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mieluscious · 2 months

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keep touching. zayne

ෆ pairings : zayne x female reader

ෆ genre : smut, pwp

ෆ word count : 2k6

ෆ warnings : mdni. switch!zayne, switch!reader, fluff, teasing, fingering, biting, mark kink, unprotected sex, handjob, rough sex, slight spanking, oral sex (m. received), wall sex, squirting, zayne is full of surprises (hihihi), they are both so whipped for each other . . . ໑ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

you were showering, humming under the hot water, when you felt two hands slide over your hips behind you. you smiled as you felt zayne rest his forehead against your shoulder.

"you're up early today." he nodded and kissed the skin below your ear, making you blush.

"i have to go to the hospital i've been called to pick up some files." he yawned against your neck and you ran a hand through his hair, gently stroking his head.

"you're doing a great job, baby." you tilted your head to the side when you felt his breath against your ear. his hands went up to your belly, which he rubbed with the soap that was on your body. "you're a good doctor." he smiled lightly against your ear and you turned around to face him.

"i'm still a bit sleepy." you placed your hand on his cheek and he leaned his face towards yours, zayne was so much taller than you if anyone witnessed the scene they wouldn't even be able to guess that you were hidden against his chest.

"yeah, i can see that in your pretty eyes." you flushed when you felt the tip of his nose touch yours, his eyes never letting you out of his sight. zayne loved seeing you blush it made you look so cute and there was nothing that could make him happier. both of his hands gently grasped your face and you squealed softly as you felt his thumbs caress your rosy cheeks.

"cute." zayne's face was hardly expressive to most of the people, but you knew exactly what he was thinking behind that wall of ice. his fingers slid to your red ears, which he pinched, making you mewl.

"d-don't tease." his eyes fell back into yours, which were slightly glassy. "you have to go to work." you placed your hand on his chest and grabbed a bottle of shower gel with the other, pouring a small amount in your palm as he continued to play with your sensitive ears without saying anything. you slid your soap-filled palms against his stomach and rubbed gently.

"are you trying to get rid of me?" you mewled louder, catching his waist as you felt the tips of his thumbnails dig into the skin of your ears. you pressed your breasts against his chest and opened your mouth to try to speak when he took the opportunity to lick your lips, looking straight into your eyes.

you pouted and an idea crossed your mind, wanting revenge you slid your hands up his chest and pinched his nipples. you smiled when you noticed a sparkle in his cold eyes, his lips spread and an evil little chuckle escaped your pretty lips.

"i saw you flinch." you lifted your chin proudly under his watchful gaze and pinched his buds again, but this time you were the one who gasped when he suddenly pressed you against the cold shower wall.

"z-zay-" you watched him place his forearms on either side of your head against the wall while his forehead rested against yours, his cold eyes met your glassy ones once again.

"keep touching them." your lips parted to let out a moan as you felt something hard against your belly, but you didn't look down, knowing full well what it was. zayne's gaze was almost pleading, and the desire to please him slowly overcame you. your pretty hands suddenly grasped his pecs, making him gasp softly as your thumbs squeezed his buds in a rotating motion.

“does it feel good ?” a groan escaped his lips as you brought two of your fingers to your lips, sucking them under his burning gaze. a stream of drool connected between your lips and fingers as you removed them from your mouth and pressed them back on his swollen nipple before grinding your belly against his, giving his cock a rub. zayne suddenly thrust against you making himself moan louder above your ear.

“fucking good.” you smiled as you leaned your head back against the wall, zayne was definitely not the type to swear and it was when naughty words came out from between his pretty lips that you could tell he was really enjoying what you were doing to him.

you pinched his swollen nipples harder and he pressed his forehead to yours again, panting loudly against your glossy lips. a little "fuck" echoed against the damp bathroom walls and his veiny hand grabbed the underside of one of your thighs pulling it up against his hip, you groaned and caught his bottom lip between your teeth as you felt the tip of his cock slap against your clit. his other hand slid down your back and grabbed your ass before slapping it. zayne looked down on you with a smirk.

“don’t get too naughty.” zayne was so excited he could barely keep his eyes open and his half open mouth made you want to bite it until it bled. he was so fucking hot it was driving you crazy.

you felt the tip of his cock slide into your entrance and you slapped his chest rubbing his bud reddened and swollen by your caresses. zayne threw his head back and a guttural groan escaped his lips, which he bit down on in embarrassment. your eyes slowly widened in disbelief, you'd never seen zayne in such a state, and it was the first time you'd heard him moan like that. your wetness ran down his cock, seeing him so submissive turned you on so much that you didn't want him to go to work anymore, you wanted to push him over the edge even more. you wanted to see more.

“i’m sorry.” his voice was just a poor sigh, you could feel that he was about to explode even though you hadn't done anything yet. he bent his head into your neck and rested his forehead against your shoulder. “i don't know what's happening to me.” you slid your hand up his neck and gently caressed his skin with your thumb. you brought your lips to his ear, which flushed as your warm breath fell on it.

“don’t be sorry, baby.” you slid your tongue against his ear and he suddenly pushed his hips against yours, thrusting his tip a little further into you, making you both moan. “let me take care of you. what do you want ?” zayne grunted louder as he felt your other hand slide down his torso until it reached his cock, which you grasped firmly. “you wanna fuck ?” he straightened his face and pushed you further against the wall, his hands grabbing your ass which he clasped tightly between his veiny hands. his nose touched yours, and his lips caressed yours.

“i want you to ruin me.” his words were so naughty and yet his gaze was so serious and cold. zayne was definitely a man full of surprises. “make me scream.” an evil smile played on your lips. “mark me, make sure everyone knows i belong to you.” you started jerking his cock gently under his envious eyes, the tip still inside you. he was panting against your lips, moving his hips in time with your hand. the tip of his tongue caressed your upper lip and you just couldn't take your eyes off each other. seeing him take so much pleasure for so little made you obsess over his every reaction. and it's when you start jerking him off harder that a growl comes out from deep in his throat. he threw back his head and his cold eyes met yours again. his lips spread wider at the pressure of your hand on his length. he was a panting mess. “fuuuck. yes faster- blow me away.”

it was too much to handle, you couldn’t contain the urge to ruin him. you suddenly let go of his cock and pushed him making him back off, a deep moan escaping from between his lips as he felt his back slam heavily against the cold wall opposite you. you fell to your knees in front of him and grabbed his cock again before slapping the tip several times on your tongue, a growl escaped his lips and his teeth caught his bottom lip at sight of you being so wild for him.

you gobbled one of his balls and began to lick up its length before spitting on the tip of his cock. letting your drool run down to his balls. zayne slid his hand through your wet hair and you slapped the tip of his cock on your tongue again just to hear him moan even louder under your dark gaze. you caught his tip between your lips and sucked hard, sliding your hands over his lower stomach. you almost smiled as you felt him tremble under your fingers, one of your hands slipped over his hip while the other went up to his right nipple, which you pinched hard, making him hiss and thrust his cock deeper into your mouth, almost choking you on it. zayne grabbed your wrist to hold it in place against his chest as he rocked his hips forward watching your pretty lips close around him with each thrust.

“so good. so fucking good. take it please.” zayne became more and more vulgar each time he was close to cumming. you pushed his hip against the wall and suddenly engulfed his cock deep in your throat, your nose touching his pelvis. zayne threw his head back against the wall and pushed harder into your mouth as you choked on his cock. he was a moaning mess, the wet sucking noises bouncing against the walls turned him on even more, and hearing him scream his pleasure drove you just as crazy. you massaged his nipple harder and his grip on your hair tightened. “fuck. stop i’m gonna-” you grabbed his hip firmly and started bobbing your head along his veiny fat cock. he was so close and his groans that echoed in your ear changed into whines of desperation.

you were sucking loudly on his tip when you raised your face to his, his cock slid from between your lips and your chin. you began to kiss his length under his feverish gaze and slapped his sensitive member against his stomach staining his skin with his own cum. your hand slipped from his hip to grab his length which you stroke slowly before licking his own cum off his abs. his cold eyes fell on your cum-covered tongue.

“does it feel good zayne ? wanna cum in my mouth ?” a grunt escaped him as his eyes then fell on your throat, which swallowed his juice. you were literally drooling over his cock, a mixture of saliva and his precum running down your chin. you were so dirty to him, just to him, and it drove him crazy.

“stop looking at me like that. you'll be the death of me.” zayne suddenly grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you upright in front of him, bringing your face close to his and catching your mouth with his own, tasting himself on your lips. you wrapped your arms around his neck as his lips sucked at your tongue before you sloppily twirled it around against his. you moaned into his mouth as you felt him grab your ass before lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around his hips. zayne sucked your bottom lip before letting go in a loud "pop". “i’m gonna cum in this wet fucking pussy.” you mewled louder as you heard him swear, coming from him it excited you so much, he was usually so serious and calm and seeing him lose control made you wetter than you already were. he suddenly pinned you against the wall and shoved his cock inside you without warning causing you to throw your head back with loud moans. the pornographic sound of heated flesh echoed upon the bathroom, and you closed your eyes in bliss savoring the warmth of his length as he was rocking inside you like an animal.

“f-fuck…zayne..so good-” you let out a high pitched whine as you felt yourself already on edge. your pussy clenching as it gushed around is cock, coating his thighs in your wetness. one of his hands left your ass to grab your throat and your hands grabbed his hair hard as you shook like a leaf against him. “y-you’re too fucking good with your d-dick fuck-” zayne's cold gaze locked with yours and you could feel that his energy was different from before, he'd had enough of being submissive, he'd taken back control and was going to show you how it's done. his thumb slipped into your mouth and the sensation of your wet tongue on his thumb made him grunt louder. his thumb slipped over one of your canines and you smiled arrogantly as his mouth parted wider. a sparkle flickered in his eyes at the sight of your smile and his grip on your throat tightened.

“i married such a naughty woman.” you tightened your walls around his cock making him thrust harder inside you. his pelvis pressed against yours, pushing you more against the wall, he grabbed the underside of your thigh and lifted it against your chest, opening you up a little more for him. his forehead pressed against yours and his sharp eyes never left your glassy ones. “such a wicked little woman who likes to torture me.” you let out a cracked moan as his thrusts became sloppy, his balls slapping loudly against your ass. your mouth opened wider as he brought his face close to yours, his tongue licked your lips and you mewled lewdly as his hand left your throat to grab your sensitive ear.

“n-no…not my-” you startled when he pinched it hard, making you cry out against his lips. zayne's cold eyes roamed over your face, savoring your facial expression. little tears rolled down your pretty cheeks as his cock were bullying your tight pussy and he couldn't stop himself from fucking you harder when he saw your desperate look and your pretty lips begging him to kiss them. “m-mean-” your stomach tightening as his cock kept hitting your sensitive spot. “c-cumming..z-zayne so good-” a stream of yes’s escaped from your glossy lips as he suddenly lifted your ass with both hands before thrusting roughly into you, his balls slapping against your cheeks louder than before. zayne was panting so fucking loudly against your lips and you couldn't hold on any longer you screamed as you came around his cock, squirting all over him and on the floor.

“yes just like that, cum for me. fuck-” he threw his head back as you plunged your face against his neck before sinking your sharp teeth into his tender skin, marking him as yours. “argh yes keep biting me. let me breed this pussy-” he thrust hard one last time before moaning almost desperately as he spilled thick ropes of cum inside you painting your gummy walls like you love.

only your loud breathing could be heard in the room, and you smiled as you slid your hands up his torso, pressing your back against the wall, admiring the marks of your teeth on his neck. zayne remained silent, still trying to catch his breath after his orgasm, his eyes still locked in yours. you tilted your head to one side, biting your lower lip.

“you're so pretty with my mark on you. can’t wait for your coworkers to see it.” a smile played on his lips.

you were such a little demon.

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #love & deepspace #zayne x reader #love and deep space #love and deepspace x reader #love and deep space x reader #love and deep space x you #love and deepspace smut #anime smut #smut #zayne x you #zayne x mc #zayne x y/n #love and deepspace x y/n #xavier love and deep space #rafayel love and deepspace #one shot

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sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast · 3 months

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ᥕһᥱᥒ һᥱ mіssᥱs youঞ

➺ ᥣ᥆᥎ᥱ ᥲᥒძ ძᥱᥱ⍴ s⍴ᥲᥴᥱ ᑲ᥆ᥡs

➺ 𝖿ᥣᥙ𝖿𝖿

➺ ᥕһᥲ𝗍 𝗍һᥱᥡ ძ᥆ ᥕһᥱᥒ 𝗍һᥱᥡ mіss ᥡ᥆ᥙ

Xavier

I feel like when he really misses you, and he's not busy (or sleeping), he'd look at pictures of you two together. Whether it be one's you took and sent him. Or ones he secretly took while you were out. Or on a video call with him. And you best believe if the want is really bad? Woosh. He's magically in your room, scaring you half to death. But you barely get anytime to furrow your brow in anger because he's already crossed the room. Arms wrapped tight around your frame, nosing at your neck. Leaving light kisses.

"I missed you. Let me stay here a while."

Rafayel

You know if this man misses you (which is always) he's calling you. Texting you. Blowing up your phone. It'd start out with "what are you doing?" Texts to, "why are you ignoring me?" Ending with, "a sticker of him pouting." He would be dramatic about how much he missed you. Even going as far as to finding your location, but no he wouldn't go there. He's petty. He'd text you and tell you "hope you're having fun without me." It'd take a lot to get him to release the permanent pout on his face when you finally show up. Lucky for you, a few kisses to the cheek and lips have his pout melting. Only slightly.

"You think a mere kiss will persuade me to stop being mad at you? ...Try another and we'll see where it gets you."

Zayne

He's a bit more...passive in the way he misses you. But that doesn't mean he misses you any less than the other two. He's just not as...expressive with it. It would start with a few texts, more than he usually would. "Have you eaten?" Or "I saw a cat outside. It looks like one of the ones from your building." And it will slowly work up to him calling you, maybe once or twice. It actually worries you a bit. Because you're usually the one calling him. So when you finally do call, worried, he can't help the small smile that forms on his face before he schools his expression.

"What's the matter? Nothing. I simply wanted to know if you'd like to get lunch. I doubt you've eaten yet."

#love and deepspace x reader #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #love and deep space x reader #love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #xavier love and deep space #zayne x reader #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace drabble #xaiver fluff #rafayel fluff #zayne fluff #xavier drabble #rafayel drabble #zayne drabble #°•brainrot•°

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pochipop · 3 months

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＃LOVE AND DEEPSPACE !! ♡ — HOW I CRAVE YOU IN THE MORNIN' (RAFAYEL X READER).

#. synopsis! — rafayel doesn't really like mornings, but heaven knows he likes you .

#. characters! — rafayel.

#. warnings! — none .

#. word count! — 1.3k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

Rafayel has never been a morning person. He likes to watch the occasional sunrise if he wakes naturally to catch it, but heaven knows he’s loath to pull himself out of bed before he feels good and ready. You, on the other hand, don’t tend to have the luxury of sleeping in until whenever you please. The life of a Deepspace Hunter often requires early starts, and now that you’ve woven your life so tightly between the threads of Rafayel’s, he’s seldom excluded from the harsh ring of your alarm coercing you out of bed, out of your dreams of sweet nothings, and into the real world (which is often much less pretty.)

You don’t even have to open your eyes to know that Rafayel is already pouting at the mere thought of your departure, and your suspicions are confirmed when he snakes his arms around your waist, groaning.

“Baby,” he mutters, “don’t go, the bed gets so cold when you leave.”

You sigh.

“Have to,” you murmur, still half asleep. “Work.”

“Call in sick.”

“I’m not sick,” you answer, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You know my work is important for more reasons than one, Rafayel.”

“I do know,” he sighs, though it’s clear he’s less than happy about agreeing.

In fairness, you’re not particularly happy about this either. You love your job, worked hard to get it and climb the ranks within it, but man, sometimes you wish it were possible to pay the bills with currency earned cuddling in bed with the man nuzzling into your neck like a kitten.

“Then don’t ask me to call in sick,” you laugh, turning your head to press a soft kiss to his warm temple.

He groans again, though you know he appreciates the affection.

Gently and with great reluctance, you pull yourself from Rafayel’s embrace, though you can’t help but take a moment to marvel at the way early morning rays of light filter through the curtains, playing on his delicate features. His eyes like marbled sunsets lazily find their way to you, still heavy with sleep, peering up at you in a mixture of love and discontent.

“You’re a menace to my sleeping schedule,” he grumbles playfully.

“Consider it payback for all the nights you’ve kept me up too late,” you answer jokingly, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’ll have you know, keeping you up at night is a vital part of our relationship,” he pouts, but there’s an unmistakable glint of mischeviousness in his tired gaze.

You giggle, knowing he’s joking (at least in part.)

“I’ll make it up to you,” you move closer, cupping his cheeks in your hands and leaning down to peck his lips. “Promise.”

“You better,” he mutters.

“Don’t I always?” You inquire, fingers feathering through his soft hair.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges in a semi-rare moment of complete sincerity from the man who often goes through the world half-wittingly. “You do.”

You smile, soft and warm, leaning in for another lingering kiss, savoring the warmth and familiarity of Rafayel’s touch. His arms reach up, wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he’s hesitant to let go.

“Be safe, okay?” He says.

“Always,” you nod.

Before, you might have mistaken his concern for a lack of trust in your abilities, but you’re well past the point of pointless misunderstandings. Rafayel may be an artist, and he might spin his words like golden threads from time to time, making you read between the lines, but your sincerest assessment of the moment tells you he’s said exactly what he means. He wants you to be safe, wants you to come home in one piece, and you let him steal another quick kiss before standing upright.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you add, hoping it might soften the blow of your departure.

His playful pout returns.

“You seem to doubt the depth of my ability to lament over your absence,” he states.

“I don’t doubt it at all, but I’d rather you find more enjoyable ways to spend your day,” you laugh.

He sighs dramatically.

“Bring back something interesting from your adventure,” he suggests, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Maybe something I can crush up, turn into paint.”

“Need I remind you what happened the last time you used an oddly sourced item for pigment?” You ask incredilously.

Rafayel rolls his eyes.

“Need I remind you that that’s precisely how we met?” He counters.

“Still,” you sigh, “I’d much prefer you not be endangered by your paint. Stick with oils and acrylics for a while. For my peace of mind.”

“Is that concern I detect from you, my little hunter?” Rafayel grins.

“Of course it is,” you reply honestly. “You might be pretentious and obnoxious, but I love you. I’d never want you in harm’s way.”

His teasing smirk softens to a genuine smile at your sincerity, and he stands, taking a moment to stretch before reaching out to caress the curve of your jaw with the top of his index finger.

“Obnoxious and pretentious, huh?” He chuckles lightly. “Thank you for the glowing evaluation of my character, darling. But, because I do happen to love you as well, I’ll let that little dig slide, —and I’ll do my very best to stick to safe and traditional mediums, at least for the time being, just for you.”

You can’t help but smile at Rafayel’s good-natured reply. His gentle touch lingers on your jaw, and you lean into it, relishing in the softness of his affection.

“Very much so appreciated,” you answer amusedly. “I’ll consider it a personal victory if we can avoid any and all paint-related Wanderer incidents for the forseeable future.”

Rafayel gives a curt nod.

“A noble goal, my dearest hunter,” he says. “Now go forth and fell any pesky Wanderers intent on disturbing the peace of our humble city of high-class electronic developments, bringing back tales of wonder and triumph.”

Heaven knows he has to be the most dramatic man you’ve ever met, but you couldn’t imagine him being any other way.

You play along and give him a mock salute.

“Yes sir, at once.”

Rafayel stifles a laugh, clearly pleased by your participation in his theatrics. He thinks for a moment that this life he lives with you is nothing short of fantastical, —the kind of comfort he only dreamed of just years ago, and now here you are before him, like some kind of angel he’s terrified he might wake up to find was a figment of his deepest desires all along. But his worries are quenched by the way your lips slot so perfectly against his own as he leans in, kissing you sweetly.

“May the cosmic forces be ever in your favor, my love. Return not only with tales of triumph, but also interstellar souvenirs for my viewing pleasure and artistic inspirations if you happen to stumble across any. Preferably ones that will not curse our modest seaside home.”

You laugh, and it makes his heart stutter.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for cosmic trinkets,” you assure.

You’re thrumming by the time Rafayel pulls you in again, pressing you closer to his chest. There’s nothing he has to say to fill the silence, and you let your eyes close for a moment, awash in the silent exchange of understanding so deep it could rival the cosmos. Beyond all the playful banter and the theatrical mannerisms, there’s love here, and that’s really all you could ask for. Worries about your safety, concern over Rafayel’s tendency to attract bad omens, —they dissipate in the face of this connection that buzzes like a live wire.

As you finally pull away, you meet his gaze and find nothing but softness there, replacing all the prior amusement and tiredness from before.

“Return safely, my angel. Our oceanside abode awaits your triumphant arrival,” he takes your hand, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “And so do I.”

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dualitue · 2 months

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𝑹𝑨𝑭𝑨𝒀𝑬𝑳, 001.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦�� 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦."

★: please don't tell me that this would suit zayne more i realized that it was too late and i felt too lazy to change it. besides rafayels growing on me so i had to write him. i also got lazy by the end and didn't proofread this so don't expect much T_T reblogs and any possible thoughts are appreciated!!!! <3

★ oral (f. receiving) + body worshipping + whiny couple + fingering + aftercare mentioned + doing it while being sick may not be the best idea but who cares!

An act of kindness is what has started it all, really. He often times thinks of you as a thick-skulled, naive girl thanks to your thinking mechanism that pushes you to go above and beyond just to lend a helping hand—but how can he blame you, really? It's not some grand gesture for a spotlight; it's just you being yourself. A courageous heart, pulsating with an urgent need to make a difference. Regardless of the timeline, the universe, or the body you inhabit, your soul always manages to peek through the cracks in the shell. Unaware that you leave an imprint with every breath, he worries that your innocence and tender heart may be a permanent fixture.

Rafayel should have realized you were trouble from the start.

Once you catch wind of someone in need, nothing else seems to register in that mind of yours.

He should have steered clear of you, or perhaps he should have wished for selective memory loss, anything to rid himself of the torment that plagued his every moment at the thought of you. Whether it's a curse or a blessing, he can't be certain, and the uncertainty gnaws at him. Memories of his days submerged in the depths of despair, yearning for you like a man starved... Truly, a memory loss would have spared him those endless, restless nights haunted by your memory. He vividly recalls the relentless hunger for the connection between his mind and yours. He used to believe that waiting for the one you love should be painless, like a fairy tale reunion. However, reality was far from enchanting, his days consumed by torment. Your radiant face invaded his thoughts every time he closed his eyes, and sometimes, he didn't even have to delve into the realm of closed eyelids. Whether it was his mind playing tricks or a disconcerting desperation for you, there were moments he found solace in the dreams of you, right before his wide-open eyes.

In those dreams, your hair took on a darker hue underwater, the waves cradling you warmly, dispelling any fear. He was convinced the ocean would hold you dear, intimately familiar with your name. Your every movement, the way your hair framed your face, the melody of your voice—these elements combined, making it impossible not to be captivated. If he had known the outside world held you, he would never have considered leaving the comfort of his home. Yet, that's the hand of fate, a concept you humans often label as destiny.

Rafayel remains baffled by the mysterious workings of this thing called fate. Is it akin to a magnetic force, or does it mirror the intricate patterns of the ocean? The idea of one's entire life being meticulously planned before even opening one's eyes, waiting for the precise moments when everything aligns, isn't a matter of him being unable to grasp the logic. It's more about the undeniable sense that everything in his life, leading up to the moment he encountered you, felt purposefully directed to bring him to you, and you to him. Love, as it turns out, was a weighty burden he had never anticipated carrying around.

That's likely the reason his gaze carries a tinge of sorrow today. Seated on the vacant space of the couch while you rest, your once radiant eyes now only half-open, your lips slightly parted to ease your breathing. He appears and sounds concerned, though he understands that your fever prevents you from recognizing the emotional turmoil he currently grapples with.

"You're already playing the hero as a Hunter," he remarks, his fingertips registering the warmth of your skin—feverish, and he can't help but check it persistently. "What more do you need to offer as a hero? Was it really necessary?"

You remain silent, the weight of your breath filling his expansive studio, visibly swallowing. No regrets about your actions, but a nagging thought that perhaps a bit more contemplation would have been wiser.

"Hey, don't doze off on me now, answer me."

His tone is insistent, almost desperate, a hint of anger present, though directed more at the ceaseless need within you to be helpful all the time.

"What do you want me to say?" you reply, your chapped lips stinging with each uttered word. "I couldn't have said no, not when it was clear they needed help."

"You could!" Rafayel counters like a petulant child, his selfish side revolving entirely around you resurfacing. "You know you could have! Work and favors are different, and you weren't tasked with assisting a nerdy sociopath in retrieving… what was it again?"

"Rafayel," his name escapes your lips softly, a reminder of the unintentional power you hold over him. The mere sound of his name from you stirs something within him, and Rafayel can't help but feel a bit flustered. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"Fine," he snorts, still clearly irritated but acknowledging your lack of stamina for this conversation. "Go to sleep, then. I'll see what I can do for you."

"Not invading my personal space and laying off the nagging would be more than enough, highly appreciated, really."

A soft, breathy laugh accompanies your words. Despite the occasional sharpness of your comments, both of you understand they're lighthearted, devoid of any malicious intent.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just close your eyes. This is my house, and personal space is a non-existing concept here. Take it or leave it."

"I can't leave; I'm sick," you murmur, your voice huskier than ever due to the severe cold. "Looks like I might have to take it."

"Such a smart girl," he teases, a hint of mockery in his voice, his gaze fixed on your slightly red face. "Wish you could use that pretty brain of yours in situations like this. I feel sorry for you sometimes."

"I feel sorry for myself, too. Your sassiness doesn't spare me even when I'm sick. Plus, this is the worst cold I've ever had. Feels like I'm on my death bed with you right next to me, nagging and scolding."

He's well aware it's just a passing moment, that you'll bounce back from this illness soon enough. Yet, even the casual mention of it in a lighthearted and trivial sentence makes Rafayel squirm uncomfortably beside you.

"Shut up, don't exaggerate."

"Guess who I learned that from?"

"You're insufferable," he declares, finally rising to search for his phone, cast somewhere in his room.

"You won't believe what I'm about to say, yet again," he marvels at your knack for matching his energy, finding himself increasingly addicted to this dynamic.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable, maybe you'll actually manage to fall asleep and spare me the constant nagging."

"You're the one who brought me to your place when you found out I was sick!"

You stifle a laugh, resisting the urge to appreciate his caregiver side a bit more. However, your expression gives you away; the corners of your mouth twitch, a smile reaching your eyes before gracing your face.

"Ha-ha, very funny. So funny that I can't even bring myself to laugh, fearing I might never find anything else amusing ever again."

The studio carries a subdued ambiance today, courtesy of the gray clouds and dismal weather outside. Despite the apparent disorder, there's an inherent harmony within its chaotic appearance. Unfinished paintings scatter around, some paints meticulously organized by tone and hue, while others haphazardly rest on a small table in the corner. Curtains drawn wide, tall windows invite as much natural light as possible, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of pressing a seashell against your ear—faint waves hitting the shore.

With a single effortless motion, Rafayel lifts your weakened body, his concern palpable as he carries you to his bedroom. Surprisingly, you feel lighter in his arms, despite your condition, as he carefully settles you onto his bed. Profoundly sweating, you've lost count of the shirts Rafayel has helped you change into. He's already arranged for a doctor to examine you, initially fearing the worst, only to discover it's a severe cold exacerbated by exhaustion. With medication in hand, Rafayel diligently ensures you take your doses, managing the situation with utmost care.

Except for his own sanity.

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state for the first time, you appear unlike the confident Hunter he knows—or perhaps it's his own perception, magnified by witnessing your illness firsthand.

Compared to the rest of the house, Rafayel's bedroom feels refreshingly cool, providing a welcome relief to your feverish skin.

"This feels nice," you murmur as he lays you gently on the bed, the softness of the mattress embracing you instantly, coaxing your eyes closed. "Like being hugged by the sea on a hot summer day. Cool and comforting."

Your words, uttered innocently, send a shiver down Rafayel's spine.

Being hugged by the sea… comforting…

Suddenly, he's overwhelmed by an urge to hold you even closer, to let you feel the steady rhythm of his heart, to assure you that the embrace of the water is always within reach.

"That's probably because your fever hasn't gone down; just get some rest."

"Will you stay here?"

You weakly tug on the hem of his shirt, your eyes opening a bit more, almost peering into his soul.

"I will," Rafayel responds, immediately sensing he can't leave you alone even for a second, though he refrains from showing it. "If you ask nicely enough."

"Oh, shut it," you laugh, covering your eyes with the back of your hand. You stay like that for a while, eyes closed and hand resting on your face, when you feel his warm breath gently caressing your skin. A sudden urge to gulp overtakes you, your heart pounding so rapidly it feels as if it's not a heart but a bird begging to be set free.

"Come on," Rafayel murmurs, every puff of breath warming your face and body, as if you haven't fallen victim to a fever. "Just ask, it won't hurt, right?"

"I've changed my mind."

"Don't spoil the fun now."

His slender fingers wrap gently around your wrist, and to your surprise, his skin is cold against yours. Despite the fever that makes you feel like you're boiling from the inside, your body craves that cool touch. Rafayel lifts your hand, slowly and carefully, pinning it against the soft pillow under your head. Now, you have no choice but to look at him, your clouded eyes meeting his shining ones as both of you let the silence linger. It's not awkward, but neither is it fully comforting—there's a subtle tension you can feel, adding to your fever, and tears well up in your eyes as you stare at him.

Rafayel feels like there's a dagger stabbed right into his chest, turning and turning like a fallen leaf on an autumn day—he shivers the more he gazes into your widened eyes and parted lips. He can't be sure if it's just your fever that's bringing a sweet tint of red to your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and even the tips of your ears. All he can do is hope that, regardless of the circumstances, he's able to make you a bit flustered.

Without much thought, Rafayel presses his palm against the burning skin of your red cheek. You feel soft to the touch, and his hand is cold enough to elicit a calm, sharp breath from you. A thick fog envelops your mind and thoughts due to the fever. While it was worse a few hours ago, it still clouds your basic thinking skills. Your body is burning, but you're sure it's not that feverish. Knowing you're sick adds a psychological discomfort—you subconsciously nuzzle against his big, cool palm. A soft whimper escapes your parted lips as you lean into Rafayel's touch, his palm covering your cheek as your eyes flutter closed in a seemingly calm manner. He doesn't dare utter a word, fearing he might disrupt the moment. It feels intimate and vulnerable; he's offering a simple act born from his feelings for you, and you're fitting into his hands like the matching piece of a puzzle.

"If you could touch me all over with these cold hands, I think this fever would just disappear," you murmur against his palm, resembling a cat seeking affection. Ironically, he doesn't even like cats, but it's not about them—it's about the vulnerability of the act. You may not realize what you're saying, but Rafayel's head spins with thoughts he dare not speak. His fingertips ache to reach and tug on the hem of his shirt you're wearing. He could get you out of it in seconds, exploring every inch of you, leaving nothing untouched.

He releases a shaky breath as his other hand lets go of yours, beginning to touch your face and neck. His breath comes out shaky as his fingertips explore the softness of your face before descending to your neck—a sacred area. He senses you gulp as his palm presses against the front of your neck. The pressure is almost nonexistent as he gently caresses your skin. You don't feel brave enough to open your eyes; his touch alone is intense, and you're uncertain of the intensity awaiting you in his gaze.

"What if I accidentally make you feel hotter than before?" Rafayel breathes out the words, his voice low and hesitant as he whispers. You gulp again, making him feel the movement against his palm as he takes another sharp breath. "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Summoning courage, you slowly open your eyes to gauge Rafayel's expression. The moment your eyes meet his, Rafayel swallows back a desperate whimper. He wasn't prepared for your heavy gaze, feeling crushed under its weight, as if there's a demand he might not be able to satisfy even with his all.

Both of you remain awfully quiet as Rafayel's fingers slightly wrap around your neck, fitting like a perfect necklace. He gently gives the faintest squeeze, leaving you lightheaded. Your eyes get even glossier—you're like a doll, spread out in his bed, wearing his clothes. It's impossible not to be overwhelmed.

"I don't think your cold hands would betray me like that," you whisper, still feeling a bit dizzy from the gentle squeeze around your neck. Does he even realize the effect he has on you? It seems like he's testing the waters for both of you, exploring your reactions and his own feelings. The sensation is dizzying for him as well.

Remembering that this isn't the right time for something like this, Rafayel reluctantly pulls his hands back, though he yearns to have them pressed against you. It doesn't matter where he touches you; all he needs is to feel you under his touch.

"No," you whine, eyebrows furrowed. Your hand slowly reaches up, grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt to bring his hands back to your face and neck. "Keep them, it feels nice."

"You have no idea what you're asking for," Rafayel murmurs. "Just because the waters are cold doesn't mean they won't swallow you whole, silly girl."

"Don't care," you shrug.

Rafayel hums in response, his fingertips trailing down to the hem of the t-shirt you're wearing before his hands sneak under the thin fabric after you give him an affirming nod. "If only you could be good and listen to me," he gently caresses your torso, your skin feeling soft and warm as he can't stop himself from traveling higher. His fingertips touch the fabric of your bra this time, and both of you feel yourselves shaken to your cores; a soft whimper falls from your lips unlike Rafayel, who's giving his all to keep it quiet for now. "Do I have to tire you out to make you sleep?"

You cannot give an answer, you're already feeling high on the feeling as his cold fingertips slip under your bra too, causing your nipples to get hard and perk up immediately. You slightly arch your back to signal him that you want it off, and Rafayel is quick to pick up on that; with a skilled and swift movement of his fingers, he unclasps your bra.

You should've checked the weather forecast more carefully, really—well, you don't feel as feverish as before, but your body feels heavy. Maybe it's because Rafayel is so adept at kneading you into the state he desires you in, who knows? With your lips slightly parted and heavy eyelids veiling the intensity of your eyes, you accept Rafayel's touch as if it's the only thing that can help you now. He pushes the hem of the t-shirt up, and you feel him tapping the side of your body. You sit up slightly to give him the access he asks for, and Rafayel doesn't waste any time. He quickly gets rid of the t-shirt and bra. Now, even the air feels cold against your skin—his hands are comforting, but the air in his bedroom causes shivers to run down your spine.

All that can be heard from Rafayel is his heavy panting as he changes his position, seating himself between your legs and slowly hovering over you as he leans in. You want to tell him that he's going to get sick after all this, but you don't have the heart to mess this moment up by bringing up such an obvious and silly thing. The sound of Rafayel's first kiss right on between your breasts echoes in the room, or that's how it sounds to you, loud and exciting—the kiss makes you breathlessly moan as you grip the sheets underneath your hands. You know what to expect, you know what's to come, but still you can't help that slight shaking of your body when Rafayel's hot mouth takes in your nipple. You try your best to hold yourself back from tugging on his hair, pressing yourself more to him, or any possible desperate act of this neediness that you have for everything that he can possibly give to you. However, as if you've lost control of your movements, your hands softly find their place in Rafayel's soft hair—experimentally tugging on, just to get a muffled deep groan against your skin.

His head moves slightly, his tongue lazily twirling around your nipple as you're withering underneath him—with one hand, palm pressing against the inner side of your thigh, Rafayel makes you spread your legs further so that he can get into a position that's also comfortable for him. Your fever feels as if it's turned into a bonfire, crackling and ready to swallow both of you whole as soft noises of yours fill Rafayel's ears. He breathlessly gulps before teasingly taking the sensitive nipple between his teeth—the act is enough to send jolts throughout your weak body, you tug on his hair harder than before.

"You enjoy that," he whispers, amused and amazed by your reaction as he tilts his head up slightly to stare into your glossy eyes, only to lean in and repeat the same action. You cry out, feeling like you're melting in his hands as he keeps teasing you. He's not doing much, but you're embarrassingly wet as he continues the act. Your panties immediately get damp, and it feels uncomfortable at some point. "Don't get ideas," you say with a huff of air escaping from your parted lips. They feel dry because of the level of heat embracing your trembling body.

"Don't you think that you're a bit late to say that?" He whispers against your skin, his hands resting on the sides of your body, fingers gently caressing the skin accessible to his touch. His mouth keeps pressing kisses all over your chest between each word. "You've given me quite a lot of ideas. I might push the limits to their fullest if you keep making those pretty noises."

"Rafayel," a gulp, loud enough to shake him to his core. "Don't play, please."

He groans in defeat, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly—how can he say no? How can he possibly say no when your heartbeat is loud and fast enough to be heard? He sits on his knees first, freeing you from your sweatpants and your embarrassingly soaked panties—the sight of your glistening folds immediately gets a reaction from him; a desperate whimper as he throws the pieces of clothing somewhere in his room. His fingers move down as he lays on his torso on the bed, sliding down, supporting your legs by grabbing the back of your thighs and pushing your legs to your chest—the position has you all red, the blush spreading down to your chest as you're now fully exposed to him. To ease off the unnecessary tension you feel, Rafayel presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh. His hot breath hits your sensitive skin, and it feels like this has meant to happen at some point, and this was the perfect time.

"You've got to tell me to stop now if you're not sure," Rafayel's whisper intensifies the sensations, and you feel a hot wave hitting you, making you jolt as your knees almost touch your chest. "Because once I get a taste, I know that I won't be able to stop."

His voice sounds much deeper, and you feel almost threatened by the tone alone—possible thoughts related to what he can do to you run havoc in your mind as you stare at him with empty eyes. All you have in your mind is that you need him; you crave whatever he can give you—of course, you're not going to tell him to stop at any point.

So you stay quiet, your eyes locked with his in an intense gaze as he looks up at you from between your legs. With your fingertips gently playing with his hair, you keep your silence, hoping that it'll be enough of an answer. Yet, it turns out that it's not enough of an answer.

"You need to use your words," Rafayel desperately murmurs this time, pressing wet and open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs as he breaths sharply. "Please, tell me that you want it, I need to hear it from you."

He looks so pretty from this angle—well, it's a well-known fact that he is undoubtedly a pretty boy, but the way he's looking up at you with those expecting eyes and that expression of raw need on his face makes something in you snap suddenly. You part your lips, but it suddenly feels kind of embarrassing to say it out loud. Rafayel moves up and closer to your face, his hand cupping your cheek, and you immediately lean into his touch with your eyes closed. "Look at me, baby, say it."

Your lips part apart slightly as you open your eyes slowly, your dry lips press the lightest kiss to his thumb—and it makes him absentmindedly push his finger into your mouth. Ironically, this act gives you the push that you need. Before wrapping your lips around his thumb, you give him what he wants, you say what he needs to hear.

"I want it," just three words, uttered lowly and slowly, and coming out all muffled because of his finger exploring the warmth of your mouth—and it pushes him over the edge. "Fuck," breathlessly falls from his lips, drawn out in a long way. Rafayel pulls his hand back, his thumb staying close to the side of your mouth as he kisses you—the kiss is sloppy and it shakes you to your core. His thumb lightly gets in the way but none of you seem to care about that, the hunger you both have for each other feels insatiable as Rafayel licks into your mouth. Wet sounds of your lips moving hungrily against each other fill his room as Rafayel takes his time with tasting your lips, savouring the taste of your long gone lip gloss as you moan into his mouth, in turn, he happily drinks in all your pretty noises.

You lazily throw your arms over his shoulders, his messy and soft hair meeting the gentle touch of your hands as you two share a desperate kiss. Suddenly, you can't even remember the reason you're here in the first place—all you can think about is the way Rafayel is so, so into you. The way his one hand stays pressed against your cheek while the other pushes your hair out of the way before traveling down to the side of your waist and caressing the skin feels intimate and arousing at the same time. You try to break the kiss, to take a much-needed breath, but Rafayel doesn't let go of you. His hand holds your head in place, his lips getting more eager and hungrier as his body tenses under your skillful hands softly caressing his hair.

"Can't breathe," you finally manage to get the words out when you push him gently by pressing your hands against his chest. His skin feels as hot as your feverish one, but you can still feel the subtle chill to his hands. "Rafayel, wait—let me, ah, breathe a second."

He is long gone, lost in the whirl of primal emotions that he has fallen victim to. His lips are relentless, his head seeking a feeling that he can only expect from you in the crook of your neck—his kisses trail a wet line along the side of your neck. "Okay, okay," he whispers, visibly trying to calm himself down. "I just—ah, shit, I just need to feel you somehow, taste you."

The way his words come from a feeling that is unfiltered and genuine has you succumbing to his desires. You feel the need to give your all to him, to offer yourself in any way possible, in the way he wants you. As you throw your head back to give him more room, a breathless "yeah," falls from your lips. "Yeah, okay, go on."

Rafayel becomes unstoppable once he gets your consent, once he realizes that you're okay with this. And that's really all he has to get from you to feel something snap in himself—a whiny whimper falling from his lips etches itself into the soft and hot skin of your neck as his kisses follow each other all the way to your shoulder.

"I'll be so good to you," he breathlessly reassures you, even though you don't need any reassurance because you know that he will. You know that he will be such a good boy for you—he will be able to tame that burning desire in you in such a way that you'll get hooked on the feeling. "I know," you, too, reassure him, letting him know what he does to you with little to no effort. Just by following an instinctive feeling, he has the power to rule your body and your mind.

His cold fingertips trail down on your body, finding their place in between your legs. The feeling of his fingertips ghosting over your slick folds make both of you moan, your back arches, your body begging to get the best of this feeling. Even though he's peppering your body with open-mouthed kisses, you still feel embarassingly empty somehow—even this thought alone is enough to get you all flustered and shy.

For some time, it's probably minutes but feels like an eternity, none of you speak; just enjoying the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. Your hands are as mindless as usual, you don't know what to do with them as Rafayel rubs your aching clit in a teasing way; you feel yourself growing impatient, desperately needing him to make you feel full, it doesn't matter how he does it, but he has to do it.

"Rafayel", you whine, impatiently tugging on his hair as your body feels like shattering into million pieces and being kneaded into this desireful shell from the scratch. He hums in response as his kisses start to trail down further down to your torso, it kind of tickles—your body jolts forward when he playfully bites the side of your waist. Swallowing down all the shyness, you try to push his head down a bit more, leading him to your weeping cunt—the sheets underneath you and your inner thighs are damp with your wetness. The way Rafayel manages to get you this turned on and this wet makes both of you gasp when you feel his fingers gathering the slick and smearing it to your folds as if you're not wet enough. The swift movement of his fingers against your folds make you suck in a sharp breath, your body feels like it's about the explode if he makes you wait for it any more than this moment.

"What is it, Miss Bodyguard?" He taunts you, or you think that he does so, it really doesn't matter at this point. "Running low on patience?" His voice is deep, and you feel him finally adjusting his position as his lips press a kiss right to your cunt. You immediately cry out, the movement feeling as intense as it can be. You tug on his hair again, needing the feeling again, and you hear him chuckle. To your relief, he does it again, again and again—teasingly sucking on your clit between the kisses.

"Maybe you should've listened to me," Rafayels pants between the kisses. "I told you to go to sleep, didn't I? You wouldn't be begging like this if you could've just listened to me in the first place."

You cannot find the right piece of your mind to answer him, he's good at making you unable to think properly. Your only answer to him is another low moan—making him get al the answers he needs. You want to tell him to stop the teasing, but the feeling is so good that you can't even acknowledge his words. Rafayel looks pretty from where you're looking at him, his hair doesn't do any justice since it hides his eyes but you're sure that you won't be able to bear the intensity in them if he ever looks into your eyes. His shoulders look broader when he's buried between your trembling legs, the way his biceps flex while his arms are hooked around your legs to keep you in place makes you suck in a shaky breath.

His head moves up and down, his tongue deliberately exploring and tasting you. You grind against his hot mouth, and he groans in response—loving the way you're demanding more from him. It's almost like he exists to serve you; Rafayel has always been attentive to your wants, and to give you what you want now is nothing but pleasure to him. His tongue moves skillfully and also hungrily, you think that you might cum at any given moment—and the thought is a bit embarassing, really, because you want to enjoy the feeling a bit more.

Just as you part your lips to say something, Rafayel slowly pushes a finger inside your cunt—eliciting the most delicious moan from you. You're burning up now from the inside, feeling your body becaoming helpless and succumbing to his mercy as he starts to finger you slowly at first. When your walls stop clencing around him, Rafayel adds the second finger—this is even more dizzying, and you feel yourself getting suffocated by the feeling alone. It'll never measure up to the way his cock stretches you out, but he manages to satisfy you no matter how.

"Hag—ah, Rafayel," you breathlessly mumble, your heavy eyes falling to his broad shoulders again. He's still fully clothed, so you tug on the sleeve of his shirt, that's when he tilts his head up to look into your eyes directly. The sight of him makes you dumb; his chin is wet, his lips glisten, and his eyes carry such intensity and adoration that you stumble upon your own words. Stuttering, you say, "take it off," but Rafayel chuckles as a whisper before leaning down again to suck on your clit while also moving his fingers faster than before.

"No."

"No?"

"No. This is about you feeling good, not about me. Just enjoy it, don't think of anything else."

You open your mouth to protest, but he doesn't even let you start.

"Well, I might be enjoying this more than you maybe, just to let you know. You sound pretty," he breathlessly murmurs, words coming out slurred as his lips presses kisses to your inner thighs. You feel yourself getting even closer, and your body slightly trembles—you can't help but press your legs to the both sides of his head, keeping him there, where he belongs prettily.

"Because you're a pretty girl, aren't you? Even when you're as stubborn as ever, even when you're crying underneath me, you're always a pretty girl, making pretty sounds," his fingers start to move even faster now, your legs shaking on both sides of his head as your chest heaves up and down with your erratic breaths.

Before you need to say it, Rafayel can feel that you're about to cum—your walls clenching around his wet fingers are enough to let him know. He doesn't stop nor does he slows down, on the contrary, in addition to his fingers he gets back to sucking on your clit. It doesn't take you long to cry out his name, or you think so, complete gibberish falls from your lips as you cum—thrashing around his fingers while your body is shaking. Rafayel keeps fingering you and eating you out through your orgasm, tasting you like a man starved as you hear the slick sounds of his fingers and his tongue. Feeling overly sensitive, you gently push his hand back, and he obliges—slowly pulling back to look at your face. Eyes heavy, cheeks tinted with red, chest heaving up and down... he's glad that he's able to paint you in any way in his memories. What would he do if he couldn't do that? Well, he might've had to make you cum again and again until it became impossible to not see you whenever he closed his eyes.

"Ssh, my pretty girl," he whisper as he gets on the same level as your face, there's the slightest smirk on his face as he carefully pays attention to every detail about your face, and your expression. "You good?" Rafayel asks.

"Yeah, yeah I just—uh, I think I just need to..."

"Sleep, maybe?"

"Yeah, that."

Rafayel laughs, low and genuine, soothing you as you listen to it. You want to kiss him, accepting the fact that you'll taste yourself if you do so, but your eyelids feel so heavy that you cannot resist against the drowsiness taking over you.

"Okay, do that then." Rafayel slowly gets up from the bed, and you can only guess how hard he is after all that—your hands ache to touch him, take his hardened cock out of his pants and help him relax, too.

"But you—"

"I told you that this is about you," Rafayel says, walking to the bathroom, You lay on his bed, feeling cold, immediately missing his warmth. He comes back with a wet towel, sitting next to you before he starts to clean you up.

"But, of course, this doesn't mean that I won't ask for what's rightfully mine," he softly chuckles. "But only when you're feeling all better, now sleep."

And you do as he tells you to do so, a slight smile forming on your lips as you close your eyes—realizing that you've needed this sleep really bad, but still had Rafayel to serve you like a true devotee.

#🩰.ela writes #love and deepspace #l&ds #love and deep space rafayel #rafayel smut #rafayel x reader #rafayel imagine #l&ds x reader #l&ds smut #l&ds rafayel #love and deep space x reader #love and deep space x you

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glitter-epoch · 2 months

Text

-ˋˏ [ nerve endings ] ˎˊ

≪ zayne x afab!reader ≫ - smut under the cut, 18+ ONLY mdni!!! do NOT!!! - part two of this drabble, but all you really need to know is zayne gave you stitches and neither of you are being normal about it. - warnings: smut at the end, afab reader no gender assigned pet names or references, a couple y/n's, reader got stitches in the first part, no explicit description of wound, slight pain from the wound at one point, fingering, zayne is mean and also anxious, he's real for that, zayne's scars mention

again, 18+ under the cut! mdni!

you’re unscrewing the cap on the ointment zayne ordered for you when your phone rings. the two gigantic strides you take to cross to the kitchen are ridiculous, but you’ve been waiting for him to call since his shift ended.

zayne. his name flashes on the screen, right under the time, 8:08 PM. you fumble to get the phone in your hands and put it up to your ear, cap still balanced between your fingers.

“hi,” you breathe out.

zayne is quiet for a moment. something whirrs in the background, mechanical and smooth.

“hello,” he replies, in that somehow monotonous and matter-of-fact tone. “why are you out of breath?”

“nothing,” you swallow. “just...trying to get the cap off the ointment you got me.”

another moment passes. the soft drone of machinery in the background clicks in your mind, finally-

“are you driving?” you ask. surely he’s not-

“not anymore,” zayne says, and the whirring dies. “i’m in your parking lot. i have extra bandages and dinner for you. i’ll leave them outside if you’re not in the mood for company.”

the feelings that pass through you are like a molotov cocktail; fear and excitement and relief all at once. it all burns in your chest. zayne had said he was going to call, but once it got to be past seven o’clock, you wondered if he’d forgotten. and you didn’t really think he would come see you, but...you had maybe thought he might.

“you got me dinner?” you start, nervously. “that’s too much. thank you.”

you’re in your pajamas, gauze pad ungracefully peeking out over the waistband of your fuzzy blue shorts.

“i’m not dressed,” you murmur, unsure of what exactly your goal is in saying so. you do want him to come up-

“i don’t care about that,” he replies. “but if you need time to put something else on, i can wait. i didn’t call you until eight.”

“yeah,” you huff, “what were you doing?”

zayne sighs. “buying you bandages.”

“quit paying for things!”

you look around your apartment. it’s clean, thankfully, uncluttered and dusted; countertops gleaming to the usual degree once they’ve been wiped down. he says he doesn’t care about your outfit, and you believe him.

you can see him in your mind’s eye- buttoning your trousers, zipping them up like it was nothing.

“i’m glad you came,” you say, chest buzzing with nerves. “i’ll come let you in. do you remember which building i’m in?”

“i’m already outside.”

you scamper all the way downstairs, gliding over the complex’s steps so fast it’s a miracle you don’t slip and fall. by the time you get to the bottom, you're out of breath again; the cut over your hip sore.

zayne’s hair is blown over his forehead by a cold breeze that curls in through the open door of the apartment building, quickly sucking all of the warm air out of the lobby. you step aside, ushering him in.

“oh, it’s cold,” you complain, narrowing your eyes out the glass door as you shut it behind him. “are you cold? no. you have that massive coat.”

zayne looks down at his black overcoat; the sharp triangles of the lapels framing his jaw, which is just as sharp. he takes one pale hand out of his pocket to brush the hair out of his eyes. you’re smart enough not to ogle this time, but your eyes do snag on something-

scars. little ones, all over the back of his hand; one deeper, longer one down the center.

if he notices your gaze falter, he doesn’t say.

“it is cold,” zayne chides. “you shouldn’t have come down here in shorts.”

“i was barely outside,” you retort.

“why are you wearing them in the first place?” is zayne’s reply.

“they have cows on them,” you mumble, pointing at the wide nose of one on your shorts. “here, come upstairs. is that soup?”

“yes,” zayne replies simply.

his tone is a little icier than it had been at akso, but his porcelain cheeks are red, and his lips are wet with cold, too. there’s a small black thermal bag on his other arm, and mug in that hand (also scarred, you see, and his fingers move around aimlessly). he’s nervous.

he’s nervous.

you’d grin if you weren’t about to throw up.

. . .

he’s so tall. his shadow seems to stretch out across your living room as he sits down next to you on the sofa; half-a-cushion away. it seems intentional.

“you didn’t have to heat it up for me,” you scold.

zayne nearly ignores this, but provides you with a small mm and shake of his head. “you shouldn’t be reaching up that high, at the microwave; your stitches could tear.”

you inhale, trying to settle in as he clearly does the same beside you. the back of your couch barely meets his shoulder blades. the lights are low, the overheads in the kitchen a distant glow. the resting screen of the television, the far-off lights of linkon, and one small lamp on the side table remain.

zayne’s taken his jacket off, and his usual white button-down is gone. the charcoal-grey slacks remain (they’re tailored. they have to be. nobody’s legs look that good in department store slacks).

his shirt is black, and thermal; with subtle waffling. it looks soft, but it’s tight around his biceps. at this waist, the shirt leaves a tiny bit of room- he's strong, his shoulders are wide, but he’s lean, you think.

things you’d never have noticed in his usual uniform, and also, things you do not need to and should not be noticing.

you avert your eyes only to find him rolling up his sleeves.

Lord. zayne fluffs the rice inside a small plastic box with a fork and stirs a couple of glazed chicken strips into the container, a healthy amount of steamed broccoli also placed in the side tin. instead of handing it to you, he slides it across the coffee table as a small curl of steam rises from the rice.

the vein that starts in center of his palm and disappears through his inner-wrist flexes as he pokes the fork into one of the broccoli florets.

“you don’t eat enough vegetables,” zayne remarks.

he has his glasses on. you’re too busy noticing this to offer a snide reply to his comment. when you do, it’s too late. he’s noticed your staring.

“you don’t eat with me enough to know what i eat,” is your pathetic retort. “and you’re a cardiologist, not a dietician. get another degree and then we’ll talk.”

zayne’s smile is small but victorious. he reaches for the mug on the table and shifts until he’s facing you, knees pointed at yours.

then he starts unscrewing it.

“your heart health is more dependent on your diet than almost anything else,” he says, voice low, almost teasing. “other than the aether core, of course.”

the choice to unscrew the cap right at you, his knuckles moving deftly to twist off the lodged lid, that same center-vein and a few new ones appearing on his forearm. it’s so blatant you’re glaring incredulously at him by the time he offers it to you.

zayne blinks a little after a moment of you ignoring him, hazel eyes looking a little concerned at your coldness. “it’s soup,” he offers. “not as warm as the rice, so you can hold it.”

you lower your chin at him, brows low: “what are you doing?”

it’s more of a statement than a question. and zayne (who’s been weaving this game all day, but now seems to be anxious), says-

“i’m giving you this soup i made.”

he sets it down on the table.

“it’s just broth and some vegetables. protein would have been too much, you already have your chicken.”

for a moment, you think you’ve gained the upper hand. but your eyes trail after his wrists as he sets the thermos down on the table and plucks the fork out of the rice, chicken still attached.

one corner of his lip curls when he notices.

zayne presents the fork to you. when you don’t accept, he cocks his head.

“i came here to make sure you eat dinner and change your bandage,” zayne says. you’re not sure if it’s pure dishonesty; his voice is too difficult to read, as always. “i’m not sure why you’d refuse the food.”

at that, you take the fork, and eat the bite off the end.

“i’m not refusing the food,” you swallow. “and thank you. this was very kind of you. i’m...i’m really surprised, actually.”

the mirth fades from his features. “surprised?”

“i just assumed you weren’t going to call,” you add quickly, almost guilty over how suddenly his demeanor shifts. “it was getting late. i didn’t want to bother you.”

“i told you i’d call,” zayne replies softly. “if i say i’ll do something for you, i will.”

“you do have a good track record of that,” you reply.

he nods. “i know i do.”

gulp. you eat more of the rice, trying to occupy yourself. “this is very good. thank you.”

“you don’t have to say it again. why were you so worried about me calling?”

you peer at him, a ball of rice in your cheek. “i-” you murmur over the rice, and swallow quickly. “i wasn’t worried. well, i worried something might have happened to you, but it would have been fine if you didn’t call. you already gave me stitches for free.”

“i’m your doctor,” is his reply.

“you’re my cardiologist.”

“primary care doctor,” zayne counters. and he leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees. he’s still a head taller than you. “are you averse to me caring about all the other parts of you?”

you inhale sharply to try and hide the flush that bursts in your cheeks. the next time you swallow, he follows it; watches your throat bob.

“no, i’m not averse,” is your stupid reply.

he blinks slowly, like a cat. the smirk returns. “mm.”

“mm,” you bite out, dropping the fork into the box of rice and pressing on the lid. “that was very g...you know i think it was good, but i’m not super hungry right now. i’ll put it away for later, unless you want some?”

you busy yourself with gathering up the box and the mug, so by the time you steal another nervous glance at zayne, it’s the first time you’re seeing him tilt his head forward at you. the pools of his eyes see everything; it’s like he’s looking straight into your skull.

“y/n,” he murmurs, slow.

your own name shocks you. there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s not going to say anything else. it’s not just your name, it’s a question.

he’s asking you what you want.

and he’s ridiculously patient as you sit there, box of rice and thermos in hand, blinking like a dear in headlights. you think of chickening out.

“can you help me change the bandage, please?” you nearly whisper.

. . .

“this cut is technically over your lumbar plexus. there’s a nerve here,” zayne continues. he drags the pad of his finger over the flesh between your hip and the curve of your waist, examining and admiring, like you’re a specimen. “obturator.”

you’re practically ignoring him at this point; your head is swimming, your face is hot as an iron. “obfuscator.”

he actually laughs, albeit softly. “obturator. with a ‘t’.”

“yeah, that’s what i said.”

you’re standing in front of the sofa, holding up the heavy bottom edge of your crewneck. zayne sits on the coffee table in front of you. his left hand traces over the right side of your belly, dances around the stitches he put in earlier. his right hand holds the waistband of your pajama shorts down; pins them to what’s nearly the middle of your thigh.

you’re looking up at the ceiling, trying not to think about how much of the skin over your pelvic bone is exposed. you’re also trying to steal glances at zayne, who you’re certain isn’t really here, and must be a dream.

even looking at him is too much, though.

“you looked that up,” you whisper. “you’re a heart doctor, not a hipbone doctor. you looked up what those nerves were called in the parking lot before i came and got you, cuz’ you knew you were gonna do this.”

“do what?” zayne wastes no time.

“do...”

well. you give up, not wanting to accuse him of seducing you out loud.

he pulls your shorts up for a moment and grabs the ointment beside him. “this shouldn’t hurt,” he says softly. “i’m only putting it around the sutures, not on the cut. then i’ll put a new bandage on.”

“okay,” you breathe.

he pauses. looks up at you. “okay?”

as in, are you okay?

you muster up the courage to look down at him, not actually wanting to alienate him. if he left now, you’d absolutely start sobbing.

“yeah, i’m okay. sorry.”

“don’t apologize. hold still.”

he spreads the ointment onto his fingers. like vaseline, it appears iridescent against the low-light of the television and the distant scape of linkon. you’re trying not to drool over the two fingers he’s placing over your hiphone when you remember.

“your scars,” you say, softly, a little nervous. “were they accidents?”

zayne stiffens. weighs his words. “essentially.”

you nod, not wanting to press any further. “not that it matters-”

you gasp as he starts to spread the ointment around the sutures; a barely-stinging, mostly-cold sensation fluttering like soft wings across your skin. his fingers are cold, not as cold as usual. he’s trying to keep them warm for you.

“yes?” zayne murmurs.

“not that it matters,” you continue, trying to steady your breathing. “but i think they’re beautiful. like tree roots.”

zayne stops for a moment. inhales. you watch the breadth of his shoulders rise and fall until he continues working, circling the cut over your hip with glossy fingers.

“do you?” he asks. almost a whisper.

you furrow your brows at him, surprised to hear a hint of insecurity in his tone. once he secures a new bandage over the wound, you know you’ve waited too long to respond.

“of course,” you manage.

he looks up at you, then; narrow jaw angled expectantly, his jaw shut tight.

“you like them?” he asks again, and his voice is darker than usual.

god.

you nod, unsure of how else to say it. “i like them,” you start. “i like...i like you, yes.”

zayne watches you with such intensity you wonder if he’s trying to melt you down like iron. his fingers tighten on your waistband where he holds down the right corner of your sleep shorts; then he pulls that side down further, other hand coming down over the slope of your waist.

he grips you. his palm ignites with ice; suddenly, extremely cold. you gasp.

“you like me.” zayne challenges.

“i like your scars,” you argue, but you can’t take it back. you’ve already said it.

“you like both,” he replies. his palm smooths down your waist, then snakes around to your front. he places both hands flat to your belly.

you let go of your crewneck, surprised, as he runs his hands up your front and then wraps them around your ribs, caging you in on either side.

“there are nerves here, too,” he mumurs. he doesn’t have to lift his arms up much to reach you like this; he’s barely reaching up to begin with. “an intercostal.” again, his hands dip lower, equally soft and calloused. his thumb presses down right under your ribs. “subcostal.”

“you’re making these up,” you huff, trying not to squirm, not to look too enraptured.

“you were confident enough in my medical expertise to let me put stitches in you.”

“well,” you breathe, “i trust you.”

“you do?” zayne remarks, like he knows exactly how much you trust him; but maybe it astonishes him. “you do...”

“this is your sacral plexus,” he says next, pressing two thumbs in just to the right of your navel. he goes lower, spreads his hands out; they fan like wings as they travel, colder and colder as he nears your pelvic bone. “obturator, again. this is lower, on your thigh; femoral.”

“i’ve heard of the femur.”

he stops to laugh. “you, are...”

you laugh with him, because if you don’t, you’ll scare off; truthfully, you’re deeply afraid of him looking at you underneath your clothes.

he senses this.

“you don’t want me to look at you?” zayne asks, with genuine confusion.

you look down at him. “no, it’s not that.”

“it is. you’re afraid.”

“not of you.”

“of me looking at you,” zayne replies. he considers this, brows knit together in discontent. “you have no idea how many times i’ve thought about seeing you like this.”

his voice is sanguine. this is new for him, too; you’ve both never been here.

zayne looks up at you. he wants to see you, wants to touch you, wants you.

his fingers curl over your waistband, but he stops. “yes or no?”

you watch him, trembling under his gaze, under his grip.

you can’t say it, but you nod. yes.

he looks down instantly, propelled forward, but as he pulls down your shorts, revealing your panties; he seems more interested in your navel. zayne lifts your crewneck with one hand and lets your shorts fall, adjusting as you step out of them. one hand comes flat to your navel, the other runs across the thin fabric covering your heat.

you inhale. the hand on your stomach flexes; small jolts of cold prick your skin.

zayne watches goosebumps rise there. his mouth is open, you notice- just barely, like he doesn’t even know.

“i don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, almost slurred. “the cold.”

“no, no, it’s fine. i like it.”

he flashes you what’s almost a glare, like it can’t be true. “another thing you like.”

“if it’s you, i like-”

he brushes the pad of his thumb over your clothed cunt; catches the hood of your clit. maybe he doesn’t notice at first, but when you jolt, he hums.

“mmm,” he says. “what were you going to say?”

“if it’s you i like all of it,” you ramble off, “anything. what are you doing?”

“taking my time.”

he presses his thumb to that same spot, now that he’s found it, and rubs circles. meanwhile, you bend backwards; he grabs your waist, steadies you upright, and drags his frozen palms up and down your hips.

“you have to stand up straight, or you’ll tug on the stitches. that will hurt.”

“i don’t...care.”

“that’s only because you haven’t done it yet. hold still.”

you look down at him, gasping as he presses a kiss to the flesh above your panties, next to your cut. his lips are soft, warm, unlike his hands; sheen from his own biting. he does it again, and when you jolt, his grip is firmer.

“i won’t do anything to you if you’re going to tear your stitches,” zayne murmurs.

he loops his fingers through the legs of your panties, pulls them down. you nearly shriek.

“zayne!”

he hasn’t looked down yet, yet; he’s looking into your eyes. “that would be malpractice. also, i can’t stand to hurt you. i won’t, actually- so please, hold still.”

“it’s your fault i can’t be still.”

“try harder.”

when zayne’s gaze lands on your bottom half, naked, the goosebumps on your belly traveling to your cunt; you can tell that he’d been looking at you in the eyes not just to knock you off balance. he’d been preparing himself.

you’d be naive to think he doesn’t know what to do next, but for a moment, you think he might not- his pupils are big as moons.

“hold still,” he says again. this time, with fervor. “please, hold still.”

he touches you like he’s going to work; like he’s been studying for this his whole life. he keeps one hand on your ribs (clearly obsessed with physically feeling your breath hitch) and runs his fingers up the inside of your thigh, opposite of the wound on your hip.

zayne looks up at you once before dragging his finger through the center of your core.

you gasp.

he cocks his head, and grinds his jaw, icy fingers tightening around your ribs. “fuck.”

he keeps exploring, but you’re so stunned to hear him curse, practically drunk just hearing him talk, that you’re too busy examining his stoic but somehow awestruck expression when he finds your clit with his thumb.

“zayne,” you lean forward.

his brows knit together a bit when you say his name, almost confusion, almost disbelief. “say it again, please-”

he doesn’t have to ask, really; you gulp it out. “zayne...”

he lurches forward and presses a kiss to your navel, almost harsh. it stops you from leaning forward too far, but you feel the tug on your stitches.

“ouch,” you hiss.

it’s too loud. zayne hears you; drops you immediately. you’re colder than you were with his hands on you.

“did i hurt you?” he demands.

you grab him, actually; take his hands back, put them where they were.

“no, no- keep going, please, don't...”

you don’t finish. he hears you; rubbing circles with his thumb into the bundle of nerves at the peak of your core. it’s the only finger he can use, technically, from where you’re standing, but something about it is insane.

you’re so worked up about him touching you, breathing in and out like you’ve just come up from underwater; you forget how good it feels, how it will feel, once he finds-

“hm,” you swallow, choking over a gasp.

zayne doesn’t press harder; doesn’t speed up. “like this?”

you nod. his sigh is audible, ragged.

“you can say it, though, can’t you?”

you blink down at him, cheeks burning. “y-yes, like this.”

zayne growls, almost; softly, and digs his opposite fingers into your ribs. you’re not certain, but he may be feeling around for the best spot to feel your heartbeat.

“there’s too many nerves here,�� he rasps. “to name. but you’re not really thinking about that right now, are you?”

“i like listening to you,” you choke out.

zayne smirks. it’s a little broken, with how enraptured he is. “i thought you liked my hands.”

“scars,” you retort.

“that was a terrible deflection.” zayne removes his hand from your ribs, too fast, moves down and presses one finger to your heat, inside your folds; he tests it. “can i...”

you lurch forward. he catches you, lets you drape over his shoulders. it was cruel of him to pretend you could stand the whole time, in the first place.

“alright,” he rasps, one big hand rubbing the small of your back. “come here.”

you half-stand, he half-pulls you to the sofa. a red streetlight beneath your apartment blears like a star through the window with the moisture gathering in your eyes.

zayne helps you lay down, slowly; has you put your head on the armest, and your body in his lap.

“this will be easier,” he says, smoothing his palm down your front. “try to lay flat.”

you grind your hips into him, a little humiliated. zayne bucks up; drags a hand over his mouth, either equally humiliated or furious with you.

he snakes his left hand underneath your crewneck and finds your nipple. he squeezes it, experimentally; you arch and he nods.

“see? you have more room to move.”

your nipples pebble under him as he moves about, letting his fingers crawl up to dip into the divot between your collarbones. he presses down there, leans into the ragged breath you take.

“your hoodie,” he hums. “do you want to leave it on?”

for a split second, you’re nervous to take it off. but when you lock eyes with him, and see how much he’s blinking, how desperate he is (despite pretending not to be) almost all of your insecurities vanish.

you sit up, pressing into his lap to shrug off the crewneck. he’s hard underneath you- big.

“oh, my god,” you whisper.

“y/n,” he groans.

zayne exhales sharply and gently cups the space between your shoulder and throat to push you back down. it dawns on you how strong he is, how easily he could throw you around. that, you think, is not in his nature.

he presses his palm flat to the space between your breasts. you watch his eyes dart around, taking in every inch of your torso, of your now naked body on top of him.

abruptly, he takes your clit with the pad of his finger again; but only for a moment, as he tests his middle finger at your center again.

“there are nerves here, too,” he says darkly. “you don’t care about that anymore. can i?”

you nod, practically shimmying down his lap to bring him closer. “yes, please, yes.”

he dips one finger into your cunt, experimentally- but it’s easy. he slides the one finger in, and when you gasp, he takes his chance to slide in a second. you almost sit straight up.

he starts pumping, excruciatingly slow. “do you have any idea how guilty i’ve felt?”

you squirm, whining; he says nothing about it.

“how many times you’ve come in to the office and not known i wanted to touch you like this? you come in for stitches on your hips, here,” he says, dragging his free hand down to ghost over the bandage. “i couldn’t believe it. and you had no idea i wanted you like this; it’s been agony.”

“i did know,” you lie.

“not entirely,” zayne presses, pumping faster in and out of you, “or you wouldn’t be so worked up.”

his hands are so big, his fingers are so long; you can’t imagine being fuller than this.

“zayne,” you whimper. it’s astonishing to you that you’ve ended up like this, but you can’t be bothered to care how you sound.

he breathes deeply, like it’s sex for him every time you say his name.

“you’ve wanted this,” zayne drawls. “how long?”

“always,” you gasp. “a-always.”

“fuck, y/n.”

he picks up the pace one more time and you know this is it- he's determined, needs to see you cum. you squirm and writhe around in his lap, and his free hand follows every inch of it; smoothing up and down your body, but you’re almost certain he’s trying to rile you up more than he’s trying to soothe you.

the coil in your stomach is tightens, taught like a string; you’re close.

zayne leans down and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“i know everything about you,” he murmurs. “about your body. i know how your heartbeat feels; i’ve stitched you together. but this...is better than anything i could have imagined.”

you cry out as you come undone, clenching around zayne’s fingers. he pulls you up into him, careful to keep your hips flat as he holds you to his chest. you bury your face in his neck, riding it out, his fingers still inside you.

“do your stitches feel alright?” he hums.

“shut u-up.”

•✧•

if you know medicine and the nerves are wonky i'm begging you. remain quiet. thanks to ⚡ anon for requesting the first part of this!!! love u all!!

@lost-in-time-wanderer ur tag <3

#l&ds #l&ds zayne #love and deepspace #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #love and deep space x reader #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace smut #l&ds zayne x reader #zayne x mc #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x y/n

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writer-freak · 2 months

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Period Care | Lads men x gn reader

Characters: Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel

Warnings: Gn reader ,mentions of reader having mood swings,period cramps, english isn't my first language, haven't fully played the game yet so these maybe aren't 100% accurate

A/n: I wrote the Zayne headcanons for my bestie and I ended up deciding to also write for the others. I actually planned on writing a Valentine's fic but I haven't finished it because I was busy preparing for my Valentines date.

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more <3

Zayne:

Zayne as the dedicated partner that he is has a period tracker for you on his phone. He uses it so that he can be one step ahead, ready for when your period comes around just to ensure that he is fully prepared.

He is like a walking pharmacy, he always has your favorite relaxing tees and painkillers on hand. In general, he has a period product stash, just in case you have forgotten to restock or were caught off guard. Just in case he has a secret supply tucked away.

He is a doctor so obviously he is offering some medical insight. He will probably explain to you the medical technicality with periods and all that kind of stuff. Would be the first one to tell you to see a doctor if you have bad cramps.

He would probably also recommend some gentle Yoga stretches that are supposed to help with cramps

He has some hidden sense for your emotional needs. Somehow he always perfectly knows when to help you out and when to give you some space while on your period.

But of course, while he is a doctor and gives you a lot of practical solutions, he will also give you lots of physical affection if you need it.

He'll wraps you up in his arms holding you close and giving you all the kisses that you want. He might be a bit exhausted from his demanding job but Zayne is dedicated to being there for you.

Even if he's barely able to keep his eyes open he'll stay by your side offering you comfort and support.

Okay, now imagine this.

It's early in the morning and you are curled up in bed battling with cramps straight from hell. Before Zayne heads off to his shift in the hospital he slips into the kitchen makes you a hot water bottle and gathers everything that you could need. He brings them to you and gives you a kiss on your forehead telling you that he will come back as soon as he can.

Zayne will do whatever you need and will be especially good at giving you practical advice. And even if you ignore his advice his explanation will at least put you to sleep.

Xavier:

Xavier is the epitome of patience and care, he is your dedicated partner during your period.

He's not just there, he is really present offering you a comforting presence.

There is just something about Xavier that makes you feel safe almost like sinking into a warm hug. He really is a master at cuddling, wrapping you up in his arms, and napping alongside you.

Xavier tends to be a bit forgetful about the timing of your period. But when it's actually there he is by your side, doing whatever it takes to make you feel better.

Oh did I mention that voice of his? It's just so calming.

If you need a distraction from some cramps Xavier's soothing voice and words will ease your mind lulling you into a peaceful sleep. And when you wake up you'll find him right beside you, probably also asleep.

He in general just relishes in keeping you close and caring for you during this time. Even if he doesn't fully understand your mood swings he remains calm and understanding trying to support you in every way he can.

Also, any medication you need he is gonna immediately get, if he doesn't already have it, and whatever your craving he is gonna bring to you.

I think he would maybe like to pet your head or play a bit with your hair to help you relax if you are fine with it.

And I can't forget to mention his hands, if you ask him to put his hands on your tummy to help with your cramps he will do so immediately. And in general, he would give you back or tummy rubs if you ask him for them.

Xavier just wants to do whatever you need during that time and is a very caring and dedicated partner.

Rafayel:

Rafayel tends to only realize that you have your period when you are more on edge than usual. He isn't really thrilled about you being in a bad mood but he rolls with it, kinda finds amusement in your crankiness, and uses it as an opportunity to playfully tease you.

With teasing, he will especially do this if you are being extra clingy, but he also uses your clinginess as an excuse to be extra close to you.

He'll wrap you up in his arms and always refuses to let you go until you feel better, he loves the extra cuddle time.

While on your period he would use darker bedsheets to help avoid staining.

He isn't exactly an expert about periods but he always stocks up whatever you're currently craving or your general favorite snack just in case.

If you need painkillers he's on it, he wants to make sure that you have everything you need to help ease your discomfort.

He can't really stand seeing you in pain so he will try and shower you with extra affection, peppering you with kisses and gentle touches, claiming that it's just for your relaxation.

Playful banter is kind of his love language. Beneath that, he really just wants to make you feel better but it includes a little bit of teasing and complaining from his side.

I imagine him preparing you a nice bath if you want to, bringing you into the bathroom, and telling you that you should relax. If you ask him to join you he would probably tease you about how you just can't be without him.

But actually, he just waited for you to ask, so he happily joins you while relaxing in the tub.

And if you thank him for helping you so much during your period you could see him getting a little embarrassed, his ears turning a faint shade of pink.

Rafayel all in all is just really affectionate and loves using your period to soak in extra attention and affection from you.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

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daintydreamsy · 3 months

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it's quiet today.

too quiet, and zayne is acutely aware of it. he knows it's half-past midnight and his shift ended three hours ago, but he can't bring himself to leave his office. it's quiet now, but it might be loud later, and at that point it would've just been easier to stay at his office.

so he did, of course he did.

his work-life balance is nonexistent, and he's not sure when the line of balance became so blurry, was it when he first started working, or was it the day after he knew he would become a doctor? he's not sure, and now it's become too engrained in his mind to just stay a little longer.

the quiet could not last for long, because this is a hospital and it could never last long, but he's surprised when it's a knock on his door and not an emergency code over the intercoms or a message on his pager.

"come in." he calls, but even he is surprised at how quiet his voice is. when's the last time he's had a sip of water?

"dr. zayne~ there you are!" you singsong, walking through his office and arriving in front of his desk. there's a pretty smile on your face and a look in your eyes. zayne has grown accustomed to this look meaning 'you haven't eaten or had a drink or slept in the last twelve hours so here's me bringing you things', and it seems to fill him with something. a feeling of yearning? he's not sure.

before he can say anything, specifically 'why are you here so late?', you sit a plastic bag down in front of him. he already recognizes the logo on the bag as the one from the convenience store down the street, and from only a glimpse inside of the bag, he knows whats inside of it.

"i was going to see if you just wanted to get takeout but then i realized the time, i figured this would be quicker."

"why are you here so late?" he hasn't forgotten the time like you have. it's almost one in the morning now, and you should be home, sleeping. you are a hunter now, after all.

you give him another look, one where you scrunch your nose and look away from him. "i bring you goodies and dinner and you treat me like this?" there's a shift in tone in your voice, and you let out a giggle at the end of your sentence.

cute, but doesn't answer his question.

"thank you for the food. why are you here so late?" you click your tongue in response. always the stickler for rules, isn't he?

"because i knew you'd still be here." he can't argue with that logic, but something both eats at and fills him. you should've been at home, not worrying about him. but the fact that you were worrying about him... well he couldn't deny that the idea made him a little joyful.

"c'mon, eat," you insist, sitting across him at the desk. "i won't even pester you about going home if you do. well- actually, i can't guarantee that." he doesn't respond, only shooting you a look.

"oh! let me tell you about work today..." once you start talking, he doesn't stop you. it's nice to hear your voice, to see your smile.

as he eats the food you brought him, a thought crosses his mind... how deeply he's missed this.

#love and deepspace #love & deepspace #love and deep space zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #love and deep space zayne x reader #love and deep space x reader

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rosequarzo · 3 months

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morning bliss

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა • ! rafayel+ fem! reader canon divergence tooth-rotting fluff established relationship brief and slightly implited mature content ☆ warning not proofread . . . !? & 749— catalogue

notes. this was supposed to be a zayne drabble but rafayel was easier to write (i'm sorry), also can i stop getting rafayel cards LMAO tagging @rninies and @riekiss, i hope you enjoy hehe

Mornings with him are always calm and peaceful; a huge contrast compared to how he usually carries himself in his daily life. When the two of you are alone, hidden and well-protected within the walls of his apartment, Rafayel acts like a spoiled child.

He sheds the haughty appearance he dons on for the public, surrendering himself to you and refusing to move away from you. It was like you two were inseparable, unable to survive without the other beside you. Perhaps it was true for him.

Sleeping in was never a common occurrence for you, considering the nature of your job. For Rafayel however, sleeping in was a common occurrence. He was persistent in making you adapt to his routine but no matter how hard he tries, you were always one step ahead of him. And he doesn’t mind the challenge.

Your toes barely managed to touch the cold floor when a pair of familiar arms snaked themselves around your waist, followed by a familiar weight nestling itself on your left shoulder. You didn’t bother turning around to know the culprit was pouting. Glancing over from the corner of your eyes, it took all of your might to refrain yourself from smiling; amused with the current situation.

“Yes? How can I help you today?” You cheekily asked, earning a slight squeeze from his arms around your waist.

“Why are you talking to me like I’m a mere stranger? I’m your boyfriend!” The infamous artist whines, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Goosebumps formed on your skin at the fleeting sensation of his lips grazing against your skin; a reminder of last night. Your cheeks flushed red at the flashes of memories popping up in your mind and your reaction didn’t go unnoticed by Rafayel’s keen eyes. He wasted no time in launching his next move.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue, or…” His voice trailed off as he slid one hand underneath the oversized shirt you wore, eliciting a beautiful gasp from your parted lips. His warm hand against your cold skin made you shiver on the spot.

“Or could it be that you want more?” He purrs, words and tone both alluring like a siren.

“Unfortunately, duty calls,” you replied, easily slipping out from his grasp and rising to your feet.

Your action earned a displeased whine of protest as he leaned back to collapse on his bed. “I can’t believe my own lover has decided to abandon me! How cruel the world has become!”

You rolled your eyes, stretching out your feet to lightly kick him in the shins. Being the dramatic person he is, Rafayel cried out in pain and clutched onto his ankle. “Now my lover has decided to get violent with me! How cruel the world has become indeed!”

“Oh for the- Are you done acting? I was tempted to prepare breakfast for you but since you’re so full of energy, I guess you can do it instead.”

Rafayel dropped his acting the moment he heard your words. He shot up from the bed, as if he was struck by a lightning bolt and flashes you his signature charming smile. “Since you have proposed to make breakfast, how can I refuse?”

You merely rolled your eyes, resting your hands on the sides of your hips. “Fine, but you’re coming with me to the kitchen. No buts.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t dare to spend another minute without you by my side.”

You internally cursed yourself when your heart fluttered at how cheesy his words were. It was evident that Rafayel knew your weaknesses. To you, he was more akin to a cunning fox, knowing how to make you weak in the knees and how to have you wrapped around his fingers. The same could be applied to him, however. You decided to play along, not wanting to let him have the upperhand.

“I see, I could say the same to myself as well. It’ll be pretty lonely if you weren't there,” you teased.

You nearly burst out laughing at the sight of his ears gradually turning red. You stepped forward, grabbing his hand and gently pulled him up, forcing him to follow you out of the bedroom.

“Come on, we should get started or we’re never having breakfast.”

Rafayel chuckles, eyes softening as he drinks in the sight of your lovely smile. “Sounds good to me.”

As long as I get to be with you, nothing and no one else matters.

#୨୧ magazine articles #love and deep space #love and deep space x reader #love and deep space imagines #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel imagines #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x reader

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crispin-kreme · 10 hours

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XAVIER when . . . you leave him for a while (inspired by this and one fanfic i saw)

no warnings just grammatical errors , not proofread

zayne | rafayel

he hopes that you barge in his apartment and just snuggle with him. xavier couldn't sleep peacefully without you, so it was that bad.

xavier tries to update but he's getting anxious. he's aimlessly fighting off the wanderers and walking around the city to look for you, to catch a glimpse of you.

and surely, he doesn't leave your text messages quietly.

"i just woke up, sorry for the late reply. are you still busy?"

"i'm sorry for over sleeping– are you back?"

"i thought you came back to my apartment but i was just dreaming."

"when will you come back? the stars are waiting for you and so am i."

due to your prior commitments, you didn't have the time to inform him or notify him. xavier was getting worried because he thinks its maybe his fault or the like.

you come back to your own apartment seeing the messages. one message said that his apartment is unlocked, waiting for you. you go downstairs to see if this was true and yes, xavier's apartment was just unlocked for a couple of minutes ago.

you tiptoed to his room and went under the covers with xavier. he was so peacefully sleeping.

he feels your weight on the bed so he stirrs in his sleep "a-are you back?" he asks groggily. you nodded and stroked his cheek "i'm back, xavier. now get back to sleep." you said softly in a hushed tone.

xavier wraps you around his arms as he snuggles into your neck "it isn't a dream. i'm so glad you're back." he says softly. you smiled and embraced him- humming a lullaby and rubbing his back for him to sleep properly.

he's glad that he isn't dreaming, he wants to always wake up with you by his side.

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atsuwumus · 3 months

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𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 . . .

Zayne, who had to stop wearing a smartwatch because it would alert him about his heart rate that spiked dangerously everytime he found himself around you.

Rafayel, who's ears turn red from the intensity of his blush whenever you get perhaps a little too close to him, brushing a hand over his arm, your knee knocking his underneath the table, all innocent touches that makes him go red.

Xavier, who's opted to start stuffing his hands into his pockets or hoodies so you wouldn't see how they trembled, or how they ached to hold your own. He can at least keep the fidgeting to himself that way.

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ickadori · 2 months

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++ 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

[summary] compared to zayne’s colleague’s accomplishments, as well as his own, you’re feeling sorely unequipped to stand by his side at the banquet.

[cws] fem reader -> hunter reader. bit suggestive at the end, but otherwise sfw. unedited.

You were completely out of your element.

The banquet that you had accompanied Zayne to was everything you thought it was going to be: Prestigious, elite, and entirely out of your league.

Zayne had assured you that you looked the part, and you supposed you did with the getup he had helped you pick out. A beautiful dress that clung to you like a second skin, accentuating all your good points and dolling up your bad ones (Zayne always told you that you had no bad points, and you always told him to get his glasses prescription doublechecked). Your hair was done nicely, tucked neatly with pins that you had nearly been too scared to use in fear of damaging them. A diamond necklace, gifted from none other than Zayne on Valentines night, rested against your skin with a matching set of earrings.

Your heels were from a designer whose name you had failed to properly pronounce repeatedly, and they were just as beautiful as the dress, the perfect color and style to tie the look together nicely.

You looked the part alright, but you felt nothing of the sort. Your nerves had been churning in your stomach the moment you two made it to the venue, and that churning had kicked into tenfold with each introduction.

You met esteemed doctors who you had seen in news articles dozens of times to celebrate their accomplishments, professors that taught at universities you couldn’t even dream of getting into, classmates that screamed money and class with their dazzling white smiles, sparkling jewelry, and bumptious way of speaking.

And they met you, a hunter who had a knack for getting herself injured on the job and making her boyfriend’s stress load even heavier.

You hadn’t gone to college, nor had you held any other job besides being a hunter. You had known what you wanted to do from an early age, and the moment you had turned old enough to join the Hunters Association you ran off to take your test and get the process started. You were proud to be a Hunter and you loved your job for the most part, but standing here now in a room filled with people far more accomplished than you in every way imaginable, you felt…inadequate.

You solemnly sip at your champagne flute as you stand by Zayne’s side, his arm wound around your waist as he talks with one of his old professors. You had tried to keep up with their conversation in the beginning, but once the topic of research came up and the medical jargon came out to play you had tuned the both of them out.

“…like I’ve bored your plus one half to death.” Laughter brings you out of your thoughts, and a sheepish smile takes over your face when you see two sets of eyes focused on you. “My apologies, Miss, this old man just doesn’t know when to shut his trap, it seems. I guess it’s time I find another ear to blab off.”

“Oh, no, please stay, you’re fine! I’m sorry, I was just.. lost in thought.” The man waves you off with a gentle smile.

“You two should enjoy each other’s company before someone else comes to hog his attention.” He jokes. “It was nice seeing you again, Zayne, and please do think about visiting the college sometime to talk with a few of the undergrads. A lot of them revere you, you know.”

“I’ll give it some consideration, Professor Grinley.” With a few more words, Grinley is making his way to the other side of the room and Zayne is letting out a heavy sigh. “Have I ever told you that I love the fact that you can’t hide your disinterest?” You throw a halfhearted thrown his way.

“I hope I didn’t offend him - he sounded so excited to talk with you, too. Oh, now I feel bad.” His arm around your waist tightens just a bit.

“Don’t. I was just about to make our exit anyways if you hadn’t done it first.” He steers the both of you to the outskirts of the crowd, and your shoulders lose a bit of their tension when you feel like there aren’t so many eyes on the both of you. “Something has been bothering you all night and I haven’t been able to figure out what.”

He moves to stand in front of you, head angled down as he catches your eye. “Would you care to tell me?”

“It’s something silly, hardly even worth talking about.” You take another sip of your champagne, this time longer, and Zayne patiently waits for you to swallow and lower your glass back down.

“It’s not silly if it’s upsetting you.” He softly says, pale hand raising to tuck away an errant piece of hair. “Are you—”

“Dr. Zayne!” A bright flash makes you squint your eyes, and you huff at the event photographer before plastering a smile on your face as the both of you turn to face him.

“I never want to see another camera after tonight.” You say through a practiced laugh, and Zayne places his hand on your hip and gives a comforting squeeze. After the photographer has had his fill he’s moving onto the next person, bright light flashing on welcoming parties.

“We can head outside for some fresh air, if you want. The speech isn’t for another hour.” You give a slow nod.

“Yeah, I think—”

“Dr. Zayne! Can you answer a few questions regarding your latest surgery?”

“Dr. Zayne! It’s been so long since our last banquet - how are you doing these days?”

“Dr. Zayne!”

Knowing he’d walk away from the forming crowd with nothing more than a mildly polite ‘excuse us’, you nudge him a bit and give a small smile.

“Go ahead. I needed to use the bathroom anyways.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, now go.” You shoo him to the crowd, not missing the way the corners of his mouth quirk down, and make your exit out of the hall. When the door shuts behind you, the noise goes down considerably, and you sigh as you lean back against it.

The walk to the bathroom is short, and you brace your hands on the sink’s counter as you stare at your reflection. You do look nice - well put together, which is a stark contrast to how you usually look when you’re out in the field with a blade in hand and muck on your clothes.

You’ve always felt like an outsider when it came to Zayne and his work, a little bit less than, and it had been one-sided issue on your part in the beginning of your relationship. There was always a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he could do so much better, and the media only enabled that voice to get louder and louder over time.

Zayne was a bit of a celebrity in his own right, so he often found himself on the topic line of some article or blog, and coupled with being attractive, his love life was usually always one of the main talking points.

You usually steered clear of those things, learning from the first time you had scrolled through an article featuring the both of you and saw many unsavory comments about you in particular, but words always had a way of getting back to you, no matter how much you ignored them.

You tried to pay it no mind -what did it matter that a bunch of strangers on the internet didn’t think you were good enough for Zayne- but it seemed like you couldn’t stop recalling all those things that had been said as you were forced to see just how big the gap was between the two of your worlds.

A sudden knock on the door makes you jump, and you call out a ‘just a second’ as you turn the water on to wash your hands. The sound of the knob turning makes you frown, and you turn your head to protest, only to stop when Zayne steps inside and closes the door behind himself.

“Zayne?”

“I believe I’ve finally figured out what has you upset.” You quirk a brow before pulling free a paper towel from the dispenser.

“Have you?”

“I have.” He takes slow steps towards you, head slightly angled to the side, and your hands fidget together as he gives you a slow appraisal. “And I’m here to tell you that it’s without merit.” He stops mere centimeters away, and you breathe in the scent of his signature cologne as you lean against the marbled counter. “That room full of, as you would say, snobby, elitist assholes—”

“—oh, I would never.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a ghost of a smile.

“—could never dream of holding a candle up to you and all that you’ve accomplished in your life.”

“That’s the thing, Zayne, I haven’t accomplished anything.” You stress. “All I’ve done is—”

“Save countless lives by exterminating Wanderers - likely far more than I have in all of my career.” Cold hands move to cup your cheeks. “I admire you deeply, truly. I’ll never know what I did to deserve someone as compassionate, brave, strong, smart, and as beautiful as you, but I’m eternally grateful.” His voice is low as he speaks, and you don’t miss the tinge of pink creeping into his ears and crawling up his neck.

Warmth blooms in your chest as he holds your gaze, and it quickly spreads throughout your whole body when cool lips press against your own. Your lids flutter shut as you arch into him, one of his hands flattening in the dip of your back to keep you pressed against him.

The kiss is much too frenzied for this public bathroom, and it seems that Zayne comes to the same conclusion as he reluctantly pulls away, but not before giving you another long, more chaste kiss.

The two of you part with a suctioned noise, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as the both of you struggle to catch your breath.

“Y’know,” you begin, “you’re awfully good at making me feel better.” An uncharacteristic glint sparkles in his eye, and you gasp when he tugs you even closer with a firm grip, his eyes locked onto yours as he lowers his voice.

“I assure you that this is nothing - just wait until I get you home.”

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #love and deep space x reader

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