“Thank you,” you surrender with the cadence of an apology, your tone sheepish.

“Wait inside. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t forget to gather all your things.”

“Yessir,” and fingers mock salute to no one before hanging up. Well, at least you can finally be done with this event. If you’re lucky, you won’t have a hangover in the morning.

When you start grabbing your jacket and bag, your coworkers ask if you’re leaving, and you have to pretend that you don’t want to. “My husband’s picking me up.”

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that then. See you tomorrow!”

You wave goodbye to everyone and do your best to remain as steady as possible. The warm summer night is a nice contrast to the aircon that had no business blasting as hard as it did. Your mind drifts off into another world as you stare off at nothing, eyes unfocused and slightly glazed over. Without any warning, you find yourself thrown back to the day you walked aimlessly around the park.

“Perhaps, but there’s no point in dwelling on the what-ifs.”

That was not a “what-if” you could ignore. How could you, you think to yourself, a half-sob sitting lodged in your throat. Would you even be here in this position now, waiting for Zayne, your husband, to pick you up late at night out of love and concern? Would you have been a spectator at their wedding instead of his bride? Everything that you had built with him would be nonexistent – a life devoid of love, hazel eyes, tender care, and icy hands that could be so warm.

A sleek car pulls up in front of you with a gentle purr of its engine, causing you to blink and remove yourself from your stupor. How interesting, that’s the same color as Zayne’s car. And make. What are the odds?

Oh, the person even looks like your husband, too. What a coincidence.

Are you forgetting something important?

“Y/N,” the person says as they approach you. How do they know your name?

Cold hands hold you by your upper arms in an attempt to steady you. But your vision blurs, and you feel the desperate need to hide. You drop down to a crouch which is not wise in your dress, but there’s very little else you can do at the moment.

“I have a husband, and he’s coming to pick me up,” you announce with false bravado, voice barely loud enough for the person to hear because you have your head tucked against and your arms wrapped around your knees. To further bolster your argument, you throw up your left hand and turn it so your ring is visible. “See?”

The person in front of you lets out a deep sigh as if they’ve been dealt with the most cumbersome inconvenience possible, which makes you frown because how dare they display exasperation when they, themselves, of their own volition, approached a drunk person. A rustle of clothes, a shadow overcast, and against better judgment, you peek over your crossed limbs. The person is now crouched in front of you to meet you at eye level, which must be painful for someone so tall. However, it is not the time to feel sorry.

“I do see. In fact, I gave you that ring.”

You splutter and fail to scoff. “No, you didn’t. My husband gave me that ring, and I don’t even know who you are!” you argue and whine, failing to pull back when a cold hand rests against your head to pat down stray hairs.

“You’re telling me I don’t look familiar?”

With a pout, you shake your head, petulant and stubborn. “Nobody can really look like Zayne. He’s suuuper handsome, and no one,” you emphasize before wagging a finger in front of you, “can compare.”

Zayne’s eyes sparkle with mirth and affection, and he can’t help but indulge himself just a little bit more.

“Is that so? Anything else I should know about this…Zayne?”

Your eyes remain closed as you turn to the side, resting a cheek against your forearms. “He’s really, really sweet, which is funny because he’s – hiccup – like, obsessed with sweets. Annddd, he’s the best car–, cardi–, cardia–, heart doctor in the whooolleee world. Zayne saves lots and lots of lives all the time.”

“And what if I told you I was a cardiologist as well?”

“Doesn’t matter, because Zayne is the best. No one is better than Zayne. He’s really funny, and he makes me laugh a lot. He’s…he’s the best person I know.”

And he is. He really, truly is. The fondness brings you back to the earlier existential dread that you had been spiraling down before this man appeared in front of you. It’s the alcohol, you tell yourself as your eyes begin to water, and you can’t help the sniffle that ensues.

The sound sends Zayne into a world of panic. He has long been able to differentiate between your crying sniffles and runny-nose-flu sniffles, and he knows you’re not usually an emotional drunk.

“I don’t know what I would do without him,” – sniff – “and if he…if he ever left me, I know exactly who he’d leave me for.” Your voice warbles and shakes more and more with each word before you’re thrown into a fit of sobs. “And I wouldn’t blame him be – hic – because,” you try to elaborate before pausing, “because..”

Oh god, you can’t even get yourself to say it. The thought plagues you as the cries plague your chest, leaving you defenseless with no other option but to let it all out. It’s the last thing you do before you proceed to pass out from exhaustion.

Zayne catches you just in time and brings your barely conscious body home with a heavy heart. Any other day, he would’ve found your groggy voice and minor complaints on the way home to be endearing. But now? He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know what to do besides taking off your shoes, changing you into your pajamas, and tucking you into bed. He doesn’t know what to do besides feeding you honey water by the mouthful because you refuse to drink from a cup like a sober person. He doesn’t know what to do when you so readily accept his kisses and the soothing liquid in your sleepy state.

When he finally lays beside you, all he does know is that you two urgently need to talk.

(He hears the last few grains of sand start to trickle through the neck of his glass timer.)

And soon.

-

Your eyes shoot open the next morning, and after recalling everything you word-vomited last night, you want nothing more than to plant yourself six feet under and turn into a tree. That way, you would never have to see Zayne again without being riddled with guilt, stress, and disbelief in your boorish behaviors. You two can never talk about this.

-

Zayne is this close to stabbing a cadaver from the nearby medical school’s anatomy lab with a scalpel in a manner that would laugh maniacally in the name of science. What does a man need to do to have just one – one, whole, uninterrupted – day to spend with his wife?

It has to be karma, at this point. He must’ve done something horrific to have emergencies land in his lap at the most inconvenient times possible. After all, it seemed that at every available opportunity, something unavoidable called for his attention. Whether it be an urgent consult, some patient code, nurses knocking urgently at his door, covering for someone at the last minute, Yvonne paging him, literally anything –

At this very moment, one could find Zayne leaning down in surrender at his desk – back hunched over, elbows on the glass, forehead resting against intertwined hands, thumbs rubbing circles into his temples, glasses cast aside atop a messy pile of folders in a haphazard fashion – all while muttering to himself, “I just need to talk to my wife, for the love of Astra.” After a long sigh, he rubs his eyes and looks up, his fingertips now meeting over the bridge of his nose. In his peripheral vision, a glass sand timer sits. To anyone else, it is an innocent decoration – but to him, its very existence now mocks him.

A cherished gift from you, despite its simplicity. But as he reaches over in a daze to turn it on its axel, he cannot help but wonder if it meant anything deeper. When you gifted this to him two years ago, was it supposed to remind him that time with you was finite?

“It’s a three-minute sand timer,” you had said, bouncing in excitement on your feet as you stood in front of his desk and watched him open the box. “I know you’re endlessly busy, but you should at least be able to have a few minutes to yourself when you want or need it.”

Zayne’s vision focuses on the grains of sand trickling through the neck and into the bottom bulb. As usual, he is mildly fascinated by its unique frosty blue hue, its looks more akin to snow gently piling up in a pristine tundra. He remembers the cheeky smile spread across your lips, the adoration in your eyes, the way your hands were crossed behind your back. He remembers holding out his hand, gently gripping yours when it had found its home in his, and pressing his lips against your knuckles as a gesture of gratitude, love, and respect.

“Do you think anything would’ve happened between you and her had she stayed six years ago?”

Grayson’s words had unnerved him more than one could realize.

Zayne had never questioned his marriage before. Though there had been some hesitancy in moving on from Emcee and acknowledging that he felt some type of affection for you, the one he hadn’t been enamored with for many years, he learned to love you. It was easy, in hindsight, and it still is. Even when Emcee had come to the wedding, Zayne had felt nothing but appreciation that she had made it all the way out there despite her busy and chaotic schedule.

But what if she had stayed? What if she never moved across the country?

He groans and leans back in his chair, his head slightly hanging over the top edge. His shoulders protest, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders ache. If there was anything he could wish for at this very moment, it would be your presence behind him, your fingers kneading methodically to relieve him of his discomfort. “You’re too good to me,” he would say, and you would chuckle. “Nonsense,” you’d reply quietly. “If anyone is too good to me, it’s you.”

“See, that’s nonsense,” he’d argue and look over his shoulder, a hand reaching back to cover yours. And you would laugh before placing a tender kiss on his forehead, almost Spiderman style. He would relish in the tiny gesture, so wonderful and full of pure bliss, and know that he could make it through the rest of the day.

The pride in his gait as he has you on his arm during awards ceremonies, the peace in his eyes as he watches you snore in deep sleep, the reverence in his touch when he keeps a hand on the back of your neck as he kisses you with all abandon, the trained ear to hear your voice in a noisy crowd – every moment, every memory, every bit of life that he has lived with you, he would never trade it for the world. It doesn’t matter what would’ve happened if Emcee had stayed put six years ago.

And he really, really, wishes he had told Grayson that.

Zayne wakes his computer screen and pulls up his calendar to see what his schedule looks like for the afternoon and tomorrow. It’s relatively light compared to the last few months, and he feels like he can finally breathe. Reaching into his whitecoat pocket for his phone, and without looking, he uses your speed dial – 2, and only because 1 is occupied by his voicemail inbox. Each dial tone causes his anxiety to spike, but somebody must be answering his prayers because you answer right before it’s forwarded to your voicemail.

“Yes, Zayne?”

“Do you have any meetings tomorrow?”

“Oh, umm,” you hum, and he can hear the faint mouse clicks in the back, “there’s nothing urgent. What is it?”

“Take the day off tomorrow,” he suggests in a gentle tone. “Call in sick, and spend the day with me.”

Zayne receives a few moments of silence, and he can practically hear the gears grinding in your brain, even miles away.

“I miss you,” he adds, his voice like a confession, and you cannot mistake his tone for anything but pure, genuine longing.

“...I miss you, too,” you reply, your own tone just as yearning as his. “I’ll do it.”

Zayne’s absolutely thrilled, already logging into his employee portal to submit his sick day absence. “We’ll sleep in, cook something together. Is there anywhere you want to go or do?”

“Not that I can think of right now.”

Good. That’s what he was hoping for.

“Then I’ll see you tonight. Let me know if you want me to pick you up from work.”

“Will do. I’ll see you later.”

“One more thing, Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“...I love you, too.”

“Goodbye, dear.”

“Bye, A-Shen.” Call ended chime.

Despite the selfish desire to keep you on the phone until it’s time to leave work, he cannot help but smile at the use of his Chinese nickname. You’ve always said it so affectionately, so full of care and tenderness. His heart rate never fails to spike and simultaneously melt at the sound of it, even after all these years.

Who knew that, to get one free day with his wife, it takes one drunken rant, the impatience of a toddler, and two individuals playing hooky?

-

Part of you wishes you never have to wake up. You have a very, very bad feeling about this day off, seeing as Zayne, of all people, was the one to propose such a day. For the first time in months, you feel his presence as soon as you awaken. You stir, and lithe fingers brush away a few baby hairs with precision and care. Your eyes stay shut. You desperately beg yourself to fall back asleep, to deny reality for just a few more hours.

But Zayne has other plans – he kisses you on the cheek before moving slightly to murmur in your ear, “Good morning, dear.”

Fuck.

“G’morning,” you mutter. At the very words, your eyes flutter open. His smile is incredibly gentle and so rife with adoration that you find it almost…blinding.

 “What do you want for breakfast?”

God, even the thought of eating makes you nauseous. “It’s okay, I’m not hungry.”

Zayne frowns. “But–”

You take an abrupt turn and roll out of bed. “Let me start the coffee and whip up something for you.” Anything to get you away from him, or you might just combust.

A few minutes later, you definitely are.

Zayne has caught up to you now, arms wrapped around your middle as you poke some eggs frying in a pan. His chin rests on your left shoulder, and you’re panicking. It has been so long that your body barely has the muscle memory to act at this moment. Do you remain slightly stiff? Do you relax in his hold? Do you nuzzle your cheek against his? Do you turn to kiss him on the cheek? Do you start light conversation and exchange sweet nothings?

“When was the last time we had a day like this?” Zayne asks, his voice soft against your ear.

“It‘s been a while,” you reply and attempt to mask the bitterness in your tone.

“I know,” he sighs and squeezes you a little tighter. “The hospital has been occupying too much of my time.”

Amongst other things…and people.

Your hands tremble slightly as one lifts the pan and the other uses the spatula to push the eggs onto the empty plate next to the stove. Right on time, two pieces of wheat toast pop out from the toaster, and you place them with the eggs. Zayne reluctantly unlatches himself as you grab the plate without a word and walk them to the round dining table. You place it at his usual seat, a silent gesture for him to sit and wait as you grab a knife, fork, and cup of coffee with a little too much sugar and cream. The best you can do is send him a half-smile before retreating to the sink and busying yourself with the dirty dishes. Washing a frying pan should not take long, but your motions never stray from slow, thoughtful, and methodical.

There’s a part of you that never wants this day to end – but the other part wants it to end now. You’re not ready for this conversation that you bet he’s trying to have.

-

Usually, Zayne would give you some time to settle before sitting down and having serious talks. But today? He’s restless, abuzz.

The two of you are cuddling on the couch with a random documentary on, his fingers tracing patterns across the length of your arm. They leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and Zayne takes it as a sign to drape the blanket from the back of the couch over both of you, but mainly your legs and lower torso. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Better?” he murmurs in question.

You hum and nod, allowing yourself to snuggle just a bit further.

Several minutes pass before Zayne bites the bullet.

“Do you…remember that work dinner you had last week?”

You gulp, and it’s not exactly subtle.

“Mhmm.”

“Do you remember what happened when I picked you up from the restaurant?”

Well shit. “Umm…it’s a bit fuzzy…”

Zayne hums, his fingers now running through your hair. “You said something to me.”

“Did I?”

He stays silent before grabbing the remote, pausing the show, and turning to look you in the eye.

“I think you’ve been avoiding me,” he lets out, his gaze sweeping over every inch of your face and studying every little reaction of yours, “and I think it has something to do with what you said that night.

“Well first, there’s the situation where you couldn’t even recognize me, but I also understand that inebriation can greatly affect one’s vision. What concerned me the most was,” he pauses before continuing, “this idea you had in your head that I would leave you for someone else.”

Zayne lifts his free hand to softly grasp your chin between his thumb and index finger – not too harshly, but not soft enough that you could escape him.

You watch all pretenses fall from his face, and something in his eyes breaks.

“Why,” Zayne starts, his voice gravelly and raspy with disbelief now, “would you ever think that?”

Is he serious?

“Have I done something, Y/N? To make you doubt me?”

You snap, “Think for maybe five seconds about that before you ask me again. You know I wouldn’t be irrational enough to be upset with you over nothing.”

Zayne’s eyebrows furrow, the crease between them becoming more and more pronounced. “I…”

Perhaps there was no use to beating around the bush. Your voice trembles as you confess, “I heard what you told Grayson in your office a couple weeks ago.” Even as Zayne’s eyes seem to widen, you push through, “I was going to drop off lunch, but then I heard him ask about Emcee, and if anything would’ve happened between you two had she stayed all those years ago.

“And you said, ‘Perhaps’, Zayne.”

Even in the most harrowing surgeries, his hands could remain stable. But now they shake as they move to cradle your face, and you push yourself completely off the couch. “Tell me, Zayne Li. Tell me what things would be like if Emcee never took that job six years ago. Would we still be here today?”

“Of course we would–”

“Then why?!” you yelled, whirling on him with fresh tears tracking down your cheeks. “Why would you say that to Grayson if it weren’t true?! Obviously, there’s some truth to it!”

“Please, listen to me–” he begs, but you cut him off once more.

“How can you sit there and lie to me? You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it, Zayne. You are rarely, if ever, unintentional in your words. So, the fact that ‘perhaps’ even slipped out of your mouth means something.”

“I,” he starts then pauses, his brain fighting for the right words. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

His words trigger a sharp pain in your chest, and your cries begin to worsen. The feeling like you’re on the verge of hyperventilating draws closer and closer. “You still love her, don’t you?”

“No!” Zayne immediately fires back. “Not in the way you’re thinking, and not in the way that I love you.”

“She was your first love, Zayne, and it wasn’t the kind of first love that anyone can easily brush off. You,” your lungs scream for air in between your words, “you only went out with me because she left. Had she not…”

Zayne shakes his head with vigor. “No, I would still be here. With you.”

“Then why–”

“Even if she had stayed, if anything had happened between me and her,” Zayne interjects, looking straight at you. It takes everything in him not to crack at the sight of your grief-ridden gaze. “I firmly believe that I’d still end up here with you. I meant what I said to Grayson when I said there was no use in dwelling on the what-ifs. The words didn’t come to me at the time, but I said it because I knew that no matter what, I would still be married to you.

Always encased in subtle pride and unwavering willpower, Zayne slides off the couch and plants his weight on buckled knees. He takes hold of your hands and is beyond relieved when you don’t pull away. There is no way to count the number of times he has held your hands with love and reverence – but he hopes, he prays, that this is the only time he will ever need to hold them in repentance, a sinner seeking divine forgiveness.

“Please believe me,” he implores, and you’d have to be deaf and blind to miss the desperation in his grip, tone, and eyes. “I love you, Y/N,” Zayne professes. “I told you on our wedding night that there isn’t a single moment when I’m not thinking of you, and that hasn’t changed at all. Astra permit, that will never change.”

Your silence terrifies him, but at least he hasn’t been greeted by an onslaught of fresh tears from you. “You were promised the world from me, and I have failed you,” he said softly, almost drowning in self-disappointment. “I’ve neglected you these past few months, and I am so, so sorry.”

Zayne can’t bear to look at you and drops his head in your hands. He presses venerating kisses on your fingertips and palms as he waits for your answer.

You can’t look at him either, begging on his knees like he would be nothing without you. It’s hard to imagine that of someone as established and renowned as him, but…

The sunlight that pierces through the blinds catches just right on a sliver of your diamond ring that hasn’t been covered by his hands.

You take a quivering breath, another, and then another.

“If you ever,” and Zayne lifts his head with the speed of light, “give me reason to seriously doubt what we have ever again…”

His heart pounds, and he waits with bated breath. God, is this what they feel like in all those romance movies?  

 “...I’m dragging you to marriage counseling, and if you refuse to cooperate with even one of those sessions, I will leave.”

A torrential wave of relief passes over, causing him to release all the tension in his bones. “Thank you,” he whispers against your hands, “and I understand. You will never be taken for granted – never in this life or the next.”

And when your fingers are running through his sweaty strands, his face pressed against your stomach, his arms wrapped around you,  his hands grasping firmly onto your shirt – really it’s his, but everything of his belongs to you and you only – you allow yourself to forget the insecurity that has laid dormant within you for all these years.

Zayne did not settle for you.

[yoonbeans]

meow? woof?

𝐟𝐭. love and deepspace men x fem!reader self-aware au

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. self-aware, reverse isekai, fluff, soft-yandere tension, suggestive, no smut

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. as time goes pass in your favorite otome game, the love interests become self-aware— haunted by a voice too real to be scripted. discovering you’re real, they risk everything to reach your world… only to arrive as animals. now trapped in fur, they vow to stay by your side until they can return to their true forms.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: open

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞.

chat don’t laugh at me for the title i didn’t know what else to name it ☹️

inconsistent updates, there is no confirmed posting schedule.

i originally just wanted to keep it as an idea while writing blurbs and snippets but its been eating me up…

to be honest ts is probably gna be short as hell.

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

Ⅰ. welcome home

Ⅱ. she’s my collar

Ⅲ. tba.

Ⅳ. tba.

Ⅴ. tba.

🏷️ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @young-adult-summer, @madam8, @kingheinrey, @udejoenrlddo, @plzdonutpercieveme

all rights reserved to ©luviruu. do not copy, repost, translate, plagiarise or modify my work in any way on any platform! thank you!

[yoonbeans]

to you

ft. love and deepspace men x fem!non!mc! reader

tags. modern au, angst, rebounds

summary. they listen to you singing at your concert after leaving you in the dust a few years back— noticing how the lyrics were about the two of you.

playlist. [click here] | prequel : [click here] finale : [click here]

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡

xavier

he should’ve known.

he really should’ve known the second the lights dimmed and the first note left your lips. but he didn’t. not when you stepped onto the stage in that spotlight glow. not when the crowd erupted in cheers, or when she was beside him and leaned in with a grin and whispered, “she’s even better live, isn’t she?

he just nodded. said, “yeah.”

but then came the second verse.

soft. haunting. familiar in a way that made his stomach knot.

“fun at first, i won't deny

but i want more than just what meets the eye”

he blinked.

his throat went dry.

because you had said that to him once. not word for word, but close. curled up in his arms one night when you thought he was asleep. whispering it into the quiet like it’d slip away otherwise.

she didn’t notice the way his hands clenched.

“'cause i don't want it if it's fake

i don't want it if it's just for show

i just want it if it's real and i'm thinking i should let you know”

he didn’t hear the next few lines. not over the rush of blood in his ears.

not over the memory of your smile every time when you with him. not over how you’d kissed his knuckles when he was bleary with sleep, how you always texted to ask if he’d eaten— even though you knew he probably already had , how you learned how he liked his coffee without ever needing to ask.

he swallowed hard. the crowd was cheering. she was clapping beside him.

but all he could see was you. standing there, poised and radiant, singing your heart out like it didn’t still belong to him.

his jaw tightened.

he’d told himself it was harmless. temporary. a distraction until he figured things out. until his heart stopped aching for someone else.

he hadn’t planned on it hurting like this.

he hadn’t planned on falling for you too.

not this late.

and now you were up there, singing like the memory of him still lived in your lungs. like you hadn’t burned him out after all.

you wrote this about me.

the words stayed trapped in his throat.

and suddenly, MC’s voice beside him felt too loud. too bright. too far away.

because for the first time in almost two years—

he didn’t want to be sitting next to the girl he once loved.

he wanted to be with the one he lost.

zayne

he didn’t really want to come.

it was her idea— MC’s, bright-eyed and nostalgic as she handed him the second ticket. “she’s gotten big now, huh? figured we could check it out. for old times’ sake.”

he’d just nodded. said sure. told himself it didn’t matter. that it was just a concert. just music.

but then the lights dropped.

and you walked onto the stage.

god. he forgot what you looked like under the lights. like you belonged there. like the world had always meant for you to be something bigger than him.

the opening chords hit. slow. aching.

he didn’t breathe. he couldn’t breathe.

“ooh, still you take up all my mind

i don't even think that you care like i do

i should stop, heaven knows i've tried”

his fingers twitched around the drink in his hand.

no. no— this wasn’t about him. couldn’t be.

“one day, i will stop falling in love with you

some day, someone will like me like i like you”

his heart gave a hard, bitter twist.

don’t do this, he thought. don’t make this real.

“she’s so good,” MC whispered, leaning in, smiling like it was nothing more than a simple romantic song.

but it wasn’t just a song.

it was a confession.

and he was the one you were confessing about.

because he remembered— every line, every word you were wrapping in melody. he remembered the nights you waited up for him, the way you’d look up with that stupid soft smile, like he was worth something. he remembered your laugh against his shoulder, your fingers running through his hair, how easily you believed he could be better than he was.

he remembered the exact look in your eyes the night he broke it off. confused. gutted.

“was any of it real?”

he didn’t answer you then.

he didn’t have the guts.

but hearing you now— raw, unflinching, shining on a stage he had no place in— it tore something straight down the middle of him.

because the truth was, he never planned to stay. you were just a placeholder. just something warm to curl into while he tried to claw back a love already lost.

but then you held him like it mattered.

and he let you.

he let you love him, soft and stupid and whole, and when it got too real— too deep— he ran. away from you, and to someone else’s arms. and now you were singing like your heart was still cracked in the same place he left it.

and all he could think was—

you were never the rebound.

you were the one.

rafayel

rafayel had always been good at pretending.

tonight is no different— legs crossed, eyes steady and locked into the stage, lips curved upwards like he’s amused by something no one else sees. MC beside him doesn’t notice the way his fingers tap once against the bottle of his water he’s holding. the only crack in the façade.

then you walk onto the stage.

his gaze catches, holds.

he doesn’t blink.

you look good. confident, radiant under stage lights, wearing the passing heartbreak only you could make look effortless. he lets himself drink you in— like art, like sin. but not like you were ever his.

the music starts.

and it’s soft at first. then sharp.

ever lyric you sing, the deeper he sinks.

“that i'm not a princess, this ain't a fairy tale

i'm not the one you'll sweep off her feet

lead her up the stairwell”

his hand stills.

he feels the sting before he understands it. a line too real. a lyric too close. he knows exactly what night you wrote that from. the studio, dim with lamplight. your legs over his lap. laughter from your throat, hands tangled in his hair.

his sketchbook open on the floor.

he told you that night you were beautiful when you didn’t try. you’d smiled.

and he hadn’t meant it to last.

“she’s so talented her voice is luring all us in, right?” MC says beside him, eyes glittering at your vocals.

he nods once, wordless.

“maybe i was naive, got lost in your eyes

and never really had a chance

my mistake, i didn't know to be in love”

his throat feels tight. his charm— that silk-smooth confidence— it can’t shield him here. not from this. not from the memory of your hand against his chest, the way you asked if he’d ever paint you for real.

he joked. he deflected.

you had a look of disappointment, but you didn’t press.

you never did.

and that’s what cuts deepest.

suddenly, all he can think about is the way you used to look at him like he mattered. how you laughed at his stupid jokes, brought him tea when he stayed up too late painting, how you fell asleep on his couch more times than he could count.

you weren’t her.

and you didn’t know. you had no idea you were the in-between. the stepping stone. the placeholder while he fumbled with his past and convinced himself you weren’t it.

but now he’s here. with her.

and you’re the one he can’t stop looking at.

you’re the voice in his ears, the sand that’s slipping out in his hands, the guilt gnawing at him with every lyric that hits a little too precisely.

he just watches. listens. breathes like it hurts.

because in all his paintings, all his masterpieces—

you were the only one he never signed.

and maybe he didn’t want to admit why.

sylus

sylus doesn’t blink.

the concert hall is dim and you stand in the center like you own it. like you belong there, with thousands watching, hearts bleeding to the sound of your voice.

but it’s only his heart that seizes.

MC beside him leans in, murmurs something about your voice, about how lovely the lyrics are. he doesn’t answer. doesn’t move.

because he knows this song. not by name, not by title.

he knows it because he lived it.

because you wrote it with pieces of yourself he thought you’d never show. and now you’re singing it to a room full of strangers— and somehow, it still feels like it’s meant for him.

“'cause he's moved on while i'm still grievin'

and when a heart breaks, no, it don't break even, even,”

his jaw tightens.

he remembers that night— your fingers on the buttons of his coat, the way you looked up at him like he was worth trusting. like he wouldn’t break it.

he remembers leaving and breaking it anyway.

he told himself it was mercy. that using you was clean, calculated. a transaction. a means to MC. a way to purge the ache in his chest that wasn’t supposed to have your name on it.

“now i’m tryna make sense of what little remains, oh

'cause you left me with no love and no love to my name”

the lyric lands like a knife.

MC doesn’t notice. she’s smiling. content. but it’s not her touch that he remembers. it’s yours.

delicate. reverent. warm.

everything he wanted from her was from you.

and now?

now you’re up there, back straight, voice like velvet. you look untouchable. divine.

but the pain behind your voice— he knows it’s for him.

and it tears through him more than any blade ever could.

his fingers twitch on his knee.

if he closes his eyes, he’ll see you again. not like this. but as you were: bare feet in his chambers, humming off-key, wrapped in his robe, teasing him until he smirked and tugged you closer.

he never meant to keep you.

but he never meant to miss you either.

and yet here he is, staring up at you, hearing the cracks in your voice that no one else hears. the parts where your breath catches. the way you don’t look at the crowd— just above them.

just like how you used to look at him when you couldn’t bear the truth.

he swallows. hard.

he’s never regretted anything.

until now.

caleb

at first, he was fine.

he sat with his arms crossed, half-listening as the venue lights dimmed and the crowd began to hush. MC beside him buzzed with excitement, the kind of giddy warmth that made him smile politely, nod along.

it was just a concert.
just a favor.

he told himself he could sit through it. easy.

then the music started. and you stepped out onto the stage.

he tensed, barely. just a flicker of recognition low in his ribs. he hadn’t seen you in months— hadn’t heard your voice in longer. not since…

well. not since he walked away.

but you looked different now. steadier. colder, maybe. not broken— but rebuilt.
and he should’ve felt relieved.

he didn’t.

“a friend to all is a friend to none

chase two girls, lose the one”

his brows twitched. the line hit a little too clean.

he brushed it off. coincidence. lyrics were like that. both metaphorical and vague.

but then came the second verse.

“but i knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

i knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs”

his spine straightened in the chair.

a flicker of heat— shame? discomfort?— settled beneath his ribs, slow and subtle.

MC leaned over, whispering, “wow, this one’s heavy, huh?”

he hummed low in his throat, careful.

but his eyes didn’t leave the stage. because your voice wasn’t just sad— it was honest.

he started watching your hands.

the way your fingers trembled on the mic stand. the way you swallowed hard before the third verse.

you were still angry. still hurt. and he hadn’t even realized how deep the damage ran until he was hearing it in stereo.

“i knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

and you'd be standin' in my front porch light”

his jaw flexed. he blinked once. twice.

his arms dropped from their folded hold.

god. was this how it felt?

not just guilt— but the realization that you’d suffered in silence. while he convinced himself distance was mercy. that leaving was the right thing. he thought he’d let go of you gracefully.


but now, watching you up there— raw and stripped down— he saw how ugly his exit had truly been.

MC was still cheering beside him, clapping softly to the beat. she didn’t know. of course she didn’t.

but he knew. now he knew.

and the worst part?

you didn’t even look for him in the crowd.

not once.

as if he didn’t matter anymore. as if whatever pieces of him you still carried had finally been set down for good. he stared up at the stage, heart thudding loud in his ears.

and for the first time since he left—

he wished he hadn’t.

all rights reserved to ©luviruu. do not copy, repost, translate, plagiarise or modify my work in any way on any platform! thank you!

*runs away*

[yoonbeans]

he leaves you out like a penny in the rain

Pairing: Zayne Li x Non MC Reader

Summary: You spent years orbiting Dr. Zayne Li, but when a careless comment shatters the fragile bond you thought you’d built, you walk away. Only then does Zayne realize what he's lost.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst. slowburn. Zayne being emotionally constipated rip

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: This is my first time writing for LADS, and Zayne is my bbygirl, so I wanted to give this a try, hopefully it came out alright. I love me a good non-mc angst, so that's why this is the way it is. Part 2 will include Zayne's POV, but it's up to y'all if you want a comforting/grovelling chapter or more HURT lol. Would love to hear yalls thoughts <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

Dr. Zayne was an enigma of the most maddening, magnetic kind, and unfortunately for you, curiosity had always been your gravest sin. Nonetheless, it was a flaw you wore with something resembling pride. After all, not everyone could claim they'd managed to peel back even the faintest layers of the glacial fortress that was Zayne Li. But you had. Over the years, through careful observation and an embarrassing amount of persistence, you had glimpsed—just barely—the man who hid behind that frigid exterior. Not all of him, of course. He had never let you in entirely. But you liked to think you'd grown on him, just a little, like stubborn lichen.

Your fascination had begun back in medical school, the place where sleep went to die and energy drinks reigned supreme. Zayne was the kind of brilliant that made you question whether he was entirely human. The kind who could skim a textbook once and retain it with eerie precision, like his mind had never known the concept of forgetting. Meanwhile, you were a walking collage of colour-coded sticky notes, caffeine-induced tremors, and desperate all-nighters. A parody of a student, barely holding yourself together with mismatched socks and sheer willpower.

It wasn't fair, the way he always looked so composed. You'd catch sight of him walking into the exam hall, spine straight, slacks pressed to perfection, sweater vest unwrinkled and somehow smug in its neutrality. Meanwhile, you, in your hoodie that hadn't seen the inside of a washing machine in days, would feel something curdle inside you. Was it irritation? Admiration? You hadn't known back then. 

At first, you'd approached him under the guise of academic interest. You told yourself you were merely studying the competition. A reconnaissance mission, nothing more. You wanted to see how he prepared, how he dissected practicals and diagrams with such mechanical ease. But somewhere along the line, observation turned into participation. You started joining him. Not officially, because Zayne didn't do invitations, but he didn't tell you to leave, and that was an invitation enough.

Were you friends? 

You weren't sure. Not once in all those long years of shared library tables and late-night coffee runs had he properly smiled at you, but at least he let you stay. That had to count for something. 

You suspected he only tolerated you because you came bearing offerings, carefully chosen pastries from the bakery three blocks away. Lemon tarts. Matcha cake. Anything delicate and within your meagre student budget. You'd Pavloved your way into his company.

Zayne's presence had a gravity to it, even in the silence, his attention never once straying from his notes. Watching him work made you want to do better as well. He didn't need to speak for you to learn from him. He just needed to exist beside you, head bowed over anatomy flashcards, long fingers ghosting over textbook pages like he was reading by touch alone.

It was enough for you. You'd learned long ago not to ask for too much. Life had a way of punishing the greedy.

It was a stroke of serendipity that after years of drifting through separate orbits, you and Zayne found yourselves working beneath the same roof again.

You hadn't expected it. The world was large. The medical world, larger still. Yet here he was, striding through the sterile white halls of Akso Hospital like a ghost from your past, just as distant and devastating.

You didn't expect your paths to cross often. As one of the hospital's new pediatricians, your hands were full with small patients and even smaller attention spans. Your pockets jingled with sticker sheets and crinkled candy wrappers, and your days were painted in primary colours. It was fulfilling, exhausting, and utterly chaotic work.

But somehow, you kept seeing him.

At first, you chalked it up to mere chance. But then a pattern began to emerge, and Zayne became a frequent fixture of the pediatric wing. Too frequent for someone whose field wasn't pediatrics. Too present to dismiss as a ghost.

Maybe you noticed because you were looking, or maybe the universe simply had a cruel sense of humour.

However, most surprising of all was his demeanour. Gone was the man who kept his emotions triple-locked beneath ice and iron. Or rather, he was still there, but softened in the presence of his smallest patients. You watched him kneel beside a whimpering five-year-old with a broken arm and distract her with the clinical grace of a magician. You saw him take time out of his rounds to bring puzzles and books to a chronically ill boy who refused to eat. And one morning, peeking around the curtain of Room 415, you caught him braiding a little girl's hair because she was weeping about not being able to do it herself post-surgery.

Your heart stuttered.

Admiration. That's what it was. That ache in your chest every time you watched him from across the room had to be admiration and nothing more. A professional curiosity and a desire to learn. You'd flourished under his shadow in med school, so it wasn't so strange that you wanted to do so again.

You told yourself that often, rehearsing it like a prayer.

Your own patients adored you, though your methods were far more chaotic than Zayne's methodical care. You bribed your way into affection with cartoon Band-Aids and fruit-scented stickers, offering jellybeans and lollipops like sacred talismans. The younger kids squealed when they saw you coming down the hall; the teenagers pretended not to smile while secretly pocketing the candy. You had always been this way—eager, perhaps too eager, feeding on approval like a deprived animal.

But there was one person whose approval you could never quite gauge.

After all these years, Zayne was still an unreadable cipher. You didn't know what he thought of you. Whether he remembered your shared study sessions or noticed your offerings. You carried forth the rituals from med school into the real world like a superstition you couldn't let die.

During late-night shifts, you'd sometimes find yourself hovering outside his office. You didn't knock to chat. You'd long lost the reckless bravado of your student days. No, you simply rapped twice on the door, cracked it open just enough to slip inside when he told you to enter, and placed a steaming cup of tea on his desk. Sometimes it came accompanied by a carefully wrapped dessert.

He never looked up right away, and his gratitude was an awkward mumble, but he never asked you to stop, either. 

And foolishly, it was enough.

You never lingered long enough to chat, retreating with a bright, rehearsed smile and your usual farewell. "Make sure to take breaks, Dr. Li!"

You never got a response, but every now and then, you'd see expression soften the tiniest amount, which was akin to receiving a full-blown grin from a man like him. It made your heart hiccup.

You couldn't say how long this odd back and forth of yours continued like, but you began to catalogue your moments with Dr. Zayne like treasure. 

There was, of course, that one time it was raining at the end of your shift, the vindictive kind that came down in sheets.

You stood under the hospital's awning, trying to muster the courage to open your umbrella and brave the trudge to the train station. But then you saw him, and all hesitation vanished. 

Across the small stretch of concrete outside the side exit, beneath a narrow overhang, stood Dr. Zayne. His posture was immaculate as always, one hand clutching his phone, the other tucked neatly into his coat pocket. Water dripped in thin lines down the sleeves of his blazer, and you noticed—almost indignantly—that even in the middle of a storm, his expression was as unreadable as ever. His collar was damp, and his hair, though still neatly combed, was slowly giving up the fight.

You didn't think. You just acted.

You jogged across the short distance, the icy rain lashing against your legs. You flipped open your umbrella mid-step and thrust it up over both your heads, standing a little too close beneath its narrow span.

He looked up and blinked at you in surprise. 

"Dr. Li," you greeted breathlessly. "You planning on standing there until the rain evolves into hail?"

"No."

You squinted at him, then angled the umbrella slightly more in his direction. "Lucky I found you before you melted."

His eyes flicked toward you, then back out at the storm. "I'm not made of sugar," he stated simply.

"Well," you replied, grinning, "you're certainly not as sweet."

Something in his expression shifted, like he wasn't entirely immune to the jab, and he stepped further into the umbrella's shade. Closer to you. 

You adjusted your grip as the two of you fell into step. His legs were longer, and his pace brisk, so you had to hold the umbrella awkwardly high, your left shoulder slowly soaking through with rain.

Zayne noticed, but didn't say anything until you were halfway to the station.

"You're holding it too far left."

You glanced up. "I'm trying to keep you dry."

"You're getting wet."

You gave a half-shrug. "So? I'm replaceable. You're Akso's golden prodigy. Can't let you get drenched and catch a cold."

"That's a ridiculous hierarchy."

"Says the guy with the patent leather shoes."

"...They're waterproof."

You snorted. "Of course they are."

The silence that followed was companionable in a strange, off-kilter sort of way. Rain hissed around you, cars splashed by in the distance, but for a brief moment, the storm felt far away.

At the station entrance, you pressed the umbrella into his hands. "You need it more than I do," you insisted. "Your hair might actually un-gel out there."

In response, Zayne's brow creased like the suggestion had short-circuited a pattern in his brain.

"I'll return it," he said finally.

"I know."

He didn't reply, disappearing back into the crowd without a word, but the next morning, when you opened your locker at work, the umbrella was waiting for you. There was a thin elastic band wrapped around the handle, anchoring a packet of candy to its handle, and you felt a tentative smile tug at your lips. 

You'd mentioned it once in passing during a night shift to one of the nurses—something about craving a very specific, obscure brand of citrus-flavoured hard candy your grandmother used to send you during your med school days. You had lamented about not being able to find in stores anymore.

Yet here it was, that familiar crinkled package winking at you. 

You didn't stop grinning for the rest of the week. 

Then there had been the incident with the wrist brace. 

It had been a long week, an endless carousel of back-to-back surgeries, sleep-deprived consults, and aching hands from scribbling charts long past the point your fingers had gone numb. Everyone was tired, and even the invulnerable Dr. Zayne looked frayed around the edges.

You noticed his injury, almost instantly, a falter in movement as he flexed his right wrist after signing off on a file. It was expertly hidden, but you had spent years watching him, cataloguing every subtle shift in his expression like rare meteor showers. So, of course, you caught that wince. 

"Overworked?" you asked mildly, leaning against the nurses' station as he passed by.

"Repetitive strain," he responded without inflection.

You hummed. "Do you want—?"

"No."

Of course not.

Still, when he left, you disappeared into the on-call lounge, rummaging through the staff med-kit you were fairly sure only you ever used properly. Thankfully, you found what you were looking for before he returned to his office. A soft, fabric wrist support brace in neutral grey. Nothing flashy, just something to ease the tension. You placed it on his desk without expectation. 

He didn't bring it up the next day, or the one after that. There was no thank-you or acknowledgement, and you assumed that he'd thrown it out.

Until three days later.

You returned from rounds to find your usual patient folders neatly stacked on your desk, and beside them—perched so innocently it took you a moment to realize it hadn't been there before—was a box of your favourite pens. The ones you hoarded like treasure and had recently, much to your dismay, run out of.

There was a Post-it stuck to the lid.

"I assumed you'd prefer the 0.38mm ones. You always complain about ink bleed."

You stared at the note, and then at the hallway beyond the glass window of your office door, where Zayne was coincidentally passing by.

You stepped out into the hall and caught up with him. "Dr. Li!"

He turned and looked at you with an arched brow. 

You held up the box. "You're not subtle, you know."

His gaze shifted to the pens. "I wasn't trying to be."

"Returning the favour, were you?"

"I don't believe in unbalanced exchanges."

You laughed. "I gave you a wrist brace, not a kidney."

He didn't smile, but his voice softened just slightly. "It helped."

Your breath hitched, but you tried not to show it. "I see...well, thanks for the pens."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Zayne calmly continued.  "You should pace your charting. Your handwriting deteriorates after the fourth file."

You gaped at him. "Are you analyzing my handwriting now?"

"It's just always been that way."

"Wait. Always?"

Zayne's gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond your head. "Finals, third year. You wrote so fast during the pharmacology mock that your 'f's started looking like sevens. I wasn't sure if you were prescribing medication or unlocking a bank vault."

"You..." You squinted. "You remember that?"

"It was difficult to read your notes when we shared a study table."

"You remember us sharing a table?"

Zayne tilted his head minutely. "It was the only one near the east windows. You always took the seat closest to the outlet and claimed the light helped you concentrate."

"I didn't think you paid attention to any of that."

"You assumed I was unaware of the person sitting across from me for three years?"

"I assumed you were... indifferent."

Zayne's lips twitched in an imperceptible frown. "You used to rewrite your notes three times. All in pencil, because you said pencil was less threatening when you had to re-memorize everything from scratch. You also always sat cross-legged in library chairs and collected pens from every club's fair booth."

You let out an incredulous laugh. 

"And," he added, still with that maddening calmness of his, "you muttered anatomy terms in your sleep during overnight study sessions."

"You—you heard that?" you exclaimed, horrified.

"You once said 'ischiocavernosus' so many times, I thought you were casting a spell."

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. "I want to dissolve into the floor."

"You seemed very dedicated."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "That's a nice way of saying I was completely unhinged."

"Also accurate."

You shook your head, but under the mortification was something else. He had remembered, and not just a few throwaway details, but every odd little habit you thought no one ever noticed.

"Why didn't you say anything back then?"

Zayne shrugged, as if he had no response. 

You had been making progress. You were almost certain of it. Not in any obvious, sweeping way—Zayne wasn't a man of dramatic gestures or sudden declarations—but in the quiet consistencies, and the way he'd started waiting a beat longer in the hallway when he saw you approaching. 

You were still careful not to be greedy. You never dared ask for more. What you had was already more than you expected: acknowledgement. A place in the periphery of his otherwise closed-off world. You orbited him the way the Earth orbits the sun—at a safe, unchanging distance. Warm enough not to freeze, far enough not to burn.

That was until she appeared. 

No, not appeared. That implied novelty. You doubted she was new in his life. No, she seemed important, someone who had long ago carved out a space that had never been yours to want.

The Hunter. Dazzling and alive in the way people like you rarely allowed themselves to be. She was a presence that demanded space and then owned it unapologetically. You understood immediately why he who lived so carefully might have made room for her.

You hadn't meant to see them together. You were only there to return his charger—the one he'd left at your station after overhearing you grumbling to the nurses about your broken one. You hadn't even realized he'd been listening. 

When you knocked on his door and he called for you to come in, you had smiled hopefully. 

Only to find her perched on the edge of his desk like she belonged there. She was laughing casually, legs crossed, one hand braced behind her as she leaned toward him. She was telling a story, something fast-paced and colourful, her hands moving animatedly. And he was...

Smiling.

Not the faint, fleeting lift of his mouth he sometimes gave you on your most persistent days. Not the polite nod of acknowledgment.

No, this was a whole half-smile. Unmistakably soft and real. 

You'd never seen him look like that. Not in all the years of having known him. Not even when you had once tried to make him laugh with horrible anatomy puns.

You'd barely stepped into the room when Miss Hunter spotted you.

"Oh!" she cried delightedly. "Look at this, what a coincidence!"

You blinked, caught off guard. 

She beamed. "You work here? I had no idea you were at Akso too!"

You nodded numbly. "Pediatrics." 

"Right, of course, silly me. All our conversations, and I didn't think to ask you where you worked," she apologized. 

"It's alright."

"She's my neighbour, you know," Miss Hunter added, turning back to Zayne like sharing a favourite secret. "I haven't seen her come home in days! I hope you're not overworking her, dearest Zayne."

You felt something inside you crack at her term of endearment. And then you felt guilty. You hadn't done anything wrong technically, but the feeling took root anyway. 

Had you been pining after a taken man?

Oh god.

The thought alone made your skin prickle with shame.

You'd never so much as look at him again if that were the case. You'd pull away completely and pretend you hadn't spent the past however-many months—years, even—watching his every glance like a starving thing. You would bury your humiliation deep, fold it into some quiet compartment inside yourself, and walk away with your dignity intact.

But was Miss Hunter really with him?

You remembered her laughter echoing in your kitchen last weekend when you had finally managed to crawl home after a particularly long shift. She'd come over with refreshments, and after one too many drinks, she had begun to ramble. Her cheeks had been flushed with wine, feet up on your coffee table as she slurred names and nonsense.

"He's so frustrating," she'd said, in that melodramatic tone she took when tipsy. "Like, emotionally constipated. But god, when he lets his guard down, it's like... ugh. It ruins you. He lives on the floor right above ours—you've probably seen him around. Tall. Blue eyes. Smells amazing."

"I don't go around sniffing my neighbours," you'd deadpanned. 

"Well, you're going to have to trust me on this one, then," she'd insisted. "He's from the Association. I've worked a few cases with him."

You dragged yourself out of your reverie. 

Surely if she were dating Zayne, she would have said something. You were friends. Not best friends, maybe, but close enough. She told you when she hated her lipstick. When she found a new favourite song. When someone from the Hunters' Association made a pass at her.

She told you everything. 

Whatever had begun to splinter inside of you deteriorated even further when Zayne finally reacted to her words. 

"I hope you're not overworking her," she repeated, "or yourself, for that matter."

"I'm not her boss," he replied curtly. "She makes her own hours. Maintaining a work-life balance is one's own responsibility."

"I—well, yeah," you tried to laugh. "That's rich coming from you, Dr. Li. Pretty sure you haven't slept in three weeks."

You looked to him, searching for the usual twitch of amusement and the barely-there softness he sometimes allowed when you teased him. But he didn't look up, and his jaw tightened like he was holding back a scowl. 

"I have paperwork," he declared flatly. 

Your hand, still holding the charger, hovered in the space between you. You hesitated before setting it on the edge of his desk. "Right... of course, I just wanted to return this."

You didn't let yourself feel the sting until the door clicked shut behind you, and you were alone again in the hallway, blinking at the linoleum floor as if it might give you answers.

You thought you were making progress, but maybe all you had ever been was a convenience. A background hum in the routine of his life. And now, suddenly, you weren't even that.

Over the next few weeks, a new pattern emerged, one that kept chipping away at pieces of your fragile heart. Perhaps it was your fault, too. You kept returning to the scene of the damage, stupidly hoping this time it would be different, but it never was. 

You kept stopping by Zayne's office, in the hopes of regaining his favour. You'd even started doing the routine errands that should have been passed off to interns or residents. You told yourself it was more efficient to do it all yourself, but really, you just wanted to catch a glimpse of those elusive hazel green eyes, even if they now looked at you with disdain. 

And every time you passed by, Miss Hunter was there too. She seemed to be always in his office, no matter the time of day, even at odd hours of the night. Sometimes you'd catch sight of her perched on the window ledge with her legs tucked beneath her, and other times she was just by his desk, leaning into his space. And most miraculous of all, Zayne allowed it. 

He only allowed it for her, though. While in med school, he might have allowed you to share a library table with him, these days, he seemed adamant to distance himself from you as much as possible. 

You wondered if Miss Hunter was working on a project with him. You couldn't really tell the true nature of their relationship, but that had to be the only explanation as to why she was always around. On your rare days off, she still came over to your apartment to keep you company and gush about her charming coworker, so you were still under the delusion that she wasn't dating Zayne. 

It was the sort of delusion that was going to hurt you one day. And that day was today. 

Tonight, when you stopped by the man's office, you fully intended to pass by without lingering. That is, until you heard your name. 

Miss Hunter’s amused voice floated clearly through the door. “…I swear, she’s the only person I've ever met who doesn’t hate double shifts,” she was saying, chuckling fondly. “That girl is sweet. Like dangerously sweet. Even to you, and I know you don’t exactly roll out the red carpet.”

Zayne’s response was as dry as ever. “I didn’t ask for her kindness. She’s not helping anyone by wasting time with personal errands. If she spent as much energy on her department as she does playing nursemaid, maybe the pediatrics wing would run on schedule.”

"Don't you think that's a little—"

You didn’t stay to hear the rest of Miss Hunter’s reply. You didn't care to see if she would try to defend you or join him in his condemnation. The damage was already done. 

Humiliation was the only word for how you felt. Humiliation and utter defeat. 

You had done nothing but your best.

Day in and day out, you poured everything you had into your work—your time, your focus, your very soul. You had held the hands of anxious parents, wiped away the tears of frightened children before anesthesia dragged them under, and taken on shifts no one else wanted. You stayed late, came early, and went without sleep. You had practically bled for this job. 

And now here he was, the man you admired so diligently, cutting through you with a few harsh words spoken in private. Words that struck you like open-handed slaps across the face.

You felt sick. Like something had lodged in your throat and was refusing to budge.

So that was what he thought of you.

When he wasn’t pretending to be nice. When he wasn’t lending you his charger or leaving pens in your drawer, this is what he believed. That you were incompetent and unprofessional. That your kindness was a distraction.

Zayne hadn’t just criticized your habits. He had questioned your calibre and your right to be here.

Suddenly, you were ten years old again, sitting in the back of a classroom while a teacher shook her head at your test score. You were fifteen, being told by your guidance counsellor that maybe medicine wasn’t for someone “with your academic record.”  You were seventeen, crying in the school library after your chemistry teacher told you some people just weren’t “wired for science.”  You were eighteen, slumped at your mother’s kitchen table, listening to your parents whisper that maybe it was time to pick something “more realistic.”

You were every failure, every disappointment, every bruise to your spirit, and now Zayne had joined their chorus. 

His anger might have been easier to swallow than his indifferent dismissal of your abilities. 

And the worst part?

You didn’t think your patients were suffering. In fact, you knew they weren’t. You were a good doctor. You had earned every stitch of your white coat. The day you took your Hippocratic Oath, you had vowed to devote your entire life to it. 

So why did you feel like a fraud now? Why did one man’s brutal judgment make you want to pack up and disappear?

You weren't sure how you made it back to your office without breaking down into tears, but when you finally closed the door, you sank into your chair with a sharp inhale and buried your face in your hands. You could not find it in yourself to cry, so all you could do was exist in that suffocating space where shame and grief and rage all sat too closely together.

[yoonbeans]

you try a nelson with sylus (he ends up in hospital)

sylus x fem!reader

summary: you convince sylus to do a nelson with you but it goes wrong

contains: nsfw, smut, p in v, oral sex (m and f receiving), protected sex, rough sex, he's big, 4.5k words

It’s no secret that Sylus spoils you. Whatever you want, it’s almost always yours. He’ll do anything to keep you happy… except for maybe this.

“Please, Sy! Can we please try it?!” You whine. For the past half an hour, you’ve been trying to convince your boyfriend to do the full nelson position with you.

“Don’t you think it’s dangerous, kitten?” Sylus teases, eyeing you over the rim of his wine glass. You groan as you stomp over to him, sitting there all cosy on the couch. Plopping down beside him, you snatch his glass and set it down on the coffee table. Straightening up, you turn to him and cup his cheeks. He smirks as you give him those big doe eyes he always struggles to resist.

“Pleeeaaase. I know it’s risky, but I also know that you’d never hurt me,” you pout. He shakes his head softly, gazing down and encircling your wrists with his long fingers.

“Sweetie,” he coos.

You chime in, “Let’s just give it a try! Just once! And if you don’t like it, or if I don’t like it, then we won’t do it again.” Sylus sighs while leaning into your warm touch. His affectionate eyes gaze at you, and he’s got that signature grin plastered on his face.

“You really want this, don’t you, darling?” You nod enthusiastically, hoping that you’re finally getting through to him.

But you’re not.

And you realise as much when he brings your palm to his lips and presses a chaste kiss there before tugging your hands off his face. He gets up from the couch, taking his wine and swishing it around.

As he grabs the door knob, you call out, “You’re just afraid, aren’t you?” His movements still. Sylus gazes back at you haughtily.

“Afraid?” He smirks.

You cross your arms over your chest and huff, “Yeah! You know, I heard that you have to be pretty well-endowed to do a full nelson successfully. I guess you’re just tryna save face, huh?” All the playfulness in his eyes vanishes at your words. You notice his grip tightening on the poor glass at his side, likely about to shatter from the pressure. Gulping, you meet his narrow eyes. Exiting is no longer an option for either of you as Sylus slowly pivots to face you.

He takes measured steps toward you, countering, “Is that what you really think, kitten? Or are you just trying to rile me up?”

You bite back, “Well, it’s clearly working.” Your heart stammers as his wine glass clanks on the low table, Sylus towering over you. He leans down, one large hand gripping the back of the couch while the other brushes a loose strand behind your ear. Your thighs clench, heat snaking down to your core as his nose brushes yours.

“Looks like it is,” he murmurs. You keep your eyes on his, not about to back down when you’re so, so close to getting your way. He caresses your jaw with his fingertips, stopping to thumb your lower lip.

You beg, “Pleeeaaassse,” as your pink lip bounces back from his touch.

He sighs, “It seems my dear kitten is rather insistent today. Alright, I’ll indulge you, under one condition.”

“And what’s that?” You say whilst tilting your head slightly.

He grins, “You have to face the consequences of insulting the same endowment you beg for.” You whine a little as he says that. Your hand slaps over your mouth, but it’s too late. He already heard, evident by his smirk widening. In the blink of an eye, you’re thrown over his shoulder and whisked off to his bedroom.

Sylus lays you down in the centre of the bed before rising and slowly unbuttoning his black dress shirt. You shuffle forward and reach out to help him, but he shakes his head and steps back, out of your grasp. Pouting, you watch him slip out of the fabric and discard it on the floor. Next, he unbuckles his belt and works at the zipper of his dress pants. You gnaw on your bottom lip, the outline of his erection obvious in the afternoon sunlight.

You tease as he shimmies out of his trousers, “You sure you’re not sleepy, grandpa?” Those crimson eyes flicker up to you, glinting dangerously.

He chuckles sharply, “Oh, I’m sure, sweetie.” Smirking, you grip the hem of your tank top and are about to pull it off when your boyfriend catches your hands.

He pulls them off your shirt and scolds you lightly, “Not yet, darling.”

“But—”

“Not yet,” he says, his voice laced with that authoritarian tone.

You mumble, “Fine,” as he pecks your cheek. Drawing back, your eyes roam over his almost naked figure. Fuck. You can’t help but silently thank the lords above for gifting you with such a well-built man. Those ripping muscles and broad shoulders and the sluttiest hips you need to straddle—

Ahem.

“Come here, kitten,” Sylus instructs. You nod, sliding to the very edge of the bed and planting your feet on the plush carpet. He signals with his fingers for you to come even closer (you know what I’m talking about😏). You rise and close the short distance between you two. Enveloping your shoulders with his large hands, he guides you down to your knees.

He’s so goddamn tall, you have to sit up straight with your shins on the floor (like this ] ). You’re face-to-face with his large bulge, and your hands stroke up and down his meaty thighs. You gaze up at him sweetly, waiting for his next command. He smirks down at you, fingers running through your hair and patting your head. It feels so good, you could purr.

Testing the waters, you finger his waistband, gently snapping it against his hips as you tilt your head back further for him. He cocks his brow and nods slightly, urging you to keep going. You drag his trunks down his legs, his thick cock springing free. He hisses at the cool air, fingers entangling your locks tighter.

You murmur seductively, “What do you want me to do, baby?”

He sighs, thumbing your scalp soothingly, “Spit on it.”

“Like this?” You spit on his veiny cock as instructed, watching hungrily as your saliva drips down his shaft.

“Mhmm, and now, suck,” he groans as he pulls your head forward. You take his pink tip into your mouth while your hands encircle his hard length. Sucking and drooling all over the flushed head, you stare up at him and notice how his chest heaves. Smirking, you drag your spit down his cock and then back up with your fingers, soaking it before you start bobbing your head up and down. You can barely take half of it because he’s so girthy and long.

He grips your hair firmly as you suck his cock, eventually pushing your head down his length and making you deep throat him. You gag around him as his tip massages the back of your throat, your jaw already aching. He pulls you off, and you catch your breath momentarily before he slips his dick back down your throat.

“Breathe through your nose, kitten,” he grunts, pushing your nose into his silver pubes. You mewl around him, the vibrations sending pre-cum sliding down your unsuspecting throat. Inevitably, you gag again, and he draws your head back, only to hold you in place as he fucks your pretty mouth. The lewd sounds of squelching and groaning fill the air, swirling in the suddenly hot room as you grab onto his thighs for dear life. There’s so much drool that it drips from your spit-soaked lips onto the carpet.

More and more pre-cum spews into your mouth as Sylus gets closer. And when he pulls out, his heavy cock taps against your swollen lips. He squeezes his eyes shut, and he uses all of his willpower to not cum all over your sweet face right then and there.

Your boyfriend rasps out, “Get up, kitten.” He lets go of your head and stretches his palms out. You take his hands in yours, and he helps you off the floor. Your legs are shaky as you stand up, arousal pooling in your panties. You sway into him, your bodies pressing together as you stumble back and forth.

“Easy now,” he groans while steadying you against him.

You glance up at him and ask croakily, “Did I do okay?”

He chuckles softly as one hand comes to stroke your cheek, “Your performance was exceptional, darling.” You giggle and stretch up, kissing him tenderly on your tippy-toes. Sighing, he licks at your lips before slipping his tongue into your mouth. He can taste himself all over you, which inflates his ego. You yelp as he pushes you into him, his hard cock hitting your lower tummy. Saliva slides down your chin as he sucks on your tongue, making you moan loudly.

You’re too focused on staying afloat in the tides of his kiss, not noticing how he walks you back until your calves hit the bed frame. Breaking the kiss, he grabs you by the waist and throws you back. You cry out as you bounce on the springy mattress, Sylus crawling over your figure and caging you in. He leans down and bites your earlobe, then kisses it and then bites again. Your eyes flutter closed while your hands squeeze his strong shoulders.

Your boyfriend groans against your ear, “We’ll need to warm up before attempting such a challenging position.”

“Hah— okay,” you whimper as he nips at that sensitive spot just below your ear. Sylus takes his time in thoroughly kissing and marking every inch of your exposed skin before peeling off your comfy clothes and repeating the process. He pays extra attention to your nipples, rolling his tongue around the stiff buds and pinching them with his fingertips. Your back arches as he trails sloppy kisses down your tummy, even peppering your stretch marks with soft pecks before cupping your heat. You mewl, feeling his thick fingers against your clothed slit.

He teases, “So wet already, darling?” You nod eagerly, shifting slightly to feel a bit of friction against your needy clit. He paws your cunt before tugging your panties down your legs. You sigh in relief, spreading your legs shamelessly for him.

Your boyfriend chuckles as he settles between your thighs; the sunlight glints off the arousal coating your lips. His gaze flickers up to you as he inches closer, his hot breath fanning your core. You whimper, your hands stretching down to him. He smirks while interlocking his fingers with yours. Leaning in, he drags his tongue up your drenched folds, moaning at your flavour. You gasp, your back arching while your other hand grips his hair and pulls him flush against your pussy.

Sylus eats you out like he’s been deprived of your delicious taste for eons. All sloppy, with the lower half of his face coated in your dewy nectar. He pants while rutting his hips against the bed as you yank his silvery locks. Every swipe of his tongue is heavenly. And when he dips inside—

You cry out, “F-fuck, Sy! Fuck,” as your back arches off the bed. Gazing skyward, you can see the little particles drifting in the afternoon’s glow. His tongue stretches you out, flicking up and running along your gummy walls. You mewl, instinctively curling up to stare down at him.

As Sylus pulls back, you catch a glimpse of the pink dusting his angular cheekbones. You run your fingers through his hair, lazily trying to fix his dishevelled locks. He smirks, gazing back at you cockily. His fingers slip through your folds, rubbing your clit in hard circles before diving into your heat. You almost scream as his long fingers curve into that dizzying spot inside of you. His hot mouth is back on your swollen bud, sucking roughly as his fingers take you to the edges of the galaxy.

In minutes, your lover has you trembling and screaming his name as you squirt all over his face and fingers. He holds your hand the entire time, thumb caressing your smooth skin as you cry out loud enough for the neighbours to complain. As you gradually recover from your high, he laps at your juices under the guise of cleaning you up. In reality, he’s still starving for you. Licking his lips, he shifts up and lies on top of you.

You pant, “Sy. Sy, you’re heavy, baby.” He nibbles on your collarbone teasingly before lifting and kissing you passionately. You can feel every emotion in his lips while sampling the perfect mixture of your arousal and his saliva from his tongue. His silver strands tickle your forehead as he holds your jaw in both of his hands. You tilt your head back, separating from him to breathe.

Sylus chuckles deeply, “Why don’t we take a break, sweetie? When you’re ready, we’ll start with something easy, and then work up from there.” You nod in a daze, too pleasure-drunk to respond with words. Sylus pecks your cheek before leaning back on his haunches. You shut your eyes and focus on steadying yourself in this swirling ocean of ecstasy.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend damps a towel and wipes up your slick-smeared thighs before cleaning up his half-drenched face. Once you’ve calmed down, you open your eyes and find him glancing down at you lovingly.

You sweetly peck his full lips, giggling lightly, “Okay. ‘M ready now.” He hums lowly while pressing another chaste kiss to your lips. You suck on one of his nipples as he leans over you, making him yelp as he retrieves a condom from his bedside drawer.

His free hand rests on the back of your head as he groans, “Kitten.”

“Mhmm,” you hum while dragging your teeth across the sensitive peak.

He murmurs, “I thought you wanted me to put you in a nelson.” You pull off his now-wet nipple, pouting as he shifts back and tears the red packet open.

“I do.”

He chuckles, “I know, dear.” After sliding it on, he wraps his arms beneath your armpits and manhandles you to straddle him. He keeps one muscular arm around your waist while fishing for pillows and stacking them behind him with the other. You grab his length, making him groan as he leans back, his head resting against the headboard. Moaning, you slide his cock through your dripping folds, slicking him up before pressing his tip inside. You immediately draw him out and gaze up at him with wide eyes.

Sylus rasps, “What’s the matter, sweetie?”

“N-nothing,” you stutter, sucking the head of his cock into your slippery cunt again.

Fuck, he’s big.

The stretch burns. You thought you were getting used to him, but perhaps not. Your poor hole feels like it’s being split open as you sink down on him. Inch by inch, he fills you. Near his base, you stop. You’re shaking, and you don’t think you can take any more. His calloused palm on the centre of your back pushes you forward; your hands fly to his chest.

“Sy,” you whimper.

He moans, “Where did all that attitude go? Have you been humbled?” You nod, your pouty lips looking irresistible right now. Sylus kisses you tenderly, his hands gripping your hips as he lifts you up and drags you back down on his length effortlessly. You mewl into his mouth, arms tightening like a vice around his neck for stability.

Slowly, he fucks you on his length. He can’t help but thrust into you, your cunt far too warm and soppy not to claim for himself. You press your forehead against his, biting your lip as you match his relaxed pace.

Your hips kiss as you cry out, “F-fuck, baby. ‘M sorry.”

He smirks, “For what, kitten?” At that moment, his tip presses against your g-spot, making your hips stutter and mouth curve into that pretty ‘O’ shape.

You pant, “F-for saying—ah— that, you—mhmm…” Your train of thought dies off as Sylus squeezes your ass, fucking up into you harder.

He groans, “What were you saying, darling?” You bury your head in the crook of his neck, slamming your hips down on his cock. Pleasure sparks like wildfire, nipping at your skin and making you gush all around your boyfriend’s dick. The lewd plaps of your skin slapping cut through the stifling air, intermingling with the sun’s final rays.

Suddenly, Sylus’s thrusts slow. He guides you down on his length leisurely, planting kisses on your hairline. And then, he stops. You sit on his cock, breathless. Your limbs are all gooey, and your mind is mushy as you bask in the short reprieve. He holds you tight against him, silver hair splaying across your shoulder as he bites the tender flesh there.

He teases, “Are you feeling warm now?”

You nod frantically, “Yes! Very warm, Sy!” He smirks; you can feel it etched into your skin.

“Alright. Why don’t we try a nelson now?” He leans back, staring at you all arrogant and flustered. You seal your lips against his, seeking the comfort and security only he can provide.

Pulling off with a smoochy pop, you exhale, “M’kay.” Sylus pecks your forehead before drawing his cock out of you and turning you around. He guides you to lay against his chest, sliding back into your slick cunt as your legs stretch into a ‘V’. Then, he wraps his arms around your thighs and inches them back, biceps naturally slipping up to your knees.

“Is this okay, sweetie?” He murmurs. You nod, grabbing onto his forearms.

“Say it,” he commands.

You whimper, “Yes! ‘M okay.” He nibbles on the shell of your ear before bringing his arms behind you, effectively locking your legs wide open.

“And this?” He whispers seductively. You yelp as he shifts his hips, bouncing you slightly on his length.

“P-perfect.” Finally, he interlocks his fingers and presses them against your neck.

He asks sincerely, “Is your neck comfortable? Or am I pressing too hard?”

“’M fine!” You reassure him. Your boyfriend remains still momentarily before rocking his hips into you. You cry out, feeling him so fucking deep you swear you can see him in your tummy. Sylus wastes no time, fucking you hard (just the way you’ve been begging for it). You grip his strong forearms, trying to anchor yourself in the waves of pleasure he’s unleashing upon you.

You call out his name as your eyes roll back. He’s never rearranged your guts so roughly before. His skin pummels against yours, the sounds filling the space between your cries and his groans. Your heart pounds in your chest as more slick drools onto his cock, leaking down his balls and dirtying the black sheets.

He grunts, “You alright, kitten?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes—mhmm— feels so good, Sy,” you moan. He smirks, thrusting into you harder and impossibly deeper while keeping his pressure against your neck light.

But he grows too ambitious.

In a split second, he slips out. But he realises too late, already rutting back up into you. His cock hits your pelvic bone.

Crack!

He groans, pain exploding in his groin as he loosens his grip on you. You scramble forward and whip around, looking between your grunting boyfriend and his softening cock.

“Oh my God, Sy!” You exclaim, grabbing onto his face and brushing back his messy locks.

“Are you okay, baby?! Oh my God!” You ramble.

He curses, “Fuck.”

“Sy!” You whine. “We gotta get you to the ER!” You start climbing off the bed, but he pulls you back, his arms embracing your waist as he pants and grunts into your shoulder.

He grumbles, “I’m fine, sweetie. I can handle it.”

“No, you can’t, Sy!” You counter. “You need to go to the hospital! What if you broke it?!” His chuckle is cut short as he winces from the immense pain.

“You can’t break it, dear,” he rasps.

“Yes, you can!” You retort as you squirm out of your boyfriend’s tight grasp. He eases off you, the agony stopping him from stopping you as you tug on your strewn about clothes and throw his trunks at him.

You run to the bedroom door and half-open it, calling out, “Luke! Kieran!”

“No,” Sylus grunts. “I can handle it.”

“Sy! For fuck’s sake—” Leaving the door ajar, you rush over to him and help him pull on his trunks. You hastily kiss his cheek before grabbing his dress shirt and threading his arms through it. It’s half buttoned-up by the time the twins pop their heads in.

“What is it, boss—”

“Oh, fuck.” They take in Sylus’s hunched form and the hard line his lips are pressed into.

Whirling around, you ramble, “There’s no time to explain—

“You don’t have to,” Luke mutters. Kieran chuckles beneath his mask.

“Okay, both of you, shut up. We need to get him to the hospital right now!” You continue anxiously. Kieran helps the crime overlord pull on his dress pants while Luke gets the car started. Sylus insists that he can dress himself, and Kieran looks at you.

You shake your head, “Just let him help, Sy.” Groaning, your boyfriend lets his assistant zip up his pants. You dart off to your bedroom and grab a few things before racing downstairs. Climbing in the back of Sylus’s Mercedes Benz, pink blossoms all over your cheeks under Luke’s interrogative gaze in the rear view mirror.

“So—”

“Shut up, Luke! I don’t wanna hear another word out of you,” you huff.

“Alrighty,” he grins. You can hear it.

Soon, you catch sight of Sylus leaning on Kieran’s shoulder, coming down the driveway.

You open the car door and poke your head out, shouting, “In the back!”

Drawing closer, you hear the end of your boyfriend’s grumble, “…if anyone finds out about this.” You smirk while sliding over to make room for Sylus. Kieran shuts the car door, and despite Sylus’s grunts that he can do it himself, you buckle his seatbelt before buckling your own.

Luke drives off, silent as commanded.

Kieran yaps while nudging his twin’s shoulder, “I can’t believe we get to sit in the front for once.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Sylus groans. The drive to the hospital is filled with mindless chatter from the twins. As Luke navigates the bajillion hospital buildings, your foot taps. Leaning over, Sylus places his hand on your knee, keeping a straight face to conceal the pain the little movement causes him.

You shift closer to him and whisper in his ear, “Did you take the condom off?” He draws a sharp breath in.

“Oh,” you mutter, gazing down at your hands resting on the leather seats.

“You were rushing me, sweetie.” Blood floods your cheeks, reigniting your blush as the car stops.

“Alright, we’re here,” Luke chirps. You get out of the car and sprint to Sylus’ side, grasping his forearm as he props himself up against the car’s frame.

He groans, “I’m fine, darling. I can walk.” You gaze up at him with that cute pout on your lips. He huffs and doesn’t attempt to shake you off as you cling to him the entire walk into the ER. Luckily, you don’t have to wait for too long to be seen. The nurse leads you to a small room with a bed and a computer set up nearby.

“So, how can I help you, Mr Qin?” The nurse asks. You glance at Sylus nervously as he sits on the edge of the bed.

He mutters, “My partner and I were… enjoying each other’s company when there was a sudden crack. I’m in quite a bit of pain.” His eyes drop, signalling to his groin.

“Okay. I’ll just have a look first, if that’s okay?” She says nonchalantly, already fishing a pair of blue gloves out of their flimsy box. You feel your blush deepen by ten shades as you shift over to your now-standing boyfriend.

You murmur, “Do you want me to help or—”

“I’ve got it, sweetie,” he mumbles while unzipping his pants.

You stand in front of him, blocking the nurse’s view as you whisper, “The condom.” He grins, but it’s not his usual confident smirk. His smile is underscored by his pain.

“At least we’re being safe,” he jokes as he pulls down his boxers. You step to the side, guilt setting in as the nurse approaches.

“Oooo,” she sighs.

“Is it bad?” You squeak.

Pointing to the filthy condom, she asks, “Can we remove this?”

Clutching your boyfriend’s arm, you pout, “Do you want me to…?” He nods, and the nurse hands you a glove. Putting it on, you slide the slimy condom off his angrily swollen length and chuck it in the nearby bin.

“Just lie down for me,” the nurse instructs.

After observing his mildly bruised cock under the harsh LEDs, she concludes, “Looks like a penile fracture. I’ll get the urologist to have a look, okay?”

A few minutes later, a middle-aged man strolls in announcing that he’s the urologist. He confirms that Sylus has a penile fracture and sends him for immediate surgery. That’s how you end up walking alongside your boyfriend (who’s on a stretcher) to the pre-operative area.

You hold his hand, apologising, “’M really sorry, baby.” His thumb rubs the back of your hand, soothing you.

He coos, “It’s not your fault, kitten.”

“I pushed you into doing it with me!” You counter. He sighs, bringing your hand to his lips and leaving a tender kiss there.

Sylus nuzzles your soft skin, murmuring, “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have. You realise that, don’t you?” You pout at him, not fully convinced, as a different nurse comes over to you.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we need to sign some paperwork before you head into theatre, Mr Qin,” she chirps. You nod and gaze down at your boyfriend before letting go of his hand.

After everything is signed, he’s wheeled into theatre.

You call out to him, “I love you!” as he disappears down the hall. His low hum reaches your ears, making you smile.

“I love you, too, sweetie.”

⭑.ᐟ bonus

“Soooo, what did the doc say?” You ask cheekily. Sylus rests his hand on your thigh as he starts the engine. It roars to life beneath his fingertips.

He says in that cocky drawl, “I’m all clear.” You squeal excitedly, making him chuckle.

“So tonight, do you wanna…?”

He sighs, “Aren’t we eager, kitten? One month and you’re roaring to jump me.” You gaze up at him, pouting. The way he palms the steering wheel to reverse doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Well,” you start. “My boyfriend is so sexy, I can’t help it.”

a/n: pls lmk if i wrote him okay. also, i'm thinking of writing embarrassing/gone wrong sex moments for all of the LIs. lmk if that's something you'd be interested in.

more embarrassing/gone wrong sex moments:

choking with caleb gone wrong zayne's cum spurts out of your nose xavier falls asleep while eating you out you get stuck in the sink as you and rafayel get it on

[yoonbeans]

WHAT A MEANIE YOU ARE!

FEATURING THE ONE AND ONLY: CALEB 夏以昼

content warnings: 18+ !!! MEAN!DOM caleb x bratty!reader, boob worship (in a way i guess but, mainly focused on tit play), penetrative sex, dumbification (?) overstimulation.

author’s note: for @nanacaleb23 !! i hope you enjoy. i know i didn’t really follow the request fully bcos i wanted it to be caleb fucking reader dumb 😵‍💫😵‍💫. hope you still like it lovey! :3

word count: 1.9k

you were behaving bratty, mouthing off at him by making sarcastic comments at every little thing that seemed to annoyed you. despite your bratty behaviour, caleb, your ever patient boyfriend just sat next to you still remaining as cheerful and ecstatic as ever. you grew bolder with your words, making snarky remarks that until it was clear that he was growing annoyed with you. you certainly hit a nerve especially when you take note of the subtle changes in caleb’s features - the way his nose crinkled as he gave you a tight-lipped smile, the way his jaw clenched as he tightened his fist until his knuckles turned white. perfect, it was exactly as you planned. you wanted to test his limits, how long he would tolerate your disrespect until he snapped.

now you were lying down lazily on the couch of his apartment. your legs are resting on his manspread lap, his hands are resting on your ankle, rubbing soothing circles over you. you wanted to have a little fun.

you sigh irritatedly, “caleb..can you like—i don’t know, stop touching me all the time?” he looks at you bewilderedly, his grip tightening on your ankle. “pip, could you stop acting like a brat? you’ve been getting on my nerves the whole day with that attitude of yours. plus, we do this all the time and you’ve never once complained,” he replies exasperatedly. “are you that desperate for my attention, hm? you could’ve just asked me to fuck you” he hums matter-of-factly, his eyes narrowing at you, the expression on his face showing you that he was done with your little game.

you bite back a smile at his reaction. ugh, finally. you simply roll your eyes. slow and deliberate. “if you’re going to be such a bitch, then do something about it,” you taunt, an eyebrow raised in a defiance, despite noticing the obvious swirl of lust and anger in his eyes - the urge to put a brat like you back into your place.

swiftly, he gets up and push you down harshly onto the couch. he settles himself between your legs, keeping them spread. one of his large hands grip both your wrists in one, holding them firmly above your head as the other wrapped around your throat. oh how large his hands were, a single hand could wrap around your whole neck simply due to its sheer size.

his eyes darkened, his lips curling into a mean smirk. clearly, you’ve finally pushed him past his tolerance. he leans down to your ear, his breath blowing hot air against it. “soo mean..” he tuts. “you want me to fuck you that bad? well you’re really gonna get it now. my way.”he hisses.

the feeling of euphoria rush through your veins, you were finally getting what you wanted. well, if only it were that easy.

caleb has kissed you stupid under him to the point it has you writhing. your hands are still pinned above you and your thighs shook around him, your dripping, hot cunt was aching for anything. any sort of pleasurable relief that you bucked your hips up against him, searching for the friction he denied you from. you can feel his hardened crotch in his own pants but you knew how incredible caleb’s self control could be. it was his turn to break you - turn you into a dumb, melted puddle against him, a pliant submissive mess.

he kisses you again. hard, full of passion. you whimper into the kiss, feeling overwhelmed by the way he completely dominated your mouth completely. the ache between your thighs growing and growing by the minute. “i’m gonna destroy you, sweetheart.” he groans against your lips, his voice low and full of promises.

you whimper. what had you gotten yourself into? you couldn’t afford to be fucked stupid. especially not with your mission tomorrow. what were you doing? teasing caleb that you drove him mad?

“ca-caleb—hnggh!” he lets you catch your breath as you stammer to get your words out. he kisses down your collarbone and the bare-skin above your shirt, allowing you to speak freely without his mouth all over yours. “ngh—! we shouldn’t be—hah! b-be doing this..i-i have a mission..t-tomorrow..,” you whimper out hoarsely.

he simply laughs, using his free hand to cup your face, his eyes filled with faux sympathy. “well you should’ve thought about that before teasing me, you brat. now you’re just going to have to deal with the consequences of your actions like the big girl you are,” he spits out meanly.

before you can respond, you can feel his fingers read down to the hem of the loose baggy shirt you have on; his shirt. he stares down at you, making eye contact with a glint of amusement in his eyes as he pulled the shirt far above your chest, baring your hardened nipples, so desperate for the slightest touch. “no bra? i really didn’t realise how much of a needy little slut you are, huh?” he says softly, his fingers tracing along the peak of your breasts. “well, let me have my fun first, wont cha’ pip?” he asks rhetorically.

suddenly, he leans down and sucks your left nipple in his mouth, swirling it with his tongue. he flicks his tongue over and over the sensitive bud while his free hand pinched at your other nipple, rubbing it in circles, holding it between his thumb and index finger to tease. your body jolts in his grip, your hands fighting his to no avail, the large hand keeping them in place above your head, unmoving. you cry out loudly, at the overwhelming sensation. such a sensitive area you never tried stimulating on your own. you felt as if you were melting just from getting your nipples teased. the wetness grows between your thighs that you can feel a wet patch between your quivering legs which are still separated by caleb’s larger thighs. it hurts how desperate you are, yet the sensations were so mind-numbing it left you in a daze.

the toe-curling sensation of his wet muscle torturing you with such cruel pleasure.

your back arched, pushing your chest further into his mouth and fingers, your hips jerking around helplessly. “p-pleaseee! aah!—caleb,” you whimper, your breath falling short at the particularly hard flick of his finger over your nipple that left your brain short circuiting.

he pulls away briefly, his mouth pulling away with a resounding pop. his eyes initiaally focus on your chest, admiring how swollen and reddened they were from his teasing, completely ignoring the ache he knew you felt in your cunt. the throbbing and ache. he looks at you innocently as if he wasn’t just sucking the life out of you. his eyes meet yours, you knew that look. it was the ‘you got yourself into this’ kind. “what d’ya need, hun?” he asks casually.

“i-hngh! needa to cuuuum..” you whine out, finally caving to caleb’s teasing. he raises an eyebrow tauntingly. “aww, i’m sure you do, sweets. take a little more for me, yeah? that way i’ll know that you’re truly sorry,” he replies condescendingly.

he had his way with you. he kept sucking and licking at your chest, lathering his tongue all over, swirling around the bud, alternating between them both making them grow more sensitive with each tug and flick. it was maddening. right when you would think it couldn’t get worse, he would torture your nipple by twisting it between his fingers or by flicking his tongue over it until your mind went numb, eyes rolling back. however, he was still denying you of that pleasure, the coil in your tummy flickering with heat yet never fully pushed over the edge.

at some point, he had released your hands and your underwear was no longer on. you were reduced to a sniffling pathetic mess under him. your eyes are welled up in tears from the desperation, fingers clawing at his back. he wouldn’t even allow you to reach down to touch yourself, always intertwining his fingers with yours tightly if you tried. you could feel your slick dripping into the couch the longer he went on. he deprived you of any friction. by now, you knew just the slightest touch on your clit or by running his fingers over your squelching slit, you could cum. so so easily, yet the punishment wouldn’t be engraved in your head well enough. that’s why he resorted to this.

you sobbed against him, crying and pleading for him to have his way with you. “caleb, i-i—hiccup!—i really c-can’t anymore.” you murmur. you feel his lips curl against your skin, his hands running up and down your waist with a featherlight touch.

“i guess, my baby has learned her lesson, yeah?,” he whispered sweetly. it had you frantically nodding your head yes, you’ve melted into such a puddle for him just by a little stimulation! he chuckles as your state, brushing your hair out of your face, cooing at you lovingly. your face was flushed, panting against him pathetically. this is what recognised - the way you gave into your own pleasure, gave him control. let him take care of you.

his eyes softened before he sighed. “fine, i’ll stop being mean,” he grumbled, nuzzling his face in your neck.

he flips you over the armrest of the couch, manhandling you so that you now faced the chair, back against his chest with the top half of your frame dangled over the couch as he gripped your waist with the other. you hear the zzzzp! of his pants coming undone and before you can even think, you feel his thick cock head nudge against your clit, rubbing up and down your sopping folds. “what a brat you’ve been, baby… just needed to be fucked stupid for caleb, huh?” his groans softly, tone soft yet full of mirth.

in one swift motion, he thrusted deep into your gummy walls, the force of his thrust sending you forward. it was so overwhelming that you struggled to get a hold of yourself as your nails dug into the chair, your drooling face mushed against the cushion. your reaction elicits a little rubble in his chest, one of which would be laughter if he wasn’t as needy as you in this moment.

“shiiit—ngh!-haaah!- p-pip, you feel so so good,” he murmurs into your ear, his arm wrapping around your waist from behind, holding you flush against his pelvis where he is buried balls deep into you. he groans as he begins to thrust into you hard and fast before you could adjust. yet, the pleasure felt overwhelming. the feeling of his cock head nudging against all your sweet spots relentlessly, reducing you to a drooling mess as you squealed and sobbed from the pleasure. the way you’d squeak out a little ‘is too much’ or ‘i cant!’ yet he never stopped as you never once uttered your safeword.

caleb was beyond gone, fucking himself into you chasing his own high. you writhe against him, hips trying to shift out of his tight grip as he rearranged your guts from inside out, splitting you on his thick cock. it had you spurting cum all over his couch, your vision whitening with each time you came. each orgasm came in short bursts, little orgasms that left you panting so you could never catch your breath or prepare for the next thrust of his cock.

caleb kept going, his thumb eventually reaching down to play with your clit as grinded his cock as deep as possible into you.

you were so far gone, and you feel your hair being pulled back by caleb. he moans into your ear and you feel the hot cum filling you up to the brim. it makes your body jolt and tremble, whimpering from the sensation.

“felt good, babe?” he heaves before pressing a delicate kiss behind your ear.

you let out a little fucked out ‘mhm’ as you lie limp, sandwiched between him and the couch as your legs continue to tremble.

how were you going to explain to jenna that you were ‘sick’ for the 5th time this month?

[yoonbeans]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♥︎ FOR YOUR TROUBLES

── . ✦ WORD COUNT : 2, 214

── . ✦ PAIRING : Zayne x Fem!Reader

── . ✦ SUMMARY : You though you'd surprise Zayne with a nice, homemade meal after a long day at work, but judging by his reaction, it would've probably been better if you hadn't.

── . ✦ CONTENT WARNINGS : fem!reader, she/her pronouns are used for reader, use of 'y/n', angst + hurt/comfort, husband!zayne, petnames (love, my love), crying, hurting your feelings.

── . ✦ AUTHOR'S NOTE : the amount of work that i can get done when locked in is insane XD

── . ✦ WANT TO SEE MORE? : Masterlist ⋮ 'Console Me' Masterlist

── . ✦ TAGLIST : @elegant-face-tree @vyntheria @cheesemachine44 @aluvrina @adeptustemptations @etckristel @seris-the-amious @babygirl-panda19 @paint3dros3s @babyblue0t7 @autumn2534 @just-a-shapeshifter08 @ryus3i @jupiterswrld @thewiselionessss @yakanadesuu-blog @kooidoom @taisha-san @avylea16 @zaynes-w @teewritessmth @rjreins @ilovelishen @ridox @d4wnbreaker @kyanmeai @rosiesareblu @pomegranatepip @littlepotaaatosimp @c-t-r-l14 @emneedshelp @krystallevine @everythingistaken00 @knorreine @peacedreamer14 @buggs-1 @kozumelise

Humming a soft tune to yourself, you stirred at the big pot of marinara on the hot stove with a wooden spoon and a soft, tranquil smile on your face. Zayne had texted you that he was on his way home after two gruelling back-to-back eight and six -hour surgeries, and to say that he was exhausted would be a massive understatement.

He’s been working significantly more these past few days — weeks now that you think about it —, coming home later and later after every shift, some days even after you’ve already gone to bed and missing each other completely. On some days, you would try to stay awake late enough to at least get to greet him, but you weren’t used to staying up so late, especially when you had to get up early in the morning to make it to the Hunters Association on time.

When he texted you that he was on his way home at 19:13 PM, you decided that there was still enough time for you to prepare a proper meal to welcome him home with, as well as enjoy the meal together for the first time in what felt like forever. You couldn’t recall when the last time you and Zayne ate a meal together that wasn’t something simple like ramen or a sandwich was, as Zayne’s late return from the hospital left barely any time to cook and eat said meal together.

Your humming came to a stop when you turned your head towards the sound of keys jingling outside the front door, turning and clicking inside the keyhole with the adept precision that only one person you know could have.

The door handle turned down and the front door opened, revealing your tired — no, utterly exhausted — husband with his shoulders slouched and his head down, causing his glasses to slip down the bridge of his nose.

“Welcome home, Zayne.” You tapped the wooden spoon against the rim of the pot a few times, excess droplets of sauce that was clinging to the wood splashed back into the bubbling ocean of red marinara.

“Hey, love.” He blinked slowly, the somnolence in his hazel green eyes was clear as day as he began to remove his creaseless, crisp white laboratory coat, throwing it over the back-post of one of the dining room chairs. If his eyes didn’t already express how exhausted he was, the fact that he just threw his laboratory coat — which he would normally hang on a clothing hanger the second he got home to avoid creasing and wrinkles — over the back of one of the dining room chairs, was another clear indicator that he was nearly at his breaking point.

“How was work?” You placed the wooden spoon down after tapping it against the rim of the pot a few more times, turning around and moving some of your hair that had fallen in your face while you were cooking back behind your ears. You walked around the kitchen island while taking in your husband’s exhausted appearance.

“Rough… and long,” He began, moving around the island as well to meet you halfway and pull you into his warm — cold — embrace, “I knew when I chose to become a surgeon that it would be excruciating work… but these back-to-back surgeries are starting to become ridiculous.” He leaned down to rest his mouth against your shoulder, placing a small, feather-light kiss against the fabric of your shirt, his arms tightening around your waist ever-so-slightly, closing even the smallest semblance of distance — if there even was any to begin with — between you and him.

He took in a deep breath, inhaling your comforting scent and immediately feeling some of the tension in his shoulders relax a bit.

“How was yours?” His voice was muffled by the fabric of your shirt.

“Same old, same old. Mostly encountered low-ranking Wanderers, so they were somewhat easy to deal with. Nothing too out of the ordinary.” You explained, running your hand through the short, black hair at the nape of his neck, and you felt him shudder at the action.

As much as you didn’t want to, you began to pull away from the hug, feeling Zayne’s grip on your waist faintly falter before he eventually let go, standing upright and taking your hands in his instead, gently rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

“You must be hungry,” You began to gently sway yours and Zayne’s hands from side to side, “we haven’t eaten a proper meal together in so long because of our clashing schedules, and when you texted me that you were coming home at a somewhat reasonable hour today,” You wiggled your hands out of Zayne’s grasp, causing his own hands to limply fall down by his sides, and stepped closer to the stove, gesturing to the large simmering pot of bubbling marinara with a bright smile, “I figured we could finally eat together!”

“Perhaps not tonight, love. I’m sorry. I’m exhausted… and all I want is to rest.” He muttered and his eyes fell shut while he pointed his head down, removing his glasses and folding up the temples before putting it in the breast pocket of his — also creaseless — white dress shirt.

“Oh…” Your arms dropped from their gesture to the simmering pot to awkwardly fiddle with your fingers over your abdomen. “Well… that’s alright, but… um… wouldn’t you like to eat dinner with me first? Before we go to bed?” You questioned awkwardly.

‘Shit.’ You thought to yourself. You should’ve known that he wouldn’t be in the mood to have dinner this later at night, especially not after two incredibly long back-to-back surgeries. You knew you should’ve asked him first, but you just assumed that he wouldn’t mind having dinner with you since he has also been complaining about barely ever seeing you anymore.

“Of course I would, love. You know it’s nothing against you personally. I’m just… not hungry right now.” He didn’t mean for his words to have the hostile undertones that they did, but he just wanted to sleep and his patience was quickly beginning to wear thin. Of course he’d like to eat with you, there’s nothing that he’d love more, but he could eat with you in the morning when he doesn’t feel like falling asleep where he’s stood, and he could’ve already been cozied in his bed with you in his arms, about to fall asleep.

“Oh… okay then… that’s fine…” You awkwardly turned around and picked up the spoon to continue stirring the marinara, “but what am I supposed to do about the food then? It’s not going to be fresh by the time the morning rolls around-” You were cut off by the sudden boom of Zayne’s voice.

“Y/N!” He snapped, his voice came out louder than he intended for it to be, “I don’t want to eat right now!" He paused and took a deep breath, "we can eat your food in the morning, just… please let me go to sleep, damn it.”

You fell silent, your hand stopped its stirring and you slowly turned around to face your husband. Did he just… yell at you? He’s never yelled at you before. He always promised that he wouldn’t. No matter how angry he got; no matter what the situation was, he always promised that he would never yell at you.

“I… Y/N…” Zayne stuttered once he realized what he’d just done. He, himself, could not believe that he just did that. ‘Why did I do that?’ He looked down, he noticed his fists were clenched at his sides, and he quickly unclenched them, hoping that you had not seen them. But you already had, you were looking directly at them in that very moment. Your eyes were wide, and he could see a slight gloss to them.

‘Did I just make her cry?’

You took your lip in between your teeth, your throat felt dry and your tongue felt like harsh, gravelly sandpaper against the roof of your mouth. “Okay.” You whispered and looked up with a curt nod, fearing that if you used your voice it would break. “Fine then. Leave the food. Throw it in the trash for all I care.” You stomped past him, unintentionally — but also intentionally — harshly bumping your shoulder against his own. This caught Zayne off guard as he stumbled backwards, scrambling to catch himself by grabbing onto the corner of the kitchen island, and watching your figure with wide eyes as you stomped away to your — shared — bedroom before slamming the door shut behind you without looking back.

Zayne exhaled a shaky breath, looking at the simmering pot on the stove and moved to turn the knob and turn the stove off, the bubbling of the marinara quietly echoed for a while after he turned off the stove. And it looked — and smelled — delicious.

"Fuck," He muttered under his breath and ran a hand through his hair, "I fucked up…" He dragged his feet to the couch and fell down with a heavy flop, the only sounds that could be heard throughout the apartment was the soft bubbling of the marinara cooling off and Linkon City’s usual city ambiance.

He wanted to go after you; to tell you that he didn’t mean for it to come off as if he didn’t appreciate your efforts, but he decided that it would be best to give you some time.

The clock on the wall read 20:31 PM.

The forgotten pot of marinara has now gone cold on the stove, the bowl holding the spaghetti was no longer steaming, and there was a heavy tension in the air as Zayne sat alone on the living room couch with his glasses in his hands, slowly turning them over betwixt his fingers as he stared at his slumped reflection in the dark TV screen.

He's given you enough time by now, right? He could try to talk to you now, right?

He put his glasses down beside his leg on the couch before standing up and turning to the bedroom door that was still closed and nervously rubbed his hands over each other. Why was he so nervous? It's not like this is the first time he's ever spoken to you, though he's never yelled at you before, so he didn't know how you'd react when you saw him again.

He slowly walked toward the door, taking note of how loud his polished, black oxford shoes sounded as they clicked against the wooden floors in the dead silent apartment.

He stopped outside the bedroom door, and he brought up his fist, hesitating a few centimetres away from the surface of the door, before he sucked it up and his knuckles made contact with the door to knock.

You didn't answer.

Of course you didn't answer, why would you?

You had every right to not want to answer him at that moment.

"Y/N?" Zayne's voice broke the silence. His hand gripped the door handle as he waited for a beat to see if you would answer to his call.

When you didn't answer, Zayne took a deep breath before pushing down the door handle, slowly pushing the door open until there was a small crack between the door and the doorframe that he could peek through. He saw you, fast asleep on the bed with his pillow tucked comfortably in your arms.

A soft smile found its way onto Zayne’s face, and he pushed the door open all the way, putting in the extra effort to not make a single sound as he tiptoed his way closer to your side of the bed. His smile immediately fell, however, when he noticed the dry tear tracks staining your cheeks and reflecting the full moon’s bright lucence outside the windows, and small, wet patch next to your face in your pillow.

‘I really did make her cry…’ Zayne felt his heart shatter into millions of pieces when the realization dawned on him that he caused this; he made you cry yourself to sleep.

Zayne quietly slipped off his shoes, leaving them next to his side of the bed and moving to lay down next to you. The sheets rustled in the silence, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be loud enough to wake you. Not even bothering to get out of his work attire, Zayne’s slender fingers moved to gently move a piece of hair behind your ear, and you stirred at the action.

“Zayne…?” Your raspy, sleepy voice broke the silence, and you squinted in the darkness to try and utilize the bright moon’s lucence make out his facial features — though, you didn’t really have a need to, since you’d already memorized every single feature on his face by now. From every single speck of gold in his eyes, to each individual eyelash lining his eyelids.

Zayne’s hand instinctively came up to cup your cheek, gently running his thumb over your cheekbone, and he smiled when he felt you lean into his touch.

“Thank you… for your troubles, my love. I really do appreciate it. I promise that I never meant to make you feel that I didn’t.”

© mischameow. All rights reserved. DO NOT copy, modify, translate, plagiarize or repost ANY of my work on ANY social media platform. DO NOT claim my work as your own. DO NOT mention, promote or recommend my work on ANY social media platform outside of Tumblr. Violators will be prosecuted in accordance with the law. I currently ONLY post my work on Tumblr under the username @mischameow.

[yoonbeans]

"When you and the world wake up, I hope we do not meet again."

Remember this line?

What if non-mc!reader were to say it?

What if she was a deity? Astra perhaps? Or just someone with a really powerful Evol, able to literally destroy planets if necessary?

Let's go with her as Astra for a moment.

TW: angst, unrequited love!

--------------------------------------------------------------

❄️ What if Zayne was a devout follower at first? And because she loved him so much, she granted him the power to become Foreseer?

❄️ Zayne may have been content to be of service for her. Once in a while, she would grace him with her presence, the goddess incarnate. His lover. His playmate. Literally. Imagine the playful chases around the Tower, the hide-and-seek in the library or the Throne Room. The whispered words and promises in the dark, with only the moon and stars as witnesses.

❄️ But then... MC turned up. And gradually, Zayne would forget about his promises to Astra, neglect his duties... forsaking the bond.

❄️ She'd be desperate. Maybe she'd try to coax him back to her gently. Snowflakes dancing around him. Frost flowers blooming on the windows. A snow fox somehow finding its way into the Tower.

❄️ But slowly, her desperation turns to anger. Her ice, that brought so much joy to Zayne at first, hurt him now. Froze him in place on the throne. Bound him to the Tower's walls. Suffocated his heart.

❄️ Lifetime after lifetime, MC would turn up. And every single time she came to the tower, Astra's wound got deeper and deeper, like a sharp knife tracing its line through flesh again and again.

❄️ And then he betrayed her. Stole from her to help MC. Tried to rob her of her own power... for this pesky human. Still, even when he sacrificed himself... Astra didn't find it in her to hate him.

❄️ She had followed him around through the centuries. Watching. Protecting. Looming. She still wasn't ready to give him up.

❄️ But even centuries later, in the city of Linkon... there was MC.

❄️ The stars were against her apparently. Whenever he found himself too close to MC, Astra would wail in secret. She felt her heart break again and again. She and Zayne were still bonded in a way, and so it came that he'd lose control of his Evol during those times. It was a curse. Unintentionally, Astra would drive the man she loved so dearly further and further away from herself.

❄️ Eventually, she'd understand. She had to let him go. For good.

❄️ It would be during a particularly harsh winter. The storm would be raging outside, snowflakes violently swirling in the air, bringing life in Linkon City to a complete standstill. Through this storm, she'd speak to him.

❄️ Words of mourning, anger, and loss. Not blaming or demanding... just letting go of all those pent up feelings.

❄️ One more time—just one last time—she'd touch him. Stroking his cheek ever so gently, feeling his soft skin under the tips of her cold fingers. One touch. That was all she needed to erase every single memory he had of her.

❄️ Every single thing that ever happened between them, she'd take from him. Why burden him any longer? She had lost him aeons ago... it was time to set him free. Set him free from her influence and their shared bond. Even if that meant her life came to an end. After all... what was a deity without a follower?

❄️ As her fingers were a breath away from his skin, she'd whisper: "When you and the world wake up, I hope we do not meet again."

❄️ That night, nobody really remembered what happened. There was a storm, lightning, a loud clashing sound—and then Linkon was frozen over, a heavy silence settling over the usually bustling city.

❄️ And in the silence of the night, nobody noticed the sparkling stardust that slowly rose into the pitch black sky. Not even Zayne.

❄️ Astra. Stars.

❄️ The one who was once his beloved goddess, was now nothing more than a myth belonging in Fantasy and Children's books.

[yoonbeans]

Sappy Afternoon ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

synopsis: based on the new sylus bday card! sylus gets his bday meal aka you hehe

tags: explicit, vulgar, cunnalingus, less freaky than normal bc sylus is a loverboy at heart

a/n: happy birthday to the loml thank you for coming home twice

w.c: 0.6k

“Is it sweet, kitten?” Sylus asks you, perching you up on his arm like a sweet bird upon on a tree branch.

He enjoyed the view, looking at you reach up and grab another dollop of the maple sap.

“Taste it for yourself”, you reply, swiping the glossy syrup across his bottom lip.

You watch as he swipes his tongue across it, a surprised expression on his face and an agreeance right after of the sugary flavor.

“Come here”, he says, dipping your chin down to come closer to his, “let me taste yours, maybe it’s different” he chides, asking you so temptingly for a kiss.

“Sylus- it’s your birthday….and you don’t have to ask.” You joke, meeting his lips sweetly over and over.

“That’s right, how observant sweetie.” He whispers against your ear, sarcastic as ever as he nibbles at your lobe to hear the breathy moans escaping your lips grow louder.

“It is my birthday.”

Before you have time to respond, your body gently hits the grass and your back on you tree.

Sylus’s soft kisses grow more insistent, slowly descending down your neck down to your chest- unzipping your jacket and pulling your dress up to peck at your stomach and its soft plush. The sudden cold breeze and the even more pronounced sensation of being so exposed in such an expansive area hit you even harder.

But you couldn’t stop your legs from slowly parting, making room for his large body.

The small dots of sun that dappled through the leaves of the large maple trees blanketed over the two of you, giving you a warmth that was only challenged by his hot tongue leaving marks on you that the sun could never hide.

“I think, I want my birthday meal now.” He says in a smirk, hands resting around your hips as he sinks down to press his cheek against your inner thigh, looking up at you, expectantly.

"Greedy," you murmur, a hand threading through his hair, "didn't even say please."

He chuckles, deep and low, lips brushing against your skin as he speaks.

"Like you said, Im the birthday boy, kitten. I don't need manners today. And besides….”

His hands grip your thighs just a little firmer, spreading them wider as his kisses dip teasingly close, close enough to make you gasp, but far enough to keep you aching.

“You’re ruining these cute little clothes”, he says, snapping the string of your soaked panties to hear you gasp, before slipping them to the side to see just how much he affected you.

Your own breathy whimpers mix with the soft rustle of leaves overhead, the forest around you holding its breath as you let out soft moans upon feeling his warm tongue lap at your core.

You feel his languid tongue brushing up your clit before each suction with his lips- making your fingers tighten in his hair like you can't stand to let go, sometimes pulling him away so you don’t overwhelm yourself.

"Don't run from it," he murmurs against you, tongue circling slow and lazy. "Let me have it all."

He’s reading you so, so easily, as if your body is a language he's fluent in. A little more pressure, a little deeper, and your legs begin to shake around his face.

"I can feel you," he whispers, grinning against you, licking you like he's starved. "So fucking sweet, baby.“

Coiled heat builds at your center.

The way he moans against you, it's sinful; devastatingly so.

Sylus doesn't stop until your thighs are trembling uncontrollably, until your hand drops from his hair to the ground, too spent to hold on as it lays on the grassy forest ground as a sweet but powerful orgasm washed over you, and over his lips.

Only then does he slow down, kissing your hips, your stomach, then dragging himself up your body, lips trailing lazy, reverent kisses over your skin.

Surely there will be a birthday “lunch” later too…and a “dinner”…and then a “midnight snack”.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[yoonbeans]

“HERE K!TTY-K!TTY—”

synopsis— not so innocent moments with your favorite cat boys <3

warnings— n/sfw content, fem!reader, HORNY cat boys, teasing, bondage, oral (m&f), thigh fucking, kinda feral xavier, collars, body worship, overstimulation, sub!rafayel, pet names & nicknames (master, kitty, cutie etc), praise, a lil degradation, very feral sylus & more! also there may be some grammar mistakes which i apologize for </3

note— my first time writing for these boys, hope I did ‘em justice! ik I’m astronomically late don’t clock me 😞

featuring— zayne, xavier, rafayel & sylus x fem!reader (separate)

✰ now playing — kitty kat by megan the stallion ✰

✦ ZAYNE— feasting on his master

“There, there, kitty,” you smiled at Zayne’s serious expression, waving the cat toy in his face before pulling it away just as he reached for it.

“Feeling playful, are we?” he huffed, his voice a mixture of exasperation and amusement as he lunged to catch the bright, feathered toy again, but your quick reflexes kept it just out of reach. “Oh? Don’t you want to play with your master, cute kitty?” The corners of your mouth curled into a wide smirk as you settled comfortably onto the plush sofa behind you, the soft fabric cradling your form. In your playful distraction, one of your shoes tumbled gracefully to the wooden floor with a soft thud. You glanced up at the towering man, your eyes sparkling with mischief and challenge. “Well? Aren’t you going to help me put it back on?” you teased playfully.

Zayne sighed at your flirtatious little display before kneeling in front of you and picking your shoe up from the carpeted floor. You observed as he gently lifted your foot, his gloved hands gliding down the soft fabric of your stockings while you placed your foot on his thigh. A gasp nearly escaped his pink lips as you ran your foot up and down his clothed thigh, causing him to shiver at your touch.

He let out a soft scoff, a small frown gracing his face as he suddenly seized your foot, halting your playful dance. “Your shoe, master,” Zayne said, his gaze locking onto yours, those long lashes framing his eyes captivatingly with every blink. A thrill ran through you as you leaned in, your cheek resting against your palm, eyes sparkling. You nodded, a playful smile curving your lips, allowing him to slip the shoe back on your foot, your heart pulsing with a mix of anticipation and lust.

You didn't stop him as his hands suddenly traveled further, and further up your smooth legs, up your plump thighs — until they were playing with the hem of your tight little dress, making goosebumps appear on your soft skin. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you wore this, didn't you, master?” Zayne breathed out, licking his lips as he slowly spread your legs apart, lowly purring at the sight of the little patch of wetness staining your cotton panties.

“Hmm, did I?” A playful grin spread across your face as your hands reached out to gently pet and scratch at his soft, velvety ears. The delightful sensation made him release a soft moan from his slightly parted lips, his fingers instinctively tightening their grip on your thighs, anchoring himself closer to you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, darling,” Zayne murmured with a low, teasing tone, his breath warm against your skin. He lowered his face, allowing his cheek to rest on your lap, feeling the warmth radiate from your body. The intoxicating scent of your arousal filled his senses, and he could almost taste it—rich and sweet, making his mouth water with longing.

“Well?”

Your voice, soft yet teasing, drew his gaze upward to meet your captivating face, where a playful glint danced in your eyes. A mischievous smirk graced your lips as you leaned in slightly, the warmth of your presence electrifying the air between you. “Aren’t you going to dig in, kitty?” you purred, each word laced with an inviting promise.

And dig in he did — panties hurriedly being pushed to the side as he buried his face between your plush thighs, tongue circling your clit while two long fingers poked and prodded at your tight hole — eliciting little moans of pleasure from your plump lips. The pretty noises encouraged Zayne to wrap his lips around your little bundle of now nerves and sucking hard — causing one of your hands to tangle itself in his hair and tugging like your life depended on it.

That caused Zayne to groan loudly into your cunt, earning a sharp gasp from you as the sound reverberated through your body — biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself somewhat grounded as he stuck his tongue in your cute hole; gooey walls clamping down on the muscle as he savored the tang of your sweet slick.

“F-fuuh— tastes s’good, master,” he moaned into your pussy, slurping on your juices as they poured down his chin like honey, successfully coating the lower half of his handsome face in your sticky arousal.

With your legs resting comfortably on his shoulders, you could feel the warmth of his skin against the backs of your thighs. Your shoes lay discarded on the floor, forgotten as your feet swung gently in the air, toes barely brushing against his back. The way he held you created a lovely curve in your spine, pulling you into a graceful arch as Zayne brought you closer to the edge of the sofa — his tongue sloppily fucking into your cunt.

“O-oh god, Zayne—!” you mewled, clenching your eyes shut as you felt your orgasm approaching fast, your legs closing around him — effectively trapping his head between your thighs as you grinded on his face. “Cum. Oh s-shit — cum on my face, master.” You threw your head back as your pussy gushed on Zayne’s eager tongue, while he licked up every single drop of your sweet slick — couldn't let any go to waste.

“Good girl. Now bend over for me, won't you?”

✦ XAVIER— sleepy catboy turns feral?!

You stepped into the shared bedroom, a weary sigh escaping your lips as you brushed off the stray cat fur clinging to your clothes. Another long day at the cat cafe had left you both exhilarated and drained. Your heart swelled with affection for the playful furballs that filled your day with joy, but you couldn’t ignore the toll that wrangling a dozen spirited kitties took on your energy. As you kicked off your shoes, you felt the familiar blend of exhaustion and satisfaction wash over you.

"You're back." A wave of warmth flooded through you at the sound of your boyfriend Xavier's soothing voice, the tension in your shoulders dissipating as he enveloped you in his taller, comforting frame. His lips met your forehead in a tender kiss, and he nestled his nose into your hair, inhaling the delicate, fruity aroma of your shampoo. "Missed me too much?" you teased, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you wrapped your arms around the elegant curve of his neck. In response, he tightened his embrace around your waist, eliciting a contented sigh from you, as your exhaustion melted away in the safety of his hold.

"Mm, you couldn't imagine how much," Xavier purred, pulling away from you before pouting — god, you just wanted to press kisses all over his face. He's too pretty for his own good, you thought as you reached out to pat his head and scratch at his little ears until he caught your hand before you could. "You smell like other cats. I don't like it," he scrunched his nose up in disgust, clearly jealous that you had another cat's scent on you.

You laughed softly, amused at how childish he was being. "I was at a cat cafe the whole day, love. I'd be surprised if I didn't smell like cats," you said, shaking your head in disbelief. You made another attempt to wriggle your hand free from Xavier's firm grasp, but he remained steadfast, his grip unyielding. Just as you were about to plead with him to let go so you could take a refreshing shower, he suddenly broke the silence with a surprising comment.

"I see... I suppose it's only right for me to mark you as my own now," he declared, a determined glint in his eyes as he fixed his gaze on you, his seriousness palpable. The weight of his words hung in the air, thick with unspoken promise. You could only blink in stunned silence, your mind racing to process his intent. Confusion etched itself across your features, and you furrowed your brows in disbelief. "M-mark me...?" you stammered, the words barely escaping your lips as you struggled to comprehend what he meant.

Xavier's lips curled up into a devilish smile, mischief swimming in his soft azure eyes. "Mhm, shouldn't a cat properly mark their property?" He questioned as he pulled you closer — your hands settling on his hard chest, his voice husky and dripping with lust, causing your thighs to clench.

You gasped when Xavier's soft lips found themselves latching onto your earlobe, biting and sucking on the sensitive spot before whispering lowly, "don't you agree, master?"

That's how you ended up in the meanest arch— your knees sinking into the silken sheets as your face was pushed into the fluffy pillows, rendering you a drooling mess beneath the man fucking into your sopping cunt like his life depended on it. "Nngh— Xavier!" You wailed out, fingers entangling themselves in the sheets. Your pretty moans and cries of pleasure did nothing but add fuel to the burning fire of his desires— his eyes almost rolling behind closed lids as he slammed his hips against your ass harder— faster, much too drunk on the feeling of your tight walls fluttering around him.

"S-shiit— so fucking pretty, angel—" Xavier's breath came in quick, warm bursts as he panted into your ear, his hard chest flush against your back. Each labored inhale fanned over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and igniting a rush of heat across your cheeks. "You're s-so nng—! pretty.." he slurred, one of his hands reaching to grab your hair before pulling your head back and forcing your tear-stained eyes to meet his own drunken ones. Your mushy walls tightened upon looking at his hungry gaze, earning a choked moan from him— god, you could practically see hearts floating in his eyes.

Xavier smashed his lips against yours, teeth clashing against each other’s and his tongue ravishing yours. His hips bucked into your ass at a wild pace and the tip of his cock nudged into your g-spot repeatedly, causing little yelps and moans of his name to fall from your candied lips.

"s'messy, baby fuuck—!" You whined, biting your lower lip as you looked down to see what a mess you both were making, your juices and Xavier's previous loads dripping down from your overstuffed hole to the sheets underneath like a waterfall.

"Haah— clenching s'tight 'round me," Xavier whined pathetically before sinking his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder, earning a high pitched squeal from you. You threw your head back as you felt his hand coiling around your tummy to reach down and rub fast circles on your clit— sloppy walls clenching and unclenching around his length, his mouth all but drunkenly slacking open at every clamp of your syrupy pussy.

"'G-god, you're so unngh— fucking b-beautiful," he groaned out, his free reaching upwards to wrap his fingers around your pretty little throat— turning your head towards him to meet his gaze once again.

You feel your swollen folds get even more soaked, if that's even possible, at the utter pussydrunk look on Xavier's usually aloof features. His eyes were almost crazed— feral even, pupils blown out with the desire to breed you and fill you up with his kits overtaking his entire being.

To say you were in big trouble would be an understatement at that point..

✦ RAFAYEL— “stringy” situation?…

The sun flooded through the window, spilling its golden rays throughout the living room. You were lounging on the couch, half-distracted by a book, when you heard the familiar sound of Rafayel's soft purring from the other side of the room. You glanced up just in time to see him—your recently turned cat-boyfriend—pawing at a stray ball of yarn you’d left on the floor earlier.

"Rafayel... no!" you gasped, knowing full well how mischievous he could be when he set his mind on something.

But it was too late. His curiosity got the better of him. Rafayel, with his nimble fingers and feline instincts, quickly batted at the ball, unraveling it further. He gave you a sly glance, as though saying "try me if you dare."

"You better not," you warned further, but it was already too late.

Rafayel was able to deftly maneuver his hand towards the center of the ball of yarn, thanks to a sudden flicking motion of his wrist. He made a strange sound and stopped working when he felt the string rotating around his wrist and then his arm. His cat brain was clearly working hard but didn't seem to realize how much havoc a ball of yarn could cause.

Before you could react, Rafayel tried to pull the ball closer, only to find himself awkwardly yanked forward by the strands now snaking around his legs. With a plop, he tumbled to the floor in an ungraceful heap, his body tangled in a mess of yarn.

You burst out laughing, watching as Rafayel wiggled and squirmed, his tail flicking with irritation. "I didn’t think it would be this bad," he muttered, trying to untangle himself with his free hand, but only managing to knot the string further.

“Need some help?” you asked, trying to stifle your giggles.

“I’m fine,” he replied, a bit too proudly, although he was clearly stuck in a ridiculous position. He tried to stand, but the yarn just seemed to hold him in place, like an invisible web. His attempt only resulted in a slow, comical spin as the yarn tightened around him.

After a few more futile attempts to free himself, Rafayel finally gave up with an exaggerated sigh, slumping onto his back. “Okay, maybe a little help.”

You moved over to him, carefully "undoing" the tangled mess of yarn as he laid back with a contented purr, his eyes half-closed in relaxed defeat. “I really thought I had it under control,” he mumbled, his voice warm with embarrassment but still endearing.

"Wait- wait why are you—!" Rafayel gasped in confusion as you pulled the yarn tighter around him, effectively trapping him in place. "Well, mister kitty cat, I did tell you not to touch the yarn, didn't I?" You questioned, a teasing lilt to your tone.

“So? What’re you planning to do, cutie? Punish me?” Rafayel smirked, raising a brow at you. You only smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief, “Yes. You’re gonna be punished.”

“Bring it on then,” he huffed, cockiness dripping from his tone as he eyed you down, a tent already managing to form in his pants at your intense gaze.

Oh poor thing, he had absolutely no idea what was coming for him.

“O-oh cutie—“ Rafayel’s lewd moans echoed throughout the living room, his abdomen clenching and unclenching with pleasure as you bobbed your head on his pretty cock; the sensitive tip hitting the back of your throat each time. You only hummed, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes, his pre-cum and your saliva running down your chin as your nails gripped onto his thighs.

Rafayel groaned out your name repeatedly, as if it were his prayer — when you were the one worshiping him. Could anyone blame you, though? When he looked so delectable with his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, nose scrunched up in pleasure and eyes shut tight, lashes resting on his cheeks and mouth agape as loud moans left him.

Not to mention the small beads of sweat dripping down his abs— his back arching and hips bucking into your mouth while you suck on his pink tip just the way he likes it, the gags and choked sounds leaving your lips only making him harder— if that were even possible.

You hummed sweetly around his cock, staring up at him through your lashes as you blinked slowly— letting his precum drip down your chin in stringy webs. Rafayel could only whine at the sight, a pout settling on his pink lips as you teased him.

“So close b-baby, don’t— ngh shitshitshit- stop—” he threw his head back with a loud groan as you took him in as deep as you could, shooting his cum down your throat as your nose bushed against that little patch of hair on his pelvis.

You pulled back with a ‘pop!’ before opening your mouth, letting his semen drip down your chin, making a mess on the wooden floorboards below. Rafayel panted, eyes darkening at the lewd scene before him.

“I must say, cutie— that was a reaaal nice show you put on for me,” He drawled, “but—”

Your eyes widened when you heard the loud ‘riiiip’ echoing off the walls — Rafayel’s now free hands reaching down to shove you against the floor,

“Raf—”

He was quick to cut you off, “ah ah ah, darling— you’ve had your little fun, and now I will have mine.”

✦ SYLUS— the collared beast.

You really don’t remember how you ended up in this position— folded up like a lawn chair under sylus’s strong figure, knees touching your ears and thighs flush against your bruised tits. You can hear ringing in your ears, not being able to pick up sylus’s feral groans and growls of your name until a soft slap to your cheek broke you out of your sweet trance. “W-what’s wrong, sweetie? Thought you could handle me?” He purred, fingers tightening around your throat so even if you wanted to answer, you couldn’t. Not that you would be able to anyway, not when Sylus’s fat cock drilled into you so hard, fast and rough— pressing into the rough little patch of your g-spot so deliciously.

You could only babble and cry out broken little moans and sobs— almost making the feline above you feel bad— almost. But it also scratched a deep, dark part of him— something he had been repressing for your sake, but god did it feel amazing— having you split open and dumb on his cock.

The collar around his neck only added more fuel to his burning fire, the pretty leash tangled in your fingers as he demanded you to pull— pull as hard as you could because fuck, nothing could feel better than this, in his mind. Nothing could feel better than him finally letting the beast out— devouring you whole as if you were his prey, not his master. The thought made him rut into your soaked heat even faster— sharp teeth burying themselves in your shoulder as his balls slapped against your ass, the loud “plap plap plap!” noise echoed throughout the room— if anybody was outside they could surely hear you two easily, but that was the least of your worries.

How could you worry about being heard when sharp red eyes glared into your own teary ones— gooey pussy squeezing tight around his shaft as he finally gave you the permission to let go - to cum for him, hard.

“Ohh yes, there she is..” Sylus groaned, a smile gracing his sharp features. “Did you enjoy yourself, sweetheart?” You only hummed in response, seemingly too tired to give him a proper response.

You almost let your eyes fully shut until you heard the soft click of the collar being opened.. but your eyes widened in confusion and dread once he wrapped it around your neck.

“What’s with that look, master? It’s only fair that I have my turn as well, don’t you think?”

@𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎 — ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ/ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ.

++ enjoyed this? check out my LADS M.LIST !

[yoonbeans]

𝑯𝑶𝑻 𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑬𝑹 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑰𝑵 ' ݁₊ 𓆉 . ݁𓇼˖ . ݁

— 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠

❝𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬! 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫… 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝!

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐒𝐏𝐅, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐢 ��𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠— 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲!❞

WHO WILL BE YOUR SUMMER FLING?

TAKE YOUR PICK ... જ⁀➴

♡ . — ꒰ CANDIDATE #1: THE HOT NEIGHBOR ꒱

CALEB [夏以昼]

── . 𓇼 take a dip into the pool and sunbathe on a hot summer day. you never know, maybe this heat will finally push your hot neighbor to make a move on you.

CHECK THE TEMPERATURE: ☼

♡ . — ꒰ CANDIDATE #2: THE DREAMY LIFEGUARD ꒱

RAFAYEL [祁煜]

── . 𓇼 be a good samaritan and volunteer as a lifeguard at the beach. that bathing suit will have every man going crazy, especially your cute coworker!

HEATING UP...

♡ . — ꒰ CANDIDATE #3: THE MYSTERIOUS MILLIONAIRE ꒱

SYLUS [秦彻]

── . 𓇼 take a trip to a quaint island town and relax in the privacy of your own villa. oh, who's that mysterious hottie staring at you from the bar? wait, he looks familiar...

HEATING UP...

♡ . — ꒰ CANDIDATE #4: THE CUTE ADVENTURER ꒱

XAVIER [沈星回]

── . 𓇼 take a trip deep into the woods and enjoy the peaceful serenity with your situationship friend. luckily there's no one around to hear the sounds you'll be making tonight... 

HEATING UP...

♡ . — ꒰ CANDIDATE #5: THE CHILDHOOD CRUSH ꒱

ZAYNE [黎深]

── . 𓇼 or choose to stay home with this heatwave. but oh, no! your air conditioner is broken! luckily your recently reconnected childhood friend invites you over to cool off at his place— by taking your clothes off.

HEATING UP...

credits to cafekitsune for the divider ♡

[yoonbeans]

── ⋅☆⋅ ──

texts with boyfriend johnny !!

a/n: ive been on a crazy johnny kick recently NEED HIM

[yoonbeans]

//NSFW Zayne Audio// WEAR HEADPHONES 🎧

You help Doctor Zayne relax after his long day of work at the hospital.

[yoonbeans]

dr!zayne who insists he needs to look at the spot in between your legs during your weekly bodily checkup. who says your back is too tight, that you need to relax more, that he can help you with a quick massage. a massage that goes down to your lower back, then to your ass, then before you know it he's flipping you over by your hips to face him. he's telling you that you need to loosen up more and he can help you if you just let him see your cunt. he barely waits until you hesitantly say "o-okay...", almost immediately ripping your pajama shorts off with your panties and shoving your knees to your chin. he'll take a moment to take it in, to attempt to get his thoughts straight and decide what he wants to do to you. only when you try to close your legs at the embarrassment of being spread out so vulnerable does he slip one hand to your aching core. his skilled fingers are moving in delicious tight, firm circles on your clit; bringing you to the edge embarrassingly fast. his other hand slithers from your thigh to your hole, actually giving it something to clench around. it doesn't take long before he's entirely focused on your the leaking pussy in front of him and his fingers are working you inside out, mumbling praises to keep you awake as he's already made you cum more than you can count.

"come on, baby, you can do it. i know you can."

"atta girl... there it is. i know, i know, you can take it."

"thats my good girl, say it, love. say you're my good girl."

[yoonbeans]

"Kiss before I go, pipsqueak?"

[pt.2] SPIDERMAN!CALEB: Skyhaven's Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman

[yoonbeans]

"Need saving?"

SPIDERMAN!CALEB: Skyhaven's Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman