k004-k423

[k004-k423]

L&DS Boys - twt links

MDNI!!!!!

Caleb after being away for so long, he needs to taste your pussy so badly

Caleb fucks you good with the view from his apartment in Skyhaven

You're trying to see the information Jenna sent you about your new mission, but Caleb can't keep his hands off you and he's still hard even after he came.

You and Sylus can't take a shower together

Rafayel loves to tease you until you both can't take it anymore

Xavier brought a toy to play with you, but he ended up liking it a little too much

Zayne is big but you can fit in, right?

Zayne loves your body so you put on a little show for him

Xavier loves it when he's putting it behind you and you don't know where to hold on

You were shy about getting on top of Sylus, but after you tried it, you couldn't hold back anymore. He loves watching you use him for your pleasure.

Rafael loves it when you're a little dominant with him and use him as a seat

Caleb fucking you slowly and feeling every part of your tight pussy

Xavier hitting you slow and deep

If you liked, I can do part two 🤭🤭

[k004-k423]

𖧁୧ ִ  helping you orgasm!

rafayel x fem!reader, reader struggles to orgasm, vibrator use, unprotected sex, established relationship

you’re already squirming when rafayel hums against you, the sound buzzing through your thighs, his tongue drawing slow, steady circles on your clit like he’s got all the time in the world. his hands are hooked under your legs, forearms firm and warm against your skin, holding you open for him as if letting you drift away from him isn’t even an option.

his breath fans across your clit, light but teasing, making your muscles clench instinctively, your hips tilting towards him even as your chest tightens with that familiar ache of wanting more but never quite getting there. you let out a frustrated groan, fingers tangling in the sheets, and press your palm to the back of his head, urging him closer.

his fingers spread wider on your thighs, index finger dipping inside just a little, coaxing, urging without pushing. his mouth resumes its slow worship, sliding over your folds, flicking and sucking with such reverence you feel almost dizzy.

“fuck,” you whine, voice breathy and strained, “i’m so close, but—”

rafayel hums, a low, approving sound vibrating in his throat as he presses a gentle kiss to your clit. “s’okay, baby. no rush.”

you breathe out, trying to calm the ache building in your chest, the need to feel everything but never quite getting there. his fingers trail over your skin, careful to watch your every reaction. always adjusting where he touches, how he moves, gauging the flicker of your lashes and the way your hips twitch beneath him.

“feels good,” you breathe out, hips twitching under his mouth, “but i—” your words catch, heat crawling up your neck. you squeeze your eyes shut, like maybe if you can’t see him, the confession will be easier. “i can’t.”

rafayel slows, then stills completely, his mouth hovering just above you. his thumbs rub slow, steady circles into the inside of your thighs, grounding you.

“can’t what?” his voice is low and careful, like he’s holding something fragile.

you swallow hard. your gaze skitters away, finding anything but his eyes. “finish, like this. like... with someone else,” the words tumble out in a rush, shame burning hot under your skin.

he’s quiet for a beat—long enough that you risk a glance at him—but there’s no disappointment in his eyes, only this deep, unreadable tenderness that makes your throat feel tight. “is it easier when it’s just you?”

you nod, embarrassed, but he only hums like you’ve told him something precious. “do you…” he starts slowly, “have anything that helps? like a toy, or something.”

he sits back on his heels, still between your thighs, a soft smile forming on his lips when you nod again, a little too fast. “wanna show me?”

you fumble toward your dresser, heart pounding, cheeks flaming as you fish out the small pink vibrator from your nightstand. you hold it like it’s some secret treasure—or a bomb—and when you hand it to him, you can barely meet his gaze.

his lips twitch into a shy smile. “cute,” he says softly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

you whine quietly, heat blooming in your chest at how casually he says it, as if it’s just another thing he’s going to love about you.

slowly, he pats his lap, a silent invitation, and you let yourself be guided back onto him with a mix of nerves and trust. the weight of him beneath you is steady, grounding, and when his hand wraps around your waist, you feel it—that patient, unwavering support.

“relax,” he breathes, voice thick with care and something else, something you now recognize as pure want. “it’s just me. we have all the time in the world. just trust me, yeah?”

rafayel’s hands don’t rush. one cups your cheek, thumb brushing softly over your flushed skin, the other sliding down your spine to rest on your ass. he holds you close but never forceful, his touch gentle but with a heat behind it, like he’s waiting to see just how much you’re okay with.

your breath catches as he slowly guides you, inch by inch, sinking down onto his cock. you freeze for a second, heat pooling low in your stomach, the slick warmth of need already coating his length.

he stays perfectly still beneath you, unmoving and patient, letting you feel every inch, every stretch. your fingers press into his shoulders, gripping tight as you adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him buried deep inside you.

his lips find yours in a deep, slow kiss, like he’s memorizing every tremble, every sigh. then, with one gentle flick of a finger, he switches on the vibrator, the low hum pressing just against your clit. you shudder, hips bucking against the vibration and the hard length of him. he watches you like you’re the only thing that matters, eyes soft and full of awe as your body starts responding, just a little at a time.

rafayel’s fingers move to your waist, steadying you, adjusting the angle of the toy, experimenting with patterns. tight little circles, slow, teasing sweeps, learning what makes your lashes flutter, what has your breath hitching.

“that’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice warm, “just like that.”

you try to pull away, overwhelmed by the sensations building. the warmth, the wetness, the way your muscles clench impossibly tight. but he’s got you, mouth pressing back to yours, swallowing every gasp, every whine.

he’s patient. so patient. letting you ride the slow, torturous edge, coaxing you, guiding you, never rushing. then, when you’re trembling and about to topple over, walls clamping so tightly around him it almost hurts, he smiles into the kiss, voice a breathy whisper, “there she is.”

the first orgasm crashes through you, slow and shuddering, leaving you drenched and shaking in his arms. he pulls the vibrator away gently as you wince, soothing it with the warm press of his cock. he kisses every ragged breath away, every trembling sigh.

then, his hips start to move, slow at first, steady and deep, fucking you through the lingering aftershocks. each deliberate thrust sends a delicious stretch curling through you, his cock sinking deeper inside your warmth as if he’s memorizing every inch of you.

his lips trail from yours down to your shoulder, ghosting soft kisses that make your skin shiver, breath hitching every time his mouth brushes over a sensitive spot. his fingers tighten on your hips, nails barely grazing your skin, grounding you as waves of sensation roll through your body. you cling to him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently when you need more, needing to feel every bit of him.

he hums low in his throat, a sound so hungry and full of love it makes your pulse spike. “fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes, voice thick and needy, eyes dark and glossy as he watches your face twist in pleasure.

your hips start to move on their own accord, grinding down onto him with a slow, needy desperation that makes his breath hitch. his teeth nip softly at your shoulder, then trail down your collarbone, marking you with kisses that burn.

“you’re perfect,” he murmurs, voice rough, but there’s no sharpness. only that fierce devotion you’ve come to crave. “only want you, always.”

his thrusts grow a little more urgent, but never reckless. like he’s trying to hold you together and break you apart at the same time. the wet sounds of skin on skin fill the quiet room, mingling with the soft sounds of your gasps, whines, and the occasional groan spilling from his lips.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, thumb stroking slow circles over your hipbone.

you shake your head, words lost to the fire burning low in your belly, the sensation of him filling you, taking you so thoroughly you think you might melt into the mattress beneath him. you shudder as his hips slam up into yours with more force, deep and relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. your walls clamp down on him, drawing out a guttural groan from deep in his chest.

“that’s it,” he gasps, teeth sinking lightly into your skin as he buries his face in your neck, “think you can cum for me again, baby? wanna hear it.”

rafayel’s mouth finds your breast, teeth grazing gently as he sucks the nipple between his lips. his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, making your back arch with a soft cry.

your body spasms around him, the second orgasm rolling through you like a slow tide, deep, wild, and shattering. your walls clamp down tight, pulsing hard enough to pull a moan from rafayel’s throat. the gushing heat dripping down his cock makes him grip your hips even harder, his nails biting into your skin.

his release follows yours in a rush. warm and heavy, pulsing deep inside you. for a heartbeat, you’re both just there, tangled together, caught in the same perfect moment where everything feels endless and entirely yours.

“can’t believe it,” he mutters low and a little bitter, “who the fuck was out here fumble-fucking the most beautiful woman in the world?”

you huff out a laugh, still catching your breath. raf blinks, a little stunned like he’s trying to wrap his head around something, inhales like he’s about to go on another one of his rants.

“seriously,” he starts, running a hand through his hair, “how do you not get what you deserve? like, who let that happen? it’s kind of unbelievable. you’re perfect. anyone who missed that was just straight-up blind. it’s nuts.”

you giggle quietly, still wrapped up in the afterglow, and run your fingers through his messy hair. rafayel watches you with those big, soft eyes, lips twitching like he’s about to say something dumb but sweet. instead, he just pulls you closer, murmuring, “i don’t get how anyone could miss out on this. on you.”

[k004-k423]

“do you think we’re together in every universe?” 

rafayel raises an eyebrow at your question. 

“like… you think our past lives are aligned in some way? that we’ve interacted in each lifetime before this?”

then you go silent, thinking about the answer to your own questions. 

while rafayel is also silent, he thinks back to the sea, to a missing bride. he briefly wonders if your memories contain the same images as his. he lets himself hope so. 

“anything’s possible, no?” he plays along, “who do you think we were to each other in our past lives?”

“must’ve been a lot. we’ve had many lives together… at least i think…” his eyes search yours for something more, do you really remember? alas, nothing found. you continue, “something scandalous would’ve been fun, no?”

“totally agreed. so a college professor and student.”

you laugh. “and you’d be the professor, you perv.”

“hey!”

“or two heirs of rival kingdoms.”

“two fish… who live in neighboring corals”

“...or in some kid’s fish tank.”

“that sounds like a short life.”

“but it was really romantic, you see. we were in different displays, all the way across the pet store. and then, finally, brought together into the same tank.”

“hm. i approve, cutie. our fishie selves died of starvation very much in love.”

how content the both of you were now. how utterly smitten you had to be with one another, to spend a slow morning thinking of all the past lives you could have spent together. 

your conversation may have ended there, but the idea stays in your minds far into the night.

you take turns interrupting silences, coming up with new past lives. lifetimes spent as cavemen, the first humans on earth—those spent as citizens of an ancient civilization, being the last of their kind. you consider arguments you may have had, your breakups, if you’ve been married, have you raised a child together?

“but, what if this is all a past life? and we go into the next not even remembering this one. does that make this all… meaningless?”

you ask him in the darkness of the bedroom. the whisper travels across one pillow to another.

rafayel knows more about that than you think. for now, he’ll keep it to himself.

“even if it ends up forgotten, the present doesn’t have to be meaningless. i believe there’s something out there that’ll bring us back together once again. after so many lives, we can’t let our streak end here. wouldn’t you agree, my love?”

“yeah. we’ll find each other in the next one. i hope it’s good.”

from underneath the blanket, rafayel’s hand comes between you, with only his pinky raised. 

“what’s this for?” you find yourself interlocking your finger with his anyway.

“this is me, vowing to never let my soul forget yours. to find you in our next life, no matter how long it takes to do so.”

each word flows from him so earnestly, you almost believe that something like it is possible. for a moment, all of your theorized past lives become your reality.

"…and i vow to always let you into my life when you do, and to love you as i have many times before."

rafayel releases your hand. "then it's settled. you can't get rid of me, cutie, even if you wanted to."

[k004-k423]

hii how are u! i love your work sm <3

can u please do lads boys + reader who’s usually very chatty and talkative but suddenly stops spamming them cuz she thinks that it annoys him or that shes being too much

thank you!

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 | LADS + when you stop being talkative

warnings: hurt + comfort, hints at toxic behaviors, talk of physical restraint (caleb) also thank you sm for loving my work!! ❤️❤️

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── xavier

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── zayne

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── rafayel

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── sylus

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── caleb

[k004-k423]

Flustering Rafayel is easy enough, especially when you buy a new lingerie set just for him.

You knew exactly how easy Rafayel was to fluster. For all his charm, that lazy confidence woven into every word he spoke, every step he took—beneath it was a man who could unravel in seconds beneath your touch. A glance, a whisper that curled around innuendo, the slow drag of your fingers up his inner thigh—that was all it took. He would laugh, all velvety and low, or tilt his head with that smug little grin like he wasn’t falling apart inside. But you saw it. You always saw it—in the way his ears turned a soft, lovely pink, the way it bled across his sharp cheekbones, made brighter against the jewel tone of his amethyst eyes.

And tonight you wore it just for that. 

The delicate little lingerie set you picked out had his name written all over it, even if you didn’t say it out loud. Sheer fabric that hugged your curves just enough to leave nothing to imagination, soft straps that clung to your hips like a lover’s hands, lace that danced across your chest like a little dare for him. You couldn’t lie—not to yourself, not with the heat pooling between your legs—that the idea of Rafayel breathless, flushed, and desperate to touch you was everything you craved.

Which is exactly how you find yourself now—in his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, straddling the heat of his body. His thighs tense beneath you, breath shallow, eyes fixed on every inch of skin he can see and touch and taste.

“Mm,” he murmurs against your neck, the words rasping low like a secret. “I just knew you’d pull something like this on me one day.”

His mouth is warm against your throat, grazing over your pulse point before his teeth catch lightly, biting just enough to make your breath hitch. One of your bra straps has already slipped down your shoulder, hanging like a whispered invitation, and he’s been toying with the panties’ delicate strap for a while now—fingertips lazy, like he’s savoring every second of this. Of you.

You laugh softly, a breathy sound swallowed by the tension curling in your stomach. “Even so, you looked so surprised just now, baby.”

His grin curves, just one corner of his mouth lifting — smug and sweet and utterly ruined. “How could I not be?” he whispers, nosing along your collarbone, voice dipping lower. “All I can see right now is you—melting in my arms. Look at you, cutie. Absolutely soaking and we haven’t even started.”

You gasp when he shifts beneath you, the pressure of his bulge dragging deliciously between your thighs, and his hands tighten on your hips, guiding you in slow, deliberate circles that make your head tip back and your fingers clutch at his hair.

“You look…” he trails off, voice cracked at the edges, as if the words have to claw their way out of him. “so damn good in this.”

Your lips find his before you can respond—soft, hungry, open-mouthed—and he meets you just as eagerly, groaning low when your hips grind down again. His hands slip up, over your waist and ribs, until one palms your breast, fingers teasing the curve through the thin lace.

“You’re such a little tease, y’know that?” he breathes, sucking at your earlobe before murmuring against the shell of your ear. “Wearing this little piece so casually around the house, just to turn me on…you know what that does to me…”

Your head tips back slightly, lips parted on a shaky breath as your hips continue their slow, instinctive roll against him—each motion chasing that maddening friction, each subtle grind dragging soft, aching heat through your core. The air between you is heavy, laced with the scent of skin and arousal, and when he finally pulls back, just far enough for your eyes to meet his, it nearly steals the breath from your lungs.

God, he looks ruined under you—and beautiful in the way only he could ever be. His shirt is half undone, collar loose and falling open to reveal the sculpted lines of his chest, and the dusky pink flush crawling over his cheeks and ears is unmistakable now. His hair is mussed from your hands, his lips kiss-bitten and wet, a little swollen from where you’ve claimed him again and again. But it’s his eyes—those impossibly bright, amethyst eyes—that sear straight through you.

They burn with a look that’s part hunger, part reverence. And all of it is for you.

His smirk ghosts across his lips again—the lazy, infuriating one he wears when he’s trying to hide just how affected he actually is. Like he’s pretending he’s still in control. But the tension in his arms tells another story. The way he grips your hips, fingers twitching like he’s holding himself back from tearing the lace from your body just to see you—see all of you—that tells the truth.

“The things I wanna do to you right now…” he breathes, the words low and rough, pulled from the very back of his throat. His voice falters on a grunt as you roll your hips again, the heat of your core grinding perfectly over the bulge in his pants. “Don’t know if I should rip this off you yet… or sit back and admire the view.”

A quiet moan escapes you before you can stop it, your lashes fluttering as his hand slides higher, fingers brushing the edge of the bra’s delicate lace. He tugs, slow and deliberate, until the fabric slips down and bares one breast to the cool air and his burning gaze. Your nipple, already tight and aching, draws a hiss from him before he even touches it.

One light stroke of his fingertip—just the faintest tease—and your body arches for more.

“Rafayel…” his name leaves your lips like it always does in moments like this—soft, breathless, full of need.

And then he’s there—his mouth warm and wet, lips sealing over the sensitive peak as he groans into you. He licks, then sucks, and the sound he makes is downright sinful. You feel it in your spine. Feel it all the way down to where you’re grinding against him, wetter now, your thighs trembling slightly from how much you want him.

He kisses like he’s starving for you. Like this is the one place in the universe he wants to be.

Your fingers bury into his hair again as he groans into your breast, the rhythm of your hips increasing with every flick of his tongue. When he finally pulls back, releasing you with a soft pop, his mouth is flushed and his eyes are locked on yours like you’re the only thing he sees. 

His lips brush yours again, teasing at first, then deeper—until you’re both gasping, mouths open, breaths mingling as he speaks against your tongue.

“Seems like someone’s eager for me to take it off,” he murmurs, voice smug and breathless all at once. “Thought you wanted me to… admire it a while longer.”

His hand slides lower again, gripping your ass with a possessive ease as his thumb circles your nipple—slow, insistent, just enough to make your breath stutter.

“After all,” he adds, with a crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes—not because he’s cold, but because the heat there is far too real to be flippant. “you bought it for me… didn’t you, cutie?”

He kisses you again before you can answer, swallowing your moan as if it belongs to him. Because here, like this, every inch of you already does.

You shift again in his lap, rolling your hips with slow, languid intent, and the sound Rafayel makes—low and guttural—nearly undoes you. His breath catches, a stuttered exhale against your neck, and you feel it ghost along your skin as both his hands slide lower, cupping your ass in his palms like he owns it. He grips harder this time, fingertips digging in just enough to make you gasp softly, just enough to remind you that as much as you’re teasing him, he’s just as desperate as you are. Maybe more.

You love that. God, you love the effect you have on him—how all his elegance and practiced charm falters under your touch. And you can feel it now, the tension in his thighs, the tremble in his exhale, the way his lips brush your shoulder like he’s trying to stay composed. But the heat rolling off his body betrays him.

A quiet, playful sound escapes your throat—a soft mewl, honeyed with mischief—and you lean in, lips brushing his cheek as your fingers trail up to cradle his face. Your thumb traces the swell of his bottom lip, slick and flushed from how often you’ve kissed him, and your voice dips into a sultry murmur as your gaze locks with his.

“Might as well undress me for good, Rafayel,” you whisper, your words teasing and sinful against his lips. “Though honestly… it already feels like I’m bare under the way you’re looking at me.”

He groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest—equal parts arousal and surrender—and before you can smirk, he’s got you on your back.

You giggle as your body hits the mattress, legs instinctively parting to welcome him between them. Rafayel follows you down, settling into the space like he belongs there, like you’re the only place he wants to be. He props himself on one arm, his other hand already smoothing up your bare thigh, fingers gliding along your skin in slow, reverent strokes that leave goosebumps in their wake.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, breath hot, words wrapped in velvet and sin.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice gravel and silk. “Then let me unwrap my little present… Nice and slow, cutie. Wouldn’t want to ruin this set, hm?”

You whimper, the sound slipping out without permission as his fingers twist gently at your exposed nipple, still sensitive from earlier. Your breath catches, eyes fluttering as his touch moves in maddening, featherlight strokes across your skin—teasing, coaxing, never enough. He kisses down your throat, dragging his lips along the curve of your collarbone, then lower, over your chest, your ribs, your stomach. Heat pools deep in your belly as he trails lower, mouth warm and patient, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

When he settles between your thighs, bracketing your hips with his shoulders, you glance down—panting, trembling, wanting. His flushed face is framed by your legs now, breath uneven, eyes locked on yours with a hunger that borders on worship.

Still, there’s mischief there. That same glint of playfulness that always makes you lose your mind.

You bite your lower lip, eyes glassy with want, legs twitching slightly around him—and just when you think he’s going to finally, finally touch you, his lips press softly to the inside of your thigh instead. A kiss that’s barely there, maddening and sweet.

And then, his voice—low, curling into your spine like smoke.

“Or…” he muses, amused and ruined in the same breath, “maybe you’d like me to fuck you in it. Hm? Is that what you want?”

Your breath hitches. A soft, desperate moan tumbles from your lips as your head nods a little too quickly—a little too eagerly—and his responding chuckle is a sin in itself.

“Mmm. Thought so,” he drawls, climbing back up your body like a slow tide pulling you under. “You really do spoil me, y’know that?”

You don’t get a chance to answer before his mouth crashes against yours—searing, consuming—and you can feel the hard press of his cock through his pants, grinding against you as he kisses the breath from your lungs. Somewhere in the haze of it, you hear the soft rasp of a zipper being pulled down, feel the tension of his body as he starts to undress—slow, purposeful, never once breaking eye contact.

You watch him with parted lips, chest rising and falling with every breath as your legs remain spread beneath him, open and wanting. His eyes drink you in—flushed and trembling, bathed in the low light, lingerie clinging to you like a second skin—and his smirk curves, slow and sharp.

“As inviting as you look right now…” he murmurs, hands gliding over your waist, curling around your hips. “spreading your legs so easily for me.”

You gasp as he shifts you suddenly, flipping you with practiced ease until your chest meets the mattress, your body stretched beneath him. One of his hands slides up your back, then grips your hip, firm and grounding.

“I’d rather have this view.”

And the way he says it—voice thick, barely restrained—makes your breath catch, your body arch back into him instinctively. Because you know what that tone means. You know what comes next.

His palms slide over the curve of your ass, deliberate and slow, as if savoring the feel of you beneath his hands—and without even thinking, your body responds. Your back arches instinctively, presenting yourself to him like something offered, like you want to be touched, to be ruined. A stuttered breath escapes from behind you—sharp, trembling—followed by a quiet, guttural grunt as his fingers graze the soaked fabric of your panties.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just breathes—shallow, strained—while his fingertips drag back and forth over the slickness there, gathering it, spreading it, teasing until your breath hitches and a moan slips from your lips. The friction makes your thighs twitch, your hips pressing back against him in a silent, desperate plea for more.

“You’re so wet right now,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and low, all velvet and gravel and heat. You can hear the smirk wrapped around the edge of his words, even if he sounds half-broken. “All this for me?”

His cock drags across the curve of your ass, leaking against your skin, and you feel the tremble in his hands—like he’s barely holding himself back, like your body has him on the edge already. The way you move against him doesn’t help, grinding back just enough to make him groan under his breath.

“So eager,” he muses, almost lazily, like he’s amused and aroused all at once. “Worked yourself up that badly just grinding in my lap, huh?”

You’re about to respond—something clever, something needy—but then you feel him lean over you. His chest presses against your back, and he trails open-mouthed kisses along the nape of your neck, down the curve of your spine. Wet, slow, possessive.

“You’ve got me worked up too,” he whispers, breath fanning hot against your skin. “This lingerie, baby… what were you trying to do to me? Hmm? You’re practically begging for me.”

You shudder as his fingers finally move again—slipping under the ruined lace, brushing over your soaked folds before easing into you with maddening slowness. The stretch is perfect. You gasp, body clenching around him as your fingers twist into the sheets, the sudden fullness making your thighs tremble.

“Rafayel—” his name slips out in a breathy, broken moan, your voice slurry and sweet with need. “Please… I want you so bad, baby.”

He groans into your neck—a deep, ragged sound that tells you he’s just as far gone as you. His fingers move inside you with ease, sliding in and out at a pace that’s steady but unrelenting, like he knows exactly what you need—exactly how to pull you apart.

“I know you do, cutie,” he breathes, pressing a kiss beneath your ear before biting just hard enough to make you clench again. “I can feel it. You’re dripping all over my fingers... the sheets. Look at you.”

You’re moaning now, breath catching with every stroke of his hand. Each movement makes you grind back against him helplessly, chasing that friction, chasing the edge. Your body feels hot and tight and aching, every nerve ending tuned to the rhythm of his fingers. And still, he doesn’t rush, doesn’t let you fall too fast.

His other hand slips beneath your body, curling around your front, coaxing you into a perfect arch. His fingers find your nipple, already sensitive, and he rolls it between his fingertips while he fucks you slow and deep with the other hand.

You cry out, breathless. “G-gonna come, Rafayel… please—please don’t stop—”

His voice curls in your ear like a ribbon of silk, teasing and warm, too casual for someone unraveling you so thoroughly. “Mm. You’re begging now, baby?”

He nips at your earlobe, not cruel—fond, almost—and you feel him panting just as hard as you are, his breath hot against your skin, hips grinding subtly into the curve of your ass like he can’t stand not being inside you yet.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, kissing the hinge of your jaw, voice deep and velvet-smooth. “Come for me, cutie. Let go, I’ve got you.”

And god, you do. Your body tightens, clenches, falls into it with a moan that cracks at the edges, helpless and raw. Your hips jerk and stutter against his hand, and he holds you steady through it all, coaxing you through the waves with his lips on your shoulder and his name still trembling in your mouth.

He doesn’t stop touching you, doesn’t rush. He holds you there, letting you feel every pulse, every breathless second of the high he gave you—like he wants to memorize how you fall apart for him.

And the way he looks at you when you finally glance back—flushed, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted in awe—it almost makes you come again.

You’re still trembling, body drawn taut with aftershocks, breath shallow as you struggle to steady yourself. Fingers twist in the sheets, knuckles white, your skin hot and flushed and tingling in the wake of his touch. Your thighs are slick, trembling slightly as you feel the slow, deliberate retreat of his fingers—the loss making you mewl, soft and aching.

Before the emptiness can settle too deep, he’s there—moving up behind you, leaning in, his breath warm against your cheek. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s far from polished—desperate, messy, needy. His lips slide over yours with hungry urgency, catching your moans in the spaces between breaths, between the soft brush of teeth and tongue. And all the while, you can feel the thick, heavy press of him against you—his cock flushed and leaking, sliding along the curve of your ass as his hips move instinctively, shallow thrusts of need that go nowhere, not yet.

“Rafayel,” you whisper, lips barely parting from his. Your voice is sweet and slurred, full of heat and reverence. “Want you inside me… please. I wanna make you feel good.”

His breath stutters, a low groan catching in his throat as he laughs softly, the sound so fond, so wrecked, it makes your chest ache. “Always so generous,” he murmurs, nipping your jaw. “So eager to ruin yourself for me, hmm?”

The head of his cock drags through your folds then, thick and hot, slick with precome and your arousal. You arch your back more, offering yourself in the softest, filthiest way, and he hums his approval, one hand settling on your hip as the other kneads your ass with lazy reverence.

Then finally, he pushes forward, slowly, teasingly, savoring every inch of the stretch as your body welcomes him in. You both gasp in unison, your walls fluttering around him, his hips trembling with restraint.

“You’re still so tight, cutie.” he groans, breath hot against your spine. “Warm and inviting, like always.”

Your breath catches, a broken moan slipping past your lips as he bottoms out, the fullness of him setting your nerves on fire. He holds there for a moment, buried deep, his fingers gripping your hips like he might lose himself right then and there. Then he moves—a slow, measured pull back before driving in again, finding a rhythm that’s deliberate and devastating.

The sounds that fill the room are obscene—skin against skin, wet and rhythmic, layered with your breathless moans and the low, ruined noises he makes behind you. Every thrust rocks your body forward into the mattress, but he’s right there with you, grounding you, chasing pleasure with a steady, punishing pace.

You’re already close again. Every snap of his hips pushes you closer to that sweet edge, your body singing from the overstimulation, from the delicious burn of being filled and taken so thoroughly.

One of his hands leaves your hip only to find yours in the sheets, fingers intertwining, grounding you to him in a way that’s both tender and possessive. His chest presses flush to your back as he leans in, panting against your ear, his voice raw and strained.

“You’re already this sensitive?” he breathes, a smile in his voice even as it cracks with pleasure. “You’re squeezing me so tight, cutie.”

You moan at his words—shameless, desperate—and his pace quickens, hips slamming into yours with every hard thrust. His mouth trails down your neck, open-mouthed kisses mingling with gasps, until he’s groaning into your skin like he’s trying to hold back everything he’s feeling.

Another thrust, deep and deliberate, and you clench around him again—tight, pulsing, soaked—and it pulls a groan from his throat that’s barely human. His pace stutters just for a moment before he recovers, only to drive into you harder, hungrier, deeper. You cry out, high and breathless, as he leans forward to press his lips against your neck, biting down gently in a way that makes your back arch and your toes curl into the sheets.

Another broken groan escapes him the moment you clench once again, like you can’t help yourself, your body reacting with instinctive need around the relentless rhythm of his hips. His hands dig harder into your waist, holding you flush to him as he thrusts deeper, harder, until you're nothing but sound and sensation. Every movement makes you gasp—sharp, breathless, your voice catching high in your throat.

His mouth finds your neck again, lips dragging along the heated skin before teeth graze the curve of your shoulder. “Mmm, that little squeeze again,” he pants, a low laugh breathless against your skin. “You're trying to finish me off, huh?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer. The pace shifts—faster now, hungrier—and you fall into it, a mess of trembling limbs and needy moans, your body completely at his mercy.

His voice slips out between ragged breaths, sultry and almost whiny with how close he is, how overwhelmed he sounds chasing the high he’s too stubborn to let take him just yet. “Touch yourself for me again, baby. Be good. You know exactly how I like it.”

You obey without hesitation, fingers slipping between your thighs, circling your clit as his cock drives into you from behind. The combined pressure makes your spine arch, makes your lips part around a cry. It’s too much and not enough, and you’re spiraling toward it again, fast and helpless.

And still, Rafayel doesn’t stop talking—doesn’t stop admiring you with the same awe and affection that makes everything he does feel deeper, more consuming.

“Oh, just look at you,” he groans, his voice low and warm and completely undone. “Wearing this lingerie just for me? You’re perfect like this… mhmm, you feel perfect like this.”

His hand slips up your side, across your waist, slow despite the sharp rhythm of his hips. He palms your breast again, fingers teasing at your nipple, and his next words come out soft and wrecked—not loud, not forceful. Just real. “You let me have you like this… let me make you feel good. You always spoil me like this.”

Your moan is broken and honest, hips grinding back against him with every thrust. You don’t have the words, not really—your mouth finds only one thing to say through the haze. “Wanted to… please you, R-Rafayel. It’s a gift.”

He groans at that—a sound deep in his chest, raw and unguarded—and presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, teeth catching lightly at the end of it like he can’t help himself.

“Mm. Don’t say things like that,” he murmurs, the tease softened by the rasp in his throat. “Might never let you take it off.”

And you can feel it—how close he is, how much he's holding back. His body is trembling above you, his hips stuttering slightly with every thrust, and his grip on you tightens like he needs you closer, deeper, like he wants to crawl under your skin and stay there.

He’s always like this—teasing and pretty, smug in tone but helpless in how he worships you, how his body tells a truth his mouth only flirts around. And now, with both of you hanging by a thread, you know he’s not far behind you.

Not with the way he’s shaking. Not with the way he moans your name again—half-gasp, half-devotion—like it’s the only prayer he knows.

You can’t speak, not anymore. The only sounds leaving you are helpless mewls, gasping moans, the kind that escape without thought, too raw and real to be restrained. Your fingers are buried in the sheets, knuckles white, nails digging into the fabric as your back arches under the rhythm of his thrusts. His pace is merciless now, unrelenting, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the room like a steady drumbeat of want.

You circle your clit in tight, desperate motions, chasing that final edge that feels maddeningly close. Your thighs tremble, and your mouth falls open on a broken sob of pleasure as he thrusts deep again, the angle just right to make your vision blur.

Behind you, Rafayel is falling apart too—you can feel it in the way he shudders, the soft, helpless grunt that catches in his throat as his hips stutter. His breathing is harsh and shallow, panting into your skin, and every sound he makes is soaked in want, laced with that pretty desperation he only lets you see.

You feel him twitch deep inside, thick and pulsing, and you know he’s close—you can feel it in every unsteady motion, every trembling inhale.

“Rafayel,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “I’m close… please, wanna come with you.”

He moans—a sweet, stuttering sound that rips from his chest—and his rhythm falters for just a breath before he picks up the pace, faster, deeper, chasing that last stretch of pleasure with you. One hand finds yours again, fingers sliding between yours in a firm, grounding grip that makes your heart ache even as your body climbs toward release.

“Hold on for me, cutie,” he murmurs, voice slurred with pleasure. “Almost there…”

And then you feel it, the moment he lets go.

He spills inside you with a deep, broken groan, his hips jerking as he pushes deep and stays there, pulsing heat flooding into you. The sensation sends you crashing over the edge too, your body tightening around him, thighs shaking as you cry out, your orgasm rolling over you in waves.

You both tremble in it, breathless and slick with sweat, clinging to each other through the aftershocks.

You manage to turn your head, lips parted, eyes glassy—and Rafayel meets you halfway, leaning in to kiss you with the kind of breathless reverence that melts your bones. The kiss is messy, soft, all gasps and slow mouths, his nose brushing yours as if he can’t stand to pull away just yet.

When he finally does, it’s only to press a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then your shoulder, before he chuckles low in his throat, voice warm and teasing even through his exhaustion.

“Well,” he murmurs, still nestled inside you, his lips brushing the curve of your ear, “there goes your pretty little set.”

You huff a laugh, still catching your breath, and feel his hand slip down, circling your clit in lazy, featherlight strokes that make your hips twitch and your breath hitch all over again.

“Don’t pout,” he adds, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “I’ll buy you a dozen more. Maybe even help you try them on. Slowly.”

His voice drips with promise—low, indulgent, amused—and you can practically hear the grin behind his words.

“Though…” he murmurs, dragging his lips down your spine as his fingers keep teasing, “not sure they’ll last long. I’m starting to get a reputation for ruining beautiful things.”

He kisses the base of your spine, lingering, and your eyes flutter closed as a soft moan escapes you again, because you know exactly what he means. Anticipation builds inside you once more as you imagine Rafayel ravishing you while tearing the other beautiful lingerie sets off you.

[k004-k423]

It's not my fault Caleb 😭..you always spoil me 😔

Cr: http://xhslink.com/m/7U3RICHbvbV (I translated texts)

[k004-k423]

Rafayel suffers from night terrors.

He doesn't talk about them, doesn't dare acknowledge them out loud. Saying he has them makes them real, and that's not something he's ready to come to terms with yet.

They are not visions his mind conjured up. No, they are something far worse. They are memories. Memories of his past, of his lives with you. Each one etching their own unique scar in his mind. Taunting, tormenting, breaking his heart over and over.

Still, Rafayel refuses to dwell on them longer than a few minutes. After he's jolted upright in bed, sweat covering his body, his pupils drawn tight despite the darkness enveloping his room.

His body is shaken by fight or flight, arms trembling with tension as he holds onto the dying version of you that has long since passed.

They don't stop, not until he has you. Not until you are throughly bound to him in this life too. Tangled in the infamous red string of fate, one that ties you to him as helplessly as he his tied to you. Your presence in his bed has warded off the cursed dreams.

Now, Rafayel's night terrors are few and far between.

He can go a few weeks, even a month, without his past tormenting him in his dreams. His resolution is much healthier than his previous coping attempts. Each time his skin is soaked with sweat, each time his heart seizes and he is left grappling for reality, he reaches for you.

You, who is sleeping soundly beside him. You, who sleeps like the damn dead. You, who sleepily mumbles his name and reaches for him just as he clings to you, sweat, panic, and all.

You may not remember. It may kill him a little bit. But he has you again, you are his and he is yours. He can cope with the nightmares of his past so long as you are sleeping - breathing - beside him.

Are we fucking joking with that trailer. Raf looks un-fucking-real and (SPOILERS) I genuinely gasped when we died in his arms. My poor fishy, the visual sucked (it was gorgeous but painful is what I mean lmfao)

[k004-k423]

I’m not worth it - Rafayel

Rafayel is genuinely appalled when you tell him that he could find a partner so much more worthy of his love. Not only is he appalled that those words left your lips, he’s utterly appalled that you said them with 100% sincerity.

Better than you? Better than the woman he waited 800 years for? Better than the woman he gave up his entire world for? Better than the woman who owns his heart? Seriously? Do you even hear yourself when you talk?

The anger that flashes across Rafayel’s face has you shrinking back, heart pounding because you realize you are in a world of trouble for saying such a thing. Not just because of the fear, but because he is responding so fiercely to your self deprecating proclamation.

“What?” It’s nothing short of a hiss, a look of genuine disgust on his face. Not at you, but at the heinous idea you dared to utter. “I said I—“ but he cuts you off, a noise of pure anger leaving the artist’s lips.

“I heard you the first time, and I most definitely do not want to hear those words again.”

Then, he’s moving towards you, lithe hands coming up to cup your heated cheeks. The intensity in his gaze urging you to break eye contact but you don’t dare to. “Who do I have to kill?” And you blink, unsure of how to proceed.

“Who do I need to kill?” Again, leaving you lost. “WHO put those god awful thoughts in your pretty little head, cutie? WHO do I need to kill for ever making you doubt your worth of my love and affection.”

And your throat is drying up, because if you give him the honest answer he’d have to kill— “m-me.”

“You?” Rafayel is holding you a little tighter, heart thumping in agony that the creature who could conjure up such evil ideas was none other than yourself.

“What have I done to make you feel like this?” Because clearly he’s done something wrong along the way. Was he too bratty? Too dramatic? Did he make one too many sarcastic comments? Did he act some sort of way that made you question his feelings? He’s spiraling.

“You did nothing! God no, Raf. You’ve done nothing it’s just… me I guess. Self conscious. I-imposter syndrome even! Just… got too lost in my own head and…”

You’re spiraling too, and he can see it just as you picked up on the way he began to lose it. And you still have the audacity to think he wouldn’t burn the world for you? To be able to pick up so easily on his derailing train of thought.

“My love, my entire heart…” he’s coming down, coaching himself mentally to take deep breathes because nothing will get solved if he loses it like he usually does. “… I would destroy the entire world if it meant keeping you happy.”

“I would do whatever you asked me too with no hesitation. You mean everything to me, more than everything. Why would you ever deem yourself unworthy of my love?”

Tears leaked down your cheeks now, not because of your own insecurities but because of how fiercely he was loving you. The way he always had, maybe that was part of the reason you had begun to feel so unsure.

“I think I just…” you sniffle, leaning into Rafayel’s touch as he thumbed away the tears on your cheeks. “…I guess I got so overwhelmed with your love. That… part of me felt undeserving. You’re so handsome, talented, you have a kind soul even though you try to hide it. I’m just… me.”

“Exactly. You’re just you. Perfect in every way. So beautiful, so strong, brave, equally as talented.” His eyes search yours before continuing. “You’re equal amounts of loving and sweet. You put up with my antics like nobody else, you have time for me when nobody ever has.”

“I may not be the easiest lover. I may be dramatic, I may carry my own emotional baggage that I struggle to open up about. But there is one thing I am certain about, one thing I will proudly proclaim with my whole heart. And it’s the fact that I love you more than anything. More than my art, more than my career, more than Lemuira.”

You’re crying hard now, hands holding his wrists. The warmth seeping into his skin as your tears leak down and collect on his palms. He hasn’t let go of your face, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to either. “Please, cutie. My love, my heart, my beautiful girl… the next time you’re feeling like this. Tell me before it becomes unbearable.”

You can only manage a nod, hiccuping as he tugs you close to place kisses all over your face. “I would lay down my life and die for you, so don’t you ever think that you are unworthy of my love. You’re perfect for me, the only woman I could ever want. I waited 800 years for you to return to me, and now that you have, I’m never letting go.”

[k004-k423]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪FOLDED

SYNOPSIS: Your lifestyles are clearly different, but that doesn't make him love you less regardless.

PAIRING: Sylus x reader

TAGS: fluff, rich bf sylus, kinda broke reader

NOTES: 743 words. just a little something before i start working for a sylus fic. if you'd like to read the prequel its here!

Dating a rich man comes with consequences. Like being completely out of place when his wealth does the talking.

Sylus doesn’t own nice things—he owns the companies that make nice things. His cologne smells like private equity and generational wealth. He says ‘let’s grab dinner’ and somehow that involves five chefs, a chandelier the size of a studio apartment, and a dessert flown in from Paris. You show up in your best outfit. He shows up in a suit that costs more than your student loans.

You get insane whiplash whenever Sylus shows up.

The difference of yours and his lifestyle is too apparent; it’s like seeing a diamond and a stupid-looking rock with googly eyes glued on it side-by-side. One minute you’re admiring a perfectly normal croissant, the next he’s offended it wasn’t baked by the guy who catered the Met Gala. His yacht has a name. Your laundry basket does too. He orders food that requires translators. You ask if the bread’s free and pray he finds it charming. But the mismatch only makes the bond grows stronger.

Not despite the difference—because of it.

Sylus doesn’t get the appeal of the instant noodle cup Buy 2 Free 1 deal—until he sees your smile, practically beaming as you laugh at something on screen. You both wrapped in a blanket, slurping noodles side by side with a pirated movie flickering from your low-end laptop, the dim glow turns the whole cramped room strangely warm.

Sylus doesn’t do “pre-owned.” But somehow, he finds himself knee-deep in thrift racks with you, celebrating every $5 miracle like you’d just discovered buried treasure.

Sylus doesn’t have the patience to wait while you compare every brand of rice, calculating which one saves the most. He just grabs whichever bag looks prettiest — and he does the same for every single item, tossing them into your cart like you’re on a game show. You scold him the whole way through, grumbling about how he's going to make your tongue expensive and your grocery bill tragic.

And somehow, against all odds, he keeps choosing you. You, with your two-for-one shampoo and your suspiciously re-soled flats. You, who still rereads receipts before throwing them away. While he’s out here casually buying sculptures that ‘felt emotionally resonant,’ you’re fighting the emotional resonance of your bank account app at 2 a.m.

He doesn’t blink when you call Uber a luxury. He thinks it's cute when you panic over splitting the bill at places that don’t have bills. And he never judges when your idea of a big night is microwaved pizza and watching rich people suffer on reality TV—he just joins in, wearing socks that probably cost more than your monthly rent.

“Sylus?”

Your voice rang out, calm and gentle—a little too content to be cuddled up with a 6’2 beefy man. With a low hum, Sylus patted your hair gently, keeping you tucked firmly against him. Your bed was barely big enough; his feet flirted with the edge unless he curled up tight. But he doesn’t complain. Because you’re there with him.

You shifted slightly, cheek brushing against his chest, and he adjusted instinctively, arms tightening like you were something precious he’d found in the mess of everything else.

“I was gonna ask if you’re comfortable,” you murmured, “but I guess you’re already wrapped around me like a weighted blanket with opinions.”

That earned a quiet laugh. The kind that made his ribs shake under your palm.

“Don’t need comfort,” he said into your hair. “Just you. You’re already the part that fits.”

Outside, the night was sticky and too warm for two bodies crammed together on one mattress. But neither of you moved. It was the kind of closeness that defied logic — heavy limbs, tangled sheets, and a silence that felt like choosing each other in every breath. Sylus shifted to press a kiss to your forehead, unhurried and careful, like sealing in a promise neither of you had spoken aloud.

You stayed like that, tangled in heat and stillness, heartbeat syncing to his breath. Outside, the world kept spinning — loud and indifferent. But here, in this too-small bed, you’d made something soft and improbable.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered.

His thumb brushed your cheek, grounding you in that simple, stubborn kind of love — the kind that doesn’t need grand gestures, just space between words and the choice to stay.

You didn’t answer.

You just held on.

[k004-k423]

  ۫   ִ  ┈ LOVE AND DEEPSPACE TWT LINKS ⊹  ݁  ִ  ۫

SUMMARY: visual twt links for all l&ds men , straight up porn

CW: visual smut, mdni!!! fingering, size kink, cowgirl, bodily fluids, no protection, anal, p in v, squirting, mutual masturbation, carry fuck, sex with clothing, spanking, pussy eating, breeding kink, from behind, 18+ this is straight up porn MDNI.

NOTES: please login to twitter (x) before you click on the links!! i apologise if any of the links arent working / have been taken down!! enjoy! :)

SYLUS:

rough fingering after a rough day

size difference

he couldnt hold back when he saw you in that skirt

he hates the rubber

convinced you to try anal

you've been waiting all day for him

CALEB:

with the panties on

riding him good

shamelessly squirting on his dick

intimacy

hes waited so long for this

a kiss of need and want

RAFAYEL:

bouncing up and down

what he needed after dealing with thomas' bs all day

a good carry fuck at the end of the day

from behind

perfect fit!

that fucking skirt

XAVIER:

taking you nice and deep

holding your waist

making sure his girl is okay

he couldnt wait

fucking you dumb

wanting him, needing him

ZAYNE:

just a little bit of teasing

you couldnt stay patient, you needed him so bad

breeding you after getting baby fever

in the car

fucking with love

office duties

[k004-k423]

Missed Messages.

⋆˚࿔ word count: 796

⋆˚࿔ author’s note: sick mc with worried rafayel hmmmmm

warnings: fluff, sick mc, suggestive, cute couple stuff and whatnot

⋆˚࿔ credit: @.uzmacchiato for the pearl dividers

It was quite normal for Rafayel’s texts to go unseen during a workday, a call to become missed, or even an evening where you would work overtime, but you always made sure to reply to him as soon as you were off work. Giving him a full recount of the day or any secret gossip of what happened off or on the field, he liked hearing from you. Knowing if anything exciting happened, you immediately bounced with anticipation to tell him.

Even in recent days, you rarely spent time apart, going between your apartment and his house. Practically living in each other’s skin when you both had free time, cuddled up under each other to read, watch movies, or play the daily crossword. To define it, Rafayel’s relationship with you was domestic. He cooked and cleaned for you often, made sure to routinely kiss you after work, sometimes even showing up unexpectedly outside the Hunter’s association to drive you home. To the point where your coworkers were convinced that any vacation you took, you would come back with news of being married. 

Rafayel never missed a chance to kiss you or encase you in his arms. Always willing to show publicly how much you are loved, and even more behind closed doors. He adored the way you’d sleep, always pressing your forehead into his chest, hugging him tighter when he silently wept from a nightmare. Spending time on the beach, building various sand castles to emulate your future together, and imagining what your forever home would look like. Whether you'd accommodate his long baths with a huge pool or maybe have a claw machine so Rafayel doesn't spend his entire life savings on one plushie.

However, Rafayel had been waiting for a text for almost 8 hours. He was telling himself not to panic, not to immediately resort to the worst situation in his head. One day of silence couldn’t hurt anyone. Maybe you were tired or caught up with some friends after work. Still, his mind wandered as he tossed and turned in his sleep, checking his phone for just a small indication of life. 

It’s been a full 24 hours, no text, no call, not even a change in the status of your favorite game. Rafayel was fighting the urge to just go into your place–he had the key, the address, but he didn’t want to overstep, make a big deal out of nothing. Yet, he took the chance anyway.

As soon as he stepped through your apartment doors, he noticed the sink full of various mugs, the counter riddled with all types of flu medication. He called for you while motioning closer to your bedroom–no response. The bedroom was clear, only an unkempt bed. He could feel your energy wavering in the apartment–he didn’t know how to explain it, but he could. So he kept looking, and next he entered the bathroom. There you were curled up in the tub, covered by a thin blanket. It was obvious you were sleep deprived, bothered by some sort of ache of the head or throat—resting unwell, it would seem. 

Rafayel had some relief that you were safe, at home, but still, worry plagued him. He rested onto his knees, softly caressing your cheek. 

“Cutiee,” he gently whispered, your head turning to his voice. He found your habit to be cute, to be fully aware somehow, but sleeping. Rafayel called for you again, eyes fluttering open and a smile erupting on your face. You were happy to see him, wanted to hug him, and kiss all over his face. Mustering up all the strength you had to croak up a small, high, crinkled sound from the pain in your throat. 

“You don’t sound too good,” he pouted, pressing a small peck onto your forehead. “Let’s go to your bedroom, ok?” 

“Raf.”

“Hm?”

“I missed you.” Although it was a small whisper, a sound that sounded like it hurt coming from your throat, he appreciated you more than you could ever know. Every doubt of boundaries being crossed had been healed, knowing you longed for him as he did you.

 Rafayel immediately got to work, beginning with the heavy lifting, carrying to bed from the bathroom. Setting the water to boil, adding all the vegetables and stock packets to the pot. Promptly feeding you on your bed, playing with the spoon as he fed you to see you smile again. Rafayel wasted no time after you scraped the bowl clean to cuddle up next to you. 

“Raf, you’ll get sick, come on.” He kissed your cheek again and again and again. 

“Well, how will miss bodyguard ever get better if she doesn’t get her daily dose of love?” 

“You can love from afar.”

“It’s not the saaaaame.”

[k004-k423]

𖧁୧ ִ  sleepy rafayel melts into you like honey!

soft n sleepy raf, established relationship, unprotected sex, cockwarming-ish, i want him so badly it aches

it starts with warmth. not the sun, though that's there, slanting through the blinds, soft and golden, but him. stretched out behind you, arms heavy over your waist, chest rising and falling against your back. you can feel the steady beat of his heart, slow and calm, and the faintest brush of his lips at the curve of your shoulder, like he was kissing you in his sleep.

you shift slightly and he makes a noise, not quite awake yet. just a low little hum, soft and slurred, as he nuzzles closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his body fits perfectly against yours, bare skin on bare skin, and you can feel all of him. every slow breath. every lazy twitch of his fingers. and the slow, rising heat of him hardening against the backs of your thighs.

“mm,” rafayel mumbles, mouthing at your neck, still half asleep. “you're so warm.”

your fingers lace with his where they rest on your stomach. “go back to sleep.”

“don’t wanna,” he breathes, lips grazing your shoulder, trailing lower, kissing the dip of your spine. his voice is thick with sleep, sweet and low. “just wanna stay here. with you.”

he ruts against you once, slow and clumsy, hips rolling forward. not to get off, not yet. just to feel you. his cock slides against your thigh, already heavy and warm, and you feel him shiver when your legs part a little in invitation.

“fuck,” he whispers, still so quiet, like he's worried he'll wake you up even though he already has.

rafayel kisses up your neck, along your jaw, until you're turning to face him. eyes still heavy-lidded, mouth already parted. when he kisses your lips, it's tender, wet and lazy, like he doesn’t care about anything but the way you taste.

his hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing so sweetly it almost makes your chest ache. “can i?”

you nod, and that’s all he needs. he shifts on top of you, but keeps kissing you, like he can’t bear to stop. his knee nudges your thighs open gently, breathing into your mouth when he finally presses his hips down. he’s not inside you yet, just grinding, slow and shallow. teasing. dragging the head of his cock over your slick folds and whispering broken little thank-you’s into your skin like he’s praying.

“you feel so good. fuck, you’re so soft. can’t believe you’re mine.”

when he finally sinks in, it's slow. so slow, one inch at a time, like he’s savoring it. like he’s afraid he’ll wake up from it. he stills when you gasp, kissing your cheek. “shh, i got you, baby.”

rafayel stays like that for a moment, buried inside you, hands cradling your hips like you’re something precious. your legs wrap around him, and he lets out the tiniest sound — wrecked and desperate.

“you always take me so well,” he murmurs. “so fucking perfect for me.”

he starts to move, unhurried, steady, every thrust deep and careful. not rough. not fast. just… intimate. his forehead rests against yours, and he holds your face like he wants to memorize every sound you make.

“wanna stay here forever,” he breathes. “fuck you like this every morning. make you feel good before anything else.”

you nod, too overwhelmed to speak. eyes glossy, mouth trembling under his. you’re already shaking before he’s even close. he keeps it slow, keeps you slow, with his body pinning yours down and his mouth catching every gasp you let out. the drag of his hips is almost torturous, but he whispers your name like a vow and tells you you’re doing so good for him, so pretty like this, that he needs to see you fall apart.

“come on,” rafayel whispers into your throat, kissing the tremble in your pulse. “let go for me, baby. it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

and god, he does. he holds your body like it’s sacred, moves like he’s praying, like this is worship. his fingers tremble where they hold your face, and his lips are on your temple, your cheek, your mouth again and again and again.

you cum with a sob, clinging to him, nails digging into his back. everything goes white for a second, hazy, searing, but he doesn’t stop. not even when you twitch beneath him, overstimmed and panting, eyes fluttering shut.

he groans low against your ear, ruts into you deeper, messier now, chasing his own release through the aftershocks of yours. every thrust rocks you against the mattress, your name falling from his lips in a breathless chant.

when he finally cums, it’s with a low, broken sound, arms tightening around you as his hips still and his cock pulses deep inside. he spills into you warm and slow, pressing kisses to your cheek like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

and then everything’s quiet. just the sound of his heartbeat against your chest and the soft little “mm, love you so much,” he murmurs, barely awake, as he melts into your body.

you blink up at him through heavy lashes. “you didn’t even open your eyes,” you tease, voice still wrecked.

rafayel's lips twitch in the faintest smile. “don’t need to,” he says, eyes still closed, arms still wrapped around you. “know it’s you.”

he doesn’t pull out right away. just stays inside, wrapped around you like he can’t bear to let go. like there’s nowhere else he’d ever want to be. his hand drags lazily down your spine, touch feather-light, barely there.

“was that okay?” he asks, a little sheepish now.

you kiss the corner of his mouth. “perfect.”

he hums, content. presses his face into your neck. “’m gonna fall asleep like this.”

“still inside me?”

“uh-huh,” he pulls you even closer, somehow. “s’my favorite place to be.”

you just hold him tighter, already drifting, already warm again, tangled in sheets and each other and the kind of quiet that feels like safety.

[k004-k423]

do you think you could ragebait raf by doing the sharks are smooth bit

well, anon. i did try!

[k004-k423]

May I present to you:

The official “When Tides Echo” merch 🥰 (Part one)

The photo card box

[k004-k423]

˚ʚ masterlist! ₊˚

There was nothing more precious to Rafayel than seeing you wrapped up in his clothes.

It was not even for the rush of dopamine he gets seeing you comfortable at his home. It was solely the fact that you looked so cozy and huggable in them that made his breath stutter.

The sunlight of the golden hour made your skin shine, the sea breeze tousling your messy hair. The way you moved around like this was your own home, comfortable enough to just plop down on his couch without a care in the world.

“Raf?”

You voice brought him back from his daze, and he realised that he was gazing at you with such softness in made you flustered.

He grinned at you. “What is it, cutie?”

A fruit was inserted into his mouth, the green grape sweet on his tongue once he bite down on it. You smiled at him, looking so lovestruck that he had to stop himself from gathering you into his embrace, without the intention of ever letting you go.

“I got them from greengrocer! They- guh?!” you yelped, screeching as you fell back to the couch. The reason behind it was no other than Rafayel himself, looming over you and looking ready paint you a thousand canvas.

His eyes darkened, leaning slightly back and tilting his head as if in contemplation. Your eyes widened and you dared, you dared, to try to scramble away from him to no vain. He just wrapped an arm around you and pulled you towards him, your legs caging him like it was second nature.

He kissed your cheeks, lingering there with all the soft sensuality of a siren. His lips trailed down to your jaw, his nose brushing your skin the more down he went. Finding the junction of your jaw and neck, his lips parted to suck a kiss at the vulnerable spot, causing you to stutter out a sigh and melt into the cushions.

“Why do you have to be so adorable?” he didn't sound like his usual self, voice deepening just a tad as he nuzzled into your neck, breathing your scent like it would grant him relief.

You wrapped your arms around him, hands shaking at the feeling of his adoration. You closed your eyes and kissed his forehead firmly, pressing your lips to his temple like it was meant to leave a stamped seal.

“Raf... you're shaking,” you brought him closer to you, and as his arms tightened around you, so did yours around him. You could tell this was something he needed, a instinct that while you yourself have felt many times in his presence, his was ten times fold deeper.

Rafayel almost crushed you like a weighted blanket, but you welcomed him nevertheless. He pressed his chest against your and kissed you gently, lips gliding over yours with the intention of remembering.

“I just love you so much,” he placed a kiss on your chin, cupping your face between his hands. You placed a kiss under his eye, hand travelling up to his neck. You grasped his nape firmly, pressing him down on you until he was pouty in your fingers.

You nuzzled his nose. “I love you too, my silly fishie.”

　𓂃 . 𐑞 © 2025 bubblekissed ︶ ⟢

[k004-k423]

Omg all the overstim in your sylus and raf works 😫🤤 makes me wonder if you have headcannons about how the other boys would be 🫣

can I make you lose your mind? (caleb, rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne)

♱⋅── nearly 7k of the lads boys just losing their minds (and their control) when it comes to you. art by @/osk_purinnumee on x

♱⋅── WARNINGS: mdni, overstimulation, oral, pussy drunk boys, daddy kink (caleb), bicep choking (caleb), "just the tip" (sylus), size kink (sylus), cunnilingus (xavier), Lemurian heat (rafayel), orgasm denial (rafayel), breeding kink (rafayel), slight exhibisionism (zayne)

Caleb ♱⋅ ── the bully

How could Caleb deny you? 

How could he when you come to him crying big crocodile tears, sobbing how no matter what you do you can’t seem to cum, how you think you must be broken, how no one would ever want such a hard-to-please woman in their bed. 

As if he hasn’t spent years watching you, waiting for you, knowing damn well that the problem isn’t you.

So of course Caleb, being such a kind and thoughtful gege, has to prove you wrong, right?

He does. Over. And over. And over again. That is, until you’re crying in overstimulation, writhing away from his punishing thrusts, clawing against the sheets as you try to run from the pleasure-turned-pain.

Or, tried to.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Where do you think you’re going?”

You’re running? No, no you can’t run away, not when he’s already spent his entire fucking life chasing you. 

Caleb’s voice is teasing, raspy and sweet, but there’s nothing playful about the way his Evol surges to life with a mere crook of his finger, dragging you back along the mattress and pinning you down as he takes his sweet time crawling back to you. 

Trapped, your breath hitches as you feel the weight of him settle over you, his intimidating frame caging you in, tracing featherlight kisses along your spine in such a stark contrast to how ruthlessly he was fucking you earlier. His hands roam, slow and deliberate, kneading your ass as he repositions himself behind you.

"If I let you go," he murmurs, "you promise not to run?"

Run? Why did you even want to run? You can’t remember now, not as you viciously nodding your head as much as is allowed under the control of his Evol, already arching your back into his touch as Caleb nips and marks your sticky inner thighs. 

“Good girl.” The pressure disappears. 

Immediately, Caleb replaces it, his entire body pressing you down before you can so much as take a proper breath. His arm snakes around your throat, flexing just enough to remind you who’s in control, the bulging, thick mass of his bicep choking you deliciously when you attempt to squirm or beg.

He’s got you in a headlock, the rest of his corded body pressing down atop you until your chest is squished to the mattress, ass pressed against Caleb’s pelvis, the combined pressure enough for you to be seeing stars. A drooling, overstimulated mess.

It doesn’t help that he’s practically panting like a dog in your ear, whining as he already begins thrusting himself back into your cunt, delirious moans of your name and filthy praises cooed right into your ear, words barely distinguishable with how hard he’s breathing. 

“Aww p-poor thing.” Caleb pants, voice wrecked, whiny with need as he grinds himself against you. His pace is already brutal, his thrusts sharp and unforgiving, every desperate snap of his hips forcing a cry from your throat as his grip tightens, choking you deliciously every time you so much as try to squirm.“Can you be good for me? Be my sweet little girl and cum for daddy.”

It shouldn’t be hot, Caleb, your gege, calling himself daddy, it shouldn’t have you sobbing out an unintelligible plea as another orgasm builds, seizing up your body in tight, aching waves. And yet here you are, loosing your fucking mind at it.

“Please,” you gasp, voice muffled as you sink your teeth into his bicep, embarrassed by the desperate sound of your own voice. “Please, daddy.”

For the first time in thirty minutes, you feel Caleb stop. 

He’s frozen entirely, dick hot and throbbing with need within you, each shaky breath hitting your ear as he pressed down closer, flattening, suffocating you into the mattress as you feel the growl come from his throat. You can hear the way his lips curl into a grin. 

“You wanna say that again, princess?”

Whining, you try and arch your back further, wiggling your hips up as you try and bait Caleb into continuing, into giving you that release that was only just out of reach. But he wasn’t having any of that bratty attitude tonight. 

“Behave.” Caleb’s arm tightens, and your vision swims. ”I asked you a question. You need daddy to—ah shit you tightened, dirty girl— fuck you nice and full, hmm? Fuck you stupid?” 

A fresh wave of humiliation burns down your spine, but it doesn't matter. You’ll say whatever he wants if it means he moves, if it means he chokes you more, if it means he finally gives you what you need one more time. 

“Yes, m’close, please daddy! Please—ah—let me cum one more time.” 

Caleb just snaps.

His grip tightens instinctively. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it, enough to make your breath stutter, your body jolt like the sweet little thing you are under his grasp. His entire frame tenses above you, muscles coiling so tightly it’s like he’s holding himself together with sheer willpower alone. But it’s already slipping.

"Fucking," His voice breaks, dissolving into a strangled groan as he buries his face against your neck, breathing you in like a man starved. "Fuck that shouldn’t be so hot, it really shouldn’t—"

Like you haven't already wrecked him beyond repair.

Caleb’s Evol comes back full force, pushing you prone against the mattress so you can’t feel anything but him, the arm around your throat dropping so his hand can press against your belly instead, pinning you down as he fucks into you so deep, so hard, you swear you can feel him in your lungs. His other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to smash onto yours, sloppy, desperate, sucking at your bottom lip as the two of you jolt with each thrust. 

"You have no fucking idea," Caleb laughs against your lips, the words a feverish, choked-out confession, "how long I've wanted to do this to you."

It’s almost like he’s hammering that truth into you, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, the sound of skin on skin nearly drowned out by your own sobs of pleasure.

"Caleb—"

"Say it again," he demands, not even trying to keep his composure anymore. "Say it for me, princess. Say it like you mean it."

"Daddy—"

"Fuck."

Caleb really didn't need another kink, he really didn't need to imagine you calling him all these filthy things on top of every other sinful thing he's already imagined you doing. It must be divine punishment, because god was he into it.

Practically collapsing on top of you, Caleb's barely pulling out before grinding right back in as deep as he can get, like he can barely think to part from you even for a moment, like he needs to feel every twitch, every squeeze, every shudder of your overstimulated body. His hands roam wildly, equally greedy, kneading and groping every tender curve like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, like he’s claiming you in ways he’s never let himself before. And fuck, you’re close. 

Caleb notices, of course he notices, nibbling the shell of your ear as the arm around your throat tightens, the other going right back to abusing your clit as you squirt all over him with a scream. 

“Aw that’s it, keep cumming sweet thing.” Caleb’s voice is the only thing grounding you, your entire body, your vision trembling as you begin to lose consciousness. The only thing you can think of is Caleb. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb!

You don’t even realize you’re screaming his name over and over again as you squirt down both of your thighs, making a mess against the already ruined sweat-slicked sheets beneath the two of you. You’re so damn messy. He loves it.

Convulsing, walls fluttering around him like you’re made for him, a sweet temptation Caleb is so laughably weak against as he follows, humping against you like a mad dog as his breath shatters into desperate, shaky moans of your name, spilling inside you with a force that has you sobbing with pleasure.

“Oh, princess,” he rasped, his tongue tracing over the tear-streaked path down your cheek before pressing a soft, almost mocking kiss to your jaw. “Shh, it’s alright, don’t cry. Your gege is here, your daddy will take good care of you, promise.”

Rafayel ♱⋅ ── the desperate

You’re going to have to call in sick for the week. 

Every year with the return of the tide, with the return of ebb-and-flow day, Rafayel becomes insatiable. You’ve barely been able to be able to escape Rafayel’s grasp for long enough to go to the bathroom, let alone escape enough from his insatiable fucking to walk well enough to fight. 

It’s never been this bad. And it’s all your fault. Being back in your arms after eight hundred years, finally remembering the way your voice sounds when it says his name and the way you fit oh so perfectly in his arms. It’s borderline painful to spend even a minute in your absence. His very body violently rejects the notion of it as spasms of violent heat and need drives him right back into your arms again and again and again. 

“Please, please let me fuck you. I can’t come like this, you know that.”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled against your thigh, breath hot as he presses a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. His hands are clenched into the sheets beside him, trembling with the effort of keeping them off you, as you ordered. It’s the only rule you’ve given him tonight, and yet it’s breaking him.

"Rafayel," you warn, fingers buried between your thighs, working yourself open as his desperate, pleading gaze follows your every movement.

He whimpers, nodding frantically, his cock throbbing angrily where it rests against the mattress, one hand coming back to violently fist the swollen head as it leaks all over his palm and sheets.  "I know, I know," his voice cracks as he drags his hand around its base, rutting into his own palm like it’s not enough, like it hasn’t been enough for hours now. "But please I—fuck—I can’t."

“You can.” You spread your legs wider, letting him see, letting him watch your fingers disappear into your fluttering cunt with a slick, wet sound that has his jaw going slack, his own hips grind into the bed helplessly.  “I told you what would happen if you forgot to use a condom, again.”

Rafayel’s eyes plead up into yours, big fat tears slipping down his cheeks, his head shaking against your leg as he kisses the trembling flesh. "You don't understand," he sobs, nuzzling into the crook of your knee like he can smell the orgasm building inside you, like he can taste it on his tongue already. “I need- I need—”

"You need to learn control, Rafayel." 

Your voice is less strict than you’d like it to be, already embarrassingly close considering all the times you’ve come earlier today. And the way Rafayel’s looking up at you, begging, pleading, is really not helping. 

Tilting your hips slightly, you circle your clit in a way that makes your eyes roll back, making sure he sees the way your poor cunt flutters all empty, the way your body clenches, desperate for something more, something bigger.

Rafayel groans, his grip on himself tightening. Still, it’s useless, his Lemurian biology physically won’t let him cum unless it’s inside his pretty little mate, his cock swollen and weeping with how much he’s holding back, the pleasure that spikes through him now nothing but a cruel, agonizing echo of the real thing.

"My love," he chokes, head falling back against the mattress, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe past the desperate hunger clawing at his insides. "My muse, my sweet darling, please. Taste you, touch you, anything, please!”

You hum, considering, rolling your hips against your own fingers as he moans, watching with wild, fevered eyes. "You wanna clean me up?"

"Yes."

The word is instant, sharp, like Rafayel’s been waiting for you to say it since the moment he first laid his hands on you tonight. Before you can even think of teasing or denying him any further, his grip snaps—both arms wrapping around your thighs, dragging you down the mattress in one swift, fluid motion.

"Rafayel—"

Too late.

His mouth is on you before you can protest, his tongue filthy as he sucks at your clit, licking up everything you’ve given yourself, drinking in the mess between your thighs like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Slapping your own hands away, Rafayel pauses briefly to suck them clean before diving right back into the source, moaning into your cunt, making your body seize with another orgasm before you can even process the first.

"Fuck, fuck," Your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard, but it only makes him groan, rutting against the mattress, his own pleasure reigniting just from the taste of you. 

You try to pull away, squirming and kicking at Rafayel’s sides, his shoulders, but he doesn't even budge. His arms lock tight around your hips, keeping you there, keeping you spread for him as he eats you out like a man possessed. 

And then he's begging again, voice wrecked, slurred with delirious pleasure, licking at your clit between words as though he really can’t get enough.  “Please, please let me fuck you. I promise, mhm, promise I won’t cum inside you again.” 

Rafayel is still begging for permission even as he manhandles you beneath him, hesitantly parting with your cunt as he kisses up your stomach, sucking at one of your breasts as you feel the nudge of his cock against your entrance before you can even think. “Promise I’ll be good. I’ll be such a good boy.”

Fuck, you really are weak against him. 

Using the last of your strength, you flip the both of you around, grinding down against his cock as you feel it throb, violently jumping between your thighs, the sloppy, wet sound of each movement sending shivers down both your spines. Poor thing is already ruined, body extra sensitive due to his heat, cock swollen and leaking as it begs to be inside you. 

"You promise?" Your voice is a whisper, teasing, as you drag your soaked folds along the length of him, feeling him tremble beneath you.

Rafayel nods frantically, breath hitching, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to grab you, wants to force you down onto him, but he knows better. Knows he wouldn’t survive the punishment. His lips are red, glossy with your slick, parted around little choked-off whimpers as he fights against the desperate urge to rut up into you.

"I promise," he gasps,  "Please, I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll be so good for you.”

You hum, dragging your fingertips down his chest, nails scraping lightly over sweat-slicked skin, enjoying the way his breath shudders at the contact. The pain. "You say that, but you've already come inside me, what, three times now?" 

You rock your hips again, coating his cock in your arousal, watching the way his abs twitch with the effort of keeping still. Gods, he’s so pretty like this, neglected and crying underneath you, muscles strained and glistening with sweat and cum, watercolor eyes bleary as his tears collect on the mattress as dusky pink pearls. The same rosy shade of blush that burns across his cheeks, ears, and throbbing tip of his swollen cock. 

“That warrants punishment, don’t you think?”

Rafayel all but whines at that, head tilting back against the pillow, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe, tries to hold on to the last fragile thread of control he has left. "I—I won't this time, I swear, I’ll be good, I just need you."

"You need me?" You lean down, pressing your lips just below his ear, letting your voice drop to a sinful whisper. "Or do you just need to fuck something, sweetheart?"

"You." Rafayel’s answer is immediate, desperate, his hands finally snapping up to grip your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. "It’s always you. Only you, my mate."

The admission makes your stomach tighten, heat pooling low as you let yourself sink down, just enough for the swollen head of his cock to catch at your entrance. Rafayel jerks, eyes wide, mouth dropping open around a silent moan, his grip on you tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"Oh, fuck."

"You need me, you need your mate?" You tease, rolling your hips, letting him feel the wet heat of you without giving him what he really needs.

"Yes, please, please, please—"

And then, because you’re cruel, because you love seeing him like this, you lift yourself off him entirely.

Rafayel practically cries at that, and you let him plead, let him beg, until his whole body is shaking with the need to be inside you, until his voice is raw and wrecked from crying out your name. Then, finally, finally, you sink down, dropping the entirety of your weight onto him as you both moan at the sudden pressure as your ass smacks his pelvis with a lewd slap. 

Rafayel’s body aches up off the mattress, a wrecked, strangled moan tearing from his throat as his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. His head tilts back, chest heaving, eyes glassy and unfocused, dilated almost like a cat’s, as if the feeling of being inside you after so long is too much for his mind to comprehend.

"Fucking finally."

You barely have a moment to adjust before Rafayel thrusts.

Whatever fragile restraint he had is gone, obliterated the second your walls squeeze around him. His hips jerk up in a desperate, instinctual rut, shoving himself deeper, harder, until the thick length of him is buried to the hilt inside you, and then pulled all the way out before ramming back in again. You choke on a gasp, nails digging into his chest, but he doesn’t even seem to register the pain.

"More." Some inhumane warble distorts Rafayel’s voice, nails turning clawed and sharp as he thrusts up into you with more strength than any human should possess. “Perfect, perfect mate.”

Your head spins, the force of each snap of his hips making your whole body jolt. His desperation is relentless, dragging you closer to the edge far too fast, too intense, gripping onto his shoulders just to keep you from falling over as your thighs begin trembling once again. 

"Rafayel—Raf, slow down!"

"No," he whimpers, shaking his head wildly, hands tightening on your waist as if letting go isn’t an option. "No, please, sorry, need this." Rafayel’s voice breaks into a sort of trill, something like whalesong, eyes fluttering shut as he drives himself up into you, starved for more, cock throbbing desperately inside you. "Don’t leave me again, please.”

Your heart clenches. "I’m here," you whisper, leaning down, pressing your forehead to his as your body moves with his, rolling your hips as you try to stay in time with his brutal pace. "I’m right here, Rafayel."

He moans, high and broken, clutching you so tightly against him, feeling every inch of you pressed into his skin. His pace turns frantic, sloppy, body shaking beneath you as pleasure racks through him in violent waves. He’s close, but he won’t let himself fall over the edge alone.

"Come with me," he begs, his lips brushing over yours as he pleads for it. "Please.”

And you do.

The orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave, stealing every breath from your lungs as your entire body clenches around him. Rafayel keens, hips jerking wildly as he follows, his cock pulsing inside you as he fucks his cum deep inside you yet again, stuffing you full until you’re both shaking with overstimulation.

But it still doesn’t stop.

Rafayel can’t stop.

Even as his body trembles beneath you, even as his whimpers turn into sobs, he keeps moving, his hips rolling into you in slow, messy grinds. His cock twitches inside your still-clenching walls, sending violent aftershocks through you both.

"Mhh sorry," he moans, lips dragging down your throat, sucking bruises into your skin as if marking you will somehow keep you tethered to him. "Did it again, can’t help it. Pussy feels so nice, wants me too, always so desperate for me. Made to worship me."

You let out a wrecked, exhausted laugh, trying to lift yourself off of him, but his arms snap tight around your waist, keeping you anchored to him.

"No," he pleads, voice cracking, nuzzling into your neck as he breathes in your scent. "No, please, just—just a little more. You owe it to me for being so mean before."

Your head falls into the crook of his neck as yet another orgasm crashes through you, ripping a moan from your throat. Rafayel shudders, gasping against your skin, completely gone, his hips jerking helplessly, overstimulated beyond the point of caring. His body is moving on instinct now, neither of you fully conscious as he keeps moving on his own, chasing another high even as it breaks him.

"Fuck, Raf...”

"One more," he’s licking into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip, too tired and uncoordinated to properly kiss you. "One more, one more."

You don’t even know how many times you’ve both come. The world is a haze of heat and pleasure, of wet, messy grinds and deep, instinctual thrusts, of Rafayel’s loud, unashamed moans directly in your ear between kisses, of the desperate way he clings to you, unable to bear even a second, an inch of separation.

You ride him through another, and another, until your body finally gives out, completely limp against his chest, your limbs trembling too hard to keep yourself upright any longer. Rafayel follows soon after, his movements slowing, stuttering, until he’s finally, finally still beneath you, panting raggedly, body wracked with aftershocks.

The room is finally silent except for your heavy breathing, the two of you floating between sleep and reality for what seems like an eternity. 

"I think I might die," Rafayel croaks, voice hoarse.

You huff a weak, breathless laugh as you grumble into his shoulder. "Good, you stupid horny fish."

Sylus ♱⋅ ── the sweetheart (liar)

You’re going insane. 

Sylus promised he would finally fuck you, promised he’d finally give you what you’ve practically been begging him for all week. “Just the tip,” you’d beg, whining into his neck or suckling gently against his fingers in attempts to bait him, “Please, Sy, just the tip and I’ll stop asking.”

Technically speaking, he’s held up his end of the deal. After all, you’ve already cum four times. Not that it’s ever stopped you from wanting more. 

“What’s this? Are you even listening to me, sweetie?” Something jerks your head up, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts at the same time as Sylus grinds forward, humming as he pulls you closer on his lap, your thighs spread wide atop of his. “Tch, first all that whining and now you’re not even paying attention to me. I’m hurt, kitten.”

You shake your head as best you can with his thumb and forefinger still squishing your cheeks, tears from the sheer overstimulation blurring your vision as you bury your face into Sylus’s chest, chasing the mere friction. 

The fat head of his cock slips right back out of your cunt, tapping once, twice, on your swollen clit before grinding back in with a lewd pop. One inch, two, just enough for you to feel the delicious stretch of the tip of his cock, before Sylus lifts you up higher on his lap, pulling out as the torture begins all over again. 

You swear you can take more. It doesn’t matter than everytime Sylus lines up his cock it hits your bellybutton from the outside, it doesn’t matter that your hands can barely wrap around his base, it doesn’t matter that even when you suck him off your jaw throbs and he can barely thrust it in halfway without you gagging. 

“Sylus, please, please just—” you whine, rutting your hips down to no avail as his firm hands render you immobile. Watching you squirm with thinly veiled amusement. “Just fuck me already!” 

Your breath comes out in short, stuttered gasps, frustration bubbling over into pitiful little sobs against Sylus’s skin. He shushes you, rubbing slow, teasing circles into your hips as if he’s offering you comfort. But you know better. The bastard lives for this, the way your body trembles, how your cunt clenches down hard every time he pulls out, desperate for more than what he’s giving.

“Please.” A broken cry rips from your throat as he nudges forward again, pushing the tip back inside like he hasn’t already driven you half-mad. “I can take it. Ah, I swear, I can take it.” 

And yet, he’s still so fucking mean.

“Hmm,” Sylus’s voice drips with amusement, low and tinged with laughter as his lips graze the shell of your ear as though lost in thought. “No.”

You whine, digging your nails into Sylus’s back with more force than necessary as you hiss out curses, “Cruel, stubborn, self-assured asshole. I told you I can take it Syl—ah!”

Sylus pushes himself upward, roughly fucking his swollen tip against you, ramming that delicious spot within you as your curses dissolve into mindless babbles of his name, another orgasm ripping through you as you try and match Sylus’s rhythm by grinding yourself on the rest of his cock. 

“That’s it,” He hums, dragging his tongue along your pulse, relishing the way it hammers beneath his mouth.  He can feel how fast it beats, erratic and needy, the way your breath catches in your throat. “You’re gonna be good and take what I give you. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re already fucked stupid. And I’ve barely even given you anything, kitten.”

It’s humiliating how right he is.

Your thighs tremble violently on either side of his, the ache in your muscles a dull, distant thing compared to the unbearable need twisting in your core. Desperate, you try to grind down, to force him deeper, to make him give you what you need. But Sylus just clicks his tongue, unimpressed, fingers digging into your hips as he holds you still, keeping you right where he wants you.

Sylus shifts back on the couch, pulling you down, controlling your movements with an infuriating ease, guiding you along the few inches he’s deemed fit to give you. It’s barely anything, nowhere near enough, but even that—just that slow, teasing roll of his hips—and the unbearable pressure of the thick, insistent tip of his cock is enough to make your back arch violently against him. 

“There we go,” he murmurs, cooing as he watches you, helpless and pliant in his lap. “No more complaining.”

A desperate nod. Another broken whine. 

You can feel it building again, the pressure coiling deep inside you, sharp and unbearable. Sobbing, you drop your head into Sylus’s shoulder, biting into the curve of his neck to muffle your cries, nails digging into his shoulders, chest, clawing violent red marks as Sylus shudders, eyes rolling back at the pain. Your legs are shaking too hard to do much of anything anymore, giving out as Sylus is the only thing left guiding you, dragging you toward yet another orgasm. 

Or rather, he would have. 

But you feel Sylus chuckle, the sound deep and sinful as it rumbles down his chest and into yours, and fear prickles along your spine. Then, with excruciating patience, he pulls out, leaving you empty all over again before tapping his throbbing cock against your clit—slow, deliberate, taunting.

“You wanted just the tip, sweetheart.” He grins, voice a low, cruel purr as he kisses your forehead. “So don’t start crying now that it’s all you’re getting.”

Xavier ♱⋅ ── the munch

“Then sit on my face.”

You stare, dumbfounded, as Xavier already begins leaning back against the cushions of your bed, those big, blue eyes begging up at you in ways that make it hard to breathe. 

Xavier’s hands tighten around your waist, fingers flexing like he’s barely restraining himself from yanking you down then and there. The heat of his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making your pulse stammer, making every inch of you ache with want.

“Xavier, I didn’t actually mean…”

“You want me to prove it, right? Then I’ll do what I can to serve you well.” He’s dead serious, you realize, still staring down at him in shock as Xavier frowns, sitting up just long enough to wrap his arms around your waist and haul you toward him, seating you on his chest as protests die in your throat. “Sit.”

Biting your lip, you still find yourself hesitating. What if you’re too heavy? Or if he doesn’t actually like it? You still have your underwear on, shouldn’t you take it off, or does he plan on eating you through it? What if—

"You're thinking too much again." His voice is firm, but gentle, cutting straight through your spiraling thoughts. Before you can get another word in, he lifts you up from the backs of your thighs, guiding you forward until your knees are bracketing his head and you're hovering just above his waiting mouth.

Xavier groans, this is already better than his dreams—just having you above him, so close, so warm—is enough to make him lose his damn mind. His hands are keeping you steady, and when he tilts his head back to look at you again, you almost drown in the sheer hunger in his gaze.

"Please," he murmurs, breathless, sucking and kissing into your thighs like he can't believe you're making him wait so long for something he so, so desperately needs. "I really don’t think I can wait much longer."

A shudder racks through you, thighs trembling as the heat between your legs grows unbearable. Xavier’s so serious, so patient, despite the raw hunger in his voice, despite the way his chest rises and falls in uneven pants beneath you. You’d have to be cruel to deny him. 

Slowly, you lower yourself the rest of the way, bracing your hands against the headboard as Xavier immediately pulls you the last few inches down, shoving his face up into you like he’s starving.

He might as well be because the first swipe of his tongue is so hot, so eager, that you nearly jerk away from the sudden pleasure. Not that Xavier would let you. His fingers dig into the marked-up plush of your thighs, keeping you right there as he groans into your pussy like you’re the best fucking thing he’s ever tasted.

“Wait—” Your voice is already breaking, a gasp caught in your throat as he licks into you again, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it. He doesn’t even bother pulling your underwear aside, just mouths at the fabric, dampening it further, teasing you through the barrier until it sticks to your folds and you’re a whimpering mess, gripping the headboard so tightly your knuckles ache. 

Then he shifts, hooking a single finger under the waistband, dragging it aside just enough to give himself proper access.

The first real flick of Xavier’s tongue against your clit is devastating.

A high, broken moan rips from your throat as pleasure jolts up your spine, your thighs snapping shut around his head, suffocating him as Xavier feels like the happiest man in the world. Moaning into your cunt, Xavier pulls you down harder against his mouth like he wouldn’t mind drowning in your pleasure if it meant he got to taste you for just a few seconds longer.

You’re already cumming. Head falling backward, your lips part in a silent scream as Xavier’s tongue continues circling around your clit in that same, devastating rhythm, only letting go once you’ve come all over his face. But he doesn’t stop for long. 

His tongue flicks and curls and fucks into you with the kind of dedication that makes your vision blur, that makes your whole body burn as you become more and more sensitive. And when you grind down against his mouth, desperate and trembling, he just groans in approval, encouraging you to ride his face like you need this just as much as he does.

"That's it," Xavier mumbles between licks, inaudible between your wet, sinful noises. "Don't hold back. Use me."

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling hard, but it only makes him grin against you, only makes him suck harder, making you gasp and sob as your thighs start to shake once more around his head. Still, he devours you, no teasing, no hesitation. Just raw, ravenous hunger. 

"Xavier—"

He hums in response, the vibrations sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you. Then he finally fucks his tongue deep into your cunt, curling against your walls as you clench around the hot muscle, Xavier’s nose grinding deliciously into your clit as his hands begin guiding you back and forth once your rhythm falls apart. 

You come hard, a choked cry ripping from your throat as your body locks up, pleasure searing through every nerve. Xavier doesn’t stop—doesn’t let you escape—licking and sucking you through your orgasm like he needs every drop, like he won’t be satisfied until you’re a writhing, overstimulated mess above him.

“Ah, Xavier, seriously,” you whine, every suck against your clit now tender and overstimulated as you try and squirm away to no avail. “Can’t, Xavier, can’t come again!”

Crying, you finally manage to wrestle his head out from underneath you—body still shaking, pleasure crackling under your skin like a live wire—realizing something that makes your stomach flip.

Xavier is panting, eyes half-lidded and hazy with bliss, hair fisted in your hands as the rest sticks to his forehead and pillow with sweat, letting you inch off of him as he finally breathes, heaving in deep breaths through swollen, wet lips. His whole body shudders beneath you, and when you shift, you feel it—the sticky warmth against his stomach, the evidence of his release.

He came. Just from eating you out.

And the worst part?

He’s still hard.

“One more time, please?”

Zayne ♱⋅ ── the addicted

Uh oh. 

This was bad. 

Zayne has always considered himself a beacon of self-control, having grown up under the concept of restraint and caution when it came to everything from his Evol to his life’s work as a surgeon. 

But even he could get addicted to having you spread out underneath him like this. 

It had started innocently. Zayne had forgotten his lunch today, probably due to his consecutive sleepless nights, thanks to being on call for not two or three but four surgeries this week. So when you delivered his lunch to his private office like any sweet girlfriend would do, it was only natural that you’d want to see if you could help him feel more relaxed and maybe help relieve the stress that was so clearly fogging up his mind. 

This, however, was not what you had in mind.

"Zayne, someone is going to hear us," you hiss, voice trembling, but make no move to stop him.

Zayne only hums, two fingers rubbing right up against your clit with expert precision even with your jeans still unzipped around your waist. His other hand shucks them just barely down your thigh, pressing his fingers right back in, curling against that spot that has your legs jerking against the polished wood of his desk before dragging his fingers out of you agonizingly slow. 

"You should’ve locked the door when you came in, then." He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, leaning down, his breath hot against your ear. His free hand presses against your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you open with his fingers, movements slow, deliberate. "You know I don’t like being interrupted."

Your head tilts back against the desk as your cries are muffles into your palm. "Zayne!"

"You were the one who wanted to help relieve my stress, weren’t you?" His voice is calm, collected, like he isn’t knuckle-deep inside you with his fingers glistening from how wet he’s made you already. "So be a good girl and take it."

Your breath stutters, thighs twitching as you clench around his fingers, already embarrassingly close with how well he knows your body, how pent up you’ve been after not having Zayne in over a week. Meanwhile, Zayne watches you come undone with sharp, almost clinical eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained, a predator biding his time.

"Mhm, close, I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," he cuts you off smoothly, pressing his fingers deeper, rubbing firm, steady circles over your clit. His expression doesn’t change, but his voice dips lower, smiling ever so slightly as he watches you. "Come for me."

You shudder violently, hands gripping the edges of the desk as another orgasm threatens to crash over you, your body far too weak to resist the relentless pleasure.

"Zayne," you cry out, hips jerking.

He clicks his tongue, allowing you to ride out your orgasm, but not before ripping his tie off, deft, scarred hands looping through the expensive silk before balling it up and pushing it into your open mouth. 

“What did I say about staying quiet?”

Your response is stifled around his tie, and Zayne feels his traitorous cock throb at the sound of your fucked out, inaudible voice, the very picture of debauchery with the slight drool smearing your lipstick, your eyes hazy with post-orgasm glow, your office button-down skewed across your breasts just enough so be can squeeze your breast right under your lacy bra. 

He wants to ruin you even more. 

Zayne has barely even zipped down his pants, holding up his own shirt as he bites it to keep his leaking cock from smearing pre-cum all over the cotton, before he’s desperately fucking his own fist with one hand, the other still circling your clit. 

When the sound of voices echo from right outside his office door. 

Your body jerks under him at the sudden noise, but Zayne doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down, pressing his slick fingers harder against your clit, wrenching another broken sob from your throat, muffled by the tie still shoved between your lips.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispers, voice low, dangerous. His free hand tightens around his cock, stroking faster, more desperate, more sloppy than you’ve ever seen him. The sight alone has your walls clenching down around nothing, a fresh wave of arousal making a mess of his desk and the scattered papers on top. 

The voices outside the door grow louder, and Zayne’s entire body tenses. Not with fear. Not with hesitation. But something that he thinks might ruin him forever. 

“I should stop,” he murmurs, though his fingers never leave you, still rubbing circles into your overstimulated clit, dragging you higher, forcing you to ride that unbearable edge of pleasure. His teeth clench, brows furrowed as his pace on his own cock stutters, his restraint cracking with every second that passes. “I really should stop.”

You whimper, body trembling beneath him, a plea barely audible around the silk in your mouth.

“But you love this, don’t you?” His voice drops, rasping, guttural. “You love making me a mess, love knowing that the only thing keeping us from getting caught is how good you are for me.”

Zayne never talks like this, but god, now you wish he’d never stop. His mere voice is enough to send you over the edge once again. Your moan is strangled, raw, hips lifting weakly into his touch despite the overstimulation.

The door handle rattles.

Zayne snaps, one arm shooting out as ice surrounds the handle, spears of it crawling over the wooden frame of the door, across the tiled floor as he loses control. 

He barely spares it a glance. Pulling the tie from your mouth, Zayne immediately replaces it with his lips, swallowing your gasp as he shoves two fingers back inside you, curling them deep, his strokes ruthless, relentless. His other hand leaves his cock only long enough to drag you forward, forcing your legs around his waist, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance as he moans into your mouth.

"Zayne, your Evol—"

"Don’t worry about me," he hums, kissing you one more time before his gaze drops, watching where the two of you meet. “You’ve done more than enough for me. You’ve always been enough for me.” And he pushes in inch by inch, stretching you open around his thick length, your body still pulsing and greedy from your last orgasm.

Zayne exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours as he stills, buried inside you. His fingers flex against your waist, grounding himself, keeping himself from completely unraveling.

 “That’s it, breathe,” he murmurs, voice back to the soft, low tone you know so well, the urgency melting into something reverent. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw, as if to soothe you through the stretch. “You’re perfect.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently as you grind upward, coaxing him into going faster, into actually fucking you. 

Zayne groans, his control fraying as he clutches you tighter, nose brushing against yours. “You're going to be the death of me,” he whispers, lips ghosting yours in a kiss, the intimacy making your heart clench.

You can still hear muffled voices beyond the door, a stark reminder of the risk, of how dangerously close you are to being caught. But it only makes you cling to him tighter, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you whisper, “Then let me take care of you, Doctor.”

[k004-k423]

Rafayel turning to mush while you plant kiss after kiss on his face. You’re straddling his lap while he leans back against the couch. The contents of your makeup bag are spilled out next to you. A smaller pile dedicated just to the task at hand.

Testing lipsticks, you said. Have to find our perfect shade.

Our. He loves that you said that, wanting to include him in something mundane as swatching your makeup, wanting to make sure the color looks good both on your lips and the marks you’ll leave on his skin, showing everyone that he belongs to you as much as you do him. A variety of colors paint his face, neck, and chest with varying degrees of intensity since you were testing the fade and longevity as well. Rafayel loved how thorough you were being.

“Hmm?” He looked up at you in adoration, responding to you with a hum at your soft call of his name.

He tried to return your kisses with his own but you’d pull away and giggle at his pout. You need to hold still, my love. And, well, how could he not absolutely melt at that? He’s boneless, completely content with just softly running his hands up and down your sides, switching to playing with the hem of your shirt or squeezing your waist every so often.

“What about this one?” You asked again, lifting his face up to inspect your work. His eyes were unfocused, lost in the feeling of your lips on his skin, but they were able to zone in on your mouth anyway. The slightly faded color on your lips no doubt matching the marks you’d just left under his chin.

“You’re beautiful.” His thumb came up to rub the slight smudge on your bottom lip, the color transferring to his skin. “I like this one.”

“That’s what you said about all of them.” Heat pooled in your stomach while you watched him lick the makeup from his thumb. His eyes were still glazed over, and you couldn’t tell if he wanted to elicit that reaction from you on purpose.

“Can’t help it, you’re a vision. Colors were made to complement you.” He dragged you higher up his lap and tried to pull you down to meet his mouth, whining again when you pulled away.

“Please,” Rafayel begged, his hands resuming their position on your sides, this time sliding under your shirt. It was the combination of his cool hands and the heat in his eyes that made you shiver.

You leaned over and grabbed your phone. You took a few pictures of your canvas before flipping the screen to show him.

“You look so pretty.” His breath hitched. “If we’re talking art, then I can’t decide what color looks best. You make them all look good.”

You giggled. “I might have to start all over and try them all again.”

He groaned and dropped his head to rest on the back of the couch. You ran your fingers through his hair and over his shoulders, careful not to smudge any of the marks littered across his skin. “Fine, fiiine,” he said. “We’ll just have to wear them all out. We obviously will look amazing, no matter the shade. As long as we match, there will be no doubts.”

You grin while he threads his fingers through your hair. “But I am going to explode if I don’t kiss you right now.”

He pulled you in- no resistance this time- and dragged his mouth across yours. “It’s your turn now.” You hummed as he deepened the kiss, barely noticing him pluck your phone from your hand, more distracted by the way he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m using this as reference. You’re going to get every kiss mark you placed on me tenfold.”

And as a true artist, he filled his canvas.

This was def done before but I can’t remember which characters. If someone has a whole fic, please link it bc I have a NEED for this trope