trueshellz

[trueshellz]

ᡣ𐭩 zayne | scrubs ᡣ𐭩

cw: vaginal fingering, p in v, finger sucking

zayne has an inkling that you have some sort of obsession with his scrubs.

he doesn’t exactly know why, but there’s been too many instances of you ogling him in his scrubs for him to pass as simple coincidences. the first time, he’d just finished up in surgery, the complications making it run longer than most, his body weighed down by exhaustion that he’d simply decided to return to his office, without changing. he hadn’t expected to find waiting for him was you, a cute, little bento box clutched in your hands, wrapped up in a snow-patterned cloth. 

he’d been thankful, he always is, what kind of boyfriend would he be otherwise?

but you hadn’t smiled at him that night, instead stared at him blankly with wide eyes and parted lips. he’d tried talking to you, but it was as though your mind was preoccupied, your gaze solely fixated on his scrubs, every flex of his lithe fingers as he’d undone the knot of the cloth. zayne thinks he might’ve heard your breath catch when he sat down in his chair, his thighs spreading slightly to get comfortable, scrubs pulling over his thighs a little.

you’d excused yourself with a flustered air, not without kissing him, however, the movement of your lips a little too desperate for him to consider normal, the scrape of your teeth against his lips enough to have him readjusting his half-hard cock in the privacy of his office.

the next few times it happens, zayne can’t help but be intrigued.

you’re handsy, the desire in your eyes barely concealed, the press of your thighs hard to miss when he spins a pen between his fingers, pretending to think. but it’s not his scrubs only, his glasses seem to have some hold over you too.

like when his glasses slide too low on the slope of his nose and he pushes them up, zayne can spy the way you bite your lip, your hand curling into a fist on your lap. he wishes you’d just act on your urges, but all he gets are eager, little kisses, your hands drifting over his chest for a moment before you pull back with a sweet smile and a kiss to his cheek and say you’ll be waiting for him at home.

he can’t have that. when grayson mentions next month’s observational surgery for medical interns, zayne knows exactly what to do. 

one call later to akso hospital’s chief of surgery, with the promise of attending whatever upcoming medical conference is next, he’s managed to get you a front row seat.

zayne hopes it’s enough to make you finally snap.

- 

you don’t know how you’ve managed to find yourself here.

you thought observing surgeries was strictly for residents and interns, but apparently the invitation extends to doting girlfriends too. to your mortification, you think zayne might be catching onto your blatant, although extremely appreciative, ogling of him in his scrubs. which is why you’re sitting here now, perched on a metal bench, watching as your boyfriend’s gloves slip on, a mask covering the lower half of face.

aortic aneurysm, grayson had mentioned. 

any longer and you may as well have had an aneurysm yourself. 

you can hardly sit still, teeth sinking into your lower lip as zayne’s low, commanding voice comes through the speaker, narrating the surgery with precision. you shouldn’t be feeling this way, thighs pressing together under your skirt as you listen to his voice, watching the way he works, completely in his element with such professionalism that has you feeling hot and entirely too bothered. 

which is probably why you’re pawing at his broad shoulders and pulling him down with a rough tug, lips pressing against his in a feverish kiss the moment he’s out of the operating theatre.

“sorry,” you whisper against his lips, “you just- you look really good, zayne. really, really handsome and if you don’t fuck me right now, i think i might die.”

zayne huffs out a laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly, kissing the corner of your mouth affectionately.

“yeah, sweetheart? i suppose it would be against my oath to neglect someone so direly in need.”

you nod rapidly, pulling him down for another searing kiss, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the soft strands. zayne smiles against your lips, guiding you towards his desk, your lower back hitting it as he boxes you in against it, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

a soft moan leaves you when he squeezes at your ass, groping at the fat, his breath hot against you as his other hand slips under your skirt, rubbing up against your embarrassingly drenched panties. 

“you’re this wet?” zayne asks hoarsely, groaning when he pulls your panties to the side and feels your slick sticking to his fingers stubbornly as he rubs the pads of his fingers against your slippery, puffy folds. “just from watching me perform a surgery?”

“surgery, scrubs,” you mutter absentmindedly, half-lidded and drunken gaze dragging over the length of his arm, pussy clenching at the visible flex of his bicep and the muscles in his forearms, the sinewy skin littered with scars nearly enough to make you cum right and then there. “i think i’m just always wet around you, zayne.”

his smile against your cheek makes your heart flutter, an airy, contented sigh leaving you as he sinks two fingers inside of you, curling them with practised ease. 

“it is flattering,” he whispers, pecking your lips gently, his hand pulling your sweater up until your bra is exposed, fingers unclasping your bra quickly. zayne sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, his jaw clenching. “fuck- you’re beautiful, love.”

“thank- ah- thank you.”

you flush under his gaze, head tipping back as he thrusts his fingers into your clenching cunt, the low, hoarse groans he lets out into your ear making you curl your hands into his scrubs, pulling him impossibly closer. the praise he gives you makes everything spin around you, swirling and melding into nothing until all you can hear are his soft whispers.

“good girl… taking my fingers so well, yeah? pretty, pretty fucking baby… all mine… you sound so pretty, sweetheart… i love you…”

you can barely handle it all, mouth opening for his fingers when he slides them inside, sucking dazedly, hips rocking down against his hand, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, gasping when he curls them further and presses his thumb against your swollen, aching clit. when his mouth latches onto your breast, kissing and sucking, tongue flicking at your nipple before he bites down with measured restraint, you know you’re done.

he groans when you pull at his hair, muffling your sounds with a sloppy kiss. zayne’s arm wraps around your waist to hold you up when he feels you shake, licking into your mouth with such fervor that has you whining and whimpering until he pulls back to shush you.

“what- what are you doing?” you ask, voice slurring, shaking your head in a panicked gesture when he tries to pull his scrub top over his head, “don’t do that. the scrubs and glasses stay on.”

“you’re serious,” zayne muses when you stop him again, his fingers lacing with yours. “so, i was right.”

“mhm,” you smile up at him, tongue licking over his lower lip playfully.

he smiles lazily, pushing his glasses to sit higher on the slope of his nose, sitting in his chair, his thighs spreading invitingly, the fabric tight around the hardened bulge that makes your pussy throb.

“c’mere, sweetheart.”

as if you needed an invitation. you’re pulling your skirt and panties off, clambering up onto his lap, his chair creaking as you kiss him, hand slipping between your bodies to free his hard, thick cock that’s smeared with milky beads of pre-cum. 

there’s a collective sound of relief leaving both of you when you sink down on his warm length, his hands grasping your waist as you rock your hips down, whining softly into his mouth.

you lean back, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that has zayne’s eyes fluttering shut, his head tipping back to rest against the back of his chair. the bob of his adam’s apple has you growing wetter, pussy fluttering around his fat cock, zayne’s hand roughly squeezing at your ass.

“that’s it,” he breathes out, hooking his thumb against your teeth to pull you closer, lips pressing against yours. “ride my cock, love. take what you want.”

his collarbone is exposed, peeking through the v of his scrubs, your hands guiding his hand to your throat, whimpering when he squeezes your neck gently. his fingers are pushing back into your mouth before long, the same fingers that were moving so precisely only hours ago; saving someone’s life.

you let your tongue lave between his fingers, head bobbing as you ride his cock, fingers pushing at his scrub top, walls clenching around his cock when zayne bites the hem, holding it between his teeth. he looks good like this, almost as fucked out as you are, a hazy smile spreading across your face as you lean forward, breasts squishing up against his warm chest while you work your hips, bouncing on his cock, your hard nipples brushing against his pecs.

“i love you,” you mumble, voice shy and airy and cheeks flushed, despite the fact that his cock was currently stuffing you full.

“i know,” zayne whispers, hand pressing against your back to keep you flush against him as he picks you up, laying you down on his desk. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

which is why he fucks you like he means it, because he does, guiding your ankles to lock around his back as he leans over you, pounding his cock into your cunt, forcing your pussy to stretch around his thick cock, his hand cradling the back of your head so it doesn’t bang against the desk.

his glasses slip off with a clatter, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care, too consumed by pleasure and lust, your teeth sinking into his shoulder when he grinds his hips into you, cock buried so deeply inside of you that your thighs are twitching, eyes squeezed shut. 

“zayne,” you gasp, “zayne, i- i can’t-”

“gonna cum?” zayne asks, his voice hoarse and trembling from the pleasure, “please, sweetheart? cum on my cock, wanna see you look all pretty and undone, my love.”

the brush of his thumb against your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge, that and the way he drives his cock into you, in one measured, deep thrust that you’re almost sure you can feel his cock in your throat.

“c’mon,” he rasps into your ear, the lewd words accompanied by the sweetest, gentlest kiss to your cheek in encouragement, “c’mon sweetheart, cream my fuckin’ cock.”

you’re crying out, back arching, fingers scrabbling for purchase, wrapping around him, gripping the fabric of his scrubs desperately, your squeal muffled by zayne’s mouth slotting over yours, the heels of your feet pressing against him, trying to keep him stuffed inside of you. 

“fuck-” zayne groans, “oh fuck- sweetheart, take it, take my cum.”

he thrusts into you unevenly, grunting as he cums, his body falling over yours, hot cum flooding your pussy as his cock throbs and jerks inside of you. a contented sigh escapes you as you lay limp on his desk, nails scratching at his scalp gently, fingers running through his hair soon after.

zayne smiles at you when he props himself up, his lips brushing across your jaw fleetingly.

“maybe you should exclusively wear scrubs from now on,” you suggest, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes, pecking his lips.

“you’d never let me leave the house,” he whispers against your lips, amusement lacing his words.

“how could i?” you pout, your nose nuzzling against his, “not when you look this good.”

zayne lets out a low laugh, helping you sit up, cleaning you up with a few tissues before he does the same, helping you with your clothes after, his hands smoothing over your ruffled skirt.

you yawn contentedly, pressing yourself against him, rising up onto the tips of your toes to kiss him again, mewling softly when he pets his hands along your waist and hips.

“you did really good today,” you offer when he drags you onto his lap, curling up against his chest. “the surgery, i mean, i don’t know a whole lot about hearts and aortas, but i think you did great, zayne.”

“you don’t know a lot about hearts?” he muses, tipping your chin up with his finger, “that doesn’t sound right.”

“what?” you ask confusedly, brows furrowing as he kisses your forehead. “what do you mean?”

“how could you not?” zayne whispers, his gaze soft and riddled with overwhelmingly love and affection. “how could you not when you’ve completely captured my heart and soul?”

[trueshellz]

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)

⭑.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.

[trueshellz]

you say he's too small — love and deepspace

including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb

warnings. fem! reader, brat taming, dirty talk, rough syx, big dicks, they took it personal, petnames used: darling, sweetheart, princess, brat, pretty girl

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne

not the reaction you've expected yet zayne laughs like you've straight up offended him— a low, vicious sound dragging through the lengths of his throat as his hands dig into your flesh, dragging you down on his cock until your breathing was caught sharp in your throat.

"you wanna run your mouth, pretty girl?" his voice sinks low, dragging through the heat between you like smoke, his gaze glinting with something cruel and sweet, "then take all of it, come on, take every inch."

he grabs your ass with roughened palms, pulling you flush against him as he fucks into you with a brutal snap of his hips, "really, so small?" he spits, "you really wanna lie like that when you're leaking down your thighs?" as he starts pounding into you like he's trying to prove a point, thrust until your slick walls take his shape, pulse around him like he's the only thing you've ever known as each thrust felt heavier than the last— utterly thick and brutal rubbing on your walls, so deep it made your eyes roll back.

"can't even handle me," he growls, "you keep trying to squirm away— where's all that bratty shit show now?" you're crying from overstimulation, in fact, everything was just way too hot and too wet, your ass tingling where his hands kept slapping it, squeezing and holding you into place.

"darling," he pants, "you said it, yeah? now you take it," and zayne doesn't stop, not until he's spilling into you with a broken groan, pressing down so you cannot move an inch, grinding through the aftershocks just to make sure it sticks.

"that feel small?" he exhales through his teeth, something like a laugh dying in his throat as he sinks deeper into your warmth, "cause you'll be leaking for me for hours."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier

"...what did you just say?" confusion draws over xavier's facial features as his voice drops into a tone that doesn't even sound human anymore— turning quite disbelieving as his pupils blow wide, staring at you like he might devour you whole.

"you're really gonna say i'm small in the middle of it?" to tease him a little further, you decide to utter it once more, just to see what he'll do and fuck— he snaps, rightfully so as he grabs your thighs, spreads you open with both hands, wide enough that it burns, so you can see the outline of him as he slides back in, "does that feel small?" he snarls, voice thick with possession and something even worse— the urgency to prove you wrong.

"look at your pussy, baby, swallowing me like it's starving— look how fucking deep i am," and you do look as it ruins you, the way he stretches you, the fat base of his cock dragging against something so sensitive it made your stomach seize up, the wet squelch of your cunt fluttering around every inch he buries inside.

he draws back just enough to look, eyes gleaming like he's studying something rare and irreplaceable as his palm snaps sharp against your inner thigh, not out of rage but precision— a sound so wet and filthy it bloomed between you as he watches the recoil with a kind of cold interest that bordered on worship.

"don't lie, you're dripping, look, and i've barely even started moving," as he turns his head down and spits— right where you're joined, thumb smearing the globule of saliva into your clit and mixing it up with the filthy mess, like he wanted to make you see how wrong you were.

"i'll ruin you slow," xavier promises, voice husky, "fuck you until you can't sit without thinking of me, if this is small—" he thrusts deep and laughs, your vision whitening out, "—then you better pray i never really stretch you open."

your nails dig into his back like you're trying to anchor yourself to reality, in fact, to him, to anything, really— because you see, the way he fits inside you was devastating, your stomach coiling and wracked with the agony of being sprawled too rough, his cum thick and endlessly coming in white, warm ribbons as he groans with sin and need, as if your bodies were made only to drown together.

your breath catches onto every gasp as if even the air has become too much for you to endure, your hips stuttering and grinding without meaning, most importantly without will, just chasing the friction that made you feel alive as his cock was the only thing grounding you towards your pleasure.

a fractured hiss slips from him, the sound of a man too far gone as his jaw clenched, eyes wild, like your cunt was some divine punishment and he was utterly grateful to be ruined by it, "that's right, feel how big i really am, sweetheart."

"say it," xavier hisses like he's savoring it, like he wanted you to hear the desperation in his lungs, "say i'm not small— say you love how i fill you up," and you do, because it's true, correct? every single inch of you was wrecked by now, opened up around his cock like you were made to stay there.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel

"oh?" rafayel gives you an intrigued look, his eyes flicking to where you're spread wide for him, all flushed and aching and already gushing around his cock yet spelling out something so laughable, "small?" you don't get the chance to respond before he pushes in with one fast snap of hips— rougher than he had any right to go as he smiles when your legs begin to shake immediately.

"funny," he hums, "considering the way you're clenching down on me like you cannot let go," he stops mid thrust when you whisper it once more, his cock stilled inside within a long pause as you can hear the tick of his jaw when he exhales.

he leans over you now, hand palming your breasts hard enough to make you gasp out into his mouth, "but you're trembling," he drawls underneath his exhale with his jaw locked, like the feel of your walls tensing around him was too much— like it was destructive on him of how tight you were, how greedy and how bratty you were to him yet rafayel still wanted more.

the man watches you like he's analyzing a painting, "you seem to struggle from something so small?"

"you feel that, no?" he growls, hips grinding in slow, devastating circles, "that's me stretching you out, filling every fucking inch— claiming you, so tell me again, come on, who's too small?"

at this point, you cannot even form the simplest of words, drooling down your own chin as your cunt was squelching and twisting around him loud enough to echo within your bedroom as he just grins filthily.

"that's what i thought," rafayel whispers, his tongue moves in slick circles over your tits, voice low like a secret carved out of sin as if he's telling your body what he's going to do without ever asking, like your entire soul was already promised to him, "you're gonna keep me inside for hours, sweetheart, i'll keep cumming until your body knows the shape of me."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus

what got sylus the most was the way you've said it to him— quite soft yet smug, with a saccharine coated pout like you're honestly disappointed in his ability to pleasure you.

what else was he supposed to do other than still himself inside you in shock, the deafening silence that followed next not really being silence, because in reality the atmosphere was charged— you could compare it to an animatic stillness as his grip on your wrists were slowly tightening just enough to make you shiver under him, "you know what you just said?" his voice echoes softly against your cheek, too soft, in fact, as if he was trying the words out on his tongue like a wine he's about to spit out.

the laugh he lets out next was the last warning you'll get, because sylus doesn't say anything else— he just grabs both of your ankles and folds you in half, hips snapping forward with a brutal slam that punches the breath straight out of your chest.

"so small?" he grits, voice breaking into something high and ragged, hips jerking as he fucks you into the mattress like he's attempting to fuck the thought straight out of your darling skull, "you're creaming all over me like you need it, and you've got the nerve to lie like that?"

your tits bounce from the force of his hips, and of course, of course, his hands are all over them, squeezing and pinching your nipples, spreading the mounds of flesh as if trying to claim every inch he's obsessed over as he leans in, biting down just under your nipple, growling, "gonna call me small when you can't even take all of me?"

"all this mess, and you still wanna lie?" and you feel it— the tension between your legs, the burning stretch and your swollen folds, how slick your pussy sounded every time he slams himself back in, every twitch of his thickness dragging against your soaked walls, your body straining and holding, straining and holding, the sheer pressure of him inside you enough to make your vision go halo, like you're being reshaped from the inside out into something that belonged to him.

alas, you put a mental sticker inside your head to never lie to sylus again— you simply can't, in fact, you're already crying from the rough pace he's going for, shaking so bad he has to hold you in place by your wrists just to keep going.

you feel him add additional grinds on your pussy whenever you swallowed him whole, his tip pinching against your sweet spot every time he sinks too deep— like he's reshaping your frame, like your body was always meant to swell around the size of him.

you sob out his name while being stuffed full, thighs shaking from the pressure as he bears down on you, a rhythm built from slow destruction, the pressure inside you mounting as your belly contracts tight, your cunt milking him raw and seizing from how thick and hard he moves and shoves his hips, "there, there's your truth, not so small now, am i?"

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb

caleb pauses, his brain rewiring and blinking down at you in complete disbelief, "you really think that's funny?" he asks you earnestly mid thrust, like he didn't just bottom out and leave you totally whiny underneath his broad figure.

you nod devilishly, lips curled up into a smug little grin when, well, that's what does it, really— with that he leans into you like a challenge, tucking a hand behind your head with his fingers tangled tight in your hair, fucking through the tightness of your hole, all the way until you choke up his name, your smirk suddenly crumbling.

caleb kisses the corner of your tear stricken eye, his ragged breathing warm against your cheek as he coos, "not so small now, huh? it's like your body knows who it belongs to."

the man only just begun and doesn't think your thighs shaking around his waist was enough for you to understand to never say that again, not when your mouth falls open with a strangled moan of his name, not when you attempt to whine that it's too much when he just shushes you sweetly with his soft lips.

"hm, i forgot i'm dating a comedic," he says it like it hurts him and for a second, you see it flicker in his eyes, real heartbreak, or just feigned innocence? before his gaze twists into something dark, near devotional, "princess, oh princess," he coos, grabbing your face in both hands and fucking into you slow and tender like he's trying to reach your heart from underneath, "no, you don't mean that, you're just being cruel, aren't you? just trying to get me to break?"

his cock pulses deep inside you, thick and dragging over every trembling ridge of your cunt as your toes curl and your legs kick just a little, involuntary from the stretch, "you feel that, baby? you feel how your pussy's milking me already? tell me— does something small make your breath hitch like that?"

to caleb, there was nothing more mesmerizing than hearing your voice falling apart, adoring it whenever he's making you taste the consequences of every bratty little lie you've told him, "oh, you're perfect, you're so damn tight i can feel everything, you're gonna take it all for me, every inch, yeah? and then i'll ask if you still think it's small, okay?"

your whines come out in shattered bursts, your vision blurring as your body clenches around him, mind fraying at the edges from the slow, relentless drags of his thick cock grazing at your walls, in fact, you're shaking under him as he plays with your body, brain emptied by the way he keeps filling you up.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[trueshellz]

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ where his hands are — love and deepspace

synopsis. where his hands are while doing it

including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb

warnings. fem! reader, tit play, petnames used: sweetheart, baby, pretty, zayne loves your ass, doggy (prone bone), mating press, rough syx

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne + on your ass

as was anticipated, zayne needs you held wide and open for him, his palms sinking into the meat of your ass like he's terrified you'll stop taking him so fucking nicely— his grip truly punishing, spreading you apart until your hole flutters around the root of his cock, your skin flustered and shaking underneath his thumbs.

every single thrust was filth— a grind, with an even rougher drag? a push of his cock so thick and needy your mouth fell open yet no sound came out. not to mention that zayne's obsessed with the way your ass jiggles when he repeatedly slams it, the way you drip from the stretch of him was mouthwatering, leaking down on his balls in repeated warm, messy strings of your arousal.

he greedily spits on it now, watching it gleam for a moment before it vanishes into the wetness he's already made of you, his groan remained rasping, like he's unraveling just from the sight of your body swallowing it down like a good girl, like the mess itself was holy.

"sweetheart, you take it so well," he growls proudly, his voice wrecked with need, every word rasping against your skin akin to torn silk— his teeth skimming the shell of your ear, but not biting, no, just letting you feel the heat of his body bleed through you, the quiet madness clawing at the edges of his breath, "you feel this? all this mess? this ass was made for my hands, baby, made for me to fuck like this."

he presses you down so hard your hips bruise on the bed, one palm spreading you wide, properly holding you in place, the other slapping your ass with a slick, loud crack, then soothing over it like he's sorry for nothing— the man keeps you tilted, spine curved like a bow, so he could hit that spot again and again, until you sob and gush around him.

his thumb was dragging your jaw down until your mouth spills open, slack and senseless with drool dripping in slow, sticky threads from your lips to your chest, fuck, he's in so deep the curve of your spine aches instantly, but it still wasn't enough— go for it, come on, deeper, rougher, messier, all of you, fucked open and destroyed around his cock and his hands, all of you made for him to grab and destroy.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier + on your thighs

xavier spreads you wide like you're something precious and perverse, thighs pulled open with both hands, elbows locked to hold you still while he fucks into your pussy slow and brutal— his fingers squeezing hard enough to leave dents, thumbs grinding circles into the soft inner meat and dragging you open to watch your slick hole grip him tight as he stares in awe, like he's reading your soul straight through your velvety walls clenching down.

the pumping of his cock was steady, pushing back into you with every new rut hitting your spots, his eyes flicking up to your face every time you moan like he wants to memorize the desire in your expression.

"fuck, you're soaked— this tight little thing's crying for me," he whines, voice low and wild, "you like being held open like this, huh? you like how deep i can get when you're spread like a fucking feast?"

he bends your legs back more, more, until your muscles tremble and burn, until your knees were beside your ears and your belly taut and stretched and full of him, his cock hitting angles that made you see stars while he's watching the way you shudder and leak around him, thumbs digging into the hinge of your thighs like you're nothing but a hole to keep him warm and satiated.

xavier's grip flexes with every shove of cock, every gush of arousal spilling down between your ass and coating his lap, watching it slicken your folds even more before pushing in again with a low groan like he's losing his mind inside you.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel + on your tits

rafayel palms your breasts like they're holy objects, his fingers curled above their weight and kneading slow and calculated, like he's shaping clay as he groans every time you squeeze him, cock dragging through your soaked walls and still, his hands remained on your chest— massaging your tits, squeezing them too, adding a lil kiss, yeah? pulling at your nipples until you wince out. 

he drags his thumbs over them again, watching them stiffen under his touch, then leans down to bite and suck and spit warm and wet saliva across your skin until your whole chest was shining of his liquids.

the man pants, licking a trail up to your sternum, dragging hot and slow up the center of your chest, tongue catching every tremble like he's tracing a confession into your skin— wet and utterly depraved, "these tits bounce every time i push in, pretty, you feel how deep i am? all that mess leaking outta you, and i still want more."

he begins to fuck you upwards now, body curved within yours and thrusts angled so every movement drags the swollen head of his cock right along your sweet spot. your tits bounce every time he sinks in and rafayel moans into your skin, hands tightening like he could mold them into something even lewder as he rubs the wet peaks of your nipples with slick-covered fingers, then bites again, watching the way you jolt and cry in joy.

as obvious, he wanted you to feel him everywhere— his cock, his hands, his teeth, his tongue, what else? his warmth, yeah, as the bed creaks under you, repeatedly, slick smeared down your thighs and belly from how hard and deep he fucks you, and still— his hands never left your tits once, like they're his anchor to hold onto, like he's trying to memorize every shake and spill of them under his touch.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus + on your wrists

the moment you move, sylus's mind haywires with your wrists pinned hard to the mattress, his weight over you like a threat, his breath hot and uneven against your jaw as his grip was tight enough to ache, the kind of hold that bruised tomorrow and made your pulse throb beneath his fingers.

it's obvious he liked seeing your hands trapped within his own— adored knowing you cannot stop him, cannot push him away either, cannot beg for mercy without squirming, well, without him wanting to hear you beg at least trice.

"don't you move now," he spits, hips grinding deep until your eyes rolled back, "you feel that? you're clenching so tight, it's like you're trying to keep me there forever," as he fucks you like it's punishment— like worship carved out of violence? yeah, slamming into your slick, weeping heat until your walls fluttered and your stomach contracts from how much he burned through you.

your knuckles turned white with how tightly you curl your fingers into his biceps as his grip tightens, the wet sounds between your thighs getting louder and wetter, each roll of hips a disgusting punch of cock against your insides, yet you cannot do anything— cannot stop it, cannot run from it— just cry out his name beneath him as he fucks and fucks and tears you open, then lovingly holds your wrists like he's fixing himself to sanity.

sylus heaves like a wild animal in your ear and every time you jerk your hips upwards to wiggle against him, his fingers flex tighter, dragging your arms above your head, thrusts so cruel and searing like he doesn't know how to stop, even when you're all tears stricken, even when you break at last— he won't let you go, simply, he can't, not when your pussy was wrapped so sweet and swollen around him.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb + on your head

caleb doesn't let you look away, not once, with his hand pressed behind your own, squeezing your face into the pillows, fingers cradling your skull like he's kneeling before something divine, keeping you close so he could spill his moans directly into your mouth, the press of his palm tender yet firm, like he wanted to hold your whole brain together while he pounds you apart.

he kisses you like he's dying, like he needed your spit to live— tongue messy and slick, panting into your mouth with every thrust that rocks you up the bed as he kept whispering— candid n broken n filthy things between kisses, "you're so beautiful like this," his voice shatters, lust catching on the wreckage of pleasure as your walls seize tight around him, dragging a noise from his throat that sounds more like unravel than power, like he's being wrung dry from the inside out, "fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight, so good, don't let go— just let me feel you."

his hips jerk forward again as your back arches off the mattress from how deep it was, from how perfectly his cock pinches inside you like it's following a specific path carved just for him— at this, you could barely catch a breather, like caleb made flowers grow in your lungs and although they felt beautiful, otherworldly, you just couldn't breathe anymore.

his cock pulses with every repeated squeeze of your cunt around him as his thick cock shines where you're joined— slick gushing out every time he pushes in, guzzling it back when he snaps forward and still, his hand cups your head like a frail object, holding you steady as if your body could shatter from the sheer pleasure.

the man kept you close like you're his oxygen, his life, he moves like a man possessed with a rhythm doused in solace, like each thrust was an apology he didn't know how to voice out loud— his whines lost, eyes glassy and teeth clenched against the sob lodged in his chest.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[trueshellz]

*⃝̥ SWITCHIN’ THE POSITIONS FOR UUUU :3 ── 𝐳 & 𝐜

.ﾟ🪩 ⟡ | brief post about beb & zay’s fav positions- very brief!

pairing. — MDNI (17+) fem!reader (hella freaky) x 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 & 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 (not a threesome unforch) warnings. basically bringing positions & 34+35 to life, sex positions, quick n short smut, drooling :p petnames, anal fingering omg (this one’s for my caleb anal freak believers), FREAKleb, unprotected sex, creampies, zayne uses his evol !! slight temperature play, tit play cuz boobs ♡ :3 horny big cock caleb & horny big cock zayne :3 enjoy wc. 2.1k a,n. this took me so long for NO REASON !!! anywho not proofread, finished this at 5 am when i have a reproductive health assignment for tmrw.. but idgaf THIS is my reproductive health assignment 🙂‍↕️

જ CALEB. the colonel is a man of many talents, including his ability to pull off any and every position you wanted. missionary, doggy, 69, mating press, you name it— he’s in it before you even finish asking for it. if you wanted this six feet two man to do the splits for you in the middle of the bed, believe it or not he wouldn’t even hesitate to do that and more just for you (he values your happiness & pleasure over everything if you couldn’t tell) that being said— one position in particular will always have caleb drooling at the mouth with his eyes crossed: reverse cowgirl.

“fuuuuck yes.. baby— just like that.” caleb babbled on and on behind you, sweat glistening and rolling down his toned skin while his chest rose up and down, up and down rapidly, you noted the wavering in his words, the way his massive hands massaged your hips after gripping onto the supple skin so roughly.

you currently had your boyfriend who was leaking between your thighs rambling uncontrollably behind you, truth was he didn’t even know what the fuck to keep up with. the way your hips were rolling back on his in an unforgiving pace or the way your back arched perfectly from his view or the way your pussy was gushing around his soaking cock— fuck everything was making him completely delirious.

your walls fluttered around him, every movement your pretty little cunt did made his eyes roll to the back of his skull, “s-shit pips..” he mumbled as his harshly bitten, red lips barely moved from the almost-frowning expression he was sporting— all in the hopes of not cumming too soon and ruining your fun.

caleb was close to full on sobbing, the pace you’ve set was divine, pushing him against the edge over and over again when you bounced on his cock to let the most obscene and lewd sounds echo in his room all the while combining them with the prettiest, sweetest whimpers of his name.

you sank down on his length, letting him get engulfed entirely in your warmth as his tip gushed against your cervix. “feels good, hm?” you cheekily glanced at him over his shoulder and oh boy caleb was gone.

your body felt unbelievably hot, blazing and searing while the muscles in your thighs burned. but it was all so, so worth it, to see a blushing caleb with sparkly tears forming along his waterline, swollen pretty red lips all bitten and drooling, so attractive to see your composed, sweet boyfriend throwing his head against the pillow as he held himself back even more.

caleb by now felt himself sinking into a state of frenzy— hands gripping onto the bedsheets, thighs flexing alongside his toned abdomen as his entire body began to twitch, “s’good pips.. such a perfect pussy sucking me in,” he felt the heat practically radiate off of both of your bodies, the air in the room almost suffocating with how thick and heavy it was, everything felt too good and caleb was losing his sense of reality with how overwhelmed he was getting.

“it’s jus’ for me, no?” he babbled, all breathy and husky as his hands began to caress your lower back, “mhm, only for you.” and on instinct when his palm applied the slightest bit of pressure, you arched lower and laid your chest against the mattress, giving caleb the most delicious view of your ass bouncing on him, cunt wrapped all around his pulsing cock, so deep inside of you and so filthy.

the glossy mess between your inner thighs made him groan in need, he began to guide your hips back against his pelvis while he thrusted upwards, meeting each and every one of your thrusts and letting the wet noises of your ass landing on his pelvis resonate against the walls, the sight of your skin jiggling roughly with every thrust making him sigh in ecstasy. “f-fuck, caleb!” you moaned so prettily for him once his cock felt like it was moulding you to his shape, thrusts so powerful and deep.

“yeah, baby? can’t take it?” his cock slid in and out of your drenched folds, the view so arousing it made heat spread throughout his body just like a fever, “your pretty cunt’s telling me otherwise tho..” he grunted, unable to help the way his eyes locked in on your puckered hole, and before he could think more about it— he thrusted his thumb into the tight ring.

“c-caleb!—“ “shhh sweetheart..” he reassured you instantly, picking up the pace of his cock between your tightening walls to distract you from the uncomfortable stretch of your ass, your teeth finding comfort in pulling against the crumpled bedsheets while your legs shook in pleasure.

it was so new, you never expected caleb to suddenly take this route but you were so glad that he did because getting both of your holes stretched out so nicely at the same time made your eyes water.

and before you knew it, you were moaning and pushing your hips back against caleb’s, “like that pips? feels good?” and god it felt like your mind was melting away, “so good, caleb.. s-shit..” you felt the saliva that was pooling in your mouth puddle beneath you, he was so deep inside of you in every way, pulling his cock back merely by a few inches before filling you up again.

you felt so stuffed. almost feeling him in your stomach with how deep he was and how deep he stayed. all the while his large thumb played with your hole, in and out of your tight ring of muscles that accepted his digit easily now.

“such greedy holes taking me in so well..” caleb praised as his pupils were practically heart shaped, and he was right, you were taking him in so well, milking and sucking his cock and thumb in a mouth watering way. he felt his head spin the more you squirted around him each time his cock slipped the slightest bit out.

feeling the heat burn in your lower stomach, the knot of pleasure tightening more and more. it was making you dizzy, nails digging into the mattress while your hand absentmindedly sneaked beneath you, fingers rubbing tight circles around your puffy clit just to send you over the edge.

but oh caleb couldn’t have that, he was in charge of bringing you heavenly pleasure while your only job was to take it, “i’ve got you, pips.” he gently pushed your hand away before replacing it with his own, following the same pattern but quicker and rougher.

“caleb!” you almost screamed at the overwhelming sensation, your nerves feeling electrified as waves of ecstasy washed down on you, “juuusst like that.. f-fuck..” your boyfriend groans while you gushed around him, so tight and so wet. a ring of arousal forming around his base before his entire abdomen became soaked in your squirt.

“s-shit!” and with his tip kissing your cervix, caleb stuffed you full with endless ropes of his warm cum.

ຊ ZAYNE. zayne is a very, very needy man. call it him being touch starved, love-starved, him not indulging in pleasuring himself or others throughout his life so much and instead directing his energy on making himself better education and physical strength wise, and now that he has you, someone he trusts and loves and isn’t holding himself back from pleasing, he’s insatiable. positions, locations— none of that really matter to him, however he’ll always prefer to be in the safety of your home and the comfort of your bed, as close as possible to you no matter how tired or exhausted he is from his work in the hospital, in conclusion: spooning.

“you’re so warm, love.” his sweet voice whispered next to your ear, large and muscular arms wrapped around your middle as his legs nudged yours open. zayne had your back pressed against his chest, his body colder than yours and the freezing contact made your head dizzy.

his frosty ingertips travelled down your night dress, tiny snow particles decorating the satin fabric making you sigh in pleasure, you knew he was using your favourite tricks on you— it was always a different kind of experience whenever he used his evol.

the contrast between his cold hands and the warm blankets had you sweating, whimpering his name in desperation from the pooling heat between your thighs, “what do you want from me, snowflake?” his breath fanned your neck as you closed your eyes, feeling feverish when you replied “need you, zayne. so bad” and gosh who was zayne to refuse you?

“easy now darling..” he chuckled when your legs began to shake the second his frosty fingers slithered between your thighs, he could feel the heat radiating from your panties, icy fingers sneaking beneath the thin lace as your body shuddered against his, “doing so good for me, snowflake.” his voice was low, husky, needy. praising you as much as you wanted just to hear your pretty noises and responses.

his other hand swiftly pushed his sweatpants and boxers down, just enough to have his pulsing cock push between your plush thighs. the sudden, wet contact of his precum coated tip with your slicked thighs made both of you groan, fingers wrapping around his base as he pumped his leaking cock a few times while wrapped around the softness of your skin, the feeling of you around all of his senses was so thrilling. the cardiac surgeon was addicted to the sensation of his heart beating out of his chest.

“zaynie please.. don’t tease me.” you squirmed in his hold, everything felt so lewd and it was driving you insane. the ache between your legs and the fastened rising of your chest— everything was overwhelming and ardent, if zayne didn’t fill you up and fuck you stupid right now- you would literally explode.

“shhhh love, i’ve got you.” he reassured, finally angling his tip along your drenched opening, a shaky breath escaping his throat as he sunk inside of your warmth completely, the sweet stretch making you gasp while he settled inside of you, his length never failed to make you feel so stuffed fully to the brim.

the moment your walls engulfed his soaked cock zayne’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull, the feeling was so harshly consuming to him, and he loved surrendering his tired and spent body to the dizzying pleasure you’ll always grant him, without any further words exchanged between you, he began to move his hips in a perfect pace, thrusting in and out sloppily, his tip caressing each and every sweet spot inside of you, making you babble praises just for him.

“s’good zay.. f-fuck! so deep..” drool by now was decorating the pillowcase beneath you, mind so foggy with the pleasure of your lover stretching you out so well, zayne’s muffled moans got lost on the side of your neck, bites and kisses being littered all across your skin while your fingers wrapped around the bedsheets.

his tip nudged against your cervix the same moment his frosty fingers slithered beneath your dress, large hands fondling with your breasts as he decreased the temperature of his hands, “zayne!” you couldn’t help but whimper while one of your hands sprang to hold his icy ones, “it’s okay, baby. you can take it.” he gently bit your earlobe as he praised you.

“it’s too c-cold..” you might’ve been complaining but zayne felt the tightening of your cunt around him when his icy fingertips pinched your hardened nipples, he knew you were enjoying this, he always knew what you liked and didn’t like. and he knew that you loved it when he played with you like this.

“but you’re taking it so well, aren’t you snowflake?” he muttered, hips picking up the pace as his cock slipped in and out of you so sensually, you shivered in his hold while nodding, “taking me so well, so perfect for me.” he mumbled against your skin, each word going straight to your pulsing cunt as the heat in your stomach bubbled more, aching for release while zayne kept splitting you open on his length.

“cum for me, baby.. need to feel you.” he sounded drunk absolutely intoxicated on you as he begged you to cum around his cock, “oh fuck—“ you felt the way the tears stung the back of your eyes, one of his hands that toyed with your tit slid downwards to pinch at your pulsating clit, the sensation of his cold fingers rubbing lazy circles on your nub was enough to have your eyes cross.

“c-cumming— shit! zayne- oh my god!” you sobbed his name for him, body shaking in his hold as your back arched against his chest, climax bursting within you as raging waves of euphoria crashed onto you, creaming all over his cock while zayne groaned from the incessant tightening of your walls around him, “b-baby.. oh fuck i’m close.” he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, not when your cunt was practically milking him unforgivingly.

with one final, sloppy thrust, zayne coated your flowing pussy with thick ropes of his milky cum. allowing the carnal pleasure to rapture along his shaking frame.

a,n. WHAT WAS THAT PIPSQUEAKKK !!! 🗣️🗣️

[trueshellz]

Flashing them mid argument

Caleb

“You’re reckless,” he snaps, pacing, muscle flexing in his jaw. “You don’t think, and I’m left picking up the damn—"

You yank your shirt up. No bra. Nipples tight, tits bouncing slightly from the motion.

He stops mid-sentence. Blinks. Hard.

“…The fuck are you doing?”

You just shrug. Innocent. Quiet.

His eyes darken, and in two steps, he’s on you—hand gripping your throat lightly, eyes burning.

“You think that’s funny? Flashing me mid-fight?” he growls, dragging you back until your hips hit the kitchen counter. “You think I won’t fuck you right here, bare, and cum all over those tits like the filthy girl you’re acting like?”

He doesn’t wait for permission. Pulls his cock free and shoves into you raw, the stretch making you cry out as he fucks you like the fight never happened—like he’s going to teach your body a lesson you’ll never forget.

Rafayel

“You always do this—deflect with sex. I’m not stupid, sweetheart, and I’m not in the mood—”

You tug your top down in one smooth move. Nipples bare. Chest rising.

He stares.

“...You’re evil.”

And then he moves—pulls you into the wall, kisses you like he’s angry, and drops to his knees.

“Guess I’ll put that mouth of yours to better use,” he growls, unzipping and tapping his cock against your lips. “Open up, since you’re so eager to shut me up.”

You moan around him, drooling as he fucks your mouth deep, barely giving you a second to breathe.

“You started this,” he pants. “You end it. With cum down your throat.”

Sylus

“You think just because you’re hot you can flash your tits and win every fight—”

You do it. Shirt up. Full view. A deliberate, slow pull.

He stops cold.

Smirks.

“Oh, fuck, baby… you’re done for.”

He’s unzipping while you’re still smiling—shoving you against the wall, one hand twisting in your hair, the other pushing his cock against your entrance.

“No teasing now,” he rasps. “You wanted attention, you’re getting it. And I’m not stopping ‘til I cum so deep inside you, you feel me for days.”

And he means it. He fucks you rough, hand on your throat, slapping your ass, ruining your body like he’s punishing you for being so fucking sexy.

Zayne

“This isn’t healthy communication,” he’s saying, arms crossed, trying to reason with you.

You lift your shirt.

He blinks. Swears under his breath.

Looks away. Looks back.

“…You little brat,” he murmurs.

He hauls you onto the couch, lays you down, and pulls your shorts off so fast they rip.

“You know I can’t resist you when you do that.”

He starts slow—but the second he’s inside you and you moan his name like you need it, all that calm control? Gone. He fucks you into the cushions, whispering, “Still think flashing me mid-fight’s a good idea?”

You nod, brainless.

“Thought so.”

Xavier

You’re losing the argument. Fast. His voice is cold, flat, and every point he makes is too fucking logical.

So you throw your shirt up. Just like that.

He freezes. Blinks. Takes a long breath.

“...Is this your strategy now?”

You nod. Bite your lip.

He steps forward, unbuttons your pants without a word, and slides his hand between your legs.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters. “You like being punished for being difficult.”

He lifts you onto the table, pushes in without prep, without pause, and fucks you silently—deep and punishing, slow enough to be cruel.

No teasing. Just correction. Ownership.

“You win,” you whisper breathlessly.

“No,” he growls, “I own you.”

[trueshellz]

WEAR HEADPHONES

NSFW

TLC from Doctor Zayne

Once again, all audio comes from the game except for the music. No AI.

[trueshellz]

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ hot things he does — love and deepspace

synopsis. hot things he does while doing it

including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb

warnings. fem! reader, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, cockwarming, dry humping, dirty talk, tit play, brat taming, petnames used: sweetheart, baby

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne + holding your body like he owns it

from what you've gathered, zayne always starts obsessing over your mouth while being in you first— his thumb carefully resting on your lip, tilting your face up like he's examining something delicate, quite precious, his darling, his life.

naturally, your cheeks rise in temperature beneath his grip, your skin dewy with sweat and pheromones and the way he looks at you was just so steady it made your belly twist tight. yet zayne doesn't need to say a lot, in fact, he doesn't have to, he just keeps his eyes locked on yours forevermore, watching every flicker of your lashes, every shiver that rolls down your spine as his cock pushes in with slow, thick and dragging thrusts, making you feel the strong tremors in your thighs.

"you feel that, you feel me?" he asks huskily, but not gentle, you notice there was something seething beneath it, something tight, like it took him insane effort not to filthily fuck into you, "that shake in your legs, fuck, you can take it all like that for me? thats not fair, is it?" as you shake your head frantically at him, skin flustered when he smirks at you.

"that's your body giving in, you know?" and then he starts, thrusts after thrusts, hard and deep all the way in, hips sharp and pelvis grinding against your overstimulated clit with every goddamn drag— and in this situation, all you could really do was sob and twitch as zayne catches your noises with his palm on your mouth, still holding your face, making you look at him.

the way he fills you to the brim was nerve racking, the way every inch of his pulses like he's aching to come, but won't, not until you do as his thumb finds your clit and rubs fast circles through the protective skin of it, too intense yet you needed more when he just moaned out your name, loving your frame jerking under him, all from overstimulation and burning want.

"that's what i want baby," zayne grunts, voice fraying around the edges, "that exact sound, that exact fucking look," as a deep groan claws out of him when you tighten around his length, his hips snapping forward when you do it again.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier + becomes controlling over your pleasure

xavier doesn't touch you the way normal men touch, you see, there's no rush to his movements— no hunger on the surface as his breath remained even and his hands steady, his voice staying clinical as he sits at the foot of the bed, one hand pressed flat to your trembling inner thigh while the other disappears between your legs, fingers curling in filling strokes.

he watches the way your stomach flinches, the ripple of your thighs when he presses just a little deeper and the way your hips buck, chasing friction like instinct, and then jolt back in shame when you realize how carefully he's observing your entire frame.

"don't look away, you hear me," xavier's voice spills out like cold metal dragged across skin, remaining glacial at its core, "i want you to see what i see, how you fall apart for me, how you spasm every time i do this—" as he crooks his fingers again, making you choke on your breath as your toes curl, your cunt clamping down around him with a squelch so obscene it makes your whole body jerk upwards.

"you're soaked baby, fuck, have been for minutes, i've barely done anything," xavier's gaze alone pins you down, fierce and unblinking as his jaw ticks once— like he's bracing himself for the ruin he's about to make of you, "—and yet, you're trembling like i've fucked you raw."

well, okay, lets be honest here— you are trembling, in fact, your thighs just won't stop twitching even if you focus on them very hard.

the heat was just too much— sickly sweet and humiliating, a swelling ache that lived in your belly and climbed higher every time he curled his fingers up and rubs, fuck, you're soaking the sheets, desperately so, your slick dripping down his wrist and touching him up— quite hilarious, wasn't it? if you consider that xavier still hasn't even taken his shirt off yet.

you try to reach down and press his hand deeper into your cunt to find any friction on your clit, to relieve this maddening, building pressure that's leaving your vision white at the edges, yet his other hand shoots out— clamping around your wrist with enough strength to make you wince.

"don't," he says softly, but the warning inside was unmistakable, "don't, you're not allowed to interfere,"

you sob out his name in high tunes as your stomach tightens when he adds another finger, thighs shaking violently, you want, no, need, to have him closer, perhaps even have his tongue stroke through your hole to chase that spark building behind your ribs, but he won't let you.

"it's more interesting when you're desperate," xavier admits bluntly, withdrawing his fingers for a second— watching the way your cunt clenches around nothing, trying to hold onto digits, fluttering from the emptiness.

after waiting for a little, he slips them back in slowly, dragging them along your soaked walls, watching you flinch and twitch and cry out for him— and that's what ultimately made it worse, because xavier knows, he knows exactly how your body worked, exactly what it needed to cum, and he's purposely giving you just less than enough.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel + needs to cookwarm you

understandably, rafayel was panting even before he pushed himself into you, yet when he finally did— it's slow, thick, shivering with restriction which didn't last, "oh fuck," his adams apple bobs as he chokes on his spit, his head dropping against your shoulder with his voice hoarse of disbelief, "you're so tight, baby, so warm, you feel—" the man cannot even finish, truly, he can't.

his breath hitches instead, hips jerking deeper as rafayel curses again and again, low and against your neck, like each inch of you that swallowed him was tearing the sanity from his bones. he bottoms out once, twice, fucking into you faster to switch and choose between the perfect rhythm as he finally settles his entire shaft inside you, his body shuddering like he's about to cum then and there.

because the moment he fit his entire length in you, you clench around him furiously— tight and fluttering, pulsing with that needy ache as his mouth drops open with a broken gasp, "don't do that," he begs, barely above a whisper, "don't fucking squeeze like that— I'll fucking lose it," as he leans over you, forearms bracketing your head and forehead pressed to yours, hips twitching in shallow motions because even the smallest shift made you both cry out into each others lips.

"can i stay like this, baby?" he kisses along your jaw, "see how good we fit, how full you are, you're holding onto me like you never want me to leave," and then he thrusts up, fathomless and without restriction before dragging himself out just enough to feel the strong stretch of you, then sliding right back to the hilt— where he then stays, twitching inside with a sound closer to a sob than a moan.

you were so full at this point— achingly so, you could feel every vein of him, every curl and turn, the way his cock throbbed inside you like it's your own heartbeat as your legs shake around his waist from how heavy it made you feel, how close it made you too, fuck, how tight it got when your body flinched from the overwhelming pulses of him inside.

your stomach knots as your breath stutters, drinking in his moans again— helplessly kissing him as he completely took over your body, "can't even think about pulling out—" his hips move again, this time faster, barely pulling himself back, the drag of his cock so intense your back instantly arched from it, sparks flashing behind your eyes.

his hips slam deep, once, twice— and he's gone, voice catching as he releases with brutal force, cock pulsing as he comes inside you, deep, hot, thick, all of it, yeah? so much it spills back out with the next thrust— and still, he doesn't stop.

"again," he pants, "i'm not done, i'm not done, need you to keep me inside, don't let me go, don't let me fucking go—" rafayel kisses you, like he's trying to fuse into you, believing that if he can keep your cunt around his dripping dick long enough, he'll never have to leave.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus + obsessed with your tits

as one might expect, sylus doesn't even get your clothes off properly nor doesn't care if they tear, he's practically panting as he pulls your top down, lips already brushing hot over your chest before he even gets a full look, "fuck, fuck, you're so—" his breath hits your doused skin, his eyes wild and pupils blown, voice slurred like he's drunk on the barest sight of you, "you don't know what you do to me, you don't know how long i've thought about this."

then his mouth hits your tits and it's instantly wet, it's hot, all of it, it's filthy too, the way he latches onto your nipple with a groan so guttural it shakes through your ribs. his tongue rolls along your tits in slow circles as his teeth scrape, and when you arched into his body, twitching from how sensitive you were, he grins, "yeah, like that, that's what i wanna see," as he palms your tits with both hands and squeezes, pushing them together so he can bury his face between them and moan, like he's drowning in them, like he wants to live there forever.

your entire frame was on fire, thighs slick with your arousal, hips grinding into air— because he hasn't even touched you there yet, sylus couldn't find time, not properly, just the drag of his thigh between yours was enough he believed, or just the occasional graze of knuckles when he shifts to kiss the other nipple.

he wants it that way as he glances down once and groans— loudly like it's hurting him to wait, "you're messing up my pants," he smirks, rutting against your leg, leaking against your skin, "just from me sucking your tits like this? look at what a mess you are baby," sylus shoves his hand between your legs, fuck, finally, right? rubbing through your soaked pussy, smearing your slick up to your clit and back down, lazy and greedy all at once, "you want more? you wanna cum just from this?"

but do not mistake him because his mouth stays at your chest the whole time, he's addicted, mouthing one nipple while his fingers sink inside, scissoring your tight hole.

your back arches instantly and you're soaked, even more now and fuck, you're overstimulated from every side, your clit aching from how close you were yet he doesn't stop sucking on your sensitive nipples, doesn't stop grinding against your thigh like a man gone mad.

"you're perfect," he gasps, "you're perfect, let me have you like this, let me watch you come with my mouth on your tits— let me feel you fucking pulse around my fingers while i suck your tits, baby," as he grunts into your skin, "i'll ruin you like this, i'll make it so every time you touch yourself, you'll think about my mouth here— my tongue, my teeth, how fucking hard i came grinding against you."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb + cannot stop praising you

"you're so good," caleb whispers to you as if he's confessing something protected, his touch weighted with awe, a worship that trembles through his fingers, slithering up your thighs, then moving over to your waist, ultimately cupping your face, "so good, baby, I can't, i can't even—"

the sentence dies on his tongue because, well, he's too busy looking, you know? at you, in fact, at where he's inside you, at the way your lips part and your body arches up every time he shoves his cock inside you greedily.

and you feel everything, caleb made sure of that— the stretch, the slip, the depth, fuck, he's thick, hot, and so careful at first— so slow it's almost cruel, each inch dragging against your walls until your hands hold onto him for dear life, chasing more, chasing him.

caleb says your name through passion— like the pleasure was too good, too deep, so insane it might break him.

he's repeatedly brushing his lips over your cheek as he thrusts just a little harder, a little further so he could stroke over your sweet spot, taking your frame through new spots of awareness, "taking me so well, you're perfect, just perfect," as his voice cracks when you clench down, "you're so fucking good, too good— i'm not strong enough for you, sweetheart, not when you feel like this."

don't be afraid because, well, caleb will stop fucking you so slow and sensually at some point, even your boyfriend had limits and couldn't push back on his pleasure for eternity.

you whimper when he begins to slide against your sweet spot again, this time faster and caleb snaps, a groan ripping out of him, needy and raw as he's suddenly fucking you like he's starved for it— like you're the only thing in the world that made sense to him, his cock hitting so impactful your ability to breathe evenly was questioned, your back remained curved, your thighs shaking with every thick drag.

"you're so warm, so tight around me— fuck, i feel you everywhere," his hands grip your waist harder, pulling you against his pelvis as he thrusts, making it purposefully more extensive, messier too so you'll make those wet, nasty sounds for him, "you're squeezing me, baby, you don't even know what you do to me—"

your skin prickles from how much he worships you whenever you were intimate with each other, how he sounds ruined with gratitude, ruined with your cunt constricting around him ever so tightly, milking him, how he looked down and watches your bodies join like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen— your arousal and his cum spreading over your thighs, his cock glistening with every pullout as his breath stutters when he sees it, "you're making such a mess— i love it, i love you like this—"

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[trueshellz]

Are we seeing this zayne girlies?!

AND THE BUSINESS PROPOSAL SCENE ?!

[trueshellz]

Undone

❤︎ tags and content: smut, wall sex, floor sex, slow burn then snap, soft aftercare, slight dom!zayne x f!reader, emotional release, mutual pining ❤︎ author note: reuploaded 🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/omi.resources ©2025 theastralsage do not repost, copy, translate, or modify

Zayne was always the composed one. The one with careful hands and quiet eyes, with a voice that cut clean and never wavered. But one dinner, one dress, and one look too long was all it took to unravel years of restraint.

You never expected the man who held himself back for so long to kiss you against the wall like he meant to worship and wreck you all at once. And when control finally breaks, it doesn’t happen gently—it happens on the floor, in the dark, with silk around your hips and his voice shaking as he says your name.

Maybe he was never in control to begin with.

Evening descended over Linkon in its usual fanfare—city lights winking awake one by one like stars born beneath skyscrapers, the pale haze of dusk giving way to the electric hum of nightlife. The air pulsed with energy, sleek hovercars zipping past mirrored buildings, street-level bars exhaling laughter and jazz into the open air. It was the kind of night made for private booths and clinking glasses, for eyes that lingered too long and strangers who didn’t ask for names.

Zayne stood just outside the restaurant’s glass doors, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slate-black overcoat, the other absently adjusting the cuff of his shirt beneath his suit jacket. He was dressed in quiet elegance—charcoal-gray three-piece, collar sharp, a glint of silver from the watch at his wrist. His glasses caught the glow of the neon signage behind him, reflecting streaks of blue and red across his unreadable expression.

He checked the time—again—not because you were late, but because he was nervous. Not that he’d admit it. Not even to himself.

Then the crowd shifted. And he saw you.

You stepped out of the car like a secret finally revealed, the city’s lights catching on every shimmer of red that clung to your body like liquid fire. The dress was sleeveless, backless, dangerous. It hugged your curves with intention, falling just past the thighs with a slit that made even passing strangers pause mid-step. The neckline dipped low, not scandalously, but enough to be remembered.

And remembered you were. People were staring. He was staring.

Zayne’s breath caught in his throat—a small hitch, barely noticeable to anyone but himself—but it was enough. His composure faltered for half a second, pupils dilating just a touch behind his lenses. He stood straighter, as if his body betrayed what his mouth would never say.

You smiled when you saw him. Not the practiced kind you wore during press events or missions, but something softer. Warmer. Like you already knew what you were doing to him.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you crossed the distance, the scent of something warm and floral brushing past him like a whispered sin.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you said, eyes catching the glint of surprise still flickering behind his calm exterior.

“You’re not late,” he replied, but it came out rougher than intended.

You tilted your head. “You sure? You look like you’ve been holding your breath.”

Zayne didn’t answer right away. His eyes swept over you—once, deliberately—before he looked away, jaw tightening beneath the low halo of city light.

“I’m fine,” he said, but his hand flexed in his pocket, like he was trying to steady something beneath his skin.

You offered your arm to him with a mischievous little curve of your lips, the night glittering against your dress as if the city itself couldn’t help but follow your movements.

“Well then, Doctor,” you teased. “Shall we?”

He hesitated—half a breath, no more before he stepped beside you and slipped his hand into the crook of your elbow. Warmth flooded between you from that single point of contact, restrained and formal and absolutely not trembling.

But inside?

Zayne Li was already burning.

The restaurant was carved from marble and glass, its floor-to-ceiling windows casting a view of Linkon’s skyline that sparkled like spilled stardust across the night. Soft piano music drifted through the air, threaded delicately beneath the low hum of conversation and clinking silver. The lighting was subdued and golden, diffused through suspended crystal chandeliers that turned the entire space into a dreamscape of warm, refracted glow.

A hostess escorted you both to a corner table overlooking the city, tucked just far enough from the crowd to feel intimate. Zayne said little as she spoke, but you noticed the way his gaze remained fixed on you when he thought you weren’t looking, the faint clench of his jaw as another man across the room turned to watch you pass, his eyes lingering just a second too long on the curve of your back, the shimmer of your dress catching every flicker of light like a magnet for desire.

He didn’t say anything then, but when he pulled your chair out, his fingers brushed your bare shoulder in a way that felt neither accidental nor routine. There was no apology in the touch, only awareness.

You sat, legs crossing with practiced ease as you reached for the menu, though your attention drifted not to the food but to him. Zayne adjusted his glasses, his expression schooled to its usual quiet restraint, though there was something tighter about the line of his shoulders now, something more deliberate in the way he sat across from you with one arm resting on the table, fingers lightly drumming against the edge of his crystal water glass.

You leaned forward slightly, elbows brushing the fine linen, and the neckline of your dress shifted just enough to draw his gaze downward. He caught himself a moment too late, eyes snapping back to yours with that familiar flicker of controlled tension, one that seemed to worsen the longer he was forced to hold still and pretend.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you said, tilting your head with a subtle smile, the red of your lips matching the dress like a secret spelled out in silk.

Zayne’s response was a breath delayed, his voice lower than usual, as if pulled taut by something he couldn’t quite name. “It’s loud in here.”

It wasn’t. Not really.

But you allowed him the excuse, watching as the waiter arrived with wine, pouring it carefully into tall-stemmed glasses that gleamed in the candlelight. Zayne thanked him politely, his gaze shifting only once to the bar, where the same man from earlier still sat with his attention casually cast in your direction. You turned slightly, following the line of his sight, then returned your focus to your glass, letting your fingers trace the rim in a slow circle.

“He’s not being subtle,” you murmured, amusement laced behind the observation.

Zayne didn’t look at you. “No,” he replied quietly, his voice calm but flat. “He’s not.”

You took a sip of wine, savoring the subtle dryness before resting the glass down with measured grace, watching as Zayne reached for his own, though his eyes no longer lingered on the menu. They lingered on you.

There was a moment then, brief but electric. His thumb traced the condensation along the side of his glass, your knee brushing his beneath the table as you shifted, the friction light but unmistakable. His fingers stilled. Yours didn’t.

You let your hand drift forward, brushing a nonexistent speck of lint from the sleeve of his jacket, your touch featherlight, innocent in appearance but loaded with every unspoken invitation you’d buried over the last few weeks. His gaze dropped to your hand, unmoving, eyes darker than before and unreadable behind the glint of his lenses.

“Is this why you came to dinner?” you asked softly, voice low enough to be heard only by him, your tone rich with curiosity and something sweeter. “To glare at men across the room and pretend not to look at me?”

His mouth twitched, but no smile came. Instead, he reached for his wine, sipped, and set it down with the precision of a man redirecting a thought that threatened to unravel him. When he finally answered, the words came slow, carefully measured, like each one had been chosen and then stripped of emotion before being allowed to speak.

“I joined you,” he said, “because I wanted to spend time with you.”

Your breath caught—not because it was shocking, but because it wasn’t what you’d expected. Not from him. Not from the man who guarded his glances like state secrets and kept his compliments locked behind layers of protocol and distance.

You felt the burn of the wine in your throat, warm and pleasant, chased by the slower, hotter ache that settled beneath your skin as Zayne’s gaze returned to yours, no longer pretending.

Outside, the city glittered with its thousand artificial stars, but you barely noticed. Not when the man across from you was already undoing you, word by deliberate word, look by silent look.

The wine deepened in color as the bottle emptied by half, its ruby hue catching the low candlelight like a secret confession left unsaid. Silverware clinked gently against porcelain, the muted bustle of the restaurant swirling around your table in a blur of linen and laughter, but none of it truly reached you- not the way Zayne’s gaze did, not the way his silence began to coil like tension in the space between his words.

You had been talking. Half-laughing, recounting some disaster of a Hunter briefing that had gone wildly off-course thanks to Caleb and his apparent allergy to authority. However, it was evident that he hadn’t responded in several minutes.

Not really.

He sat across from you like a man carved from ice and intent, his knife idly skimming through the untouched portion of his entrée, the prongs of his fork resting forgotten at the edge of the plate. His shoulders were set, the line of his jaw just slightly tenser than before, and though his eyes never fully left you, there was something deeper pulling at them now. Something that said his focus was not on your story, or the food, or the passing murmur of the waiter asking if everything was to your liking. It was on you.

Not your words. You.

You paused, letting your fingers trace the edge of your wine glass once more as you watched him. “You’re quiet,” you said softly, not teasing this time—curious. Observant.

Zayne blinked slowly, and for a moment he looked as if he hadn’t heard you. But then he inhaled, shallow but sharp, and gave the smallest shake of his head before murmuring, “I’m listening.”

And he was. You believed him. But not in the way that meant he could repeat your words back to you. No, he was listening the way someone watched a storm rolling in from a distance, knowing the moment it broke would drown everything in its path.

You leaned your elbow onto the table, propping your chin on your hand as you studied him, the candlelight dancing across the smooth planes of his face and the glint of his glasses. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you go completely still, like if you so much as move, something will slip out that you can’t take back.”

His lips parted, just slightly. The breath he took was measured, painfully so.

“I don’t do that,” he said eventually, though even his tone had gentled, losing its usual clinical edge.

You smiled slowly, eyes flickering down to the curve of his mouth, then back up. “You do, actually.”

He didn’t respond. Not this time.

You picked up your fork again, letting the silence stretch between you as you took another bite, chewing slowly, your gaze never leaving his. The food was good, but you couldn’t taste it. Not really. Not with the weight of his attention pressed against your skin like heat through silk.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes to dinner,” you said after a while, your voice softer now, almost introspective. “I half-expected a polite decline and a few hours of radio silence.”

Zayne’s gaze dropped then, as if the tablecloth had become momentarily fascinating. His hand flexed slightly where it rested on the stem of his glass, but he didn’t lift it.

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted.

That caught you off guard more than anything he could’ve said. You straightened slightly. “Why?”

His eyes met yours again, and for a moment, something flickered across his face—longing, maybe. Frustration. Or perhaps just the barest glimpse of vulnerability breaking through the cracks he kept so carefully sealed.

“Because I knew what it would do to me.”

He said it plainly, voice even and devoid of dramatic flourish, but it hit like a confession all the same. A sharp, clean incision laid bare across the linen and candlelight between you.

You didn’t answer right away. There wasn’t much to say, not when the air between you had grown so thick it could be carved like butter with the edge of a spoon.

The rest of dinner passed like that: your words slower now, chosen more carefully, and his replies fewer, quieter, less frequent until they dwindled entirely. But it wasn’t discomfort that stole his voice. It was control—fading, fraying, slipping one moment at a time the longer he sat across from you, his every breath weighted by the knowledge that you were there in red silk and firelight, your skin bare at the shoulders, your lips wine-slick and shining every time you lifted the glass to your mouth.

He looked like a man unraveling. Quietly, invisibly, beautifully.

And you could feel the pull in your own bones, the way your body responded to his silence more than his words. Your pulse beat faster, your thoughts slowed. You didn’t know what the next move would be, but you knew one thing with certainty:

He wouldn’t last the whole night like this.

The cab pulled away behind you in a quiet sweep of tires against wet pavement, leaving the two of you standing on the edge of the residential block, where the hum of downtown Linkon faded into something softer—less neon, more muted elegance, with wide sidewalks brushed in the warm amber glow of wrought-iron streetlamps and the faint scent of rain clinging to the early night air. The building ahead loomed modestly tall, its smooth glass façade reflecting the glow of passing cars and the occasional pedestrian, but none of it seemed to matter when the silence between you and Zayne deepened with every step toward its entrance.

You walked side by side, not speaking, not touching, and yet the space between your bodies was charged in a way that felt louder than conversation—an invisible current sparking and flickering with every sway of your dress, every quiet click of your heels on the stone, every time your arm brushed his sleeve in a way that could still be called incidental, even if both of you knew better. The slit along your thigh shifted with each movement, flashing just enough skin to tease and disappear again, and though Zayne never turned his head to look directly, you could feel the weight of his awareness, heavy and deliberate, trailing every motion with the precision of a man trained to observe detail but cursed, in this moment, with too much of it.

His hands remained at his sides, though his fingers twitched now and again, curling in toward his palms as if to occupy themselves, to resist the impulse to reach for something he wasn’t ready to admit he wanted. There was a stiffness in the way he walked, not discomfort exactly, but tension held just beneath the skin—too deliberate to be casual, too controlled to be natural. The kind of tension that builds not from conflict but from desire kept at bay for far too long.

You didn’t speak at first, content to let the quiet wrap around you, but when you turned your head slightly to glance at him, catching the tightness in his jaw, the way he swallowed hard against a breath that wasn’t steady—you smiled, not unkindly, and let your voice slip through the quiet like silk through fingers.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you said, your tone soft, curious, not teasing this time but observant, knowing. “I thought maybe the wine had stolen your voice, but now I think you’re trying a little too hard not to speak.”

He didn’t answer right away, though his eyes flicked toward you, only briefly, before returning to the path ahead. The light glinted across his glasses, veiling his expression, but the stillness in him shifted, a pause settling between his steps as if the words lodged somewhere just behind his teeth, too dangerous to be released.

“I’m fine,” he said eventually, his voice lower than usual, rougher, lacking its usual calm precision.

You hummed softly, a note of amusement threading beneath your breath as you tilted your head to look at him more fully, your shoulder brushing his in the motion, the contact brief but intentional. “You’re lying,” you said simply, not accusing, just matter-of-fact, like a diagnosis rendered with practiced ease.

Zayne stopped walking for the briefest of moment before continuing again, though this time the space between you was nearly gone, his body closer now, the warmth of him almost brushing yours with every stride. His hand twitched again, barely restrained, and this time you saw the way he flexed his fingers, as if weighing whether control was still worth keeping.

You didn’t speak again, not right away, letting him exist in that silence, letting him feel the weight of your nearness as you neared the entrance to the building, where soft golden light spilled out across the marble foyer and glass doors waited to slide open at his approach.

He reached for the handle, fingers brushing against the access panel with practiced familiarity, but stopped just before the contact, his arm going still, the line of his back rigid in a way that had nothing to do with tension and everything to do with unraveling.

You stood just behind him now, your breath steady, your voice low as you murmured his name, a quiet pull meant only for him.

When he turned, it was slow, like the motion cost him something, and the moment your eyes met, you saw the damning truth written in every line of his face, every strained breath, every faltering attempt at composure. He looked at you as though he were already drowning, already lost, and the mask he so often wore—the cold control, the clinical reserve slipped just enough to let something raw flicker through.

His lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, his gaze dropped. It was slow, deliberate, tracing the length of you from the curve of your mouth to the shimmer of the dress still catching glints of light like stardust clinging to skin—and when he looked back up, there was nothing left of his usual restraint.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he said, the words quiet but devastating in their honesty.

There was no room left for pretense after that.

Because even as the door opened behind him, casting the light of his apartment like an invitation across the polished floor, his hand was already reaching for you—barely trembling, but no longer holding back.

The door clicked shut behind you, the gentle sound deceptively soft for what it marked- the final breath of restraint before it all gave way. There was no pause, no time to marvel at the familiar warmth of his apartment or the way the low lighting bathed the polished floors in gold; the moment you stepped past the threshold, Zayne was already reaching for you.

It wasn’t rushed, not in the way of careless hunger, but something far more dangerous, restrained only by the thinnest thread of composure that had frayed steadily from the moment you stepped out of the cab in that impossibly red dress. His hand found your waist with a certainty that came not from impulse, but from a storm long held at bay, and he guided you backward, not with force, but with inevitability, until your back met the cool press of the wall.

He didn’t speak, nor did he offer some clever remark to deflect the intensity simmering just beneath his skin. Instead, his eyes met yours as if every layer he usually kept between himself and the world had been stripped away by your presence alone. And in that stillness, in the hush of the moment just before the fall, you saw it: the quiet desperation of a man who had waited too long to touch what he craved.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t the kind of kiss meant to ask permission or test boundaries. It was a confession, searing and breathless, forged in the hours he’d spent pretending to be unaffected. His mouth claimed yours with a precision that had nothing to do with logic, and everything to do with memory. It was every glance he hadn’t allowed himself to linger on, every time your hand had brushed his in passing and he’d pretended not to feel it, every moment he had kept his distance when all he wanted was this.

Your hands found their place against his chest to ground yourself against the sheer force of emotion rolling through him. His body pressed flush to yours, bracketing you against the wall like something sacred. He kissed you like a man unmaking himself, pulling you deeper with every breath, his fingers curling into the silk at your hips as if anchoring himself to the one thing he could no longer deny.

He broke the kiss only to breathe, his forehead resting briefly against yours, though even that moment of stillness trembled with restraint.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing to me,” he said, his voice frayed and low, each word sounding as though it had been wrestled past a barricade he’d long since lost the strength to hold.

Your eyes didn’t leave his, your smile soft, knowing, as you whispered, “Then show me.”

The look that passed over his face in that instant.. Raw, unfiltered, reverent, and was enough to steal the air from your lungs.

He moved again, not fast, but with the weight of decision behind every touch. His hand slid beneath the curve of your thigh, lifting it gently, guiding your leg to wrap around his waist, the motion sending your dress higher, the fabric gliding up your skin like water. His other hand braced beside your head, the flex of muscle beneath your palm a reminder of the restraint still fighting to hold him in place, though you could feel it—cracking, fracturing, coming undone with every second he was near.

His mouth descended to your throat, and the sigh that left your lips as he kissed just beneath your jaw felt like an invitation he no longer needed. He trailed fire along your skin, not in rush or rage, but in slow, deliberate surrender, each press of his lips unspooling the tension coiled in your spine, each graze of his fingers a vow he hadn’t yet put into words.

When he pulled back, his breath came heavy against your skin, and though he hesitated. It was clear he had already let go of every rule he’d ever set between you.

“Tell me to stop.”

You leaned forward, your mouth brushing his ear with the softest echo of a challenge, and whispered the only word he needed to hear.

“No.”

The last of his control slipped away like a thread snapped clean in two.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, needier, one hand fisting the fabric of your dress at your hip as if he could pull you into him through sheer will. There was no silence now, only breath and want and the distant, muffled thrum of your heartbeat in your ears, louder with every passing second as the wall pressed into your spine and his body pressed into your front.

This wasn’t patience anymore, and Zayne, so carefully composed, so beautifully restrained, was done waiting.

The way his mouth returned to yours had nothing of tenderness left in it because Zayne was past the point of soft. This was hunger twisted into reverence, years of silence pressed into skin, devotion that could no longer hide behind clinical distance or careful words. His kiss was bruising in its thoroughness, paced not by haste but by desperation worn smooth by time, and when his hand fisted in the side of your dress, pulling it higher until cool air kissed the tops of your thighs, there was no protest in you, only the quiet arch of your body seeking more.

Your leg stayed wrapped around his waist, muscles straining as he ground into you with agonizing slowness, every shift of his hips against your core sending shocks of sensation spiraling through you. The heat of him was unbearable, pressed through layers of fabric that felt suffocating now, your body aching beneath the weight of friction and unspent tension. His free hand slid up your spine, palm wide and steady, flattening between your shoulder blades as if to anchor you there—as if part of him still feared you might disappear, that this moment might not be real.

But you were real. You were here.

And when your lips broke from his with a gasp, your head tipping back against the wall as his mouth traveled down your neck, your hands found the lapels of his coat and tugged. Your hands were firm, pulling him closer like it would tether him to you completely.

“Zayne,” you breathed, the sound of his name almost a moan, almost a prayer, and something inside him shattered.

He dropped to his knees.

There was no ceremony in it, no hesitation, only the smooth descent of a man brought low by desire and something far deeper. His hands gripped your thighs, large and sure, guiding them apart as his mouth traced down your body—through the dip between your ribs, the subtle tremble of your belly, the hem of your dress that he pushed higher and higher until the silk bunched around your hips and your legs trembled beneath the attention.

He looked up once, his eyes dark, his mouth slightly parted, and there was something in that gaze—something feral and focused, worshipful and unrelenting that made your breath catch in your throat before he even touched you.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice raw, husked by restraint now fully unraveling. “Are you cold?”

You managed a whisper, breathless and wrecked. “No.”

A smile ghosted across his lips, fleeting and sharp, and then he leaned in, pulling the thin, flimsy strip of fabric covering your core to the side.

The first brush of his mouth between your thighs was light, almost too light, the kind of tease that made your hips twitch forward instinctively. But the second he groaned, low and guttural against your skin, that nearly undid you. His tongue followed in a languid stroke, slow and devastating, and the sheer contrast of his control slipping while his movements remained so precise made your knees nearly buckle.

He didn’t rush. He never did. But where once he’d held back with a surgeon’s distance, now he savored with a sinner’s devotion.

His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting, adjusting, guiding you to sit back against the wall in a way that gave him access to every inch he wanted. His tongue moved like he’d imagined this a thousand times—measured, sure, patient in the most excruciating way, as if he intended to draw out every gasp, every whispered plea. When your fingers found his hair, threading into those dark strands and pulling just slightly, his responding groan vibrated against you, sending another rush of sensation shooting through your spine.

“Zayne, please—” The words slipped out unbidden, broken by breath and need, and you felt him pause, just briefly.

Then he gave you exactly what you asked for.

His mouth closed around you with intent, his tongue moving in slow, purposeful circles that built and built until your thighs trembled and your fingers clenched in his hair, your head tipping back against the wall as a cry tore itself from your lips. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow.

He simply gave. Every flick, every press, every low groan like praise sent into your skin—until you shattered.

Your climax hit you with stunning force, your body arching, your voice cracking into something breathless and high as your thighs clamped around his shoulders and his name left your lips in a broken, desperate whisper.

He stayed there, lips soft against trembling skin, breathing you in like a man trying to remember what control used to feel like. When he finally lifted his head, his mouth was slick, his eyes darker than anything you’d ever seen on him, and he looked utterly ruined.

“Bedroom,” you tried to say, though it came out as a shaky breath, but Zayne only leaned up, his hands gripping your hips, his body pressing flush to yours once more.

“No,” he whispered, his voice thick with hunger and reverence, his mouth brushing yours in a kiss that stole what little breath you had left. “I’m not finished.”

And then he was lowering you to the floor, spreading you out on the polished hardwood like something precious, something meant to be undone in pieces.

The floor was cool beneath your skin, polished smooth by the flickering city light filtering through the tall windows, but none of that mattered, not when Zayne hovered above you like he was drinking you in, like the very sight of you laid out beneath him had shaken the last remnants of restraint from his bones. His coat had already been discarded somewhere behind him, his tie hanging loose around his neck, and he was undoing the buttons of his shirt with hands that trembled just slightly, though not from hesitation. No, this was need, barely contained, stripped of all its usual poise.

He didn’t speak, not as he shed the last layers between you, not as he watched your dress ride up further with every motion, revealing inch after inch of soft, trembling skin. His breath was shallow now, his chest rising with quiet urgency as he knelt between your thighs, his palms sliding up from your knees to your hips in a slow, reverent sweep that made your eyes flutter shut.

But he didn’t let you drift. His hand curled around your jaw, not rough, but firm enough to pull your gaze back to him.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice low and wrecked, all grit and command, and when your eyes met his again, the sheer intensity behind them stole what was left of your breath. “I want to see you.”

He leaned in then, and when he kissed you, it wasn’t frantic, it was consuming. His body pressed you deeper into the floor, his bare skin hot against yours, the hard line of him fitting perfectly between your thighs. You could feel how much he wanted you, every inch of him pressed tight and aching, and the way he held himself back—just barely, made it even worse. His hips rolled into yours slowly, once, and you gasped, nails dragging across his shoulders as your legs wrapped around his waist.

“I’ve thought about this,” he whispered against your mouth, his words ragged, teeth grazing your lower lip before he kissed you again, deeper this time. “More than I should have.”

You reached between your bodies, fingers fumbling with the last barrier between you. Zayne reached to help- one hand bracing beside your head, the other guiding himself with a precision that felt more like devotion than need.

When he finally pushed into you, it was slow, the stretch of him deliberate, steady, filling you completely as he pressed forward with a groan that sounded as though it had been locked in his chest for years.

Your back arched off the floor, a breathless sound escaping your lips as your arms wrapped tight around him, pulling him down, closer, deeper.

He didn’t move at first. Just held there, buried inside you, forehead resting against yours, breath stuttering as if he were still trying to believe this was real.

“You feel…” he murmured, the words caught in his throat, and then he started to move.

Each thrust was long, slow, devastating- like he was trying to memorize the way your body took him, how it clenched around him, how every shift made you moan his name like a secret torn loose. He kissed you through it, dragging his lips across your cheek, your throat, your collarbone, whispering things he probably didn’t mean for you to hear but couldn’t stop himself from saying.

“I need.. God, I need you…”

You were unraveling beneath him, each roll of his hips sending pleasure spiraling through your body until you were clutching at him, your voice gone to breathless gasps and broken cries. He moved faster now, still steady but losing rhythm to desperation, his restraint fraying at the edges until his moans joined yours, low and guttural, like he was breaking apart with you.

He reached between your bodies, fingers finding where you were already trembling, circling with purpose until your hips bucked beneath him.

“Come for me,” he whispered, his voice fierce, urgent, wrecked. “Let me feel you.”

And you did.

You shattered, crying out his name, your body arching beneath him as the orgasm tore through you harder than you were ready for, your entire body shaking as your nails bit into his back, your legs locking around his hips to keep him there, deep, buried, yours.

Zayne cursed, breath faltering, and then with one final thrust he came, hips driving into you as he groaned against your neck, his entire body shuddering with the force of it. He stayed there, pressed tight to you, his breath ragged and hot on your skin, his hands trembling where they gripped your hips like he never wanted to let go.

The world stilled around you, time slowing in the hush of shared breath and the press of skin against skin.

His voice came moments later, quieter, rough around the edges.

“…I told myself I wouldn’t do this.”

You smiled faintly, tracing the edge of his jaw, still flushed and damp with sweat.

“And yet here you are.”

Zayne exhaled a broken laugh, burying his face in your neck.

“You make it hard to stick to my rules.”

For a long while, neither of you moved.

The rhythm of your breathing slowly found its way back to something steady, though it still stuttered in the spaces where your bodies remained pressed together, where his hand rested on your waist and your thigh curled loosely around his hip. The air in the apartment was warm and still, broken only by the soft exhale from the vents overhead and the faint heartbeat of Linkon City pulsing through the windows beyond. Even the street noise felt distant now, as though the world had shrunk to this moment, this space, the sheen of sweat cooling along your skin as his breath fanned gently against your throat.

Zayne hadn’t pulled away, not even an inch.

He lay half on top of you, chest rising and falling in a slow, calming cadence, his forehead resting against your collarbone as if he’d melted there—melted and found no reason to put himself back together. His arms circled you more tightly now than they had during the act itself, a quiet kind of reverence in the way his hand stroked slowly up and down your side, tracing every inch as though memorizing you all over again in stillness.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked quietly, his voice husky and worn thin with exhaustion, though there was a flicker of worry beneath it, as if the thought had haunted him the moment clarity returned.

You smiled, turning your head slightly so your lips brushed the shell of his ear, the gesture tender. “No,” you murmured. “God, no. You were perfect.”

He let out a slow breath, almost shaky, and you felt the way his body relaxed just a little more, the way his hold softened. There was safety now. Permission. Home.

One of his hands drifted upward, brushing your hair gently back from your damp forehead, fingers trailing through it in slow, careful strokes. He kissed your temple a moment later, a press of lips so soft it barely counted as a kiss at all, and yet it made something inside you ache with sweetness.

“I shouldn’t have lost control like that,” he said after a while, his voice so low it barely touched the air.

You opened your eyes, just enough to find his, your palm rising to cup his cheek as you shook your head. “Yes, you should have,” you whispered. “You needed to.”

Zayne didn’t answer right away, but his gaze held yours, dark and open in a way it rarely was, stripped of its usual cool detachment. There was no defense in his expression now. No composure. Just the honest, unguarded weight of a man who had finally let himself feel.

You leaned up slightly, just enough to kiss him, the kind of kiss that said I’m here and you’re safe and we are allowed to want this.

He sighed against your lips and when he kissed you back, his mouth lingered like he was afraid to leave—even for breath.

When you pulled away, his hand found yours, fingers lacing with yours against the floor, and he brought it to his lips, kissing the back of your knuckles with a kind of softness that made your chest go tight.

“We should move,” you whispered after a while, though your body made no attempt to do so.

“We should,” he murmured, his eyes already slipping closed, his voice heavier now, slower. “But I don’t want to.”

You smiled, letting your head rest against the crook of his neck, your leg sliding just slightly against his as your breath aligned with his once more.

“You always do what’s right,” you said softly.

Zayne hummed, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, slow and rhythmic. “Not tonight.”

And thank God for that.

[trueshellz]

"𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭" (zayne x black!fem reader)

౨ৎ Featuring: soft dom!Zayne, bratty teasing that backfires on reader hand, pinning & thigh spreading, overstimulation (3x for good measure), feral restraint and unrelenting praise, cunnilingus, fingering, slight choking mention, reader being a freakkk, mention of past intercourse a/n: took me a hot min to make this so hope yall like it!! + didn't proof read much im tired lol

you always had felt that zayne held a soft dom demeanor to him, though you never questioned if he was. Soon after you two hit the three month mark you quickly found out how he took control in the bedroom.

His every move sent shivers down your spine, every heated kiss pressed against yours, every open mouth kiss on your neck, every roll of his hips. It was purposeful. But not commanding, rather guiding you into a state of submission and pleasure.

However, tonight your mouth single handedly walked you into a situation you weren't prepared for.

It started with you in his lap, curled sideways, head resting on his shoulder as you admired your steadily working lover. His tablet screen reflects a faint blue light across his face, his mouth set in quiet concentration as his thumb glides across the data feed.

You stretch, toes brushing the plush blanket loosely covering your legs, the oversized black shirt you’re wearing riding high on your bare thighs. His shirt. Smells like him — like cold air and something clean and crisp underneath. His cologne’s still clinging to the collar.

“You doing okay, Zaynie?” you murmur, voice all sugar. Your round, pretty eyes lovingly examine his slightly tired ones as you press a feather-light kiss to his jaw. He nods briefly with a hum, still distracted by his screen.

“Just need to finish this diagnostic.”

You hum back, still sweet yet laced with mischief. A little noise escaping you make when you’re bored and want attention.

He doesn’t catch it — not right away.

So you stretch again, limbs warm and slow, your shirt riding up just a little higher. The sliver of thigh you reveal is nothing new to him — he’s seen, touched, and kissed every inch of you — but the way his eyes flickered from his screen to the exposed skin of your thigh? You knew he was slowly breaking.

You press another kiss to his jaw. This one lingers. Then another, closer to the corner of his mouth.

“Y’know, I just realized” you begin, tracing invisible lines on his chest with your frenchies, “for someone so intimidating on paper, you’re actually really... gentle.”

Zayne’s brow twitches, but he doesn’t look up. Not yet.

You keep going.

“Like, if people knew how soft you are with me?” you murmur, glossed lips brushing his jaw with each word. “How sweet you are when we’re alone?”

You kiss him again — slow, warm, a little smug — right beneath his ear this time. It leaves a cute pink mark. You feel his breath hitch. Just a little.

“They’d never believe it,” you add, smiling into his skin. “Zayne, the silent, amazing doctor — letting his girlfriend cuddle up on him while he works? Kissing her like she’s made of glass?”

You giggle — a soft, syrupy sound, too pretty to be anything but a taunt. Then drag your hand up from his chest to cup his jaw, thumb brushing the stubble there, feather-light.

He glances at you.

Briefly.

Then back to the tablet.

And that just won’t do.

“You don’t think so?” you pout, cocking your head, pushing your bottom lip out just a little. “You don’t think you're sweet?” You trailed your nails down his chest, then dip lower — to the tablet balanced on his thighs.

Before he can stop you, you nudge it slightly.

It slides.

You give it another little push, laughing when it lands harmlessly on the couch cushion beside you.

“Oops.”

Zayne exhales through his nose — slow. Controlled. But his jaw ticks, and that subtle shift in energy is instant. A flicker. There and gone.

You act like you don’t notice.

Instead, you climb into his lap, swinging one leg over with a soft, satisfied hum. Your hands rest against his chest as you settle your weight on him, hips fitting perfectly in the cradle of his.

“Thought I’d help you relax,” you say sweetly, tilting your face up to kiss him — soft, deep, just the way he likes. You run a hand through his hair, gently tugging at the roots.

You swear you feel him melt just a little as his hands find purchase on your waist.

Or maybe that’s just your own smugness.

Because right now, you think you’ve got him. You kiss him again — lingering this time, mouths parting, your thighs tightening slightly around his hips.

“Mmm. See?” you whisper against his lips. “You’re just a big softie, baby.”

That’s when it happens.

In one smooth, effortless motion, Zayne hands trickle down slightly and grabs your thighs, shifting his weight, and flips you beneath him.

You barely have time to gasp before your back hits the cushions and his body is over yours, caging you in. His knee spreads your thighs apart as you whimper softly.

His palm presses flat against the cushion beside your head, pinning you there. His other hand comes up to grip your jaw — not hard, but firm enough that you freeze.

And his eyes?

No longer tired. No longer distracted.

Now they’re low, dark, glinting with something far more dangerous than exhaustion. As his gaze captures yours, a shiver runs down your spine as you feel your body sink further into the couch. A warmth begins to stir in the pit of your stomach.

“Soft?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Is this what you truly think?”

Your breath catches as your heart rattles against your ribs, part of you wanting to claw at his shirt and plead with him to take you there in his living room. Yet another, daring part of you wants to see where this leads. If the man above you, is truly capable of showing another side to him.

So with a knowing smile you breathe, "What else would you be zaynie?"

He leans down — slow — until your noses brush, lips ghosting yours. Breath fanning against your lips. His voice drops, thick with amusement and heat. “'Allow me to demonstrate.”

Before words could even make it past your lips, his mouth found your neck. He purposefully licked and sucked below your pierced ear, sending a jolt through you. You gasp, already reaching to clutch at his shoulders, pink nails itching to scratch down his back — but your wrists are caught. Trapped. Effortlessly pinned above your head with a single hand.

“Not tonight,” Zayne murmurs against your skin, the words brushing over your pulse. “It wouldn't be fair to let you have your way, if we're to put your idea of me being..soft to the test.”

A pause. He presses a kiss to your throat, teeth grazing the sensitive spot where your neck meets shoulder. “Not unless you earn it.”

You huffed, back arching just a little beneath him. Like the defiance was instinctual, even as your thighs trembled around his hips.

“C’mon, sweetie,” you murmured, voice dipped in honeyed smugness, that bratty little lilt curling around each word. Your pout barely disguised the gleam in your eye as you turned your head toward him, lips just grazing his jaw. “You know you like it when I take care of you.”

Then, lower — soft enough to tease, sharp enough to cut. “Are we really gonna act like you weren’t whining for me last ni- ah!”

Your words dissolved into a gasp as his knee nudged higher between your thighs, spreading you open, pressing against the soaked heat of your core. The friction was slow, maddening, and precise. Just enough to make your clit throb. Your hips rocked against him before you could even stop yourself, chasing the drag of pressure he wasn’t quite giving.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled from Zayne’s chest, and when he finally lifted his head from your neck, the look in his eyes was nothing short of lethal.

“I won’t deny it,” he murmured, voice velvet-soft and razor-sharp. “But you seem to forget, sweetheart—” his hand trailed down your side, slipping under the hem of his oversized shirt you’d stolen again, thumb brushing the curve of your hip, “—I let you take control.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you — really look at you.

Your legs trembling around his thigh, the slow rise and fall of your chest beneath the thin, barely-there bra, nipples pebbling through delicate fabric. His shirt had ridden up your waist, your brown eyes blown out with lust.

You were going to kill him one day.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, jaw clenching. “You don’t even know how pretty you look like this.” His fingers flexed against your skin, fighting the part of him that wanted to drop to his knees and devour you — to let you win, to bury his face between your thighs until you couldn’t form coherent thoughts.

But not tonight.

No. You had something to learn.

“You wanna act like this?” he murmured, lips brushing your collarbone now. “Then be sure to take it, sweetheart. Take everything I give you.”

And as his hand slid further down, slipping beneath the band of your cute pink panties with a purposeful slowness, his voice dropped even lower. “ But don’t tap out. You wanted to see what I’m really like, didn’t you?”

His hand dipped lower, finally sliding between your plush thighs — warm, deliberate fingers brushing through slick folds. Your breath hitched, the teasing rhythm of his thumb just ghosting over your clit enough to make your hips twitch, to make your back arch without thinking.

“Already soaked for me,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, eyes locked on your face. “And I haven’t even started.”

You swallowed thickly, trying — failing — to keep your composure under his touch. Your legs instinctively tried to close, overwhelmed by the heat building between them, but his thigh stayed firm, keeping you open and vulnerable for him.

“Thought you were gonna take care of me, hmm?” he asked, thumb circling your clit now, slow and punishingly light. “That still the plan?”

You whined, squirming beneath him, breathless. “Y-You’re such an ass—”

He cut you off with a sharp slap to your thigh. Not hard, but enough to make your eyes snap open, to make your breath catch. His mouth curved into something between a smirk and a snarl.

“There she is,” he murmured. “My mouthy girl.”

And then—he moved. He let go of your wrists just long enough to readjust you, your chest pressed to the couch cushion, your ass lifted instinctively, presenting for him. You gasped at the shift, hands grabbing at the fabric beneath you for balance.

“Don’t move,” he said low in your ear, one hand sliding up your spine to settle at the nape of your neck. His other hand smoothed down the back of your thigh, kneading the curve of your ass — before delivering a sharp smack that sent a jolt straight to your core.

You moaned, biting your lip to muffle it, but he heard.

“Someone liked that.”

You nodded, shaky, dizzy with arousal. “Zay—fuck—”

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties and dragging them down slowly. “Not so loud now, hm? Cool air kissed your soaked cunt as he knelt behind you. He spread you open with both hands, gaze locked on the way you clenched around nothing.

“Look at this. You act up in my lap for half the night, acting as if I'm vanilla — and this is how you respond the second I take charge?" His breath was hot against your folds, and you barely managed to brace yourself before his mouth was on you — tongue flattening against your slit, slow and languid, before flicking up against your clit with sudden precision.

You cried out, hips jerking, but his arm hooked around your thigh, dragging you back into place with a growl.

“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” he murmured, lips brushing your soaked skin. “Be good for me now, and maybe—I’ll let you cum.”

Your knees shook. You were already close. He hadn’t even fucked you yet.

But he didn’t let up.

He kept going, mouth dragging over you, alternating between slow, messy sucks and sharp little flicks against your clit. Every time your breath caught, every time your hips rolled, he adjusted — pulling back just enough to keep you begging.

“You want it, don’t you?” he murmured against your cunt. “Want to come? Then say it. Ask nicely.” You whimpered, voice ragged and barely audible. “Baby please—baby, please, I need it—”

“Louder.”

“Please,” you gasped, hands clutching the couch cushions like a lifeline. “I wanna come. Please, I need your mouth—fuck, please.”

That was all it took.

He groaned low against you, then sucked your clit into his mouth hard and held it there. Your vision went white as your orgasm crashed over you, thighs trembling, a broken moan slipping past your lips.

But Zayne didn’t stop.

Even as your body twitched, even as your legs buckled and your breathing stuttered — he kept going. Kept licking, kept sucking, letting you ride it out on his tongue.

“Mm,” he breathed when he finally pulled back, chin glistening, eyes dark and satisfied. “One down.”

Your body slumped forward, a shuddering mess, cheek pressing into the cushions as you struggled to catch your breath. But before you could even process the relief, Zayne’s hands slid under your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the couch again. "Two more to go."

“W-Wait—baby, I—” you stammered, hips twitching away instinctively.

He didn’t listen.

Didn’t even pause.

“Shhh,” he murmured, breath hot against your soaked, pulsing cunt. “You wanted to prove a point, remember?” His hands gripped your thighs, holding them open despite your squirming — the tremble in your muscles only spurring him on. His tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance up to your clit, and your entire body jerked like you’d been shocked.

“Too much,” you whimpered, eyes squeezing shut.

His mouth latched back onto you, sucking softly at first, teasing, coaxing. Then he flattened his tongue, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your knees kick. “F-fuck—ohmygod—” you sobbed, hands clawing at the cushions. But it was no use. The build was too fast, too strong, your nerves already frayed and exposed from your first orgasm.

You shattered again with a helpless cry, thighs locking around his head. He groaned into your pussy as you came, tongue never letting up, hands holding you open as you trembled uncontrollably beneath him.

This time, tears leaked from the corners of your eyes — the overstimulation bordering on unbearable. You tried to push at his shoulders, whimpering weak protests, but Zayne just gave a low laugh against your sensitive skin.

“You’re fine,” he murmured, dragging a wet kiss along your inner thigh. “You’ve got one more for me. Just one.”

You shook your head, but he kissed your clit — once, softly — and your hips jerked like they were no longer yours. You could barely speak, just mewl and sob as he started again.

No teasing now.

He latched onto your clit and sucked, relentless, while two fingers slid into your dripping heat and curled just right. The stretch made you keen, your body arching off the couch.

“I—shit, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah you are,” he growled, voice thick. “Come for me again, beautiful. Let go.” You screamed this time — breathless, broken — as the third orgasm tore through you. Your body convulsed, thighs trembling, mouth open in a silent cry as you came undone completely, soaking his face and fingers with clear liquid.

Only then did he finally slow, fingers easing out, mouth gentling until all that was left were soft kisses and heavy breathing. He leaned up slowly, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand — though it did little good.

You were still shaking, twitching with every ghost of sensation. Your body is completely boneless, throat raw from your cries.

Zayne sat upright, still behind you, one hand dragging slowly down your spine before resting on the curve of your ass — warm and heavy, grounding you.

“Still wanna run your mouth?” he asked, voice low, thick with that syrupy heat.

You barely turned your head, lips parting with a breathy smile, dazed and warm. Your mink lashes fluttered as you looked at him over your shoulder — no more teasing, no more challenge in your gaze.

Just want. Just hunger.

Your voice was barely audible, a hoarse whisper: “...'want you.”

His breath caught.

He didn’t move for a second — just stared at you, taking in the way your body trembled, the sheen of sweat and slick across your thighs, your pretty frame still molded to the couch cushions. His hands flexed on your hips, the weight of his cock pressed against your swollen folds as he shifted closer, the thick length sliding across your sensitive skin — just enough to make your breath hitch again.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, voice dark and low. “Don’t overdo it for me—”

“I’m not,” you cut in, soft and aching. “I need you. All of you. Please.”

He cursed under his breath.

That hunger — the deep, feral one he kept banked under his calm — flickered to life behind his eyes. Possessive. Grounded. Real. He leaned down, crowding over your back, kissing your shoulder, your neck, your cheek — until your lips tilted to meet his. It was messy. Desperate. You tasted yourself on him.

He reached down between your bodies, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid his belt — the soft clink of the buckle echoing in the quiet room. The sound sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He didn’t even bother pushing his pants all the way down, just low enough to free himself, the heavy weight of his cock slapping hot against your thigh.

Then he gripped the base, dragging the head through your slick again, teasing — coating himself in your wetness before pressing firmly against your entrance. “I got you,” he whispered against your mouth. “I'll move slow.”

And then he pushed in.

The stretch had you keening into the cushions, hands fisting the fabric, the thick weight of him pressing into every inch of you, deeper and deeper. You could barely breathe around the fullness, hips rocking back instinctively as you tried to take more.

His hands gripped your waist tight, fingers digging into your flesh, grounding you as he bottomed out in one smooth, devastating stroke.

Your moan was shattered.

He let out a deep, rumbling groan, head falling to your shoulder. “Fuck, still so tight." You could feel him pulse inside of you as a moan threatened to spill past his lips.

He stayed there for a beat — buried to the hilt, letting your body adjust, savoring the way you clenched around him. Then, he pulled back just enough to thrust in again. Slow. Deliberate.

The sound of your skin meeting was filthy. Raw. Wet and hot and perfect. You whimpered, reaching back blindly for him — and Zayne caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and pressing it into the cushion.

“Take it for me angel,” he murmured, fucking into you with an aching, controlled rhythm. “Just feel me.”

And you did.

You felt all of him — every slow, deliberate stroke, every deep grind of his hips against yours, like he wanted to etch himself into your body from the inside out. Your breath came in shaky gasps, whimpers spilling freely as your back arched, "More." You squeaked out.

His hand slid up your spine, grounding and firm, before curling around the front of your throat. Squeezing briefly, still room for you to breathe. Chest pressed flush against your back as Zayne's hips snapped forward harder, the force rocking you against the couch.

The tip of his cock kissing your g-spot so sweetly, your tongue lolled out of your mouth. God you sounded unfairly slutty, “You want more?” he breathed against your ear nibbling on it with a hum, voice low and gravel-rough.

You nodded frantically, unable to form words as his rhythm intensified — deeper now, cruel in its precision, hitting that little tender spot that made you gush. Your fingers dug into the cushions, face buried in the crook of your arm, gasping his name like a prayer.

Zayne groaned, lips dragging along the shell of your ear.

“You feel that, baby?” he whispered, breathing heavy. “How deep I am inside you? No one else gets this. No one. Just you angel.”

And when your body clenched again, another orgasm ripped through you without warning, Zayne gritted out a curse and followed you right over the edge — his hips stuttering, thrusts turning sloppy as he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, spilling into you with a strained moan muffled against your neck.

After a moment, he asked gently, “Color?” kissing your neck and collarbone softly, lips feather-light against your burning skin.

Your voice was muffled against the cushions, but he still caught the breathy, dazed “Green.”

Zayne let out a soft exhale of relief, resting his forehead against your shoulder. His hand smoothed down your side, grounding you, tracing shapes along the warm curve of your waist.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pulling out slowly, careful not to hurt you. A faint whimper left your lips at the loss, and he soothed you with another kiss to your shoulder before gathering you close for a second, wrapping an arm gently around your waist, letting you breathe.

Then, wordlessly, he lifted you — one arm beneath your thighs, the other around your back. You sighed against his chest, body limp with satisfaction, head resting against his collarbone.

“You did so good for me,” he whispered, walking you toward the bathroom.

The room was already dim, lit only by the low hallway light, but he moved with purpose — setting you down on the closed toilet gently as he turned on the tub. His thumb brushed your cheek, leaning down to kiss it tenderly, then disappeared again as he tested the water temperature, added a pump of your favorite vanilla-lavender soap, and made sure a towel was within reach.

When he returned to you, he knelt down in front of you, big hands softly undoing what was left of your clothes, pressing little kisses to your thighs, your knees, anywhere he could reach as the tub slowly filled behind him.

“You okay, angel?” he asked, voice low, a thumb brushing across your bottom lip as he looked up at you.

You nodded slowly, a tired smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Just… melted.”

Zayne huffed a soft laugh, then stood, carefully helping you into the warm bath, the water hugging your sore muscles. You let out a sigh at the heat, leaning back, and Zayne knelt beside the tub, gently cupping water in his hands and running it over your shoulders.

“Let me take care of you now,” he said. And he did — washing you gently, murmuring soft praise, kissing your forehead every now and then like he didn’t want to let you go for even a second.

And when the bath was over, and you were clean and wrapped in his shirt and your bonnet, he tucked you against his chest in bed like you were something precious — because to him, you were.

[trueshellz]

every time i listen to silent poem i imagine zayne sliding in slow. very slow.

❄️❄️❄️

there's no need to go fast. the night is still young, and he's missed you so much. it's so hard to focus on filling out reports at the hospital when all he wants is just a few uninterrupted hours with you, his love. now that he's finally got you where he wants—undressed, beneath him and utterly soaked—he doesn't plan to rush anything.

the sound of your small gasp as he pushes the tip of his cock is music to his ears, and as he slowly eases into you, a small whine follows. you tense up slightly because of the stretch and whimper, and he leans down to gently kiss your cheeks and lips. "shh... relax," he whispers soothingly. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to hurt you."

one of his hands slide down to where your bodies are joined, and he uses his thumb to rub soft circles on your aching clit. the pleasure instantly relieves the pressure, and you moan as your head falls back against the pillow, which gives zayne the opportunity to kiss your neck as well.

"does it still hurt?" he asks, and you shake your head 'no.' an exhale escapes you as he slowly pulls out, then pushes back in, blissfully groaning near your ear as your walls grip his cock. "what about this? do you feel better now?" his thumb adds a little bit more pressure on your clit, and your breath stutters. you open your eyes to see your lover staring down at you, his lips forming a barely-noticeable smirk.

he was enjoying this. of course he was. he always did enjoy going slow on purpose to tease you. "or.... do you want to change positions?"

"zayne," you whine impatiently, and when your hands move to grab his shoulders and urge him to move, he effortlessly gathers your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head—a silent reminder that you're not in charge. "just do it and stop asking questions. it's been too long since—" the rest of your demand is cut off with a louder moan as zayne's hips move again.

"what do you mean, "just do it and stop asking questions?" didn't you ask me how much i missed you?" he asks, and while his thrusts are still torturously slow, they strike your g-spot with steady precision; precision that only someone like him would take the time to study, then master.

zayne makes you cum far too quickly. your ears ring, your body tightens, and you pant as your orgasm washes over you. his lips find yours, swallowing every sound that your release pulls from you. your walls flutter around his cock, and your lover groans behind your lips from the feeling.

once you come down from your high, zayne gently rearranges you, so you're lying flat on your stomach. you grip the sheets as you feel him push into you again, and his hand wraps around yours. you feel him kiss your shoulders and make his way up until his lips are near your ear. "we're not done here. quitting halfway isn't something i would do."

he begins to fuck you again, a little faster this time. you're still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and the sensation has you gripping the sheets tighter. you moan into one of the pillows nearby to muffle yourself, and zayne, wanting to hear every last noise, pulls it away from you. "none of that. let me hear your voice."

then his thrusts change—not going faster, but harder. at this angle, it's impossible to do anything but take what zayne gives you. the strikes against your sweet spot eliminate everything but him from your thoughts, and your breathless moans fill the room. behind you, zayne's breathing picks up, and he whispers one more thing to you. a command.

"say my name."

❄️❄️❄️

a/n: i listen to this audio every night. 😩

[trueshellz]

Caleb's favorite things

pairings - Yandere Caleb x f!reader

warnings - MDNI- just a drabble where Caleb loves putting you in a mating press, breed kink like a mf, possessive and jealous of inanimate objects that get his pips' attention, and being angry that you grip your sheets!

Caleb loves nothing more than putting you in a mating press - fucking desperately into your pretty pussy, while you're just folded in half under him. He loves any position with you, but especially this, so big over you, inside you. 'She only knows my shape, huh?' you nod weakly at that, earning him fucking you harder.

His silver dog tag is dangling as he grips your face with his huge hands so tightly, looking at you with pussy drunk eyes, glinting purple and dilated. His eyes get insane when he fucks you like this, when he gets to cum deep inside your perfect pussy. Nothing makes him more feral than picturing having you filled with him.

'That's it, gonna put so much cum in you, gonna drip me everywhere, huh pips?' he loves to talk shit, a mix of heavy praise and losing himself, you're gripping the sheets underneath you two, nodding weakly. He glares when he catches the action, pulling back and leaning on his knees.

Caleb is not just jealous of anyone near you, he also gets very jealous when you try to grab a plushie and hug it, he throws them right off the bed and fucks you harder. He hates when you snuggle even with pillows, shouldn't he be enough? and now this, it drives him crazy, he lets your thighs spread wide, glaring down at you.

'Are the sheets fucking you honey?' his tone is lilting, so soothing, when he shoves his cock in deep, watching your hips buck, cunt gushing down his thick, veiny cock.

'C-Caleb... please...' you're whining out, he feels so good, cock splitting you apart, while your hands keep gripping.

'Asked ya a question pretty, are the sheets fucking you?' you shake your head, and his jaw tenses, gripping your wrists, dragging your hands to him as he leans over you. 'Then why are you gripping them, and not me?'

You're immediately digging your nails into his strong biceps, earning his moan, when he sinks back inside you, pressing on your tummy, picturing how much cum he was gonna put in your tummy. He's thicker, pulsing as your nails dig so hard they leave marks that will last for days.

'That's it, you want all this cum, huh pips? all these babies?' you nod weakly, slipping your nails down his arms and leaving scratches, he lets out a breathy moan as he leans down, kissing you desperately. you try to bury your face in a pillow and he launches it across the room, scowling again.

'Caleb...' you're giggling, but that soon stops as he fucks you so deep your tummy is bulging with his shape, and he edges you with a rough thumb on your clit. 'please, lemme cum... please...'

'When your attention is on me, pips, only me,' Caleb's pretty violet eyes flutter shut, his dark hair falling while he toys with your slick, twitchy clit, eyeing you as he laps it off his thumb, pausing his stroke. 'Say it, only me, want me to fill you with all my babies?'

'Only you' that's all Caleb needs to roll his hips just right, leaky tip dragging on that little spot in your gummy walls, groaning out and toying your clit how he knows you like it.

'Only me, n-no more... pillows, plushies, sheets- laughin' again pips? you really never learn a lesson, do ya?'

your honor I love this man

[trueshellz]

Yes I hear you Zayne enjoyers. Here’s your dinner

And with that I finally did all the Lis YEAHH

I love this event so much

[trueshellz]

PAIRINGS. . . xavier, caleb, sylus, zayne, rafayel x reader

CW. . . wearing pheromone perfume around them for the first time.

CALEB

caleb went still the second he hugged you, like he’d just gotten hit with something intoxicating. he pulled back just a little, blinking at you, then leaned in again, burying his face in your neck.

“holy sh—pips,” he groaned dramatically, arms wrapping tighter around your waist. “you smell like heaven and sin had a baby.”

you burst out laughing. “you’re so dramatic.”

he just nuzzled you again, lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “i’m serious. i want to crawl under your skin right now.”

you swatted at his arm, flustered. “it’s just perfume!”

“whatever it is, it’s a problem.” he kissed your jaw, then lower. “'cause now i wanna kiss you for, like, three hours straight. minimum.”

RAFAYEL

he was painting—focused, shirtless, streaks of color on his arms—when you crept up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist.

he stilled.

then he turned his head slightly, inhaling, like a wolf catching a scent in the wind.

“did you just cast a spell on me?”

you bite back a smile as he ducked down, nosing along your neck, groaning softly. he slinged an arm around your waist pressing you to his side.

“delicious. is that new?”

you just smirked. “wouldn’t you like to know.”

he laughed under his breath, mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, wherever he could get. “if you wore this to mess with me, it’s working. i want to paint you now. naked, preferably.”

SYLUS

you barely walked past him before sylus turned his head, eyes narrowing like he just picked up on something forbidden.

he stepped closer, towering over you, his hand curling gently under your chin. “...you smell dangerous,” he said lowly, his voice already laced with heat.

he tilted your head up, heart fluttering as he leaned in, his mouth brushing against the back of your ear. he moved lower, lips grazing your neck, then the space just under your jaw.

“what is that scent?” he murmured, like it was bothering him. like it was consuming him.

“do you like it?”

he huffed a soft laugh against your skin, kissing your throat like he was losing control. “you’re not allowed to wear it around anyone but me. understood?”

XAVIER

you slipped under the covers beside him, thinking he was asleep. he wasn’t.

the second your body curled into his, his arm came around your waist, slow and sure. he inhaled once, then again.

“…what is that?” he muttered, voice rough with sleep. he buried his face in your neck without waiting for an answer.

you giggled and his arm only tightens around you.

“not funny,” he mumbled, lips brushing your throat. “you smell like trouble.”

“you’re imagining things.”

“i’m not.” he kissed your collarbone, again and again, slower. “we’re not leaving this bed today.”

ZAYNE

you stepped into zayne’s office for your monthly check-up, but the second you approached his desk, he looked up like you’d just walked in wearing nothing but your birthday suit.

before you could sit at your usual chair, his hand found your wrist and guided you into his lap instead.

he didn’t say anything, just leaned in and breathed you in like he needed the scent to live.

“…what did you put on?” he asked, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. “you’ve never smelled like this before.”

you pretended to play dumb. “what do you mean?”

he exhaled a low chuckle, his voice raspier than usual. “don’t play with me. this—this is lethal.”

then he kissed your neck, slow and open mouthed. “fuck, you’re gonna get me fired.”

masterlist ⋆˚꩜ send me a kofi !

[trueshellz]

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

[trueshellz]

⟡₊ ⊹ zaynes little secret

everyone at akso hospital was aware of zaynes crush on the hunter that came in regularly. yvonne teased zayne about the little smile that seemed to be reserved only for you. greyson, on the other hand, chuckled about zayne, who always twisted his neck to the point of giving himself whiplash whenever you left, as if he had to savor every last second of seeing you.

one day, greyson was feeling particularly brave. he elbowed zayne in the side. „you and that pretty hunter, huh? when are you planning on asking her out?“ 

zayne pushed the glasses up his nose. „I already have.“

yvonne and greyson shared a stunned look. „you have?“, yvonne asked. 

„I have“, zayne gave back sternly. 

„do we have to drag every little crumb of information out of you? tell us everything!“, yvonne exclaimed. 

„there’s not much to tell. it went well.“ 

„look at you, dr. zayne“, greyson said with glee. „getting a girlfriend before all of us.“

„she is, in fact, my wife.“ 

zaynes smile never faded. actually it got bigger when he saw the absolute astonishment in greysons and yvonnes faces.