#lads reader

[milkmily]

Okay but like fun fun idea hehehehehe

So basically Caleb x non-mc reader

You knew Caleb and MC since middle school. Cool Yaya's childhood was so fun yes. Okay so basically boom, you develop feelings for Caleb. I mean, who wouldn't? He was protective, caring, on time, smart, and funny. Most of all, handsome. You are over at their place, you're sitting on the floor as you do some homework for a class as he sits next to you as well, watching you. And that's when you two just talk about how you two were in middle school, how some things you two did made you cringe but it still made you laugh and feel warm about those memories. But this soon leads you to getting closer, your hands on top of another, your head on his shoulder as you two stare at the carpet floor. Thats when you two kissed. Your guys first kiss.

And Caleb didn't stop. Because now that he has kissed you, he simply seems to not want to let you go. Your pressed against the floor, him onto of you as his lips never leave yours, saliva everywhere as he groans in the kiss, his hands holding your face, your hands holding tightly to his white shirt.

That's when you two pulled apart as you heard footsteps up your stairs. You two pant, looking at each other for a second until he heard her voice, "Caleb!" It was MC. He got off you, catching his breath as she stood up and straightened his shirt. "Coming Pipsqueak!"

And that kiss just led to many more kisses. He would pull you away from class as soon as it ended and take you somewhere where it was just you two, him pressing you against the wall as he kisses you. While shopping with MC, he pulls you to a changing room and an aisle that was alone, and he kisses you. At home, he kisses you for hours now that you two are alone in his room. Of course, that's if MC isn't in the room with you two. The thing was, these kisses, you loved them. But what was the meaning behind them? Does that mean Caleb loves you? But no matter how much time you spend and how many kisses you two have shared, it seems that his eyes are always on her. Always.

But you didn't stop these kisses. Never did. Why? This was the only way you'd feel him this close, this vulnerable with you and it was the only time you could pretend he does love you. College came and the kisses calmed down. They weren't frequent but when he would kiss you, they were of hunger now, need. The kisses turned into full-on make-outs. You'd feel how hard he'd get as you sat on his lap, kissing him as some moans would slip out as he groans back. As soon as you felt him get hard, he pulled away and made you move off him.

Funny thing about the kisses was he'd still be the same. The next day or if MC almost caught you two making out, he'd pretend as if they never happened, as if his hungry lips weren't against yours as his tongue fought with yours, groaning and almost moaning too. He'd talk to you as if that never happened, normal good best friend talk. Which bothered you, But said nothing.

Graduation happened. Gods, what a horrible day.

You saw how MC kissed Caleb on the cheek, with a grin as she did it. Caleb's eyes were wide and his cheeks were red to the tip of his nose. There was even a shine in his eyes. You stood there as you saw them both. And since then, you decided to stop things. Your texts to Caleb would now be slow instead of instant, you'd reject his kisses, and any hangout MC or Caleb would have. You would say you were too busy because of work. Which would you start to regret eventually. Caleb left to be a pilot, but thats all you knew. MC told you all of this.

She also told you Caleb would be back soon. Might as well visit no? But you couldn't, your work didn't allow you, they needed you to do overtime that day. So you canceled, apologizing to them over text.

The explosion happened. You heard of it. From MC as she cried to you. That night you cried. The next, week, the month, and more months. You decided to leave Linkon City. The more time yoh spent, the more memories youd get from Caleb. Everything reminded you of him.

You left and lived at Skyhaven. You found an apartment, a job, and started your life there.

And as you walked back home after a stressful day at work, you saw him. Well, you think it's him? The man turns and your eyes are wide, it is him. He's alive.

Okay, that's all I have gang idk if I wanna write more or nah or like a whole as a one-shot. Imma go to sleep gn gang

[marscantread7]

Mdni man😭😭😭 it gets filthy I fear.

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Thinking abt Xavier and Caleb both spotting you across the street, calling out your name at the same time. They shoot each other a glare, wondering who the fuck this random guy is talking to you. You look over and wave, but point at your phone, and in a different direction, indicating you have plans and can't talk to either before getting lost in the crowd.

Cut to Xavier and Caleb in a coffee shop sitting across from each other, glaring daggers.

"Name?"

"Xavier, you?"

"Caleb. How do you know her?"

"Through work, you?"

"Childhood friends." Which causes Xavier to huff.

They drink their coffee in silence before Xavier says he has to leave for "important work matters" which gives Caleb the perfect opportunity to stalk Xavier. He... becomes obsessed. Following Xavier everywhere, finding out he lives in the apartment right above yours, discovering that Xavier is the beloved Lumiere, watching him frantically look for and destroy protocores. He's even sort of endeared by how much Xavier sleeps and how tired he is all the time. What's so fascinating abt this guy that has you attached at the hip when you aren't with Caleb?

Both you and Xavier really need to get some curtains or blinds for your apartments, bc Caleb will sit on the roof of the adjacent building, watching both of you fuck like wild animals. Jealousy's ugly head rearing his mind at the thought of smb else watching you guys. Watch as Xavier's cock plows deep into you, your bodies glistening with sweat. Fuck... what he would give to be there with you both, fucking you and making Xavier watch... fucking Xavier as Xavier fucks you- wait.

And it's with his cock heavy in his hand, pre-cum drooling from the tip that Caleb realizes he wants you and Xavier. The thought of smb else watching you both, talking to you both, fucking you both... he can't stand it.

He starts joining in on your hangouts with Xavier, even trying to hang out with Xavier one on one. Xavier's a bit suspicious at first, especially considering his first meeting with Caleb, but he eventually warms up to him. Caleb notices how jealous and possessive Xavier is over you, and he can't help but want that for himself as well. Fuck... the thought of fucking the jealousy out of Xavier, reassuring him that he doesn't want anyone except for you and him. Caleb has to excuse himself to the bathroom to rub one out before he actually loses his mind.

It took some time, but Caleb did it. He won Xavier over, and he felt like a fucking God, being brought back to Xavier's apartment one night, making the pretty boy kneel for him. Xavier looking up with wide, blue eyes. Fuck, Caleb kinda wants to fuck his mouth, so that's exactly what he does.

Xavier gags on his dick so beautifully. Caleb wanted to remember this moment forever, so ofc he had to pull his phone out to record and take pictures. Slapping his spit soaked cock on Xavier's face as the man gasped for air, calling him a good boy.

"Yeah, you like choking on this fat cock? Come on baby, why don't you choke on my cum too?" And that's exactly what Xavier does. Caleb buries himself to the hilt, spilling down Xavier's throat, growling as he feels Xavier's throat constrict, gagging on his cum.

Fucking Xavier felt even better than he imagined. Xavier was so fucking tight, Caleb actually thought he was gonna suffocate.

"Poor boy's all cock drunk? Yeah? Come on, fuck yourself on this cock, ik you want it, greedy fucking boy. Ooh, fuck don't tighten up like that, fuck."

And that's how it goes. Caleb just talking Xavier through it, Xavier a whining, drooling mess, which he gets called out on. "Dumb boy's drooling? Hm? Close that pretty mouth baby, stay quiet. Should save all that spit for this cock, right?"

So Xavier's stuck biting his lip, trying to swallow back the whimpers. Who knew Caleb would be so fucking rough??? Xavier literally feels like he's on cloud nine, mind only focused on the thick cock plowing deep into him, hitting his prostate spot on with each thrust. They go all night, Caleb finally sated once the sun comes up, and they both end up passing out on Xavier's giant beanbag chair, covered by a small throw blanket.

That's how you find them when you visit Xavier'a apartment to check on him after you hadn't gotten a good morning message. Xavier wrapped in Caleb's arms, covered in hickeys and bite marks, sleeping peacefully. Your utterly confused bc when did this even come about??? But who cares, at least you won't have to pick between them now. Makes your life so much easier

Bonus-

Xavier getting really jealous bc smb tried flirting with you and Caleb, so you guys take him back to your place and show him that he's the only one you both want. You riding Xavier slowly, making him suck on your thumb as Caleb fucks him slow and deep, really making him feel it.

"This cock is all yours baby. Nobody else but you can have it. Gonna fill you to the brim. Mark you as mine. You want that, my good boy? To be claimed?"

Caleb's mouth is so fucking filthy, making your hips twitch, cumming on Xavier's cock. Caleb just hugs your back to his chest, muttering at you to keep riding Xavier.

"This night's all about our pretty boy. Don't be selfish and stop just bc you got all desperate and came. Ride his cock, baby. Yeah, just like that."

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Yeah.... Idk what this is man. I'm just really fucking horny rn chat, I'm sorry😭😭😭

[nightplvmes]

his baby

sylus one shot (love and deepspace) ⋆｡° | pairing : sylus x fem!reader ⋆｡° | dad sylus - when you woke up that morning and didn't see your baby in the crib, the first thing you did was panic… until you remembered where she could be. ⋆｡° | word count : 0.9k (968) ⋆｡° | autor note : this is one of my fave one shots ever, that's all, that's the note likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

when you opened your eyes, it was like something jumped in your chest. fear filled you, and it took you a few seconds to remember you were in your room. in your house, completely safe.

you rubbed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to think of anything else that would help distract you. it was at that moment that you looked at the small clock on the nightstand to confirm the time. it was almost 7 a.m., which meant Emma would wake up any moment. you didn't usually wake her up earlier; you preferred to wait for her to wake up on her own and decide she was hungry.

you yawned and looked at the empty spot on the bed next to you. you couldn't deny that something settled in your chest at the thought of Sylus not being there, but you forced yourself to remember that he'd probably just gone to his office downstairs and wasn't actually putting his life in danger in some seedy place in the area. trying to think of something else, you walked to the crib next to the bed, hoping to see your precious baby girl asleep… but it was empty.

the first thing you felt was panic and the urge to scream, thinking someone had broken in and taken Emma, but you forced yourself to think calmly, just as Sylus had taught you. it was impossible; there was security all over the place. Sylus had increased security since you were pregnant, and it got worse when Emma was born, so where… of course, Sylus.

you let out a frustrated huff and turned to leave the room, combing your hair to make yourself look even slightly presentable. your heavy footsteps echoed through the hallways until you reached the floor below, where Sylus' office was. Mephisto was resting on one of the decorations in the hallway and made a sound that caught your attention. you could swear he was making fun of you, or maybe you'd just gone too crazy these past few weeks.

"don't you dare," you warned, raising one of your fingers at Mephisto as a signal for him to stop. he just blinked, and you finally turned to walk the rest of the distance to Sylus' office.

you didn't knock or bother to let him know you were about to enter; you simply pushed the door open in front of you without warning. Sylus didn't even flinch when you entered. he had some papers in one of his hands and… yes, that small lump on his chest.

"what the hell is wrong with you?!" you asked in that tone that made your annoyance evident, but without raising your voice too much, otherwise that small lump in his chest would start crying. "I told you to stop stealing my baby!"

Sylus finally put the papers on the table and looked at you with a strange expression you couldn't decipher. you thought he was going to say something to you in an annoyed tone… even though Sylus had never used an annoyed tone with you before. his eyes traveled all over your body, and for a second, you had the urge to say something, aware of your terrible appearance. you had a three-month-old baby, and even though Sylus helped you a lot, it seemed almost impossible to sleep normally because of your nerves. "you look beautiful today."

you rolled your eyes as you walked toward him. "I'm going to hit you," you muttered, but quickly regretted it when Sylus' smile widened. "you stole my baby."

"she's my baby too," he defended himself.

"you need to stop doing that." you rubbed your face, trying to calm down. Sylus was right. you needed more sleep and you could sleep when he took care of Emma at night, but when you heard her crying, it was practically impossible to close your eyes again.

"she likes to sleep in my arms. besides, you've had her for nine months. she wants to spend time with her father."

"Sylus, she was in my belly. we weren't just living together and drinking tea." you crossed your arms as he settled Emma onto his chest so you could see her. the baby opened her small red eyes, which met yours. she was too identical to Sylus. you were sure your genes didn't even bother fighting for your daughter to have any of you.

"you should sleep. I'll take care of her."

"she needs to eat."

"I already fed her." he pointed to an empty bottle on his desk. your eyes strayed toward it, confirming that Emma had already been fed.

"she needs a diaper change."

"I already did that when she woke up."

you sighed, giving up. maybe you were worrying too much, and a little nap and a shower wouldn't hurt anyone at all. you nodded, leaning down to kiss Emma's little head. "your father doesn't know that as soon as you fall asleep, we're going to have a very serious talk." you spoke in that tone you only used with Emma, and the baby did something that might have been a grimace, but in your eyes, it looked like a small smile.

you looked at Sylus one last time; you couldn't stay mad at him, not when he was such an excellent father and was looking for ways to get you to sleep and have some time for yourself. so with that in mind, you leaned in to place a small peck on his lips.

you finally turned to leave the office, and seconds later, the sound of the door closing echoed in the room.

Sylus sighed, leaning back in his chair again. "I love her," he murmured, as if having a conversation with Emma, who just looked at him with her wide, curious eyes.

[caxasy]

the bracelets : a love token

xavier x male!reader

summary: jealous, possessive xavier short story [festival edition !]

requested?: YES quite an old request iirc, thank u so much for requesting :') i love every single request i get - even if i can't get to all of them or it takes me fourhundred years, i rlly appreciate everyone sending stuff to my inbox!

xavier had originally suggested you two go to this festival because he had heard from lily how fun it was when she went last year. the amount of activities and fun games they had which were paired with trendy gifts that were always sought after in winning. the delicious food stalls that lined up and down the festival grounds. the booths specifically targeted for couples.

of course xavier wanted to take his boyfriend out to such a fun event. even if he was more so a homebody, if he could make more memories with you and make you happy, then he doesn’t need much more convincing in going outside.

what xavier forgot to realize is that when you two go anywhere outside of the safety of your shared apartment, you are now his to share. he has to share your attention, time, and sweet personality with others, anyone that speaks to you. even people who may not know you, but think you have a kind enough face to start a conversation with while waiting in line for a sweet treat.

which was happening right now.

the two girls that were dressed in beautiful red garments, complimented with intricate hairstyles and simple, but flattering makeup. xavier’s eyes squinted in slight envy as he saw how objectively beautiful these two women were. one of which has not stopped talking to you the entire time you four have been waiting in the line — which was moving excruciatingly slow.

the other woman had tried talking to xavier, but he answered in disinterested one worded answers while keeping his eyes mainly trained on you.

“oh, that’s a beautiful bracelet,” the woman speaking to you ooh-ed, gently gracing her hands over the metal that adorned your wrist. you lifted your arm up, smiling softly as the light hit it so naturally.

“yes, xavier gave it to me as a gift,” the silver haired man grins in pride at being mentioned by name to her, slightly puffing his chest out unintentionally. he presses his side closer to yours, pulling his sleeve back to show the bracelet that was on his wrist as well. an undeniable matching pair.

that should be enough to get her to back off.

but no, apparently, she thought it nothing but a cute piece of jewelry you both were interested in. xavier grit his teeth, eyes glaring at the bracelet on your wrist as he goes on a tangent (in his mind) about how the bracelets are symbols of your permanent attachment to one another, how you two are the only ones for each other for the rest of your life. you and him, interlinked forever.

and she just thought it was a friendly gesture? how much more obvious can xavier make it that you were his beloved and he yours?

does he have to declare it in front of her? because he will if that’s what it takes.

his hands grips onto yours, tightly squeezing you in place by his side as he speaks through gritted teeth, “i gifted it to [name].” he says simply, not quite conveying his true thoughts properly to the two women.

“you’re so confident in showing off your wealth! i bet these two were expensive! did you get a good deal on them, that’s why you bought two?” the woman that was trying to sway xavier’s attention tried reaching for the bangle, but he quickly pulls away and places that hand on top of yours. your hand is now sandwiched in between two of his.

“i bought two for us,” he states, thinking his intentions behind his words are as clear as day. but, his judgement is slightly askew as they keep interpretting it as friendly gestures. and he can tell by the way they kindly smile at him, “as a couple.” he finally adds, pressing towards your body.

the entire time you were simply watching him with a gentle, patient smile.

”yeah, he’s really sweet in gift giving! even if i tell him not to, he keeps surprising me,” you lift your hand up and gently kiss his knuckles, unknowingly quelling his jealousy and envy to be so minimal he barely even feels it affect his emotion anymore.

meanwhile, the two girls in front of you blink in confusion, wondering if they had heard you correctly.

“he’s my boyfriend.”

xavier’s tone is finite and harsh, wanting nothing more but to see the look of realization cross their faces. he continues on, in a voice that sounds even more harsh, “we’re dating. if you didn’t know.”

“xavier, i think-”

“i bought him these bracelets because we are going to be together forever,” he continues on, now babbling at this point because the girls seem to understand the message clear enough, “i’m going to make him my husband-”

“okay! that’s enough!” you cut him off, making the girls finally snap out of their shocked silence. they nod politely at you two, throwing you a sheepish grin as they scurry off, leaving their spot in line completely empty.

“did they even want the food or were they just standing here to flirt with you?” xavier huffs ina grumpy tone, leaning his cheek onto your shoulder. his eyebrows are bunched together as he can’t help but ground himself to you. body weight growing more heavy on your, grip on your hands tightening. he’s doing his best to force you to pay attention to him.

“there was no need to be snippy with them,” you weakly defend, but it only earns you a glare.

“why are you defending them? you don’t even know them.”

“i was just-”

“why do you suddenly care about them? don’t tell me i need to go there and make it even more clear that you’re mine. i thought i was plenty clear already — or was i not clear enough with you?” his attitude is familiar now. the grumpy, snapping one he uses on you when he gets extra jealous, even more upset when you try rationalize a situation.

he’s so upset that he’s about to go on another tangent, but you cut him off with a kiss before he can start. a kiss that starts gentle, a pressing of your lips against his pouty ones. before you deepen it, tilting your head against his to gain the upper hand and control. he doesn’t give in immediately, frustrated with your tactics in distracting him. but when he feels your hand trail up his chest, linger on his collarbone, then hover over the back of his neck before gripping the roots of his hair, he can’t help but give in.

he melts into your touch and body, arms anchoring to your waist and steadying himself there to prevent himself from his knees completely giving out. when you pull away from the intense kiss, he realizes that you had just kissed him in front of everyone. all the people walking by know you’re his. the people standing behind you two in line know. the vendors on the street know.

and that’s enough to send an aggressive blush to his cheeks. his ears go red in an instant and he’s coughing behind his hand, which hopes to hide his face, but you already have seen his red cheeks.

“uhm,” it’s an awkward sound that escapes him and he almost curses at the embarrassing moment, but you smile at him — as if his expression is cute to you (which it is).

“i’m only yours, xavi,” you coo, ruffling his hair and bumping your shoulder against his. “don’t worry about others when we’re here together,”

you knew just what to say to calm his angsty nerves down. it doesn’t mean it goes away completely, though. he’ll always have the tiny (sometimes annoyingly large) part of him that gets jealous over the littlest things, but these remedies you give him temporarily distract his mind from overthinking.

”c’mon, let me win you a couple of plushies,” you invite him, also getting out of the line for food and now lookingf or vendors with cute animals that you know your boyfriend would like.

“only if i get to win you some in return as well,” he murmurs shyly, looking down as if this is your first date when the reality is that you’ve been dating for years already.

“oh, you’re adorable, baby,” you tease, knowing his atrocious luck with the claw machines he usually goes to at the arcade.

“i’ll get you something this time! something really special, to remember today,” he says in determination, eyebrows furrowed together as he tries finding a machine that looks easiest to maneuver.

you casually kiss his temple, swinging your intertwined hands back and forth, “don’t make promises you can’t keep, xavier,”

“i’ll win one! i will!” he argues back, looking adorable as he jokingly glares at you. another kiss to his temple.

“mhm, bun, i believe you.”

he blushes at the pet name. he’s so lucky to have you be so patient with him. everyday you spend together is another day he ends up thanking fate for sending you to him. there’s no one else he could imagine getting so childishly jealous and protective over if not you.

and you’re the perfect match for him because you never get tired of his behavior. quick to finding the solution, like right now, is something that xavier doesn’t take for granted.

and as you two walk hand in hand down the street of vendors, your bracelets clinking and clanging against one another’s, it’s a clear sign to everyone around you that you and your silly, jealous bunny are in this together. for life.

[matcha3mochi]

PROTOCOL Pairing: Doctor Zayne x Nurse Reader

author note: love and deepspace is my addiction guys LOL anyways enjoy!!

wc: 3,865

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Akso Hospital looms in the heart of Linkon like a monument of glass, metal, and unrelenting precision. Multi-tiered, climate-controlled, and fully integrated with city-wide telemetry systems, it's known across the cosmos for housing the most advanced medical AI and the most exacting surgeons in the Union.

Inside its Observation Deck on Level 4, the air hums with quiet purpose. Disinfectant and filtered oxygen mix in sterile harmony. The floors are polished to a mirrored sheen, the walls pulse faintly with embedded biometrics, and translucent holoscreens scroll real-time vitals, arterial scans, and surgical priority tags in muted color-coded displays.

You’ve been on the floor since 0500. First to check vitals. First to inventory meds. First to get snapped at.

Doctor Zayne Li is already here—of course he is. The man practically lives in the operating theatres. Standing behind the panoramic glass that overlooks Surgery Bay Delta, he looks like something carved out of discipline and frost. His pristine long coat hangs perfectly from squared shoulders, gloves tucked with methodical precision, silver-framed glasses reflecting faint readouts from the transparent interface hovering before him.

He’s the hospital’s prized cardiovascular surgeon. The Zayne Li—graduated top of his class from Astral Medica, youngest surgeon ever certified for off-planet cardiac reconstruction, published more than any other specialist in the central systems under 35. There's even a rumor he once performed a dual-heart transplant in an emergency gravity failure. Probably true.

He’s a legend. A genius.

And an ass.

He’s never once smiled at you. Never once said thank you. With other staff, he’s distant but civil. With you, he’s something else entirely: cold, strict, and unrelentingly sharp. If you breathe wrong, he notices. If you hesitate, he corrects. If you do everything by protocol?

He still finds something to critique.

"Vitals on Bed 12 were late," he said this morning without even turning his head. No greeting. Just judgment, clean and surgical.

"They weren’t late. I had to reset the cuff."

"You should anticipate equipment failures. That’s part of the job."

And that was it. No acknowledgment of the three critical patients you’d managed in that hour. No recognition. No room for explanation. He turned away before you could blink, his coat slicing behind him like punctuation.

You don’t like him.

You don’t disrespect him—because you're a professional, and because he's earned his reputation a hundred times over. But you don’t like how he talks to you like you’re a glitch in the system. Like you’re a deviation he hasn’t figured out how to reprogram.

You’ve worked under strict doctors before. But Zayne is different. He doesn’t push to challenge you. He pushes to see if you’ll break.

And the worst part?

You haven’t.

Which only seems to piss him off more.

You watch him now from the break table near the edge of the deck, your synth-coffee going tepid between your hands. He’s reviewing scans on a projection screen—high-res, rotating 3D models of a degenerating bio-synthetic valve. His eyes, a pale hazel-green, flick across the data with sharp focus. His arms are folded behind his back, posture perfect, expression unreadable.

He hasn’t noticed you.

Correction: he has, and he’s pointedly ignoring you.

Typical.

You take another sip of coffee, more bitter than before. You could head back to inventory. You could restock surgical trays. But you don’t.

Because part of you refuses to give him the satisfaction of leaving first.

So you stay.

And so does he.

Two professionals. Two adversaries. One cold war fought in clipped words, clinical tension, and overlapping silence.

And the day hasn’t even started yet.

The surgical light beams down like a second sun, flooding the operating theatre in harsh, clinical brightness. It washes the color out of everything—blood, skin, even breath—until all that remains is precision.

Doctor Zayne Li stands at the head of the table, gloved hands elevated and scrubbed raw, sleeves of his sterile gown clinging tight around his forearms. His eyes flick up to the vitals screen, then down to the patient’s exposed chest.

“Vitals?” he asks.

You answer without hesitation. “Steady. HR 82, BP 96/63, oxygen at 99%, no irregularities.”

His silence is your only cue to proceed.

You hand him the scalpel, handle first, exactly as protocol demands. He doesn’t look at you when he takes it—but his fingers graze yours, cold through double-layered gloves, and the contact still sends a tiny jolt up your arm. Annoying.

He makes the incision without fanfare, clean and deliberate, the kind of cut that only comes from years of obsessive mastery. The kind that still makes your gut tighten to watch.

You monitor the instruments, anticipating without crowding him. You’ve been assisting in his surgeries for weeks now. You’ve learned when he prefers the microclamp versus the stabilizer. You’ve memorized the sequence of his suturing pattern. You know when to speak and when not to. Still, it’s never enough.

“Retractor,” he says flatly.

You’re already reaching.

“Not that one.”

Your hand freezes mid-motion.

His tone is ice. “Cardiac thoracic, not abdominal. Are you even awake?”

A hot flush rises behind your ears. He doesn’t yell—Zayne never yells—but his disappointment cuts deeper than a scalpel. You grit your teeth and correct the tray.

“Cardiac thoracic,” you repeat. “Understood.”

No response. Just the soft click of metal as he inserts the retractor into the sternotomy.

The rest of the operation is silence and beeping. You suction blood before he asks. He cauterizes without hesitation. The damaged aortic valve is removed, replaced with a synthetic graft designed for lunar-pressure tolerance. It’s delicate work—millimeter adjustments, microscopic thread. One wrong move could tear the tissue.

Zayne doesn’t shake. Doesn’t blink. He’s terrifyingly still, even as alarms spike and the patient's BP dips for three agonizing seconds.

“Clamp. Now,” he says.

You pass it instantly. He seals the nicked vessel, stabilizes the pressure, and the monitor quiets.

You exhale—but not too loudly. Not until the final suture is tied, the chest closed, and the drape removed. Then, and only then, does he speak again.

“Clean,” he says, already walking away. “Prepare a report for Post-Op within the hour.”

You stare at his retreating back, fists clenched at your sides. No thank you. No good work. Just a cold command and disappearing footsteps.

The Diagnostic Lab is silent, save for the low hum of scanners and the occasional pulse of a vitascan completing a loop. The walls are steel-paneled with matte black inlays, lit only by the soft glow of holographic interfaces. Ambient light drifts in from a side wall of glass, showing the icy curve of Europa in the distance, half-shadowed in space.

You stand alone at a curved diagnostics console, sleeves rolled just above your elbows, eyes locked on the 3D hologram spinning in front of you. The synthetic heart pulses slowly, arteries reconstructed with precise synthetic grafts. The valve—a platinum-carbon composite—is functioning perfectly. You check the scan tags, patient ID, op codes, and log the post-op outcome.

Everything’s clean. Correct.

Or so you thought.

You barely register the soft hiss of the door opening behind you until the room shifts. Not in volume, but in pressure—like gravity suddenly increased by one degree.

You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

Zayne.

“Line 12 in the file log,” he says, voice low, composed, and close. Too close.

You blink at the screen. “What about it?”

“You mislabeled the scan entry. That’s a formatting violation.”

Your heart rate ticks up. You straighten your spine.

“No,” you reply calmly, “I used trauma tags from pre-op logs. They cross-reference with the emergency surgical queue.”

His footsteps approach—measured, deliberate—and stop directly behind you. You sense the heat of his body before anything else. He’s not touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel him standing there, like a charged wire humming at your back.

“You adapted a tag system that’s not recognized by this wing’s software. If these were pushed to central review, they’d get flagged. Wasting time.” His tone is even. Too even.

Your hands rest on the edge of the console. You force your shoulders not to tense.

“I made a call based on the context. It was logical.”

“You’re not here to improvise logic,” he replies, stepping even closer.

You feel the air change as he raises his arm, reaching past you—his coat sleeve brushing the side of your bicep lightly, the barest whisper of contact. His hand moves with surgical confidence as he taps the air beside your own, opening the tag metadata on the scan you just logged. His fingers are long, gloved, deliberate in motion.

“This,” he says, highlighting a code block, “should have been labeled with an ICU procedural tag, not pre-op trauma shorthand.”

You turn your head slightly, and there he is. Close. Towering. His jaw is tight, clean-shaven except for the faintest trace of stubble catching the edge of the light. There’s a tiredness around his eyes—subtle, buried deep—but he doesn’t blink. Doesn’t waver. He’s so still it’s unnerving.

He doesn’t seem to notice—or care—how near he is.

You, however, are all too aware.

Your voice tightens. “Is there a reason you couldn’t point this out without standing over me like I’m in your way?”

Zayne doesn’t flinch. “If I stood ten feet back, you’d still argue with me.”

You bristle. “Because I know what I’m doing.”

“And yet,” he replies coolly, “I’m the one correcting your data.”

That sting digs deep. You pull in a breath, clenching your fists subtly against the side of the console. You want to yell. But you won’t. Because he wants control, and you won’t give him that too.

He lowers his hand slowly, retracting from the display, and finally—finally—steps back. Just enough to let you breathe again.

But the tension? It lingers like static.

“I’ll correct the tag,” you say flatly.

Zayne nods once, then turns to go.

But at the doorway, he stops.

Without looking back, he adds, “You're capable. That’s why I expect better.”

Then he walks out.

Leaving you in the cold hum of the diagnostic lab, your pulse racing, your thoughts a snarl of frustration and something else—unsettling and electric—curling low in your gut.

You don’t know what that something is.

But you’re starting to suspect it won’t go away quietly.

You sit three seats from the end of the long chrome conference table, back straight, shoulders tight, fingers wrapped just a little too hard around your datapad.

The Surgical Briefing Room is too bright. It always is. Cold light from the ceiling plates bounces off polished surfaces, glass walls, and the brushed steel of the central console. A hologram hovers in the center of the room, slowly spinning: the reconstructed heart from this morning’s procedure, arteries lit in pulsing red and cyan.

You can feel sweat prickling at the nape of your neck under your uniform collar. Your scrubs are crisp, your hair pinned back precisely, your notes immaculate—but none of that matters when Dr. Myles Hanron speaks.

You’ve only spoken to him a few times. He’s been at Bell for twenty years. Stern. Respected. Impossible to argue with. Today, he's reviewing the recent cardiovascular procedure—the one you assisted under Zayne’s lead.

And something is off. He’s frowning at the scan display.

Then he looks at you.

“Explain this inconsistency in the anticoagulation log.”

You glance up, already feeling the slow roll of nausea in your stomach.

Your voice comes out measured, but your throat is dry. “I followed the automated-calibrated dosage curve based on intra-op vitals and confirmed with the automated log.”

Hanron raises a brow, his tablet casting a soft reflection on the lenses of his glasses. “Then you followed it wrong.”

The words hit like a slap across your face.

You feel the blood drain from your cheeks. Something sharp twists in your stomach.

“I—” you begin, mouth parting. You shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening on the datapad in your lap, legs crossed too stiffly. Your body wants to shrink, but you force yourself not to move.

“Don’t interrupt,” Hanron snaps, before you can finish.

A few heads turn in your direction. One of the interns frowns, glancing at you with wide eyes. You stare straight ahead, trying to keep your breathing even, your spine straight, your jaw from visibly clenching.

Hanron paces two steps in front of the display. “You logged a 0.3 ml deviation on a patient with a known history of arrhythmic episodes. Are you unfamiliar with the case history? Or did you just not check?”

“I did check,” you say, quieter, trying to keep your tone professional. Your hands are starting to sweat. “The scan flagged it within range. I wasn’t improvising—”

“Then how did this discrepancy occur?” he presses. “Or are you suggesting the system is at fault?”

You flinch, slightly. You open your mouth to say something—to explain the terminal sync issue you noticed during the last vitals run—but your voice catches.

You’re a nurse.

You’re new.

So you sit there, every instinct in your body screaming to speak, to defend yourself—but you swallow it down.

You stare down at your datapad, the screen now blurred from the way your vision’s tunneling. You clench your teeth until your jaw aches.

You can’t speak up. Not without making it worse.

“Let this be a reminder,” Hanron says, turning his back to you as he scrolls through another projection, “that there is no room for guesswork in surgical prep. Especially not from auxiliary staff who feel the need to act above their training.”

Auxiliary.

The word burns.

You feel heat crawl up your chest. Your hands are shaking slightly. You grip your knees under the table to hide it.

And then—

“I signed off on that dosage.”

Zayne’s voice cuts clean through the air like a cold wire.

You turn your head sharply toward the door. He’s standing in the entrance, posture military-straight, coat half-unbuttoned, gloves tucked into his belt. His presence shifts the atmosphere instantly.

His black hair is perfectly combed back, not a strand out of place, glinting faintly under the sterile overhead lights. His silver-framed glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose, catching a brief reflection from the room’s data panels, but not enough to hide the expression in his eyes.

Hazel-green. Pale and piercing

He’s not looking at you. His gaze is fixed past you, locked on Hanron with unflinching intensity—like the man has just committed a fundamental breach of logic.

There’s not a wrinkle in his coat. Not a single misaligned button or loose thread. Even the gloves at his belt look placed, not shoved there. Zayne is, as always, polished. Meticulous. Icy.

But today—his expression is different.

His jaw is set tighter than usual. The faint crease between his brows is deeper. He looks like a man on the verge of unsheathing a scalpel, not for surgery—but for precision retaliation.

And when he speaks, his voice is calm. Controlled.

His face is unreadable. Voice flat.

“If there’s a problem with it, you can take it up with me.”

The silence in the room is instant. Tense. Airless.

Hanron turns slowly. “Doctor Zayne, this isn’t about—”

“It is,” Zayne replies, tone even sharper. “You’re implying a clinical error in my procedure. If you’re accusing her, then you’re accusing me. So let’s be clear.”

You can barely process it. Your heart is thudding, ears buzzing from the sudden shift in tone, from the weight of Zayne’s voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. You look at him — really look — and for once, he isn’t focused on numbers or reports.

He’s solely focused on Hanron. And he is furious — not loudly, but in the way his voice doesn’t rise, his jaw locks, and his words slice like ice.

Just furious—in that cold, calculated way of his.

“She followed my instruction under direct supervision,” he says, voice steady. “The variance was intentional. Based on patient history and real-time rhythm response.”

He pauses just long enough to let the words land.

“It was correct.”

Hanron doesn’t respond right away.

His lips press into a thin line, face unreadable, and he shifts back a step—visibly checking himself in the silence Zayne has carved into the room like a scalpel.

“We’ll review the surgical logs,” Hanron mutters at last, voice clipped, his authority retreating behind procedure.

Zayne nods once. “Please do.”

Then, without fanfare, without another word, he steps forward—not toward the exit, but toward the table.

You track him with your eyes, unable to help it.

The low hum of the room resumes, like the air had been holding its breath. No one speaks. A few nurses drop their eyes back to their datapads. Pages turn. Screens flicker.

But you’re frozen in place, shoulders still tight, hands clenched in your lap to keep them from visibly shaking.

Zayne rounds the end of the table, his boots clicking softly against the metal flooring. His long coat sways with his movements, falling neatly behind him as he pulls out the seat directly across from you.

And sits.

Not at the head of the table. Not in some corner seat to observe.

Directly across from you.

He adjusts his glasses with two fingers, expression cool again, almost as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just dress down a senior doctor in front of the entire room on your behalf.

He doesn’t look at you.

He opens the file on his datapad, stylus poised, reviewing the surgical results like this is any other debrief.

But you’re still staring.

You study the slight tension in his shoulders, the stillness in his hands, the way his eyes don’t drift—not toward Hanron, not toward you—locked entirely on the data as if that can contain whatever just happened.

You should say something.

Thank you.

But the words get stuck in your throat.

Your pulse is still unsteady, confusion mixing with the low thrum of heat behind your ribs. He didn’t need to defend you. He never steps into conflict like that, especially not for others—especially not for you.

You glance away first, eyes back on your screen, unable to ignore the twist in your gut.

The room empties, but you stay.

The echo of voices fades out with the hiss of the sliding doors. Just a few minutes ago, the surgical debrief room was bright with tension—every overhead light too sharp, the air too thin, the hum of holopanels and datapads a constant static in your head.

Now, it’s quiet. Still.

You sit for a moment longer, fingers resting on your lap, knuckles tight, back straight even though your entire body wants to collapse inward. You’re still warm from the flush of embarrassment, your pulse still flickering behind your ears.

Dr. Hanron’s words sting less now, dulled by the cool aftershock of what Zayne did.

He defended you.

You hadn’t expected it. Not from him.

You replay it in your head—his voice cutting in, his posture like stone, his eyes locked on Hanron like a scalpel ready to slice. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look at you.

But you felt it.

You felt the impact of what it meant.

And now, as you sit in the empty conference room—white walls, chrome-edged table, sterile quiet—you’re left with one burning thought:

You have to say something.

You rise slowly, brushing your palms down your thighs to wipe off the sweat that lingers there. You hesitate at the doorway. Your reflection stares back at you in the glass panel—eyes still a little wide, jaw tight, posture just a bit too stiff.

He didn’t have to defend you, but he did.

And that matters.

You step into the hallway.

It’s long and narrow, glowing with soft white overhead lights and lined with clear glass panels that reflect fragments of your movement as you walk. The hum of the ventilation system buzzes low and steady—comforting in its monotony. The air smells of antiseptic and the faint trace of ozone from high-oxygen surgical wards.

You spot him ahead, already halfway down the corridor, walking with purpose—long coat swaying slightly with each step, back straight, shoulders squared. Always composed. Always fast.

You hesitate. Your boots slow down and your throat tightens.

You want to turn back, to let it go, to pretend it was just professional courtesy. Nothing more. Nothing personal.

But you can’t.

Not this time.

You quicken your pace.

“Doctor Zayne!”

The name catches in the air, too loud in the quiet hallway. You flinch, just a little—but he stops.

You break into a small jog to catch up, boots tapping sharply against the tile. Your breath catches as you reach him.

Zayne turns toward you, expression unreadable, brows slightly furrowed in that ever-present, analytical way of his. The glow of the ceiling lights reflects off his silver-framed glasses, casting sharp highlights along the edges of his jaw.

He doesn’t say anything. Just waits.

You stop a foot away, heart thudding. You don’t know what you expected—maybe something colder. Maybe for him to ignore you entirely.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“I just…” Your voice is quieter now. Careful. “I wanted to say thank you.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is steady. Measured.

“I don’t tolerate incompetence,” he says calmly. “That includes false accusations.”

You blink, taken off guard by the directness. It’s not warm. Not even particularly kind. But coming from him, it’s almost intimate.

Still, you can’t help yourself. “That wasn’t really about incompetence.”

“No,” he admits. “It wasn’t.”

The hallway feels smaller now, quieter. He’s watching you in full. Not scanning you like a chart, not calculating — watching. Still. Focused.

You nod slowly, grounding yourself in the moment. “Still. I needed to say it. Thank you.”

You’re suddenly aware of everything—of the warmth in your cheeks, of the way your hands twist at your sides, of how tall he stands compared to you, even when he’s not trying to intimidate.

And he isn’t. Not now.

If anything, he looks… still.

Not soft. Never that. But something quieter. Less armored.

“You handled yourself better than most would have,” he says after a moment. “Even if I hadn’t said anything, you didn’t lose control.”

“I didn’t feel in control,” you admit, a breath of nervous laughter escaping. “I was two seconds from either crying or throwing my datapad.”

That earns you something surprising—just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. But not quite.

“Neither would’ve been productive,” he says.

You roll your eyes slightly. “Thanks, Doctor Efficiency.”

His glasses catch the light again, but his expression doesn’t change.

You glance past him, down the corridor. “I should get back to my rotation.”

He nods once. “I’ll see you in the lab.”

You pause.

Then—because you don’t know what else to do—you offer a small, genuine smile.

“I’ll be there.”

As you turn to leave, you feel his eyes on your back.

[ahnaiee]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Star Located!

LISTENER . . . !

⋆｡°✩;; Xavier ⋆｡°✩; Your neighbor is a really good listener. You think you might be falling– juuust a bit.  ⋆｡°✩;; pre-relationship, friends to lovers kind of theme ⋆｡°✩;; dipping my toes into this fandom, so if its a bit ooc, pls bear with me huhu

“So if you really read between the lines of what this character was saying you’d notice that–” This has been your fifth theory about the new character appearing in a favorite game of yours, and this is the fifth time you found yourself actively explaining this theory to none other than Xavier, your quiet, always sleepy upstairs neighbor. 

The silver haired man simply leans on his arms and he watches you as you continue rambling. Your voice increases and decreases in tones and octaves as you speak, hands moving as you do. In your animated talk, you miss the way his eyes soften, the small inkling of a smile on his face as he watches you. 

This isn’t the first time he had to listen to you speak for long periods of time. Hell, it's more of a daily occurrence, with how much you tend to invade his personal space (unintentionally and intentionally) just to speak to him. 

A week ago, after a mission, you rambled his ear off about this cafe you encountered on your way home and just yesterday morning, Xavier was on his way to the Hunters Association, and you met him on the train. Almost right after the usual pleasantries, you launch into an excited talk in your morning. Xavier just nods, his eyes slowly moving from the window, to your figure and he smiles. 

And despite years of dealing with the quietness, Xavier… finds this constant barrage of your voice a pleasing change. 

He watches you speak, the way your eyes crinkle, shine and sparkle as you jump from one theory to another. Your hands wave from the left, then to the right, the warm drink in front of you now cooling from your long you’ve been talking, and Xavier’s smile grows.  Cute.

You furrow your brows midway as you pause, thinking of your next words, before you start speaking again.

“And– Oh! Speaking of, Xav, I was talking to Tara about this one cafe near the Hunter’s Association and she suggested we try their chiffon cake.” As if you weren’t just talking about a character from a game you play a bit too much in Xavier’s opinion, you jump to another topic. But then a sudden realization dawns on your face, and your voice begins to quiet. Slowly, until you stop speaking. 

Xavier lifts his head, tilting it as he stares at you. Eyes focused, only on you, and he speaks, “Why’d you stop?”

“Oh. Oh, I just…” You trail off, and you nervously fiddle with your hands. “I just thought I’m bothering you with my talking. I mean, I’ve been the only one talking for the most part and…”

Xavier just offers a small smile. “Hey. I like listening to you, I’m not… bothered by you at all.” Something in your chest turns warm, and you pause. Oh. Oh, he… isn’t annoyed at you at all. You swallow slightly, then beam. He pauses then tilts his head. “And then what happened to Tara?”

At his question, the feeling in your chest only deepens and the smile on your face widens, and you launch into the story. 

Oh. 

Oh, he listens to you. 

Xavier leans on his palm, again, and he smiles. He would pay just to hear your voice, if he could. That’s something he would admit somewhere down the line but for now… His eyes focus intently on your own, distracted, but excited pair of eyes. 

For now, He’ll just listen.

©ahnaiee [do not repost, copy, translate, or modify]

[luvrism777]

for the beautiful gorgeous amazing talented funny bubbly kind caring @calebsamor, happy birthday twin ilyyyy

caleb x fem!reader: the necklace | cw: slightly suggestive at the end, brief kisses

whenever caleb was home with you, he usually followed you around like a lost puppy, never going anywhere on his own. he’s already spending too much time away from his pipsqueak than he’d like too. this time, however, he had made several trips out of your apartment in linkon on his own, never offering any explanation as to where he’d been.

on the day of your birthday you woke up to his side of the bed empty, but clearly slept in. you take your time getting out of bed, opening the curtains and stretching your body. you don’t bother getting dressed just yet, since the only plans you had was dinner with caleb later that evening.

you exit the bedroom to a dark living room. lights off, blinds closed. you fumble around for the light switch, finally finding it. you flick on the lights, closing your eyes to give them a moment to adjust.

when you open your eyes, you see decorations. balloons, streamers, a table set up with flowers, a card, your favorite breakfast, and a small but neatly wrapped gift box.

behind it all is caleb, standing there with a smug smile on his face, like he couldn’t believe he had actually kept all this from you but was trying to act nonchalant about it (he was failing terribly, the man was so full of emotion it was insane).

“happy birthday, pips! c’mere and open your present.” he walks over to you, scooping you into his arms and carrying you bridal style to the couch, setting you down gently in front of your gift table.

you smile wide at him. “can i at least eat my breakfast first?” you ask, giggling.

he rolls his eyes playfully. “fine, but hurry. i want to see your reaction.” he looks so cute, like an excited puppy, that you make sure to eat twice as fast so you can open your gift sooner.

when you’re done caleb whisks the plate away for you, depositing it in the sink, then comes back to sit right next to you. he hands you the box. “go on, open it,” he urges. you tear at the wrapping paper, excited to see what’s inside.

under the wrapping paper is what looks like a jewelry box. you flip open the lid to find a necklace inside. it’s a dog tag with a cursive inscription inside, with an apple charm dangling next to it, a small ruby in the middle of the apple. you gasp, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

caleb sees the tears and panics. “do you not like it? i can get you something else. just tell me what you want, anything for you pips…”

you silence him with a kiss, laughing. “no, it’s gorgeous. i’m crying because you’re so thoughtful. it reminds me of us. i’ll wear it everyday, right over my heart.”

now he looks like he could cry, relief flooding his beautiful eyes. “i’m so glad you like it. now i have one more gift for you, and you can either take it here, or in our bedroom.”

you’re laughing until he picks you up. “caleb!” you squeal, giggling and holding onto him tightly, but you certainly don’t protest when he tosses you onto the mattress.

note: I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE THIS OH MY GOD i’ve never written for caleb nor seen him in game so im basing this solely off of ur reblogs and what you’ve said abt him 😭😭 happy birthday i hope you know how much i adore you

[sylusenthusiast]

PSA !!!

As of today, I'm going to be making a Patreon that will have all of my work so far cataloged and I will be posting new writing for Love and Deepspace on there first before it comes on here. If you want early access to upcoming chapters for longer fics, then that's the place to be! That's also where I'll be doing polls so you'll be able to add ideas for future fics and upcoming works. Link : patreon.com/syluskitten

[bibbysstuff]

Mc in Lingeries, Li addition

[stargirlygirl]

you're quiet during it

lads li's (except for raf; separate) x fem!reader

contains: nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, p-in-v, oral sex (f!receiving), p-link for xavier

⭑.ᐟ caleb

at first, it would throw caleb off guard, being the louder one when y'all are devil's tangoing. but it's no issue.

he learns your audial cues: when your breath hitches as you're about to cum, the little mewls that tell him he's doing a good job, and your sweet "more, caleb!" whimpers.

he's also attentive to your physical cues: your back arching as he messily eats you out, so close to an orgasm it's almost painful; your hands tugging on his silky locks when his tongue is lapping your folds; and how your thighs tense up and shake when you're finally swept away by a riptide of pleasure.

and caleb takes pride in hearing how loud he can make you. of course, it's only after an hour or so of overstimulation that you're more talkative and noisy.

he's fucking obsessed with how you cry out, "please, caleb! i can't. n-no more." chuckling against your slick cunt, the lower half of his face drenched in your release, he'll gaze up at you with hazy sunset eyes.

"c'mon, honey. just one more?" he coos so sweetly, rubbing your thigh and all. and when you do give him that one more, you're absolutely silent, lower lip trapped between your teeth as you writhe beneath him. the ecstasy is far too overwhelming for a sound to be made.

when he sucks on your clit harshly, that's when you nearly scream; exactly what he's been waiting so patiently for.

⭑.ᐟ sylus

sylus finds your hushed moans endearing.

i think he definitely teases you when he's eating you out, something akin to, "you're so quiet, kitten. doesn't this feel good?" but he knows you're in actual heaven right now.

when he's on top, thrusting into you so tenderly, i know sylus is groaning and panting in your ear the sweetest things. "you're biting your lip so hard, sweetie. careful—" he pulls your lip out from your chompers with his thumb, "or you'll draw blood."

especially when you're cockwarming him and whimpering softly in his ear, it makes him all the more harder. he'll throb inside of your snug walls, pre-cum leaking everywhere as he rubs your back and murmurs, "don't runaway, kitten, when you're taking me so well."

like caleb, he's got your sounds memorised. but unlike caleb, i don't think sylus pushes you to the edge. i think he'll stop as soon as you yawn, god forbid you do so as he's still rutting into you.

your bf will pull you into a warm cuddle and let you rest for as long as you need. he praises you half-lovingly, half-mockingly, until it's time to get cleaned up.

⭑.ᐟ zayne

i'm imagining this princess and the pauper "you're just like me, i'm just like you" moment between you and zayne the first time you had sex (whether that be oral, penetrative, mutual touching, etc).

because he's... somewhat controlled in the sound domain, he understands that your lack of loud sounds isn't because his performance is lacking (though he needed reassurance initially), but because that's how you are. he's never commented on it or teased you for it. zayne simply relies on consistent communication to ensure you're enjoying what he's doing.

let's say you two have a rare day off and spend the morning in bed. waking up, you're exchanging gentle kisses, which quickly become heated. but since you're both sleepy, it's this lazy kind of lust.

he's in between your thighs, taking you to the far reaches of the universe when he pulls off your swollen clit and asks breathily, "does this feel good?" releasing a low whimper, you nod and push his face back into your pussy.

you can feel his micro-smirk as he eats you out till you're trembling and softly mewling, your thighs clamped around his head.

and when you're spooning, it's tender and slow, zayne sliding every inch in before drawing back. you're wrapped in his warm embrace, panting a little. your bf let's out this cracked whimper as you squeeze around him, close to his end already.

he rasps out, "it's been so long since we've done this." you hum in response, your grip on his scarred forearms tightening before you see the stars together.

⭑.ᐟ xavier

like sylus, xavier finds it cute. with how tough you try to act all the time, it inflates his ego when you're a quiet, shaking mess beneath him.

he likes how your body does the talking. no words are necessary when you're rolling your hips up to his, hands pawing at his trousers in an attempt to take them off.

he'll tease you, "you really did miss me, huh?" but he delivers it in his soft voice.

and you, too needy to register that he's having a go at you, will just nod and whimper a small, "please."

i can't help but think of this p-link.

xav definitely mocks you during sex, asking you in his low commanding voice to be louder and to tell him how good he's making you feel, how much you need him, to tell him anything because he wants to hear your voice. specifically, he wants to hear it break as you try to speak.

and he only grows more demanding as his climax approaches. his sweet pants and moans tangle with yours as you grip his shoulders. holding onto them for dear life, a stuttered cry escapes your lips as he buries himself so deep and cums inside.

masterlist

star girl's final words: sorry if this is rats ass. just something that's been on my mind, which i wanted to get out.

[marscantread7]

"What the fuck?!"

"What do you mean, 'what the fuck'?"

"I mean, what the fuck?"

You and Xavier are staring at your phone screen, him baffled and a little irritated and you just confused. See, you hired Xavier a few months back as a cameraman for your... business... and well. You didn't take into account how jealous and parasocial some of your viewers were.

"Well, I mean, are you not reading the same message I'm reading???? This guy just threatened to chop my dick off if I go anywhere near you?"

"Okay, but they're random people behind a screen. Xavie, I know this is really concerning to you, but even before you joined I got messages of my viewers threatening me the object of their affection. I promise, nobody is going to hurt you, and if somebody does pose a serious threat, I have the police on speed dial. And my brother who lives a block away. We will both be fine."

Xavier still looks a little unsure, and you're starting to get antsy. You don't want to lose him. He's actually really respectful of your boundaries, he's really fucking hot, AND his work with the camera is amazing and has brought you in so many more fans these past few months. You can't afford to lose him.

"Would you like me to block and ban these guys? I have more than enough money, losing them won't hurt. They're not even my top donors anyway. Please, Xavie. There are fans who really love you and your work, and I really love your work and I feel so safe working with you. Please don't quit on me."

Xavier's brows quickly furrowed, and he grabbed your hands bringing you to the couch to sit. He, shook his head, opening his mouth before closing it again, thinking over his words, looking at you earnestly.

"I'm not going to quit on you. I wouldn't dream of it. Sure, this job is a little odd, but I do enjoy working with you too. I just... I guess I'm not used to... gruesome? Threats like that? It's just odd, and confusing, and a tad bit scary. I know you said you're used to these types of messages, but you shouldn't have to be. Let me help you carry this burden. If I'm scared as a man, I can't imagine what you feel as woman. You don't have to put up a strong front and deal with this alone anymore. You can block them and ban them and if the harassment continues then we take this to the police, agreed?" Xavier never once let go of your hands, but he waited until you gave a nod and squeezed his hands back to give a soft smile.

He ruffled your hair, tucking a curl behind a ear, huffing when it bounced back. "Silly girl, thinking I would quit on you and leave you to find another camera man. Who else would execute 'Toxic ex bf controls my vibrator' from 7 different angles as well as me?" You give a laugh, slapping his chest, causing him to laugh too.

"Let's never get this tense again," you say, still laughing, hand subtly squeezing his chest.

"Yeah! Let's save the tension for the sexy scenes, haha!" Xavier says, oblivious to you trying to feel him up... man... his chest is big... but that's a conversation for another day, unfortunately.

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Hey chat... did u miss me😝😝😝 so uhm update! I've been suffering w/ tension headaches and migraines for the past week, and I can't see my neurologist until like June so erm... yeah there's that.

My job has been making me increasingly more and more depressed as the days go by and that's why I haven't been writing bc I fear I just don't have the energy to do so💔💔💔 so while I look for a new job and try not to get conked out by these headaches, take this for the timebeing.

Onto some good news!!! My birthday was on Friday, and I am officially 20 years old!!! I am also finally back in school!!! So like, besides all these bad things, there are some positives and things are sort of looking up. I just have to push through.

I tried to write just a short drabble for my camgirl!reader x cameraman!Xavier bc I wanna get SOMETHING out for you guys while I can. Ah, this really isn't my best work at all, I'm sorry but I didn't really know what else to put out. I hope you guys are all safe and healthy! And I hope y'all had a great Easter if u celebrate

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.16

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, i had this idea for a while now, we’re finally making mommy the villain

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You make your babygirl cry for the first time

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It started with glitter.

Specifically, the bottle of sparkly blue star glitter that you had tucked away in a high drawer because your little darling had started pouring it into her sippy cup the last time.

Rafayel had told you to just let her be, “She’s creating art, my starshine. Let her pour the sky into her juice.”but you didn’t want her choking on plastic stars. So you’d hidden it.

She found out today.

And now, your two-year-old daughter, your soft, squishy, kissable babygirl who normally waddled after you like your shadow, was curled up under the silk skirt of the living room chaise, fat cheeks puffed out in betrayal, her little back turned to you.

You crouch beside her and peek under the flounce of fabric.

“Baby…” you whisper gently.

A high-pitched sniff. Nothing else.

She looks just like Rafayel when he’s mad, those downturned blue-pink eyes glossy with unshed tears, those soft brows furrowed in silence. She even crossed her arms the way he does when he pretends not to be pouting.

“Are you hiding from Mommy?”

A small, royal nod. Hmph.

“Because I put your glitter away?” you ask, voice baby soft, full of guilt.

She lifts the hem of the skirt just enough to glare at you. “You… took my stars.”

Oh no.

Your heart physically breaks.

“I know, sweet girl… and Mommy’s so, so sorry.” You press a kiss to the corner of the chaise, as close to her as she’ll let you get. “I wasn’t trying to be mean. I just didn’t want your tummy to hurt…”

She doesn’t budge.

You try again, crawling a little closer, lying on your side now so you can whisper into the little nook she’s made for herself. “I was gonna give it back soon, I promise. I was saving it for your tiara crafts day…”

Her sniff wobbles. Her lower lip trembles.

“You were gonna make crowns, remember? Mommy even got the marshmallow glue you can eat. And pink puffy gems. But…” You pause, voice dropping into that sad-mama whisper. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna craft with me anymore…”

Another beat.

She doesn’t respond, but a quiet whimper escapes her.

“Do you want Mommy to go away?” you ask softly, even though it kills you to say it.

She finally turns toward you, cheeks red, eyes glassy, lips wobbly and heartbroken. “Nooo…” she hiccups. “Don’t go ‘way, Mommy…”

You instantly gather her into your arms.

“Oh, baby, never. Never, ever. I’m so sorry, my little darling,” you murmur as you pull her into your lap. She melts into you like she’s been waiting all day for this. “You’re Mommy’s whole heart. My sweet little princess.”

She clutches your nightgown in tiny fists and sobs into your shoulder. “You took my stars,” she sniffles, voice small.

“I did, and I was wrong. Mommy will never take your stars without asking again, okay?” You kiss her forehead. “I’ll put them in a glittery safe box that only you and I have the key to.”

She hiccups again. Then snuggles into your chest and rubs her chubby face against your neck like a sleepy kitten. “Okay… but you can’t be mean no more,” she mumbles.

“Never again. Mommy’s a good girl now. I’ll be so nice and kissy and soft forever.”

She leans back, face shiny with tears but a little less pouty. “Even when I’m messy?”

“Especially when you’re messy.” You boop her nose. “Wanna help me set up your princess craft table now? Mommy will sit beside you and only use pink glue and call you Queenie Sparkle.”

“…And make me star juice?” she asks, eyes hopeful.

You sigh. “Only if we agree it’s pretend glitter and not real plastic stars, okay?”

She giggles, just a little. “Okay, Mommy.”

You cradle her like a baby and smother her cheeks in kisses as you carry her to her special little craft table that Rafayel had custom built for her, shaped like a flower and glittering with embedded gems. She clutches your arm like you’re her favorite teddy bear, finally smiling again.

When Rafayel walks in later and sees his mini-me sipping glitter juice out of a rhinestone cup while sitting in your lap, he chuckles, eyes warm.

“She forgive you yet?” he murmurs, crouching to kiss both your cheeks.

You nod, nuzzling your little girl. “Barely.”

“She’s just like her mama,” he says, amused. “Even betrayal needs to be bedazzled.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

Zayne notices before you do.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

No tiny feet trailing behind you. No little hands tugging on your sleeve, no whiny “Maaamaaa” sung in that sweet, clingy voice that always makes you melt.

Zayne had just gotten home from his shift. His jacket was barely off when your babygirl toddled past him, barefoot and pouty-faced, hugging her stuffy to her chest, cheeks red and glossy with fresh tears.

“…What happened?” he asked softly, kneeling to her height.

She didn’t answer.

Just let out a long, trembling sigh and pointed toward the kitchen, where you were setting a plate of food on her high chair.

“She won’t talk to me,” you whisper minutes later, looking like you’re about to cry. “i think I made her sad.”

Zayne watches as your babygirl climbs onto the couch, pulls the throw blanket over her head like a cave, and turns her back to you completely.

“What happened?” he asks again, this time to you.

“I told her she couldn’t eat frosting out of the piping bag. It was for the cake I was decorating… and she cried. I thought she got over it! I even gave her a spoon of it after but—” you sniff, devastated. “She flinched away from me when I tried to kiss her cheek.”

Zayne hides his smile. It’s not funny. Not really. But the sight of his tiny, pouty little twin glaring out from under a blanket like you’d ruined her entire world is something.

“She’s a dramatic little thing,” he murmurs gently.

“She’s never been mad at me before,” you whisper back, heartbroken.

“She looks like me, but she’s got your flair for theatrical heartbreak,” he says, brushing your hair back. “Let me try.”

You watch from the hallway as Zayne quietly walks to the couch and kneels beside it, lifting the edge of the blanket like he’s disarming a wild animal.

“There you are,” he says softly.

A sniff.

“I heard you’re upset with Mommy.”

Tiny arms cross. A pouty glare appears beneath the blanket fold.

Zayne tilts his head. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“She said no,” your daughter whispers, voice watery. “And she yelled. Mean voice.”

Zayne looks over at you.

You mouth: I didn’t yell! I just said no firmly!

“She was decorating a cake for you,” Zayne says gently, “and didn’t want you to get a tummy ache from too much frosting.”

“…She said no with her eyebrows down.”

Zayne holds back a chuckle. “That’s her serious face. Not her mean one. But I understand, baby girl.”

Another sniff.

He strokes her head softly. “Do you think she should apologize for scaring you with her serious eyebrows?”

A slow, pouty nod.

Zayne leans back and gestures for you to come over.

You walk slowly, nervously, and crouch beside the couch where she’s still half-hidden under the blanket.

“…Baby,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Mommy was just worried about your tummy…”

She doesn’t look at you.

You get on your knees.

“…Can you forgive me?” Your voice cracks just a little. “I didn’t like making you cry.”

Your daughter peeks out, frowning hard, teary and uncertain.

“I’ll let you lick the spatula next time. And we can make extra frosting just for you.”

Her arms slowly uncross.

“And Mommy will never use her mean eyebrows again. I promise.”

“…Not even at Daddy?”

“Not even at Daddy.” You cross your fingers behind your back.

Finally, finally, she crawls into your lap, wraps her soft arms around your neck, and buries her face in your chest.

You kiss her head over and over, rocking her back and forth as she cuddles in deep.

“I love you, my babygirl,” you whisper. “So, so much. Always.”

“Love you too…” she sniffles, voice small and sleepy.

Zayne watches you both from behind the couch, arms crossed, face unreadable, but eyes soft.

“She gets over it quickly,” he murmurs, stepping behind you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“She’s sensitive,” you whisper, still hugging her tight. “Just like you.”

“…She’s your shadow when she’s happy. Mine when she’s mad,” he says dryly.

You chuckle into your daughter’s hair. “We’re raising a little heartbreaker.”

Zayne hums. “Or a surgeon. She’s very precise about what hurts her.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

It’s eerie.

Xavier notices it before you do.

Usually when he’s home, he’s greeted with a tiny voice squeaking “Daddy’s here…” followed by little sock feet skidding across the marble to throw herself into your lap where you’re lounging prettily.

But today? Silence.

You’re in the nursery rocking chair, clutching a half-folded pair of her socks with a lost look on your face.

“…Where is she?” Xavier asks quietly, setting his coat down.

Your lashes flutter up. “Bedroom.”

He tilts his head. “Napping?”

“No. She” You swallow. “She said she didn’t want to be near Mommy right now.”

Xavier just… stares.

You can see the way his brain shuts down for a second, like you’d told him the moon fell. What do you mean…? Not near you?

“What happened?” he asks softly.

“I accidentally crushed her flower.” You clutch the sock tighter. “She’d picked a tiny one from the garden and brought it in for me. And it was in her hand when I reached down to hug her and—”

You sniff. “I didn’t even see it until she looked at her hand and the petals were all over me and she just… she started crying and ran off.”

Xavier doesn’t say anything for a moment.

But then he walks quietly toward your shared bedroom, where the door is cracked open just slightly. And sure enough,

There she is.

His tiny daughter. His sleepy little shadow. Curled up on his side of the bed with her back turned, cuddling a blanket to her chest and sniffling into the pillowcase. Her silvery lashes are wet. Her bottom lip is wobbling.

“…My flower’s gone,” she whispers when he enters the room.

Xavier kneels beside the bed and strokes her head softly. “It was an accident, little moon.”

“She didn’t see it,” she hiccups, voice thick. “I picked it for her.”

He says nothing, just gently hums, soft and deep and low in his chest like the sound he used to soothe her with as a baby. He reaches over and lifts her into his arms, blanket and all, and carries her back toward you.

She sees you sitting there in the rocking chair, still holding that crumpled sock like it’s a piece of her broken heart. And she looks away again, cheeks puffing out in a little pout, brows trembling.

Xavier sits down beside you on the edge of the nursery daybed, baby girl still curled in his lap like a little cloud.

You reach out. “…Can I hold you, starlight?”

She doesn’t answer.

You gently, cautiously, take her from Xavier’s lap and bring her into yours, cradling her like the baby she is, rocking her softly as you kiss her head.

“Mommy didn’t mean to squish your flower,” you whisper. “I loved it. I love everything you give me. You’re Mommy’s best girl.”

She sniffles into your chest. “But you hugged too hard…”

You kiss her tearstained cheeks. “Next time I’ll be softer. I promise. We can even go out to the garden and pick a new one. I’ll let you choose it for me again.”

She looks up at you, face still scrunched and betrayed. “You have to keep this one forever.”

“I will,” you whisper, reaching into your pocket. You’d picked up the little petal remains, gently pressed them between tissue. “I already saved it. Look.”

Her eyes go wide.

You unfold the tissues carefully, inside, the fragile pastel bloom is flattened and safe. Her gasp is a quiet, reverent sound.

“…You kept it?”

“Of course, baby. It’s from you. Mommy treasures everything you touch.”

She throws her arms around your neck immediately, snuggling into your throat like she’s trying to become part of you again. “I’m sorry I ran away…” she whispers. “I was sad.”

“I’m sorry I crushed your flower,” you murmur, rocking her again. “You’re still Mommy’s softest, gentlest little love.”

Xavier watches from the side, hand gently resting over both your legs. “I told her you’d fix it,” he says quietly. “She only cries like that when she misses you.”

You rest your cheek on your daughter’s head and feel her breath slow, little sniffles fading as she calms.

“…She’s so soft,” you whisper.

“So are you,” Xavier murmurs, leaning down to press a sleepy kiss to your shoulder.

She falls asleep in your arms not long after, fingers curled in your top, face smooshed into your collarbone. You keep kissing her even after she dozes off, swaying gently with her in the chair like you used to when she was just a tiny thing.

And Xavier?

He falls asleep sitting at your feet, hand still resting on your knee, guarding you both like a silent moonlight sentinel.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You didn’t mean to raise your voice.

But it had been a long morning. The stylists were running late, the villa staff kept knocking, and your babygirl had just, smeared bright red lipstick across the ivory chaise lounge you’d told her not to touch.

“What did I just say?!”

The words came out sharp. Frustrated.

Her little hand froze mid-smear, eyes wide.

She stared at you for a full five seconds.

And then,

Her bottom lip quivered. Her chin scrunched.

“…You yelled,” she whispered.

And then she screamed.

Big, high, shattering sobs. Not her usual fake-cry-for-attention sobs. No, real, messy, chest-heaving baby sobs. Like you had just destroyed her entire world.

“I was paintingggg—” she wailed, and crumpled in place, face shoved into the smeared lounge, clutching the lipstick tube like a fallen weapon of war.

You froze.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “Oh baby…”

But she pulled away from you when you reached for her. Not with a tantrum. Not with defiance.

With heartbreak.

“Go away!” she sobbed, little body trembling. “You don’t love me! You’re mean like the bad people in the shows!”

Your heart shattered.

“Sylus—!” you gasped, already crying a little as you stood up, unsure of what to do, looking around helplessly.

He was already behind you.

He’d walked in a moment before. And now he stood with his arms crossed, crimson eyes sharp, not angry, but unreadable. Like a king watching two halves of his soul war against each other.

“She’s devastated,” he murmured.

“I didn’t mean to—! I just—” You choked. “I raised my voice! I didn’t scream—I—!”

“Mm.” He watches you carefully. “She thinks you hate her now.”

Your hands tremble as you kneel down by the chaise. She’s curled into the corner of it, sobbing pathetically into a velvet pillow, smearing lipstick on everything she touches.

“…Baby,” you whisper, heartbroken. “Mommy didn’t mean to yell. I was upset about the couch, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“YOU SAID IT MEAN,” she sobs, hiccupping violently. “And your eyes were ANGRY!!!”

“I know.” Your voice cracks. “I know, baby, and I’m sorry. I scared you.”

You crawl closer on your knees. Sylus doesn’t stop you, he’s watching now, carefully, silent.

Your daughter sobs even harder when you reach her. “Mommy was s’posed to say I’m a good girl, even if I make a mess!!”

“You are a good girl,” you cry, stroking her hair. “You’re my best girl. Mommy messed up. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

She sniffles violently and curls further into the pillow.

“…You ruined my heaaart,” she wails.

That breaks you.

“I know, my love, I know,” you whisper. You climb onto the chaise beside her and lie down, hugging her from behind like a squishy little pillow. “Let me fix it.”

“No!” she cries. “You’re mean!!”

“I’ll be sweet forever now,” you say softly. “I’ll be so sweet you’ll get a sugar tummy ache.”

A beat of silence.

And then,

“…You have to kiss me ten thousand times.”

You don’t even hesitate.

“Done,” you whisper, and you pepper her tear-streaked face in kisses. Her cheeks. Her forehead. Her pouty lips. Her sticky little fingers. “Ten thousand and one. Ten thousand and two. Ten thousand and three…”

She hiccups again.

And then, finally, her hands clutch at your shirt, her little body twisting to bury itself back into your arms.

“You didn’t ruin my heart,” she whispers miserably. “It’s just a little cracked.”

You kiss her again. “I’ll kiss it better. I’ll fix every crack.”

She nods, face still sad but not angry anymore. “…Okay. But you owe me a new lipstick.”

“I’ll get you twelve.”

“And you can’t ever yell again. Even if I ruin all the furniture.”

You choke on a sob-laugh. “You’ll ruin the whole mansion and I’ll still kiss you goodnight.”

Sylus finally moves, stepping forward and kneeling beside you both. He tucks a soft cloth under your daughter’s face and starts gently wiping lipstick off her cheek.

“Drama queen,” he murmurs, brushing her hair back. “You’re both unbearable when you cry.”

“You’re mean,” she mumbles at him, sniffling.

“I know.” He kisses her head. “That’s why your mother handles the love, hm?”

“She yelled,” she says sadly.

“She did,” Sylus agrees. “But she’s also the one holding you while you ruin that designer lounge, darling. That’s love.”

You press your lips to your daughter’s cheek again.

“I’ll always hold you,” you whisper.

She finally, finally, smiles through her sniffling. “Okay. I forgive you.”

And just like that, the queen has returned to her throne, sticky, dramatic, but purring in your lap again.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

She was supposed to be flying her little plane down the penthouse hallway.

That’s what the birthday surprise was for. A sleek, custom-built, silver ride-on plane, fitted with little blinking lights, an adorable “Colonel Baby” sticker.

You helped Caleb design it. She adores it.

Every morning, she insists on kissing both you and Caleb goodbye before hopping into it like a very tiny fleet captain preparing for liftoff.

But this morning?

The plane sits abandoned halfway down the hall.

And your daughter is nowhere in sight.

Caleb finds her first.

You hear his voice, low and measured.

“…What’s wrong, babygirl?”

A soft whimper answers. No words. Just hurt.

You peek out of the master bedroom, and your stomach drops.

She’s curled up in a sad little heap beneath the side table near the glass balcony doors, half-hidden behind a curtain, clinging to one of your sweaters.

Your baby girl. The one who never leaves your side. Who throws fits if you so much as go to the bathroom alone.

And now she’s hiding from you.

“Oh no,” you whisper, panicked. “What, what happened?”

Caleb doesn’t even look at you yet. He kneels beside her, brushing her hair back gently. “Tell Daddy what happened.”

She sniffles. Loud and wet. Still clutching your sweater.

“…Mommy said ‘move’… and she didn’t say it softly.”

Your chest tightens.

“Baby,” you breathe, walking over to kneel beside Caleb. “I wasn’t trying to be mean. I just, I had hot tea, and I didn’t want you to get hurt when you came running into the kitchen. You ran right into my leg, and I didn’t see—“

“I wanted to show you my plane!!” she cries.

Your heart breaks.

“And you said ‘move’ and your face was mean and you didn’t say ‘excuse me’ or ‘baby’ or anything, you just said it like I was nobody!!”

She lets out a sob and turns away from you again, pressing her cheek to Caleb’s chest.

Caleb doesn’t speak.

But his eyes flick up to yours, quiet, sharp. Not blaming you, but waiting. Watching. Because your baby is younger than words and older than obsession, and if she’s not speaking to you? He’ll let you figure it out.

You kneel beside them both.

“Sweetheart,” you whisper, voice breaking. “You are never nobody. You are my everything. Mommy was scared you were going to get hurt.”

“You said it like the staff say it when I touch the buttons!” she sobs.

“No, baby” You’re crying now, desperate, reaching for her hand. “No, I would never mean it like that. I’m so, so sorry.”

She turns her face further into Caleb’s shirt.

You’re about to shatter.

“I’ll let you stay up past your nap,” you whisper. “I’ll let you pick Mommy’s lipstick. I’ll cancel every plan and we’ll cuddle in bed all day and watch that rainbow alien movie you love”

Her wet eyes peek out slowly.

“…And?”

Your brain races.

“…And Mommy will get in your toy plane with you. And you can be the captain. And I’ll be your co-pilot. We’ll go on a mission to the kitchen and land on the couch for snacks.”

She stares.

Still sniffling.

Caleb watches silently, folding his arms and staying out of it. This is your battle, not his.

“…With juice boxes?” she whispers.

“All the juice boxes in the fridge.”

“…And you’ll say ‘yes, captain’?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, Captain Baby. I’ll salute and everything.”

She pauses.

Then, slowly, she slides off Caleb’s lap and toddles toward you, tiny face blotchy and red, arms out.

You scoop her into your lap and kiss her forehead over and over, hands shaking.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re Mommy’s whole world.”

She pouts but lets you kiss her, arms tight around your neck.

“You have to say ‘excuse me’ even if you’re scared,” she whispers sternly.

“I will,” you promise. “I’ll say ‘excuse me, precious, beautiful captain of my soul.’ Every time.”

She finally, finally, smiles.

“…Okay.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon being pulled around the penthouse in her little ride-on plane while she shouts, “FASTER, MOMMY!” and commands snack missions from the cockpit.

Caleb sits on the couch watching it all, his pretty wife crawling on the floor in a pink dress, his bossy little daughter pointing at maps she drew in crayon. He’s not laughing. Just sitting with a smug smirk, arms crossed, muttering,

“Try yelling now, Princess. You’re her co-pilot for life.”

[syluspeach]

Lemuria’s vow

Pairing: Soft!dark Sea god Rafayel x reader

Trigger warnings: Soft!dark Rafayel, monster x human, obsession, (kinda) kidnapping?, warnings are subjected to change. This is more of an introduction so don’t expect much.

+18(mdni) but no smut this chapter.

Not edited.

Centuries had slipped past since the bride of the Sea God had tragically died in his arms. All she left him was the impression of her face embedded in his memory. He tried to honor her, trying to capture her likeness in others. He went as far as to sculpt her from porcelain and marble. Sadly, whether by time or his hands, the statue would disintegrate.

Pieces chipped away either by the waves or his claws.

He couldn’t continue like this. The cold, smooth surface of his creations caused a shiver to run up his spine. No piece of marble could lay hold of her warmth. Her sweet smile was missing, her usual bright eyes, a sorrow left in their place. During fits of rage, his claws would slash through the stones, and his tail would act like a whip, cracking the unblemished surface.

As he swam away, sparing the rumble one last glance, his tears would stain his face, pearls forming as they dropped off his jaw.

He would return. He always did. Once his wrath would fade, he’d pick up the pieces left in the sand, pressing the damaged edges together. He’d cry out apologies to his love. He regretted letting his anger get the best of him. How could he treat her memory like this? His past self would have never treated art in such a way.

Using his gift of fire, he’d warm up his hands, his fingertips smoothing and shaping till he ensnared the right amount of similarity of her face into the stone. He wouldn’t rest until she was completed.

Other Lemurians would try to tear him away from his task. They were all met with the same glowing blue eyes and a booming voice that caused the water to ripple, waves forming as they reached the surface.

Even his poor aunt, Talia, couldn’t steer clear of his fury. Try as she may, she’d leave him be, disappointed with the person he had become.

In his mind, he was the same god he was before. That couldn’t be further from the truth for misery and solitude changed him into someone his bride would no longer recognize. Talia’s words echoed in his mind from time to time.

‘Should fate allow you to meet your beloved bride once more, she’ll cower at the man you have become.’

It wasn’t until one night when a storm was raging causing the waves to smack against the rocks and boats to capsize from the force of the water, did he see you again.

When pieces of wood, articles of clothing, and limp bodies began to descend deeper into the ocean, his curiosity got the best of him. Swimming towards the light, he took in the faces of those who had passed. He watched on as they disappeared into the abyss that was his home, a shadow falling over him before a body brushed against his.

Looking at the offending figure, his brows relaxed and the snarl was wiped off of his face. The sight was that of a familiar being.

His beloved bride.

You had returned to him.

His eyes blurred at the sight of you, his bottom lip trembling. With a shaky hand, he caressed the apple of your cheek. Warm. You were still warm. You were holding on, but the stillness of your body frightened him. His mind went back to the days you had died in his arms. To prevent the past from reoccurring, he needed to act quickly.

Gathering you in his arms, your body rested solely on his. He was incredibly large, his shimmering iridescent tail surpassing you in height. He was broad where you were not, hard and toned while you were soft and warm.

He watched as a couple of bubbles escaped from your parted lips. You were alive.

He was going to make sure it stayed that way.

Pressing his lips against yours, he stayed there for what seemed like forever. He feared he had fallen asleep and would be waking up any second now. He needed to savor every second.

When his eyes fluttered open and you remained in his grasp, chest rising and falling with every breath you took, he cried from happiness, tucking the crown of your head under his chin. His arms held onto you as tightly as he could, his webbed fingers digging into your skin.

You could never leave him. He lost you once, but never again. He wouldn’t survive without you and he wasn’t going to. Now that you had returned to him, it was going to stay that way.

At that very moment, he staked his claim, promising forever.

He would take you someplace no other being would be able to find you. A place that belonged to only the two of you. The grotto he had seen on one of his many nightly swims could work. Hidden behind layers of seagrass, only schools of fishes would accidentally wander in. He could come and go as he pleased, but you, you would have to adapt. You would have to learn to call it your home.

Whether out of fear or duty, you would love him just like before. He’d make sure of it.

All credits belong to @syluspeach

Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated.

[luvcaleb]

I'LL BE GENTLE.

nsfw (18+). includes first time, virginity loss, unprotected sex, porn with feelings, caleb is a virgin loser who pretends he's a sex god but is actually ready to cum the moment he slides it in, cunnilingulus, lots of nicknames, belly bulge because caleb is huge, creampie (because i firmly believe he's into breeding). likes and reblogs will be very helpful !!

”Hng... is it all in yet?”

The question almost sounds silly, reminiscent of the times you went on trips with Caleb and you'd ask him if you were there yet every five minutes. But you can't laugh now because you feel like your body's about to split apart, filled to the brim as Caleb breaches your cunt as slowly as he can manage.

He's gripping each side of your waist, his restraint felt through the faint trembling of his fingers. Be patient, he chants in his mind, sweat dripping down his temples. If you're not careful, you're going to hurt her.

But all that leaves his mouth is, “Just half. You're too tight, pipsqueak. Feels like you're about to cut my dick off.”

“Half?!” you exclaim in disbelief. You do know for a fact that Caleb is quite... big. Not that you have a frame of reference — this is the first time you've seen one, most definitely the first time you've ever taken one, but knowing you only have half inside you when you feel full is. Kind of making you crazy. Just a bit.

You hit him in the chest with a loose fist. “This is your fault. You're too big.”

Caleb laughs weakly, sounding like the wind is knocked out of him. “You're blaming me for something I can't control now?”

“Yes, I am. How do you even— walk around with that thing? I don't think that's a normal size.” You're blabbering. All you've said thus far is probably the most unsexy thing Caleb's ever heard, nothing like the dirty talk in the porn DVDs under Caleb's childhood bed that he insists were from his high school friends and he didn't watch any of it.

Even so, the desire in Caleb's eyes doesn't dwindle. He leans down to caress your cheek, the softness in his expression making your heart race. “Well, too bad. This is the only one you're getting.” He traces the line of your jaw, peppering kisses over the column of your neck. “You can't do this with anyone but me, right?”

It isn't a question, and Caleb certainly won't take no for an answer.

“...Caleb, you say the craziest things someti— ?!” You squeak as Caleb starts rubbing your clit in tight circles, sucking new marks onto your collarbone. You loosely grasp his flicking wrist, conflicted between pushing his hand away or pulling it closer. “Don't— do that so suddenly— ah!”

“I know you can take me in. You just have to try harder,” he murmurs to your skin, feeling your walls spasm around his cock with every flick of his fingers. Watery noises soon follow his motions, embarrassingly audible along with the whimpers you try and fail to hide. His heart squeezes in his chest when you hold onto his back tighter, letting out small ‘ah-ah-ah’s that send heat directly to his cock.

“Caleb...” you mutter weakly, dazed eyes staring at the ceiling. “Caleb...!” you gasp with more urgency when he changes the rhythm, rubbing faster as he slowly slides another inch inside your pussy.

“Just a bit more, baby...” Caleb hisses as you engulf him in your warmth, walls clenching around him wetly. “Yeah, that's it... just like that... mn, good girl...”

Finally, you feel his pelvis press against your skin, the entirety of his thick cock inside you. You let out a shuddering breath, fingers running through Caleb's sweat-matted hair, attempting to adjust to the new sensation of fullness.

The feeling of being full is indescribable; it feels new, perhaps a bit uncomfortable, and yet it's also fulfilling, knowing you're connected with the person you've always longed for in the most intimate way possible.

Caleb's panting with the exertion of holding back, his hand cupping your cheek, tenderly swiping over the soft skin with his thumb. “Do you feel any pain?”

You shake your head, leaning to his warm palm. “No, I just feel... a lot right now.”

Caleb smiles in relief, pecks a kiss on your forehead, and sucks in a breath when his gaze trails lower on your body. His hand on your waist moves to splay on your stomach, the direct pressure evoking a sharp “ah!” out of your lips.

“N... no way...” you stare at the faint bulge in both mortification and arousal. “Is that— your—”

Your stomach is... not supposed to look like that. It isn't, right? But Caleb is looking at you with such awe and wonder, tracing the highest point of the bulge on your stomach, the tendrils of desire swirling in his gaze darkening further.

Slowly, Caleb pulls out until only the tip remains inside, and you watch as your stomach flattens with his movement. “Fuck,” he says with feeling. “Please tell me I can move.”

No, you can't, you want to say. Just the sight of him filling you up — in the literal sense of the word — is overwhelming. But you know Caleb is holding back for your sake. Always has been.

Has held back probably before you could even remember, playing the role of an older brother figure looking out for his reckless sister to suppress the feelings he's long learned to ignore. Has held back every time a boy looked at you with lovestruck eyes in high school, staring at the love letter on your desk but never commenting on it. Has held back whenever you told him you were going to a mixer your friends cajoled you into joining, zipping up your dress for the night and reminding you to call him when you were done so he could come pick you up.

He has been holding back even just a while ago, patiently stretching you open with his fingers as he kissed away the apprehension in your eyes, often asking you if it hurt and if you wanted to stop. And if you said yes, he really would; he'd wash you up, carry you to the dining table, and cook up a midnight snack for you before cuddling to sleep. You know that because Caleb would do anything for you.

So now, with the veins on his arms pronounced from the strain of gripping the sheets, his eyes attentively looking at your expression for any signs of pain, you can only say one thing. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to give him a chaste kiss on the lips.

“Fuck me, Caleb.”

There's a hitch of a breath. And then he slides home.

Each thrust of his hips is pronounced with wet plaps, obscenely loud while slick dribbles out of your cunt, pooling into the sheets beneath you. His cock is covered in your arousal, glistening in your wetness, and he pounds into you again and again, watching your cunt cling to him every time he pulls out.

“You seriously...” Caleb groans, his loving gaze tinted with hungry desire. A delighted thrill runs through him each time you call his name sweetly, nails raking down lines on his back, the cutest noises leaving your mouth. “I wanted to treat you gently, but I can't hold back if you say it like that.”

He's dreamed of this for a long time, as far back as a teenager hitting puberty. The prettiest girl on his bed, disheveled by his doing, clinging around him as he pounds her to the mattress, able to take her however he wants and allowed to whisper the overflowing affection he feels without needing to hide it anymore.

It was once a fleeting dream. Just something he knows will never come true, so long as your relationship doesn't change. At one point, your relationship even almost seemed irreparable.

But you stubbornly pulled him back to you. Even when it hurt you. Even when he was content to look after you from a distance. Even when he accepted that no matter how much he wanted you, his love would never mean anything if you didn't love him back.

But you allowed him this much. You allowed him to be in such close proximity, to shower you with affectionate kisses, to lick up your tears. You gave yourself to him, your firsts, your heart, your love.

It's more than he ever hoped for.

“Mine...” he mumbles to himself, kissing at every expanse of skin he can reach. “You're really mine...”

Caleb's hands roam over your curves, caressing your body with care, plucking away at all your sensitive spots. A smattering of red marks appear with every press of his lips, and he never gets enough of seeing them bloom.

“C-Caleb, don't suck there... Everyone's going to see them,” you whine, trembling with the pleasure. His hips never stop driving forward, aimed at the spot that makes your toes curl, your walls squeezing down on him. It's hot, wet, and so damn good to feel you gushing around him, soaked in your warmth.

“Let them see.” He sucks another mark beneath your jaw. Satisfaction curls deep in his chest when he thinks how it'll peek through the collar of your hunter's uniform. “It'll drive away the pests.”

It's not something he'd say on an ordinary day. But restraint slips from his fingers each time you indulge him, and this time is no different.

“Ah, mmh, haa...!”

“Does it feel good when I thrust shallowly like this?” He presses insistently against a spot that has you writhing, clawing at his back. “Or you like being fucked deep?”

He sheathes himself in one go, the sound of his balls smacking against your ass absolutely filthy. Squealing, you cream around him, fresh spurts of slick soaking his cock. “Fuck,” you gasp, grasping at his broad shoulders for purchase.

Caleb grins. “Yeah,” he breathes out, feeling your wetness drip down his thighs, “that's what I thought.” And he does it again.

Plap, plap, plap. The slap of skin on skin continues to ring out, each time wetter than the last. You're trying to bury yourself under the covers, but Caleb certainly doesn't mind the mess. Revels in it, even, watching the glistening slick coat him further.

“Come on, now, don't hide your face,” he coos, picking up the blanket you've taken to hiding your face with. “I want to see you.”

“Mmgh... no way...” your voice is trembling, teary eyes looking up at him in a show of upset. “I'm— ah— making a weird face right now...!”

“No, you're not.” He presses a kiss on your forehead. Your closed eyes. The tip of your nose. “You're so cute. The most gorgeous woman I've ever laid eyes on. So don't try to hide, yeah? Let me see you.”

“Ah, hn, Caleb, that's— !”

“Feels good here?”

“Yes, yes, right there! Ohh...”

Caleb groans, “You just squeezed me so tight.” He licks a stripe up the valley of your breasts, tongue swirling around a nipple, all the while never leaving his eyes on your pleasured expression. When he grinds against a spongy spot, you jolt underneath him, a loud cry of his name spilling from your lips.

So cute so cute so cute, the desperate chant in his mind continues to say, his hips tirelessly driving forward to plunge into your warmth. You sound so sweet, gasping and moaning uncontrollably, crying out for his cock.

“Caleb,” you sob, trying to string together a coherent thought. “Is it just me or, mmph, you became even bigger?”

Caleb laughs, almost apologetic. A peck lands on your jaw. “Sorry, sweetheart. I can't help it.”

You hit your fist on his back. “Help it! I think I'll split into two if there's even just an extra centimeter in me...!”

“Even if you tell me that much...” he hisses through gritted teeth, trying to keep his head clear in spite of your walls spasming against him, hot and wet and so slick he hears every move he makes. “Mm, fuck... You feel too good inside, baby... I've been trying not to cum since we started...”

He buries his face to your neck, breathing in your scent. You shiver, his warm breath tickling your skin, thrusts slowing but hitting deep all the same. “A-are you close, Caleb?”

“I'm doing all I can so I won't be, pips.”

“Well, I...” you swallow, weaving your fingers through his hair. “I don't mind if you... cum first.”

“No.” His hands find your thighs, gripping at the soft flesh to spread your legs wider. Your folds are an enticing color, sucking around his cock, and he has to bite his lip to avoid letting out a pathetic moan. “This night is about you. I want to make you feel good.”

He sits up, and you almost protest when he pulls out, the gaping emptiness nearly leaving you cold. “Wait—”

“Shh,” Caleb leans down, hooking your legs over his broad shoulders. “Leave everything to me.”

He pools saliva at the tip of his tongue, letting it drip down your cunt. He smears it messily around your clit with his thumb, rubbing and prodding, watching your face twist in pleasure with a hooded gaze.

“Caleb, you— haa!”

Whatever you're about to say is interrupted by a scream when Caleb begins to lick, his tongue lapping at your pussy almost hungrily. He swirls it around your little bud, encloses it around with his lips to suck. You begin pulling his hair when he dips his tongue inside your hole, drinking up the juices that overflow and drip down his chin.

Caleb has never looked so disheveled before, sweat dotting his skin and almost looking feverish. He looks drunk between your legs, utterly intoxicated by your taste, lapping up everything he can collect on his tongue. He doesn't mind suffocating like this, his nose buried in your scent, sucking your essence. He certainly doesn't mind it when you start grinding on his face, pulling him even closer, nearly leaving him with no room to breathe. His cock feels close to bursting at the sounds you make alone.

“Ohh, that feels so good, Caleb! Mm...!”

“Shit, you really like this, huh...”

Caleb doubles his efforts, plunging his fingers into your cunt alongside his tongue. He spreads your hole, digs his digits deep, thoroughly pleased when your wetness never stops leaking. It just keeps coming out, soaking his fingers and the bottom half of his face.

“Caleb, I'm close,” you whine as you shake, hips grinding back to his skilled mouth, “I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, cumming—”

You moan high and reedy, back arching as you lose yourself to the pleasure. Yet at the first spurt of cum that lands on his tongue, Caleb quickly sits up and pulls out his fingers.

He pins your legs to the mattress and thrusts back inside in one go, your pussy still spasming from cumming.

“Fuck!” you scream, nails scratching down his back. “Wait, I'm still cumming! I just came!”

Caleb doesn't stop, fucking his cock deeper with each splash of your cum soaking his skin. “You're so fucking tight when you cum, fuuuck...” he hisses, hastening his thrusts, hips having a mind of their own. Everything feels so good that his mind is getting dumbed down from your delicious warmth. “Baby, give me one more, I have to feel you cumming around me.”

He pounds you to the mattress relentlessly, every trace of restraint gone in his body. The only thing in his brain is the single-minded focus of making you cum again, pulling out more sweet noises from your mouth. He delights in each spurt of arousal that comes out when he presses against a good spot, and he knows it's good because you squeeze around him so nicely.

“It feels so good,” you sob to his shoulder. “Caleb, ohh, ahn!”

“Feels good for me too, princess. You're perfect, fuck!” Caleb snaps his hips, almost reaching completion. “I'm gonna cum soon. Where do you want it, princess? Where do you want me to cum?”

You wrap your legs around his waist, causing him to slide even deeper inside you. “Inside! Cum inside!”

He swears under his breath, cock pulsing. His hand travels south to toy with your clit again, rubbing incessantly to make you cum faster. Clear liquid squirts out of your cunt and he fucks you through it sloppy, holding your legs steady while you writhe from the overstimulation.

“I'm going to cum inside you, baby.” With one last thrust, he stills inside your cunt, releasing his cum deep inside. “Ohh, princess, I'm cumming— take every last drop, fuck, shit—”

He crushes you to the mattress, squeezing you in his arms as his cock shoots out strings of cum. “You did so well,” he murmurs, kissing everywhere he can reach. You lean more to his touch, tired yet fulfilled. “Sorry, that was too much, wasn't it? Does your body hurt?”

“I'm fine...” you wince when you feel cum drip out of your cunt at the slightest shift of position. “...Caleb.”

He's still kissing you all over your face, hands cupping your cheeks. “Hm?”

“You're still hard.”

Another kiss on your brow. “Don't mind it, princess. I'll handle it myself.”

“Oh...” you fiddle with the tag on his necklace, gnawing on your lip. “I was going to say I could help out.”

“...”

“Caleb? ...Did you just cum a little?”

“No, fuck, just— come here.”

[lymericslimerick]

Can I request a scenario where Lads men reacting to his s/o absolutely loving your plushies please? Because all of the plushies are ADORABLE 😍

𝘏𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦? (𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮) | LADS + when you favor their plush versions

warnings: fluff, humor, if they don't have your attention 24/7 they'll die, unfortunately the pictures were found on pinterest so I couldn't properly find the origins of them :(( credits to the owners for the pictures!!

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── xavier

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── zayne

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── rafayel

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── sylus

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── caleb

[vellatrelle]

Something something about Caleb and underwear