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redbluepurple123 · 5 days ago

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Where and when are the LADS men going…south?

The answer? Anywhere. Anytime.

Tags: LADS men and fem!reader, mostly implied oral, suggestive, established relationships, MDNI, IHAVENOIDEAWHATIMDOING

This is quite literally my first time writing any sort of fan fiction EVER. This game is changing my brain chemistry, I swear. Thought I would give a hand at ficwriting! 2K words.

Zayne

The day-in day-out rule follower found ways to embrace the taboo. He was always the straight arrow, the professional, the good little doctor. Until of course when it was…time. Then, all bets were off.

All you did was linger while he cooked dinner. Okay, maybe you traced some shapes absently on his forearms while both of you watched the pan sizzle. And then, even after his (unconvincing) warning to “Stop that or dinner will be delayed”, you rested your little chin in your little hand and looked up at Zayne in that way you knew broke down his resolve—the one Tara said was lethal (and by lethal she meant seductive).

He only glanced from the corner of his eye, and the muscle in his jaw ticked, focus returning to cooking, though the strain in his neck told you flipping the steak took monumental effort.

With a final attempt at pawing at his composure, you hooked a finger through his belt loop and tugged, not hard enough to pull him to you, just enough to rock him on his feet.

That was it.

With a swift click of the burner, Zayne turned the stove off and, predictably, dinner was delayed. He was on you, hands cupping your face, lips devouring yours, and as you two stumbled together, the counter jammed into the small of your back.

“I thought,” he breathed, dragging his mouth across the sharp line of your jaw, “you were hungry.”

“Food can wait,” you panted. His hands roved up your thighs, hiking your skirt out of the way.

“Dessert first, then,” in one sweeping motion, Zayne locked his hands behind your thighs and lifted you onto the countertop, the cold surface of it shocking your feverish skin.

When Zayne dropped to his knees, your eyes bulged, “Zayne, this is the kitchen—” but any more concerns were lost when his head dove between your legs.

Dessert first, indeed.

Rafayel

He was an artist after all, so a bit of creativity in your escapades was to be expected. The private pool was a nice touch. When Raf booked the weekend away, it was a surprise, but the ocean-front resort was a shock.

In the late afternoon, you were floating on the pool’s surface, soaking up the last of the sun’s warmth before the evening cool rolled in from the sea.

A splash beside you pulled you from the twilight state and you dropped your legs to find Raf taking the stairs into the pool. With a few pulls of your arms, you met him on the bottom step.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, cutie,” he dropped into the pool, perching on the lowest step, water wafting around his shoulders. “You looked so peaceful.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.” It didn’t take long for you two to tangle yourselves together. What else were two people to do at a weekend luxury resort?

Raf threaded his fingers through your wet hair, mouth exploring yours in lazy, languid kisses, nothing like the ferocity over the last few days.

You’d thoroughly explored the room, of course, the first night was the couch, the desk, the bed. You indulged him in the bathtub the next day, the shower the next morning.

The pool though? This was shaping up to be a first.

Raf spun you in his hands, lifting you from the water, and you yelped at the suddenness of it.

“Scare ya?” He chuckled, necking the junction of your shoulder and nape.

“A little!” Surly he was whisking you away to the bedroom.

Wrong. Raf dropped only a few feet away, plopping you down on the highest step with a splash before he sank back in. The water began to sing around both of you, the pricking sensation of it robbing you of your breath, and your spine bowed, bending in an arch to steady yourself on the pool’s edge, still warm from the sun.

“What are you doing?” Your chest heaved as he pressed himself between your legs and pulled at the ties of your swimsuit bottom.

They fell away unceremoniously and Raf, with that gleam in his eye, sank lower into the water and his mouth met you.

So you’d have to add a pool to that growing list…overall, a five-star stay.

Xavier

Xavier loved the love seat. Every time he hung out, he would settle into the seat, barely wide enough for both of you, and you’d long since figured out it was because the seat was barely wide enough for both of you that he loved it. He purchased an identical one in a different color for his own flat.

It forced you to be close, pressed shoulder to shoulder, and it was also the perfect width for your legs when you straddled him—which is exactly where you had him right now.

You were trying to be playful more than sexy, but the bathrobe made that a problem for Xavier, you could see it in the way he stared at the tie around your hips holding it together.

One tug on that tie and you two would definitely have to cancel your evening plans.

“Yeah, that’s interesting,” he mumbled to himself, finger toying with the hem of the robe.

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“What you said - it’s interesting.”

You chuckled, “Xav, I haven’t said a word in 10 minutes.”

That got his attention, and his sapphire eyes went wide. “What?!”

“Flustered much?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and ran your fingers across the base of his hairline. “This is a cute look on you.”

It was subtle, but his eyes fluttered at the touch, “You’re being mean,” he breathed. “Weren’t you getting ready?”

“I was.”

Xavier narrowed his eyes, “Do we have reservations for tonight?”

Your lips curled into an innocent smile, though you felt anything but. “No. Just walk in.”

“Perfect,” and then he moved so quickly you gasped. Sliding under you, Xavier dropped down in the loveseat and settled between your legs, body bending to angle his mouth just right. With a vice grip on your thighs, he pulled you deeper into the straddle, flush against his mouth.

“Xavier!” but one swipe of his tongue and any shock and protest was gone.

Maybe it was a better night for take out…

Caleb

Calling him a loose cannon would have been a compliment. You were never sure what flavor of Caleb you were getting each day, though today you could venture to guess he was angry.

Not angry. Wrathful.

The evidence as to why? He saw you at lunch with a colleague—a male colleague.

And god forbid you speak to anyone with a dick.

He made an ass out of himself and subsequently yourself in front of your coworker in the middle of the restaurant. You’d done this dance enough to know the best remedy was silence and a scolding shower—of which you were enjoying in quiet solitude…until the door swung open with a bang.

You jumped with a gasp but didn’t even turn to face him, merely pointing at him through the dew-dropped glass.

“No—out Caleb, get out. I’m not doing this with you right now.”

His figured distorted behind the glass as he moved deeper into the bathroom.

“Get out!” You popped the door open in just enough time to watch him slip off his shirt and go for the buckle of his pants. “Do you know how embarrassing today was? Do you have any idea how that looks at a work lunch? I got called into a meeting with my supervisor tomorrow!”

He caught your reflection in the mirror and—wow. His features twisted from sharp rage to gentle sorrow so quickly it was hard to tell which one was at the helm.

Caleb undressed with a swiftness that had him naked in a second and even though the view was so lovely—so lovely—you set your jaw and pointed at the door to the bathroom again. “Don’t even think about it Caleb, I swear to god.”

Caleb swung the shower door open wider and shouldered his way into the burning water with a soft hiss through his nose. Looming over you, he blocked the shower stream and just…stared. Finally, he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m…I just—that was bad today and I’m sorry. I can speak to your supervisor personally if it will help.”

Well shit. This might have been the fastest you two made it to apologies. It typically took a days worth of silence or small bickering before you two could come back together…

You sucked on your bottom lip and sighed. You hated fighting. Hated every second you two were at odds. The only benefit of a proper fight was that Caleb always punctuated his apology with sex that left you mindless and blissfully wrung out.

He’d never apologized so soon. So what now?

“Thank you for saying that,” you nod. “I, uh, forgive you…I think.”

“Good,” Caleb pressed you against the damp shower wall and fell to his knees, looping a hand around your ankle and guiding your foot to plant it on his firm shoulder. “Because I need this.”

Bent and splayed open before him, Caleb latched his mouth onto you and his tongue made the apology real.

Threading your fingers through his raven hair, you held on for dear life as Caleb apologized again.

And again.

Sylus

Was there anything more disarming than a woman who knew what she wanted, when she wanted it?

Sylus would have said “No, the most disarming thing was an opponent who had better focus than you.”

You had enough experience to know the truth.

“You’re not very subtle, kitten,” he purred, eyes flicking up to you for only a second before returning to the document in his hands.

“Good thing I’m not trying to be subtle, then,” you rolled your eyes and pressed yourself against his desk just so, as you bent over to read the papers he shuffled through. “You said you’d be done by nine.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after midnight,” you inched closer, but Sylus looked shocked and snapped his attention to the clock hung on the wall of his study.

“I guess I lost track of time,” he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I need to get this done for the morning briefing—one more hour, then I’ll come to bed. Go on without me.”

“I hate sleeping alone,” you frown and wedge yourself just between his seat and the desk, pressing your knee into his leg—just a gentle inquiry.

Sylus grumbled, more a sound of agreement than frustration, and laced his fingers with yours, trailing his attention down your figure leaning so nicely on his desk.

The corner of his mouth twitched, “It’s only an hour.”

“One too many.”

“Kitten.”

“Sylus.”

His smirk deepened as he rose slowly from his seat and pulled your hand to his mouth, where he planted a kiss on your knuckles. “I have work to do.”

“You most certainly do,” ever so subtly, you opened your legs, not enough space for him to fit, but enough to draw his gaze down. “I’ll just wait for you to finish.”

Sylus clicked his tongue, cocking his head to the side, “Work I need to focus on.”

“Oh,” you said with as much nonchalance as you could muster, and scooted yourself up onto the mahogany surface. “I’m sorry, is something distracting you?”

Sylus took in your form below him, inhaling a shaky breath. “Mmm,” was all he managed to rumble out.

“Use your words.”

His garnet eyes flared with amusement. “That’s my line.”

Running your tongue across your lip, you shrugged and sank back deeper into the desk. “Oops,” you winked.

Sylus was damn-near vibrating when he said “You are a wicked, wicked woman.”

His lips found you first in a frustrated and relenting kiss, trailing down your nape, shoulder, across your chest. When he dragged you to the edge of the desk, carving a path through the papers you were sitting on, you gasped, but barely registered the shock because he ruffled your skirt up to your hips, perched the crooks of your knees on his shoulders, and took the plunge between your thighs, grumbling something just as wicked under his breath about how ready you already were for him.

Of course you were. You had been since nine.

Falling flat against the desk into the mess of reports, ecstasy consumed you as Sylus focused.

This was a successful disarming.

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