fire-bean

[fire-bean]

pov ur a rubber ducky

[fire-bean]

How on earth did the small smut drabble I wrote in under an hour get over 170 notes in less than a day??? It's literally my third post??? Thank you sm I love the lads fandom

[fire-bean]

Masterlist

◇ Fluff ||| ♡ Smut ||| ♤ Angst

Love and Deepspace

Sylus x Reader

◇ | 1.2k words

After a stressful work day, all Sylus wants to do is go home to you.

Sylus x Reader

♡ | 517 words

Sylus takes your insecurities into his own hands.

Rafayel x Reader

◇ | 1.2k words

When you offhandedly suggested that Rafayel could paint you some day, you didn't expect him to be so persistent about it.

[fire-bean]

Sylus smut drabble

“Don't look away sweetie.”

His hand encompasses your chin, fingers squishing against your cheeks as he keeps your gaze up, fixed on the large mirror in front of you. Any embarrassment you had at first is long gone now in your hazy state, and your half focused gaze just takes the sight in.

Sat on his lap on the edge of the bed, your back against his chest. Your legs are spread over each of his own, giving you both a clear view of how you clench around him. His grip remaining on your face, his other hand drags tauntingly slow circles between your legs. His lips brushing against the shell of your ear, you can see his crimson gaze roll hungrily over your bare form.

Perhaps you should have known he wouldn't have taken that comment lightly. He’d bought you a dress for the gala tonight, a long red silk thing with a slit that came up to the centre of your thigh. As gorgeous as the garment was, you just didn't feel right in it, judging every little thing you didn't like about yourself. The joke you made about yourself was self-deprecating, laced in insecurity, but you thought it wouldn't matter. Jokes like that never really got noticed with anyone else before. But as soon as you spoke, Sylus had frozen and his attention snapped to you, as if the mere suggestion was a personal insult.

The dress now lays forgotten on the floor, abandoned alongside any intention of attending the event. Sweat lines your forehead, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. Another moan escapes you as his hips start to roll against yours once again, burying himself even further inside you.

“See? Look at you, so gorgeous.”

His every movement is tantalising, calculated, entirely focused on making your head spin. All the while his left hand remains on your cheek, making you watch as you swallow every inch of him. He's made you finish twice now already, making you squirm in his hold as he keeps rocking into you. In your reflection you can see how your skin is lined with a sheen of sweat, previously neatly styled hair now frayed and messy. Yon can feel him moving so deep inside you, his every move paired with the rhythmic sound of his skin against yours. You can see his cock drag in and out of your soaking folds and the way he runs his fingers over your core just above it. It isn't long until you feel a familiar tightness in the pit of your stomach, letting another breathy cry as you come around him for the third time.

And when your eyes meet his own through the mirror, your body sensitive and exhausted, a wide grin spreads across his face. A silent promise. You almost sob as he starts to move inside you once again. Closing your eyes at the stimulation, he squeezes your cheeks slightly. You barely hear his words as he croons against your ear, his voice low and teasing.

“We're not finished yet sweetie. Keep watching.”

[fire-bean]

Some LADS fanart for ya'll:3

[fire-bean]

Coral Celeste

Rafayel x Reader

1.2k words, fluff

A/n: Thank you so much for the love on my first post, I wasn't expecting it to do that well! I decided to make a lil something for Rafayel, so I hope you enjoy <3

"Ah-ah hey! Stay still, I'm nearly done."

There's an ache in your legs after sitting on the wooden stool for so long, but you try to stay in the same posture he had positioned you into. The idea of him painting you had always been something you'd been open to, and so you had offhandedly mentioned it to him yesterday. As he was supposed to be in the middle of working on a painting that Thomas needs for the next gallery, you hadn't expected anything out of the suggestion until he was done. Maybe after he would take you up on your offer later, when you both had more time.

In hindsight, that was a stupid mistake. He may as well have thrown the gallery piece out of the window as soon as the suggestion escaped your mouth. Completely deviating from any deadlines Thomas had so desperately set out, within moments he was all over the new idea.

He had pestered you relentlessly about it all night, determined to fit it into your already busy schedule. As much as you didn't mind doing it at some point, you already had a long day planned out.

The next day, the sun had already set behind the horizon when you headed to his studio after a long day at work. Drained from the strain of a larger amount of wanderer attacks than usual, your initial plan was to try and wind down, maybe try to sleep it all off. Wiping your face with the back of your hand with a sigh, you barely managed to get one foot through the door when he suddenly appeared in front of you like a whirlwind. At the back of the room you could see an empty canvas and paints set up on an easel, ready to be used. It was almost as if he had been hovering around, waiting for the exact second you came in. His badgering was immediate, the insistence from yesterday as present as ever.

"There you are. I've been bored out of my mind waiting for you, you know. It's unfair, my bodyguard leaves me alone and makes me wait around for you. You don't even protect me from my own boredom."

"I've just walked through the door."

"It's already set up, I'll do a quick one, it'll only take a few hours."

"Later, I promise."

"Please."

"No."

"Please."

His lips pull into a childish pout, arms folded in front of his chest as he looks at you expectantly, feigning annoyance at your refusal. It's clear he isnt going to drop this. Him and his stupidly handsome face, always so relentless. It feels endearing however, how eager he is to do this. Somehow, he always seems to know exactly how to get under your skin and get his own way.

"... Fine."

That's how you ended up here, legs crossed as you sit perched on top of the stool. It's uncomfortable, but that much you had expected. You weren't even surprised when he had tossed one of your nicer outfits for you to put on, he likely already had some sort of vision in mind after all. What you didn't anticipate however, is when he came charging at you, paint in hand, smearing splodges and speckles of various shades of blue and pink across your skin. Your arms, your legs, even your face wasn't spared, smears of colour dragged across your features. By time he retreated, satisfied with his work, you felt like a canvas yourself. Now, his eyes flicker between you and the easel, furrowed in concentration as the bristles delicately brush paint into place.

“I still don't get why you had to put paint on me.”

“Because the colour suits you. You shouldn't question my creative talents, cutie.”

“You did it for fun, didn't you?

“Maayybe.” His face morphs into an impish grin, dragging the word out slowly as he glances over at you once again.

“Little shit.”

A small laugh resonates from the both of you, filling the room with a comfortable tenderness. Despite the physical discomfort of being sat still for so long, it still feels quite nice. Music plays faintly in the background, filling the gaps of silence with a peaceful hum of noise. You've seen only Rafayel look so intensely focused on a piece a handful of times before. You find yourself watching his every move, the way his arms shift with every stroke, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, how his hands move with a precision only years of practice can conjure.

It feels uniquely intimate, a shared moment of unspoken contentment between the two of you. Neither of you speak much during the process, not really feeling the need to. There's a couple of teasing jokes about being tired, lighthearted quips any time you shift too much. But nothing serious, nothing significant. Just a few words drifting between the lingering sense of calm. 

“Okay, I think that's it. I might add a few touches later, but you're all good to go, cutie.”

His voice breaks you out of your train of thought, drawing your attention back to him. Taking a step back, his hand moves to his face, thumb rubbing against his chin in thought.

Your feet thump against the floor as you hop off of the stool, hurrying with anticipation towards his latest creation. Reaching his side in a moment, you finally get to see what he's managed to illustrate.

Upon the canvas, you're not sitting on a stool, but on the top half of a pearly white Greek pillar, legs dangling down and out of frame. Various tones of pink and blue seem to blend and swirl in the background, some rays of colour leaking forward and dancing across your features, stroking against your skin and giving you an ethereal glow. The exact same shades that he’d so eagerly flicked onto you a few hours ago. Everything in the painting seems crafted to only enhance you, every colour chosen to compliment your features, every brushstroke made to praise your appearance. It feels like a love letter, something made only for the two of you to see. 

“It's not quite there yet, there's still some things I need to- hmph!”

Grabbing his cheeks, you cut off his sentence by pulling him towards you, your lips pressing firmly against his own. It takes a mere second for him to melt into you, hands moving to your waist and pulling you in closer. Moving perfectly in tandem, the kiss is soft and tender. You pour every ounce of loving gratitude you can muster into every movement, and he returns it all back to you with equal reverence.

As you pull apart for breath, your forehead rests against his. His hands still rest on your hips, yours still cup his cheeks, neither making no intention to move. A wide smile spreads on his face, eyes sparkling with a relieved delight.

“I knew you'd like it, cutie. I'm a master of my craft, the best of the best.”

You see his eyes fall back down, lingering on your lips as you laugh affectionately in response, before they flicker back up to meet your own.

“You're right. I love it, thank you.”

Your thumb rubs along his cheekbone, and his head leans forward a little, leaning into your touch. For a moment longer you stare into his eyes, a cacophony of blue and pink that blends in waves like a rolling ocean. Within a heartbeat, your lips find his once more.

[fire-bean]

Sylus x Reader

Basically just fluff, 1.2k words

A/n: Hi! This is my first ever fic, just had an idea and thought I'd give it a try, I hope you like it!

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He's been sat in this room for three hours.

The so-called "co-operative negotiations" fell through quickly, Sylus quickly seeing their supposed strategy for exactly what it was, an idiotic attempt at a power play against him. What was supposed to be a mutual negotiation for a trade deal swiftly morphed into a much needed reminder as to exactly why Sylus commanded control of the N109 zone. Luke and Kieran had been ecstatic at the more interesting turn of events, but he couldn't help but find himself deeply annoyed by the situation. Three hours of dealing with arrogant, moronic business partners, trying to broker a deal, only to have them pleading like fools when they realised their mistake. Three hours which he instead could have spent with you. The resentment that knaws within him as a result of it all is near consuming. It's exactly why he dismisses the entire affair early, granting the now eager twins full reign to do whatever they pleased to wrap it all up. He trusts they'll make sure he gets exactly what he wants from the deal, and then some.

The drive back only stirs the frustration bubbling within him. Even as his foot presses harder against the peddle, the journey still takes too long, too damn long to get home to you. What would you be doing at the moment? Perhpas you're lounging around, watching whatever piece of media happened to take your fancy today. Or maybe you're snooping through his things again, pouncing on the opportunity to scrounge through the empty house. The idea of that makes his mouth twitch upwards in spite of his foul mood. You're always such a noisy thing. He has no problems with you knowing what he's doing, he'd write you a detailed itinerary if that's what you asked for. It's simply just more amusing to watch you poke around, believing you're being sneaky, then later frowning at him when he teases you for getting caught.

Finally pulling into the Onychinus base, his feet move on instinct through the entryway and into the halls. His ever preset aura of confidence and control verges on faltering in the face of his lingering agitation. Crimson eyes drag across each room he passes through, noting an irritating lack of your presence in each one of them. The living room, his office, the kitchen, the library, even your room. Graced by the ghost of your previous occupancy, your little trinket and items line all of the rooms, yet they remain hollow of current inhabitance. It's only when he reaches his own bedroom, glancing through the crack in the half closed door, he freezes.

Your chest rises and falls in slow breaths, soft lips parted slightly with your cheek pressed against the pillow. Bundled up underneath the onyx silken sheets, knees bent towards your chest, your body curled up like a kitten, he can see it. The raven black button up shirt you've elected to wear, stolen from his closet, your visible arm showing how you've rolled the long sleeve up to your elbow.

Three hours of some of the most powerful men in the N109 zone desperately scraping every scrap of power they had to make Sylus falter, and he didn't even flinch. Simply crushing them beneath his boot in a heartbeat without a second thought, with only a bitter resentment to show for it. You don't even have to try to make him crumble.

He drinks the sight of you in like a starved man at a banquet, gaze longingly rolling over your every small detail. Every curve, every freckle and mark on your skin and dent in your features. To him, you're something divine. Not only the other half of his soul, but the balm that soothes his very existence, that washes away his irritation by simply just being.

Did you do this on purpose, waiting for him to come home and see you surrounded by him? Or did you simply crave his presence that much while he was gone? Your sleepy hands clinging on to his bedsheets like a lifeline, he silently hopes both are true simultaneously, that you crave him as much as he does you. That alone would mean something more significant to him than he could possibly express, but he'll spend every moment of his life trying to.

His movements are quiet and controlled, determined not to stir you as he slides into the room, making effort to close the door silently behind him, and appraoches the bed. His eyes don't dare to leave your frame for a mere moment. Sinking to his knees at your bedside, his expression tugs into a tender smile as he takes you in. In his bed, wearing his shirt, comfortable and utterly perfect. He leans forward as if on impulse, lips brushing against your forehead in a loving kiss. As if unwilling to move away, he lingers against your skin for a few seconds before eventually relenting, his heart swelling in his chest at the sight of you.

Even as he moves to ready himself for bed, peeling his excessively expensive clothes off of his body in favour for pulling on a pair of pajama pants in their place, his attention keeps flickering back to you. A beacon of peace in his otherwise whirlwind of a life. Once changed, he lifts up the sheets beside you, slow as he climbs his way into the other side of the bed. Calloused hands reach out beneath the sheets, settling at your waist, rubbing the soft cashmere of his shirt between his fingers. No wonder why you chose this one, the scent of him lingers on the smooth fabric. Releasing the material, he lightly grips your side before carefully pulling you towards him. He adjusts you both so that your back settles against his chest, his nose brushing against your hair. The resounding groan that escapes you as a result of being moved drags a deep chuckle from him, fond and adoring. His lips find you once more, this time brushing against the top of your shoulder, placed against the material of his - your - shirt. Arms ensaring your frame, his hands run across your sides in a devoted caress, soothing you, lulling you back into your dreams. When he speaks, his lips brush against the shell of your ear, his voice nought more than a hushed whisper.

"Shhh. Go back to sleep Sweetie, I've got you."

He hears you vaguely murmur something in response, not concious enough to make the words fully coherent. But the way you turn over in his arms, moving so your face is buried against the bare skin of his chest speaks enough in itself.

The frustration he felt in that meeting will appear again, he knows that. At another time, in another place, perhaps it'll be even worse than it was today. He'll find himself somewhere he hates eventually, there's no avoiding it. But he also knows that each and every time, he'll crawl his way home back to you. That even if you don't realise it, you simply being brings him a salvation that can never be replicated. And with you now, comfortably wrapped up in his arms, and him wrapped up in his overwhelming love for you, he dreams of the most perfect place he could ever imagine being. By your side.