shewrites247

Latest Posts by shewrites247

Caleb boobs lover allegations RISEEE

meOW

a closer look

synopsis: every time you try to take your relationship to the next level, you always shy away at the last second. lucky for you, dr. zayne has a solution!

tags: inexperienced reader & zayne, soft dom zayne, reader fears penetration at first, zayne sets up a surgical camera so she can watch him finger her, vaginal fingering (duh), “anatomy” “lesson,” praise, “good girl,” improper use of hospital assets  pairing: zayne x fem reader word count: 2.3k

a/n: this came to me in a dream. enjoy

“Have I given you reason to be afraid of me?” Zayne asks you softly, attentive gaze trailing down your stiff body.

“N-no!” you blurt, thrusting your hands out in mortification. “You haven’t, I swear you haven’t. This is just…new to me.”

“Me as well,” he retreats from above you, moving back on the sofa to give you breathing room.

Just moments ago, you’d been writhing under him needily, his tongue plunging into your eager mouth as you groped each other with abandon. Spurred on by your initial pleas, he’d dared to take it further this time—further than either of you had ever been. But as his hand had traveled down your body, dipping just the slightest bit inside your panties, you’d gone rigid. Zayne, ever aware of your reactions, had stopped his movements immediately, looking seekingly into your eyes for answers. Unfortunately for him, once that cautious hazel gaze had found yours, you’d squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. 

“It’s nothing that you did, Zayne,” you sigh as you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know you’d never hurt me. I’m just…scared.” 

“Of?” he asks softly, and the way his kind face is void of any judgment makes you want to extract your brain and beat it for denying you the chance to feel him. 

Another sigh escapes you as you gather your thoughts. “What if it hurts?” you wonder shyly, fiddling with your clammy hands. “I always imagined it’d hurt. And there’s never…been…anything there, outside of medical stuff. That’s the only thing I have to compare it to.”

Nodding along patiently, Zayne extends a hand to you, pulling you to him when you accept it gratefully. “I’m sorry that you’re frightened, but I understand your hesitation. I’m content to just hold you in my arms, if you’ll let me. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

“No, I-I want to. With you, soon. That’s the problem—I’ll think I’m ready, but then the second we get close, I freeze up. I just don’t know what to expect, and that scares me.” 

Humming contemplatively, Zayne laces your fingers together. “I think I can help with that.” 

The usually bustling corridors of Akso Hospital are eerily quiet at night. 

Hurrying through them as if a ghost will jump out at any second, you scour the door plaques for room 429. 

I’ll be finishing up early today. If you’re able, can you meet me at the hospital this evening? Room 429, Zayne had messaged you hours ago. And with no other plans and a lingering sense of guilt that you know he’d disapprove of, you’d agreed almost instantly.

Combating pangs of confusion—he never asked you here at night, outside of official events—you don’t realize you’ve scurried past the door until the room numbers grow too high. Backtracking briskly, you tap the wood with two soft knocks before a calm “Come in!” beckons you inside. 

Room 429 is a standard hospital room—a large examination table, a sink and cabinets, and two simple chairs. At the small table near the back of the room—much humbler than the sleek standing desk in his office, you note perplexedly—Zayne sits, pen in hand, leafing through an endless stack of paperwork. Why did he move his office here for the night? 

“Great, you’re here,” he says, setting his pen atop a thick packet. “Take a seat.” 

“Um, okay,” you mumble obediently, heading toward one of the navy guest chairs. 

“Not there,” he calls. 

Turning to face him, you catch the way his eyes shift to the examination table. “Is this some kind of impromptu appointment?” you ask, his secrecy filling you with stubbornness. 

Zayne rises from the rolling chair that’s too small for him, crossing the room in measured strides. “Not a sanctioned one.” 

Before you can ask what he means, his hands are wrapping around your waist, lifting you up to deposit you on the soft table padding. 

“Hey!” you squeak, surprised but not fighting him. “What is all this? I had my annual checkup a couple weeks ago, I’ll have you know. And I won’t be your guinea pig, either.”

Zayne tsks with amusement. As he presses a button, a large black mount lowers from the ceiling, its sturdy hooks securing a small silver device. Another button, and the device’s tiny red light flicks on. 

And suddenly, your reflection stares back at you from a monitor on the opposite wall. 

Anticipating your interrogation, Zayne speaks before you can. “This is a high-definition surgical instrument. It’s used to help us see the body during minor procedures.”

You blink at him quizzically. “So…a camera?” 

“Yes. A camera. Repurposed for…recreational matters,” he quips with a slight upturn of his lips.

“You should know your own body,” he continues gently. “Exploring yourself—whether with or without me—is your right. And after last night, I figured…perhaps being able to see my actions as they happen would assuage some of your fears.” 

“You…when did you have time to…?” you trail off, staring up at him in wonder. 

“I believe I told you I finished my work early today. This was the reason,” he reveals. Even with you perched on the examination table, Zayne’s imposing height exceeds yours. His assurance is a warm blanket as he stands beside you, resting a large palm on your bent knee. “I’d like to help you explore yourself now. Will you allow me to?”

With a heavy gulp—more from anticipation than nerves, you realize—you nod your consent meekly.

“I don’t know what that means, darling. Can you give me words?”

“Yes,” you exhale shakily. “Help me. Please.”

Smiling softly, pride flashing across his face, he leans in to kiss you sweetly. Then, reaching up to bring the camera closer, he angles it toward your lower body. On the far wall, the feed is dangerously close to revealing what lies beneath your skirt. 

“I’ll raise this,” he says, lifting the fabric with care. “And these…will need to come off,” he eyes you, gesturing to your thin cotton panties. 

For a moment, you debate removing them yourself. But if this was about overcoming fears….

“Can you do it, Dr. Zayne? I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” you whisper coyly. 

His eyes widen as he pauses. Then, collecting himself, he inches his hands forward to tug at the sides of your panties, sliding them down with precision. “Of course,” he says softly. “I’ll take care of you.” 

As he sets his eyes on your naked cunt for the first time, Zayne shows admirable restraint, looking away after only a few tense seconds. Some hypocritical, eager-to-please part of you would almost be offended, if not for his tells: his quickened blinks, heavy breaths, and fidgeting fingers. 

“I’ll get started now,” he exhales, voice husky with veiled desire. “You’re free to stop me at any time.”

And as you gaze at him with trust and only a little bit of fear, Zayne begins. 

“This is your pelvic bone,” he gestures slowly. “It supports your body weight.” 

The warmth of someone else’s hand on your bare hip is a foreign feeling. Foreign, but not bad, you decide, relaxing under his touch. 

“The mons pubis,” he continues, hands ghosting over the mound beneath your belly. 

“And this,” he murmurs, spreading your folds carefully, “is your pretty little pussy.” 

The word—in here, from him, in reference to you—is so scandalous it makes you gasp. You try desperately to avoid his gaze, eyes flitting across the room in panicked arousal, but you don’t find the reprieve you’re looking for. 

Because on that far wall, looking back at you tauntingly, is the velvety skin of your most private part, glistening with your growing desire. 

Snapping you out of your staring contest, Zayne taps the flesh of your thigh twice. “Open, please. Wider.” 

Swallowing thickly, you oblige.  

“Good,” he praises, tracing your exposed entrance with an elongated index finger. “This is where I’ll touch you. Is that alright?”

Through heavy drags of air, you forget his earlier instructions, nodding quickly as your answer. When all he does is lift a brow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, you hazily remember his request. “Yes,” you whimper apologetically. “It’s alright.”

“Well, then. Suck,” he orders simply, holding his finger to your mouth. 

The command startles you at first. But as you look between the man beside you and the far wall, recalling how frustrated you’d been with your fears last night, you part your lips slightly. Just enough for him to enter. 

Timidly, you circle your tongue around him, coating his finger in your saliva. Once he deems it wet enough, he taps your thigh again, and you release him with a soft pop. 

With half-lidded eyes, Zayne hums his approval, pushing closer to you to angle the digit at your entrance. “Hold onto me if you need to,” he whispers, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

And then, his finger sinks inside you. 

It’s one thing to feel the tension. To clench as a light, unfamiliar pressure pushes firmly inside your heat, claiming the untraversed territory with every inch. 

But as the discomfort subsides and you open your eyes, seeing it unfold is something else entirely. 

On the large screen, Zayne’s slender finger pumps in and out of you slowly, impactfully. With every exit, your pulsing pink walls hug his retreating digit, begging him to stay. And when he grants their request, every thrust back inside has them clamping around his finger, as if barring him from leaving them lonely. 

Watching with rapt attention, Zayne splits his focus between the monitor and you, gauging your expression for signs of discomfort.

But as your body melts with newfound pleasure, you sigh softly along to the rhythm of his pumps, eyeing the way he breaches your wetness with wanton intrigue. 

The way he disappears inside you, giving his body to yours…you want to kiss him. You need to kiss him. But the moment you lift your gaze to his lips, licking your own as you lean in, Zayne moves his face just out of reach.

“No,” he murmurs his denial, stroking your walls with added vigor as he turns your face back toward the screen. “Don’t get distracted.”

Grumbling your disappointment, you allow his hypnotic movements to recapture your attention. But before long, you’re curling into his touch. “Can you…m-more?” you pant, risking a longing glance up at him. 

“More?” Zayne repeats, slowing his pace to a deep probe that makes you writhe in impatience. “Is that something you can handle?” 

“Yes,” you cry, clutching his pristine lab coat. “Can handle it, if it’s you.” 

He hums contentedly. And a split second later, another long finger joins the first. 

Eyes glued to the screen, you see the intrusion before you feel it: his thick, united digits headed straight for your core. As he prods at the small opening, advances met with quivering resistance, you almost think you’ve asked for more than you can take. But as slick dribbles out of your squelching hole to welcome him, the fluid dulls the stretching sensation, and your fluttering cunt sucks him in greedily.

A loud, lewd moan has you arching erratically, and Zayne wraps a strong arm around your lower back to support you. 

“How does it feel?” he murmurs between steady pumps. “Are you still frightened?” 

“No,” you mewl ardently. “It’s good. You’re good. But I…” you pause, racking your fuzzy brain for the right words. 

“You what, my love?” 

“I can’t…I don’t think I can…like this…” you trail off with an embarrassed whine, hoping he understands your babbling. 

“Mm,” he nods sympathetically. “It’s natural that you can’t come from this alone. What a good girl you are for telling me.” 

With his free hand, Zayne leans forward to adjust the camera, centering it over your glistening cunt. Once satisfied, he flexes his thumb to rest gently on the twitching bundle above your entrance. “You know what this is, don’t you, darling?”

“Clit,” you breathe, the word leaving you in a garbled gasp thanks to the shocks of his feather-light touch. 

“That’s right,” he praises, kissing your temple while his fingers scissor lazily inside you. “This is how you’ll finish.” 

As your voices fade, room filling with the wet sploshes of your tightening walls, the force of his thumb grows heavier on your clit. You almost squeal as the pressure increases, instinctively lifting your hips out of the camera frame—to which Zayne firmly pushes you back down. 

“Watch,” he commands sternly. “So you’ll know how to do the same when I’m away.” 

Curling his other fingers inside you, Zayne rolls his thumb in devastating circles, grinding so deeply against your nub that it greets you with spasmic, greedy twitches on the monitor. For a moment, his movements are mesmerizing, his thumb drawing patterns on your clit in time with his measured pumps. But as he slips out his index finger to pinch your aching bud, the gushing slick heralding your release is the last thing you see before your eyes screw shut from ecstasy. 

As you writhe against him with thankful sobs, Zayne’s movements slow before stopping altogether. “It’s alright,” he shushes you. “Let it take you. You look beautiful like this.” 

And in the comfort of his reassurance, those sobs turn into quiet, blissful moans. 

You’re not sure how he does it—the sink and paper towels are on the other side of the room—but when you open your eyes, Zayne’s hands are clean. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he says gently, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you mumble, nuzzling into his palm. “You were right. Seeing it, knowing what you were doing…it did help,” you finish shyly.

“I’m glad. And in that case,” he adds, tapping the camera appreciatively, “I’ll ask around about the cost of installation in my home office.”

its always that tuna cunt😞

lost on kitty cards to rafayel 3 times in a roll. I hope he gets burnt to crisp by the sun

hes so husband

i'd like to offer to you the idea of zayne who stays in the bathroom to wash his hands a little longer than what's usual inside the confinement of one's home, the habit of scrubbing in staying with him even outside the walls of the hospital. one day after you two return home from an outing, you've long patted your hands dry, but he's still standing in front of the sink. thick foam of soap covering his dextrous fingers, spreading all the way up his forearms, ending slightly below his elbows. his moves are thorough and practiced. scrub the nails in a back-and-forth motion approximately 30 times. 10 strokes across the surface of the palm. divide your forearm into thirds, scrub each third 10 times. once you scrub an area do not go back, he recounts internally, the words of instruction replaying in his mind with enough familiarity that he doesn't really notice them anymore, nor the way that his hands are following them, even though the sink in front of him belongs to your bathroom, not to the hospital.

the fact that he never noticed this habit before only occurs to him when you mention it, leaning against the doorway, watching him as patiently as he washed his hands. "your hand soap certainly smells more pleasant than chlorhexidine," zayne notes in response as he passes by you on his way out, pressing an amused kiss to the crown of your head.

no words🤰🏽

BEND THE KNEE. | ZAYNE (LI SHEN)

♡ tags ; afab + fem!reader, reader is not explicitly mc, established relationship, porn almost no plot, somewhat undernegotiated kink, brat-taming, dom!zayne, sub!reader, corporal punishment (spanking), praise kink, emotional catharsis disguised as smut, fingering, cunnilingus (f!recieving), unprotected sex, aftercare scene included, 18+

♡ wc ; 10.6k (in two days...im so cooked)

♡ a/n ; woman has completely lost her marbles. more at 8.

about the kink being under-negotiated. it's a little tricky but zayne kind of springs this on reader which is not good etiquette technically . but because they have such a strong rapport and so much trust in each other - i think it works out for them anyway. always discuss things like this properly with your partner properly. but in this case, these two have a long established dynamic and complete trust in the other so in no way does reader feel uncomfortable or coerced. she trusts zayne to lead and thats important.

♡ synopsis ; bend the knee (verb) (idiomatic, by extension) - to show undue deference, obedience, or support for someone or something

or when zayne sees you on the edge of tipping over and decides to get you to open up, one way or another.

crossposted on ao3

You need something. 

That’s what Zayne concludes after thinking it over.  

For the better part of the last month, you have been in a bad mood.  

It’s unusual for your off-days to last this long, or at least the kinds you’ve been having lately. Easily irritable, sighing and frustrated, receding into yourself. You’re as human as anyone else - but one of the things likes about you most is that even on your worst days, you seem to smile more often than not. It’s not that you’re happy all the time - but you’re prone to things like numbness and avoidance over sadness and projected anger.  

In layman terms, Zayne has never in your entire relationship seen you so frustrated.  

And, despite his best efforts to talk to you about it, you have swiftly avoided the conversation and insisted that everything is fine.  

Zayne is used to you being stubborn. He’s had to navigate that from the start of your relationship. Though you’re open-minded and often easy-going, there are certain intricacies and small details that you refuse to overlook. Always hard-headed about the strangest things and always trying to fix everything on your own in an attempt to ease his burdens.  

(The real problem is you viewing yourself as a burden in the first place but Zayne ventures that won’t be resolved in a weekend.) 

You’ve talked about this at length already. You and Zayne are in a partnership. He’s your lover, your companion - which means you’re in it together. He can’t, however, act like a proper partner to you if you refuse to co-operate with him on any and all levels. 

It’s not like Zayne is upset with you for it. He doesn’t think you’ve done anything wrong. It’s not even especially frustrating. Zayne is patient. He’s trained to be that way. So it’s fine if you need time, and it’s fine if you need a light push from him. He can throw whatever you handle at him, give you whatever you need.  

For Zayne, that’s where the real problem lies. Your sour mood, this odd sense of secrecy, this persistent sadness - Zayne wants to help you get through it however he can. But figuring out what will actually resolve all of that proves to difficult. Do you need a push? Do you need to be forced to open up? Do you need to get emotional release? Do you need a night out or a weekend away? Maybe a date night? 

Zayne has been sitting on this very question for the last few days determined. Any time he’s had a chance to think idly, it’s always drifted back to solving this mysterious puzzle and getting you back where you need to be. Safe, comfortable, and content. 

Zayne settles on this: ultimately, you need catharsis. An emotional purging - the sort of thing that makes you break down so Zayne can build you back up. It seems like an extreme course of action but given just how long you’ve been wading this storm, he thinks that level of emotional distress is only natural.  

After he figures that out, it’s a matter of how to achieve it.  

What will give you the biggest emotional release? He considers a number of things: going on a hike, watching a devastating movie in the theaters, going to visit some baby penguins and seals at the Linkon City Zoo. Things he know will get you worked up in one way or another. Things that will unravel you.  

But nothing he thinks of feels like enough. Whatever’s distressing you is distressing you enough to make you act out of character like this for weeks. His response to that needs to be just as able to carry the weight of it all, or else it might just make you bottle it up worse.  

You need something, Zayne knows.  

He thinks what you might need is to be punished.  

He comes to this conclusion after trying not to think about it all together.  

For Zayne, sex is an intimate affair. And between you, he is the less experimental. He has is moments, but most of your play that ends up being kinkier comes from your fantasies and daydreams. Zayne is happy to do these things for you and with you - and has learned a lot about himself in the process. Too much, maybe. He enjoys making you feel good. On the rare days off he has where you can have proper sex, he wants to give you as much pleasure as he can 

Most of the kinkier things you’ve done are limited to sensation play. Things that should still feel good or won’t strain you to severely. You have had a long time interest in the more masochistic, the more punishing - and it’s not like Zayne hasn’t entertained it here and there. But still, it’s limited. Rarely a properly thought out act and more an impulsive whim. He has those with you more often then he cares to admit.  

Things like temperature play, blindfolds, and minimal restraints. Nothing more than that, and never with consideration to a particular dynamic. How you have sex on a given day depends, the ‘control’ ebbing and flowing based on mood and circumstance.  

The point being: Zayne has never properly punished you, though you’ve asked him to do it before.  

You often make wry comments when he’s being especially firm with something (most often your well-being) about how he’d do it. He teases the idea lightly, but truthfully - teasing and experimenting are different from actually doing. Zayne has never considered it deeply outside of that.  

But when you mention things to him, Zayne always remembers - stows the information away for when he may need it like right now. He likes being well-informed after all.  

It’s all of these things combined that makes Zayne conclude that fulfilling your desire to be punished might actually be the most effective method of handling the state of affairs. It hits all of the marks providing emotional release, as well as physical release - and also gives you a reason to lash out in a controlled space.  

Zayne read a number of BDSM forums and browsed through several erotica novels to get a clear picture after forming the hypothesis - collecting as much information as he possibly could on what his role would be in the affair.  

As far as descriptions go, Zayne can self-report he fits the criteria for a ‘brat-tamer’ in essence. In a nonsexual way, disciplining you borders on second nature. Being firm is easy but so is being playful, and patient - since ultimately Zayne only whats the best for you. In the same vein, he thinks you fit the description of brat in your own way. A tendency to be fussy, a dislike for being told what to do, a playful mischief that he adores and only corrects as necessary.  

It’s only after the extensive amount of research that Zayne is beholden to, does he understand the dynamic and scene itself. When the play starts to make sense, he comes upon on specific conclusion that leads him to believe this answer to be the right one.  

Above all else, you really do want to be good, don’t you?  

This isn’t working for you either. You’ve been bottling everything up for so long Zayne can’t imagine it’d be easy to approach him now even if you wanted to. Fostering an environment for you to express your feelings and for Zanyne to receive them. To respond to them, and ‘punish’ you for any wrong-doing so that the guilt doesn’t weigh down you so heavily. 

Even through your month of bad moods, you sleep by Zayne’s side every night and wake him every morning. You tell him you love him and tell him when you’ll be home, even when you’re huffy and moody. You want to be good, so isn’t it only fair for Zayne to let you?  

Zayne considers it all carefully. He thinks to make it work, he might have to spring it on you. He’s relying on the rapport between on already having been dating a few years - and the preventive safety measures you’ve had in place for other, less severe play. A safe word and a hand signal. It needs to be timed right, needs to throw you so slightly off-center in order for you to be receptive.  

If you turn it down, Zayne will be back to the drawing board.  

But he has a sneaking feeling that this really might be the last of your bad moods.  

__  

It’s one of those weeks where both you and Zayne are off-duty.  

It’s rare that happens. Given your busy schedules and being in the midst of the busy season, you agreed mutually it’d be better to stay home and save your winter date for after the fog clears. Zayne was planning on having a day at home with you pleasantly doing nothing.  

You are decidedly in one of your moods, however. He really can’t pinpoint what triggered it since you seemed to be just fine this morning, almost back to your usual self. And then something in the afternoon flipped a switch and now you’re right back where you’re started.  

Zayne does not want to waste his day-off squabbling with you over something. So he decides today, he’ll try to get to the bottom of it once and for all.  

He approaches you while you’re in the kitchen of his apartment - quietly making yourself a glass of tea. Conversation first, Zayne always tries to talk to you about it. No matter how much you try to avoid it - he thinks you could solve a lot with a conversation. No drastic measures until he at least asks, though a small part of him is expecting the same answer as he received so many times before.  

He watches you in the kitchen, furiously making a cup of tea. In silence, contemplating if now is the right time. He wants to go about things the best he can. All he wants to do is help you. He sighs and then resolves himself.  

Zayne comes up behind you, soft and gentle. “Would you like to tell me what’s happened to spoil your mood, my love?”  

You pause and then frown, huffing - brows furrowed as you somewhat violently mix your sugar into your tea. “No. There’s nothing to talk about,”  

“Nothing? Even though you were just fine this morning,” Zayne says evenly, voice lacking accusation. Still kind and only gently probing. “It’s been a month now of this. Whatever it is don’t you think it’d be better if we discussed it,”  

You pause, a hand curled into a fist on the counter. “How many times do I have to tell you there’s nothing to say?”  

He gives you a long look. “As many times as I see your mood change at the drop of a hat without a single indication as to why,”  

Zayne can see it happen real time. A brief flash of some other emotion that’s followed up by anger. You let out an indignant noise, turning with your cup and looking up at him. Your lip is curled in anger.  

“God, would you just leave it? There’s nothing to talk about so stop wasting time on your day off,”  

Zayne looks down at you with an expression unreadable. And then, he makes a choice to keep his face even. This is normally when he would drop the conversation entirely. Soothe you a bit, and you’d apologize and hug him though you’d still not tell him a thing. But he thinks right now is the best time to enact his plan. He takes your mug from your hand and sets it on the counter behind you, sitting both his and yours besides each other.  

And then he cages you in, trapping your body between him on the counter while Zayne grips onto the marble edge.  

You look at him confused but Zayne remains calm and quiet until he leans down close to you. Almost eye-level, making sure to be far enough for you to look at his face and his expression.  

He lets the silence sit for a beat. He watches your expression change. But he waits - long enough for you to squirm before he breaks it again.  

“Watch how you speak to me,” He says. Your eyes widen in surprise but Zayne doesn’t waver. “Did you think I was going to tolerate this kind of behavior forever?”  

For a minute you’re awestruck. Well and truly surprised, which is all Zayne wanted to accomplish. You stammer. First upset, then a flashing bit of sadness, then anger all over again. You have something to say but you can’t find the right words to combat him. Zayne does this on purpose. He’s always gentle and soothing and easy with you but it’s not the time for it.  

He brings his hand up to your face, palm cupping your cheek - scrutinizing your every reaction under watchful gaze. It’s surprisingly easy to make you nervous - eyes flickering away from him. Zayne decides against forcing it, opting to continue his lecture.  

“Do you think it’s fair for you to speak to me that way?”  

You stutter again. “I already told you that it’s—“  

Zayne cuts you off. It’s unlike him. “I didn’t ask about that. I asked if you thought you were being fair speaking to me that way. Answer my question,”  

“Why does it need to be fair?” Your voice trembles. Zayne does not show you any reaction. It’s harder than he expects given how cute he finds you.  

“Is it unnecessary? Then, should I punish you according to how you’ve been treating me, rather then trying to be fair to you? Since it’s not important,”  

You look utterly bewildered. “Punish—?“  

Zayne holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up slightly.  

“Yes, punish. If we’re not basing it on fairness - then the only metric left is how you’ve been acting as of late,” Zayne says slow and deliberate. “On that basis, you deserve to be punished. Either you can admit to being in the wrong or be honest with me you can be punished accordingly. Do you understand?”  

A beat. Your lip trembles like you might cry but you seem to get on the same page quickly. You refuse him, but Zayne can tell this is having the exact impact he wanted it to. He knows you’ll keep being stubborn, is expecting it - so you refuting him does not surprise him at all.  

“I haven’t done anything wrong, I already—“  

Zayne shoves a thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You make a noise around him, words muffled as you attempt to pull away.  

There’s a long stretch of silence where Zayne locks eyes with you. Reaching out to you - affirming something. He leans on the rapport you have between you. The ability to withdraw from this if you wish. He stares at you as you crumple under the gaze but do not refuse him.  

“Assuming you still don’t understand, I’ll tell you.” Zayne says. His voice is soft, deliberately gentle all while holding your gaze. He presses down harder, feeling your bottom row of teeth at the knuckle of his thumb. “I’m going to bend you over my knee until you tell me in your own words that you’re sorry. Since you can’t be honest by yourself, I’ll help you. Now I’ll ask you again: do you understand?”  

You glare, and flinch - but you don’t back away. “I get it already. But that doesn’t mean—“ 

 Ultimately. It’s tiny, bordering on imperceptible but it’s there. A brief recognition of play, and understanding of whats going on. Zayne steps away from you, freeing you from his grip. His expression remains neutral now, less kind then before. You’re on the same page.  

“Do you want me to carry you to our room or can you handle walking on your own?”  

You look at him furious. “I can walk!”  

Zayne doesn’t say anything as he trails behind you.  

Once you enter the bedroom, Zayne steps in behind you and shuts the door. Your expression is interesting, he thinks. He’s never seen such a colorful array of emotions flash across your face in such a short time. Despite your attitude and your active grumbling, you almost seem timid to him now. You’re clearly protesting him in some way, acting out what he’s sure is your sincere frustration. But all Zayne can feel is pleased that you’re acting the ways he thought you would. It gives him a strange affirmation that he knows you as well as he thought, he’s satisfied with it. Directing it all towards him, all the frustration as you mutter under your breath.  

The words fall on deaf ears and after a while of him not responding, you snap.  

“What are you staring at me for?” You nip. Zayne looks at you unimpressed. He takes a seat on the foot of the bed, careful to leave just enough room for you as he does. He slides his robe off of his shoulders and carefully pushes up the white long-sleeves of the Henley he wears during the cold season.  

“Come,”  

You stand still and Zayne sighs.  

He’s gentler with you normally. Softer and more delicate. But soft won’t get you to listen to him so he opts to pull you closer by the wrist. It’s not often he feels any need to exert his strength over you this way. But it’s different now. It demands it of him, so he does. You struggle as you fall towards him - into his chest, caught off guard by the sudden movement.  

Zayne wastes no time - maneuvering, manhandling you to be bent over his knee. He uses one hand to slide your pants off completely but leaves your underwear as they are. You gasp under your breath in shock. You’re turned away from him, your cheek pressed to the sheets. Zayne takes a minute to drink you in, examining the white cotton with lace trim that you wear underneath your pajama pants, wearing white ankle socks with a matching trim that he finds remarkably cute.  

Your torso rests across his lap, pressed to the mattress with your arms folded in protest as your knees rest on the bed. You kick one of your feet up - Zayne thinks in a half-ass attempt at objection. He holds you down over his lap more forcefully then before, his arm around your waist. He bends down slightly and speaks with a slow, clear voice.  

“This is your punishment. Each time I spank you I want you to count. If you forget, we start over. I’ll stop when you make it up to me and say sorry. Is that clear?”  

“I didn’t even do anything!“  

Zayne uses his hand to grip your chin hard. A warning. “Enough. You had two choices and you made yours. I will not explain myself again,” Zayne says. You quiet at his tone - brattiness temporarily placated.  

It’s strangely natural to him to do this. Easier than he thought it’d be. He thought being so firm, so strict to you would feel awkward for the first time. But it’s easy to do when he thinks of the outcome he wants. Always the best for you - if this is what you need from him, then this is what Zayne can give you. He pulls back when you relent. No longer squirming away from him.  

“Repeat your safeword to me, love.”  

“Red,” You say through a huff.  

His hand rests on your lower back, tugging your panties up until they’re creased. “What do you if you can’t speak?”  

“Tap three times.”  

“Good job.” He says, soothing. It makes you pause in his lap. “Now, count,”  

Zayne uses his hands to grope and squeeze your ass gently before doing anything else. You take a shaky breath underneath him as he carefully measures the pressure. He lifts his palm high before coming back down - a resounding smack echoing through inside of the quiet walls of your bedroom.  

You let out a loud cry.  

You jolt - startling at the feeling. “That—It hurts!”  

“Do I need to remind you of what to do each time,” Zayne asks. You fuss underneath him, pressing your face to the sheets in what he recognizes as embarrassment.  

“Fuck. One,”  

“Good girl,”  

Zayne repeats the motion again. You whimper this time - clearly more prepared for that strike then the first. He stares, already noticing his handprint becoming visible. He waits for you to respond.  

“T-two,”  

Again. Zayne admires the way the fat ripples at his touch. You shift yourself away from him at the sensation but Zayne quickly pulls you right back down to your place. 

“Three,” You whine.  

Zayne touches your inner thigh soothingly.  

“If it’s too much to bear, all you need to say is sorry,” 

You scoff - showy, but your voice is wavering. “What do I have to be sorry for?”  

Zayne sighs. Again. “Shit, four.”  

“You don’t know what you need to be sorry for? Do you need me to answer that for you too?”  

“I don’t need you to—five,”  

“You kept it in for an entire month and took your frustration out on me. All you need to do is apologize and I’ll forgive you.” 

You sniffle, voice small and petulant. “I won’t.”  

Zayne hums. “Then your punishment continues,”  

Again. “Six,”  

Again “Seven”  

Again. “Fuck, eight,”  

You’re sturdy. Sturdy enough to handle a few hits with ease. Zayne knows because he accounted for it.  Your tolerance for pain, your ability to endure it. It’s why he doesn’t set a number though he has one. If he gives you an option to simply sit through a punishment , you’ll grit your teeth and bear it all the way till the end. You’re stubborn.  

You’re strong. Of course you are. He knows eight hits are barely doing much to you - even as he’s coming down on each strike so firmly. You’ve been training as Hunter for years and familiar with pain so much worse than this.  

But you’re sniffling underneath him, clearly holding in soft sobs despite yourself. He thinks it’s proof of the effectiveness but it makes Zayne feel sympathetic all the same. Zayne doesn’t think you’ll make it far past ten. But he keeps all of this to himself. He brings his other hand up to your mouth and rubs his thumb on your lower lip  - feeling for blood or indentations. He presses it to your lips.  

“Don’t bite your lip,” He says, forcing your mouth open with the digit. He presses his thumb against your tongue again as you protest it. “If you need to bite, use my thumb.”  

Where Zayne expects you to bite him sharp in retaliation, you simply close your mouth and suck. He feels his chest squeeze. Slowly but surely.  

Again and again and again. On the eleventh one is what finally makes you forgo trying to hold back your sobs. They’re quiet, almost meek - weakly protesting each one as soft tears roll down your cheek. Before the twelfth - Zayne takes care to remind you. He makes his voice softer on purpose. Makes his words kinder and less stern. 

“All you have to do is tell me you’re sorry. I’ll take care of the rest,” He promises, hand rubbing stinging skin. “That’s all. You can do it, can’t you?”  

You remain silent, hesitant. Zayne doesn’t scold you.  

Again. “Twelve,”  

Your voice is small on the last one.  A little more, Zayne thinks. “Afterwards, you can ask for anything you like.”  

Again. Your voice trembles. Thirteen comes out barely audible, but Zayne decides not to hold it against you.  

“I’m not punishing you because I’m angry, but because I want you to understand—because I want you to be good for me like I know you can be.” Zayne soothes, rubbing gently just where he hit before. “You don’t need to endure by yourself. All you need to do is remember that,”  

You’re quiet. Once more, but he does it softer this time.  

“F-fourteen,” You say. Your voice is wrecked with some unspoken sorrow.  

“Is there something you’d like to tell me,” Zayne presses, voice warm and soothing. “Or would you like to continue you being punished?”  

A pause. Zayne gives you time to respond. He takes a second to glance down further between your legs  - noticing an incredibly dark patch of wetness right at the seam of your panties. He uses his fingers to rub over the spot carefully, amused by the small gasp that leaves your lips. He only brushes it - not provoking you further. A little amused that you liked it despite yourself.  

You shift, clearly ready. Zayne takes the initiative.  

“Yes, my love?”  

Your voice comes out wobbly. Thick with tears and emotions - like you’re just about ready to shatter into a million pieces. It makes Zayne incredibly fond and incredibly heartbroken all in the same breath. He remains steadfast and waits for you as you take a deep breath and find the right words. You have something to say.  

Or you try too, but the words tumble out in a tearful mess anyway. “I-I’m sorrryy,”  

You wail. Zayne can’t help but be taken aback every so slightly by it. He was expecting it but he didn’t think it’d be so difficult for him to hear.  

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m not angry. Are you in pain? Can you sit?” Zayne asks. You sob, answering through tears. Your words are slurred, hiccuping. You cry a little longer before you answer him.  

“Is okay,”  

Zayne nods. He helps stand you up before he sits you back down on his lap - straddling him while he supports your weight. Your face is tear-stricken, eyes red-rimmed and still crying as he pulls you up. His expression warms , reaching up to brush his thumb underneath your eye and soothe your sobbing.  

And then he hugs you. Puts a hand on the back of your head and pulls you into his chest. Your face pressed into the side of his neck. He rubs slow, soothing circles into your back  - telling you to take deep breaths as he kisses your shoulder blades and whispers as many sweet nothings as he can think up.  

You’re a wreck in his arms. Wordless, helpless - your hands are fisted into the back of his shirt. All the fight has been wrung out of you. Limp in his grasp, you weep woefully and tell him you love him in thick tears. Zayne holds you tight, steady - nothing but the sound of your sobs to accompany you until you’ve let enough of it out to at least speak to him. You pull away - face messy and damp  from crying.  

Zayne cannot help but think about how much he utterly adores you.  

Your lower lip quivers helplessly. “I’m sorry, ‘m really sorry,”  

Zayne shakes his head. “That’s quite alright. I told you I’d forgive you, wouldn’t I?”  

You nod. Zayne looks at you warmly, thumb tracing the shell of your ear. “We’ll talk later. Tell me first - what should I give you for being a good girl?”  

You have a floatiness about you. Eyes glazed over just slightly - clearly comforted enough to release whatever you’ve been holding. Unburdened, it’s like you’ve become something else. Hazy and dependent - lashes fluttering and completely sincere. “I’m good?”  

“Yes. You did well. How should I reward you?” Zayne affirms. “Would you like me to take care of this?”  

He goes again to cup your clothed pussy. You rut into his hand - biting the inside of your lip as you nod. 

It’s something about you like this that sears Zayne’s subconscious like a brand. Unusually docile, vulnerable, needy. It’s strange. He didn’t think of himself as someone with such a strong desire to exploit. Or maybe this is an extension of something that’s already been embedded in him for a long time. To take something apart in his hands with precision and put it back together again. A life, a heart, a lover. You’ve been at the very front of the desire for a long time.  

“Tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you.” Zayne says. Soft and sincere and sun-warm just looking at you falling apart so easily. “Don’t be shy. You should be demanding like you always are.”  

You press your cheek to his shoulder, shivering a little in his lap. “Want it hard,”  

“Is that all the hint I get?” Zayne teases. You groan into his shirt as he bites back a laugh.  

“Yes,” You reply instantly. You’re being shy. It almost makes him laugh.   

“Well, if that’s all you want then,” He gropes you, his hands running over the soft curve of your ass  - marks still stinging underneath his palms. “I’ll have to stretch you open first. Make sure it’s soft enough for me to reach all the way in here,” He places a hand on your stomach and you shiver again. Zayne speaks against your shoulder - a smile playing at his lips.  

“Is that alright?”  

You nod. “Uh-huh.”  

You’ve been reduced down to something that Zayne should want to protect - but finds stronger the urge to experiment with. It is an unkind way of thinking after he’s already gone so far as to punish you. Wring your emotions out by force until you sob and shiver like this. But his eyes settle onto your face and the thoughts won’t leave him. They’re even more strangely persistent, even louder than usual - echoed with your wistful demand for him to give it to you hard - whatever that may mean. And Zayne intends to give it to you in the capacity in which he can.  

It means cruel, cutting precision when it’s him. Deft fingers, a sharp memory and endless amount of endurance. Zayne usually placates you, satisfies - gives you enough to make you contented, maybe refreshed, rather then wearing you down. He wants it to be something that you can unwind with.  

Despite all of this and all of the kindness he wants to show you, there’s something about your expression and how you’ve folded over yourself that makes Zayne want to ruin you completely.  

He knows he can. He knows you’d look good like that. He’d take good care of you. He has many useless, unending thoughts such as these until something in him boils over. He thinks about it with a furrowed brow and then when the silence is about to border on too long - he leans in and presses his lips to yours. 

Chaste but longing - clear intention. He eyes you and lands on only one thing to say.  

“I’ll take good care of you,”  

You blink. It’s something he’s said before - but you both know there is something different about how he’s said it. So you just… nod. Listen. Obedient like you never are and his lips tug ever so slightly at the corner.  

Zayne hauls you with him until you’re both able to lay comfortably in the middle of the bed. He lays you down carefully in the mess of sheets and pillows until you’re resting in them like a painting. You’re frayed at the edges, hands twitching at your sides. Zayne hovers over you until he’s close enough. All the air in the grows thick, hot - and he finds he can’t breath around him with the way you’re looking at him.  

There’s a reverence in your eyes. Fingers threading through his dark locks, squeezing at the base until you’re bringing him down nose to nose. Your eyes flutter back open. They’re wide and watery and beautiful—you’re really just looking at him.  

You look… grateful. Entirely grateful.  

Zayne is so hard it’s hurt.  

Zayne kisses you deeply - hungry with it. Suddenly feverish as both hands cup your face and hold you, tipping your head back so you open your mouth wide. He slides his tongue against yours, forces your mouth open deeper like he might try and eat you whole. But you relent - yield unusually easily to the demand of it as your arms go around his neck and stay there holding him close. 

The room fills with the sound of deep breaths. Wet noises that drown out the loud static threatening to render him something more beast then man. You moan into his mouth when you kiss, chasing him each time he pulls away with this little needy pout to you that Zayne adores.  

Zayne pulls away and presses his nose to your jawline. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, to your chin, all the way up to the junction of your neck and shoulder. He whispers sweet nothings into the skin - repeatedly affirming only that he wants to make you feel good.  

There’s something about how good you’re being about all of it that feels enigmatic - so much so that it’s completely electrifying for him to witness. This kind of sweetness has a novelty to it that makes his heart pump hard. You’re never so pliant. So willing to give yourself. It’s not that it’s always a fight, but you’re usually so sober during sex it borders on steely. A catlike grin with an ironclad determination to never lose, not even to him.  

And Zayne loves that about you to. Loves being wrapped around your finger or tugged by your leash - loves that you demand things of him. He finds it a privilege to give it to you. This is just too new, too exhilarating for him not to be intrigued by.  

You’ve conceded now. Your body and mind have decided it unanimously and it’s why you’re melting so easily at his every touch. Like accepting a loss - some kind of complete and utter defeat, and accepting it so gracefully it makes Zayne wonder if it’d been your plan all along. 

(He isn’t arrogant enough nor clueless enough to believe that, but the thoughts sends shivers down his spine all the same.)  

Zayne traces kisses around the parts of your body he can reach. Down the slope of your jaw all the way down to the dip of your clavicle - the center of your sternum. Your skin runs warm under his touch - he can almost feel your pulse through your skin. He stops to leave small marks just underneath where your collar would sit. They come out a shade darker and a little bigger than they normally do. They look (read: are) deliberately placed. An intentional trail from neck down. A warding signal.  

He runs his incisors against your pulse, tugging at your earlobe as you shiver somewhat delightfully in response to him. The dull drag of his teeth seems to excite you. Your back curls up, goosebumps covering the surface of your skin.  

Reaching your chest, Zayne uses both hands to squeeze and push your breasts together firm. It’s lacking the delicacy he likes showing - a strong grip, almost bruising. Fingers squeezing the fat until it spills from between them, palms pushing lightly against hardened nipples as you moan out loud in reply. Your body is more sensitive than it is usually. Each touch makes you antsy. 

He ducks his head down deciding not to waste time - mouth closing around one of your nipples while his free hand plays with the other. He flicks and sucks with his tongue, using the blunt of his nail to copy the motion to the other, giving them equal attention.  

You moan, this part of your body especially responsive to touch. He can feel them each pebble with arousal. 

 “Hngh, fuck, fuck - feelsh good,”  

Your words come out slurred as you pant as Zayne pulls each sound out of you. You look blissed out, your hips canting where he’s slotted between your knees - rubbing up against him for friction like you’re in heat. Zayne only stops to switch side. He sinks his teeth at one point, long having lost his usual composure  - licking over the indentations when it’s over.  

“Hicc, more - please, more,”  

The desperation in your voice makes Zayne pull away. He rests his forehead against you, kissing the space above your belly and whispering sweetly. “You’re being so good for me,”  

Another whine. Zayne laughs audibly at it, affectionately - something overwhelming him. He picks his head up to look at you this time. “How can you be so sweet, hm?”  

You preen under the praise so visibly it makes Zayne  shiver. Such a stark contrast, such a receptive reply. Your lips pull into another pout, eyes sparkling with the greed of a lover and Zayne cannot imagine in a million years being seriously angry with you about a single thing. One look is all it takes to unravel him this completely. 

Zayne is reminded that he’s a warm-blooded, living thing laying in bed with you. Heart-beating hard, chest heaving, ears ringing. This animal desire that wells up in his gut and whispers to him to take you while you’re at your most vulnerable - mark you somewhere his fingers can’t reach and plant a seed where no one else can touch, is a loud one. It’s like he can feel how he’s hard-wired to want, and want, and want.  

But he loves you is the thing - so much that all of that desire becomes concentrated. Heavy like dark matter, atoms splitting endlessly as if it defies all known laws of the universe.  

He thinks one hundred thoughts at once and leans up to kiss you like he needs you for oxygen. You’re startled but give him a reply as he forces his mouth onto yours like he’s starving. Signaling it back to him, I love you, I love you, I love you.   

Zayne groans into your mouth before he pulls away and goes back down. He trails open, sloppy kisses down your chest - all the way down to your navel until he’s face to face with your clothed cunt.  

He uses his shoulders to nudge your legs apart even further and feels all the air rush from his lungs like he’s been sucker punched.  

You’re wetter than he thinks he’s ever seen you. It’s thrilling, tantalizing in a way that makes the last threads of his self-control shred themselves into nothing at the sight. He shivers, hands gripping at your thighs to push them even further apart. His lust suddenly feels bottomless - an empty void with a gnawing hunger.  

And then, the only word he can think to use spits from between his lips  - half way between curse and prayer. “Fuck, my love.”  

You jolt hearing it. Whimper so loudly and shamefully, reacting it to him in such an obvious way. Zayne gets the inkling then that you’re going to be spending most of your day in bed just like this.  

He touches first. Can’t help his curiosity. His hand resting on your sex  - thumb dragging against the soaked fabric of your panties. His finger comes away sticky as he rubs and strokes and examines. Burns it into his memory, each slight twitch. How you clench around nothing - slick flooding the material so unhelpfully. The distant thought bounces around in the back of his mind, that you got off this much on being punished. There’s so much.  

Zayne breathes. Has to remember to do it after he sees you like that. Legs spread, chest heaving, and so so eager. There’s a list of things he wants to do with you but he stills, and slows - and just over the unusual pull of his desires, focuses on just touching you. He fixes in on making you cum just like that. Slow easy strokes over the wet fabric. Circular motions that are precise even while each breath he takes is so uneven.  

You keen over him. Pitchy, high - legs trembling. Sensitive. You look down at him with wide eyes.  

“I’ll cum,” You say.  

Zayne realizes you’re even deeper into the head space than he thought. You’re so uncertain about it. He hums.  

“Ask for permission when you get close.”  

The instructions abate your anxiety and you nod, sink back, and let yourself indulge in the touch that Zayne offers to you unrestricted.  

This is driving him crazy. You are driving him crazy. So out of his mind that he can’t find his usual sweet talk. His restrained motions are all he can manage. He’s the one making you cum but for some reason it feels like he needs to sober himself more than you do.  

He kisses the inside of your thigh. “Just once like this, alright?”  

You nod. You’re out of it well and truly, hips meeting his touch. Moaning and breathing heavily, hands fidgeting. You lurch suddenly when Zayne seems to brush an extra sensitive spot and you gasp, eyes shut hard. 

“Wanna cum, please can I—“ 

“It’s alright. Go on,”  

You moan a little thank you without any reminder - your whole body curling in on itself as you get off for the first time in the evening. Zayne watches your panties soak with interest. Up close and personal. Fuck, they’re so drenched now, so wet. He watches cum drip down and soak the sheets underneath you as revel in post orgasm bliss and finds himself at least a little more content.  

He kisses your thighs again. “Good girl,”  

Zayne gives you a beat to breathe before he busies himself taking off your panties. Long fingers curling in the waist band. You lift your legs up helpfully, letting Zayne roll them all the way down until you’re bare. He tosses them along with the other stripped clothes laying in a heap near your bed before settling down again between your legs.  

Your cunt is splayed open. Wet and soft and inviting, he watches it pulse. You’re throbbing, heat radiating off of you in waves. He prefers to draw things out longer, but he feels particular impatient with the state of affairs.  

He pulls you down him close until his breath is just tickling your skin, kissing your clit affectionately before using his tongue to flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves.  

You shudder. Nearly scream. Zayne can tell he’s being impacted by this whole affair in the exact way he thinks he is because of how much it makes him want to keep going. You squeak over him, a hand in his hair.  

“Wait, wait—t-too much, just came it’s—“  

“Shhh,” Zayne soothes with false sympathy. “Be good and take it,”  

You relent. A little helpless whimper leaving your mouth as Zayne takes you into his mouth again. Your clit is throbbing so hard he can feel it on each pass of tongue. His mouth fills with the taste of you, heady and rich. Zayne’s eyes flutter back, pleased with it. He opens them back up to drink you in above him, flush. On your back, spread open and so aroused.  

He feels himself go slack, lust wrenching all the usual tension from him. He’d be fine to just do this until sunrise - and he would, if he wasn’t already feeling so out of sorts. He needs to open you up so he can do what you both want. Zayne closes his lips around your clit - giving you slight suction that he follows with tongue. Your mouth drops open in silent scream, over stimulation frying your nerves. Your jaw is dropped open, drool pooling at the corner of your lips.  

He knows your body like the back of his hand and has no trouble at all navigating the quickest route to make you feel good. The specific ways you need to be touched to loosen your limbs, make your insides soft for him. It’s not that he’s rushing. But he’s being even more particular about it then usual.  

It’s hard to ignore the growing tightness in his pants. He’s been ignoring completely for a while now so he can focus on you, but he’s so hard it’s straining him. Gossamer threads of pre-cum are pooling in the confinement of his boxers, only getting thicker as he ruts himself against the bed to ease the uncomfortable friction he’s feeling.  

He adjusts himself, bringing his fingers up to your core and gently nudging them through your folds as warning of whats to come. 

You let out a low sound. “Ooh,”  

He slides his middle fingers down until  there’s give. It’s easy to find your entrance and push with how wet you are. There’s barely an resistance him when he presses the digit inside and it makes his stomach flip. You’re so soaked it takes no effort - there’s not anything left of you to resist him and it drives him, truthfully, up a wall. Still, you’re clenching down hard on his middle finger. Wheezing quietly as he presses forward, slowly fucking his finger into you until he’s all the way down the knuckle.  

You collapse above him. Your body, a mess of tension and tight nerves,  gives under the weight of the pleasure and you slump back into the bed and take. Moan loud and unabashed, his name sweet on your lips. His favorite sound. If he wasn’t occupied - he’d praise you just for saying it.  

Your pussy feels so good to the touch. Always does. You’re so much more sensitive than usual it feels like you don’t want him to pull away. A whine leaves you at the loss of the stretch. Zayne looks at you from between your legs and sees a face that’s near begging to be filled up by something else.  

It takes every fiber of his restraint to not stop right there and fuck into you immediately.  

But he’s doing this for a reason  - he reminds himself.  

He adds a second finger and it slides in just as smoother. This is enough to prep you. If he stretches you out, scissors his fingers inside of you just right - you can take him easily without him having to worry.  

But he’s feeling especially relentless tonight. You’re still reeling and over sensitive, barely hanging on over him as his mouth busies itself. Two would be good enough to make you cum just like this.  

Zayne is a little out of his wits decidedly - but he gives you a moment to breathe before adding a third finger.  

You gasp. “W-wait, wai—nghh,”  

Goosebumps pebble your skin as Zayne meticulously adds in another finger. His middle, ring, and pointer all fit inside of you with more ease then he expects. He goes slowly on his pointer. Your body wracks above him at the stretch, nothing but mindless babble as you tuck your face halfway to the bed sheets and try to hold onto. 

Three fingers all the way down to base, Zayne curls them up with a cruel demonstration of precision. His hands are bigger than yours  - thicker and longer. There’s a real possibility that this is the first time anyone has touched this deep and the thought sends Zayne reeling.  

With his mouth lapping at your clit and his digits pressed up against your g-spot with such pinpoint accuracy, Zayne is not surprised to hear you above him wailing. Completely different to before, a pleasured sob almost like you’re going to heave. Your voice is raw with need.  

“Oh, please, please, please—can I please—“  

Zayne hums an affirmative into your pussy. It’s all it takes for you to cum for him again. Both of your hands fisted in the sheets as your buck up into Zayne’s mouth - soundless. He continues through it. Makes sure the ecstasy of your high lasts as long as he can draw it out and only stops when you’re desperately pulling him away to make sure you don’t die from the stimulation.  

He pulls off, slick running down his chin - all the way in little rivulets down his neck. He wipes carefully and licks it off of his hand - since anything else would feel like a waste. He sits up on his knees before crowding over you, pressing his forehead to yours as you blink away tears.  

“Still okay?”  

You make a garbled noise. Zayne laughs, a hand coming up to wipe some of the wetness away from your face.  

“Words, sweet girl.”  

“…’m okay.” You say after a while. You stare at him and then reach for his sleeve, tugging at it. “Are you not gonna fuck me?”  

Zayne feels a shiver run down his spine at how blatantly you ask. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to hearing you talk that way.  

“Would you still like me too?”  

You purse your lips. “Please? I was good,”  

Ah. His composure is truthfully already shred to pieces but he isn’t sure he can recover from that. He’s so painfully endeared. It tucks behind his ribs somewhere, makes him feel ridiculously in love and so turned-on it’s startling. He caresses your cheek, tenderly stroke the flush skin with his thumbs.  

“You were very good. So very perfect for me, always,”  

You beam at him. A slow blink followed by a sweet little smile that Zayne reads as bashful. He drops his head onto your shoulders and just sighs. 

He comes up to look at you. It’s not like you look innocent but you’re so completely trusting in him.  

“Come here,” Zayne says. He dips his head down to kiss you as tenderly as he possibly can. You sigh happily into his mouth and he just smiles a little. He feels especially helpless to this onslaught of affection but decides it’s not such a bad thing.  

He gets up again, just to get condoms but you’re tugging at his shirt before he gets a chance to move.  

“Where are you going? And… take this off,”  

“To get condoms.”  

You shake your head. “Just hurry,” 

You’re on contraceptives. You’re also in a long term relationship. But Zayne still tries to use condoms - mostly for clean-up so he uses them more often then not. Only goes without for an occasion.  

(Or for when his lover is laid out underneath, begging him without shame to fuck her already and Zayne really finds he has no other choice.)  

“Don’t whine later when I have to clean it,” Zayne says playfully. He slips of his shirt finally, feeling ten degrees cooler as it disappears with the rest of your clothes. He pushes his pants down just barely past his thighs - cock springing free. Just having the air touching it makes his stomach tighten.  

“You wanted it hard, right? Turn over. On your stomach,”  

You shiver but listen with ease - grabbing a pillow for security as you flip onto your stomach. 

Zayne likes missionary most of all  - but this is a reward.  Prone-bone is a good compromise for what you both want. You lay on your stomach underneath him, limp and focused on nothing but getting fucked and Zayne still gets to be as close to you as possible, bodies pressed together and all.  

You’re beautiful. Zayne won’t ever get over it. The sight of your spine covered in sweat, the slight raise of trembling hips, all the curves and scars and stretch marks he’s kissed over and over again. He feels absolutely besotted with you, entranced by the very sight of you in his bed like he hasn’t seen it so many times before. He’s like this even now, the weight of his own burning desire like a hit to his solar plexus.  

He feels at his wits end when he finally bends himself over you to fuck you. He kisses all the way down from the nape of your neck to the small of your back - the kind of worship only available to the holy thing that lays in his sheets, the deity of his very life. You push yourself up against him as invitation as Zayne lets his cock rest against the swell of your ass - still lightly red from  punishment.  

You spread your legs for him as Zayne slowly, carefully finds the right angle until the tip of his cock catches.  

Your pussy stretches for him like it was made to do exactly this. The ruddy, leaking head of slides into you with ease. Silken walls hugging him, enveloping him in an impossible warmth that makes Zayne feel completely out of his wits. He puts both hands on your hips - making sure to ease in slowly. Careful and kind  - trying his best not to hurt you.  

Zayne is wound tight. It’s a tremendous show of his patience that he’s being so gentle despite, despite, despite. Most of his thoughts feel concentrated in the one part of his body he shouldn’t think with and he wants to sink into you without a single care. His whole being thrashes against this feeling. He holds steady anyway s - until he bottoms out, his pelvis flush to your ass.  

You shudder beneath him. Your face is in a pillow, fucked out and drooling. All you do is moan, pushing yourself up again and wiggling your hips like you’re attempting to entice him into fucking you. As if it’s something he doesn’t already want to do.   

Zayne drops his head onto your shoulders. You whine, wanton and the last remaining pieces of his restraint fall out of place. He pulls out and pushes back in all at once, the both of you lost in the ecstasy.  

The bliss of it is unbelievable. Zayne can barely control himself, mounting you and relying on his memory of your body to fuck himself into the spot you like best. His forehead drops onto your shoulder and he lets himself go loose - kissing the back of your neck as he ruts himself into you again and again.  

“Oh, you’re so perfect. You feel so good. I love you,”  

It’s not fast, but it’s deep. In the way that’s more brutal then him fucking into you hard. Deep and calculated - measured thrusts that force you grind into the bed chasing the friction of your clit. Your legs kicking up from the pleasure, just crushed by the weight of him. Limp and spent from being strung out so far and simply taking what Zayne is giving you. He likes being able to feel you pressed, pinned underneath him. Crowding into your space with his chin at your shoulder, kissing the side of your neck and wherever else he can reach.  

Zayne could cum any second. He’s holding out until he feels that delicious squeeze that tells him you’re getting close again.  

It doesn’t take long. Each inch of his cock ravaging your insides, dragging against your walls on each thrust combined with all the sensitivity has you babbling within minutes.  

You pick your head up just to beg him for it, but Zayne doesn’t even give you a chance to speak. He can feel it while you’re wrapped around him, pussy trembling around the length of his cock - short panting breaths. He knows you’re close before you do.  

A hand cups your jaw as he whispers into your ear.  

“Cum.”  

You cum just like that, as if on command - your entire body seizing. Every muscle taut like a bowstrong. Your hands reach back for his arm - the one he’s leaning on. Nails digging into his forearms, you cum so intensely you gasp.  

“Zayne, zayne, oh fuck - fuck, please,” 

Zayne barely gets a breath before he’s following after you. He cums hard. The load is so thick it feels delayed even as he nestles himself deep into your cunt to finish. It goes on forever until it’s spill into you and clinging around the tip of his cock.  

The both of you lay there spent for a short while before you blink, lazily - and turn your gaze towards him from over your shoulder.  

“More?”  

Zayne laughs a tired, delirious laugh.  

“Anything for you,”  

__ 

You have sex until evening.  

Zayne doesn’t remember the last time you went at it like that. An anniversary he thinks, or some kind of special occasion. You haven’t had that much time. But two days off in a row was still good enough to have you rest.  

It felt necessary, in a way. Being so wrapped up in each other, a good reminder of your trust in each other. A good way for Zayne to cradle you. Carve the notion into you that all he ever wants to do is ease your burden and improve your life rather then make it harder. In between raw sexual desire and somewhat crass display of pent-up lust, is tucked a few years worth of loving.  

Zayne can only desire you this much because he knows you so well.  

After cleaning you up a bit, he let you lay and catch your breath while he went to run a nice bath with your good products, make you a cup of tea, and order takeout. You managed to not to pass out in the mean time which he’s thankful for - as it made the cleaning up much easier.  

The both of you now settle into the warm, soapy water - only after Zayne showers with you too. To get you properly clean and then help you relax.  

You sit with him now in the bath water. The pleasant floral scent of jasmine and lavender fills the bathroom, and you rest your head against Zayne’s chest as he sits comfortable behind you. His nose against your wet hair, he breathes you in and places a kiss to your bare shoulder.  

You stay like that for a long while until Zayne breaks the ice.  

“Is now an okay time to talk?”  

You stiffen, briefly  - dragging Zaynes hand into your lap and playing with his fingers.  

“Mm. Yeah,” 

Zayne waits for you. Patient and prudent.  

You sigh a little, head drooping down.  

“It’s not even—it’s just a work thing. There’s been an ongoing investigation about a group of Hunter’s from a different association. A Special Ops Unit that dissolved right before a series of protocore related incidents. Dissolved offiically but really more like completely disappeared. The problem itself isn’t really the investigation, but the team we’re working with. We’re collaborating with another association and those fucking,” Anger rises in your voice in a way that makes Zayne laugh lightly. You splash the water, taking a deep breath, pressing your thumb lightly into his wrist to distract yourself. “They’re incredibly incompetent and very combative. It’s been a huge pain to work with them, both tactically and on paper.”  

“It sounds incredibly frustrating.”  

You sigh.  

“It has been. One of the guys from the other association is an enormous jackass. He hasn’t done anything I can document on paper and submit to HR as harassment of evidence - but he’s bane of my existence. He’s actively getting in the way of investigation and he’s dead set on specifically scrutinizing my work. It’s been driving me up a wall.” You say, scrubbing your face. Zayne nuzzles into you sympathetically. “Normally I’d just report him immediately, or beat the shit out of him while we spar or something. But,”  

You take a deep breath. 

“If you need to stop here for because of disclosure or something of that nature, I understand,”  

You shake your head. “No, it’s—I haven’t been able to bring it up to anyone, but I think he’s played a role in the sudden disappearance. I don’t have any strong evidence to corroborate this. It’s just a gut feeling. Because of that, I also haven’t been able to bring it up to anyone either. We are constantly squabbling in the office. I worry if I mention it without something stronger to back me up - it’s going to look like I’m making a serious accusation over office politics and I just—”  

“It’s alright, my love. Just listening to you now is enough to make me exhausted. I can’t imagine what it’s been like living through it,”  

You sniffle, suddenly exhausted. Your voice cracks. “It’s been driving me nuts. I know it’ll blow over eventually one way or another, but it’s been such a constant burden. I kill Wanderers. This weird corporate charade is too much for me. It got to the point where just the mention of it was enough to make my blood boil.” You say, sighing. You turn your head and give him a small smile. “I’m really sorry for taking it out on you. It was almost too frustrating and too heavy to talk about - and you already have a lot on your plate so I wanted to just resolve it quickly. But I ended up making you worry and being unfair. I didn’t even realize how bad it’d gotten,”  

Zayne shakes his head. “It’s not as if I was angry with you at any point. Really. It’s so unlike you being that irritable, I was mostly just concerned. So don’t beat yourself up over it. If I couldn’t handle such mild tantrums, what kind of lover would I be?”  

You scowl at him, smiling betraying your features. Zayne just laughs.  

“I’m truly not angry so don’t beat yourself up over it. I do wish though you would depend on me more when you need it. Even if it’s just to vent. We’re partners right?”  

You nod. “…Yeah. Sorry.”  

“It’s really alright. Though I suppose I might’ve seemed angry or given that impression based on… earlier affairs,”  

You laugh. It’s a beautiful, lovely little sound. Like a wind chime. He’s happy to hear it.  

“Wait actually, I would like to talk about that. What was that?”  

Zayne’s turn to blush. He clears his throat.  

“Well… I was worried about you and I wanted to do something for you, somehow. After some thinking, I thought you would need some kind of strong emotional release. I considered going to take you to see the penguins and seals—“  

You interrupt him. “Oh, I would’ve sobbed like a baby,”  

“Right, exactly. But I sat on it for a while and felt like it wouldn’t be enough to break you out of your shell. And then I remembered we talked about this once a long time ago. So, I did some research and thought this would work out best,”  

You smile up at him. “You had a hypothesis didn’t you? Lay it on me, doc. What were you theorizing in that brain of yours that led you here?”  

“Well… sex is a good avenue for emotional and physical release. I thought the spanking aspect and ‘punishing’ you would help absolve some of your guilt as well. So at the time, it made the most sense to me.”  

You laugh under your breath. “You know me so well, huh? It worked great, actually. Better than I thought it would. And it was super hot when you were being all strict with me,”  

Zayne laughs. “I was worried about being so harsh but you really enjoyed yourself,”  

“I did. It felt good but after the crying, I just felt sort of floaty and drunk and pleasant. Like a weight lifted. Haven’t been in subspace like that in a while, but I felt really good.”  

He smiles. “That’s what I was hoping for,”  

“You’re so smart,” You praise, voice cooing and cloying. “Thanks for fixing me up, doc. I’m really indebted to you. I wonder if I’d be doing myself a disserivce to be all honest. It’d be a shame if I never got to see you like that again,”  

Zayne murmurs against your skin, smiling. “I could always punish you for doing less,”  

You grin at him. “See, that sounds wonderful.”  

Zayne gives you a kiss on the top of your head. You look back up at him warmly.  

“Thanks for thinking of me so much. And being so good to me,” You say, almost shy. “Means a lot,”  

Zayne has a million things he thinks of saying. That he’d do anything for you. Ultimately he settles on what he thinks most often.  

“Of course. Anything to make it all better, yes?”  

yum yum yum

SERVE!

caleb [夏以昼] + female reader + zayne [黎深]

synopsis. who were the cute boys watching your tennis match today? you planned to find out.

genre. 18+! MDNI! tennis player!zayne, tennis player!caleb, tennis player!reader, smut, porn with plot, oral (giving), cumshot, unprotected p in v, nipple play, soft dom!caleb, soft sub!zayne, nasty 3some, pull out, slapping, fingering, slight dirty talk, a lil mxm if you squint, what else to say… wc; 4.5k+

author's note. this came from me listening to the challengers soundtrack… i have no excuse i just wanted to write a smutty zayne and caleb fic (even though this just kept getting longer the more i revised) … enjoy <3

“Holy shit.”

The two men had been sitting on the bleachers for almost two hours, completely enthralled by the girl who was on the tennis court. They really had only intended to pass by after training, maybe stay for a few plays.

It was hard to ignore the whispers throughout the Linkon Tennis Club, of a girl who was only on a path to surpass everyone here. Of course, they had been curious to see who she was, maybe skeptical of all the talk surrounding her. But nothing compared to watching her up close.

She was unrelenting, hard-hitting and implacable.

Even as her opponent continued to fall far behind in points, she showed no signs of backing down. It was only until the last set that she let their serve fall on her side, not even attempting to hit the ball with her racket. As if she wanted to taunt him. 

It’s only then that they take note of the man stomping off the court, someone who up until now, had been considered undefeated in their club.

Caleb swears he sees a smirk appear on her face as she walks off the court.

“That was…” Zayne starts, but it seems he’s unable to find the words to describe what he’s feeling right now.

“Fucking hot.” Caleb finishes, eyes still locked onto the girl as she uses a towel to wipe her glistening skin.

Zayne clears his throat, standing up suddenly as if snapping out of a trance. Up until then, he had been aware of the setting sun. “We need to go.” 

Caleb doesn’t notice he’s walking down the bleachers until the girl is out of sight. He grabs his bag, almost stumbling down the steps as he catches up to Zayne.

He whistles lowly.

“You ever see anyone play like that?” Caleb brings his hand under his chin, unable to shake the image of her on the court. Or, unable to shake the image of her completely. He wanted to know more about her. No, needed.

“No.” It was true. Zayne found himself adjusting his shirt collar nervously. Suddenly the heat of the sun was heavy on his skin. He wouldn’t admit that watching her play like that was enough to have an effect on him.

“You think she’s coming to the party tonight?” Caleb ponders out loud, more to himself. He finds himself hoping to catch sight of her again as they exit the court and enter the parking lot, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

“Why does it matter?” Zayne responds, tossing his bag onto the top of his car's hood, searching for his keys.

Caleb leans onto the hood, hands coming up under his chin as he eyes Zayne. “Maybe because that was one of the best matches I’ve ever seen, and it wasn’t even a serious one. You’re not just a little curious to see what she’s like?”

Zayne fishes his keys out, pointing his gaze at Caleb’s puppy eyes. “Oh, so it has nothing to do with the fact that you find her attractive?”

“Do you not?” Caleb takes note of the way Zayne avoids his question.

Zayne looks away, unlocking his car door and throwing his bag to the backseat.

“At least I'm not afraid to admit when I like a woman…” Caleb mumbles, hoping it's low enough that Zayne doesn't hear.

He does.

And he locks the car just as Caleb tries to open the passenger door.

He bangs his hand against the window, and Zayne can’t deny he finds his pouting a bit amusing. 

“Zayne!”

He plasters his face against the window. “Open the door?” 

Zayne pretends to not hear him, turning the car’s ignition on.

“Please?”

The doors unlock, a shit eating grin spreading onto Caleb’s face.

“Someone can’t get enough of you.”

Your friend Tara is giggling as she hands you a towel. You take it, wiping your face but not before rolling your eyes.

You knew exactly who she was talking about. It wasn’t unusual for you to gain a bit of an audience when you played, even if it was just a match for fun like this one. But those two had showed up early and stayed throughout the whole thing.

Watching you. And only you.

It was hard to ignore the way their eyes watched your every move.

“They’re not exactly trying to hide it,” you quip, a bit harsh. But maybe you didn’t want to admit the effect the two very attractive men had on you.

Tara seems to see right through you, a coy smile on her face as she throws you a water bottle.

You chug it, ignoring her as you gather your things, tossing your bag over your shoulder. She walks alongside you as you exit the court.

“You know, they’ll probably be at the party tonight.” she sing-songs, skipping to catch up to your brisk pace. You were desperate for a cold shower and your bed.

“Good for them,” she rolls her eyes at your feigned nonchalance. You use both of your hands to scour your bag, scowling when you come up empty handed.

Tara clears her throat and you look up, narrowing your eyes at her. She dangles your keys in front of you, the tiny tennis racquet clinking.

As you reach out to take them, she pulls back. “Tell me you’re going tonight…”

“I can’t. I have practice early tomorrow.”

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes at the weak excuse. She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes as if to say ‘I don’t believe you’.

“I vividly recall you promising me this would be your one night out.” 

You do remember. A promise that came from being tired from practice and Tara continuously pestering you about it. You’d argue it was more like she forced you until you said yes.

Tara twirls the keys around her finger, “I’ll stand here all day…”

Despite her playful tone, you knew better than anyone she would definitely stay here until you said yes. Your mind drifts back to the two boys sitting at the bleachers, the way you might have intentionally played up your skills. The way you felt your body heat rise, not just from your running back and forth.

This was not the first time you had seen them around. A glance of them on the courts, in the dining hall, at tournaments. The two were joined at the hip. It seemed as though they were always together. Practicing together, walking together, hell, they probably slept together.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a tiny bit curious to know more about them.

With a resigned sigh, “Fine,” you say, and her face looks as if she was just handed a brand new puppy. “But I'm taking clothes out of your closet.”

She throws you the keys, already on a tangent about what alcohol to pregame with. But as you enter your car and drive off, there’s only one thought on your mind.

You would make it your mission to get to know them tonight.

To no one’s surprise, Caleb is able to drag Zayne out to the party. He hated coming to any type of social gathering, but maybe the possibility of catching a glimpse of you was enough to get him out the door this time.

Zayne is embarrassed to admit how many times he changed his shirt.

They’re leaning against one the tables, beers in hand as they lazily watch the partygoers. The night was warm, a dampness kissing their skin. As entertaining as watching their drunk tennis club fall onto the grass was, they were really only here for one reason.

You.

However, as the night sky continued to darken, their hopes of seeing you began to diminish with the setting sun.

One beer turns into two, three, four, until their table is littered with empty bottles. Their faces were flushed, and the stars seemed a bit brighter now. Caleb has a permanent pout on his face, gaze on the beer cap he was flipping in between his fingers.

It was unlike him to be so affected by anyone, much less a stranger. He was a bit of a playboy back in the early days of his tennis career, a womanizer as Zayne would call him. Though it was far behind him, now, it was a bit humiliating for him to be so bent over a girl.

Zayne, on the other hand, stayed back for the most part. Not that he didn’t have many opportunities, trust that he had many. But Zayne was never one for no strings attached hookups. A hopeless romantic, Caleb would say to tease him. Though, he had no shame in his beliefs around love.

It was no wonder why he was so infatuated by you.

There’s an eruption of cheers from where people have made a makeshift dance floor, and Caleb lazily turns. His head shoots up, body turning at whiplash speed, causing a few bottles to fall to the ground.

“Hey—!”

Zayne furrows his brows, looking at Caleb for an explanation to his sudden movements. His eyes are wide, unblinking as if he’s afraid to miss whatever he’s watching.

He follows his gaze, and it lands on you.

In the middle of the crowd, there you are, dancing without a care in the world.

They stare dumbfoundedly at your figure, clad in a mini skirt and strappy top. You turn towards them, undoubtedly staring at both of them. Your eyes dart between them, an inviting smile on your face. Maybe the alcohol was making them hallucinate.

Zayne flushes, looking to the side and clearing his throat.

Without a second to think, Caleb is standing up and walking towards you.

“Caleb!” but it’s futile. All Zayne can do is standby and watch as Caleb works his infuriating charm on you, hands coming to sit on your waist with ease.

He hates to admit it, but somewhere in his heart he feels a twinge of envy.

The party is in full swing when you arrive. 

You're surprised to see how crowded it is, almost everyone from the tennis club was here and then some. Almost as soon as you arrive, Tara pulls you to the dance floor (that was more just a patch of shorter grass closer to the music). 

You can’t help the way your eyes scan the room, searching for those two inseparable figures. 

As you let the alcohol flow through your veins, dancing to the music, you find exactly who you’re looking for. 

Sitting perfectly in your line of sight, is the brown haired boy who couldn't keep his eyes off of you earlier. Even now, he’s staring straight at you, and you don't even try to hide the shiver it sends down your spine.

Next to him is his inseparable half, avoiding your gaze.

Your eyes say everything you can’t. An invitation. 

A fishing line thrown into the water.

The brown haired man is up before you can process, making a beeline for you.

“Hey,” he says, unabashedly checking you out with his iris colored eyes. You tilt your head, smiling. 

“I’m Caleb.”

“Hi, Caleb.”

The fish bites, you pull back.

You hold out your hand as an offer. An offer for what, you weren’t so sure yourself.

But he takes it, with almost no hesitation.

You guide his hand to your waist, letting him take control. He sways with you, following the beat of the music effortlessly. When he asks for your name, you tell him with a bite of your lip.

It was unlike you to be so forward, but there was no refusing it now.

You wanted him tonight, badly.

“I saw you playing today,” he leans down to say it, eyes hovering over your ear. The feeling makes you hot, not just from the lingering heat of the night.

“I know,” you breathe “I saw you, too.”

Caleb smirks, eyes lighting with a fire. “You’re amazing.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes. While you (usually) were not one to brag, it was something you were used to hearing. Hearing him say it, though, had a different type of effect on you.

You turn around, grinding against him as the music becomes more sensual. His hands grip your waist, and you swear you hear a low grunt. This was definitely having as much affect as it was on you. Your arms come around his neck.

“Who’s your friend?” You can’t help but ask as you eye the almost sulking man who was still at the table.

You see the way he’s eyeing you, a type of intensity you couldn’t describe. 

Tall, dark hair, chiseled features, and carrying an air of aloofness.

God, he was sexy too.

“Zayne?” he questions, a bit strained but you choose to ignore it. The man rocking his hips behind you, the one in front practically eye-fucking you, it was too much to handle.

Zayne and Caleb.

Was it crazy to want them both?

You twirl to face Caleb, not surprised to see his eyes have darkened into a deep hue of purple. It only encourages you further. “Why don’t we go back to your place?”

It’s bold, you’re well aware. It makes his eyes widen for a second, before a smug smirk appears on his face.

“Your friend’s invited too.”

Zayne and Caleb are very still. 

With bated breath, afraid to make any sudden movements.

The walk to their apartment was a blur, filled with gentle caresses and prying eyes. Caleb was almost seeing stars from the anticipation of getting to have you so close. Though, they were both unsure of what to expect, even through their beer-induced haze.

Sitting across from you, in their shared apartment, they were feeling completely sober now. 

They watch you carefully as your hand comes down to the beer bottle in the middle, using your fingers to spin it. Yeah, it might have been a juvenile game, but you seemed to have something up your sleeve when you suggested it.

And who were they to deny the girl that had them wrapped around her fingers?

Their eyes are glued to the spinning bottle as it slows down, landing…

Right in between Zayne and Caleb.

Their heads whip up to face you, and there’s a sly smile growing onto your face. You stand from the floor, walking to the couch behind you.

You plant yourself in the middle, leaning back on the palms of your hands.

“Come here,” you beckon with a jerk of your head.

Their eyes go wide, and Caleb glances at Zayne, whose face is impossibly red.

“Which one—?” Zayne starts, but Caleb is scrambling off the floor to sit next to you. As if a switch is flipped, he stumbles to follow, sitting on your left.

The air is still, the music that had been playing from somewhere in the room fading into the background. You lean your head back, biting your lip as your eyes dart between them both.

“Kiss me.”

The universe was surely on your side tonight. 

That was the only explanation for the position you were in.

You’re sandwiched by both men, and your biggest problem right now is choosing who to look at.

Two gorgeous, panty-dropping men, in the palm of your hands.

Two men who were staring at you like they wanted to devour you whole.

Caleb bites first, hand coming up to hold your face. His grip is firm, unwilling to let your gaze wander elsewhere. “Are you sure about this, baby?”

The pet name comes out too easily, but it makes you lean into him. You stare into his eyes, unyielding.

“Yes.”

“Both… of us?” Zayne asks, voice low.

“Yes.”

It’s firm. 

And it's all Caleb needs to crash his lips into yours. Behind you, Zayne’s hands wander up your thighs, slipping under your skirt as he attacks your neck, leaving a trail of saliva as he sloppily sucks on your skin.

You moan softly, and the sound makes Caleb's grip on your jaw tighten. He’s shoving his tongue down your throat, uncaring of the way you struggle to breathe.

He relents, letting go of your face. You turn to Zayne, whose face is flushed a sweet pink. He looks completely undone, and you haven’t even touched him. You work to unbutton his shirt, trailing kisses on his deliciously taut chest. As soon as it's off, you trail up his jaw until your tongue is slipping past his lips.

He kisses slowly, gentle with intention. Zayne lets you take the lead, and your nails trail over his exposed biceps. Tiny crescent moons bloom as your nails dig into his skin. He deepens the kiss.

There’s a smack on your ass, and you pull away to face Caleb once again.

“C’mere,” it's a demand. You crawl onto his lap facing away from the couch, back pressed tightly against his clothes chest. Zayne stands, moving to position himself in front of you. From here, you have a perfect view of the prominent erection growing under his shorts.

Caleb pulls your top off in one swift motion and you gasp as your nipples hit the air. His fingers brush over them, teasing and pulling before they trail down. Your skirt is pushed up past your hips, pink lace panties on full display for both of them.

“Fuck, baby,” Caleb moans as his fingers hover over your clothed pussy. “I can feel how wet you are already. I’ve barely even touched you.”

You whine, throwing your head back onto his shoulders. Zayne is watching you through heavy lidded eyes, palming his cock. As sexy as he looked like this, you wanted to put your hands all over him.

“Let me help you,” you stare up at him through your lashes. 

Zayne walks closer, watching your fingers make work of his waistband. You almost gasp when you pull his cock out, flushed a bright red and dripping at the tip. It was big, to say the least. You wondered how much of it could fit in your mouth.

Caleb’s slender fingers slip into your slick folds and you whine, hand faltering on Zayne’s length. It earns you a slap on your thigh.

“Don’t leave him waiting, baby,” his voice is low, and you'd give anything to be able to see his face right now. “Show him what you can do with that pretty mouth of yours.”

His words are enough to bring your mouth to Zayne’s tip. You slip him into your mouth, taking him until he hits the back of your throat. He throws his head back, groaning as his hand comes up to grip the back of your head.

He wasn’t even in all the way.

Your skin is hot to the touch, cunt dripping as Caleb continues to work you expertly. Moaning around his cock, you can’t keep your eyes off Zayne’s face twisted in pleasure. It was obvious he was attempting to hold back his noises, lips held tightly under his teeth. 

It only makes you want to hear him more, so you hollow your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down his length. With every stroke, his tip hits the back of your throat. 

“Oh, fuck,” Zayne groans as he brings his other hand to your head, hips sloppily thrusting against your mouth. His whimpers are like angels singing. Spit is dripping out of your mouth, your eyes are welling with tears, but you don’t care. How could you deny him such pleasure?

Caleb slips another finger in you, stretching your pussy with every hit against your walls. You moan as his other hand comes to pinch your nipple. 

“Mm, baby,” you grind into his hand, feeling his hard cock against your ass. His breath is heavy against your ear. His fingers seem to know exactly what spots to hit, your unending moans muffled around Zayne's length.

“You feel so good around me.” Your sounds get higher, walls squelching against Caleb’s fingers. That familiar feeling starts to pool at your belly, and he knows you're close.

“You gonna cum for me?” His voice is gruff, laced with desire as he works to push you over the edge. The coil tightens, but you make sure to keep Zayne’s cock in your mouth. 

“Mmmph!” you whine as you feel your liquid fight against Caleb’s fingers, soaking them completely. His eyes are blown wide as he watches your fluids shoot out of your pulsing hole.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers softly, taking his glistening fingers out and bringing them to his face. He can’t help himself, putting them into his mouth. Your taste almost makes him combust right then and there.

“Alright,” he says, looking at Zayne’s disheveled appearance with a smug smirk. “Let me have a turn, baby.”

With a pop! Zayne slips out of your mouth. Caleb stands, pulling you with him. He twirls you to face him now. His hand comes to your ass, slapping it hard enough to leave a mark. You moan, chasing his lips.

He lets you catch him, a gentle kiss compared to the way he just defiled your pussy.

“Bend over,” he says, and you do.

Zayne’s hands come to your waist, holding you in place. You feel your pussy clench in anticipation as you watch Caleb get rid of the clothing covering his hard cock.

And of course, he’s big.

Big and thick.

Enough to stretch your mouth completely.

Caleb slaps his cock against your cheek as he looks at Zayne.

“Why don’t you stretch her out a little more for me?”

The grin on his face says it all as he watches Zayne align himself with your wet cunt. You sigh, feeling his tip gliding against your lips before he slowly opens you wide. The fit is incredibly tight, and you can feel every single inch of his length as he slowly slides in.

Zayne is putty in your hands. The way you’re tightening around him is almost enough to drive him over the edge. His fingers dig into your hips.

Caleb brings his hand to your jaw, tilting your head up. He glides his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs softly, bringing his tip to your lips.

“Go on, baby.”

That’s enough for the both of you.

Zayne brings his hips back, tip just at the entrance before he slams back into you.

You take Caleb into your salivating mouth, until your nose almost hits his skin. With every thrust against your walls, you slide your mouth up and down Caleb’s throbbing cock.

Your moans mix together sweetly, breaths mingling with the hot bedroom air. They’re unrelenting against your gaping holes, and you can feel the sweat dripping from their bodies onto you. A sheen layer of sweat covers them, almost glowing under the low light.

You’re a mess, moaning around Caleb’s cock as he uses your mouth to pleasure himself. 

Zayne’s head is spinning, drunk off the way your pussy felt around him. His hand comes up to pull your hair back, admiring the way your back arches. Every bounce of your ass against him got him closer and closer to the edge.

God, he was insatiable. 

Caleb was no better, unable to keep his eyes off your pretty face. Cheeks hollow, taking him so fucking well. He couldn’t believe how he had you. He was desperate to carve every line and curve of your figure into his mind, afraid that if he blinks you’ll disappear.

He hoped when morning came he’d still be able to see you.

“Fuck, baby,” Caleb moans, “I’m so fucking close.”

He looks over to Zayne, taking in the pink hue that trailed from his cheeks to his ears. His brows were furrowed, tongue hanging slightly out of his mouth.

Yeah, he was definitely close, too.

“Can I cum on that pretty face, baby?” you moan, trying to nod your head against his merciless throat-fucking.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Mhm,” is all you can muster.

Zayne’s hip thrusts were getting sloppier, and you tightened around him, wanting to make sure he came too.

Something about being completely covered in their seed made you lose all sense of self.

Caleb grunts as he pulls out of your mouth, spurts of cum shooting onto your face, dripping down your cheek. You stick your tongue out, hoping to catch some to taste.

Zayne follows soon after, pulling out of you to cum on your back. It’s warm, endless globs of his cum enveloping your back, falling down your waist. He pumps his cock gently, making sure to leave every last drop to you.

He leans down, placing a gentle kiss on the small of your back.

Their chests are still rapidly rising and descending as they try to catch their breath. In the post orgasm clarity, you can’t help but laugh at your situation.

Never did you think you would have ended up here tonight.

Though, you definitely weren’t complaining.

Caleb falls onto the couch, gaze still on you as he chuckles breathlessly. A mixture of disbelief and incredulousness on his face.

“Stay there,” You hear Zayne move behind you, walking into the bathroom and turning the faucet on. He comes back, gently holding you as he brings a wet towel to your skin. You gasp softly at the sudden contact, but you let him wipe your back down.

The gesture almost makes your heart swell.

Caleb looks at you with indiscernible emotions swimming in his eyes. He takes the towel from Zayne, wiping at your face with the most sedulous care. It’s so sweet, the way they handle you. You’d never think they’d be capable of all the sinful things you just witnessed.

Trying to ignore the way your face heats up as Caleb holds your face, you look away from his soft puppy eyes.

You stand up straight, slipping your skirt and ruined panties. With a flirtatious smile, you start walking to the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Feel free to join me.”

Caleb and Zayne look at each other before scrambling to follow behind.

You awake to two pairs of arms enveloping you, the first signs of dawn peeking through the window. It takes all your energy to quietly slip out of their grip. The two men are too deep in their dreams to notice as you collect your scattered clothes.

You sigh as you hold the skirt Tara let you borrow in front of you. It was ruined completely. She was definitely going to kill you. And maybe congratulate you after she hears of your night.

Clad in a too-big Linkon Tennis Club hoodie and sweats, you’re about to slip out of the room when you look back to the bed.

Gorgeous, even with their tousled hair and soft snores.

Gently, closing the door, you fish your forgotten phone out of your purse. You glance at the time as you walk down the hallway, sighing when you realize you had enough time to make it to practice.

Hopefully they’d come to your next match.

Pairings: Dragon!sylus x reader

Notes: sorry for dying I’m back now, I got sick, and I hate this respectfully I will write a better piece once I’m feeling better.

Warning: mentions of dead deers, Beast!Sylus.

The first time you saw Sylus, you thought you were going to die.

Not because he attacked you. No—he stood still at the edge of the clearing, wings half-folded, steam rising from his nostrils. His skin shimmered like obsidian, black horns curving back over a crown of tangled white hair. He was… massive. Nearly seven or more feet of muscle, talons, and silent, menacing power.

He approached one day while you were outside, picking some carrots from your little farm outside of your cottage house.

And he dropped a dead deer at your feet.

Just—thump. Right there. Legs curled awkwardly, neck broken, but it was still warm.

You stood frozen, eyes flicking from the deer to the dragon-man and back again. He said nothing. Just stared, red eyes unblinking, tail twitching like he was waiting for something.

“…Do you… want me to cook it?” you asked weakly.

He blinked. Once. Then turned and vanished into the trees.

The second time, it was gold.

He didn’t make a sound at dawn. You just stepped out of your cottage one morning and there it was: a heap of raw gold nuggets and coins, like someone robbed an entire mountain.

You stood on the porch with your tea, staring at the glittering pile and blinking hard.

“…Is this a trap? Or maybe—maybe the forest spirits finally accepted my offerings of mushroom stew.”

You knelt down to inspect the coins. They were ancient. Some of them had runes you didn’t recognize. One had a dragon engraved on it. You poked it.

A low growl rumbled behind you.

You jumped, turning to find him again—towering, hulking, silent. Red eyes fixed on you.

“You again?” you whispered. “Okay, this is… this is getting a little weird.”

He stepped closer. You backed up.

“Did you lose this?” you asked, pointing at the gold. You knew how much dragons like treasures or shiny things, and getting barbecued by a dragon was not on your to do list this morning. “I can… help you carry it back?”

He stared. Then, slowly, he said, “Take it.”

You hesitated. “I mean, I guess I could keep a few—”

His wings twitched. “Take it.”

“…Okay.”

You picked up one coin.

He exhaled hard through his nose, clearly unimpressed. With a frustrated snort, he turned and walked off again, stomping like the very earth offended him.

The third time it happened, it was rocks—shiny ones. Polished quartz, opal, raw moonstone, the kind of stones that sparkled like water under moonlight. You found them lined across your windowsill one morning, arranged carefully as if someone had studied where the light hit best.

You sighed, fingers brushing over the smooth surfaces

“This again…”

The forest was silent behind you—but not for long.

A rustle. Then heavy, deliberate footsteps. Heat crawled up your spine before you even turned.

And there he was.

Sylus.

Towering, wings partially unfurled, horns gleaming in the dappled light. White hair tangled from wind and weather. Red eyes, burning like coals, locked on you.

He stood still. Staring.

You stared back, heart stuttering in your chest. “You again…”

He didn’t speak, not at first. He just nodded to the rocks with a barely perceptible tilt of his head.

“You brought these?” you asked, voice unsure.

He exhaled heavily, a deep sound from the pit of his chest. Then, in that low, growling voice, he said,

“Take them.”

You hesitated, brows furrowing. “They’re… beautiful, but why do you keep bringing me things? The deer, the gold, now these—”

“You not… understand?” he asked slowly.

You scratched the back of your head, awkward. “Understand what?”

He stared at you, expression unreadable, and then sighed—deeply. He looked down, broad shoulders slumping just a bit. Like a man who had tried very hard to follow the sacred rites of his kind and was now at the end of his rope.

Was he really this doomed?

“You are human,” he muttered. “But… pretty.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Um… thanks?”

He looked up again, eyes intense. “Good scent. Good eyes. I like your laugh.”

That only made it worse. Your heart kicked up in your chest.

“I brought prey. I brought gold. I brought treasure. I make nest warm. You live in it. You eat. You make funny noises when happy.” He stepped closer, voice rough, sincere. “I protect you. I fly over your roof at night. I scent-mark the trees so no male gets close.”

“You… what?”

He blinked once. “You are my mate.”

You froze.

“M-Mate?”

“Yes.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. A hundred things crashed into each other in your brain. The gifts. The constant watching. The deer. The way he always appeared when you left your cabin too far behind.

“Wait,” you said softly. “The deer was… a courtship gift?”

He nodded.

“And the gold?”

“A dowry.”

“…The rocks?”

“For your nest.”

“…Oh my god,” you whispered. “I’ve been accidentally accepting your… your dragon proposal this whole time.”

His tail flicked. “Yes.”

You groaned, covering your face. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I am dragon,” he said, almost stubborn. “I bring gifts. You are meant to understand.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “Well, we’re very different, because I just thought I was being haunted by a very generous forest spirit.”

His nostrils flared. “I am not a spirit. I am Sylus. And I chose you.”

Your chest tightened at how… earnest he sounded. There was no guile, no smooth charm. Just raw, beast-like devotion. He’d been courting you the only way he knew how. And you’d been accepting everything without a clue.

“You said I’m your mate,” you said carefully. “But what if I don’t feel… ready for that?”

His eyes flickered. “Then I wait.”

You blinked.

“I do not take,” he said. “I give. Always. Until you give back.”

You stared up at him. “Even if it takes years for me?”

“I live long. I can wait.”

Your heart felt too big for your chest.

Then you reached out—slow, cautious, and brushed your fingers over the back of his hand.

His breath caught.

“…I’m not saying yes,” you whispered. “But I’m not saying no.”

His wings twitched slightly, his tail curling around your porch like a barrier. You half expected him to roar or make some triumphant noise, but instead He lowered his head to your hand, and pressed his warm, scaly forehead to your palm.

A growl, low and soft, rumbled from his throat.

It sounded like a purr.

Weeks later…

You sat on your porch, legs tucked under you, a blanket over your lap. The shiny stones had been arranged into a little circle beside you. A bowl of soup sat nearby.

A shadow passed overhead, followed by a familiar gust of heat and wind.

Sylus landed quietly for someone his size. He approached slowly, claws tapping the wood.

“You are back” you smiled.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out something small—clumsy, handmade. A necklace you’d woven with leather cord, threaded with one of the moonstones he’d brought.

You held it out, and he stared, surprised.

“You said dragons give. But I want to give something too.”

He took it, slowly, like he thought it might disappear. His claw curled around it carefully.

Then, with deep reverence, he tied it around one of his horns.

“I will never remove it,” he said.

You laughed softly and leaned back against his warm side as he sat beside you.

You still weren’t sure where this path would lead.

But he was warm. Loyal. Fierce.

And most of all, he waited for you.

You looked up at the stars and smiled.

“…Maybe being with you wouldn’t be so bad.”

hes so delicious i cannot

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ୨୧‧₊˚✧ seething flames

cws: written with god of tides raf in mind, kind of cult leader raf, dom raf, wanted him to be scary like he is in seething flames, mentioned public sex, breeding, doggy style, using master as a pet name, humiliation, degradation, worship

a/n: first fic under the new @ and i will never change it again oh my god it took me like 8 hours update all these stupid links and I actually quit in the middle of it so get used to this user T_T

taglist: @m00nchildwrites, @venussakura, @hys-hyangshine, @i-messed-up-big-time, @yourlocalcatscammer, @sayoko-ou, @umamaki @bimbohkitty taglist application

rafayel breathes heavily into your ear, each thrust angry and delivered with enough force to knock the wind out of you. the brown tiles of the desert's altar darken with your tears, sand turning to wet golden specs to be washed into the ocean nearby. you want to beg for your God to let you cum. only the man you worship could reduce you down to someone pathetic enough to beg for pleasure. you keep your mouth shut tight though, never daring to speak out of turn. "ah~" you moan when he begins to suckle at your neck, hands roaming your body wherever they please.

"my sweet disciple," he moans as he fucks you hard from behind on the steps of his altar, using you however he pleases. "i'm going to feed you full of me until you turn into nothing but a stain on the bricks of my altar, to join the rest." he whispers this in your ear as his thrusts begin to pick up, the sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh mingling in with the ambience of the waves crashing around the two of you. you feel eyes all over you but you can't concentrate on exactly how exposed you are with the God of the Sea working you over.

still, you derive more pleasure than you probably should knowing that he's summoned an audience of creatures and merfolk alike to witness him breed you on every inch of the altar. "that's what you are. that's all you are, will ever be." he growls, biting into the tender flesh of your shoulder. "a disciple. meant for me to breed. born to worship me."

you whimper under the diminishing words and claw at the brick, arching even further into him as if it'll help you take more of his inches. everyone hears how he turns you into a mere hole for his own pleasure. but more than that, everyone hears how badly you want more of it. everyone sees how you dare to retch your hips back to meet his thrusts eagerly. and you both get off on it. "does serving me please you that much?" you can hear the smile in his question and maybe you should be humiliated. maybe you are. but you want more. you nod stupidly as you take the God's rapid thrusts, clenching and unclenching around him. "use your words, mortal." he growls behind you.

you yelp when he delivers the command along with a sharp strike to your plush cheeks, leaving the skin stinging in his wake. "yes!"

"tell me then," he doesn't let up, even going as far to play with your clit from behind, torturing you in front of an audience as if it's something that he does everyday. he rules every inch of the ocean. he's got more power than he knows that to do with. rafayel does do this every day.

"it's all i w-want!" you scramble to collect your words, despite being fucked stupid. "just want to make you ha-happy, m-master!" you're provided with a hum of approval as you huff the pitiful words out and cum after a few generously aimed thrusts are given to you. the mess that you make is washed down the ancient steps with the tide, mixing in with the salt water that he comes from and, as much as you should be humiliated, you find that your tears aren't just coming from pleasure. you feel honored.

₊ . ݁˖ ‧ ୨୧ if you enjoyed my content, pls consider reblogging ୨୧ . ݁˖

zaddy

cw. nonmc!reader, reader n sylus r close long-distance friends, reader has a bf, implied stalking, lowk dialog for sylus is hard to write. also, based off of that one scene from you. i just needed to post🪫🪫

the beauty of shopping with sylus is that it’s so easy.

not just because of his black card (though, that definitely helps), but because he always seems to know exactly what you want and need.

you’re low on body wash? he’s already placed it your cart, waiting like a smug cat for you to notice only at the self checkout.

you’ve been craving some new, trendy sweet treat? he deliberately lingers around the aisle and watches you longingly gaze at the bag before dropping it in the cart for himself. (he’ll end up giving the whole thing to you later, claiming he didn’t like it.)

your bedroom door has been creaking? he casually brings it up just as you two pass the aisle, and you can’t help but agree. it really has been squeaky, and sometimes, late at night, you swear you can hear it opening and closing. weird.

plus, you thought sylus couldn’t hear it over the phone.

huh. maybe it’s louder than you thought.

his infinite wisdom doesn’t seem to end at mere grocery store runs, either. he does big purchases too, when you finally get away from your boyfriend and return to him.

you two walk through the mattress store with sylus a firm presence behind you and the salesman thoroughly scared away. they don’t know what’s best for you, he does.

you’re a cute shopper, he thinks. if it’s even possible for shopping to be cute.

then again, you make anything cute.

you’re just so concentrated, brows knitted together and your top row of teeth gnawing at your bottom lip, like you’re going into battle rather than buying a bigger mattress for you and your boyfriend.

sylus would prefer you be buying that bigger mattress for yourself and not that . . boy, but he keeps that venomous thought to himself.

as long as he makes you happy, sweetie.

even though sylus could make you much happier.

“sylus.”

like a dog heeding its master’s call, he stops right beside you, both of you staring down at a king-sized mattress.

he knows this brand. in fact, he’s invested a hefty amount of money into it. they’re pretty good, with cooling and heating features, along with being able to change the angle of it.

top of the line, of course.

you test out every aforementioned feature, and he doesn’t even need to use his evol to see that you’re sold. that’s the kind you want.

and so, that’s the kind you’ll get, price tag be damned.

you pat the space beside you, and sylus lies down. considering he’s practically 6’5, the bed isn’t quite long enough to accommodate him, and his feet dangle off the edge, earning a giggle from you.

again, cute.

“you probably had to get a custom-made mattress, huh?” you tease, and sylus only scoffs, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

“i’m not that long.”

you kiss your teeth. “but your feet are dangling off the edge! i bet you curl up all cute like a kitty just to fit, then.”

he hums. “definitely not.” you do, though.

you shoot sylus a flat, disbelieving look, one of which he only responds to with a smirk. “still . . this is a really nice bed,” you mumble and press yourself deeper into it, as if you can simply sink into the foam and springs. “so expensive, though . .”

he lets out an affirmative hum this time. “downsize. it’s cheaper, and your bedroom can’t fit a king.”

true. you’d probably have to take all your furniture out to even squeeze it in there.

“yeah, i think . .”

wait.

how does sylus know that?

you turn your head to look at him, the amusement now vacant from your face as you stare at him. he stares back.

“how do you know that?”

. . .

silence. not the peaceful kind, but the kind where you’re both holding your breath, tension and anxiety (moreso on your part) seeping into your frames.

the kind of tension that makes you rethink your boyfriend’s words, about how “weird” and “creepy” your friend is.

the kind that has you wondering if, perhaps, his words hold some truth.

sylus shrugs his broad shoulders, a move that should be casual but seems just a little too stiff. “a guess. it isn’t all that hard to figure out your layout from video calls.”

it was the briefest of pauses, but it was long enough for you to notice that there’s a strange twinkle in his crimson eyes, as if he knows something you don’t, like you’re a pig being led to the slaughter with a dangling carrot.

but no. no way. that’s ridiculous!

for one, sylus is your friend. you two have been friends for a couple of months now, actually, and have gotten pretty close.

two, his answer makes perfect sense. you’ve probably shown off your room without even noticing it, and he’s always been perceptive.

there’s no ill will here. why would there be?

you sigh and the tension deflates out of you like a balloon. this is what you get for watching all those docuseries late at night. you’re definitely watching something different tonight, like a cheesy romcom or a corny action movie.

“eh, you’re right,” you say as you push yourself up and off the mattress. “it’d probably be way too much to try and squeeze a king in there, and then i’d have to move all my stuff around . .” you tsk. “i should just stick with a queen.”

sylus follows your lead and gets up, and whatever was in his gaze earlier is gone now. “mm, yes.”

that boyfriend will be fine. he doesn’t have a choice but to be.

regardless, he doesn’t let you two leave without a swipe of his card. you’ll get that mattress, and he’ll get to watch you roll around on it when it comes.

a win-win, no?

im so skibidi fucked for calebs myth

no one will know which one it is.

I want to braid Caleb's pubes🥰

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now

Imagine this but with Zayne.

I GOT HIS CARD IN 20 PULLS NOBODY TALK TO ME RN IM SO AHAHAHAJAJJAKAA odds on me getting to fully rank it up before the event is over?? (slim to none)

need sylus or rafayel to be my paypigs this instant

late night rafayel thoughts

if you are someone who likes tattoos, rafayel would insist on designing them for you. the idea of his art permanently etched onto your skin, tying you both together, would drive him feral. but the thought of another artist getting the honour of inking you, and touching you is enough to sour his mood, he would definitely be sitting in on your session scrutinizing every move of the tattooist, his eyes darkening with irritation every time the artist's touch lingers a second longer than it has to. if he had it his way, he would be the one holding the needle, marking you himself (which he would be doing in a different way later that night).

please universe🙏🏽

we're gaming full on x

You haunt all of Caleb’s thoughts and dreams. You live in his mind rent-free, 24/7. Even when he pulled that man to his knees using his gravity evol, his blood boiling at the audacity, his mind drifts for a second. Wondering how you would look in that position. On your knees. Eyes wide. Desperate to be a good girl for him. Only him. Late nights at his office often end the same way, his fist tight around his cock, crimson lace he had stolen from you pressed to his face, as he eagerly inhales your scent. He knows what he did was wrong, yet all logic flies out the window when it comes to you, he can’t help it. You make him impulsive. Weak. Though he would never change a thing.

i want him so bad its not funny anymore SOS