hauntedbysmut

[hauntedbysmut]

A humble offering for all of the Caleb girlies who have been waiting for months for gege to come home.

Full fic below the cut, or you can take the link.

Rain pounded the windows outside with a savage intensity. The roll of thunder and crack of lightning creating brief and blinding symphonies of light and sound. You sat on your bed, a blanket pulled around your shoulders, completely still even as the storm outside raged on. The turmoil in your mind matched the ferocity of the storm, yet your body was frozen in the moment, wracked with indecision and swirling theories that all coalesced into a single idea… He's alive.

The disbelief roiled inside of you once again as you reviewed all of the small moments you had witnessed in the last few weeks. Despite the explosion and death certificates proving his and your grandmother's death, a lingering awareness and familiarity had pricked your consciousness for weeks now. A quick peripheral view of a man with his build in the grocery you frequented, a flash of purple-hued eyes sliding past your view as you turned, a glint of his dog tags in the window of your room as you studied for your exams… all mere coincidence. Illusions brought forth by your mind to push you through the grief that still gripped you in your dreams. But lately, you had woken in cold sweats, swearing there were eyes in your room, watching as you slept, yet when you turned on the light on your bedside table, your room was empty of any other presence. Then there was tonight… a figure lingering just outside of view, stunning you into the stupor you found yourself in now, trying to rectify the continued hallucinatory visions your brain unhelpfully supplied you anytime you caught yourself thinking of him.

“He's dead,” you tried to convince yourself. “You're just wishing it was him.” You made eye contact with yourself in the mirror across from your bed. “Stop hurting yourself with these delusions!”

Another crack of thunder rocked through your room as the lightning lit up everything outside, and despite your verbal reprimands, you slid your gaze to the ground outside your balcony. As the light receded from the flash, a single boot caught your eye under a tree nearby. Your breath stuttered to a stop and your heart took up a furious beat. Eyes fixed on the point you had seen the boot, so familiar, yet surely not real, you stood slowly and moved closer to the windows, desperate for another glimpse. It felt like hours as you kept your vigil near the window, eyes beginning to water with how intently you focused on that single point of potential. Finally, another bolt of lightning lit the sky and the area was once again flooded with singular light. The boot was still there. You stumbled backward, tripping on your rug and landing harshly on your tailbone, hand flying to your lips in a gasp.

No, it can't be. Can it? The tornado of your thoughts narrowed to a single thought of desperate hope. It HAS to be him. He came back for me.

Using your bed for leverage, you pulled your shaking legs underneath you once more. Taking timid steps back toward your balcony door, you threw the doors open, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders again, tighter this time. With the doors open, the storm's fury became a roaring soundtrack for the sharp beats of your heart in your chest. You stood in the gap of the door, rain pelting the ground in fat drops around you, splashing onto your face and hair and quickly soaking your socks. With a pointed stare at the figure beneath the tree who remained out of view, you slowly backed into your room. “If it's really you, come out and show yourself,” you whispered into the darkness.

You pulled the socks from your feet and rearranged the blanket to cover your hair, making a cocoon for your impending breakdown when it was inevitably not him. You pulled your feet onto the bed and laid down, eyes fixed on the balcony's edge, waiting… for you didn't even know what. After an hour of nothing, you rolled to your other side, letting the tears pool in your eyes and begin to run down your face. Just another illusion… Pulling the blanket as tightly as you could around yourself, you turned your head back to the balcony for a moment, and a well-timed lightning strike illuminated the tree. The boot was gone. Turning back to the wall, you curled into a ball and let the sorrow consume you.

Outside, the figure beneath the tree stepped forward, boots splashing quietly in the puddles of rainwater. Under the dark hood of his jacket, his head tilted back to look at your open balcony doors. Judging the distance from the ground to your balcony ledge, he stretched his frozen fingers and silently jumped, gripping it and beginning to pull himself upward. As he hauled his body closer to you, he could feel the excitement of your reunion pulsing in his bones. The staccato beats of his heart matched the silent chant he recited, each thump a resonance of your name in his consciousness. As he quietly pulled himself over the rails, he stood, mere feet away from you, as he had been for weeks, watching, waiting, so close he could swear you saw him several times, but too obsessed with being close to you to care if you found out he was alive. His superiors would be pissed, but they could go to hell for all he cared. The only one who mattered was you… You, whose frame wracked with your cries. A smile curved his lips as he imagined you were crying for him, as he fed into the feeling that the two of you were meant for each other, false siblings hiding a deeper connection all this time… and he was tired of pretending. Tired of waiting.

He had made sure you got home safely every night since his return. Watching you go about your life with a listlessness that was so unlike you. He told himself it was due to his absence, that you had felt as deeply for him as he does for you, despite no feelings ever being shared aloud. Every experiment, every ounce of pain and anguish, every nightmare and dangerous mission, he pushed himself to endure for you. To get right here. To get back to your side.

One step and he was at the frame of your balcony doors, the gauzy curtains stirring in the wind. You didn't shift even slightly. Two steps and he was inside of your room. He was in awe that you didn't hear his harsh breaths or his heart beating as loud as a freight train in his chest. Three steps, and he could reach out and touch you if he wanted. His fingers grazed the blanket you used as armor slightly, and he held in a groan, thinking back to how he used to soak in your scent any way he could whenever you were near him. He breathed in deep, letting the familiarity of your space soak into him and relax him. It had been far too long since he had been allowed to touch you, but that would all be rectified soon enough. Tonight, he would show you he was yours, and make you irrevocably his. No more waiting.

The awareness of eyes on you had you wiping your tears away, trying to shake the feeling as you had so many times before. It felt heavier this time. Like the brief moment of hope you allowed yourself had put you right back to the day you lost him. A shuffling sound had you turning your head toward the balcony once more. As you turned, you saw the shadow of a massive figure next to your bed. Flinging the blanket from your shoulders, you rolled off the bed and grabbed your firearm from the underside of your bed frame, kneeling and pointing it at the intruder with deadly accuracy. The stranger didn't move. Their face hidden by a dark hood and standing as still as a statue.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” you demanded. The stranger chuckled and you narrowed your eyes. Sounds so familiar… You shook your head and refocused. “I asked you a question. Answer me.”

Your mouth dropped open as the spectral figure spoke with the voice of your best friend, “What? Don't you recognize me… Pipsqueak?”

You stood, keeping your gun aimed at him even as your body began to tremble. “Caleb?” you whispered.

He raised his gloved hands slowly and pulled the hood from his head. His dazzling smile hit you first as you greedily scanned his face to make sure it was him. “I would hope you don't leave your balcony door open for just anyone to climb through,” he teased.

The shaking was taking over all of your limbs. You dropped your gun, thankful for a brief second that you hadn't taken the safety off, as your hands covered your mouth and your eyes filled with tears again. Your legs gave out from underneath you as you dropped next to your bed again. Caleb was instantly in motion, rushing around to your side of the bed before kneeling before you and taking your head into his hands. You flinched at how one seemed to be far colder than the other, but couldn't take your eyes off of his face. His amethyst gaze pierced you through the heart and you threw your arms around his neck, body wracked with sobs for the return of your dearest friend. He embraced you, tucking his head into your neck and inhaling deeply.

“You were dead! I have your death certificate. How?” You pulled back and pushed his chest back to see him better. “How?!” Disbelief and sorrow was shaping into anger as you pushed him again, forcing him back onto his heels. “How long have you been alive?” You pushed him again and stood abruptly, creating distance all of a sudden. His eyebrows furrowed at your sudden change. Why were you moving away from him?

You paced near the wall for a few minutes while he watched you, not offering a single answer. You turned and pointed at him, hand on your hip and fire in your eyes. “You were dead.” You repeated. “I have your dog tag and a death certificate with your name on it. That was all that was left.” His eyes were so intense. They never left you as you worked through the confusion of his reappearance. His lips didn't move even as you continued to throw accusations his way. “Did you fake your death? What about Gran? Did you give a shit that she died?” His shoulders tensed at the mention of her, but he still didn't move.

“Pipsqueak…” he warned.

The fire within you was an inferno now. You couldn't stop. “I buried your EMPTY fucking COFFIN, Caleb!” you yelled. He got to his feet. “You were dead!” You moved back over to him and pounded your fists against his chest. “Dead! Dead, dead, dead, dead…” your voice began to trail off as you continued to hit him with decreasing intensity. His hands came up to grasp your upper arms loosely. You dropped your head down and rested your forehead gently against his chest. Your arms dropped until they hung at your sides. The two of you stood like that for minutes, silently taking in each other's presence. Caleb sucked in deep pulls of your scent, his cock stirring as his hands tightened reflexively on your arms. Fuck, he had missed you in his arms.

You pulled away out of his hold again, moving to your desk as the quiet of the room was interrupted by another thunderous crash. You pulled open a drawer and rifled through papers before pulling a small envelope from the back of it. You opened it and a slight clink sounded as the contents fell into your palm. You stormed back over to him, grabbed his hand and dropped it into his palm. He stared down at his dog tags as you took a step back and crossed your arms over your chest. A sudden pulse of anger snaked through him as he looked back up at you.

“Why are you giving this to me? I left it for you,” he said. His body was still, muscles tense.

“That necklace has haunted me since you died,” you murmured roughly. “It was never meant to be mine. It was yours, and every day since you disappeared from my life, I have debated getting rid of it, one way or another.” He stared you down, brows furrowing. “I wanted to melt it down, or throw it into the sea…”

He took a step toward you that you mirrored with a step back. “You would throw me away so easily?” His voice was low and dangerous.

Your eyes filled with tears again. “I'm not the one who threw someone away, Caleb.” A tear slid down your cheek.

His mind reeled. You thought he left you. On purpose. He scoffed, but your face remained unchanged. He moved toward you again and you shook your head no. His gaze hardened, and he continued into you, backing you against the wall. Stubbornly, you kept your eyes cast downward and arms crossed. “Pipsqueak…” he tilted your chin up, even while you avoided his gaze. He grit his teeth in frustration. “Look at me.” He shook your chin lightly. Your shocked eyes met his and he smirked inwardly. “I would never leave you by choice,” he whispered. Your breath shuddered out as his eyes flicked and then zeroed in on your lips. “You're all I have left.” His thumb slid against your lower lip as your eyes fluttered. His body tuned into yours like a radio frequency. He could feel his careful control slipping as your proximity intoxicated him. He closed his eyes and leaned in until his body was aligned with yours. Every breath from his mouth trickled against your skin, his nose dragging across your cheek and down your neck. You could feel his pulse pounding against your chest.

“Do you know what I thought about all that time away from you?” he whispered. His tongue slipped out and made a short path from your neck to your ear, tracing the outer curve. You shivered beneath his attention, twitching against him with nowhere to run. You briefly shook your head no, feeling paralyzed in place as he continued to touch you lightly. Your head, for once, was blessedly quiet, even while the storm continued outside.

“You,” he whispered. “I remembered all of the things we used to get up to as kids, all of our adventures,” he paused, “and misadventures.” His lips dragged against your skin as he spoke, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Your body felt like a livewire of feeling, each tiny movement he made a spark of electricity traversing your nervous system and lighting you up with heat.

“What else?” you whispered, eyes closing as you let your head tilt back against the wall.

Caleb smiled against your neck before continuing. “I thought about your laugh, your fiery passion for hunting, your… sass.” He chuckled darkly and one of his hands slid to your waist as his tone dropped to velvety softness. “I thought about the woman you became over our lives together. Your strength, your tenacity, your… assets…” he ended on a hiss, pushing back away from you and pacing the room. His control was dancing a razor's edge. His eyes were as dark as the storm clouds outside as he flexed his hands at his sides. His gaze finally moved away from you, voice louder and more urgent. “I thought about your eyes and the way your lips quirk up when you tease me. I thought about how I never got to hold you the way I wanted to or tell you how I really felt.” He was speaking in a frenzy, as if he couldn't get the words out fast enough. You were frozen against the wall. His temper seemed to be rising now, and like prey in a trap, you knew not to push your predator further.

His purple eyes snapped back to yours as yours widened at his words. “I watched you these past weeks.” His voice was deadly soft again as he began moving back toward you with a stillness that sent you shaking again. “As they tore me apart and put me back together, I thought about how your skin would feel against mine.” Dropping his dog tags on your bed, he pulled his gloves off, one finger at a time. “Or what's left of mine…” Your eyes dropped to his hands as he dropped his gloves.

“Caleb…” you whispered as the metallic shine of his right hand caught your eye. He raised it up, tilting it back and forth in the dim light. Lightning illuminated his hand and eyes at the same time, and for the first time, you felt a flush of fear release into your veins. Is this my Caleb? The thought occurred to you suddenly, and you tensed involuntarily at the thought.

He noticed your sudden change in demeanor and tilted his head to the side, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Did you honestly think I would always be the kindhearted boy from your childhood?”

The air felt like it was sucked from your lungs as the tension in the room grew to a fever pitch. “My time ‘away’ changed me, Pipsqueak,” he rasped. “But it didn't change one major thing.”

Your voice came out weak and thready, “What's that?”

“My feelings for you.”

His declaration was punctuated by a particularly deep rumble of thunder. The lightning that followed flashed through his eyes, making them look almost grey, dangerous.

“Caleb… What did they do to you?” He made no further move toward you. His whole countenance had changed. He was hard and unyielding where he had once been soft, and it felt like a punch to the chest as you began to notice more of the changes in his demeanor. He had looked the same at first glance, and your initial astonishment at his reappearance and subsequent anger had taken any observational skills you had honed and thrown them right out the doors he had climbed through. My Caleb. Your desperation for answers drove you forward. He stood stock still and waited for your assessment. Your hands reached out and began to pull at his hoodie. You took the hem, including his shirt, and began to pull it up, revealing inch after inch of his skin, toned muscle and a litany of scars entering your limited view as lightning gave you small peeks at the destruction he had undergone from the explosion that you thought took him from you. He helped you peel the wet fabrics from his body, and as his full torso flashed in the light, you felt tears slip down your cheeks once more.

The entirety of his right arm, fused to his shoulder, was made of metal. The skin of his right side, near his new arm was puckered and smooth in variation, the scars creating a tapestry of destruction where there was once unmarred skin. His muscles flexed as you ran your fingertips against the new skin that had grown where it had previously been flayed by fire from his bones. You cried silently as he let you continue to mark his differences. The metal was flexible, and he shifted the fingers of his metallic hand silently to show you the movement.

He could scarcely breathe as your fingers danced across his skin. Your touch was like a balm to his soul, even as his mind screamed for more of it. His heart and head took up the chant again, pulsing, mine, mine, mine, mine, as your tears cleansed some of the anger he felt before, soothing his fragmented soul. He wanted to touch you. To soothe you the way you were soothing him, even though you weren't aware of it. As your hands worked their way up to his neck, turning his head different ways to look at all sides of him, the possessiveness he had been clinging to forced its way forward. Taking your tearstained face in his bare hands, he wiped your tears from your cheeks. “Pipsqueak, I was always going to find my way back to you. Something as trivial as death would never stop me. It doesn't matter what I went through to get here.”

You turned your head into his hand, lips grazing his metal palm. “I missed you so much, Caleb.” Your teary eyes met his and with a last sob from your mouth, he pressed his forehead to yours.

With a gentle kiss to your cheek, he murmured, “I will never leave you again. Let me show you how permanent we are.” Your brief but fervent nod is all the answer he needed as he finally pressed your lips together. It was a light kiss and it unleashed something in both of you as you suddenly gripped each other more tightly and clashed together again. Lips and tongues began an aggressive dance, parting and meeting faster and faster as a frenzy began.

“Caleb,” you moaned into his mouth. You put your hands around his neck as you pulled him down against you. His answering groan had him pulling you up, hands hooked under your thighs and lifting you to nestle against him. Your mouths slotted together again and again. Caleb moved a hand to your neck, notching his fingers around your ear and against the back of your neck so he could move your head to his liking. Your fingers gripped his hair, pulling against the dark, soft strands. The heat racing through your veins turned to liquid between your legs, pooling against the fabric of your panties as you sought more. More touches. More friction. More Caleb. He was as needy as you are, as his hand against your hip tightened around your back and his hips canted up against your inner thighs, rapidly hardening length getting more and more difficult to ignore. His hips continued to move as your lips broke apart. You kissed his jaw and down his neck, sucking his skin and biting until your mark was against his skin. His moans echoed in your ears and his thrusts against you became more pointed.

“Need you,” he groaned. You moaned in response, kissing across his shoulder and collarbone. He turned you both to the bed and pushed you away from him until you bounced onto the center. You shifted to your elbows as you watched him undo his belt and push his pants down his legs. As they pooled around his feet, he grumbled, annoyed as he pushed his boots and socks off of his feet before his legs could be freed from his pants. His thick erection strained against his boxers and your mouth watered at the sight of him. It occurred to you that you're still fully clothed, and you urgently pulled your shirt from your body, pushing your own pants down and off your legs, leaving you clad in only your simple cotton panties and bra. Caleb stared at you, lust a raging swell of fire in his eyes. Your own rapid heartbeat filled your ears, even as shards of lightning blinked him in and out of your vision in bright clarity, before plunging you back into the soft darkness. The light wind blew through the still open balcony doors and tightened your nipples into peaks. A shiver wracked your body and Caleb moved to the doors, closing them tightly and locking them again. “Don't need you freezing to death before I get a chance to touch you,” he muttered as he came back to the bed.

The shiver that took you now was pure anticipation, and you reached out for him at the same time he moved his knees to the bed, crawling up to you. Placing his hands on either side of you, he leaned in and kissed you, the urgency tempered, but not gone. He shifted backward and took a long look, dragging his gaze from your bra down to your clothed pussy, noting the growing damp spot. You pushed your legs closed, noting his gaze, and a blush rose to your cheeks. His attention shifted to something else on the bed momentarily, and your confusion showed in your eyes as he lifted the dog tags back into view.

“I left these for you to wear, not discard,” he said, his voice a sharp reprimand, a contrast to his softness moments ago. Once again, you're reminded of how he has changed since you last saw him. He shook his head and smiled at you, but it is a sinister feeling that creeps into your spine, rather than a feeling of warmth. Your arousal cools slightly. A strange shift in the air had your body flattening onto the bed. Caleb pushed your hands above your head and the heaviness in the air grew, pushing them down too. You looked up at your own hands, unable to move your torso or arms, and watched as he wove the chain of the dog tags around your wrists, binding your hands and arms together above your head. The pressure didn't let up though.

He is using his evol to restrain me. The cooling in your body ramped back up to a dangerous level as you let out a gasp, pulling against the sudden gravitational push that kept your body where he wanted it. “Caleb,” you whined, legs shifting around in an attempt to fight it off.

“That's better,” he smirked. He licked down your neck and across your clavicle before making his way down your breastbone, passing your breasts entirely to continue his wet kisses down your stomach. Breathless moans passed your lips as you could only follow his downward movement with your eyes, squirming your hips. He settled himself between your legs, pushing your knees apart before kissing over the fabric covering your mound. “Fuck, you smell good.” He nosed against the wet spot and you keened loudly.

“Caleb!” He dragged his tongue along the spot next, groaning into your covered cleft as he lapped at your wetness.

“Waited so long to taste you,” he growled. His lips and tongue danced along the outside of your panties, pushing against your clit through the fabric. You tilted your hips against his mouth, trying to gain the right kind of friction. Caleb looked up at you, his purple eyes practically glowing. “Don't make me restrain your legs.” Your whine made him redouble his efforts.

His tongue was persistent, but you want more. “Please, Caleb. Touch me. Please.”

“Such a good girl, begging for me,” he practically purred. His fingers pulled your panties to the side and his hot breath ghosted across your bare cunt. “Good girls get rewarded.” His tongue dove back in and you cried out at the change in feeling. He tongued at your clit, two fingers trailing through your slick before pushing into your clenching channel. The pressure on your chest kept you from arching your back and moving the way you wanted to. He scissored his fingers in and out of you as your pleasure built, thrusting against the bed as his cock leaked pre-cum. He felt like he was going out of his mind with pleasure just from how responsive you were. The taste of you on his tongue was like nothing he'd ever tasted before. Even in his dreams of you while he was away, he never could have imagined you like this. He flicked his tongue rapidly as your pussy clenched around his fingers and his need grew even stronger. Your mewls of pleasure drove him higher and higher with you until he was thrusting against the mattress and groaning with you, watching your every expression. With a gush of fluid, you came all over his fingers and he moved his mouth down to scoop your cum onto his tongue with his fingers, the taste of you sending him over the edge. He shook as his cock twitched from his orgasm, his fingers stuffed in his mouth and licking them clean.

He looked back up at you and the blissful smile on your face made his heart quake with happiness. This was the way it is supposed to be. You and him. Together. Forever. He pulled your panties down your legs and released the hold his evol had on your chest. Your arms remained restrained above your head, and a primal part of him rejoiced at the fact he had your cum in his mouth and his tags wrapped around your wrists. A wild urge to fill you full of his cum gripped him and he groaned at the idea of seeing it dripping from your holes, covering your gorgeous body in it until you were absolutely covered in him.

You smiled at him lazily, feeling sated but still hungry for him. “Let me go?” You pleaded. “I want to touch you too.”

“Not yet, love,” he said, voice filled with promise. “First, I get to have my wicked way with you.” He grabbed the center of your bra with his cybernetic arm and with a hard tug, the fabric separated and fell from your body. You gasped at the pain of the fabric burning against your skin as it broke but his mouth was immediately there to soothe the pain, kissing and nipping along your breasts, sucking your nipples into his mouth with renewed fervor, and driving your body back into pleasure.

Sitting back on his heels, he pulled his underwear down his legs. It is only then that you noticed the strings of cum that pulled away with his boxers. “Did you…?” your question trailed off as the thick globs of his obvious pleasure became more and more evident. The thought of him coming just from licking you set you writhing beneath him once more.

His cock now freed, he straddled your chest and moved upward toward your head. “Clean me off?” You nodded your head enthusiastically and licked your lips in answer, straining your neck upward against your restrained arms to get closer to him. He chuckled darkly and pushed up until his cock was right above your mouth, a string of cum leaking off the side that you greedily stretched your tongue to reach for. His ragged breathing filled your ears as he pushed his semi-hard dick into your lips and you moaned around him. A hand went to the back of your neck to support it as you bobbed against him, tongue lathing his cock and bringing every drop you could find into your mouth and swallowing it down. He rocked your head slightly against him as you sucked him clean and you could feel him hardening again. “I'm not done with you yet,” he growled.

He shifted back down between your legs, hooking yours over his hips as he slid his cockhead through your folds. “You're so fucking wet…” His eyes locked onto yours and his voice took on an edge, “and it is all for me.” He started to thrust the head into you. “Look at me while I take you,” he demanded. You keened and bucked your hips against him, pushing against him, but you met his eyes, and the possession shining back at you made your skin break out in goosebumps. “I'm the only one who gets to see you like this, aren't I?” His voice was still hard and when you nodded, he pulled away. “Say it, love.”

Your throat clenched as you pushed out the words, “Yours. All yours.” Your heart sang with the declaration. Finally saying the words out loud freed the burden you'd carried since his supposed death.

With your verbal confirmation, he gripped his cock with his metal hand, reaching up with his other hand and threading his fingers through one of your restrained hands. “Don't take your eyes off me for a second, do you hear me?” You nodded and the two of you looked down as he gently fed his cock into your seeping hole. Your moan and his groan twined together with the gentle thunder that still filtered through from outside as you finally came together. Caleb pressed his forehead against yours, your hands clasping each other's and eyes searching as he made his first few shallow thrusts. Breath mingled and sweat slid together, but your eyes did not falter. You saw the depth of his emotion burning in the violet swirls of his eyes, and as his pace increased, your eyes fluttered, but held on his.

With a quick adjustment, he pushed your legs further up with his hips until your knees were bent up to your ribs, forcing him deeper into you until you could feel him hitting your cervix with each push inward. The drag of his cock felt even more intense as the new positioning gave him full access to pound your g spot. As the pressure grew, so too did the noise in the room. Both of you were lost to the pleasure, wordless sounds streaming from your mouths. Your lips met and parted aimlessly, eyes closing every so often as pure sensation took your breath and he bestowed it again through open mouthed kisses. “Give it to me,” he groaned. “Come for me, love. Look into my eyes and give me all of you.”

Tears pricked your eyes as emotion swelled within you, your climax ascending at an unprecedented rate. “With me,” you begged. “Come with me.”

“I'm with you,” he said, running his free hand through the sweat slicked hair of your forehead. “Together.” With several more brutal thrusts, your peak took you over and you screamed his name as he continued to work you through it, roaring his release and filling you with his seed. The tears leaked from the corners of your eyes and his evol dissipated, your arms able to pull down closer to your head as you curled inward, overcome by the sudden flood of feelings that came with your release.

Caleb wrapped his arms around you, cock still lodged deep within your walls and wrapping himself fully around you. “I'm here, love, I've got you. You're not alone anymore,” he whispered into your hair, “I'll never leave you again.”

You shook and let him hold you, gripping his arms with his dog tags still wrapped around your wrists, and letting yourself soak in his warmth. Here. He's here. You reassured yourself over and over that this wasn't a dream. You rubbed your face against his chest and your tears subsided with the gentle strokes of his hands. A peaceful glow settled over the two of you, your heartbeats settling into a singular rhythm.

With a sleepy yawn as you cuddled further into his arms, you let yourself believe that he was finally home and the sounds of the rain and his deep breaths lulled you both to sleep.

[hauntedbysmut]

Imagine this but with Zayne.

[hauntedbysmut]

Overc*mming Writer's Block 3

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── about: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. Partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

♱⋅── word count: 10.8k holy

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, bondage, oral, pussydrunk zayne, PRAISE kink, breeding kink, actual sex this time, no more blue balling, nightly rendezvous card

art credit to @/chimmyming on X

“So, you and Dr. Zayne?”

You damn near choke on your salad. Coughing, you place your fork down before turning to glare at Anvi. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smiles, as if that was confirmation enough. “I’ve heard a thing or two from hospital gossips—“

“Vi, you are the hospital gossip.”

“—that the cold, yet steaming hot doctor was finally seen accepting the company of someone else. Not to mention at the gala last weekend he was by your side all night long. Or so I was told.” 

Anvi leans in, smiling wide enough to burst her pretty face as you scowl down at your lunch, unable to meet her eyes. Fighting to keep your voice even, you nudge her off, stabbing a carrot. “You’re ridiculous. I’m not involved with Dr. Zayne, he’s too—“ Attentive? Intelligent? God don’t think of him eating you out right now. “He’s not my type.”

You feel your ears burn, but by the grace of some god Anvi doesn’t seem to notice. Pouting she sighs and sinks back into the cafeteria booth. “Aww man, I was really rooting for you, too.”

“Rooting for a nonexistent relationship?” 

Anvi’s about to say something, big doe eyes almost frantically darting between yours before she huffs and shakes her head, something akin to pity tightening her smile.

You raise a brow but she only shrugs, going back to picking at her lunch. “Just as well, a relationship between a resident and her boss would be quite the juicy scandal. Something straight out of a romcom, no?” 

Laughter rips from your chest, the sheer irony of both her words and your reality too much to bear. Anvi’s windshield wiper giggles join your own, and soon the two of you are wheezing under your breath as you get side-eyed by the other surgeons trying to enjoy their lunch. 

Really, whoever your author was had a fucked up sense of humor. 

But the moment is ruined by the buzz of your pager, and you barely say bye to Anvi before you’re rushed to the operating bay. 

As of today, you have two days to finish your manuscript. 

Today's shift was exhausting, but you’ve learned early into your career that writing is a discipline, and as fickle of a muse as inspiration is, a writer cannot simply wait for her to grace you with her presence. Whether you feel like it or not, this book has to get done. 

Besides, what better mindset was there to churn out unhinged shenanigans than when you’re delirious and half-asleep, tucked away in the on-call room? 

Okay, so perhaps not the best place to be, but logically if your shift finished only minutes ago and you had to page in at five AM yet again, you’re better off just staying here rather than driving back to your apartment and all the way back to the hospital again.

Opening your personal laptop, you tab onto your novel's draft, the flashing cursor taunting you as your editor’s comments blur into an overwhelming mess of red. While you’ve worked your way through just about half of her six-thousand comments, that still leaves far too many, especially on your novel’s villain slash love interest as the trope always goes. 

You’re halfway through cutting cringey dialogue on a specific scene, but your thoughts keep drifting. Your conversation with Anvi keeps playing in your mind— romcom, dating, scandal, boss. You suppress the heat rising in your chest, trying to ignore the reality you really don't want to face. 

Zayne is… too much. Too intelligent, too caring, too perfect at catching you off guard.

Shaking your head, you try re-focusing, but between sleep deprivation and the realization that you haven’t actually done anything physical with Zayne for nearly a week, you get far too distracted. 

It’s not that you haven’t seen him since the gala. Far from it, really. Nearly every night if your shifts happen to end around the same time, he offers to drive you home. And when your shifts don’t align, you always make the effort to cook something together, breakfast or dinner, at ungodly hours of the morning or evening. And if neither of those happened, you would watch a movie, at least for a few minutes till one or both of you fell asleep on your ratty couch. 

God, you’re a fool. You can’t help but want him by your side even now, loving the way he reacts to your inappropriate comments, loving the way he scoffs at your jokes, loving the way he notices even the most minute things about you. And yet there’s a distance you can’t explain, a growing space you’re both too afraid to fill.

You close your laptop with a soft sigh, rubbing your eyes as you lay back on the small cot, trying to block out the nagging ache in your chest.

Your phone buzzes from under the cot, and you glance at it absently. You nearly jump at Zayne’s icon flashing on your screen.

grumpy snowman: Under recent developments I’d like to inform you of two things. One, you are banned from the hospital all of tomorrow under strict orders by me. Two, I currently have Mr. Whiskers held hostage, and should you fail to return home by 02:59 I will be forced to perform pulmonary bypass puncture and stop his heart. 

Dumbfounded, you stare at Zayne’s text, blinking in confusion. Did your sleep deprivation just hallucinate a text? Violently shaking your head, you look back at your phone with slightly spinning vision just to confirm that no, this was very much real and Zayne has very much lost it. 

ms. author: Is this a threat?

Another text follows immediately after.

grumpy snowman: Consider it your last chance. Come back and save him, or else... this may as well be his final night. 

An image sends then, your favorite calico cat plushy all tied up with what appears to be Zayne’s tie, dangling the poor thing as though being held hostage. Your gaze lingers for longer than it should on how Zayne’s hands look in the dim lighting of the photo, so busy trailing up the veins on his lithe fingers that you nearly miss his next text. 

grumpy snowman: I’ve already called an Uber. It’s waiting outside. 

You snort into the empty room, rolling to sit up straight.He’s the last person you’d expect to pull this sort of thing. It’s nothing short of ridiculous, but truly you don’t know the last time you’ve smiled this wide, and it’s precisely the distraction you need right now, especially if he’s already gone through the trouble of organizing it all himself. But like you’d go down without a fight. 

ms. author: You’re being ridiculous, you’d never hurt Mr. Whiskers you devil. You don’t have the guts.

His reply is swift, almost immediate.

grumpy snowman: Do I now? Care to test that theory?

You can practically hear the smugness in his text, the playful challenge laced with a quiet but unmistakable sincerity. Your heart gives an unexpected flutter, the weight in your chest easing, if only slightly. Quite a villain, indeed.

You know what Zayne’s doing. He’s not just playing around; he’s pulling you out of your head, out of the self-imposed spiral you’ve yet again been retreating into. You’ve spent the better half of the week in it. 

You bite your lip, considering your options. On one hand, you could brush him off—continue working, ignore the text, but something inside of you craves this attention. Craves his uncharacteristic ridiculousness. Craves the break from your mind that he’s offering.

ms. author: If you harm a single fur on my son’s head I’ll put an end to your tyranny myself.

Zayne doesn’t waste a second, sending only a single warning: Hurry. 

You stand, grabbing your jacket and keys, and only then do you second guess this. The easy, safe choice would be to stay buried in your work, it would be to politely decline and place must-needed distance and formality back. 

But for the first time in a while there’s something you want more than work, and as you slip out of the on-call room, the image of Mr. Whiskers hanging helplessly from Zayne’s tie is enough to pull you out of the hospital.

You push your front door open, the silence of your apartment making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The lights are off— odd, considering you could have sworn you left a lamp on. You always do, a force of habit since you live in a slightly less safe area of Linkon. Oh, the things you do for cheaper rent. 

Pausing, your eyes scan the deceptively empty hallway and kitchen. Everything feels still, almost eerie, and your pulse quickens as you take your shoes off, right beside Zayne’s much larger dress shoes, to venture further into your apartment. 

The faintest creak of floorboards makes you freeze. Your heart stutters slightly, the scare making you grip your chest as you whirl around, cursing out your cowardice. You’ve seen worse things wheeled into the ER. Please, get a grip. 

You shake off the nerves just as your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking the silence once more.

grumpy snowman: You’re cutting it close. Five minutes before Mr. Whiskers meets an untimely demise.

You can't help the amused snort that escapes you, the tension in your body breaking.

ms. author: You really went this far? What now, villain?

The response is almost immediate.

grumpy snowman: It’s a matter of life or death. I hope you're prepared.

Another photo attachment follows—your favorite Christmas blanket thrown over the couch cushions in disarray, the faintest corner of Mr. Whiskers peeking out beneath it. The living room. You shake your head, muttering under your breath about the audacity of smug geniuses with far too much time on their hands.

You make your way to the living room in the dark, you flick on a lamp as you approach the couch. Lifting the blanket to find… nothing but a sticky note.

It reads, in painfully pretty cursive: Nice try, but you’ll have to be quicker.

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: You fell for that as well? I expected better. Already 02:56, time’s running out.

You scoff, unable to stop yourself from laughing despite the absurdity.

ms. author: Do you even have anything better to do?

grumpy snowman: Not lately. Someone’s been too busy to properly entertain me.

You read it once, twice, and still something in your chest squeezes painfully at that.

Folding up the note, you stare at the text a moment longer before you hear the echoing click of a door. It’s coming from upstairs. 

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: While you’re lost in thought again, care to explain why you’ve been running yourself into the ground? 

You pause, stalling as you make your way to your stairs.

ms. author: I am writing.

grumpy snowman: Poorly, if you’re overworking. Can’t imagine the tension’s working out if it’s still stuck in your head.

ms. author: Gasp. Excuse you—

Another buzz interrupts, just as you make it to your bedroom door, old wood announcing your arrival with a groan. The culprit has to be just behind it. 

grumpy snowman: 3 minutes remaining. Mr. Whiskers won’t be around much longer.

You can practically feel Zayne’s grin through the phone, and for a brief moment, you’re glad he’s here, even if it’s all in jest. He’s right although you might never admit it; this whole absurd situation—your plushie, the stupid texts, the teasing—has done what no amount of coffee or sleepless daydreaming could.

ms. author: If you harm a single fur on my son’s head, I swear I’ll come for you.

Your hand latches onto your bedroom handle, biting your lip as you pause to type one last jab. 

ms. author: I don’t know why I’m indulging you.

grumpy snowman: Because you love it when I win.

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. Shaking your head, you push the door open.

Your bedroom is dim, the curtains drawn, but moonlight spills through the dusky purple veils, illuminating the bed.

Perched atop lies Mr. Whiskers, your darling calico plushie sitting in the center, fully unharmed even though his crystalline eyes speak of unimaginable horrors at the hands of his captor. 

Before you can grab him, movement from the corner of the room nearly startles you into jumping halfway across the room. Zayne, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watches you with a slight upturned grin that makes your stomach twist.

“You’re a horrible villain.” You huff, all but lunging on your bed to hug Mr. Whiskers to your chest like a shield.

His lips twitch into a smile, the bastard, and you can't help but notice how handsome he looks with his hair a little mussed and his glasses slipping down his nose. He doesn’t have his coat or suit jacket on, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a sight you haven’t grown tired of.

God, you really have a thing for forearms. Or maybe it’s just a thing for Zayne.

“Since we’re critiquing each other, you’re not much of a hero. Hiding behind a plushie doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.” 

“Confidence isn’t my priority right now.” You clutch Mr. Whiskers tighter, narrowing your eyes. He’s not here to talk about morals and heroism, though. “I’ve been fine. Nothing more than proofreading left… that and a few problem-children scenes.”

“Then consider this me fulfilling my half of the contract,” Zayne says, effortlessly seeing past your usual bullshit. “For someone who claims they’re adequately inspired, you’ve been more distant than usual.”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“No lecture.” He steps closer, “I just missed you.”

Again, Zayne's words catch you off guard, so blunt they make your chest ache. No empty flattery, no pretty words, simply stated as though they were facts. 

He takes another step forward, and you have to lean back on your elbows— nearly lying back on the bed— to maintain eye contact as he looms above you. 

And then, Zayne drops to his knees before you.

It’s a far more graceful movement than it has any right to be, all six foot something of him kneeling against the foot of your bed as you instinctively make room for him there. Slowly, his hands come up to your thighs, the two of you slotting together with ease.

“Admit it,” Zayne whispers, the sweet, minty heat of his breath caressing your lips as you shiver, leaning closer despite yourself. “This helped.” A wry smile, “and that I make a convincing villain.”

“What’s this, is the doctor Zayne fishing for compliments?”

“I don’t need compliments. I just want you to stop pretending in front of me– no more performances.” 

Heat rises to your face, and your stomach twists. He's too close, he's always too close, but god, why has this domesticity become so natural around him? 

Despite yourself, you look down at his hands again, taking in how easily his scarred palms cup your thighs, the pale contrast of his skin against yours. Lithe, long fingers, and the memory of how well they’ve treated you. You swear he must feel your heart pound where his thumbs brush circles against your inner thighs, your body nothing but responsive for him. 

But if he does, he spares you the embarrassment. Zayne only continues to look up into your face, and just as you begin thinking of equally inappropriate jokes or fun facts to break the silence, Zayne moves closer, his knee pressing between your thighs as the mattress dips to accommodate his weight. 

“Perhaps there is a performance you could help me with, since you’re clearly the expert here.”

You blink, one step behind Zayne’s master plan yet again. “What- help you?”

“Yes. See, I’ve been thinking about my next move as a villain, and…” Before you can even follow Zayne’s words, Mr. Whiskers is yanked from your grasp once more. One hand raises him into the air and the other lunges for your outstretched arms, pinning them to the bed as it creaks and groans under the sudden assault. “I think I’ll take Mr. Whiskers as my captive once again.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips as Zayne shifts above you, his knee grinding up just enough to have you aching between your legs. Everything spins, torn between the desire to rescue Mr. Whiskers and the overwhelming urge to give in, to pull Zayne closer, to finally, finally fuck him yourself.

But before you can decide, the hand pinning your wrists tightens, his thumb rubbing circles as he effortlessly restrains you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you curse, though the tremor in your voice betrays your excitement.

“Ridiculous?” Zayne repeats, arching a brow. “Perhaps you should start taking this seriously, my dear protagonist.” He drops his voice into something rich, dark, and deliciously villainous. The hand that pins you down holds firm, the other dangles your plushie overhead with mocking menace. 

You scoff, though it comes out shakier than intended. “I could write circles around your attempts at being evil.”

“Could you?” Unbuttoning his shirt, Zayne gets only halfway before abandoning it entirely, letting the buttons skew across his chest. He watches with a growing smile as your eyes flutter downward against your better judgment. “Then why don’t you show me.”

Zayne nods to your phone, eyes narrowed from behind his glasses. “Open the doc, show me the scene. Any attempts to rescue the captive will be met with appropriate punishment.” 

The way Zayne looks down at you, waiting—daring— to see if you would make him stop, sends a sinful flutter through your core, ricocheting up your spine. No longer trusting your voice, you nod and feel the pressure loosen ever so slightly on your wrists. 

You only have time to pull your phone out from your scrub’s back pocket before Zayne captures your wrists again, the tie once used on Mr. Whiskers now knotted efficiently right above your wrists. It should be frightening, how easy it is for him to manhandle you, but you feel nothing but painful arousal at that fact.

You’re still growling out faux protests when Zayne plucks the phone from your hands, his knee keeping your hips firmly pinned against the mattress.

“Ah,” Zayne murmurs, scrolling casually through your doc. “A scene involving betrayal, a chase, and…” He raises a brow. “Passionate accusations of treachery.”

You thrash beneath him, trying to buck off his weight as your face burns in embarrassment. “Enough! You’re supposed to help, not—”

“Not what?” He glances at you briefly, lips pursed in a halfhearted attempt to mask his amusement. “Not put your villain to the test? I’ll admit I might have ulterior motives, but you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Zayne then waves the plushie just out of reach before dangling him on the windowsill for dramatic emphasis.

“I swear to god, if you harm Mr. Whiskers!”

He cuts you off with a chuckle. “Hush. You’ll want to hear this.” 

Zayne clears his throat, the smirk on his lips unmistakable as he picks up where you left off in editing your manuscript. His voice drops into a faux-sinister drawl as he begins to narrate. “‘You can hate me all you want,’ the villain growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. ‘But that fire in your eyes only makes me want to break you more.’”

It's horrible, the way he reads the words, the tone and cadence he gives the prose, and worst of all, the way his unblinking gaze remains completely, utterly, fixed on you as he speaks.

“Zayne, please, don’t- this is embarrassing,” you beg to appeal to reason, still writhing against his tie, when you realize his grip against your hips has loosened.

Zayne’s attention is momentarily diverted as he scrolls through the doc, looking for another section to read, and you kick your knee up with a shout, jabbing it into his side as the two of you tumble across the bed. 

Lunging, you manage to grab Mr. Whiskers for all of two seconds before Zayne hauls you up by your bound wrists, forcing you arms above your head as you are pulled back against him. He’s rough, forcing your spine to arch against his chest as you hiss on impact, head thrown back against Zayne’s shoulder. “Ah-ah. What did I say about attempts to rescue the captive?” 

His tone is all mockery, grip iron against your waist even though you can tell he’s still holding himself back. Feeling each hot, ragged breath against the back of your neck, the smell of ambroxan and sandalwood surrounding you. You breathe in deeper, shaking despite yourself.

“Let go of me!”

‘’Close. I believe the actual line was ‘unhand me.’”

Zayne hauls you further up the mattress, hooking your bound wrists onto the post of your bedframe as this new position forces you to face the wall, all while his free hand adjusts his glasses, scanning the next few lines. “‘I’d rather die than let you win!’ she spat, her chest heaving with defiance—” He glances at you with deadpan incredulity. “Why is everyone always heaving in these scenes? Do they all have asthma?”

“You’re the worst,” you hiss, breathless from the struggle. See? Heaving, no asthma involved, just foreplay. 

“And yet…” Zayne’s voice comes closer, and you feel his bare chest once again at your back, “you’re the one who wrote it. I’m simply giving you an immersive experience.”

“Can’t be fully immersive if I have yet to believe you, villain.” Scoffing, you turn around, craning your neck just to glare him in the eyes. “You don’t have what it takes.”

Zayne chuckles, then silence. Forcing your head towards the wall again, you feel him lean down, still out of sight despite the heat radiating off his body, his nose brushing down your bare throat as he spits out the next line.

“Brat.”

You hate how immediately your body responds to that. How you shiver and lean back despite the restraints, how a part of you wants to fight, to keep the act going, because god, the idea of letting Zayne do anything he wants to you is enough to make your head spin.

Zayne’s teeth press against your neck, just below your ear, and you whine, the sound so small and deprived that you instantly bite your tongue and curse yourself for reacting like this.

So then he does it again.

A pitched gasp.

A broken moan.

Each noise he elicits from you is another cruel victory, and when you grind your ass back against Zayne’s increasingly obvious erection, he all but tears your scrubs down your thighs, the cotton of your panties not standing a chance against his desperation. 

In truth, Zayne had never been harder in his life. Did he intentionally pick the most on-the-nose dialogue just to watch you squirm? Perhaps. But he’d be lying if he said seeing you battle against primal desire beneath him, feeling your half-hearted attempts to fight him, accidentally grinding your ass against him with every squirm didn’t make him want to push you even further. 

Every breath came out heavy, chest heaving as he continued his performative reading, large palms alternating between slapping and gently squeezing your ass. 

“You’re greedy,” a kiss against your shoulder, shucking your scrubs down your knees. “Impatient,” another kiss, this time down your spine, throwing your pants across the bedroom. “And utterly disobedient.” 

You’re already stripped bare from the chest down. 

He can't deny the sight of you in such a compromising position is a sight to behold, and the urge to keep reading just to see how far he can push you is intoxicating. Panting, he pauses only to readjust his glasses, foggy and slipping down his nose. 

You, however, are too impatient.

"Zayne, please, you got your point across. You win. Just— ah, just fuck me already."

It's the first time in nearly a week that Zayne gets to hear you ask for him, beg for him, and it's all the reminder he needs for his body to fail him, shuttering against you with a moan of his own. How did he survive so long without this? Without you? 

Your voice rings against his skull, and it’s all he ever wants to hear. Moan his name, beg for him, scream it, call it out, anything. He needs you, irreversibly.

And not just for this.

So instead, Zayne looks back at your doc one last time, reading, “To think this is the city’s great hero. How I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

With a click, your phone turns off, tossed carelessly to the floor with a heavy thud that would have sent you into a panic had Zayne not chosen that exact moment to bite into the soft flesh behind your neck, thumb instantly finding your clit. 

The sensation alone is enough to make you cry, arching further up against the bindings. His hand snakes back around your hip, grounding, just barely brushing against the heat of your cunt, and the way he breathes out a low, half-delirious chuckle at the sound of you panting his name has your core fluttering for more.

"Please, Zayne, please," you whine, and the second the pleas leave your mouth, his thumb presses delicious circles into your neglected bundle of nerves. You whine, loud and needy, the second his fingers sink inside, held up only by Zayne’s arm wrapped around your waist and the tie pinning you against the bed frame. 

“Already begging? I wonder how much more obedient you’ll be after I fuck it all out of you.” And god, Zayne wanted to mock such an obscenely written line just to watch you blush all over, because what sort of villain would actually say such a thing? 

But when he sees you whimper at his words, when you arch so willingly into his punishment, when he feels your heartbeat quicken under his fingertips, he suddenly can’t say he faults any of these romance writers, for he now knows he’d do far worse than any of their cardboard villains. 

Zayne doesn’t even need to read the next line in the doc to know exactly what he’d do next. 

All but falling to the mattress, Zayne pulls your hips up, up until you’re atop his face, sinking his tongue between your folds before dragging all the way up to your clit, sucking with enough tension to make you scream. 

Your hands burn from where they chafe and fight against the tie, bucking violently against Zayne’s face, the cold kiss of his glasses frames making you jolt as he pulls your hips toward him like it’s the last thing keeping him sane.

“No,” Zayne groans between breaths, unable to part with you as he messily kisses your inner thigh before coaxing two fingers inside you with a thrust. “Don’t run. Do not run from me.”

Every scissor of his fingers forces obscene sounds from your cunt, silenced only by Zayne’s mouth and his own muffled praises. Granted, it didn’t matter how loud he was being, not with all of your delirious moans, completely unsuppressed as Zayne’s calculated ministrations took you apart thrust by thrust. 

At least you can remember being thankful that your apartment walls were sound-proofed. Breath ragged, mind spinning, only mindlessly fighting back as you babble, “Wait, you’re so- ah- fuck. Zayne!”

Quite canonically to your villain, Zayne’s hips buck into empty air in time to every thrust of his fingers, imagining it was his cock fucking deep into you instead. It’s a line he’s fantasized about crossing time and time again. 

But that’s where it stops. Fantasy. Because just the thought of it has Zayne groaning into your cunt, the taste and feel of you alone driving him insane, a point of obsession where he cannot allow himself to go any further. He can’t. He can’t, he really shouldn’t. 

He’d never recover, he’d never stop wanting— needing you. He’s addicted enough as is.

Zayne’s shirt had almost fully unbuttoned but his trousers remained, bulging as his cock wept from its prison against his thigh, fabric dark and painfully restraining. The mere friction was too little and overstimulating all at once. Even so, he can’t help but chase the phantom feeling, grinding against nothing as you fall apart above him.

When your shaking thighs finally begin to lock around his jaw, he welcomes the cage, burrowing his face deeper as the strong arch of his nose presses against your throbbing clit. Zayne’s slick fingers are delegated to merely keeping your hips still, his tongue fucking you through your orgasm as his hips follow your same rhythm.

One touch, one touch is all he needs to cum with you, but Zayne refuses to do anything but work you through your high. He swallows the taste of you, open-mouthed and needy, a moan rumbling deep in his chest as you feel it hum through you. 

Gasping, you look down, and immediately you feel your core flutter— the sight enough to have you wishing he was back in between your thighs already.

Zayne’s entire body shakes beneath you, dark hair mused and hands digging into your hips in ways you know will leave half-moon marks. But what has you trembling is the sight of his hazel eyes eclipsed to near black, completely blown out and teary as they try and fail to focus on anything other than your pussy still fluttering above him. Something you can barely see at all, not with the amount of cum that squirted across his glasses, foggy and skewed across his nose as it too glistens with your release. 

It’s an obscene picture you only get for a moment before Zayne chucks his glasses off just to place a closer, deeper set of kisses on your cunt. Practically chasing every buck of your hips, he happily lets you ride his face until your room begins to blur yet again, weightless and utterly fucked. 

You’re panting, vision still coming back in waves as you register Zayne untying your hands, all the while kissing the light bruises that remain. 

And yet you can hardly think of anything other than the fact that he still hasn’t properly fucked you.

“Zayne,” you call, and god, something in your chest squeezes at just how fast he whips his head around, already ducking to meet your eyes as he scans down your face. There’s worry etched into his features, his eyes scanning yours like he’s already bracing for whatever you’ll say next.

“I’m sorry, I knew I should have taken better precautions. If your hands hurt I can get a salve from—”

“Fuck me.”

Silence. 

Zayne blinks, his mouth parting and eyes squinting as though he misheard– or somehow misread–  you.

“What?” he manages, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You sit up on your knees, pulling off your shirt one swift movement so you’re completely naked, then lean forward until your noses nearly touch, his eyes dropping to your breasts. The boldness only shakes him further. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you run away this time. I want—” Reaching your hand out, your fingers trail down Zayne���s bare chest, hardly even pushing for him to fall backward. And for you to follow on top. “I want to do this for you. I want you.”

Zayne’s breath is deceptively steady, and if you couldn't feel the ragged rhythm of his chest, rising and falling as it burns against your palm, you wouldn’t have believed he was affected at all. 

“You don’t-wait- have to—” he starts, but his voice breaks when your fingers trace the curve of his ribs, lips following suit as you place gentle kisses down his sternum, his slender abs, dangerously close to the v-line dipping into his pants that you can’t help but lick, smiling in delight as his words finally fail him. 

“Neither did you. You’re rather stubborn, doctor,” you insist, soft but unwavering. Resting your head against his thigh, you coax his jaw down to look at you, the palm still resting against his chest finding the erratic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. “Let me take care of you for once. Don’t you know good patients listen?”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh, the sound strained as he looks down at you, right side of his lips curving into a faint smirk despite the way his body seems to ignite at your touch. “Bringing in our professional titles seems a little underhanded, don’t you think?” 

 “Ah, but it got your attention, didn’t it?” You don’t let him stall anyone— already he’s managed to keep this from you for weeks, really it’s a shame you haven’t stripped him earlier— letting your tongue trace the dip of his hip once more, humming as his muscles tense under the sudden attention. 

Greedy, your lips continue to worship every sharp edge and curve of Zayne’s abdomen, hands busy with his buckle until you manage to find a particularly sensitive spot just above his right hip bone. 

All his composure, all his calculated confidence, you want to break it apart until there’s nothing left but Zayne. Just Zayne. 

Zayne inhales sharply, eyes screwing shut as his mouth falls open in a picture of perfect debauchery you want etched into your mind forever. One hand fists into the sheets beside him, the other flying to your hair as your kisses turn to a dizzying mix of licks and nips. Hard enough to mark, you bite into skin, tongue flicking between your teeth, echoing across the room alongside the wet sounds of your mouth at work. 

“Ah, fuck.”

Cursing already? Perhaps this would be easier than you thought, but where’s the fun in that?

You pull back, watching Zayne blink in confusion as his hips twitch up toward your mouth, and you have to force back a laugh as he stares, bewildered, like he can hardly believe the sight in front of him.

His voice comes out huskier than before, low and coated with desire. "Why did you stop?"

You pull back just enough to look up at him, cheek resting on his thigh as you play with his zipper, never looking away from Zayne’s eyes even as they flutter closed in frustration, desperate for more. Tension practically radiates off of him, but you only smile, taking your time as you trail your fingers away from his zipper and bulge, teasing the sensitive edges of his hip and the skin peaking just over the edge of his trousers. 

“Don’t worry, doctor,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “I’ll be sure to complete your procedure just as thoroughly as you did on me.” 

Oh, and Zayne must realize how utterly fucked he is, for you won’t be letting him go not until you’ve adequately paid him back for all the times he’s deliberately edged you to the point of tears, all the times he’s reprimanded your attitude, all the sweet punishments you’ve ensured that you’re going to give back to him tenfold. 

But before he can try and sweet-talk his way into mercy, your teeth catch on his zipper, dragging it down as your free hand unlaces his belt, tossing it across the room by the time his bulge presses out from between the metal teeth all on its own.

Achingly hard already, and you haven't even begun.

The fact that you know he’s this hard just from eating you out certainly doesn’t help. 

His boxers are soaking, the obvious bulge only emphasized by the way the damp cotton seems to stick to him, and god does the size of him make your core flutter. 

Maybe next time you’ll get him to come just by eating you out. 

Next time, though.

Without warning, your fingers wrap around his cock, freeing it from the confines of his boxers. A hiss grits out through Zayne’s teeth as his jaw clicks and a vein thrums against his neck from the pressure. 

You're so used to having Zayne above you, between your legs, teasing you senseless as his fingers or tongue bring you to the edge over and over again. And now, here he is. Spread out, and all yours to ravage.

The realization alone has you throbbing, prior orgasm all but forgotten as you feel the want burn between your thighs again.

If only he could see how wet you were already.

How could he not, with the way your hips were rocking against his still-clothed thigh, searching for the friction he wouldn’t give?

And yet, despite your impatience, your eyes never leave Zayne, watching the way his muscles flex as he resists the urge to move, ever obedient for you.

"Good boy," you purr, meaning only to tease him further, but instead of the faux glare or inscrutable comment you were expecting, Zayne tenses beneath you, his cock jumping against your palm. Your eyebrows raise, a breathless giggle betraying your intentions as you lean in closer.

"Oh? Do you like that, baby? Being told just how perfect you are for me?”

You're not sure what's more arousing, the fact that Zayne is practically coming undone at your words, or the fact that he hasn't denied a thing.

God, his body feels hot. The mere praise has a dusky blush racing down his gorgeously sculpted chest all the way to the tips of his ears, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he looks down between the two of you, to where you’re still teasing the weeping slit of his dick. He moans before he could even stop himself. Fuck. 

Shivering, Zayne reaches out to grasp your wrist, and for a moment you think he's going to put a stop to your little power trip. But his hand only comes up to guide yours, urging you to pump his cock a bit faster, stopping to put more pressure against the base, and you can't help but smirk knowing he must be truly desperate if he's already rushing you to jerk him off properly. 

"My, my, doctor. I suppose I’m not the only one who’s been holding back.” You click your tongue, a teasing edge to your voice. "Were you really so desperate to feel me around your cock, hmm?"

Hazel eyes narrow at the pure filth behind your words, but you see the furrow between his brows, the way Zayne’s throat bobs as he throws his head back with a choked groan. If he looks so damn pretty now, you wonder what kind of faces he’ll make when he cums. 

“You truly are horrible,” He groans, hesitating, hands clenching into the sheets before they fly up to your waist, gently bucking his hips into your awaiting palm. “Mhm- please.”

You hum, lazily sinking to your stomach so your bare chest presses against his still-clothed thighs. With each stroke you can feel his muscles twitch beneath you, see the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, the way his hand guides yours, tightening and loosening, urging you to go faster, harder.

Your mouth waters, and the urge to taste him is far too tempting to resist. 

Plus, you’ve had enough with denying yourself, and more than enough of Zayne denying himself as well. 

So right as Zayne’s head rolls back against the pillows you rock forward, licking a slow stripe up his dick, up between the gap of your fingers where they grip his base. 

Zayne chokes on his breath, hand immediately tangling in your hair, rough enough that it has you wrenched away with a breathless whine. He groans, words shaking out in breathless huffs, “You, hah- this isn’t, fuck—”

"Ah, ah, pretty boy, let me take care of you, yeah?" You fight to come back to him, smiling as Zayne’s grip immediately loosened, and you kiss his tip in thanks.

Rubbing teasing circles into his thighs, your thumbs then move up, tracing his v-line, addicted to the way his muscles tense under your nails and to the red lines that follow. It makes you want to mark him up more. So you do, with your nails again, then with your teeth and tongue. 

“Look at how- shit- how excited you are for me. So pretty.” You lean forward, pressing wet, messy kisses just below his navel and all around his already sticky thighs, heady and coated in pre-cum. 

Another bite, and you squeeze his balls with just enough pressure as you watch his eyes roll back in time. "I'm going to make this so, so good for you, baby.” 

Zayne all but sobs at that.

Every carefully restrained thought breaks completely at the praise, a raspy moan grinding through his teeth before his jaw falls open with every ragged huff of breath. 

“Mhm that’s it, you’re doing so well,” you say, smiling at the way his cock twitches, violently leaking, pre-cum pooling into your palm and dripping down your wrist. “So pretty, so perfect just for me.”

With one last kiss on Zayne’s tip, your hands steadies itself against his abdomen before you kitten-lick around the tip of his cock, and then greedily shove as much of his throbbing erection as you can down your throat.

Zayne tenses, gasping, and the sound sends a thrill down your spine. You press further, tongue flattening along the underside of his shaft, and fuck he’s so thick you nearly choke, forgetting to breathe in through your nose as the lack of oxygen gets to you embarrassingly fast. 

If only you had some more time to properly adjust, you'd force him to the hilt without a doubt. But patience has never been your virtue. 

You’re already edging yourself with every slow grind of your clit against Zayne’s thigh, and you can feel his desperation in every throb along the underside of his cock in your mouth, letting his tip hit the back of your throat, breaching as deep as you could allow.

Zayne begins to buck forward only to freeze halfway, a low hiss leaving him as his hand twitches against the sheets, knuckles turning white as he fights his own self-restraint as you urge him deeper into your hot mouth. Trying to pull you off him, Zayne’s hand laces through your hair as a warning, large enough to cup the back of your neck entirely, but the action only lets you take him further. 

Then he makes the fatal mistake of looking down at you, locking eyes with your teary gaze as you maintain eye contact before licking up his length, and then swallowing him back down, crying as mascara and drool runs down your chin. His hips stutter upwards, and then he catches the shallow bulge now pressing against the base of your throat. Up and down and back again.

The sight breaks him.

He throws his head back with a whine, and fuck, his sounds thrums against your skull, reverberating through your very being as he snaps, hips bucking wildly into your mouth, his powerful thighs trembling around your head. You’re being used as nothing more than a fucktoy now, hands scrambling for purchase against his abdomen for a semblance of control as you take it.

Fuck, maybe it’s the praise, because you make Zayne want to be greedy with the way you were gagging and choking around him.

The mere feeling of you drooling around his length, the way your moans come out muffled and wet with drool and his slick, like a messy kiss to his cock, has his hips stuttering deeper, arching up into your body until Zayne can practically feel the spark of his orgasm behind his eyes. 

But no, that won't do.

After all, you won’t be satisfied until he’s finally fucking himself inside you tonight. He can’t cum anywhere else. You won’t let him.

And right when you feel his cock go rigid, you tighten your hand around the base, and pull off. 

Heaving, you shakily prop yourself back onto your elbows, Zayne's length glistening with saliva between your bodies, twitching violently and leaking all across his abdomen and your chest from its angry red tip. 

“S’pretty, Zayne.”

Zayne moans, hips chasing after the heat of your mouth, hissing when all he feels is the cold air. He wants to protest, wants to ask for more, but you shush him with a kiss.

Your tongue laps across his skin, tracing the ridges of his abs, lapping the pre-cum and sweat that gathers there. You lick a trail, following the sharp cut of his hips.

"What, is that all you can take?" you ask, a teasing smirk on your face.

Zayne curses, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “Depends.” His voice is fucked rough, raw, and you never want him to stop talking. ”Was that the full treatment?” 

You hum, biting the inside of his thigh. He gasps, and it turns into a deep groan when you press an open-mouthed kiss over the forming mark.

“No,” you admit, “You’re not escaping until I get to watch you come undone.”

You smile at the shudder both your words and actions draw, the way his fingers tighten in your hair. “Ah, but not here. In me. I want you to fill me up, baby, make a mess of me. I can take it, I promise. And when you're done, I'm going to ride you until you come again. Sound good, my pretty boy?"

Zayne throws his head back with a moan, eyes squeezed painfully shut as though he can’t decide if this really is real or if a succubus was haunting his dreams to every sinful memory he has of you.

Zayne leans into your touch, following your palm as he nuzzles into you with a huff of hot breath. A little like a kitten in a man's body— a sexy body no doubt— but you wonder, not for the first time, if the reason he always holds back is simply because he was afraid. As you were. Until Zayne came to you, until he showed you what pleasure felt like.

So you take his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, and then kiss him.

He lunges up to meet you halfway, licking into your mouth, fisting into your hair, breathing in every moan and whimper of his name as he hums it right back. Needy, so damn needy for it. 

You smile through the kiss, grinding up and down his muscular thigh alongside the desperate smashing of mouths. Tongue-heavy, teeth scraping, sucking at the corner of your lips. So fucking hungry for you that he’s practically lifting you right off the mattress with just one arm. 

His mouth distractedly chases down your throat leaving opened-mouth kisses before slotting back against your lips, hot and demanding and urgent. 

“Zayne, ah—” you’re cut off with another kiss, “Mhm, please, need you,” another, Zayne looping two arms around your thighs, hiking your knees up to his shoulders, the stretch burning. “Need you in me, now.”

He moans into your open mouth at those words, eager enough that he chases you up, nearly pinning you beneath him until you break the kiss with a gasp, shoving him back down. Zayne whines at the break of your lips, brows furrowed as his back hits the mattress, trapped under you once again, panting.

"Need you, pretty boy." You whisper against his lips, and it sounds just like a promise. "Please, let me take care of you.”

Zayne takes a shaky breath, nodding, drunk on the praise and readjusts himself against the pillows. He watches, eyes half-lidded, as you straddle his waist. Rough hands find your hips and hold them steady as you settle climbing atop him, the head of his cock rubbing between the folds of your soaked cunt. 

It isn’t lost on you how Zayne can barely stop staring at the slick that trails down your thighs, all of it coating his shaft in slick as your pussy hovers over him, connecting the two of you in wet, sticky strands.

"Like what you see, doctor?"

You lick down the milky column of his neck and Zayne groans, leaning back to grant you access. "You and your smart-ass mouth."

“You love it.”

Ya, he does. He could probably cum just from watching you like this.

Leaning forward, you line his cock up with your entrance, smirking at the way his eyes narrow, heart racing beneath your palms as you balance yourself on his pecks, shamelessly groping them.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've thought about this? How many times I've imagined riding your cock, hearing the sweet noises you make as I make a mess of you?"

Zayne opens his mouth, as if to say something, but whatever it is doesn't matter, not as you guide the swollen red tip of his cock through your folds, thick tip pushing and sliding past your entrance, unable to fit even with your combined slick. Teasing, swollen pussy lips drooling right down onto his leaky head when just a simple nudge of Zayne’s squirming hips would end this torment and have you fucked flush against him— raw.

"Please," he groans, his voice raspy and hoarse, eyes fluttering closed, glassy with lust, "I can't- I can't take this. Please,” a low moan of your name has you delirious, and god, you’d give him anything he’d ask for. “I admit it, I need you. So please.”

Were you more than happy to oblige. 

Lifting yourself all the way up on your knees, you steadily apply more pressure to your entrance, working yourself further and further until you could feel your slick drip down your thighs and his cock, each movement now accompanied by an unholy squelch. You slide his cock over your cunt—back, then forward—stimulating your clit with the head each time he fucks it through your folds, desperate as your movements become rougher and more forced.

Zayne’s cock catches against your entrance once again, and a low, breathy moan escapes his lips. He could feel your cunt finally yield to the pressure of his large, overbearing cock, could feel the way your legs trembled, threatening to give way, and he can't help but wonder if this is how you would look, how you would sound and feel, when he fucked you.

As soon as he feels the flutter of your core against his tip, he knows he’s lost, the head of Zayne’s cock sliding into you with a lewd pop as you both moan. 

"Mhm, yes," you moan, voice a high-pitched keen. "Just- ah, like that."

Zayne bites his lip, fingers digging into your hips, and fuck, after being edged not once but twice today he already feels deliciously overstimulated and close, too close.

So it certainly doesn't help when you rock yourself up onto your knees, then drop yourself all the way back down his shaft, taking him all the way in until his balls slap against your ass.

You even don't wait for either of you to adjust before doing it again, and the velvety hot squeeze of your cunt has Zayne seeing stars.

“Ah, f-fuck, oh, shit. S’good Zayne,“ you coo, "Feels so good, fuck."

You’re dripping down your thighs, gushing around him like a vice as he watches his cock disappear into your cunt with a creamy white ring already at his base. 

It’s all turning Zayne delirious with the way you continue to feed him compliment after compliment. It’s all so much, too much, and a low moan is forced out of Zayne’s chest as he begins rocking his hips up to meet yours, hardly even letting you pull out before bullying his way back into you. 

Fuck, you can feel him everywhere, his cock hitting your cervix, your walls stretched tight around him, a mixture of his and your slick pooling onto his abdomen as you chase your way up and down his length.

But god, what you feel is nothing compared to how absolutely wrecked Zayne looks.

His eyes are screwed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly, the flush from his ears having spread to his gorgeously marked-up chest, his neck, the angry red tip of his cock. His brows are drawn together, jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck and shoulders strained as he holds himself back, every part of him curling up to meet yours and press you down, closer. 

But then he turns away, eyes screwed shut as you feel his tip jerk against your cervix once more. 

No. No, no, no that won’t do.

Zayne has watched you come undone countless times. He’s been a worshiper and witness to pleasures you didn’t think you could feel, and this time, you want him to be the subject of all your adoration. To finally give him back all the love he’s taught you to feel and more. 

So you lean down, cupping Zayne’s cheek with one hand as you continue to ride him. “Look at me, baby. Y-you're so, fuck, so big, Zayne, fuck—” You gasp a sharp breath as he twitches violently inside you at the praise, slurring your words. “Mhm, love your cock so much."

But you doubted he could hear you— fuck, you wouldn’t even be able to tell if Zayne was breathing at this point if it wasn’t for the throbbing of his cock against your walls in time to his erratic heartbeat— because his eyes rolled back into his skull, jaw slack as a silent moan rips from his chest, shuddering down his spine right before his hips snap up into yours, throwing you off balance, pinpointing your g-spot with cruel accuracy as you scream.

Your sounds and babble of praises have him dizzy, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he struggles to focus on your face. It almost looks like he’s about to cry, dark lashes wet with unshed tears. You’d tease him for it, had you the capacity to think at all. But no, each thrust continues to bully into that sweet, spongy spot inside you as you moan, and Zayne’s mouth falls open with a cry of his own.

You chase into it with a kiss, clashing your teeth as you feel his tongue lap against yours, sucking hard. You feel the wrecked, blissed-out smile on your face, breaking away from him just long enough for Zayne to see how ruined and turned on he’s making you.

"Y-you're close, aren't you, my sweet boy?" You ask, the words coming out strained as Zayne fucks up into you. Pumping upwards, it’s like he wasn’t even trying every time his weeping head rams your sensitive spots. Just stuffing you full of his cock he denied you for so long, furious enough to mold you to his very shape. "C'mon, cum for me, Zayne. In me, please–ah."

You pull away even as his lips chase yours, arching your back so that your full weight grinds back on his hips. Zayne all but whimpers at the change in angle, his hands gripping the bed sheets as he tries not to starve off his orgasm. 

"Please, please," he groans, his jaw clenching.

"Look at me, Zayne."

He does, and his pupils are so blown, his eyes nearly black.

"Cum for me, baby," you beg again, grinding down against him as his hand comes up to grope your chest the same moment your palm leaves to cup his balls, and that's all it takes.

Zayne comes, a cry ripped from his throat, his cock throbbing inside of you. You can feel the sheer warmth filling you, his seed spilling out and leaking onto the sheets, and god, there’s so much of it that cum squirts out from between the two of you, splattering up his abs and your thighs. 

He’s trembling, head falling back as his hips jolt and stutter, still fucking up into you as though it can’t bear to part. You’re probably not helping with the way you still rocking on his length, your cunt milking his orgasm, and he can't take it, it's too much, too fucking good, he can't stop, never wants to.

But, fuck, one look at his face, and you already want him to cum again.

Zayne looks like sin, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, his body writhing and straining as he gasps for breath, his skin shining in the afterglow of his release. The muscles of his neck are taut, veins pulsing and straining, his lips bitten red. He is fucking gorgeous, and the thought that he has done this for you, to you, has another wave of arousal shooting up your spine. 

“You…” Zayne’s brows pinch together, but his voice is low, dangerous. Unyielding. “You didn’t cum.”

“I already did, besides I-I ah, Zayne—!”

You’re cut off by your own pussy, lewd squelching accompanying every brutal thrust Zayne overstimulates the both of you with, bullying his own cum out of you with each rhythmless thrust back in. He plants his feet into the mattress, thrusting his hips up as you claw at his shoulders, chest, the slap of skin on skin ringing in your ears.

“No, that isn’t-” Zayne’s words slur, feverish and mindless as his gaze zero’s in to where the two of you meet, the sound of every wet, messy thrust and the slight bulge he now sees in time to his thrusts. “Not enough. With me. Please, hah, cum with me, love.”

Transfixed, one hand drifts to the bulge at your navel, and before he can stop himself, he grinds the heel of his palm against it. Immediately, overbearing pressure shoots up your spine, a broken scream leaving you as you tremble above him, arching violently forward. 

You try and speak, protests leaving as nothing more than garbled whimpers as you claw at Zayne’s wrist, trying and failing to pry his punishing grip off you. 

He doesn’t relent.

How could he, when you’ve finally given him yourself? When this was everything he’s denied himself and more? 

Fuck control, fuck discipline, fuck holding himself back. Zayne wants you. 

Vision blurry, drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth, your combined cum gushes out of your overfilled pussy and spreads in a lewd little pool beneath you. It’s all you can do to take it, Zayne overstimulating the both of you to insanity, but his hips keep the same punishing rhythm. Two slow, deep thrusts before something snaps and he hammers into you twice. Thrice. Then begins all over. 

It’s effortless, the way he bounces your body up and down with one hand, the other remaining pressed against your abdomen, massaging the outline of his dick showing through with every grind forward, rolling your clit between his forefinger and thumb. 

Large hands splay your thighs wider, closer, impossibly stretching you out until all you can feel is Zayne, Zayne, Zayne. You don’t realize you’re chanting his name out loud too. And you never felt more gloriously out of control than when he abruptly jerks his thigh upwards– driving you right along with it– hitting your cervix all at once.

There’s no rhythm. Not anymore. You’re hardly lucid, dropping your full weight down just to meet Zayne’s cock as he pulls you down prone atop of him to catch your mouth in an open kiss as he hits your g-spot again. And again. And again and again and—

“Love,” he all but moans it into your lips, low and broken and oh so addicting. “My love, please.” God, he’s still so painfully hard but the feeling of you fluttering around him, getting tighter each time he calls you love, must be a sort of heaven. “Please– hah, fuck– cum. Cum all over my cock.”

You whine, surging forward to kiss him again, and he feels it, couldn’t do or think of anything but it as you cum around his cock for the first time. 

Zayne’s eyes open even as you continue to suck and lick into his mouth, brows furrowed and vision blurring, lost in every hot pulse of your walls as they coaxed him further and further in, your release squirting against him as you struggle to drag your hips off him again, pussy sucking his cock in deeper, unwilling to let him go. 

Shaking, his hands find their way back to your hips, settling over the light bruises as he guides you up and down again, startling you as you moan into his lips. 

“Zayne,” you whine his name between kisses, strings of spit snapping between you, Zayne chasing hazily after your mouth before you cup his face in your hands. 

God, the sound of his name on your lips is enough to have him keening, pressing his forehead to yours as his entire body trembles. 

You’re coming again before you even realize it, vision spinning in and out as Zayne continues to fuck you through it. Zayne makes a noise, something between a moan and a whimper, his hips slowing despite himself. 

You're gorgeous, the sight of you atop him, still slurring out compliments, and it's too much, fuck, too fucking much, too fucking perfect, his perfect woman. 

With a final snap of his hips, Zayne comes alongside you. 

His orgasm has him gasping and his entire body bows forward, arms wrapping around your middle as he buries his face in your shoulder, kissing into the tender flesh as he just keeps cumming. 

He can't find the need to hold back this time. Not when the pleasure is so intense that his vision is turning white, not when your cunt is hot and pulsing and clenching around him, not when the praise and encouragement keep pouring out of your lips, whispering into the crook of his neck, "good job, Zayne, such a good boy for me, you did so well, my sweet boy, my love, hah, I love you."

When you finally come down from your high your body is sore and aching, the feeling of his hot cum deep inside making you whine, the sensation so much better than his fingers or toys, so much more warm and full.

Zayne’s arms are wrapped protectively across you, hugging you down atop of him even as his cock remains motionless within you, not an inch of skin untouched as his hands rub careful circles down your spine and thighs. 

You nuzzle closer, whispering more nonsensical praises into Zayne’s hair, raising a shaking arm to comb through it as he still keeps his face tucks into your shoulder, hidden and shaking softly still. 

A shift, and you feel his hot breath on your neck, a sudden drop of wetness against your skin, and you realize with a start that Zayne is crying.

He’s crying. Soft, unrestrained sobs muffle into your shoulder as he tucks you close, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck between breaths. You let him. You curl up as close as you can get onto his lap and then closer still, one hand raking through his hair in gentle reverence as you let him cry.

It is silent, save for the sound of his sobs and his labored breaths.

"I love you, Zayne," you say, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "You really are perfect, thank you, thank you."

You kiss his forehead, then down his cheek and jaw until he finally relaxes under you. Tracing lazy patterns up and down his chest, you coax him down until he finally raises his eyes to meet yours with a flutter of tear-stained kisses to your palm. 

The first thing you notice is the way his cheeks are flushed, his eyes wavering and hazy. The second is the way his lips are swollen, the marks on his neck and chest blooming darker with each passing minute. The third is how the sweat on his skin is beginning to dry, making his hair stick up in all sorts of directions.

The fourth is the look on his face.

The look on his face is soft, tender, and unsure. Nothing like the infallible surgeon the whole city reveres, or the smart-mouthed mentor you’ve grown to admire and respect. Just Zayne. 

You brush the damp locks away from his eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, and he melts, his body falling forward onto you as he curls you into his side, tucking you down onto the bed alongside him.

“Stay with me?” He asks, his voice low, as though afraid to ask. Afraid to know.

Always. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

[hauntedbysmut]

join me in my sylus brainrot. these are my own interpretations/views. mildly nsfw.

this man would absolutely ruin you for other men. I'm talking take you over mind, body, and soul and have you wanting him at all hours, needing his nearness. the depth of his devotion is such a drug and honestly, bring on the addiction.

he gives me major scent marking vibes. giving you a tongue bath and covering you in him so that at any point, he can smell himself on you, in you. also biting. marking in places where only you two know you're marked and then having additional smaller indicators to others that you are definitely taken. he loves to make your skin a tapestry of his love that you get to see every time you look in the mirror.

talking about desire, he is all about yours. whatever you want, material or physical, he will get it for you/give it to you. you want a plushie? he's obviously not above using his evol to get it for you. you want a night in just cooking together? he's already got kieren and luke out buying ingredients to make your favorite dish. you want to get wrecked in bed? he's got the toys, ties, and blindfold waiting on the chaise in the bedroom.

while he's definitely into physical touch, words of affirmation and quality time are his top two needs. he craves validation that you're enjoying yourself and him, and after so long apart (thinking about him post-myth, poor sweet bean), he needs that time with you doing whatever -- cooking, cleaning, listening to music, rotting in bed on the weekend, going on trips -- as long as you're together, he doesn't care what you're doing.

everyone agrees that he has a rough side when it comes to sex, but he definitely gives off soft pleasure dom vibes to me. he'll be as rough as you want him to be, but the aftercare is paramount, and while he'll call you whatever names you want in a praising or degrading way during sexual acts, he only wants to hear his own name from your lips. those intimate moments are when he wants to be identified most as the one who is entangled with you. after all, you are his number one priority, and he will not be denied your pleasure after all this time.

[hauntedbysmut]

it has been years since i’ve gotten a hickey and i miss it so much

i love being marked up.

give me physical, constantly visible reminders that I was desired, that you had me, moaning and whimpering for you

[hauntedbysmut]

"I'm just a girl"

As she thinks about getting fucked senseless.

[hauntedbysmut]

The light in the dark.

[hauntedbysmut]

random zayne headcannons I've been entertaining myself with today because work sucks. these are my own takes. bit of fluff, bit of nsfw.

zayne is a big ol' softie. he's analytical and straight-forward, but his emotions are like an iceberg. there is a wealth of depth below the surface that others don't get to see, just you. he comes off unfeeling and taciturn, but his actions speak a different language altogether. it is only with you he is able to open up and talk about what is really going on in his heart and his head.

he is also an absolute child at heart. from the sweet, wholesome roleplays to the games like Kitty Cards he plays with you, he is able to let down his guard and heal his inner child when you are together. he loves spending evenings watching movies, eating snacks, and cuddling up on the couch together as well as helping (or attempting to help) you capture new plushies at the arcade.

I've got it in my head that he is also fairly touch-starved. while his job gives him a large amount of clinical touch, being touched and touching others in a less professional setting is uncomfortable to him. it could stem from his fear of his evol as well as just not receiving a lot of touch throughout his life. he's not big on pda, though he will hold your hand or offer you his arm while you walk together, but wants to be as close as physically possible when you two are alone together. this may stem from the fact that he practically raised himself as a child and took on the mantle of doctor at a young age.

he's a bit of a neat freak. he likes a clean space both work-wise and at home, and will maintain a clean space almost compulsively. the only time he doesn't mind mess is when he's making you into one. he loves seeing you disheveled and sweaty and messy because of him and thrives on you making a mess out of him in those moments, too.

he's a switch. I will die on this hill. his job can be chaotic and unpredictable, and he loves to have control in the bedroom on difficult days, but is absolutely pussy drunk for you at other times. in my hc, he's a virgin when he and you start dating, because he's focused on work his entire life and has never taken his own needs into account. you help him get in touch with the sexual side of himself that he has been repressing and it is an unleashing. he's methodical in how he learns to pleasure you and thrives on praise that he's doing well and making you feel good. this doesn't make him clinical in bed, just very focused on you and how you feel, determined to have you cum a minimum of twice before he lets himself push inside of you. the more he learns, the more eager he is, making him rather insatiable in the bedroom (or on the couch or in the kitchen because our sweet man is ready to GO).

in addition to his switchy nature, he likes to try new things with you sexually. cockwarming, temperature play, sensory deprivation with blindfolds... anything that increases your awareness of his every touch (or vice versa) and gets him close to you is fair game.

the longer you date, the less overtime he takes on at work. he learns to better delegate and trust the other doctors in favor of coming home at a decent hour to make you dinner or stop by a bakery for a surprise dessert on his way home. weeks when you're out on assignment out of town, he overworks himself because he hates going home to an empty apartment.

if these seem ooc, my apologies. I hit 30 days of playing lads today, so I'm still getting to know these characters better.

[hauntedbysmut]

Finally, someone said it!

Full Disclosure: I am a p2p player and I’ve spent a small fortune on this game because well… that’s my personal choice. I own both of these cards so I’m not going off secondary sources. I know I’m potentially creating bias one way or another for those who haven’t actually read the card, so I hope y’all watch a Youtube video of the full cards before/after this. Everyone experiences these cards differently, so what I’m about to say won’t resonate with everyone. Again, we’re all allowed to have opinions. There’s no objective way to view this content. If anything, if we’re having so much discourse over what’s right and wrong, the writers weren’t making it clear what they meant MC to be 🤷🏻‍♀️

Now back to my rant…

This 5* card and the 4* card Searing Touch make me want to physically jump into the game and shove MC aside, like WOMAN, STOP ABUSING THIS MAN BECAUSE HE WOULD DIE FOR YOU.

Spoilers ahead!

Firstly, in the new 5* card, MC goes and “hires” Sylus from the cat cafe to help her with a mission. They put on an act where he plays the role of her Caracal butler and she acts like she’s a rich woman and potential buyer at this black market auction. Sylus goes along with it despite his misgivings, and she’s preparing to sell him off so she can get her mission target?????

It’s all fun and games until she keeps pressuring him to “play nice” so the target (another woman) would like him, and he looks genuinely upset?? He straight up just asks her if she’s really OK with letting him become another woman’s pet. He also says he didn’t agree to that part of the plan. I’m not going to go into the details of how people at this auction already refer to Sylus and treat him like a product to be bought (because he has cat ears and a tail!?) but the fact that MC just casually lets it happen boggles my mind. They’re not normal friends; normal friends don’t do the things they do together — so how can MC use him so thoughtlessly? Hell, even if they were friends, I’d still take issue with it. I don’t treat my friends that way, let alone a love interest. MC does seem bothered after he went through with her plan, but again, that’s only AFTER she’s already “sold him off.” And she can’t even be straight with her regrets, if she had any. WHEN I CATCH YOU, MC, WHEN I CATCH YOU.

And then secondly, in the new 4* card, Sylus jumps in front of a flashbang and other explosives for MC. He goes blind for half a day. BLIND, with SCHRAPNEL IN HIS ARM.

Edit: some fans on X think it’s funny MC jokes about pushing Sylus into traffic while he’s blind. Guys, I’m going to hold your hands when I say this, that’s just not nice…

So MC is over here mocking him and hesitating to help him treat his wounds??? She even yanks the shrapnel out of him - yes, yank, as if it’s a joke. He showed up to save her from an ambush, and she just casually shrugs it off and uses the evidence his men gather for her to file her work report. At this point, I’m like you really think you’re a badass, big-shot, Wonder Woman huh? Apparently too good to even say thank you?

I like enemies-to-lovers and denial of feelings tropes as much as the next girl, but I have my limits. Straight up hurting the man after what he’s done for you is a line I will not cross.

I’ve noticed so many hints about how Sylus is willing to endure extreme pain and/or sacrifice himself for MC. He even tells her to use him during combat. But I just want to grab his handsome face and tell him: no, honey, I don’t want to use you. You do not need to be used to be loved, and whatever issues you think we can’t overcome with both of our lives intact — we will solve it together.

I would never be intentionally leaving him behind or using him as bait to get what I want, even if he offers.

[hauntedbysmut]

switch!zayne who comes home after a long day at the hospital and needs to lose himself in you when so many things have been out of his control

switch!zayne who doesn't say a word as he approaches you on the couch, gaze hard, peeling off his coat and shirt before grabbing the back of your head and devouring your mouth

switch!zayne who takes your clothes off in a rush, needing your skin on his as fast as possible, lips roaming across your face, neck, and collarbone as he strips you naked

switch!zayne who does a quick swipe to make sure you're wet before fucking two fingers into you until you're screaming his name into his mouth

switch!zayne who directs your hands to his pants and has you remove his last couple of layers, sitting next to you on the couch and pulling you to straddle his legs

switch!zayne whose first words are "please, I need you" as you settle onto his lap, rubbing your wet folds against his cock

switch!zayne who buries his face in your neck as you start to ride him, whispering too quietly for you to hear until you grab his chin and force him to look into your eyes

switch!zayne who melts in your gaze, moaning as you ride him slowly "eyes on me, doctor"

switch!zayne who begs for your orgasm as you drive him higher and higher, putting his thumb on your clit as you torture him with the slowness of your pace

switch!zayne who can't take it any longer and flips you onto your back, pressing your legs into his shoulders and taking on a brutal rhythm until both of you are gasping and crying out together

switch!zayne who lays on your sweaty chest, body still trembling, while you run your fingers through his hair, holding him tightly in silent support of his internal struggles

switch!zayne who kisses your lips and tells you about his day, reveling in the safety and comfort of your arms

this was initially going to be a very smutty, wild ride type of drabble, but my fingers had a mind of their own and here we are

p.s. thank you to @cafekitsune for the banner. <3

[hauntedbysmut]

Slow lovemaking in the morning with Sylus.

He’s settling in for bed while you’re waking up. He doesn’t want you to go. Not when you feel so warm and right, curled up against him like this. He abhors the sun. But he won’t deny how it works in your favor, golden sunbeams peering through the curtains to swath you in its ethereal glow.

You get up for a shower, but he won’t have that. He hauls you back into bed by your waist. Tickles you, and you giggle so bewitchingly while you squirm, he’s laughing with you. Two lovers rolling around in the sheets, wishing the moment could last for eons.

You’re too beautiful not to savor. To let go. So, he kisses you. On your temple first, then your cheek, nose. He saves the best for last, diving in for a taste of your lips, and you’re as sweet as sugar here.

He’s addicted. Drags your hips back to notch your pelvis against his, and he groans hoarsely into your mouth at the contact. Grows hard against the cleft of your ass as you languidly grind against him. You know what you’re doing. He’s sleepy, and you’re taking advantage of his weakened defenses. But he’ll bite.

He holds you by the hip, his other set of fingers molded to your jaw, angling your head back so he can watch you—the pretty way your lips purse, how your lashes bow when he slides his cock between your full thighs. They’re still moist from your earlier escapades. From the naughty dreams you must’ve had, and he bites his lip when you moan so pretty for him as the ridge of his cock head bumps your clit. He shudders. God, you’re addicting.

Finally, he sinks into you. And the union is devastating. So much so, he ducks to place his forehead in the hollow of your shoulder. You always feel so good, swallowing him to the hilt like that. So good for him, the shape of you molding to accommodate him and no-one else.

He’s panting. Trying his damnedest to stay still while you adjust to the intrusion. You ruin him. Utter destruction on legs, but he’ll never tell you that aloud. You roll your hips when you’re ready for him. He moves without a second thought.

The sticky glide of your cunt. The obscene squelching sounds it makes when he sluggishly ruts into you. It’s all so much, and yet not enough. His grip on your waist is crucial. He’s holding you in place while he fucks into you from behind, your cute whimpering spurring him on.

Limber fingers wrap around your neck. Apply enough pressure not to cut off wind, but just enough to bring your pulse pounding against his palm. He breathes, hot and ragged, against your hinged-open mouth. The rhythm of his hips quickens. You feel so good. He could die, buried inside you.

He drags his teeth over the space behind your ear. Fucks into you like he’ll never see you again, the clop of skin on skin saturating the air. He eases a hand down the curve of your stomach to find your clit. Rubs it in meticulous circles, chanting obscenities into your ear. Wants you to cum with him, a fizzy feeling pooling in his stomach. You take him so well. Treat him so good. He’d give you the moon and the stars in a hand-basket if he could.

He doesn’t know how long you’ve been at this, fucking like two lazy beasts in heat. Doesn’t care because you’re suddenly quaking around him. Shuddering, his name the sweetest supplication on your lips. He keeps your legs spread, thrusting into you, helping you ride over the cresting waves of your orgasm with a finger in your clit.

You drag him into the whirlpool with you. Over that slurry edge of pleasure, his teeth grit as he floods the warm channel of your sex with gooey globs of white. He pushes into you until he’s too sensitive to move. Doesn’t pull out, even as his cum scorches down the inner cut of your thigh to saturate the sheets.

He wraps virile arms around your waist when you both come down. Moors you to him, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder with a content smile to his lips.

“Sy,” you laugh, reaching back to drag comforting fingers over his scalp. “I have to get up for work.”

He hums something raspy. Something sleepy, something satisfied. Holds you tighter, murmuring against your ear, sleep toddling in.

“Just five more minutes.”

And, of course, five minutes turn into ten, then twenty. And you’re calling in sick an hour later, because you don’t want to leave the safety of his arms, either.

[hauntedbysmut]

thinking so hard about dragon! sylus right now.....

like imagining him behind you, pressing against your back as he grips your hips so he could slip his dick inside you but he's so tall so you get on your tippy toes trying to lessen the height difference between you two, but it's still not enough and you whine whine whine, almost crying, because you can feel his hot wet tip and you want him inside so badly, you feel so empty but he only laughs at you tenderly

so he picks you up with his strong arms, his hold secure on your hips, while his tail wraps around your body - waist and shoulders, pressing your hands to your body - stopping right at your neck. and then he maneuvers you on his dick, your whole weight supported by his hands and tail. he finally slides inside you, you two moaning at the feeling as he starts moving you on his dick, using his hands on your hips while your legs are helplessly dangling, occasionally twitching when he slides especially deep

so he basically uses you while you just take it, take his dick, deeper and deeper, mewling softly. you look down and there's a puddle between his legs that formed from your juices combined.

and then he picks up his pace, pulling you up and pressing closer so now he moves you up and down. he starts biting your skin where he can reach it - the back of your neck, your shoulders, your back. he moans too as he moves his hips up so at every thrust he basically impales you. it's hot, wet with saliva and sticky with sweat, precome and your juices. you both cum and you feel his hot seed inside you - there's so much of it that some of his sperm trails down his balls from your hole even when he's still inside.

oh my god, save me dragon! sylus......

[hauntedbysmut]

Uh... I edited the audio 😊

[hauntedbysmut]

ꪆৎ QIN CHE | SYLUS

beating hearts - smut, fluff (4.1k) ↳ following the aftermath of his match, sylus shows you how much he adores you.

close to you - smut, fluff, fwb 2 lovers (4.9k) ↳ a sleepy morning with sylus results in unravelled feelings.

red tape - smut, mma!sylus (8.8k) ↳ the man you're in charge of is somewhat of a handful (...and a mouthful).

sweet summer breeze - smut (5k) ↳ date night with sylus gets out of hand.

stardust (series)

resonance | part one - smut, fluff (4.5k) ↳ with the aether core's auction quickly approaching, you're growing desperate to resonate with sylus. fortunately for you, he has a suggestion... even if it is less conventional.

a lust for love | part two - smut, fluff (5.7k) ↳ ever since you've left the N109 zone, you find yourself missing a certain white-haired man.

you'll warm the night (series - ongoing)

i only bleed for him | chapter one - smut, angst, beyond cloudfall myth (4.5k) ↳ admist the blooming flowers in tarus city, the dragon claims his beloved.

headcanons/drabbles

ex-husband!sylus

cockwarming with sylus

mma!sylus

ꪆৎ LI SHEN | ZAYNE

blush wine - smut, fluff (5.5k) ↳ a pressing personal issue has you turning to zayne in desperation. he is a doctor, after all.

in every life - mild smut, fluff (1.3k) ↳ zayne wants to spend the morning of his birthday with you.

take a chance with me - smut, fluff (4.4k) ↳ zayne gets called into work, so you bring him dinner.

the emperor's affection (series) - historical au

the first fall of snow | part one - smut (7.7k) ↳ the emperor isn't interested in his concubines, but an encounter with you is enough to change his mind.

keep my hand in yours | part two - smut, fluff (6.9k) ↳ the emperor is intent on convincing you that you are worthy enough to be his empress.

[hauntedbysmut]

Resonance

sylus x fem!reader - read part 2!

summary: with the aether core's auction quickly approaching, you're growing desperate to resonate with sylus. fortunately for you, he has a suggestion... even if it is less conventional.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, fingering, teasing, spit kink, light choking, oral sex, praise kink, slightly ooc sylus?, minor canon divergence

wc: 4.5k

a/n: my first time writing a full fic or smut for that matter! given how many times sylus was trying to hold the mc's hand, i just figured he'd be into it. tried to be strong for zayne, but that didn't work out... sorry zayne. hope you guys like it! <3

also posted on ao3!

You’re starting to regret your plan to sneak into the N109 Zone. From being drugged to nearly being killed, you weren’t exactly faring well in the unfamiliar place. 

A deep sigh escapes you, fingers rubbing at your aching temples. The headache had gotten worse, the band around your head wrapping tighter and tighter. You couldn’t leave though, no matter how desperately you wanted to, not when the Aether Core’s other half was up for auction in a week’s time. Sylus had also been distant. Despite saving you from the night raid, he had hardly come to visit while you were staying at Onychinus’ base. The twins, Luke and Keiran had kept you company though. They weren’t as wicked as you thought them to be, only young men that were intent on working for Onychinus, driven by their own motivations. 

The week was bound to shorten however, and you were growing antsy. Any reservations you had about resonating with Sylus were fading quickly as the auction date grew closer. He was right in a sense, you two needed to resonate, especially after that night raid when the Wanderers had attacked. The auction wouldn’t go smoothly either, you knew that much. Sylus had money, but traitors were lurking everywhere. The shopkeeper’s voice rings in your head, reminding you that Sylus hadn’t been responsible for the explosions. Absolving him of being responsible had been hard enough.  

Plucking at the strap of your nightgown, you’re contemplating whether you should sneak out. Sylus had been accommodating enough so far, and you were tempted to push your boundaries. He had, after all, left a pile of clothes for you. Strangely enough, they were all in the right size, accompanied by Mephisto who had let out a loud caw before flying out, its claws making a playful swipe for your hair. 

A few more anxious plucks at the strap of the nightgown and you’re sneaking out. Feed pad against the floor softly, nightgown swaying as you move through the hallway. You pause when you hear voices, hearing the thud of your own heart as you hold your breath. It’s Sylus and another man. The conversation is too muffled to listen into, incoherent words blending in together.

The door creaks open and you’re tucking yourself behind a pillar, hiding in the dark. The sound of footsteps fades into the distance and the breath you’re holding escapes into a quiet exhale.

“You can come out now,” A voice drawls. Sylus. You hated how he could sense your presence. Stepping out from behind the pillar, your back straightens, walking into his room. It’s dark, just like him. Expensive furniture, books stacked onto a bookshelf and a bed on the other side of the large room. The curtains are open, moonlight flowing in through the windows, mixing with the ambient lighting. He sits behind his desk, eyes trained on you, nursing a cup of wine. “I see you’re wearing my gift,” he says, eyes dragging over the nightgown. You scoff, eyes narrowing at him, “It was hardly a gift, and it’s not like I could sleep in my Hunter uniform.”

He only takes another sip of wine, eyebrows raising. His nonchalance is making you feel irritated. “You’re avoiding me,” you announce, arms crossing over your chest, “is there any reason?”

He laughs, low and deep, “I thought you’d be grateful for the reprieve, or maybe you don’t hate me as much as you think you do.” That has you scowling. You want to wipe his stupid smug smile right off his face. “Relax,” he says, his fingers tapping against his desk as he leans back in his chair “I had more important things to attend to.” That catches your attention. More important things? Perhaps he’d have answers, and you needed answers, about the N109 Zone, about Onychinus, about anything . 

“Private matters,” he murmurs, red eyes keeping you in place “nothing for you to get involved with.”

Your scowl only grows deeper, almost forgetting what you came in here for. Your feet move across the carpet, hands landing on the edge of his desk in an attempt to look intimidating.

“I want to try resonating with you,” you say, deciding to change tactics.

He hums, red eyes boring into yours. “We already tried that, and unfortunately, you seem content on disliking me,” he replies.

A frustrated noise escapes you, “It’s your fault!” you accuse, glaring at him. 

He only stares back at you blankly. You feel like a child throwing a tantrum under his gaze. “Just- please? ” you ask, voice softening slightly. He’s letting out an inconvenienced sigh and your body is moving, red tendrils swooping around your body as he draws you closer to him. “Hand,” he demands. You reach forward, and his hand clasps yours, fingers lacing together. A deep breath gets sucked in through your mouth and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to channel your energy and resonate with him. You think about his stupidly handsome face, his low voice and the times he had saved you. Both of your knuckles are white with how tightly you’re squeezing his hand. There’s nothing though, absolutely nothing. No sparks, no glowing light, no Evol resonance. Letting out a defeated sigh, you let go of his hand. He stares back at you, eyes searching. “There is something wrong with you,” he says, drawing his hand back to take another sip of wine.

“Maybe if you tried being more likeable, this would be easier,” you retort, sending him another glare.

Sylus only laughs, his head tilting, “You weren’t so intent on resonating with me earlier. So much so that you shot me.”

“You shot yourself,” you correct, voice sharp, “and the change in mind is because of the auction.”

He peers over at you, eyes calculating. You can’t tell what’s going through his head, you can never tell. It puts you on edge. Sylus is a dangerous man and you aren’t able to predict a single one of his moves.

“You’re afraid of Wanderers,” he surmises, hands clasping in his lap. 

His chair rolls out a bit from his desk and your eyes are dipping to see his legs spread as he gets comfortable. There’s a stretch in the black trousers as his thighs strain against the material and you’re swallowing harshly, eyes snapping back up to meet his gaze. If he noticed your wandering eyes, he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not scared!” you protest, feeling exasperated “I’m simply worried that something might happen. We both know that the Aether core might become unstable with energy fluctuations, and who knows what sort of Wanderers that flux might attract?”

“I am more than capable of handling any danger,” Sylus says, his tone dark, “or do you need a refresher of what happened after I saved you during the night raid?”

You wince at the memory. It appears he doesn’t like being underestimated. It’s even worse that you remember. There had been blood and screams when his Evol had eviscerated the men that had been there.

“No refreshers needed,” you reply quickly.

Your plan of resonating with him is ill-thought, you realise. You can’t get your mind to change, no matter how hard you try. Head hanging low, you decide to back off. Sylus is right at least. He would be capable enough of defeating any danger there, but his assurance isn’t enough to quell your doubts. Silence passes over you both, only interrupted by your feet shifting on the spot. 

“There is another way,” Sylus says slowly, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “it is less conventional of course, hardly attempted at.”

Hardly attempted at? Was he planning to put your life on the line? Maybe that would work out for him, weaken you enough to get you to resonate with him and then steal the Aether core lodged in your heart.

“And this way is…?” you prompt, raising your brows. 

His grin only grows wider. Sylus stands up, long legs stalking towards you until he’s standing in front of you, his red eyes staring down at you. His cold hand reaches out, fingers grabbing at your chin to tilt your head as his own head dips towards your ear. You shiver, feeling his warmth breath against your skin. “Sex,” he whispers.

Well, you certainly weren’t expecting that. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, gaze averted to the side.

He clicks his tongue, “Why so embarrassed? I thought you wanted to resonate, sweetie .” 

“You’re more insane than I thought,” you hiss, shoving at his chest. 

He lets out a throaty laugh, a smirk spreading across his lips as he stumbles back a bit at the force of your push. 

“You seemed desperate,” Sylus says when he stops laughing, “I was only letting you know of all the options.”

“That shouldn’t even be an option!” you snap, growing flustered by the second. Sex with Sylus ? He was a murderer and completely and utterly unhinged, not to mention the leader of an illegally run gang. You were not having sex with him. Your irritation festers, head falling into your hands as you stand there. He doesn’t say anything, only reaching for his wine and finishing off his cup. 

“Fuck me,” you sigh tiredly, rubbing at your aching temples again.

“Don’t tempt me,” he replies. Your head snaps upwards at that, glaring at him. Irritation has only led to you making a poor choice of words. 

“I’m leaving,” you say forcefully, holding your head high.

You should be leaving by now, storming off back to your room lying a few doors away. You should be, except your poor feet aren’t working.

He stares at you expectantly, a hint of smile on his face as his brows raise.

“I am leaving,” you repeat, voice hardening.

He only nods his head towards the door. Part of you wants to stay, to find out what he means, but the implications are clear and you won’t do that with him. Especially not him.

You don’t get very far though, the door lock fastening in place with a resounding click . His Evol curls around your body, the inky red and black lines tugging you back towards him. Sylus is reaching for you, his hand cupping your cheek. You have half the mind to lean into his touch. “I think we’ll both have more fun if you stay,” he whispers against your ear, arms drifting across your nightgown to wrap around your waist and tug you closer.

He peers down at you, and your breath catches in your throat. Without thinking, you’re leaning into him, body pressing against him.

“I think you want to stay,” he continues, hands sliding up to pet at your hips.

“You- you don’t know what I want,” you manage out, voice airy, “and I want to leave.”

He hums, hand finding your cheek again. His thumb rubs across your skin, and it sets you alight.

“Did you forget?” he murmurs, head dipping to meet your height, “I can see what people desire the most, and it appears you, my dear Hunter, desire me.”

You’re letting out a soft curse. You had forgotten about that stupid detail, about his ability to see what people desired. Squirming in his grasp, you try to get away, but he holds you still, letting out a disappointed sigh.

“Will you not indulge yourself?” he whispers, voice lilting. You think he could be a siren in disguise.

There’s a shuddering breath escaping you. You don’t get a chance to answer, not when he’s smiling against your cheek and pressing a soft kiss to it. Your hands find his shirt, forming fists to prevent your knees from buckling.

“We are the same,” he reminds you, lips brushing across your skin as he backs you up against the wall.

You manage a scoff, “We are not the same. You’ve done terrible things and killed people. You do whatever you want, sacrificing whoever you want if it betters your cause.” 

“Such insolent words,” he purrs, his hand curling around your neck “I have treated you with far more kindness than others that have crossed my path.”

A squeak leaves when he squeezes around your neck, your fingers trying to pry his ones away from your neck. He only tightens his grip, landing another kiss to your cheek and there’s heat between your thighs, a whine escaping you before you can swallow it down.

Sylus laughs, his hand falling away from your neck to grab at your hips instead.

“Caught you,” he coos, and with that his head is dipping, lips pressing against yours.

You whine again, arms wrapping around his neck. You’re too far gone to care, feeling the plushness of his lips against yours. It feels as though he’s trying to devour you, trying to swallow you whole.

The kisses are rough and harsh and his hands are slipping under your nightgown, sliding up the backs of your thighs to grasp at your ass. You gasp into his mouth, scrabbling at his shoulders. He grunts against your mouth, guiding your leg to hook over his hip.

“You are far more eager than you said you would be,” he murmurs, finally pulling away to let you breathe. 

Soft pants escape you, chest heaving as your hands drop from his shoulders, landing against his chest instead. He stares down at you, crimson eyes bright with arousal as they flit about your body.

“You’ve done something to me,” you mutter lamely, a weak excuse for responding so eagerly.

He raises his brows, his thumb brushing across your lips. He repeats the motion, over and over again until you're tempted to press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. You don’t get a chance, not when his thumb is pushing past your lips and meeting the resistance of your teeth. Blinking up at him, you tilt your head.

“You know I haven’t done anything to you,” he replies, “that would be too far, even for me. Now be good and open .”

He has to have done something to you. What other explanation is there for the way your mouth opens, sucking his thumb inside eagerly? Your head tips back as you suck on his thumb, tongue swirling around the digit. He groans, deep and unabashed and it has your hips bucking. “Patience,” he whispers, pushing his thumb further into your mouth. You gag slightly, sending him watery glare. 

Sylus only smiles back, keeping you in place as you suck on his thumb. The ache between your thighs is too hard to ignore, and your hand is sneaking down in an attempt to relieve the ache.

You’re horribly wet between your thighs, feeling your thighs practically slip against each other as you squirm. Your fingers only manage two full circles against your clit before Sylus is letting out a growl, tugging your hand free from where it had snuck into your panties. 

“I- I need-“ you whine, trying to sneak your hand between your thighs again.

“You need me ,” he hisses, eyes hard as he grabs at your wandering hand, gaze locking onto your slick fingers. There’s a sharp gasp that leaves you when his own mouth is enveloping around your fingers, his eyes on yours as he sucks them clean. You feel weak at the sight, a dreamy sigh escaping you. He smirks, forgetting your fingers to kiss you again. You taste yourself on his tongue, feeling the way he licks into your mouth, his hands squeezing at your hips.

He’s picking you up before too long, dumping you on his bed. You hide shyly when he rips your nightgown from your body, his eyes staring down at your bra and panties greedily. The bra goes next and he’s lowering his head, sucking your nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking against the pebbled bud. You don’t know what to do, arms wrapping around his neck to keep him there, trying desperately to seek relief. “So impatient,” Sylus mutters against your spit-slick skin, opting to suck on your other breast as his hand delves between your thighs. “Don’t stop,” you whimper, eyes slipping shut “please, don’t stop.”

He lets out a low laugh, fingers rubbing at you through your panties. “How obedient you’ve become. Squirming under my fingers like a little slut. Didn’t you say you hated me before?” he whispers. 

“I- I do hate you!” you grit out, but your hand is finding his wrist, keeping his hand there as you grind your clothed pussy against his fingers.

He scoffs disappointedly, body slinking down the bed until his nose is pressing against your panties and he’s breathing in. You feel as though you might faint at the depraved sight. His tongue laves across the fabric of your panties and you moan his name, fingers finding their home in his hair.

Sylus sucks at your clit through your panties, licking at the slick that seeps through the dampened fabric. 

“An intoxicating taste,” he comments, pressing a kiss to your thigh “I could do this for days.”

That little comment has you letting out a shuddering breath and words you might regret if your mind wasn’t so stupidly hazy. “I would let you,” you mumble, tugging his face closer to where you want him, feeling the press of his nose against your clit. He grins, red eyes staring up at you, “that can be arranged.” Sylus’s long fingers are pulling down your panties and he’s staring at your cunt, a deep groan escaping him. “Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. 

A strangled noise leaves you and his mouth is latching onto your pussy, sucking and licking like a man starved. Whines and whimpers escape you as you grind your hips against his tongue. He moans back into your cunt, the sound shooting up through your body, thighs twitching. Sylus keeps you pinned down, tongue laving against your wetness, drinking up your slick as it leaks. It’s almost too much, which is why your hand reaches for his. Sylus gives his own hand, fingers lacing with yours. You’re so lost in the haze of his tongue against you that you can barely hear his voice.

“Resonate,” he speaks into your pussy, his hand gripping yours tight. “What?” Your dazed eyes find his, bewildered. “I said, resonate ,” he repeats, sucking your clit into his mouth harshly. 

His teeth graze against the sensitive bud and your back is arching, hand squeezing his one back. Your Evol comes much easier this time, light emanating from both your hands as you resonate. The linkage takes place, and it has you reeling, body twitching as you come on his tongue. The light soon fades, his own Evol dimming down. He presses another soft kiss to your sensitive clit. “Some incentive and your body is reacting remarkably well,” he smiles down at you. You could hardly care about resonance at this point, pushing at his shoulders and crawling up onto his lap, lips pressing against his. He grunts at the sudden change in position, but kisses you back, his hands groping at your ass appreciatively. A whine gets swallowed up by his mouth, your hips rocking against his hardness wantonly. Your fingers pull at his shirt and he’s staring at you with spit-slick lips. He tugs his shirt free and you suck in a sharp breath, taking him in. While you do this, your hips pause in their movements and he’s letting out a click of his tongue, using his hands to guide you start moving again. “You resonated with me,” he whispers against your lips. “Hardly,” you murmur back, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t be like that,” he chastises, “I made you come on my tongue and this is how you treat me?” he pouts mockingly.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He coos, guiding your hips to move in the way he wants to, “moaning and whimpering for me. Perhaps I should’ve suggested this path from the start.” You try to glare at him, but he’s only gripping your cheeks, prying your mouth open before his tongue is lolling out, dropping a glob of spit into your mouth. “Swallow, baby.” You do so almost immediately, mouth opening eagerly for more. He laughs, almost in disbelief, kissing you messily this time, letting you suck on his tongue. “I need you,” you whisper, pressing his hand against your tummy “need you in me, Sylus.”

His eyes flash and he’s kissing you harder, clothed bulge grinding up into your bare pussy. The drag of his trousers is stimulating, catching on your clit in a way that has you shaking on his lap. “You’re filthy,” he hisses, sucking harsh kisses against your neck “such a filthy slut, begging for my cock.” You whine in agreement, nodding mindlessly. The world is moving then, your eyes finding the roof as he settles between your thighs. He kisses you over and over again, before he’s drawing back, slipping off the bed to pull his trousers down. A loud moan escapes you at the sight, his fat cock bobbing between his thighs. The tip is dark with arousal, veins prominent against the skin. Part of you wants it in your mouth, to swallow his cum and feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, and the other part wants it inside of you, filling you up. Embarrassment forgotten, you’re spreading your thighs in what you hope is an enticing manner, biting your lip and batting your eyelashes over at him. He glances down at your glistening pussy, licking his lips. “In me, please” you sweetly request. He hums, crawling over you. He grasps his cock, tapping the tip of it against your clit a few times. Pre-cum beads at the tip, a fat glob dripping down. Your hand shoots out before it’s wasted, fingers catching the glob. Smiling up at him, you suck your fingers into your mouth, letting out an appreciative moan at the taste. His eyes darken at the sight, fingers dimpling the flesh of your thigh as he squeezes.

“You’ll regret this when you have to leave me,” he warns, “I won’t be there to stuff your pussy full or lick that pretty cunt when you’re feeling needy.” “Then make it count,” you retort, legs wrapping around his hips. He lets out a short laugh, kissing you again. Soft whines leave you when he pushes in, his cock sinking deep into your pussy. You think you might be able to feel him in your throat, his cock stretching you out so deliciously that it has you writhing. 

“So fucking tight,” he breathes out, kissing along your jaw “so warm. I can feel you clenching around me, baby.” 

“Fuck,” you mewl, nails scratching down his back as he thrusts into you. In any other situation, you might be mortified at the sounds.

The squelch of your pussy, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he fucks you. It seems like his favourite thing to do is to hold your hands, though.

“So pretty for me,” he sighs, hips grinding deeper into your wet heat “such a good girl, hm? My good girl.”

The praise has your heart fluttering wildly, cheeks flushing.

“Oh, you like that,” he murmurs, his lips latching onto your tits again, “my pretty, little slut, all laid out for me. You could’ve had this cock earlier, I would’ve given it to you. I could’ve stuffed you full, or bent you over my bike and pounded this tight little cunt until you were screaming.” 

A hoarse moan leaves you. Your hands are squeezing his, legs tightening around him.

“That’s it,” he whispers encouragingly, “take my cock baby, it’s all yours.”

“Stop- stop talking like that,” you whine, writhing under his body.

“Why?” he responds, “does it feel better than you had imagined?”

“I wasn’t imagining-“

“Hush now,” he whispers, kissing you over and over again. You’re not sure how much more of this you could take.

His cock is pounding into you, punching out the air in your lungs. It feels too good, the throb of his cock and his whispered words against your ear. You hiccup, peering up into his crimson eyes. He stares right back at you, the look behind his eyes startlingly soft.

You shy away, head turning to the side, cheek squishing against the pillow. His hand turns your face back to him, nose nudging against yours gently. He kisses you softer this time, the sound of your kisses drowned out by the drag of his cock in your cunt.

“Come for me, baby” Sylus whispers, squeezing your hand “cream my cock.” 

It’s enough to have you shuddering around him, a whine of his name leaving your mouth as you cream on his cock, just like had told you to. He drinks up every noise, lips working against yours as he fucks into until he’s burying his cock deep inside, letting out a low growl against your ear as hot cum spurts from his tip, filling you up. 

You sigh at the feeling, body feeling limp. Sylus is slumped on top of you, his weight oddly comforting against yours. A kiss is pressed against his cheek and you can feel his smile from where he’s tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

It’s a little uncomfortable though, so you’re pushing at his chest to get him to roll off of you. Sylus does so with little noise and you’re curling up against his side, already missing the stretch of his cock.

“You were being nice,” you say softly, breaking the silence.

“Would you prefer it if I were rougher?” he asks in return, rubbing his hand against the curve of your hip soothingly.

You roll your eyes, pinching his bicep. 

“The auction will go smoothly,” he announces, his hand drifting to squeeze your ass, “we did resonate, after all.”

You had almost forgotten about that. A nod is your response and he’s dragging you closer to give you another kiss.

“Training begins tomorrow morning,” Sylus continues, “I need to see how strong we can be together.”

You’re letting out a groan, swatting his chest and shoving him away. 

“Leave me alone,” you mumble, burying your face into the pillows.

He smiles, arms curling around your waist to tug you back into his warm chest.

“Now, now. You were being so good earlier,” he whispers “I’d be happy to reward you, if you perform well tomorrow.”

His hand smooths across your stomach, hand drifting lower to delve between your thighs. You muffle the noise that threatens to spill out.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, eyes slipping shut.

“I think you like that about me,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers curling up inside of you, beginning to move at a leisurely pace. 

“You’re the worst, Sylus” you whisper, hips rocking as you try to get his fingers to sink deeper.

“Yet here you are, trying to fuck yourself on my fingers,” he purrs, his arm winding around your neck. You feel him squeeze and you’re whimpering, sinking your teeth into his bicep as he holds you in place, letting his fingers fuck in and out of you.

It’s going to be a long night.

[hauntedbysmut]

his up and down look<3

♡

[hauntedbysmut]

his touches are gentle. he's a strong man, a lot stronger than you. he could easily toss you around like a ragdoll, squeeze you, spank you. he does sometimes, when you beg so nicely with that sweet voice of yours. because how could he ever say no to you? but most times, he's gentle. he prefers it that way. he handles you like you're made of porcelain, like you'll crumble in his hands if he's a little too rough

his voice is gentle too. it's deep, the timbre strong enough to reverberate through your bones. but he only speaks this softly around you. you deserve to be spoken to like this. you're such a good girl for him, he could never raise his voice at you, even if he were upset. he'd live with a guilty conscious for the rest of his life if he did that.

his breathing is heavy from sudden the absence of the friction as he stops to adjust your position, chest rising and falling vigorously as he wraps his fingers around one of your ankles, carefully lifting it over his shoulder, his free hand gently holding your other leg down against the mattress. you protest softly, wanting him to keep going, and he smiles fondly at the sound of your needy whine.

“i know sweetie, i know,” he says softly, soothingly rubbing your leg that’s now draped onto his shoulder before continuing his gentle ministrations, his hips lightly bumping against yours, the light sound of your bodies colliding joining the sound of your labored breathing and soft moans.

his touches are gentle, just like his love. his love is soft, gentle—quiet, but in a way that speaks volumes. his love is perfect, like when you hear a song that perks up your ears, or eat a food that you were craving for so long. it’s perfect, like when he angles his hips just right to hit that spot inside of you that makes your eyes rolls back, your back arch off the bed. it’s just what you need.

he leans down to wrap an arm around your torso, lifting you in a way that makes your lower abdomen touch his with every thrust, the warmth of his body closer against yours making your skin prickle, and you can’t help the way you instinctively push your hips up to meet his, every movement making the sensation more intense.

you’re perfect to him too, especially when you’re like this—pressing your thigh against his hip more firmly, writhing and mewling so sweetly under him as you feel yourself starting to tip over the edge, so close to falling into that abyss of bliss, closer to reaching the high you’re so desperately craving.

there’s really no love purer than his, you realize, as he gently grabs your face, making you look up at him, his fingers holding your jaw firmly but not enough to cause any type of discomfort. you realize it when he looks straight into your eyes as he spills into you, that final thrust he gives you enough to finally tip you over that edge, a soft “that’s my girl” leaving his lips as he watches you succumb to the pleasure. you realize it when he leans down to place the softest kiss against your lips, and you feel how his own lips curl into a tender smile as he does so.

there is and never will be a love purer than his.