#this is fluffy mc fluff fluff
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SYLUS ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡ Marking him up with lipstick before he takes a shower!
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You take an opportunity to tease him before the two of you have a little date night together.
As you get ready for your date with Sylus, you’re finishing up your makeup look in the bathroom by putting on your favorite lipstick. Sylus walks in at the perfect time, clad in nothing but his leisurely robe as he heads to the shower before getting ready. You turn to him and gently grab the fabric that drapes him, stopping him in his tracks. He raises his eyebrow and a flashes you small smirk, slightly confused by your action. “What’s the matter, kitten? Are you going to miss me too much while I’m in the shower? Who knew you could be so clingy.” He teases. You play along with his teasing by requesting a kiss from him before he gets in the shower, which he happily obliges. As he leans in for a smooch, you quickly kiss him on the cheek instead. He looks in the mirror and sees the lipstick mark you gave him before glancing back at you. He feigns disappointment as he addresses your behavior. “Oh, that’s it? Seems like you won’t miss me that much if you’re only giving me a small kiss on the cheek.” You shake your head at his claim, pretending to care as you grab ahold his face and give him a kiss on his other cheek. He lets out a million dollar chuckle as he holds you by your hips and gently pulls you closer to him, begging for more. “Ah, what a little trickster you are. I suppose I can indulge in your game for a short while.” With his permission, you continue to pepper his face with kisses. Leaving marks on corners of his mouth, around his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, everywhere but his lips until his face looks like it’s riddled with a lipstick oriented disease. He keeps his eyes closed, occasionally opening them to see the reflection of the damage you’ve caused in the mirror, smirking to himself as you torture his face with your pretty lips. Eventually he gets a little dazed from the barrage of kisses, rubbing your back to try to get you to relax. “Alright, kitten… we need to-” before he can finish that sentence, you move your kissing assault down to his neck. He lets out a small huff and narrows his eyes, lightly squeezing your hip while his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly at the sensation. “Mm… you really can’t get enough, can you?” You shake your head as you don’t stop, leaving kiss after kiss until his neck is also plagued with the lipstick disease. “Sweetie…” he whines, pleading with you as the two of you share a glance with eachother. You don’t listen to his plea as your mouth starts making its descent to trail kisses down his chest, but you only get a few lipstick marks in before he suddenly cups your chin and stops you. You look a bit surprised as he tilts your head up to face him, giving himself access to plant a single sweet kiss on your lips, making you mark the one spot you purposefully missed. “I beat your game.” He rubs a thumb over your bottom lip as he whispers in your ear, smirking at your sheepish reaction. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it, but perhaps we should continue playing after our date. Then I won’t have a reason to wash off all of your markings until we wake up tomorrow.” He lets go of you and pinches your cheek before looking at himself in the mirror one last time. He’s taking in how much your lips have claimed him before ridding himself of his robe and stepping into the shower to clean your personal canvas for later use.
Aughhh this one was so fun to write!! I’d do anything to be able to kiss this man all over.
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#I’ve had this idea in my head for about a week and a half#just some fluffy x reader stuff :•p#sylus#sylus love and deepspace#sylus lads#love and deepspace#lads#sylus x reader#lads mc#sylusmc#Sylus X reader fluff
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never forget—
synopsis: where sebastian is actually worried about MC and regrets casting crucio on them caaaause that moment in the game was not enough for me pfft!
tags: 18(+), lil angst, mostly fluff, sebastian(18) x reader, i didn’t know how to end this oops, one-shot, 2k words.
“Crucio!”
The pain that followed that one little word was excruciating.
Yet the spell casted upon you was of your own doing. You, Ominis, and Sebastian had become good friends since your first day at Hogwarts. Always together, always the 3 of you somehow in trouble. Well, mostly you and Sebastian. Somehow Ominis always managed to get out of the trouble the two of you dragged him into. You were Slytherin after all, it was most likely in your blood.
When you first met Sebastian, he had such an eager to learn that his demeanor was contagious. So much so you couldn’t help but also want to gain more knowledge with him over the years. It was all thanks to Ominis from keeping you two from ending up expelled. Your savior in a sense. But ever since the three of you had become good friends, Sebastian never let up about Salazar Slytherin. He was set on finding his Scriptorium, begging Ominis for so long to show him the way. Seeing as he believed finding it would help cure his sister’s, Anne, curse.
When Ominis had finally given into you both and led the way, the three of you worked wonderfully together. Traversing dark and wary caves. Fending off giant spiders, solving puzzles all that good stuff. Until finally you reach a room with a single note, bones buried in dirt, no way out, the word CRUCIO etched into the stone before your feet, and what looked to be a screaming apparition burned onto a mirror.
You sadly read the note aloud for all to hear. Detailing a grim last few words from Ominis’s aunt. Who unfortunately had gone looking for the Scriptorium, alone, and met an untimely fate. You reach out to gently touch Ominis’s shoulder and he stills beneath your touch.
“I’m so sorry about your aunt, Omni.” You mourn. He nods in acceptance. Nothing they did now could’ve changed what had happened to his aunt. He would at least find some peace in knowing what happened to her.
Sebastian is at your side then. Concerned look on his own freckled face. “Ominis…I know it’s hard. But the letter details using Crucio. You’re the best suited for this—“
“No! I won’t do it. To use Crucio you have to mean it. I will not cast that spell ever again…especially on you two.” Ominis steps away from your reach. Closing off from the activity entirely. You didn’t blame him.
You turn to face Sebastian then who looks..almost disappointed with Ominis's rejection. He gestures for you to follow him closer to the wailing mirror. Hauntingly beautiful, even in its twisted state.
“Well, two options. You cast Crucio on me, or I…cast it on you. It’s the only way we’re getting out of here. We can’t die here and now because of—of morals.” Sebastian whispers to you. The thought of dying in that suffocating tomb alone makes your skin crawl.
Ominis had always been vocal about how horrible any of the killing curses were, especially this spell. Seeing as he was forced to cast it when he was younger. The nightmares still haunt the blonde from what you could tell. His sleepless nights. The flinch at loud noises. It was obvious, whatever you decided, that this would forever weigh heavy on your soul. Yet the spell…could come in handy when facing Ranrok. He was your enemy after all.
You hoped it would never come down to using it though.
“Fine. Teach me the spell but you…you cast it on me. I won’t hurt you Seb.” You mumble. And at first, he’s hesitant. His wand slightly swayed before he reluctantly nods. His hands slightly shake as he teaches you the wave of the wand. He had never performed the dark arts before and this could go very wrong or just really wrong. Either way was going to hurt. But you trusted him.
That’s how you ended up in the here and now. Agonizing pain ripped through your flesh like lightning. Flames behind your eyeballs that force them to shut tight. Hoping to ease the pain away. Your teeth gnash against your lip to hold back screams of pain. It does nothing. Dark magic moves under your skin like writhing red and green tentacles. You gasp between almost suffocating screams.
Breathe in, scream, breathe out.
Your back is against the stone, arched, burning hot. Even as Ominis, or maybe it was Sebastian’s, or both of their hands are grabbing at your arms. Cool fingers press into your hot flesh as the boy’s try to lift you from the floor.
They try to comfort you during one of the worst moments of your life. It doesn’t help. They both fumble as they move you into the room that opened up behind the wailing mirror. The pain is nauseating. Every fumble, correction, and movement makes your stomach churn. Threatening to spill out your lunch. Your consciousness is slowly fading at this point. Stars blinking behind your eyelids as you grasp for whatever you can to stay awake.
Through the pulsing pain in your head and ears, you barely hear the two boys arguing. More or less Ominis yelling about how he was right. How this was a stupid idea as he struggles to help carry you. Ominis can’t see where he steps yet he’s trying so hard to save you now.
“You—you’re both idiots!” Ominis snarls. Struggling with words through his rage and panic. “How could you do something like this!”
“I understand, Ominis! Just—just, Merlin, help me! Help me get to the infirmary!” Sebastian spits back as they continue to fumble around, looking for an exit.
The last thing you hear is Sebastian calling for desperate help before the pain becomes too much and finally takes you under. Passing out from the curse spell later than you would’ve liked.

When concussions come back to you, it’s almost unbearable. Your eyes flutter open but fall closed once again. Maybe you could just stay like that for forever. Lying on a cloud, nice and warm, with your eyes closed. Eh, sounds a little too much like death for your liking.
Thankfully, your second attempt at waking up is far more fruitful. Candlelight flickers rapidly at the edge of your feet as your eyes slowly come into focus. You make out the white sheets laying across your body. Feel the firm mattress against your back. Connecting the dots, slowly but surely, that you were in the infirmary.
Your head moves slightly to continue looking around. Hoping a nurse was close by so you could ask for some water or medicine or anything to make the dull ache in your body stop. Instead your eyes find Sebastian.
His unruly brown hair is somehow even messier than usual. He slumps against the side of your bed and from what you can tell, he might be asleep. Seeing as it was sometime during the night. If you had to guess he probably snuck into the infirmary to be at your side.
Suddenly memories of what happened in the Scriptorium come back to you. Sending a harsh chill down your entire body. The cast of Crucio echoes in the back of your mind. You’ll never forget the feeling. Or the look on Seb’s face as he waved the spell and casted it upon you.
‘Crucio can only be cast if you mean it.’ You remember Ominis’s haunting words. Sebastian must’ve meant it. But you try your best to not blame him. He was just trying to get you all out of that stone grave.
“Seb…” You try to speak. Your throat burns as you attempt to rouse the sleeping man at your side. Voice hoarse, borderline gone, from what you can only assume is from the screaming you barely remember doing. “Sebastian.” You barely manage his full name.
His body shifts at the sound of his name but he doesn’t rise. So you make your way to sit up. Although the moment you prepare to sit up, weight shifting ever so slightly, Sebastian shoots up instantly. His pretty green eyes meet your gaze in a wild look. As if he can’t believe you’re awake. Dried drool sticks to the edge of his lips. You can’t help but laugh. Or what you assume is a laugh. To Seb it probably sounds like you’re coughing.
“I—we—are you okay?” Seb stumbles over his words. Knowing Sebastian, he most likely had something planned to say the moment you woke up. Yet now he was almost speechless. For the first time ever.
“I’m o-okay just…w-water.” You manage to mumble. Now he’s quick to react. A glass of water is held out with lightning speed to you and you take it graciously.
After a moment of what felt like an eternity of being parched, you chug the water given to you, before you hand the glass off and sit fully upright. Your fingers lay in your lap, picking at the cotton of the blanket.
Silence falling between the two of you was so uncommon. It almost felt worse than writhing in pain. Not really but the wall built up was hard to ignore. You needed that wall to come down.
“How long was I asleep?” You ask softly. Breaking the silence as your throat is finally feeling better after some water.
“Three days,” Sebastian replies. He doesn’t look at you. You don’t blame him, not really. The guilt must weigh heavy on his shoulders.
Three days. The fact that it had been days since you had passed out in the scriptorium made your gut twist. You can’t even imagine what rumors must have spread among the school. Or the amount of questions the headmaster will be asking you. Oh you were definitely in for some trouble.
“I’m so sorry.”
Apologies were not something Sebastian was known for. The fact that he was apologizing at all was almost shocking. You didn’t have to guess that he didn’t really mean it when he casted Crucio. It was all just a matter of choices, for you all to survive.
“It’s okay,” Your voice is soft as you speak. “I don’t want you to blame yourself. I agreed to it Sebastian,” You remind him. It only makes Seb angrier with himself.
“Of course I blame myself! I could’ve killed you!” Sebastian says in a strained voice. He wants to scream and yell. He wants you to scream and yell at him. For letting him do something so stupid. For not listening to Ominis in the first place. For being too eager.
“It was a matter of life or death Seb you know that—“ You began to say but he cuts you off as he quickly stands from his chair.
“But what if there was another way!? What if I didn’t have to…didn’t want to—I could’ve changed something!” He angrily hisses as he turns his head away from you.
Silences befalls between the two of you again. Stretched longer than previously as you can’t think of something to say. He had three days to beat himself up for dragging all three of you to that scriptorium. You couldn’t imagine how many scenarios he himself had imagined over and over again while in your slumber.
“What if I had lost you?”
The soft words are barely loud enough to hear. Just a whisper under his breath you almost can’t manage to make out. But you do. The somber confession comes at you like a heavy rainstorm. Unexpected, welcoming, lovely, and a little noisy from his previous minor outburst. Building from a small drop to a straight downpour and you’re caught in the middle of it with no umbrella.
Even in the candlelight you see the tips of ears, beat red as he refuses to look at you. Shoulders tense as he tries to will himself to calm down. It was late, you weren’t supposed to be awake, and he wasn’t supposed to be there. It was not the time for this conversation.
Yet it makes you smile anyway. Butterflies jump around under your skin, in your heart, stomach following suit in doing somersaults. You reach with a gentle hand and grab hold of his shirt sleeve, giving it a tug. For a moment he stands completely still. Debating whether or not it was the right moment to hash all of this out. It wasn’t. Yet a second tug on his sleeve has him turning to finally look at you.
This time when you meet his green eyes, his wild look is gone. He looks at you like you’re the cure to whatever alignment he’s currently experiencing. It’s a saddened, sleepless, relieved look. Feeling every emotion he’s ever felt in his life all in the span of a few short seconds.
You smile fondly at Sebastian, praying he could see it in the soft light of the infirmary. “But you didn’t,” You remind him. Almost gesturing to you, him, and your surroundings. “I’m still here, Seb.”
Sebastian simply nods. Not having the courage to speak for it may bring him to tears. Now that would truly be the end of the world if that happened.
You reach for his hand. Reassuring and gentle as your fingers intertwine with his. He’s stiff as a board at your touch. He has always yearned for it but never had the faith to act upon his feelings.
“Plus, it’ll take more than that to get rid of me.” You say hoping to ease the young man’s feelings. At least for tonight.
A squeeze to your hand is the only response you receive as he returns to his seat. He rests your connected hands on the bed before his head follows suit. Instead of returning to the side of your bed he makes himself comfy on your thigh. You smile at the puzzling picture before you.
The great Sebastian Sallow, a man who rarely asks for any help, unless it involves trekking in some dark cave somewhere, was vulnerably sprawled out on top of you.
You stifle a giggle, fearing if he heard you laugh he would assume the worst and pull away. Instead your free hand pushes through his hair. Pushing away dark curly hair from his freckled face.
“You should return to the dorms before the nurse finds you.” You hum as your eyes scan his own closed eyes. Gazing at the lengths of his eyelashes. Every freckle you could see, thinking how fun it could be to count them one day.
“‘Ts fine,” Sebastian shrugs it off. You hear the softness of his breathing, slowly becoming shallow as he falls asleep. Fast asleep in your thigh with his hand tightly wound to yours. You wish you could have a painting done of this moment. Hoping by every ounce of magic in your veins that you never forget this feeling or the sight. And by Merlin does the sight make your heart ache and pound in equal parts.
You just hoped to never go through something like this ever again. Hopefully Sebastian would see how powerful and dangerous the dark arts could be and look for another solution to healing Anne’s curse. Maybe the ancient magic you wield could help next time instead of turning to the unforgiving curses.

#hogwarts legacy#x reader#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader#fluff#fluffy zevrra#angst with a happy ending#one shot#i did not proofread this#i am so sorry#enjoy!!!
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Even when he's running late, Caleb will never forget your kiss <3
☆
1k words, sfw, no warnings, for those who want to know this was based on the 24 hour schedule that was released for Caleb [:
<3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆
Caleb's late because you asked him ONCE that morning for him to stay a bit longer in bed with you and took that as an invitation to just spend another hour-ish in bed with you.
Now he's late because he just couldn't bare to leave you that morning
"Fuck!" You hear Caleb swear along with a thud. You huff, amused at his obscenity, while debating whether you're going to get up now to see what happened or just wait to ask him later. Grumbling, you shift in the bed and curl up, thinking about your options. As you curl up in the comfortable warm of the bed another crash resounds through the house and you sigh.
Groaning you tiredly sit up, clumsily pulling your blanket around your shoulders. With what felt like momentous effort, you haul yourself to your feet, waiting a moment to stabilize yourself before shuffling out of yours and Caleb's bedroom and towards the sound of profanities and the clattering objects.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, you look down the hallway before you see Caleb rush haphazardly from one room to the other, a repeating rant of "shit, shit, shit" following behind him. Curious, you glance from the room Caleb just entered to the clock on his nightstand and 'oh, it's 7:40 am' so not only did he miss his morning physical training, but he's going to be late getting to the fleet. You snort and slowly let your tired eye gaze back to the room Caleb is in.
"Pipsqueak?" Caleb's smooth voice calls out in a questioning tone, then a moment later, his head pops out from the side of the door. The moment his eyes lock onto your form, a bright grin slips onto his face.
"Are you...laughing at me being late?" Caleb asks, slowly strolling towards your form in the doorway like he has all the time in the world and isn't incredibly late. You roll your eyes and nod, fighting back a yawn.
"Of course I was, the feet space Coronel of all people is late. Plus as well seeing you skid around the house in a panic is kinda funny. " You explain, rubbing your eyes tiredly.
"Well, if I remember correctly, the only reason I'm late is because someone wouldn't let me go when I tried to get out of bed." Raising an eyebrow, Caleb lets a knowing smirk pull at his features.
"In my defence, I don't need to get up today aaaaand you should've just... got up." You mumble your weak argument as you glance away from Caleb, your eyes naturally falling on the ticking clock.
"Anyway, don't you have to leave, like, right now?" You change the subject, eyes still fixated on those ticking hands. Caleb frowns at the reminder while he lets his hands reach out to hold your hips, thumbs rubbing at the fabric of your sleep clothes.
Then suddenly Caleb clears his throat, causing you to gaze at him inquisitively, before he states in a slightly mirth-filled voice, "I do, but before I rush out the door like a mad man-"
"You are a mad man-" You add on quietly under your breath, but Caleb's pointed expression tells you that he heard that. You grin cheekily.
"...I have one last thing I need to do." He mumbles in a low tone as you feel his fingers flex over your clothing.
Then he leans in, a soft kiss pressed gently against your forehead, warmth immediately spreading from the area, leaving a sense of comfort in its wake. A smile tugs at your face, your eyes slowly shutting as you try to savour this feeling. The feeling of being so loved and cared for on this average, early morning.
Caleb's affectionate arms slide around your back, resting on your waist, and subsequently pulling you closer into his kiss and his warm embrace. Then all too soon, Caleb's lips have pulled away and you can feel the small pout that starts to pull at your face.
However, before you can open your eyes, another kiss is pressed to your cheek, the same amount of love pouring off of the action, then another to your cheek, then your nose, and before you know it, Caleb starts to drown you in his affections. His lips (that are now curled into an adoring smile) press clumsily into any patch of skin it can find, filled with so much burning passion that it almost puts you into a daze. The ticklish feeling of his mouth dragging across your skin (dragging because you both know he hates the idea of parting with you more that anything) causes you to squirm and push against and away from him. His arms only tighten around you.
You laugh, throwing your head back as a result, and try to pull yourself away again. That only leads him to kiss from your shoulder all the way up past your neck and to your jaw, leaving the skin tingling and warm.
"Caleb!" You manage to squeal out while another giggle ripples through your body. This doesn't deter his violent assault in the slightest, though.
"You're gonna be even more late!" You huff out between laughs, then you finally find that his kisses slow to a reluctant stop.
He sighs as he looks at you, his head resting on your shoulder. As you look towards this man's face, you find a smile that holds so much love paired with eyes that glimmer with joy, stare back at you in adoration.
"Fine, I'll go, but just one more before I leave." He mumbles, eyes glancing down to your lips before he leans in again. His mouth pushes gently against your own while his fingers rub tenderly into your back. Then, after a moment passes, he pulls back unwillingly because he knows if he doesn't leave now, he won't leave at all.
Even much later, when he's writing some reports at his desk, his mind will think back to that morning you two spent together and he won't be able to hide that longing smile that tugs at his face.
He was SO late that morning but he didn't care one bit because he got to spend those few moments that he'll cherish forever with you. You think I'm joking but I'm not, he won't ever forget that day because of how domestic and silly that morning was. It was everything he wanted and more
He just loves you
<3
This was supposed to be a short drabble, but then I started writing and now it's a 1k fic. I don't think I've written so much before in my life 😭 Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and if you see any mistake, no you don't (Pls tell me in all seriousness though!!) [:
#Yours truly Q <3#I NEED SOFT CALEB RIGHT NEOW!!#ME WHEN#I fear he's raised my standards to unreasonable heights#it is not good help#love and deepspace x you#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace caleb#love and deepspace#lads caleb x you#lads caleb x reader#lads caleb x mc#lads caleb#lads#caleb x reader#caleb x mc#caleb x you#FLUFF#SO FLUFFY!
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Cosy Mornings // Multi x Reader
Hey guys! I come bringing tooth-rotting fluff. In this there's only Xavier and Raf (Separately) as I work on the other guys' fics, which will be in part 2 of this :)) Concept: A cosy morning with your boyfriend. Tags: Fluff, very fluffy, fem reader Word Count: 1060 in total Masterlist
Xavier
Music plays softly in the background as you sway to the beat. The sweet smell of pancakes permeates the air around you, the morning sunlight beaming through the open windows, the breeze cool on your skin. You flip the pancake in the pan before moving to prepare the fruit ready to top off your breakfast. Xavier’s hoodie hangs off of you like a dress, keeping you cozy in the morning daze, your hair still a mess, sticking up in odd places.
It’s the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. He wouldn’t mind waking up early every day if it meant he could see you like this, in his apartment, in his clothes, swaying to music, a carefree atmosphere surrounding you. His blue eyes, still hazy from sleep, track your movements as you move around his kitchen, the sunlight illuminating your figure. He leaned against the doorway, giving himself time to admire you.
You were ethereal, a goddess walking the earth. You chose him, again and again, in this life and in the past ones. He was the luckiest person in the world to have you by his side, he never doubted that. A gentle smile was etched into his face as he pushed off from the wall until his arms wrapped around your waist, his face pressed into your neck.
“Good morning love.” You smile sweetly, your voice was quiet in a way that added to the cozy atmosphere. His lips pulled into a full smile as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.
“Good morning honey.” His voice was muffled, but the contentment that echoed through it was clear as day.
“Breakfast is nearly done, could you set the table?” He grumbled slightly about having to part from you, but the complaint was quickly chased away with a soft kiss to his lips. He did as you asked, making coffee and setting up the cutlery, before turning the music up on your phone.
You look at him curiously, turning the stove off once the last pancake landed on the stack.
He reached out his hand, grasping yours and pulling you into his embrace, swaying to the lyrics of the song. You giggled, wrapping your own arms around his neck as his snaked around your waist.
“The pancakes are gonna go cold.” You whisper, not willing to break the serene atmosphere that settled around the two of you. A grin spread across your lips, heart skipping a beat. Instead of a reply, you’re greeted with a slow gentle kiss, his arms tightening around you. You sigh into the kiss, unhurried, content with just holding each other as you move to the music. Pulling away, you gaze into his eyes, deep blue and filled with admiration, overflowing with the love he held for you.
Rafayel
The sky was still dark when you arrived on the beach, the waves crashing on the shore. You jogged ahead, pulling him along with you. The breeze hit you, chilly in the morning hour, fresh with the smell of the wide ocean in front of you. You take a moment to breathe, to take it all in, before turning to Rafayel, a wide grin already spread across your face. His smile is amused, an eyebrow arcing.
“Where’s all this energy coming from, Cutie?” He chuckled, letting himself be pulled along the sand until the two of you stood by where the waves greeted the land.
“Well, I’ve been wanting to see the sunrise with you for a while. This is the first time we’ve managed to get up on time, let me be excited about this!” You laugh, pressing yourself closer to his side, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you look up at him. You get a chuckle back in response, as he presses a kiss to your hairline before taking a sip of his coffee.
“Besides, you’ve been looking for inspiration right? Maybe this beautiful sunrise will help with that.” You say as you turn to look to the horizon, any minute now the sun will come up and will paint the sky into a stunning array of colours.
You adjust your scarf before taking a sip of your own coffee, letting the warmth spread through you, nuzzling closer to Rafayel. His arm rests across you back, the hand on your hip holding you close as a comfortable silence fills the air between you.
Within minutes, the first pinks and oranges spread across the sky, a breath getting stuck in your throat in awe. The sun rays finally peak across the ocean, showering the two of you in a golden light.
Rafayel’s eyes drop to you, as you admire the scenery. The view he’s more interested in is you, how the hue of the light brightens your face, how your eyes are full of joy, the small smile on your rosy lips. You are glowing, a blissful sort of comfort settles inside of him as he studies you.
You were here, with him. By his side. He had found you again, his beloved bride, his most devout follower, the person who held his heart. After so many tragedies in the past, he finally had his happy ending, the love of his life by his side. His sunset coloured eyes don’t leave your face for a second, even as you turn to look at him.
Oh. He has found his new favourite colour. Your eyes met his, shining with pure glee, before softening at the sight of him, a smile permanently planted on your lips. He must be making some sort of funny expression as all he receives is a soft laugh from you, before a gentle kiss is planted on his lips. Your soft lips glide across his for a moment, before you pull away, a hand coming to cradle his cheek.
“The view is over there, Love.” You say, a teasing tone in your voice. He huffed a laugh.
“I prefer the view over here.” He replies, a smirk appearing on his face, before his lips meet yours once again, his arm pulling you closer. The kiss was gentle, content. You bring your arms around his neck, pulling away to meet his eyes. His gaze was filled with mirth, full of love and joy and admiration. In that moment, he had found the inspiration he’s been searching for.
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#lads#lads x reader#lads xavier#lads xavier x reader#xavier x reader#love and deepspace xavier#xavier x mc#xavier love and deepspace#xavier x you#xavier fluff#l&ds rafayel#rafayel x mc#rafayel x you#love and deep space rafayel#lads rafayel#love and deepspace rafayel#rafayel fluff#rafayel love and deepspace#rafayel x reader#lads fluff#love and deepspace fluff#fluffy
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#I hadn’t made any fluff yet have I? well is anyone wants some fluff here’s some fluff#still on a bit of a break but wanted to do something silly and fluffy#the-new-fifth-year#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy mc#sebastian sallow#fan comic
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Kitchen countertops
Pairing : Xavier x fem!reader
CW : nsfw , smut , they’re both madly in love with each other

Thinking about Xavier who always calls you when something’s gone wrong with a recipe he’s trying to make.
Knowing that you helping him in the kitchen always ends up with your ass on the kitchen counter, and his face buried in the sweet surrender of your cunt.
“ holy fuck , my star.. cunts sweeter than any dessert I’ve had in my life “ he says as his tounge does laps over your puffy folds.
You whimper tightening your grip on his ash colored locks, “ xavier… baby please” the tight coil in your stomach slowly but surely unraveling with pleasure.
“ use your words my love , gotta know exactly what you want, what this perfect pussy craves “
“ needs.. ngh.. your tounge— needs you “
You’re at the point of panting so hard you can’t even get full sentences out every other word is a desperate plea of how bad your body craves Xavier.
Just as you’re about to complete a coherent sentence Xavier picks up the pace , tounge doing lap after lap at a speed you didn’t even know was possible.
Xavier.. Cant hold it in anymore .. can’t—
“ let it all out princess , just for me “
The once tight coil has completely unraveled sending shivers of pleasure through your whole body , consuming every thought. You hand grips Xavier’s hair with a tight force forcing him closer into your cunt.
Your orgasm hits you in ways you’ve never felt before , you cry out in sheer pleasure as you squirt all over him. Soaking in face, his hair the counter below you.
Xavier Lifts his head with the sparkliest eyes you’ve ever seen , batting his eyelashes like he’s just discovered a fantasy land.
“ did so perfect for me starlight , pretty girl squirting all over my face” as he grabs the kitchen towel next to you.
Leaving wet kisses all over your sweaty forehead and brushing the hair out of your face
“ was it too much baby ? Need my star girl to be okay “
“ it was.. perfect “ you reply completely in a daze vision slowly coming back from seeing stars you turn your head to the stove.
And just as you do the smoke alarm goes off
“ XAVIER?! THE FOOD”
#lads xavier#xavier love and deepspace#lads#xavier smut#xavier lnds#xavier fluff#xavier x mc#xavier au#lads fluff#lads smut#lads mc#lnds fluff#lnds xavier#lnds mc#lnds x reader#Xavier spicy fic#Xavier spicy#domestic#drabble#oneshot#lads oneshot#lads headcanons#lads thoughts#lads reactions#xavier headcanons#Xavier fluffy smut
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Getting Used to Forever
-Zayne x reader
A week after moving into Zayne’s house, a tipsy Friday night of making him dinner while he sets up your shared gaming corner turns charged with playful banter and unchecked desire. Somewhere between the laughter, the heat, and the way he worships you—you realize you’re not just getting used to the space, you’re building a life you could stay in forever.
word count: 13k
genre/warnings: 18+ explicit content--no minors!--fluff, smut, tipsy reader, domestic as hell, living together, Zayne fucks you on the dining table
🩵My Zayne Masterlist🩵AO3 link🩵
The rich, savory aroma of braised beef drifted from the kitchen, wrapping the living room in a comforting warmth. Zayne sat cross-legged on the plush rug, his brow furrowed in concentration as he untangled a web of cables. The new gaming console, freshly retrieved from one of the labeled cardboard boxes lining the wall beside the couch, rested before him. Setting up the new system was a priority—a mutual decision made as you settled into his home together. You had pitched the idea, emphasizing its importance for unwinding after exhaustive days of unpacking. Beyond practicality, you were eager to see your envisioned gaming corner come to life—a cozy nook adorned with different gaming systems and the myriad of plushies collected over the past two years from countless arcade visits, each a testament to shared moments and victories.
Pausing his meticulous work, Zayne’s gaze wandered to the assembled plushies. Each one held a story: the quick triumphs where a single attempt secured a prize, and the hard-fought battles where repeated efforts led to exasperated sighs and playful pouts. He fondly recalled those instances when your frustration peaked, prompting him to return secretly and master the claw machine, later presenting you with the coveted toy as a surprise. Those plush companions now stood as tangible reminders of laughter-filled weekends and the sweet tradition of post-arcade ice cream runs.
His eyes then drifted to a particular corner of the entertainment system, where delicate ice figurines resided—miniature animals he had crafted using his Evol over the years. Among them, two seals held a place of honor. The first, a clumsy creation from your shared childhood, bore the innocent simplicity of youth. You had mistaken it for a snowball since you were kids—a mortifying revelation that prompted the creation of the next one Zayne made you as an adult, just before your romantic journey began a little over two years ago. These seals, side by side, symbolized the intricate weaving of your past, present, and the unwritten future—a silent narrative of a stoic boy’s enduring affection for a silly girl who evolved from childhood friend to patient, and ultimately, to the love of his life.
As he pleasantly got lost in this reflective reverie, Zayne’s fingers unconsciously shaped another ice sculpture between his palms; of everything he always compared your beauty to. It was only the familiar cadence of your voice gently pulled him back to the present.
“Zayne?”
He turned to find you leaning against the living room’s entryway, amusement dancing in your eyes as you observed him. The sight of you, clad in one of his oversized sweaters with its long sleeves rolled up to your elbows, sent a flutter through his stomach. The sweater’s hem grazed your bare knees, and a gentle flush from the kitchen’s warmth—or your wine—colored your cheeks—a vision of domestic intimacy that made his heart skip a beat. In that moment, his hands stilled, cradling the freshly formed ice sculpture as he basked in the simple, profound joy of sharing his space, his life, with you.
“Dinner’s ready, hun…” You called gently, your voice trailing into the living room like the scent of the food still simmering on the stove. You caught sight of something between his elegant hands and stepped forward, curiosity flickering in your eyes, “what did you just make?”
Zayne blinked as if coming back to himself, looking down at his palms like he’d only just realized he’d been sculpting anything at all.
“…A jasmine,” he said, his voice soft as he watched you pad across the wooden floor until the rug he sat on silenced your footsteps, “I thought it’d look nice next to our picture here.”
The picture in question was a tiny Polaroid, propped neatly in a minimalist black frame at the corner of the shelved entertainment system. It was a photo of the two of you, taken at his last med school alumni gathering. The memory hit all at once—your dress, his tie, the laughter, the music, the air electric with reunion chatter and shared glances across the room.
You watched him delicately place the crystallized flower beside it, the ice glinting faintly under the dim light, its petals intricate, fragile, beautiful. As you came to kneel beside him on the plush rug, you caught your breath. The memory of that night swelled in your chest, a quiet warmth blooming at the center of you. It filled your belly, deeper and more comforting than the wine you’d been sipping while cooking dinner.
“It does look pretty there…” You murmured, your voice a smile. You reached out, fingers barely grazing the cool, perfect edges of the little ice blossom, “you know…I can never look at that picture without blushing a little.”
“Why is that?” Zayne asked. But that knowing, subtle ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth said he already knew. Said he wanted you to say it anyway.
You leaned in closer, eyelashes fluttering up at him, your voice dipping low, soft, conspiratorial. Like you were sharing the world’s most scandalous secret, “well, between you and me…” Your hand slid over to grab his thigh, deliberate, “I totally thought you were gonna do me on the pool table that night…”
Zayne’s laugh came out quiet, breathy, the sound catching at the edges like he couldn’t quite believe you’d said that out loud. A faint pink dusted the tips of his ears, the flush creeping upward like a secret, “at an alumni gathering of all things?” He said, tilting his head, amusement tugging at his gentle voice, “you must take me for quite an unprofessional professional.”
“Oh no,” you purred, your fingers squeezing his thigh a little tighter now, slow and purposeful. That wine-glazed glimmer in your admiring eyes gave you away. You were tipsy. And teasing. And beautiful. And his, “your exclusive tutorial was super professional, Doctor Zayne,” you added, your tone sinfully sweet, “so professional, in fact, and thorough, that if I recall correctly, I was begging for you to continue tutoring me all night when we got home…”
A delicious shiver of desire coursed through him at the vivid memory of his gloved hands on your naked skin, a warmth pooling low in his belly, tightening with aching intensity between his legs. The tantalizing sensation was amplified by the teasing dance of your fingertips kneading gently yet provocatively up his inner thigh. You, his irresistible, playful temptress—inebriated yet fully aware of the sweet torment you inflicted upon him—held his attention effortlessly, ensnaring him entirely in your playful seduction.
“You’re the best student I could ever ask for,” Zayne murmured, a slow, affectionate smile curving his lips as he reached out, encircling your wrist tenderly. His touch was a feather-light claim, sliding smoothly upward along your delicate forearm as he gently drew you closer.
“Am I?” You responded, a soft, alluring giggle escaping you as your breath, warm and sweet from your indulgences, brushed enticingly across his parted lips, “and what makes you say that?”
His gaze lingered on the curve of your throat, pausing at the charming little smear of food on your jaw—an innocent oversight during your solo drinking session. You were captivatingly vibrant, endlessly endearing; your presence alone enough to steal the breath from his lungs and the rhythm from his heart as he stared.
“…You are,” he whispered, brushing the soft pad of his thumb across your lips, smiling as you instinctively pressed tender kisses against his palm, your heated cheek nestling comfortably into the coolness of his hand, “very attentive…Very passionate about demonstrating your many talents…”
He noted with satisfaction the way your breath caught, how your eyelids fluttered closed, your hand kneading up the muscles of his thigh—boldly, tantalizingly, inching dangerously close to the hardened arousal swelling beneath his sweats.
“A bit clumsy at times,” Zayne teased affectionately, gently pinching your chin to tilt your face aside, deliberately exposing the small droplet of savory sauce you never caught. Leaning in, he pressed slow, deliberate kisses to your jaw, savoring the warmth and sweetness of your skin far more than the taste of the lingering food, “but I enjoy your many surprises…”
His soft chuckle vibrated gently against the tender column of your throat, his warm breath sending a delightful shiver cascading through you. He captured your wrist with a low, indulgent sigh when your bold hand ventured toward the hardened mass he struggled valiantly to contain, conscious of the dinner waiting patiently for you both.
“And how could I possibly forget,” he whispered teasingly, emerald eyes twinkling with playful intent, “just how eager you always are to take in everything I have to give you?” His innuendo sent a fresh surge of desire through you, your free hand instinctively moving to grasp him again. Yet, Zayne anticipated your move perfectly, pulling back just enough to savor the desperate hunger flickering in your eyes, prompting a frustrated groan from you. With gentle amusement, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, gently binding your wrists together with one hand as his other lovingly tousled your hair, “however, perhaps you could stand to learn a bit more patience, my love. Good things come to those who wait.”
You let out a playful yet frustrated huff, frowning in response to his infuriatingly sweet smile, “yeah? Well, I don’t like waiting.”
“Who does?” Zayne conceded softly, releasing your wrists with a gentle squeeze and adjusting his clothing, subtly pulling the fabric of his sweats away from his body to ease his discomfort, “I certainly don’t, when it comes to you…I prefer indulgence, in that matter. But you’ve gone through so much trouble preparing a lovely dinner—we should enjoy it while it’s still hot.”
He was right, as always. You had dedicated the past couple of hours to creating a hearty, nourishing beef stew, carefully choosing ingredients that would replenish Zayne’s strength and energy. It was your way of caring for him, knowing how demanding his role as a cardiac surgeon was, compounded by sleepless nights filled with insomnia and haunting nightmares, not to mention the long evenings spent tirelessly helping you unpack following your recent move. You knew he recognized your efforts, felt deeply your gratitude and love through every thoughtful gesture.
“Fine,” you conceded reluctantly, rising unsteadily to your feet, “but only because I know you must be starving—Woah!”
Immediately, Zayne’s arms wrapped securely around your thighs, stabilizing you effortlessly before you could stumble in your intoxication. Your hands instinctively grasped at his silky hair and broad shoulder for support, clutching him tightly.
“Please, be careful,” he urged softly, lifting his gaze to yours, genuine concern evident in his emerald eyes beneath your clumsy grip, “are you alright? And I’m the supposed lightweight who can’t handle alcohol…”
“I had two whole glasses of wine, not a tiny piece of liquor-infused chocolate!” You griped, your cheeks warming with embarrassment as you suddenly became aware of how intimately close Zayne’s face was positioned near your core.
His large hands remained securely anchored to your bare thighs beneath the comforting shelter of the oversized sweater—his sweater—that you had slipped on, with nothing beneath but underwear. The warmth of his breath, the silken texture of his skin, and the quiet, protective strength radiating from him sent tantalizing shivers rippling through your body.
You released a soft whine, feeling the surge of frustration intensify at the sight of him gazing upward at you beneath those dark, thick lashes, his expression a familiar blend of stern caution and tender concern, “Zayne…”
“…Yes?” He raised an inquisitive brow, his grip loosening ever so slightly as he tenderly squeezed your thighs—part affectionate reassurance, part cautious assessment of your stability. He hesitated to rise too suddenly, ensuring you wouldn’t lose balance the moment he stood.
You whined softly again, gently pushing him away with the hand tangled affectionately in his hair as you reluctantly nudged his wrist, “you’re like two inches away from making me pin you down on the couch, you damn tease!”
You knew full well he hadn’t meant to fluster you, and that awareness made your desire burn even hotter. Zayne never really deliberately tried to drive you mad—it was simply his nature, effortlessly alluring. He didn’t try to seduce you. But as a man, he was a giver, a worshiper, a dutiful protector, a devoted lover who revered you as though you were a goddess, someone who’s way of loving you alone was the driving force that always made you so feral for him; eager to offer yourself up entirely to him without hesitation for him being so wonderful. Indeed, his green flags were what made you want to drop your panties more than anything else about him.
Zayne chuckled softly at your playful accusation as he rose carefully from the rug. Immediately, his hands found your hips, steadying you with gentle assurance. The way he towered over you sent another rush of warmth through your body, making your head spin deliciously as you took him in. God. That beautifully gentle giant. Your big snowman. Every detail about him seemed meticulously crafted to set your pulse racing. For a brief moment, you wondered if your tingling desire was amplified by the wine, or perhaps your body’s natural rhythm was to blame—whatever it was, it had you thoroughly intoxicated by him.
“Mm,” Zayne hummed with a barely suppressed smirk, amusement sparkling in his soft green eyes, “I’d like to see you try—”
He had barely uttered the words before you took them as an irresistible challenge. In the same instant, he realized his mistake, noticing the mischievous glint in your gaze as you quickly glanced over at the couch behind him. By the time a triumphant grin lit your flushed face, Zayne’s agile hands intercepted yours mid-air, stopping your playful attempt to seize his shoulders. Your delighted shriek filled the room as he effortlessly spun you off balance, gently yet decisively tackling you instead. You landed softly on the couch, bouncing lightly as your laughter rang out, wrists pinned securely above your head by his firm yet tender grip.
“Zayne!” You cackled, tickled by the fan of his laugh.
Your playful struggles gradually ceased under the gentle, soothing pressure of his lips pressing warmly against your heated cheek. The affectionate kiss, accompanied by his comforting smile, calmed you into sweet surrender underneath him.
“That was such a short show,” he whispered, his fingertip trailing languidly down the length of your inner forearm, leaving a deliciously ticklish path that sent shivers cascading through you. He rendered you breathless beneath his captivating gaze, “it happened so fast I’m afraid I missed your attempt entirely…Now, are you going to behave if I decide to let you go?”
“Oh, not at all in the slightest,” you laughed, playfully rolling your eyes and shaking your head in exaggerated defiance, “especially not when I have you all to myself at this angle…”
Before Zayne could form another playful retort, the moment his thumb brushed tenderly against your cheek, you suddenly captured it, drawing it into the suction of your warm mouth. His breath faltered, eyes widening slightly at the sensation of your plush lips wrapping gently yet firmly around his knuckle, your tongue swirling as your cheeks hollowed. Heat surged mercilessly through him, his self-restraint hanging precariously by a thread; even more so when you gazed up at him with that blissful expression of submission that melted his heart into a helpless puddle.
“…Calls me a tease,” Zayne finally managed to remark, feigning sternness as best he could, though his voice held an unmistakable tremor of desire betraying the composure he desperately tried to maintain, “proceeds to suck my entire thumb into her mouth…”
You grazed your teeth against his skin, releasing him with a mischievous giggle as he withdrew his hand, shaking his head in mock resignation, “what? It’s just your thumb…”
“Just my thumb, she says,” he pretended to chide, moving carefully off you before helping you sit upright. Despite his mask of composure, he couldn’t conceal the undeniable, prominent evidence of his arousal tenting his sweatpants. With an inward sigh, he silently cursed his choice of clothing around you at that moment, “as if it’s not a less than subtle hint alluding to what’s really going through her imaginative little mind…”
“Or yours, Doctor Zayne,” you teased with a lighthearted chuckle, leaning forward to plant a playful kiss against his temple as he crooned closer to help you rise.
“I have no idea what you’re implying, Y/n,” he answered smoothly, taking your hand in his own and guiding you carefully across the living room, avoiding any lingering boxes or misplaced cords, “my mind is as sterile as the OR. Yours, on the other hand, could use some terminal cleaning…”
You couldn’t decide what cracked you up you more—his bone-dry humor, the casual way he tossed out medical terminology about post-surgical sanitation, or the outright absurdity of his claim that his mind was even remotely pristine.
“yeah right, that’s bull!” You laughed brightly, playfully swatting his firm bicep before slipping your arm through his, your fingertips lightly tracing along the familiar, raised scars that marked his skin—evidence of his Evol’s cruelty, “what, did it remind you of something else in my mouth?”
Zayne opened his mouth, a witty retort poised on his tongue, but instead, a brief pause settled over him as you both stepped into the kitchen. A faint, contented smile blossomed across his lips at the sight of the simmering pot of stew, the delicious aroma intensifying, tantalizing his senses as he had patiently awaited for hours.
“It did, as a matter of fact…” He murmured thoughtfully.
“Oh yeah?” You pressed yourself affectionately against his side, intertwining your fingers with his while your other hand teasingly trailed up to caress his chest—his most sensitive erogenous zone, “what, exactly?”
Zayne halted before the stove, lifting the lid away from the steaming stew pot and carefully placing it down on the countertop beside your half-filled glass of wine you had indulged in while cooking. He took up the wooden spoon you’d thoughtfully left nearby, inhaling deeply as the rich aroma and inviting heat enveloped him in mouthwatering warmth. But before you could open your mouth to keep teasing him, Zayne outpaced you in your intoxicated state, swiftly guiding a spoonful of the savory stew past your lips. His other hand came prepared beneath your chin, ready to catch any stray droplets.
“Food,” he finally responded with a soft, amused smile, thoroughly entertained by your exaggerated expression of mock outrage, which quickly dissolved into laughter. You nearly spat the stew out amidst your giggles, your chin dropping gratefully into his waiting hand as you composed yourself enough to swallow as he wiped your lips for you.
“I’m gonna kill you,” you laughed softly, shaking your head with amused disbelief as your fingertips subconsciously traced his scars, a tender gesture filled with quiet affection.
Zayne gently cupped your face between his warm, sturdy hands, leaning down to press a tender kiss against your forehead. His lips lingered briefly, a soothing caress that sent gentle warmth radiating through you, “you’ll do no such thing, you silly woman…But you will have some water with your wine. Cold water.”
You peered up at him through your lashes, chuckling quietly as his imposing height shielded your sensitive eyes from the glaring warmth of the kitchen lights, making the scene before you softer, dreamlike in your tipsy state, “doctor’s orders?” You teased.
“Doctor’s orders,” he echoed, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he pinched your flushed cheeks with utmost tenderness.
You both moved in quiet harmony, filling your bowls and carrying them together into the intimate space of the dining room. Hunger clearly gnawed at you both, evident in your eagerness to savor the meal. Your heart swelled with warmth and satisfaction as you watched Zayne enjoy your cooking, his eyes closing briefly in appreciation, giving you a pleased, approving nod. The dining room felt subtly transformed now—no longer merely his space. It was yours as well. The knowledge that you were making a home together here, sharing every corner of this sanctuary, filled you with a delicate blend of excitement and disbelief. Though Zayne insisted with gentle conviction that everything here belonged equally to you both, you still felt the lingering shyness of adjustment. Whenever you’d teasingly remind him, “but we’re not even married,” he’d simply shrug, an affectionate certainty lighting his eyes as he’d respond softly with, “we will be one day.”
The idea of marrying Zayne lingered sweetly in your tipsy, pleasantly hazy thoughts as you gazed lovingly at him across the table, utterly captivated by the subtle charm he exuded even in such a simple act as eating dinner. He remained blissfully unaware of your silent admiration, completely immersed in savoring the rich flavors you’d cooked with care. You couldn’t suppress the soft laughter that bubbled up inside you as you took a slow sip of your unfinished glass of wine, causing Zayne to glance up curiously, suddenly aware of your amused scrutiny.
“What?” He asked, swallowing his food as his curious eyes met yours from across the table.
You shook your head, a tender smile playing at your lips, “nothing, nothing…”
“Tell me,” he urged softly, setting down his spoon and fixing you with an amused, inquisitive gaze, “something clearly has you entertained.”
Entertained—if only Zayne knew the truth. It wasn’t mere amusement that warmed your heart; it was an overwhelming, blissful love, so profound that at times it bubbled up into laughter at the simplest moments.
“…Do you think you could get used to this?” You asked, tracing your finger idly along the delicate stem of your wine glass, eyes lowered yet brimming with quiet affection, “living together…You come home after a long day of some crazy life-or-death heart surgery to my hopefully amazing cooking, I spend the night on the Switch in bed while you read next to me and play with my hair, you give me some lame excuse about how blue light is bad for my eyes and tell me to put the video games down, and then all of a sudden your book’s barely hanging on the edge of the nightstand with your glasses and you’re on top of me and I’m lightheaded in the best way possible…You think you can get used to it?”
Zayne chuckled softly, eyes sparkling with warmth and amusement at your vivid description. You laughed too, charmed by his endearing expression as you sipped your wine, watching him carefully dab at his lips with his napkin.
“Hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully, picking up another spoonful of stew and pretending to consider deeply, “well, I’d say it depends.”
“On?” You prompted, smiling as you propped your chin on your hand, thoroughly captivated by the gentle anticipation of his response.
Zayne reached over, his fingertips softly nudging your bowl closer, silently reminding you to keep eating. His gesture was tender, a subtle reassurance woven with quiet care, “a lot of things.”
“Liiike?” You giggled softly, lifting your spoon again, warmth bubbling within your chest as you awaited his explanation.
He paused thoughtfully, emerald eyes reflecting an affectionate warmth as he met your curious gaze, “…If you stare and smile at me the way you always do when you wait for me to take my first bite.”
“Huh?” Your laughter was light and flustered, tinged with playful embarrassment as warmth crept up your cheeks, “I don’t stare at you!”
“Yes you do,” Zayne replied softly, his lips curving into a subtle, knowing smile as he swallowed another bite of stew. His voice held an affectionate certainty, the gentle teasing only amplifying the intimacy of the moment, “it’ll also depend on you bringing the Switch to bed so that we can be near each other when we unwind, even if we’re not engaging in the same activity together.”
Realization dawned upon you, a tender understanding blooming in your chest. You knew then—Zayne wasn’t only speaking about shared routines; he was revealing how deeply he cherished every quiet, simple moment you shared together.
“And then of course,” he continued, reaching for his cup of water, eyes full of sincerity, “if I have to put my glasses on the nightstand because I know I won’t be picking my book back up until the following night.”
He was talking about love—about the comfort and certainty of a shared life.
“I could get used to it all,” he confessed quietly, his gaze soft and steady, a delicate tenderness warming every word, “not that I’d ever take any of it for granted, or have those expectations of us both without making sure you’re just as used to things as I am.”
A radiant warmth filled you, extending far beyond the fuzzy intoxication of the wine as you drained the last drops from your glass, “Mm…And how would you make sure that I’m still used to it, too?”
“…Reminding you to eat and get proper nutrition when you’re distracted by all else and need my help with staying on task,” he answered, his voice a velvety caress as he reached out once more to your bowl, tapping it lightly until your spoon resumed scooping the hearty stew, “spoiling you when you ask for five more minutes of scalp scratches while I read beside you…Paying close attention to your body’s signals when you need to catch your breath before I steal it again.”
Your pulse quickened, your skin erupting in a pleasant wave of goosebumps. Dear God, Zayne had a remarkable ability to turn simple, caring conversation into irresistibly sensual promises, his words making your heart swell with warmth even as desire stirred vividly within you. His genuine tenderness, the protective and nurturing nature underlying each carefully spoken word, somehow managed to make your heart feel full while simultaneously setting your senses aflame with longing. How did he always manage that? Even for a doctor—someone naturally skilled in attending to the needs of others—Zayne had an astonishing talent for seamlessly blending gentle caretaking with undeniable sensuality, making you feel perpetually desired, cherished, and utterly, passionately loved.
“So, get used to it,” Zayne teased gently, his fingertips squeezing your bare knee beneath the table, sending a pleasant shiver through your body, “you live here with me now, after all. You might as well see this as just the beginning of something you’ll eventually grow so accustomed to, that one day, you’ll find yourself in the middle of the vegetable isle at the grocery store wondering whose diabolical idea it was to add carrots to beef stew.”
You nearly choked on your stew, laughter bubbling uncontrollably as Zayne’s dry humor caught you entirely off guard. Your hand swiftly reached for the glass of water he thoughtfully pushed closer, relief washing over you as the cool liquid soothed your throat.
“Thank you,” he sighed softly, a relieved smile curving his lips, his eyes filled with quiet affection as he watched you recover, “for never adding carrots to your cooking. I love you dearly.”
Warmth blossomed in your chest, fueled by endearment, amusement, and the gentle intoxication from the wine, “I love you too, Zayne,” you managed between lingering chuckles, feeling delightfully flushed.
After dinner, the two of you moved in sync to clear the table, the simple act of cleaning together feeling natural and intimate. Domestic. Zayne watched you quietly from his position near the stove, hand still resting on the cool, digital surface as he paused his wiping to admire you. Unbeknownst to you, he studied you with quiet reverence, captivated by the way you stood there in your own little world on the kitchen mat, sleeves of his oversized sweater continually slipping down as you washed the dishes. You hummed softly, completely absorbed in your task, creating a serene atmosphere that he cherished.
Finding every excuse to draw closer, Zayne eventually stepped up quietly behind you, his warmth enveloping you before you even registered his presence. His hands reached around, gently pushing your sleeves higher up your arms, and he leaned down to pepper tender kisses on your head, “it’s a bit late for chores, isn’t it?” He whispered into your ear, his voice deep and inviting, “you should leave the rest for me tomorrow; we have the day off together. You’ve done enough today. Come relax with me, now.”
A knowing smile curved your lips as you felt the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing insistently against your lower back, igniting a familiar heat deep inside you, “what’s the rush, huh?”
Zayne’s hand moved slowly down your arm, urging you to set aside the pan and allow the warm water to rinse the soap from your skin.
“In truth,” he murmured softly by your ear, his words almost inaudible yet clear by every consistent, his presence overwhelming as he reached past you to shut off the faucet, “it’s the order of things I’d like to prioritize finishing tonight, starting with the most important…”
“Oh, what’s first on your list?” You asked playfully, arching subtly against him, relishing how it made his fingers tighten reflexively around your wrist as you tilted your head back onto his shoulder.
Without warning, Zayne lifted your arm and ducked beneath it, scooping you up effortlessly into his arms. You gasped in delighted surprise, clutching instinctively at his sweater as he lifted and spun you away smoothly from the sink.
“What you started earlier,” he said with a warm smile, looking down at you tenderly as he walked confidently from the kitchen.
“Oh, right,” you murmured teasingly, drawing yourself closer and lightly tracing your finger along the collar of his sweater, your touch brushing provocatively close to his chest, “I was trying to get some playtime in, but somebody insisted on being responsible first…So tell me, oh responsible, sensible one,” you punctuated playfully, poking a finger against his cheek, “are you gonna be able to keep up with me?”
“You know I always leave myself plenty of room for dessert,” Zayne teased back, carrying you toward the large, inviting couch, “and as much as I’d prefer to eat at the table—”
“—Wait!” you exclaimed suddenly, a mischievous light flickering in your eyes, the clarity of your tipsy revelation surprising even yourself, “the table!”
He halted abruptly, confusion knitting his brows as he glanced toward the coffee table, “…What about it?”
“The dinner table,” you clarified urgently, gripping his sweater tighter as you leaned closer to whisper excitedly, “take me back there!”
“Why do you-…I thought you wanted me to—”
“—Zayne, hurry!” You urged impatiently, enthusiasm overtaking your voice, a fervent anticipation coloring your words.
Zayne listened despite his evident confusion, swiftly changing direction as he carried you toward the dining room, his strong arms cradling you securely against his chest, “…Alright. Just what are you up to, anyway? Is the wine getting to your brain?”
“You know it is,” you responded playfully, a mischievous smirk gracing your lips, “just trust me!”
He chuckled softly in surrender, moving obediently to your desired destination without further protest, “if you say so…Though, blind faith is a lot to ask for from a man when his girlfriend becomes such a spirited, intoxicated minx.”
“That’s okay,” you murmured teasingly, gaze fixed intently on the dining table as it grew nearer with each step, “you’re an ever-flowing fountain of faith with how devoted you are to certain things about me…”
Gently, Zayne lowered you onto the polished wooden floor, his hands lingering on your waist, steadying you as he gazed down at you with curiosity, his brow arching, “such as?”
You offered him a seductive, knowing smile—one that instantly set his heart racing—as you firmly grasped his hand, guiding him towards one of the dining chairs. Without hesitation, you gripped Zayne’s broad shoulders and decisively pushed him down, watching with satisfaction as he obediently sank into the chair. Poor, irresistibly vulnerable man.
“So aggressive,” he playfully reprimanded, “it’s a good thing I’m not your patient, with the way you enjoy handling me the moment you have a glass or two of alcohol in your system…”
“Shhhh,” you silenced him softly, placing a fingertip against his warm lips.
You swung one leg over him, standing over his seated form. Your fingertips cupped his chin, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You didn’t need to check for the tent between his legs to know how eagerly his body responded to your proximity; his green eyes, darkened with desire, revealed everything even before his hands slid reverently up your bare thighs, drawing the sweater higher to expose more of your smooth, enticing skin.
“The one time I’ve seen you drunk, the first time we had sex, you held me up against the wall in the kitchen whispering to me that it was because of me that everything was spiraling out of your precious control,” you whispered, voice rich with seductive nostalgia as your fingertips tenderly traced the contours of his handsome face.
Heat suffused your body at the vivid memory, relishing the intensity of his uninhibited passion. Your breath caught slightly as Zayne’s hands traveled higher, pulling you closer by the backs of your thighs, eyes roaming hungrily over your body. Slowly, you raised the sweater to your waist, allowing his gaze to settle shamelessly on the delicate, translucent, blue lace panties he had bought for you on Valentine’s Day, a symbol of his adoration and intimate desire. His thumbs pressed insistently into your thighs, a clear reflection of his escalating need. A surge of heat blossomed between your legs in response, igniting your own fervent desire as you watched his composure unravel entirely, savoring the exquisite power you held over him, the intoxicating knowledge of how deeply he revered and craved you.
“And if my memory is correct,” Zayne murmured as he traced the delicate lace, brushing against your most sensitive places, your fingertips sweeping back his dark hair to give yourself an unobstructed view of his expressive eyes, heavy with longing as he admired the enticing sight before him, “you enjoyed that side of me quite thoroughly that night…”
“God, I really did, honey,” you giggled softly at the memory, the warmth of it pooling low in your tummy.
Your fingers traced over the scars on his forearm, those familiar ridges of skin your hands knew by heart. He was pushing your sweater higher, slow and purposeful, until his face nuzzled just beneath your breasts. His skin was warm against yours. He pressed a few playful, ticklish kisses along the soft flesh, making you exhale a shaky breath somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. You cradled the back of his head, your fingers buried in the damp, soft strands of his hair, encouraging him. His lips were everywhere, scattered like devotion across your skin, and his hands…God, his hands were reverent—tracing over your feminine curves like you were sacred, like you were something to be worshipped, not touched.
“Like I was saying…” You tried to finish the thought, but the words were half-laughed, half-slurred with affection, “your devotion as a man is unmatched…”
He hummed into your skin, slow and indulgent, his nose pressing gently into your sternum. You felt your eyes threaten to roll back from the sheer intimacy of it, that unmistakable feeling of being adored.
“You always have this way of touching me…” You murmured, voice dropping to a whisper, low and aching, “loving me like it’s worship or something…”
The confession left your lips like a prayer. Honest. Unfiltered. His hands had moved again, slow and sure as they mapped the length of your spine, pushing your sweater up until you understood what he was asking. You didn’t hesitate. You peeled it off, flushed skin rising into the open air, sighing as it cooled your heat. You tossed the sweater blindly behind you—onto the dinner table, maybe. You didn’t care.
Your hands found his hair again, curling into it as you guided him. And the way he responded—burying his face into your breast, mouth open, lips parting around your nipple, tongue swirling with a slow, wet press that sent a bolt of heat through your core—you damn near moaned at the sound of it; the wet pull of his mouth, the low, husky sigh he gave as he sucked with care and focus, like this was the only thing he ever wanted.
“I know you asked me that night,” you whispered, your voice shaking as the memory unfurled like a ribbon in the sultry haze, “how I could pretend I was unaffected…”
You reached for him, found his wrist behind your back, and guided it between your bodies—between your legs. You lowered his hand, slowly, deliberately down your front, breath catching as you pressed his palm against the soft mound of heat between your thighs. A sharp, shaky sigh escaped you. His hand squished against you, his skin meeting the soaking fabric of lace that had long since failed to hide anything from him. The sound of it—wet, needy—was unmistakable.
“But I was affected,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “I was so, so affected…”
Your breath came faster now, your thoughts fogging, unraveling. Every time he kissed you. Every time he touched you. Every quiet moment where his love was too gentle to be noticed by anyone but you.
“I’m always affected,” you choked out, the words coming faster now, each one a piece of the storm building in your chest, “even when you’re doing something mundane—just setting up the gaming corner while I’m cooking us dinner—I’m always so damn affected by you, Zayne…”
And that was it. The moment the last of Zayne’s restraint snapped. He moaned—honest, desperate—as if your words physically undid him, his fingers tightening where they took an indulgent squeeze of your core, as if he couldn’t stand the barrier of lace anymore. Your body surged into his as his thumb hooked under the soaked fabric and pulled it aside, finally baring the heat he’d been aching to touch. He groaned into your breast, low and reverent, as his hand cupped your bare flesh and his middle finger slid into you with a slow, satisfying push. You whimpered at the depth, hips twitching as your walls clenched around him, fluttering, gripping his knuckle with raw need.
Your hand found his shoulder, clutching, practically clawing into the firm muscle under the heavy warmth of his sweater. The other hand tangled tighter into his black hair, pulling him closer as you arched into his embrace, wanting Zayne everywhere, wanting more. You could feel the heat of his breath, how wet his tongue was as it circled your nipple. The way he kept swallowing, like he couldn’t stop it, like your taste and your voice and the way you fell apart in his arms had made his mouth water, his body burn.
There was desperation in your hands, in your breath, in the trembling of your voice that said you needed him—needed his touch, needed to be worshipped the way only he knew how. He was undone completely by the way you craved him—by the way your touch pleaded for more without needing a single word. Zayne was dizzy from it. Dizzy from how easily you unraveled him. His breath hitched as he savored the squishy heat radiating through his palm. Nothing could hide the way you were completely undone by him, could silence the truth his fingers had known the moment he touched you—that you had been desperately craving him, already a needy mess for him.
“I know that by now,” he murmured, voice muffled by the indulgent smother of your breast.His lips never stopped moving, never stopped adoring you with reverent smacks pops of your sensitive nipple as he guided you backward, step by step.
He rose from the chair as you moved with him, still inside you, his finger never slipping free, cupping you the whole way as he coaxed you toward the edge of the dining table. You stumbled a little, your hand fumbling for something to brace yourself against. But Zayne was already there. His hand caught yours, steadying it, pressing it flat against the wood before guiding you down, coaxing you to lie back as he crowded your space, hovering over you with the cast of his shadow.
“I also know,” he added, voice lower now, tinged with something dark he looked down at you—so eager, so wrecked, so his, “that you’re as addicted to stepping out of line as I am.”
You were absolutely addicted to the intoxicating high of giving in—of relinquishing restraint, of letting go completely and letting yourself be seen , consumed, devoured by him. Especially on nights like this, where the excuse to indulge had come easily—a Friday, a glass or two of wine, the soft hum of domesticity between you. It didn’t take much. Not when it came to Zayne. Not when you were so deeply, helplessly, maddeningly drawn to him. Sometimes, your love for him felt like worship, too. A craving that burned hotter than mere affection. A hunger to merge, to lose yourself in the way he touched you, the way he held you, the way he drank in your pleasure like it was a need he could never fully satisfy.
Your head spun. Your eyes fluttered shut. Every inch of you melted. You felt him—his strong arm wrapping around your thighs, hugging them to him as he leaned in, his lips brushing over the slope of your calf, tenderly, intimately. Then came the shift—the hook of his finger curling into the strap of your underwear, the urgency in his movements humming like electricity against your skin. You sighed in pure relief as he pulled the soaked lace down your legs. He didn’t fumble. He didn’t pause. He drew them off your ankles with practiced ease, like it was natural to him now, like the act of undressing you had been engraved into his muscle memory.
When your eyes fluttered open to witness his passion, you found Zayne holding your underwear in one hand, lifting it to his face, inhaling deeply with his lashes low in indulgence, the expression on his face somewhere between reverence and something primal. And then—he discarded them with a casual flick to the side, as if they were nothing but a wrapper to something far more precious, his sweater following suit as he tossed it off his pale frame like an afterthought. Good Lord. Love wasn’t enough to describe what Zayne felt for you. It was beyond affection, beyond obsession—it was something deeper, something flooded with devotion, worship, hunger. The kind of love that made a man forget his name and remember only yours.
Your heart pounded, full and frantic, echoing through your chest and into your throat as you heard the chair scrape across the floor. The sound grounded you, startled you into the present. He hooked the leg of the chair around his ankle and yanked it forward, dragging it close as he took his seat like it was his throne for a feast. He reached for you, tender and certain, folding one of your knees aside, the soft bend of your thigh resting flat against the table. The other leg he lifted higher, guiding it over his shoulder, settling it there like it belonged. His palms were wide on your skin, possessive, spreading heat as they slid along your calves and thighs in one long, deliberate motion. He scooted forward, closer and closer—his breath warming the inside of your leg as he moved in, up to you. Up to your soaked, flushed, trembling core. Up to his dessert.
Oh God. That man was insatiable when it came to his sweet tooth—and he never once denied that his favorite indulgence wasn’t chocolate or cake or anything store-bought. It was you. Always you. You reached back, fumbling blindly for his discarded sweater, bunching it beneath your head and using it like a pillow to prop yourself up, just enough to see him. Blood rushed between your ears, pulsing loud, your body alive with an unbearable prickle of heat that lit every nerve aflame. And then—you watched him. Watched as he crooned down over you, his lips parting as he pressed soft, deliberate kisses along the inside of your thigh, slow and torturous, each one closer than the last. You could feel the warmth of his mouth, the faint trace of his breath skimming your skin, the reverence in every kiss as if he was preparing himself for something holy.
Your pulse was pounding between your legs, so strong it was almost audible. You felt it throb with each slow press of his mouth, felt it jump beneath his hands when he spread them up your thighs to hold you open. Then, the pause. That familiar stillness. That sacred, quiet moment you’d seen only in the most intimate seconds with him—when he took a beat to look. To truly see you. Not just with hunger, but with something aching in his eyes. Reverence. Desire. Love. The kind that quieted the whole world. He stared at your body like it was made just for him, like it was an exquisite feast and he was trying not to devour it too fast. His gaze traced over every inch of soft skin, every curve that still trembled for him. And Zayne—he didn’t just look. He witnessed.
You saw it in the way his breath hitched as he let his fingertips trail down the twitch of your abdomen, soft and slow, until they reached the center of you. With gentle pressure, he pressed your folds apart, holding you wide, open for himself, watching the way you glistened, slick and swollen, your body aching under his touch. He took it in—the proof of how you responded to him, how wrecked you were already. He let go of a deep breath, and then—one last glance up. His eyes met yours, pleading and glazed and full of love, and that was the final thread. He bowed, his brows knit, his mouth met you, and the first taste pulled a groan from his chest so low, so guttural, it made your thighs twitch.
You always watched him eat, whether your cooking or your body. You always waited to see if he liked it. You always searched for that subtle flicker of pleasure in his eyes, that hushed appreciation on his face. That quiet, sacred pause where he savored something just for him. And it was no different now. Because you watched this too. You couldn’t not watch. You needed to see the way his mouth opened, the way the flat of his tongue dragged through you, slow and hot and so intimate it made your vision blur. You watched the way he lingered, the way he buried his face between your thighs and let out a quiet, helpless sound when your clit met his tongue again, warmer this time, wetter, hungrier. The flick of it was indulgent, precise, so tender and possessive all at once.
Your eyes rolled back before you could stop them. Your spine arched off the table, body seizing with a high, unfiltered cry as your hand flew into his hair, yanking, anchoring him there. You held him like you were drowning. And Zayne—willing and eager—groaned into you, smothering his face into your heat like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Like he had no intention of coming up for air. Like he would eat forever if you let him.
“God, Zayne,” you breathed, voice broken and uneven as fireworks bloomed behind your fluttering eyelids. Your hips twitched beneath his mouth as another slow, devastating drag of his tongue rolled up your core, the heat of it lighting every nerve on fire, “honey, it’s so good…”
You trembled, your body jerking in a soft, uncontrollable spasm at the way his lips sealed around your clit. He sucked—not too hard, not too fast, but with that perfect, rhythmic pull that he knew would wreck you. The wet smack of his lips parted from your slick skin with a quiet pop that made your toes curl. Then he sighed, like he was drinking you in, like he’d never tasted anything better. That sound, that raw note of satisfaction—that ignited something deep in you.
You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt him again. His finger slid into you with a slow, easy glide, your walls welcoming him back with a desperate flutter as he moved with confidence, with certainty, already seeking out the spot he’d memorized by heart. He found it instantly. A moan tumbled out of you, loud and sweet, as your head tilted back and your free hand clutched his shoulder. The other was still tangled in his hair, tugging gently, encouraging him like he needed it—like he wasn’t already worshipping you like you were the center of his universe.
“R-right there…” You slurred, voice thick with pleasure. A lazy, delirious smile pulled at your lips, “yeah, right there…”
And then—another finger. Zayne slipped it in beside the first, curling both upward toward the swell inside you, and your entire body responded at once. Your jaw fell open, your breath hitched, your back arched off the table once more as a jolt of pleasure shot through your spine. His fingers moved expertly, massaging the sensitive spot with slow, circling pressure. His lips alternated, suctioning and releasing over your clit, applying firm, steady attention that made your thighs twitch and shake for him.
The air filled with the wet, obscene sound of your arousal, each squelch of his fingers met by the deliberate drag of his tongue. And Zayne—he was completely immersed. Eyes half-lidded, brow furrowed, breath pouring through his nose as he lapped at you with devotion so intense it felt like the rest of the world had gone still. A cry tore out of you as the pleasure surged, hot and blinding, flooding your body with electricity. Your hands gripped him tighter, buried in his hair as your voice pitched higher with each movement of his hand and mouth.
“Yes!” You gasped, “Zayne, I’m already so close…!”
He’d suspected as much. From the dew of your skin. From the tension in your thighs. From the wine earlier and how hydrated he knew you were, how your body was primed to burst for him. He took the cue immediately, adjusting your position with practiced ease—his arm curling around your thigh to tug you slightly closer to the edge, tilting you downward just enough. Your breath caught in your throat at the realization, that weightless moment just before impact, like the pause at the top of a rollercoaster.
Then—he began punching his fingertips into that swollen sensitive spot inside of you that sent your mind spinning. His wrist tensed, his grip locking around your thigh as his brows knit deeper with an intense need. His lips parted from you with a ragged, husky breath, and the next thing you knew—he was lapping at your clit in the open, expecting how much you would start to jolt and writhe soon enough. The rhythm of his fingers, the wet slap of his tongue—it was relentless. Your voice shattered into pieces, echoing through the dining room as fire rushed through your veins faster than you could ever hope to keep up with, voice rising in time with the furious pace of his movements.
“I’m gonna cum!” You cried out, helpless, frantic, your limbs trembling under the intensity of his effort, under that relentlessly building pressure each punch of his fingers threatened to burst, “oh my God, Zayne, don’t stop! Keep going, baby! Keep going! I’m-! I’m-…!”
Your whole body seized with an unbearable tension possessing your every limb, your spine locking up off the table as your pelvis tilted, your mind dissolving into blinding white. A scream tore through your throat, mouth wide, eyes squeezed shut as your vision exploded in color behind your lids. You gushed. It hit hard. Sharp. Immediate. A hot burst of liquid spilled from you, splashing over Zayne’s chin, his wrist, all over him, soaking his arm as he kept going, his tongue still lapping at you ceaselessly, riding you through every wave of euphoria. Your body convulsed under the weight of it, every muscle spasming as he held you down, unshaken, committed.
You writhed beneath him, knuckles shaking between fistfuls of his hair, your scream still echoing, breath stuttering between sobs of his name, “Zayne! Zayne! Oh God, Zayne!”
And still—his mouth didn’t stop. His fingers only slowed. He worshipped you through the aftershocks like you were the only thing that had ever mattered. And God, in that moment, to him—you were. For you, it was like falling from heaven—but instead of crashing, you were caught. Caught by the man you loved more than anyone, held in his reverence and blanketed in that tingling warmth that only Zayne ever made you feel. The kind of warmth that slowed your heart and sped it up all at once, that wrapped around you like soft light and pulled you gently, reverently, back down to earth. You were shaking. Gasping for breath. A wreck of breathless giggles as you melted beneath him, your fingers relaxing with a trembling tenderness into the roots of his damp hair. His mouth hadn’t left you—not really. Now, he was kissing you gently, lovingly, dotting slow smooches along your inner thigh, his tongue licking up the dripping aftermath of your euphoria, savoring the mess he’d made of you.
The ceiling spun above you as your eyes finally blinked open, lashes heavy, breath slowly catching up with you. You inhaled deep and let out a weak laugh, light and giddy, filled with a joy too big for words. Zayne didn’t move until you did—he never did. His devotion lived in the way he waited, the way he let you set your own pace, the way he respected that. But when you shifted, when you lifted just slightly onto one elbow, he stood. He rose from his chair in one fluid motion, pushing it back with a scrape of wood against wood. And that’s when you saw it—really saw him. His sweats were tenting, stretched and darkened where your orgasm had flowed off the table across the front, the wet patches blooming low on his abdomen. You watched, transfixed, as he curled his thumbs beneath the waistband, and in one swift, fluid movement, yanked them down his pale hips, letting them fall to the floor in a heap.
You forgot to breathe. The lean muscles along his torso shifted as he stood tall again before he brought a fist to his mouth and gave his chin a single, efficient wipe—cleaning the remnants of you from his lips. It shouldn’t have been so mesmerizing; but seeing Zayne absolutely drenched from you? It was everything. Your breath hitched again as your gaze dropped between his legs, heat sweeping over you in another full-body wave. His cock stood hard and flushed, the tip glistening with a bead of precum that gleamed in the soft, golden light.
He gripped himself, fngers curling tightly around his girth, giving himself a slow, needy squeeze like he had to. Like the intensity of his desire was too much to bear. Like he needed to hold on to something and ground himself before he could give himself to you. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, couldn’t stop the way your lips curled up in that blissed out, dazed expression you always wore when he looked like that.
He stepped closer and you welcomed him, lifting up your calf with a soft sigh, curling it over his shoulder. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watched him. Studied him. His face, his body, the way he watched you with the same kind of reverence. Your gazes fell in unison to the shrinking space between you, to the slow inevitability of your bodies joining again. He hugged your thigh tighter, leaned down, and pressed a kiss into the soft flesh like it was his way of thanking you for being there; for choosing him. For letting him in.
Then—he pushed. A slow, deliberate thrust, not rushed, not frantic. Just deep and purposeful. You watched, helpless, awestruck, as your body gave for him, your folds stretching open to accommodate the thick, perfect shape of him. The way the plush head of his cock parted you was almost too much, too intimate, too breathtaking. Your breath caught, eyes wide, and his did too. His brows furrowed, lashes fluttering down, cheeks flushed as his mouth fell open with a gasp. That first flutter of you wrapped around him, and it wrecked him. He held still, gripping your thigh like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.
You reached for him, hand finding his waist, pulling. And he obeyed. He pressed in deeper, both of you sighing in perfect sync, the stretch, the heat, the pressure between you winding so tight it was impossible to tell where your pleasure ended and his began. Your fingertips dug into each other’s skin, your bodies locking together in a silence so charged, so intimate, it made your eyes burn. You were his. And Zayne—God help him—was utterly, completely yours.
He moved slow, each thrust deep and drawn out with the kind of indulgent patience that only made the tension worse. Worse, because every motion of his body said he wasn’t done worshiping you, not even close. Every time he pulled back, your body mourned the absence, your skin squelching quietly from the contact of his groin to your lips, the sticky sound echoing between you with every retreat of his chiseled hips. And then, he’d return again, sinking back into you with a thick, solid push that buried him so deep you swore you felt it in your lungs.
Each time Zayne filled you, you clenched down helplessly, your body holding him like it was terrified of letting him go. Like you needed to keep him inside you just to feel whole. You were already undone—tipsy on wine and him, already floating in the hazy pleasure of being so fully, so tightly wrapped around him. But watching him like this? That made it worse. You couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop your eyes from devouring the sight of him as he moved above you, his face flushed, lashes low, the corners of his mouth slack with open-mouthed pleasure. You traced a droplet of your own slick with your eyes, watching it glisten as it slid slowly down the tense dip of his abs—following the trail up, over his chest, where sweat from earlier still clung to the smooth skin of his throat. Your touch followed. You reached out, brushing that drop as it passed his stomach, and God, the way he shuddered at your touch made heat bloom behind your ribs.
His fingers tightened around the calf he held braced over his shoulder, squeezing like he needed something to ground himself. His other hand spanned wide over your torso, fingers grazing softly along your sternum, sweeping over your breasts—slow, reverent, indulgent. You reached for him as well, trembling fingers curling around his wrist, and with a firm tug, you brought his hand up to your face. You didn’t ask. You didn’t speak. You just parted your lips and took his thumb into your mouth.
The wet sound of the suction made Zayne inhale sharply, a sigh pouring from him, ragged and wanting. His hips reacted before he could rein them in, snapping forward with a gentle, but firm smack of his pelvis against yours. The sound of his groin meeting your splayed folds—wet and intimate—echoed louder in the stillness of the room. You gasped, the surge of heat coursing through you instantaneous, breath catching as your walls fluttered around him. Without thinking, your hand slid down between your bodies, your fingers finding your slippery, swollen clit and pressing into a soft, needy rub.
Zayne froze—just for a second. Then his breath shuddered. The sight of you—fingers on yourself, mouth wrapped around his thumb, eyes glazed and locked on him through hooded lashes—snapped something inside him. His hand tightened again around your calf, the grip firm and possessive, his hips rolling harder, the next thrust deeper, more urgent. Your mouth swirled your tongue around his thumb, and he groaned low in his throat, hips flexing with renewed intensity.
“H-harder,” you begged, the word broken and breathless around his thumb.
There was a glimmer of something unhinged in your gaze—lust, love, desperation—and you watched the way it wrecked Zayne. He was torn between watching your face—cheeks flushed and dewy, brows drawn in rapture—and the sight just below, where your own fingertips moved in frantic circles over your glistening clit. Each pass was faster than the last, slick and obscene, the sounds wet and intimate, and God, the sight alone made his pulse thrum in his ears.
“Harder…” You whimpered again, impatient, growing needier by the second, “Zayne, go harder already!”
That did it. He snapped. His hips slammed into you with a force that knocked a gasp straight out of your lungs. Your breasts jolted forcefully with the first thrust, bouncing from the sudden impact, and your body arched off the table like you couldn’t bear the pleasure of his divine zeal as he continued.
“Yes!” You cried out, voice ragged, your hand moving furiously between your legs now, matching his growing intensity, pushing yourself higher with every thrust, “mhmm, just like that! Yes! Just like—ohh!”
Zayne groaned, the sound guttural and strained as your walls fluttered wildly around him, tightening in sharp, uneven pulses. The sensation had his jaw clenching, sweat trickling down his temple, slipping past the tension in his vocal chords as he pistoned his hips faster, harder. He was addicted to this. To stepping out of line. To you. To the way you took him in, gripped him, held him like your body never wanted to let go. His hands were damp with sweat, the skin between your bodies slick and heated, sticking together with every powerful slap of his hips against you.
Zayne couldn’t look away. You were still sucking on his thumb, your lips flushed and glistening from drool, tongue flicking over the pad with slow, sultry pulls that made his head spin. Your other hand never stopped moving, fingers slick with arousal as you circled your clit faster, chasing release like it was life itself. He was watching you fall apart beneath him—for him—and God, it was too much.
“Say you’ll get used to this,” he panted huskily, voice cracking with the force of his thrusts.
His thumb pressed harder against your tongue, massaging the soft muscle as your eyes fluttered open just barely, gaze hazy and glazed with pleasure. He was staring down at you—starving for you—his expression dark, his pupils wide and burning with hunger. Your moan vibrated against the pad of his thumb, and he felt it in his bones. The rhythm of his hips faltered for a breath, then picked up again, harder, deeper, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the air between you, mixing with your desperate, breathy gasps and the wet squelch of your slick beneath his thrusts.
“Say it for me, Y/n,” he begged, voice sharp and desperate, almost unrecognizable, “I want to hear you say it…!”
God, that did it for you.
“I’ll—I’ll get used to this!” you slurred, voice cracking around the edge of a shout, your words muffled, wet around his thumb until they finally burst free.
Your chest heaved with ragged gasps, each breath sharper than the last as the pounding in your ears merged with the pulse of blazing heat curling tight in the pit of your stomach. It wasn’t just the feel of him—though heavens, that alone would’ve undone you. It wasn’t just the way he slammed into you with feverish, unrelenting rhythm, hips snapping against you in greedy, hungry thrusts that shook the table beneath your back. It wasn’t just the slap of skin meeting skin or the heat soaking every inch of your body. It was him. It was the way Zayne looked at you. The way his eyes, half-lidded and dark with awe, stared down at you like you were something holy, something sacred. The way his desire wasn’t just in his body—it was carved into his face, written in every shudder of his breath, in every twitch of his jaw, in the tension of his muscles as he tried, and failed, to keep himself from falling apart.
“I’ll get—so, so used to—God!!” You screamed, the words spilling from your lips in a flood of pure, unfiltered ecstasy as your hand flew to his forearm, gripping him, your fingers digging into his scars as if it was the only thing anchoring you to earth, to reality. His thumb slipped free from your mouth, and suddenly your words echoed—unmuffled, raw, every syllable ringing through the air between you, searing into his skin like brand marks, “I’ll get damn used to you pounding me completely senseless on every last surface of this—ahh! I’m cumming! Zayne, I’m—!”
“—Cum with me!” He broke, voice splintered, a ragged plea full of breathless desperation.
He grabbed your hand—found it, gripped it—his fingers interlacing with yours just as your bodies reached the edge together. Your eyes locked in the chaos, and there was nothing else. Just him. Just you. And the fire you were about to fall into, hand in hand. You both came undone in the same blinding moment. It was loud, helpless, a raw, visceral surrender to the tidal wave of euphoria that overtook you both, so all-consuming it rattled through your bones. Your bodies trembled, shook, legs trembling and hands gripping, desperate for something to hold onto as the euphoria hit, slamming through you in white-hot pulses that made your thoughts fracture apart like glass. Heat rushed through your veins, singing through your limbs as the final snap of tension detonated inside you. You cried out, hips twitching as you drenched him, your core slick and pulsing beneath your own touch while he bucked deep into your heat, his thrusts erratic, wrecked. Zayne spilled rope after thick rope deep inside you, your walls fluttering, sucking every drop from him with a hunger neither of you could ever seem to satisfy. It was earth-shattering. Soul-stripping. Blinding. There were no thoughts. Only him. Only this.
When the crashing waves of pleasure finally began to pull back, you both stilled, dazed and silent, as if you’d fallen from some celestial place, breathless from touching something beyond human. Zayne’s chest was flushed and heaving, glistening under the warm light, the air burning in his lungs as he slowly came down with you, his hand still gripping your thigh, trembling as he guided your calf down gently from his shoulder. You were jelly, twitching with leftover pulses of pleasure. He was soft and spent, the strength drained from him, every movement labored and delicate.
Zayne pulled out with a broken whimper, his jaw tightening as the friction of parting from your overstimulated body sent a final, shivery wave through him. The slick, heady mess between your thighs clung to him, but he didn’t look away—not from your body, not from your face. He leaned over you, folding down, and you wrapped your arms around him immediately. He pressed into you—hot, sweaty, real—his body collapsing over yours with a soft exhale against your neck. You held him there, lips meeting his before he even had the strength to find you first.
He kissed you like he needed to. Like you were the only thing tethering him to earth. And you returned it just as hungrily, your lips sticking to his with every breathless press. Again. And again. You could taste the faint salt of sweat on his upper lip. Feel the radiating heat of his skin against yours. Hear the ragged breaths that still shook in his chest as you clung to each other. You broke apart only when your eyes met—his half-lidded and heavy, yours glazed with affection—and the two of you laughed, soft and dizzy, over a few more lazy kisses. The laughter was quiet and intimate, like you’d just shared some sacred secret between your bodies.
Your legs gave a wobble the moment you tried to push yourself up, arms threatening to buckle under the aftershocks still humming in your limbs. The table had long since cooled beneath your thighs, but your body remained too warm, too loose, too thoroughly unraveled to stand on its own just yet. But Zayne was already there—of course he was. Ever the insistent gentleman, ever the protector even after wrecking you beyond coherence. He caught you before you could do more than shift, arms scooping around your waist as if it were nothing, as if you hadn’t just barely survived the way he’d loved you.
After cleaning you and himself off with his discarded sweater and fetching the one you donned earlier, he carried you with careful steps into the kitchen, his grip gentle but unyielding, before setting you down with all the delicacy of something fragile onto the cool surface of the counter. The cold marble met your thighs and made you shiver, and within seconds, he was pressing a chilled glass of water into your hand. You held it like an anchor, fingers curling around the condensation-slicked glass as you brought it to your lips with his help. He made you drink it all, giving you a moment before you nodded that you were done and set the glass aside.
“Here, you’ll catch a cold if you’re naked for long,” Zayne murmured, already moving to tug the sweater he fetched over your head.
You let him. You always did. He was so quietly stubborn in moments like this, so unshakably him. He guided your arms through the long sleeves with patient care, flipping your hair out from the collar and fixing it back, his fingers grazing along your nape like he couldn’t quite stop touching you.
“Just stay put, alright?” He said, voice soft but edged with that familiar firmness that made your chest flutter, “don’t exhaust yourself any further. Save your energy for a shower with me before we test out the new game console.”
Your breath caught a little on the laugh that followed, light and breathless, “okay, okay, fine…Thank you.”
Zayne only shook his head with that quiet, affectionate chuckle of his, lips twitching at the corners as he stepped back from you. You watched him as he strolled toward the fridge, the slow, grounded pace of his walk so casual, so domestic, it made your chest ache in a different way. He paused in front of the magnetic whiteboard, eyes scanning the surface before lifting a hand to thoughtfully rub his smooth-shaven chin. There were your seal doodles, drawn in a sleepy haze the night before. Silly, lopsided, you. Right beside them, the short list of reminders he’d left himself for next week—smog check, order contacts, change out air filter. He stared at the board for a moment longer, then grabbed a black marker and uncapped it with a soft click.
You tilted your head as you fixed your hair as much as you could, your curiosity rising slowly as you watched Zayne begin to jot down something new beneath his reminders. He was writing…Numbers?
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
Then he added words next to each.
1. Bed
2. Couch
3. Bathtub
4. Desk
5. Dining table
6.
And without hesitation, he began to check them off. The marker squeaked slightly as it pressed into the surface, but your breath was louder—shallow, caught between a stunned laugh and the rush of warmth that spread down your spine. You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak. You just paused at a twirl of your messy hair and let the moment hang there, undeniably his.
“…Uh, Zayne?” You giggled, your voice soft and breathy as it broke the quiet hum of the fridge.There was still a slight rasp in your throat, a rawness from how loudly you’d screamed his name not long ago.
You caught the curl of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth—subtle, mischievous, utterly him—as he kept writing, pretending he didn’t hear the way you laced your words with curiosity. He didn’t look at you right away. Just kept his eyes on the board as he scribbled one last word with casual precision, the black ink catching under the warm lighting.
“What are you doing?” You finally asked.
“Making a list,” he replied simply, still so composed, so calm, as if he hadn’t just torn you apart on the dining table minutes earlier.
You tilted your head again, the arch of your brow quirking as your gaze flicked down to the last thing he’d written.
6. Kitchen counter
And it was…Unchecked.
“Of?” You prompted that cleverly humorous man you called yours, crossing your arms as the smirk tugged at your lips.
“Surfaces,” he turned his head then, giving you his full gaze. Calm. Steady. Smiling with just enough self-satisfaction to make your heart flutter and your stomach knot all over again. He capped the marker with a soft click, “you know,” he added, his tone smooth, his words so effortlessly dry it made your cheeks flush, “to help you get used to us living together.”
Heat tinged your face instantly. It rose up your neck and bloomed across your cheeks as you burst into another giggle, smacking your own forehead in disbelief at the audacity of this man—your man—and the deadpan honesty in the way he said things that left you breathless. Still floating, still only half-dressed in his oversized sweater, you carefully slid off the counter and slowly padded toward him, your bare feet nearly silent against the cool tile. Zayne didn’t move. He just watched you come closer with that infuriatingly calm composure of his, like he already knew you were going to meet him there. You reached for the marker in his hand, plucking it from his elegant fingers with a smirk that mirrored the one he tried—and failed—to hide from you.
“To the point that one day…” You began quoting him, lifting the marker to the board, uncapping it with a dramatic little flourish, “I’ll find myself in the middle of the vegetable aisle at the grocery store wondering whose diabolical idea it was to add carrots to beef stew…”
Zayne laughed. Really laughed—the low, quiet, genuine kind that warmed your chest. His gaze dropped to the little side-note you added beneath his unchecked “kitchen counter.”
While dinner’s cooking ;)
“Precisely,” he chuckled, pulling you into his bare chest with one easy motion, like your place was always meant to be there.
He kissed the top of your head, and you let yourself melt fully into him, breathing him in deep. You stood there for a long, peacefully silent moment, swaying gently together in the quiet hum of the kitchen. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, your fingertips affectionate as they mapped the breadth of his sweat-damp shoulders. Your mind drifted into unobstructed vulnerability, then, pleasantly tumbling into the sweetest, unguarded warmth. It was a feeling that reminded you of when you and Zayne were children, him the quiet boy who could always be found nose-deep in a book, you the lively girl who laughed the loudest and spun in your light up sneakers too fast—When you’d go knocking on his parents’ front door after school, asking if he was done with his homework so you could drag him out to play with you, to roll down that little hill behind his childhood home together, the one hidden just past a field of jasmines—until the sun would set and he’d insist on walking you back to your porch.
Maybe I’ll get used to a lot of things. Sharing a fridge. Filling his dresser drawers. Slow dancing in the middle of meal prep. Maybe I’ll even get used to the idea of marrying him one day. Maybe it wouldn’t be too crazy to be real. Maybe it’d be just perfect. Maybe I even deserve it. Maybe I’ll really marry him. Maybe he’d be the best girl dad. Maybe I’ll proudly brag to Tara and Jenna that my husband would never force our child to play an instrument or go to med school.
Yeah.
I think I’d like that.
I could get used to this.
I want to marry him. I want to marry Zayne.
You didn’t say it out loud. Not yet. But as you smiled peacefully into his chest, it was already there, warm and certain, tucked somewhere deep between your ribs where all the important truths liked to live.
#zayne#zayne x reader#zayne love and deepspace#love and deepspace zayne#lads zayne#love#domestic#domesticity#lnds zayne#lads#doctor zayne#fluffy#fluff#smut#zayne fanfic#love and deespace fanfic#li shen#lads smut#lads x reader#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace smut#lads x you#zayne lads#zayne x you#zayne li#loveanddeepspace#zayne x mc#zayne smut#l&ds smut#l&ds
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Hi! Your writing is amazing and wholesome! I have a request if you don’t mind.
Can you write one where MC is visually paired/blind and feels guilty for relying on Zayne to take care of her? Like she’s no longer employed as a hunter and needs a lot of help with day to day things. MC feels like she’s burdening Zayne but he’s happy she trusts him to rely on him.
This could be amazing as a hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending piece. Thank you for your time! 🩵
Thank youuuuu 💕 I'm glad you're enjoying my writing but also how are you guys saying my writing is so wholesome and then asking just the saddest thing 🥹 and here I am enabling you guys ahahahaha
But anyway, what a request, from someone with such a shit eyes and cannot do anything without my glasses, losing my sight is one of the thing I'm afraid the most... So this was really hitting me... Although it wouldn't be the same, I try my best! Hope you like it! 🥹🫶🏻 Let me know what you think! 💕
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Seeing You
Summary
After a mission leaves you in the dark, with only the sound of your own breath to anchor you, Zayne is there—steady, patient, and always present—even when you can’t see him. You’re learning to navigate the silence, the hesitation in your steps, and the quiet adjustments he makes to help you find your way, but the weight of needing him still feels too heavy.
Ao3 link
My Masterlist ✨
Notes
Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader CW: Losing eyesight, adjusting emotional and physically, hurt/comfort, establish relationship, sad and sweet!
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It’s been three months since that mission. Three months since the blast knocked you backward. It went dark—and stayed dark.
No light. No outlines. No vague movement. Just the memory of color and the sound of your own breath in the void it left behind.
You’re curled up on the couch now, knees tucked under your chin, your fingers absently worrying at the hem of your sweater. You’re still not used to the silence—not the real kind, but the kind that comes when you can’t anchor yourself to anything. You can’t scan your surroundings. You can’t gauge the time by the position of the sun through the windows. You can’t even see Zayne, though you know he’s there.
You hear the soft click of the stove turning off. The scent of shrimps and roasted vegetables still hangs in the air, rich and warm and a little bit sweet—he made your favorite again, not that you’d asked. You don’t really ask for anything these days.
A gentle scrape of a spoon against ceramic, the low thud of a cabinet closing. He moves around the kitchen quietly, but not in a way that hides him. You can always tell where he is now—by the soft brush of his clothes when he passes, the steadiness of his breathing, the tiny pauses he makes when he’s about to speak but lets you take the lead instead.
You shift, reaching out for the coffee table you know is just a foot or so away, fingertips hovering in the air like you’re afraid of touching wrong. You’ve done that more than once—brushed too hard, bumped too fast, knocked over whatever he’d set down for you.
You pull your hand back and curl into yourself instead.
You used to be a Hunter. You used to walk into danger without flinching, shout orders without second-guessing. Now you hesitate before every step, memorize the number of paces from the couch to the kitchen, trace the edges of every wall and object like they’re foreign terrain.
And Zayne—he just keeps showing up. Cooking meals. Leaving your mug always in the same spot. Letting you listen to the news through his holoscreen instead of reading reports. Helping you dress without saying a word about it, even though you know he notices when you pause—fingers lingering over the curve of your waist or the scar near your collarbone, trying to remember what you look like now.
You hate needing this much. You hate how fragile it makes you feel.
You sink deeper into the cushions and let out a breath that feels too heavy for your chest.
Zayne doesn’t say anything. Just sets a bowl on the coffee table—gently, like he knows you’re listening—and walks around to sit beside you. The couch dips under his weight. His presence radiates calm, a low thrum of quiet strength, and part of you wants to lean into it. But you don’t.
Because he’s still whole. And you… you don’t know what you are anymore.
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The kitchen still smells like the meal Zayne made earlier. You’d insisted on rinsing the dishes yourself, even after your hand brushed the edge of a plate too fast and sent it clattering. That one hadn’t broken. This one does.
You’re trying to find the sink. Your fingers skim the counter, the edge of the drying rack, too fast, too eager to prove you still can. And then—
Glass hits tile.
It shatters loud, sharp, immediate.
Somewhere beneath your ribs, your breath catches. You freeze.
And then the tears start. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just this slow, helpless stream that slips out before you can pull yourself together. You press your palm flat to the countertop, jaw trembling, but the pressure doesn’t ground you like it’s supposed to.
You don’t even hear Zayne coming.
One moment you’re alone, holding your breath like you can rewind time if you just stay still. The next, he’s there.
You feel the air shift before you hear the soft rustle of his sleeves, the quiet clink as he picks up the larger pieces, careful and methodical.
“I’m fine,” you whisper, though your voice cracks. “I didn’t cut myself.”
But he doesn’t take your word for it. His hands find yours gently, his cool touch steady against your skin—unmistakably him. His thumbs brush across your knuckles as he turns them over, checking for blood. You feel his breath when he exhales, low and steady, like he’s trying to pass the calm into you.
And maybe that’s what undoes you.
“I hate this,” you manage, your voice tight, hoarse with the effort not to break further. “I can’t do anything, Zayne. You’re always cleaning up after me. I can’t fight. I can’t even walk across the room without bumping into something.”
You expect silence. Or worse—reassurance that sounds like pity. But when Zayne answers, his voice is low and even, every word weighted with quiet conviction.
“You don’t have to fight for anyone right now,” he says. “You just have to let yourself heal.”
You open your mouth—to argue, maybe. But he’s not finished.
“And I’m not cleaning up after you,” he adds, his hands still around yours. “I’m just… here. With you.”
His tone doesn’t shift, doesn’t soften with sympathy or hesitation. It’s not a line he practiced, or a comfort he thinks you want. It’s just truth. Plain and steady.
You don’t know what to say to that. Not yet. But you lean forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder, and he lets you stay there as long as you need.
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You’ve stopped asking.
Not just for the little things, but for the bigger ones, too. Not like before, when the silence came from grief. Now it’s sharper—calculated. You tell yourself if you just manage on your own, even a little, you’ll stop feeling so heavy in the space between you and Zayne.
It’s not that you don’t need help—god, you do—but there’s something in you that can’t bear the sound of your own voice when you ask for it. When you ask where something is, when you hear the pause in Zayne’s breathing because he knows you’re trying to do it alone again.
You’ve memorized every corner of the apartment now. Counted the steps between walls. Traced the edges of cabinets and drawers like braille. And still, you trip. You reach too far. You knock things down.
You never say anything when it happens. Just sweep up what you can and pretend nothing’s wrong.
Until tonight.
Zayne’s shift ran late. You told him not to worry, that you’d be fine, that you might even be asleep when he got back. But sleep doesn’t come. Only noise—quiet and sharp—the kind glass makes when it slips from trembling fingers and meets tile.
You’re on the floor when he walks in. Knees tucked underneath you, hands moving gently over the broken dish like you could will it back together by touch alone. Your fingers skim each shard carefully, as if mapping it with memory might fix the cracks.
You don’t even look up when the door opens.
You whisper, like you’ve been holding the words in for hours.
“I thought if I just tried harder…” Your voice is barely audible. “Maybe I wouldn’t need you so much.”
Zayne doesn’t speak right away. No gasp, no rush to fix it. Just the soft thud of his coat sliding off, the quiet tap of shoes being set aside, and then—
He kneels beside you. Not in front of you, not across—just next to you.
His hands find yours gently. Thumb brushing the back of your wrist, then his fingers closing around yours to ease the shards from your grip. You feel the sting now—tiny cuts you didn’t notice in your panic, dull and blooming with heat.
Still, he doesn’t scold. Doesn’t even sigh.
He just wraps his arms around you, slowly, like he’s giving you time to lean in if you want to. You do.
“You’re not weak for needing someone,” he says, voice low against your ear. “You’re brave for letting me in. For trusting me with this part of you.”
You press your face into his shoulder and breathe—finally, deeply, like your chest had been locked shut for days.
“You are never a burden,” Zayne murmurs. “If anything, I’m grateful you let me be here.”
He holds you tighter—not caging, just certain.
“You’re still you,” he adds. “You always will be.”
You don’t answer right away. Your throat aches too much to speak, and your hands are still trembling. But you nod, barely, and he feels it.
He stays with you on the floor until the shaking stops. Until your breathing slows. Until you’re ready to let him help you up—not because you can’t, but because you don’t have to do it alone.
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It’s been weeks since that night on the floor. Weeks since you let Zayne pull you close and whisper the words you needed to hear, the words you didn’t know you were waiting for.
Things don’t always feel easier, but they feel different now—less like the weight of your injury is pulling you under, and more like you’re learning how to breathe again. Zayne’s been a constant, never pushing, always there with quiet reassurance and those small adjustments that mean more than you ever expected.
He’s marked the apartment with subtle cues—soft fabric along the edge of the counter so you can feel it with your fingertips, a slight texture on the edge of the hallway wall that helps guide you without needing to ask. He’s arranged things so you can always find what you need without fumbling too long. The light switch for the bathroom has a tiny bump on it, and the door to the bedroom has a narrow line of tape so you know where it opens.
It’s not about making you reliant on him—it’s about helping you find a new way to move, to navigate.
And then there’s the audio device. You don’t know exactly when he got it, but one day he’s setting it up on the desk, programming it with your Hunter files. You can still help with missions, still offer advice, analyze strategy—all with just your voice. He never calls it retirement. Always, it’s a new way to fight.
It’s not the same as holding a blade or charging into the field, but your voice still cuts through static, still steadies others when they’re lost. Maybe it was never about the way you fought—maybe it was always about why.
You’ll never get used to how much he sees you, even when you can’t see yourself.
Today, you’re standing in the living room, fingers tracing the edge of the couch. The room is quiet, but it’s a good quiet. The kind that means you’re not trying to force yourself into something you’re not anymore. You’re just… moving forward.
You reach out instinctively. You know the kitchen is just a few steps away, and you trust the path Zayne’s mapped for you. One step, two steps, and then—
The edge of the doorway. Your shoulder brushes the frame but doesn’t slam into it. Not this time.
You stop. A soft laugh escapes you, more of a breath than anything, and you take another step, slowly, just to test it. And then you do laugh, quietly, like it’s a secret you’re finally letting go of.
“That’s the first time I didn’t smack into the doorway,” you say, almost in disbelief.
You pause, listening. Zayne’s footsteps are familiar now—the soft tap of his sandals against the floor, the subtle shift in the air when he’s near. And then, you feel him there, close enough that his warmth almost brushes against you.
Without a word, his lips find your temple, pressing gently, a quiet reassurance that you don’t need to see to feel. His presence wraps around you, steady and constant.
“Proud of you,” he murmurs, voice low and sure. “Told you—you’ve never stopped moving forward.”
You let the words settle, his touch grounding you in a way that’s become as familiar as his voice. You can’t see him, but you can feel him in everything—his pride, his belief in you, the quiet patience that’s helped you find your footing again.
And maybe, just maybe, in this moment, you’re starting to believe in yourself again too.
The days are different now. The apartment feels smaller somehow, not in a suffocating way, but like it’s been rearranged, reorganized—not just by Zayne, but by the new rhythm of your life. You’re adjusting, one step at a time. And it doesn’t hurt as much anymore to ask for help, to trust that you’re not a burden. You’ve found a way to move with it, to move with him.
But today, Zayne’s quiet about something.
It’s only when you’re halfway through the process of organizing some files on the desk that you hear his footsteps shift on the floor, the faint sound of him standing still just to your side. His voice breaks the quiet, steady and calm. “Pack a bag. We’re going somewhere.”
You pause, fingers stilling on the papers. “Where?”
“Just trust me.”
The bags are packed without much question. A couple of hours later, you’re in the back of the car, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the air between you. You don’t ask more questions. You just let him drive, let him take you wherever it is he’s planned for you. When you reach the cottage, the quiet of the countryside surrounds you like a soft blanket.
It’s peaceful. Still.
And when you step out of the car, the air smells different—fresher, richer, filled with the scent of trees and earth. Your fingers brush through the grass as you step forward, the slight give beneath your feet grounding you in a way the city never could.
Zayne’s there to guide you, his hand just a breath away, his touch cool and steady as it always is. He doesn’t say much, letting the place speak for itself.
He leads you slowly, guiding you toward the water. You hear it before you feel it—the soft, rhythmic lapping just ahead—and that’s when you stop, sinking to the ground. Not falling this time—just grounding yourself, steady on your own feet. Zayne follows, settling beside you in the grass.
The air is warmer here, touched by the water’s presence. You can’t see it, but you feel it—the subtle pull of the surface, the gentle ripple that hums through the space like a heartbeat. You reach out beside you, and his hand finds yours without hesitation. Cool, steady, familiar. His fingers wrap around yours like an answer.
“You don’t have to see to know you’re in the right place,” Zayne says quietly, his voice like the rest of the world—calm, patient, and full of certainty.
You nod, letting your fingers drift out to feel the warmth of the air on your skin, then moving up to trace the curve of his jaw. His face is familiar beneath your touch, every line etched in a way that’s become a part of you. Your breath catches for just a moment, the weight of everything you’ve been through settling over you.
“As long as you’re here, I already know,” you whisper, feeling the words more than speaking them.
Zayne’s other hand moves to yours, stilling it for a moment, then pulling you gently against him. His lips brush your temple, light and soft like a promise.
“I’ll always be here,” he murmurs, his voice deep, steady. “Always.”
You don’t need to see it to know it’s true. The world is full of so much more than what you can see. The warmth, the trust, the unspoken bond between you—it’s all here. In this moment. And for the first time in a long while, it feels like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.
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Notes
Before I got teary eyes, this one is water work 😭 I cannot even imagine... too scary man, and I know I'm the one writing their exact reaction and dialogue but man... Zayne... where do I find this man??? He's not outside that's for damn sure 😦 I say it before but I really am my biggest fans, I like my joke, I like my story first so yk 😩🤣 Alright serious now, hopefully y'all enjoy this 💕
#love and deepspace#love and deep space#loveanddeepspace#lads zayne#zayne love and deepspace#lads mc#lads fanfic#li shen#hurt/comfort#comfort#comfort character#comforting#zayne x reader#zayne x mc#healing#self healing#support#blind#losing sight#lads zayne x mc#lads x mc#love and deepspace mc#lads au#lads x reader#zayne fluff#kinda fluffy#fluff#moving forward
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Breathless
Summary/Details: Imagining the moment Solomon starts crushing on you. Fluffy af.
The levitation spell from yesterday’s class was nothing for Solomon the Wise; the genius feared amongst sorcerers. A flick of his fingers could move mountains. A shift in his posture could bend space. A single breath from his lips could ruin cities.
And so, he breathed.
In response, you followed.
Solomon looked down with intrigue from his perch on the RAD library window sill. The current mouse to his cat-like curiosity was you, studying Devildom nature in the school’s vast, thriving botanical garden and scribbling down findings in a leather-bound notebook; most likely for a school assignment. He blew some stray strands of hair from his eyes - and watched you chase the leaves that shook themselves loose from the trees above you. He whistled a short tune, chuckling mid-melody as stones organised and re-organised themselves into neat, little piles at your feet.
“Hm… I don’t think that’s the wind anymore…” You say out loud to the silence around you, brows furrowed. “Devildom rocks are pretty weird, I guess…”
Solomon snorts.
You scribble a quick sketch of dancing rocks into your book, blaming his puppeteered pranks on natural causes.
He continued to toy with you for the rest of his free period, satisfaction swelling in his chest as easily as air filling his lungs. Levitating rocks around your feet, mimicking the screech of seagulls from within hollow tree trunks, making flowers bloom in puffs of smoke where to step. It’s so fun, he thinks, to play around with you like this. To sway you about in a current of magic spells even a baby could easily learn, and to have you believe it was natural Devildom magic.
It felt good, he thought. To know that a human sorcerer had finally caught up to the all-powerful beings of this realm. To know that he had the power to protect small, fragile humans like you. To know he had full, total, immeasurable control over -
Suddenly, there was a pained cry from below.
Immediately, Solomon looked down.
… His breath hitched. The magic faded, the flowers from his latest prank stop blooming, and he sees that you’ve accidentally tripped and fallen to the ground. The fabric of your clothes lay sprawled out, lost within a sheer volume of flowers he hadn’t even noticed he had conjured up. Petals of all kinds of vibrant colours flew up and floated down as you shuffled around in an attempt to stand up. The plants appeared to bend out of your way as you did, as if welcoming their ruler. Like something out of a fairytale. Solomon couldn’t bring himself to look away.
Then, soft rays of sun hit. You, the flowers, the blades of grass - the fabric of your uniform - the light in your eyes - were hit, all at one, by the sunlight. Gold stretched over your skin. In just a single moment, Solomon’s repertoire of laughably-easily spells meant nothing in the face of your power.
All you did was breathe.
And then, suddenly… Solomon couldn’t.
(u know what, i really haven’t given the non-brothers much love and i should really fix that! here’s a cute bit of solomon! i imagine he’s pretty hyper-focused on gaining power to make himself a human on par with the celestials and demons - only to realise that there is a kind of power which doesn’t require any magic at all…)
(love, the power is love, idk why i had to make that last bit sound like a movie trailer lol)
#do i do more ‘moment when crush begins’ fics? lmk!#this is fluffy but tbh an immortal with a crush is just angst waiting to happen#oh noes sorry solomon :(#obey me#obey me headcanons#obey me shall we date#obey me writing#obey me mc#obey me fluff#obey me mc x solomon#obey me solomon x reader#obey me solomon x mc
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Hi hello I like your writing and I crave Kieran content
Could you do Kieran x reader just taking a night to relax and cuddle after all the indigo disk nonsense that went down? The boy needs cuddles. I don't make the rules. Thank you much! Thanks for existing! :)
I couldn't agree more! Our poor boy needs to just take a hibernation nap. I'm so so sorry it took so long to get to this request! I'm here now I always get them done... eventually.
Warning: None Very short and sweet
Cuddle Bug | Kieran x Reader

Sometimes, all someone needs is a cuddle.
That statement couldn’t be more true than this moment right now. Curtains closed; a darkened room illuminated by only a table lamp; not a sound from outside. Pure tranquillity. A truly perfect moment, made even more perfect with Kieran relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. His arms wrapped around your body, caging himself to you as his head rested on your stomach. Completely at ease and fast asleep.
A book in hand, you simply rubbed his back gently, occasionally running your fingers through his messy hair. A motion that caused him to sigh in his sleep - a calm, peaceful sigh.
Not a Pokémon in sight, just a moment of silent love. Words are unspoken, but the gaze you gave to him, even though he couldn’t see it in his slumber. The love spoke more than a thousand words from one simple look. Deep down, you wished this moment would never end. It was no secret to you just how hard your boyfriend had been on himself, and it broke your heart in two.
A moment he will never forgive, and a mistake he will never allow himself to forget. Beating himself down over and over, allowing those thoughts to plague his racing mind. A whirlwind of pain and a cascade of regrets. In this moment, do not exist, you won’t allow it.
Your embrace a shield, your breaths causing your chest to rise and fall acting as threads, keeping his heart together and his mind at ease.
If only this night would go on a little longer. But the lull of sleep is one no one can resist. But for now, the memory is enough.
#Fennikin is being mean to me in Violet. WHY WON'T YOU BE GREY!#pokemon#pokemon indigo disk#pokemon dlc#pokemon x reader#dlc#fluff#fanfic#pokemon fanfiction#pokemon kieran#kieran x mc#kieran pokemon#trainer kieran#kieran x reader#kieran#pkmn#pkmn sv#pokemon scarlet violet#pokemon scarlet and violet#pokemon scarlet#scarlet and violet#x reader#video game#video games#cuddles#fluffy#romantic
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Blind Boy 🥀
(An Ominis Gaunt friends-to-lovers playlist)
A/N: Please listen in order. There's a method to my madness.
Ominis Gaunt fell in love slowly...
It began, he thinks, when he started hanging out with her. Without Sebastian that is.
Young folks - Peter Biorn and John
Lake Shore Drive - Skip Haynes
She makes him rather happy. It's odd...
Dog Days are Over - Florence + the Machine
Sunshine Lollypops and Rainbows - Lesley Gore
She understands him like no one else. And even if she doesn't, she never pretends to. Just listens.
Wow, I'm Not Crazy - AJR
He really likes his time spent with her. He thinks about her when she's not around. She occupies his thoughts rather a lot. Her time feels like a currency and he fears running out. He's never had to be afraid of any sort of lack before.
putting a spin on Ophelia - Egg
What is this warm feeling? A dream - a wish, certainly. His parents would hurt him if they found out... Besides, he's just the blind boy. Who's he kidding?
One Last Wish - Casper
If I Could Ride A Bike - Park Bird, Chevy
Creep - Radiohead
It's impossible... but what's the point of it all if he doesn't at least try? It could be so beautiful. He doesn't have to be brave about it.
Do Not Let Your Spirit Wane - Gang of Youths
Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys
He starts to try.
Passing Papers - Egg
Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol
Are You Bored Yet - Wallows
Please Notice - Christian Leave
Feelings Are Fatal - Mxmtoon
These feelings are deeper than he thought. He can't help but indulge them.
Can't Help Falling in Love - Elvis
Amazing - Rex Orange Country
Golden Hour - JVKE
This Side of Paradise - Coyote Theory
Can I Call You Tonight? - Dayglow
I Couldn't Be More In Love - The 1975
It's so wonderful. It's beyond good. And she's always so kind to him. So perfect.
Infinitely Ordinary - The Wrecks
Remember When - Wallows
Ratisim - The Suicide Squad
One night in the Undercroft, he plucks up a little courage. And then... then he asks that girl to dance.
Not About Angels - Birdy
Once Upon A December - Anastasia
The Princess Diaries Waltz
And oh... oh he's fallen so far. He's hopeless.
Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheeran
Line Without A Hook - Rick Montgomery
First Kiss.
Like Real People Do - Hozier
And things just get better from there...
I Hear A Symphony - Cody Fry
Say You Won't Let Go - James Arthur
I Feel Good About This - The Mowgli's
Darling - Christian Leave
Love - Lana Del Rey
the world could end with you - Llunar
After graduation, he proposes. The ring doesn't come from a distant ancestor - it's not plucked off his family tree. It's just for her. For that lovely muggle-born girl and nobody else.
Until I Found You - Steven Sanchez
His first night with her is better than he ever could have dreamed.
Saturn - Sleeping At Last
He elopes with her two months later. And married life with her is perfect. Utterly and completely perfect. Away from his family and his high-society upbringing... it's lazy and soft and simple.
Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson
Waltz for Sweatpants - Cody Fry
Would That I - Hozier
You Are Enough - Sleeping At Last
Photograph - Cody Fry
Love theme:
Hearing - Sleeping At Last
Happy Valentine's Day 💘
#I know its a little late but I spent hours on this#its so sappy#but young love guys#my name is cas and i write stuff#fanfic#hogwarts legacy#ominis gaunt#sebastian sallow#hogwarts legacy sebastian#fluffy fluff#hogwarts legacy ominis#ominis x mc#ominis x reader#ominis gaunt x reader#ominis gaunt x you#sebastian sallow x reader#friends to lovers#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#hogwarts legacy x reader#soft ominis#hes just a little guy#valentine's post#Hogwarts Valentine's#cas says stuff
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Ominis Gaunt headcannons {Pt. 4}
Author's Note: when i'm trying to think of what to write i like to walk around spots in the game and think of what the characters would think/do. what would their favorite study spots be? do they have a favorite place to curl up with a book? etc. anyway, this came to me while i was walking around the slytherin common room. hope you enjoy :) and i'm starting a taglist for my Ominis headcannons series, so let me know if you'd like to be added :)
he knows most of the house elves by name. the Gaunts are notorious for their abuse of house elves, so most of the kitchen/cleaning staff steered clear of them for the first few weeks of his first year. then one day, when ominis was still getting used to the charm he used to see, he tripped over a one of the elves’ mop buckets. the young Gaunt’s face flushed bright red and he fumbled for his wand before pointing it directly at her. she froze in place and cowered, waiting for whatever punishment he would dole out, but none came
he stuttered out an incantation and flicked his wand in her direction - and the rag she wore dried instantly. confused, but still terrified, she remained frozen. young ominis apologized profusely, using the few spells he knew to clean up the mess. all the while he explained how he was having a bit of trouble maintaining the charm for extended periods
after the bucket was righted and the water had vanished from the floor, he helped her up and asked for her name. Niffy explained that few witches or wizards ever asked, and that she’d never had a student offer to help her, let alone with magic. he continued on his way, but Niffy made sure to tell every elf in the castle to keep a protective eye on young Ominis
not many students know this, but there are plenty of snakes that have made their home within the castle. while Ominis doesn’t enjoy speaking parseltongue, he likes that the snakes bring him gossip from around the school. when Sebastian asks how he seems to know everyone’s secrets and rumors, he replies that he simply listens more than he talks. (while this is true, the snakes’ rumor mill is mostly responsible). behind the walls and within the pipes, they hear everything about everyone (which means Ominis does, too)
this boy has managed to free nearly every house elf tied to the Gaunt name. when he first came to hogwarts his parents assigned one of the house elves to follow him around. he hated feeling coddled, but he knew his father would take his anger out on the house elf if ominis sent him back
there’s a trip to Hogsmeade for all of the first-years a few days after the sorting ceremony. the prefects break them into groups and give them brief tours of all the shops. at the end they’re given a few hours to roam before everyone returns to the castle for dinner. Anne and Sebastian, ever curious and looking for the greatest source of action, follow him from a distance. they know he’s a Gaunt. they’ve heard of his family’s reputation. nearly everyone in their year avoids him like the plague, but the twins don’t find him to be any different from their classmates (aside from the house elf that never leaves his side)
it turns out Ominis had taken out as large of a deposit as he could and had the galleons sent by post. his poor owl couldn’t carry the sack of gold, so he was told he could retrieve the coins at the post office. the twins watch as he nonchalantly shoves the equivalent of a year of Solomon’s earnings into a sack and enters Gladrags
naturally, they follow him. he purchases the warmest cloak in the shop, but doesn’t leave. puzzled, the twins watch as he asks Mr. Hill something and hands the coat back to him. he sizes up the house elf with a quick once-over before waving his wand over the garment. when he’s finished, the coat is ten times smaller than before. they watch in awe as young Ominis presents the clothing to his house elf, along with the sack of galleons
the house elf begins to weep, but Ominis merely kneels so that he can speak to the elf without tower over him. as the pair exit the shop, they hear him tell the elf to “be careful, and live well” before they embrace and the elf apparates away with a loud pop
the next day they introduce themselves, and the trio become inseparable
(Ominis’ father stops sending house elves to Ominis, but only after the young boy has managed to free half of their household staff)
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Taglist: @caramel-hufflepuff, @fanfiction-she-wrote
#ominis x mc#ominis gaunt#ominis gaunt x reader#ominis gaunt x you#ominis gaunt x y/n#fluff#fluffy#angst#hurt/comfort#noctua gaunt
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.。*♡ A/N: Silly and self Indulgent scenario that's been living in my head since I've started learning coding like javascript and html awhile ago, like pls let Idia teach me, I'll listen to everything he has say. Or not. Probably not. I would probably be looking at him all the time like 👀💞.

Coming from someone as quiet as Idia, people would think that he only hides inside his room and that only silence surrounds him. But that was far from true, Idia laughed, screamed or hummed all the time when he was safe and sound inside those comforting walls and, like now, his fingers tapped the keyboard keys frantically.
"What's that supposed to be?" You asked, pointing to a series of strange codes on Idia's dimly lit computer screen. How he could see with all the lights off, you didn't know. But at least, you now knew why he complained about his eyes hurting.
Idia replied without turning around, "They're called arrays. They're used to store more than one code inside a variable, Yuu-shi."
You made an understanding sound even though you didn't understand what that meant. You remembered a thing or two about your world's programming, but the memories were blurred and as today was an especially calm day, you decided to pull a chair close to his desk and sit next to Idia to watch him work. Maybe it would help to understand what those "arrays" were for if you could watch him, besides it was fun.
You noticed how his fingers trembled slightly against the keyboard and the ends of his hair turned pink at your sudden approach, but you preferred to spare him the embarrassment and just watch him create his codes. It was almost peaceful the sound of his fingers and his soft humming.
"That's an opening tag right there, right?" You pointed again not sure and he nodded.
"Yuu-shi..." He mumbled as if unsure of his proposal. Even though you're friends, he's too scared to voice his ideas sometimes and you don't force him to say anything while you wait for him to search for the right words. Finally after a few seconds Idia turns to you with a small smile on his face. "S-sit closer, you'll be able to see better that way. I can even explain what each code is for if that doesn't bore you."
That was his shy way of saying that he would like to have you around and that he didn't mind your questions, and you readily nodded, pulling the chair closer and resting your face in your hand. Idia kept working, fingers practicing typing over and over entire columns of tags and other codes that you gradually remembered the name.
"Yuu-shi, you never told me that you, uh, liked programming." He mutters uncertainly. But then a wide smile spreads across his lips and he looks at you sideways, laughing sinisterly. "But that means I can teach you everything I know, and after I've stuffed all possible coding knowledge into your little pretty head, Yuu-shi, you will evolve from an R card to a UR+."
You shudder comically, wondering if it was too late to run. But Idia's cool hand closes over your wrist and his slender fingers find their way to yours, lacing them together as he opens another page on his computer.
"Let's start with your lesson, Yuu-shi, and... And, uh... And if you get everything right, I have a reward in mind." Idia declares, a rosy blush taking over his face.
And truly how couldn't you deny him that?
#twst#twisted wonderland#twst idia#twst idia shroud#idia x yuu#idia x reader#idia x mc#idia shroud#idia shroud x reader#idia shroud x yuu#idia shroud x mc#fluff#fluffy#lorkai headcanon
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Frustration
You've got feelings for someone and you have no idea how to process them, let alone deal with them.
Angsty fluff and smutty frustration turn into a satisfying conclusion.
✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩
Rafayel x reader/MC, use of y/n, mention of Xavier and Zayne, masturbation, cussing, smut, smutty smut smut, praise kink, light master play, a little begging, fluff, angsty, unrequited feelings, doubt, cute stuff too
If you are under 18, please refrain from reading this. You have been warned, continuing to read this means you have ignored my warning.
✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩
It had been a long succession of weeks. Too long. If it wasn’t missions, it was training. If it wasn’t those, it was mountains of paperwork. You had barely gotten any downtime lately, and you were fraying at the seams. It kept you busy, at least.
But when Captain Jenna offered you some downtime, you silently fought it. It would be only two days off, but it meant you would be alone with yourself. With your thoughts. So only to keep from being put on suspension, you took it. You figured you could do some self care, an errand or two, some tv…it won’t be that bad, right?
The first day was going fine, you had a long hot bath, soaking away your worries. You even slept in a bit, and you had plans to get food delivered as well. You were gonna pamper yourself and take good care of yourself this weekend. You swore that was the goal.
You had been avoiding this much time off from Hunting because you were avoiding a much bigger issue. One you were far from ready to admit to yourself, let alone anyone else...
This was especially because you had been feeling…frustrated lately. You kept stealing glances at your attractive friend Zayne, who was also your doctor. And your coworker Xavier was not ignored, either. But when you got anywhere near your second boss, Rafayel, you would freeze up and just shut down.
You hadn’t even been with anyone in years, and even then it had been a tame relationship that only lasted a couple months, at most.
So…you were just a little pent up.
You got out your secret stash of toys, just a couple vibrators, a dildo, some lube, the usual suspects. You had been itching for some pleasure down there, and to be honest, you had almost wanted to call someone over to help…
See but, you knew full well it would likely be taking advantage…you knew you could ask Xavier to do almost anything. But in knowing that, the guilt that tugged at your gut made you rethink it every time.
And Zayne would just go along with things to help you, not that he would complain. But he only saw you as a little sister, if anything. So you felt guilt, there, too…
And the only other viable option, well…you were avoiding that altogether. Forever. Buried. Banned. No more.
But no matter, you knew all your own buttons, you wouldn’t have a difficult time of this, even if it had been a while…this’d be a nice time to reconnect with yourself, right?
…
That was THREE HOURS AGO…
You were panting, flushed and frustrated, fingers aching, lips dry, sweat covering your body…and it was like you weren’t able to dip your toe into the water, let alone take that dive into the pool.
You were so frustrated, you started to cry. You were nearly sobbing, your nerves were officially wrecked, and you were ready to just get up and drink all the liquor you kept in your kitchen. At least that way you could relax.
So when your phone rang, you just dejectecly picked it up without a thought. Your voice was hoarse and came out shaky from the attempted masturbation, and the sobs that kept jumping up your throat like frogs from not getting anywhere…among other feelings that kept wrenching your thoughts away from your pleasure.
“…Hello?”
“Y/n! I’m so glad to finally hear from you…you’ve been avoiding me lately, I was getting depressed, you know. It’s not nice to avoid someone so handsome…”
Oh no…not him.
“…Rafayel…what do you want?” Your voice was shaky and hoarse, but cold.
“Wow, do you think so little of me? I just wanted to check up on you on your day off, since we haven’t had a chance to talk in forever…I don’t want a thing. Scout’s honor.” You could almost see him making the gesture of raising his hand as if he were a junior scout in your head. You tried not to smirk at how dumb it looked.
“…Wait, how did you know it was my day off??” You turned to look at your phone, as if to make sure you hadn’t turned on a video call.
“Well a little fishie told me, of course! But that’s besides the point, y/n… you sound bad, did you catch something?” Concern could be heard in his tone, and you almost wanted to scream from frustration, because your patience with him was beyond thin right now.
“I’m. Fine. Just trying to relax, Rafayel.” Anger tinged your response as you still lay, naked, sweaty and annoyed, in your stuffy room. But your voice was getting worse from all the talking, so he just heard you denying you were sick.
If he dared to suggest- “I’m coming over. You sound awful, I’ll make sure to take care of you, Miss Bodyguard.”
“No! Rafayel don’t you da-“ click…
“…Fuck. I am so screwed.” You wonder if you can relocate your entire apartment in a matter of minutes. But then you sit up and reality splashes cold water on that dream, too.
You know Xavier is busy taking over missions while you have the two days off, and apparently Zayne is out of town at some conference of some kind. You have no backup. You have no one to step in if things turn south. You quickly dial Thomas before your mind has time to catch up.
“…Hello? Y/n? Is everything alright?”
“Thomas you have to help. Stop him, he’s headed for my apartment as we speak.”
Thomas could read the situation like he was breathing. He was used to you calling and begging him to stop Rafayel from doing who-knows-what.
“Your voice sounds bad, y/n, you should probably be resting if you’re sick…plus, you know Rafayel, he’ll most likely just order in some takeaway and leave once you pass out. He’s not good at taking care of anyone.”
Yes. You knew this. But right now you were anything but tired, let alone sick. If he caught on to what you had been up to to cause your voice to go like this…fuck. You had to hurry. Your bed was covered in toys and damp from the sweat and lube. “Okay Thomas I gotta go bye!”
You gave him no chance to speak and hung up on him. You rushed to put on clothes, shoved your sweaty sheets in your laundry hamper, and struggled to put fresh ones on. You had moments, maybe. If Rafayel drove like he normally does, then you were almost out of time.
That’s when you noticed them again. The toys. You didn’t have time to clean them, so you couldn’t put them away. That’s when you heard the first knock. Fuck.
You shoved them under your bed in a rush and made sure your pajamas didn’t smell too bad…you hadn’t had a chance to get laundry done, yet…which was tomorrow’s main attraction, unfortunately.
Thankfully, they smelled of detergent still, if only faintly. So you should be good.
You start padding over to the door, as more knocks begin to sound. “I’m coming, I’m coming! Gods, Rafayel, calm down…” You open the door to find the man smirking confidently down at you, a bag in hand, and one of his classic outfits with his chest somewhat exposed greeting you.
Normally, the sight would make you snort. But your nerves were still heightened, so you only managed a slight blush instead. “Y/n, you look like you have a fever, here…let me help, okay?”
Your irritation seems to know no limits today, as you try to slam the door in his face, but with no real power behind it, he catches the door and lets himself in, chuckling a little. “I see you’re in good spirits, then.”
You glare at him as he sets the small bag on the counter in your kitchen, and then goes to your side to place his hand against your forehead.
For some reason you don’t flinch like you normally would, which tips him off that something’s up. Instead you blush a little more, looking away. “…I’m fine, Raf.” The abbreviation to his name is to infer annoyance, distance. But he takes a small step closer instead.
“You feel warm…and sweaty, you could have a virus, y/n.” He turns his gaze from you to glance around. “Where do you keep your thermometer?” You grumble at him a quiet “don’t have one.” Which you know Zayne would lose his mind over. But that’s future you’s problem, if it ever gets out.
“Hmmm…guess we’ll just have to do this, then.” He leans down and presses his forehead to yours. “Ah! Rafayel, what are you doing?!” You back up defensively.
“Just making sure. Yeah, you’re hot. Let’s get something to cool you down... ice cream? No, you don’t eat that when you’re sick… I’ll order some porridge. You like abalone, right?” “…No, not really…” he looks at you in shock, as if you had just insulted his entire species.
“Well you’re going to learn to like it. And I’ll get some tea started. I brought some, and a few other things.” He waves his hand as if to shoo you to the living room area. You glower at him in a way that would make plants die.
He ignores you, starting the electric kettle and pulling out a canister from the small bag he brought. You were curious what else was in there, to be honest...
You slumped on the sofa and fumed a little, but by the time Rafayel brought you some tea, you wandered into daydreams instead.
Mostly ones involving Xavier or Zayne. Not this annoying little fish who clung to you like bad luck.
He set the tea on the coffee table in front of you before snapping his fingers in your face. You hated when people did that. You looked up at him slowly, the lewd thoughts that had made you blush to yourself now fading, along with the color in your cheeks.
Your eyes settled into a glare and you quickly grabbed his hand and yanked him down to sit next to you. “Don’t. Ever. Do that. Again.” With every word you pinched his arm. Hard.
He yelped at the first one, then just pouted as he rubbed the spots you had attacked. “I was calling your name for a while…I wanted to know if you had any honey.” For a moment your mind flashes to a lewd thought again, someone drizzling honey on your naked body and licking it all off.
You blushed and looked away. “Top cupboard near the fridge. …Green lid.” He sighs and gets up to bring it to you, and you felt a pang of guilt for that. He didn’t deserve so much of your ire, after all, it wasn’t his fault…
He serves you the tea carefully, after adding a spoonful of honey to the cup. The steam fills your senses, the smell is floral, like jasmine, but with citrus and a deeper, unknown scent. Then something that smells like the ocean fills you with a contentment for a moment, before you realize it’s most likely his scent you’re swooning over. Shit.
You take the cup and carefully sip the tea, staying silent. The awkward chill in the room fills you with dread. This is when you make bad choices, usually. That or when there’s…wait, is there alcohol in this?!
“Rafayel, did you put booze in this??” You look at him with incredulity before he gives you a slight grin. “It’ll help your fever. I saw you had some whiskey on the counter and figured it might be a good idea. Don’t worry, it’s not a lot.” He takes the cup from you to set it down.
You feel like a serious talk is about to happen, and you’re not ready to deal with some sort of awkward conversation with your…boss. You stand up abruptly. “I’ll be right back, just need to use the restroom.” You excuse yourself and rush to shut the door behind you. You let out a sigh of relief.
The alcohol is already affecting you, you forgot to eat today, and with all the energy you burned through earlier trying to get yourself off, your body was already starting to feel loose and a little swimmy. Not good.
You had to splash some cold water on your face several times, and silently talk yourself down from a ledge you were dangerously close to jumping off of at full throttle.
He may be a nuisance and frustrating and capricious and downright annoying with how he knew he affected women…but he was a man. A man here. Now. In your moment of need.
No! No y/n! You will not give in to temptation! He would never let you live it down after he rejects you! He would make you suffer for ever even thinking such things!
More splashing from the sink could be heard from the other side of the door. Rafayel was bored, so he started poking his nose where it wasn’t supposed to be. Starting with your room. Because he’s naughty like that.
Hmmm. She has a lot of stuffed animals for such a tough girl. And she doesn’t know how to make her bed, apparently. Oh look, she has photos on her desk of her frie-
Rafayel stops short at a recent photo of you and Xavier, both of you smiling with his arm around your shoulders casually. You were both at the arcade, and he had just won you the special edition plushie that was now sitting next to it on your desk.
He sulkily turns to leave the room before he sees anything else that will sour his mood. But before he gets too far, he sees a bright blue vibrator that had carelessly rolled out from under your bed in your rush earlier.
“Oho…what’s this?” He picks it up, and it’s covered in lube, still. He smirks as it all starts to click. Your irritation, your voice…your scent. He had been wondering why you smelled so amazing today…now he knew. And he was going to tease the life out of you for being so cold to him earlier.
He settles back down on the sofa before you can catch him sneaking around, and he puts on his most casual and bored of expressions.
You emerge from the bathroom ready to send him home, when he looks up from his phone and gives you one of his heartstopping smiles. You still don’t entirely know why, but it had always managed to make you pause, if not blush.
And right now all your efforts to calm yourself down were in vain. He glanced back down at his phone and tapped something. “The food’ll be here soon, is there anything you’d like to do while we wait? I also ordered myself something, since I figure I should stay until you’re feeling a little better.” He smirked at his phone as you stared.
“Rafayel, you can go home, I’m fine.” “Nope, you clearly have a fever. You were just trying to cool down in there, were you not? And your voice is still hoarse. I’m not going anywhere.” He looked up at you and smirked more. You stomped over and tried to grab his arm to pull him off your sofa, but he was too quick for you, and simply pulled you onto his lap.
“Don’t worry about getting me sick, I’m perfectly healthy.” He brushes some wet strands of hair out of your face as you blush and glare at him. “Just leave, Raf. I’m fine, I just…uh…was out all last night singing karaoke. So I sound like this.” You prayed he bought it.
Not a chance.
He wrapped an arm around you idly as he kept doing something on his phone. You were growing impatient with him. The alcohol was making your need only grow stronger, warming your insides and making your decision making skills less than ideal right now.
You weren’t drunk, but you were definitely slightly impaired. So when you finally noticed his fingers softly rubbing circles into your hip while you sat on his lap, you suddenly shot up and put some distance between the both of you.
“Hmm? Is something wrong?” He looks up as if he hadn’t just been touching you intimately. Not even Zayne was that daring. This fish was trouble…
“I need you to go, Raf. I’ve got a lot of chores to do around here, and you’re in the way.” Your tone is cold, and you try to stand firm, despite your slight tremor from your nerves. He only grins in response.
“Let me know and I’ll do them for you while you rest. Just go in your room and lay down for a bit, I can manage.” He gives you a softer smile now, and some part of your heart of steel starts to warm.
But you shake your head to get those fuzzy thoughts out of your mind. He was annoying, remember? All that charm was an act. He was a renowned lady killer, he was just trying to put the moves on you.
“I want you to please leave.” You put your hands on your hips and you stand firm against his persuasion.
That’s when he brings in the big guns. He stands up, almost slowly, deliberate with each step as he approaches you, forcing you to look up into his eyes to try and stare him down.
He places a hand on your cheek and gives you a sad smile. “…You really hate me that much?”
It’s super effective.
Your heart bobs in a dark storm of doubt and guilt, as you try to right yourself in these dangerous waters you’ve found yourself in. You stare up at him, and suddenly a blush blooms on your cheeks.
“…I don’t hate you.” You look away from him, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact now. And, after a long, intense pause…
“…It’s okay... you can stay.”
His heart actually flutters at that. He lifts your chin to look at him again, and he places the softest kiss to your cheek. But you don’t flinch or pull away. You just let it happen.
You almost want to see what he’ll try to do, since he’s clearly up to something…
Rafayel is suddenly drawn to his phone again, a gentle ding notification alerting him to the food now outside your door. He lets his hand slip away from you and goes to retrieve it.
The tension is still there, even after he brings in the food. He’s silent as he sets the bag down on your dining table, and then he looks at you. “…You’re watching me.” His tone is of curiosity, not accusation.
You blush and quickly look away. Before you can summon your barriers around your heart once more, Rafayel slips next to you, silence and stealth being all the easier with you like this. He places a hand on the small of your back to guide you to the table.
“Come, eat it before it gets cold…” your shoulders stiffened at his touch, and you tried to sus out what was going on. You could sense something, but your mind couldn’t figure out what, precisely…
You let him guide you to the table, as he gets out some dishes to serve you some porridge. “They were all out of abalone, so I ordered oyster and scallop. But I’m guessing you’ll prefer it.” He chuckles a little as he sets a full bowl in front of you.
“Why oysters…why not just... chicken?” You look a little bewildered, but take a bite anyways. It’s good, the porridge tastes refreshingly savory and faintly sweet, with a salty oceanic taste you could never mistake. It’s honestly amazing, as you had been meaning to eat earlier…
Rafayel smiles with his boyish charm, sitting down beside you at the square table, serving himself some as well. “It smells so good, I can save the noodles for later. I’ll have some, too.”
He lets out a low, deep moan as he takes the first bite. As if it was the most delicious food he had ever eaten. “C-c’mon Raf, it’s not that good…” you blush and try to secretly adjust yourself in your chair as you’re already struggling to keep from dampening your shorts further.
But he sees all of it. And he gives you a grin. “Maybe, but I haven’t eaten all day, so this is soooo good…” he makes another moan as he takes another bite. This causes your insides to twitch with want. You’re going to kill him.
This has to be deliberate.
And it is.
Before you finish your bowl, Raf has already finished his. He notices your slowed eating, and swiftly steals away your spoon. “You’re eating so slow…it’s not that bad, here I’ll feed you.” You blush immediately. “Rafayel don’t you da-“ a spoonful of porridge is put in your mouth in response.
You slowly chew and swallow, and without a word, another porridge-laden spoon is waiting for you. “Eat up…Miss Bodyguard.” He smirks at you while you silently eat.
After the last bite, he stands to start tidying the dishes and such. You’re still trying to figure out what he’s up to, as he starts to clean. He hums at first, then pauses.
“Y’know…oysters and scallops are sometimes considered an aphrodisiac...”
Oh. Fuck.
“W-what??” You start to sweat a little, as you stare at his back. He finishes washing and turns to smirk at you. Oh shit…he knows.
You start to panic, standing carefully and slowly backing away from him. “You really should clean up your toys when you’re done playing, y/n…” it takes him no time at all to catch you, grabbing your hand as you reflexively put it up to catch any incoming attacks.
His voice is low and his eyes that were once sparkling with concern and caring, are now dark with desire and want. You struggle a little before standing straight and glaring at him. “L-let me go, Rafayel. Just because I ate that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything with you.”
“Not because you ate it, no…” his voice is husky and he leans down to whisper in your ear. “…But you’re already giving off even stronger pheromones than usual, and you’ve yet to actually stop me…miss Hunter.” he pauses to bring your attention to the fact that his other hand is now resting on your ass. It's true, if you really wanted, you could break his arm in three places and grab your gun while he reels...
“You’re horrible, Rafayel.” He smirks. “But you love me anyways.” His confidence is infuriating.
“I don’t love you.” “But you don’t hate me, either.” “Just because I don’t hate you doesn’t mea-get your hand off my ass, Rafayel!” Your voice rises and he gently slides his hand up to your waist, lifting your pajama shirt slightly in the process.
“Y/n, I know you think I’m annoying sometimes…but I’m not just reading into things that are illusions.” He looks into your eyes, dark and sensual, but also filled with a deep longing. “I’m not the only one here who sees this. You’re just always making excuses to avoid me lately…”
You look away at that, guilt and embarrassment all over your face. “…And I know it has nothing to do with your work, at least…not in the way you say it does. You’re dancing around the issue... Do you not see me as a potential partner?” He gently takes your cheek and turns you to face him again.
His eyes are filled with sadness, even the lust is a distant memory in those beautiful orbs now. “Do you truly only see me as a nuisance?” You try to look away, you don’t want to admit it. Not out loud. But his hand holds you firm, keeping you looking at him as he silently pleads for your answer.
“…I refuse to be another notch on your bedpost, Rafayel.” You shiver from the cold in your own voice, as you look down, your face pale. You admitted it, after all this time.
He paused for a long time, before he suddenly burst into a smile and held you against him. “Whatever made you think I was that kind of man, y/n?” You immediately blush at the embrace, confusion written all over your expression.
“W-what do you mean? All those parties…and those women…the magazines…” “Lies. All of it. And those women?” He leans in close and takes both your hands in his, before whispering in a husky voice. “…they only want what they can’t have.”
Your blush deepens at his confession, and you can’t look away anymore. “Y/n…I’m going to kiss you now. And if you don’t want that…I will respect your decision.” He pauses for a long time, both your faces are only centimeters apart.
But before he can move, after giving you plenty of time to process, you stand on tiptoe and give him a kiss first.
This fully grown man, this confident beacon of swagger…blushes deep red, to the point that his ears become pink.
“I…see.” He grins like a madman before grabbing hold of you and peppering kisses on anything he possibly can. Your cheek? Yes. Your lips? Absolutely. Your forehead? Do you even need to ask?
You start to giggle at him, and he stops after a few minutes to simply inhale your scent and hold you. “I will never give you reason to doubt me, y/n. I promise.” He looks into your eyes with his beautiful twilit-colored ones, and he smiles as if he had just won everything he had ever wanted.
Before you can say anything, he holds out his hand. “I swear to you, I will always love you, y/n…” he makes his hand into a tight fist for a moment, a silent prayer in his mind before he opens it, to reveal a small, blue fish swimming in front of you. You gasp and look at it in awe. “It is my heart. Take it, it’s yours.”
You carefully put out your hand, and when it swims onto your palm, it dissolves into a soft glow that lingers on your skin. “The ocean says that it is true…my promise will never be broken.” You look up at him and blush. “I…don’t have anything that special for you, Rafayel.” You look a little sad, as you say it.
He holds out his pinkie. It’s so childish…but so like him. You twine your pinkie with his and smile. “Don’t ever break this promise, then. I’ll be watching.” He says and gives you a little smirk. You nod seriously, but then can’t help but let the giddiness in your heart overwhelm you.
The months of fighting with your innermost thoughts might not be over, but you were no longer alone. If you had reason to fear, you knew, deep down, he would tell you the truth. He wasn’t a player, he wouldn’t betray you. He wouldn’t do something like that just for a one night fling.
After all that, you’re finally relaxed. You let him lead you to the sofa and sit down to let him kiss you more, and you return the affection in kind.
The kisses are soft, loving. He kisses your eyes, your nose, your chin. He kisses the top of your head, your hands, anything you’ll give him. You kiss his knuckles, then his lips, and his cheek. He bends down closer to let you kiss his forehead, then you start to trail down and before you know it he’s stolen your lips for a deep kiss.
His hand finds its way into your hair as you slowly climb onto his lap. The kiss deepens and his tongue is now exploring your mouth as you let out a soft moan. This. This is what you’ve been craving. You just wanted to hide somewhere safe from this, because even now, it feels dangerous…like a burning inside you that will never extinguish. It’s scary, but exhilirating.
When his other hand grabs hold of your ass again, you gasp and pull back to look into his eyes. “…Do you... want this? I can stop…” he blushes as he looks away. You can tell it would be a huge undertaking for him to stop now, but he would. For you.
So when you pull him by the back of his neck in for another deep, searing kiss, he knows. His hands no longer hesitate, as he fervently grabs hold of you and forces you to straddle his lap, then going under your shirt to play with your bare breasts.
You let out a moan into the kiss as you grind against him, already back on the edge, your want and lust taking over reason as your hands wrap around his biceps to steady yourself as you purposefully grind against his ever-hardening member, as it strains against his slacks.
He groans and pulls away from the kiss to gasp for air. He sucks in a sharp breath when you lean down to start licking his exposed collarbone. “Y/n…” he starts to buck his hips up against your dampened crotch, your pajama shorts soaked now as you are completely unwound from your inhibitions now.
The alcohol has mostly worn off, and all that remains is a hunger and longing that won’t be saited by just one round. You stop to look at his eyes. Yours narrow against his wide and curious ones, as you suddenly grind down and gasp. “I’m going to-ahhh…ride you for the rest of the day, Raf…are you ready?”
He lets out a loud groan and holds your hips still against him. “Nnnnnooot if you keep going at this pace, my love….” Your heart flutters at the pet name and you chuckle. “Then do you want to take the lead…my love?” He smirks and turns a bit so he can push you down onto the sofa.
You blush and quietly look up at him, as he hovers over you. “You know…the last few times I’ve seen you…it’s been driving me crazy. Your smell…your eyes…everything has become even more beautiful…” You try not to chuckle, but a little giggle escapes anyways. “Rafayel…there’ll be plenty of time for romance later…right now…” Your eyes darken and you fix him with a stare that could make a saint go into heat. “…I need you to fuck me.”
He lets out a growl as he buries his face into your neck, inhaling your wanton scent as he starts pulling your shorts to discover no panties. He pauses to smirk and dips a finger into your slit to feel how wet you are. “Could this…all be for me?” His breath still tickling your neck as you gasp.
“M-maybe…” your blush reaches your neck as he finishes tugging your shorts off, exposing your slick folds to the cold air of your living room, the light of the setting sun filling it with radiance, and delivering a halo around the both of you.
You let out a moan when he slips his fingers inside to make sure you’re loose enough for him, as he props his other elbow on the back of the sofa. He looks down at you as you writhe and make beautiful, sensual sounds under his diligent ministrations.
He can’t be bothered to smirk or feign confidence, as he slips his fingers out to lick the juices off them. “Good girl…so wet for me…so ready for my hard cock…” Once he finishes sucking his fingers clean, he moves to remove his pants, the large tent strains against the expensive fabric as he lets out a sigh of relief upon release.
When he slips out of all his clothes, just tossing his shirt on the floor with his pants and boxers, he sees you’ve followed suit with your shirt. His cock is a beast, which you would have never suspected with your curious glances in the past. Your blush reaching the tops of your breasts as he stares for a moment in the dazzling sunset pouring in.
The pause breaks the spell for a moment, and you tilt your head. “…Rafayel?” He snaps back and immediately pulls you by your thighs to him. “I swear I’ll eat your sweet cunt out many, many times tonight…but first…” He slides the head of his cock against your folds. “My master made a request of me…”
“M-master?” You gasp and let out a moan, but the word still feels slightly foreign. But he groans as he presses into you slowly before he can answer the unspoken meaning. “Y-yes…R-raf…” “Fffffuck y/n, you’re…s-so tight…”
He takes his time to settle inside, every inch of him buried within as he pants, all his focus is on making sure he doesn’t cum right that moment. It felt like it had been centuries, and he was like a teenager with his first time again.
So when you shift to get comfortable suddenly, he groans loudly, and you gasp as he holds your hips down to still you. His hands are firm, strong, as he starts to slowly move. Setting an agonizingly slow pace, as he’s filled you to near bursting with his throbbing heat.
You’re suddenly so close after only a few minutes of this slow pace, every full stroke brushing your sensitive nub, the sounds of your slick cunt sucking him in or reluctantly releasing him again and again turning you on so much. Your hands find their way to his forearms, gripping them urgently. “R-raf…s-so close…”
He hears your words through the deep haze of his concentration, and he decides to give you your dearly needed release finally. He stays seated fully inside, as he releases one of your hips to start rubbing your already tingling clit.
You try to bite onto your fist to hold back a scream as your orgasm finally hits you, but he grabs your hand before you can cover your mouth. You can’t muffle enough of it, as his name falls from your mouth again and again, gasping, screaming, shuddering, as your back arcs and he starts to thrust into you, helping you to ride out this elusive high.
“Fuck y/n, you’re taking me so good…you’re so beautiful, f-fuck I wanna make you cum so much…” he keeps thrusting, lost in the sight of you coming undone on his cock in the waning light. His thrusts get more intense as he gets close, his moans and whimpers fill the room as yours finally die down, your walls twitching and sticky around him as he increases the tempo.
“Raaaaffff…” his name a happy sigh as your high leaves you in the decadent afterglow of your first time with the one you’d longed for. So when he starts to cuss and say your name over and over again, like a chanted prayer, you’re overcome with a swelling feeling of affection in your heart.
This man is coming undone because of you, this man who so many wish they could possess, is giving himself to you and you alone.
“Fuck y/n…c-can’t…s-stop!!” His pace becomes erratic as his hips shiver, and he starts to chant your name under his panting breath in earnest, as he stares at you with his fucking gorgeous eyes, the last rays of sunset catching in them and entrancing you as he finally hits his limit.
“C-can…I cum…m-master…” his eyes are dark and pleading as he begs, his hips still thrusting into you as you let out little gasps and moans from the intensity. Without hesitation, you clearly say. “Cum for me, my pet.” He groans loudly as that releases him, he slumps a little to thrust finally in and out, as you feel his warmth spread inside. “F-fuck…y/n…” he finally finishes after the sunlight fades to darkness, and he falls forward to collapse on top of you.
You gently run your fingers through his beautiful purple hair, the darkness not changing how much you adored the color, as both of you let your breaths steady again. “…Good boy…” You gently stroke his cheek as you stare up at the dark ceiling, the streetlights barely adding any light to the room from below.
His hand grasps yours as he pulls it to him to kiss your palm, inhaling deeply. He was still drunk on your scent, your taste, your everything.
“Rafayel…is it too soon to say that... I love you?” Your voice sounds small and meek in the void that surrounds you both, lovers entwined. “…’Bout damned time, y/n.” His voice is hoarse now, a soft mumble against your breast, as he nuzzles it idly.
You both spend the night going through phases of deep romance, to wanton passion. Neither of you wanting to stop, even when dawn began to break and flood the window of your bedroom with a warm glow.
Instead you revelled in the sight of him haloed by the sun as he fucked you again, after having lost count. And he said a silent thanks to the Gods for blessing him with the sight of you beneath him, your body covered in his love bites, his kisses, and your face showing so much love and lust all at once.
✧𖤐✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧𖤐 ✩
a/n: this is the longest fic I've ever written, and it wasn't nearly as kinky as I had planned initially...(I swear there was supposed to be a lot more praise and master play originally)
I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have any requests, feel free to drop me an ask!
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace rafayel#rafayel#fanfic#rafayel x mc#smut#lads smut#lads rafayel#fluff#fluffy fluff fluff#smutty smut smut#happy ending#neer writes
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Home.
Pairing: Michael ‘Riz’ Ariza x GN!reader
Words: 644
Warnings: None.
A/n: I love Riz. He deserved the utmost genuine and undying love, and he definitely deserved better. That’s it. I just love my pretty boy.
Masterlist!!
NOT MY GIF!!
You knew the usual life of the club. The demanding runs, and the taxing ordeals that played out whether the guys intended them to or not. And you knew him. You knew your favorite boy’s empath traits and how some of these things took a toll on him. How most of the time, he took the brunt of the fight. Including the physical parts.
So you knew on nights like these when he stumbled into the house to find the living room light on, you on the couch with a blanket covering your legs, your favorite show running on the TV, that he would come home and be safe and relaxed with you. Be free of the outside world.
“Hi, baby.” You whispered as he sat himself abundantly close to you so that your shoulder and hips were touching as he toed off his boots. You leaned over kissed his cheek, looping your arm through his as he sat back, resting his head on the backrest of the couch.
He turned to face you, his hand coming up to caress your cheek bone with his thumb, kissing you so passionately yet so calm and sensualy. “Hola, amor mio.” He kissed you again, his tongue sneaking into your mouth, you accepting it happily.
He sighed after he pulled away, taking off his kutte, all to rest his head on the backrest of the couch again. “Rough day, mi amor?” You situated yourself to face his body, your arm around the back of his neck, his face now pointed in your direction as you ran your hand over his head, tangling your fingers softly into his hair.
Snuggling his face into the crook of your neck, he hummed softly, lifting his legs onto the couch, now fully intending to get you laying down so he could lay just how he liked—right between your legs with his head on your chest.
Knowing just what he wanted, you obliged and layed down so he could be comfortable. Now throwing the blanket that once covered you, over the both of you. “Fucking terrible day.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, securing you into him all while he was on top of you.
“It’s okay, relax, baby. I gotchu now.” You continued to tangle your fingers in his hair, massaging and playing with it while you both silently watched friends, giggling every now and then.
As you placed another kiss onto his head, you noticed his breathing turned even and steady. You smiled as you just looked down at the man laying on you. The man you loved and held so dearly to your heart. Your Michael. Your Riz. Your husband. You’d kill for this man, kill to have him like this in your arms for the rest of your life.
To hell with your friends and his, all you needed was eachother. To be wrapped up in their company and you’d be content even if the world was ending. You knew it could be an unhealthy look to someone who didn’t know you two, but the way you practically lived and breathed for him, was just to put it simply. Everyone around you saw the love you both shared for eachother. Undying.
“I love you, Ariza. Forever.” As the words left your mouth, he seemed to have squeezed you tighter, and sighed happily into your chest.
You shut the TV off and decided to just sleep on the couch tonight. His comfort and rest was more important than trying to get you both to bed. As you closed your eyes, and slowly started to drift, a ghost of a kiss was placed upon your chest, and half sleep and soft words were spoken. “I feel safe with you cariño. I love you. Always.”
You were his safe space and he was yours. No matter the weather, the events of the day, the impalpable love you two shared, brought you back to your grounded place. Brought you home.
#riz ariza#riz ariza mayans mc#riz ariza x reader#mayans fx#mayans imagine#mayans mc#mayans#mayans x reader#mayans fanfic#riz ariza mayans#mayans mc head cannon#fluff#fluffy imagine#safe space#your my home#tumblrpost#writers on tumblr#riz ariza head cannon#riz ariza fluff
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 恋与深空 | Love and Deepspace (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Main Character/Qi Yu | Rafayel Characters: Qi Yu | Rafayel, Main Character (Love and Deepspace) Additional Tags: Birthday Fluff, Birthday Cake, Romance, Established Relationship, Fade to Black, Romantic Fluff, Named Main Character (Love and Deepspace), Kisses, No beta we die like mne, short fic Series: Part 2 of Named MC Fics Summary:
It's Rafayel's birthday and Tilly had a surprise for him on the beach at sunrise. Now if only he would show up...
#my writing#my fic#fanfic#named MC#LaDS Rafayel#Rafayel/MC#Rafayel/named!MC#fluff#fluffy romance#Love and Deepspace#LaDS#look that's the cake I decorated for him for the event! :D
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