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revasserium · 3 months

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18 and 28 from promp list 1 with zayne? :>

send me a number + a character and i'll write u a drabble

18. afterglow + 28. cliche of the morning after (take two)

zayne; 1,209 words; fluff, fem!reader, zayn!branded banter, very very vague allusions to top!zayne, whipped!zayne

summary: the morning after, with zayne.

a/n: zayne is not so secretly a simp. no further comments at this time.

It is often in the moments after, in the liquid exhale of skin on skin, the dissipating heat of body against body — this is when Zayne thinks he sees you most clearly. Faintly, he wonders if he could count every single point of contact between you — your ankles hooked over his (one), your calves pressed together (two), the delicate softness of your hip beneath his palm (three), the weight of your cheek pillowed on his arm (four).

He watches the moth-wing flutter of your lashes as your eyes flicker open to meet his, the petal-sweet spread of your smile as you crinkle your nose and lean in to bury your face in his chest with a groan.

“You’re staring again.”

Your voice is muffled; he feels it vibrating through his skin.

Zayne drops a kiss into your hair as he loops his arms around you.

“Am I not allowed?”

You shake your head, pressing ever closer even as he chuckles, letting his fingers trail through your silken hair, amusing himself with tugging on the ends.

“Feels weird.”

“Does it?” he asks.

You pull back to peer up at him, and he feels himself falling into the galaxies caught behind your eyes, and yes, isn’t it a cliche to fall for a girl like this? To compare her eyes to the light of distant stars, to find her shadow and shade in every flower petal, her voice in every rustle of tree branches, and the chiming of silver bells.

Yes, he thinks — it is.

But he has long since given up trying to rationalize the way you make him feel, ever since you were both children, and he’d imagined what it might feel to someday hold more of you than your hand.

Here, now — with your body pressed to his, Zayne can’t help but wonder at all the parts of you he’s always had — not the bare skin of your waist or the heat caught behind the line of your teeth but other things. The tiny scar on your right elbow (five), the curve of your knee hard against his own (six), the baby’s breath of hair at the nape of your neck that always curled and would never stay in braids the way you liked (seven) —

“Zayne?” your voice is small.

“Hm?”

“What are you thinking about? You look so serious.”

Zayne blinks. He wonders if he should tell you about his thoughts, about how there’s not a moment in the day when he’s not thinking about you. About how he wonders if you’re eating, sleeping, if you’re safe. About how sometimes it keeps him up at night when he thinks about the mortality rates of Hunters, of the unknown, unnamed dangers that await you out there, all the things he can’t protect you from.

He wonders if he should tell you that he spends too long thinking of you — of your body and the way it fits so perfectly inside his arms. Of how the last time he held you in his arms, it took everything in him to let you go, set you down on his office sofa, and watch you as your breaths evened out.

So he says, “Nothing…” so he says, “just… thinking about what to make for breakfast.”

He doesn’t tell you that he’s kept your favorite brand of toothpaste in his bathroom for the past several years, or how he’s always got a drawer full of clothes that he knows you like to wear tucked into his closet.

“Oh! What about pancakes? Or… French Toast?”

Your smile is bright and happy and Zayne can’t help the way he leans down to brush his lips against yours. He savors in the way you gasp and soften against him. He lingers too long on how the smooth of your leg slots so perfectly between his.

“Whichever you feel like more,” he says, pulling back to smile down at you, taking note of the brilliant blush that has since settled across your cheeks.

“What if… I say I want both?”

Zayne lets out a sigh, chuckling as he fixes you with a look.

Want. He wonders if you truly know the depths and width of wanting the way he does — and if you’d still want to stay when you did find out.

Instead, he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours, reaching up to cup your cheek in his palm.

“Then… I’ll make both.”

“Really?”

You sound too surprised, too pleased.

“But we’ll have to eat healthier for lunch and dinner.”

You crinkle your nose, “But we’ve been so healthy all week!”

Zayne watches you pout for a moment longer before he sighs and pulls back ever so slightly, casting his eyes at the ceiling, letting out a contemplative hum.

“Or, we can go to the gym.”

He knows exactly the face you’re making before he ever looks over to see you make it, and allows himself a small laugh.

“Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“No?” Zayne turns and you go still next to him, eyes wide as he pins you with a look. He watches with a muted satisfaction as color creeps into your cheeks and you blink, attempting to backtrack.

“That’s not — I mean —”

In a single move, he has you pinned beneath him, both your wrists caught in one of his hands, pinned above your head so that you’re stretched out beneath him. He watches as you tug weakly against his hold before going still, blinking up at him from beneath your thick lashes.

“Though…. I suppose there are other ways of burning calories that might be of more interest to you than going to the gym.”

He keeps his voice level, his expression blank. But he counts the quickening pace of your breath, and sees the darkening of your eyes as your pupils dilate.

“Z-Zayne…”

“Didn’t you say you wanted both pancakes and French Toast?” he leans down with a light smile, casually stroking a finger along the line of your cheek.

“Yes but —”

“But?”

You bite your lips, shifting beneath him. And like this, he can’t help the baser, more carnal parts of him as they threaten to take over his senses. Not with you spread out beneath him like this, so tantalizing in your willingness, so defiant and shy all at once.

“You’ll… really make both for me?”

Zayne almost laughs, nodding as he bends down to press a long kiss to your lips, groaning as your hips roll up into his at the sweep of his tongue along your teeth.

“If you’re good.”

You nod, eyes wide and already misted over, “I — I’ll be good.”

Zayne nods once before he tugs the rest of the blankets from you, letting the hunger crest up and through him as he coos by your ear —

“Good… that’s a good girl for me.”

He does end up making both pancakes and French Toast for you in the end. Though, by the time that happens, it’s much too far past noon for either of you to call it breakfast any longer.

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hatsunemitskislobotomy · 2 months

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˚◞♡ ⃗ ❝ 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙢𝙚 ❞* ೃ༄

↳ ♡₊˚. ❝ ¡love and deepspace sorta kinda spicy! eluding headcanons lolz! ❞

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

something about those boys and ripping pantyhose’s… sigh

sure it’s attractive, quite attractive actually but more often than not the boys seem to miss the mark as to why you’re wearing them (and why it’s not okay to suddenly come back not wearing them) until one day you overhear tara and some of your other female colleagues discussing a durable pair of pantyhose’s perfect for the summertime where the typical deepspace hunter pants tend to be a little bit on the heavier side.

however your interest was piqued either way— might as well do the girls a favor and test how really durable they are

xavier

you two are so in sync with once another, gentle touches and heightened breathing— your reactions from each other drove each other crazy, it was perfect

which is why he looked like a kicked puppy when he realizes that the pantyhose’s you were wearing were NOT coming off with the hook of his finger

“i… i dont understand…”

oh poor thing they never do

you explain to him that the other female deepspace hunters wanted to test out their durability— you just happened to know a good test for them

he understands, but he still doesn’t know why you’re wearing it with him

you sigh, the initial test was a success but now he was really trying to make you spell it out for him

you pull out the small dagger out of its sheath that rested on your thigh

he looks at you in confusion as you wrap his fingers around the hilt

“i’m sure you can figure out your way around this obstacle.”

and then it clicks and his face of confusion is no more

it’s safe to say, the same trick won’t work on him twice

rafayel

this man takes it as a personal attack— like you might as well have had called him a lemurian slur

“so you want me to die?”

you loved him, but this man was always doing the absolute most but he won’t admit it

if anything you’re getting ALL the blame, you got him all worked up and then you stroll up wearing the indestructible pantyhose’s from hell

he flickers a flame in between his fingers

talking about some “i wonder if they’re fireproof”

you was not about to let him find out— YOU WERE STILL WEARING THEM

“what? can’t handle a little fire?”

and he had the nerve to act like you did an attempt on his life meanwhile this man was scheming as he poked and prodded the thick mesh around your thighs

you two practically start wrestling until he has you pinned

“fine we’ll do things your way, but promise to let me burn them after they’re off.”

zayne

you had been a brat obnoxious all evening it was no wonder he was itching to put you in your place

as per usual it was attractive how he’d reach over your body to pin your arms against the bed as face to face with your torso looking absolutely starved

but right when he was about to tear into you (figuratively and literally), that pesky pair of mesh you always sported were NOT budging

he had to pause and take a minute to reflect

my man was ready to ravish you like how a predator would to their prey but he was being bested by fabric

you were trying so hard not to laugh because you can see the cogs turning in his head

“it seems that i’ve played into your hands.”

you chuckle, innocently claiming that you were getting a tad bit tired of all the pantyhose’s that he’d tear into, it was a lot of money wasted

he insures that it’s never a waste he keeps a collection of all the ones he’s torn

the entire situation is too funny to you, you really can’t help but giggle at him

he really can’t stay annoyed at you, he also did find it a lot funnier than it should’ve been

he still wanted to have his way with you

“it’s no matter, all this is to show that i��ll have to be the gentleman you deserve.”

sure your pantyhose’s were spared that night but you weren’t

❀° ┄───╮

a/n: y’all this idea literally fell from the damn sky— well actually i just saw those instagram promo stories about those hella thick and durable pantyhose’s soooo thank instagram ig?

it’s nothing crazy— i can’t write smut without having a visceral reaction sooo uh… i salute the girlies on here who can bc PHEW 🫡🫡🫡

also i wrote this on the bus lolz, thank god for privacy screen protectors

okay love you all mwah mwah MWAHHHH

╰───┄ °❀

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roll-of-royces · 1 month

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HC: The LaDS Find You as a Neko

This is a request I ran into by @chryssikyu and as I love a good Neko I had fun!

Xavier considers himself to be fairly prepared for the world at large. He's not so simple as most people seem to think he is, but this he did not expect.

You are asleep, curled up on top of the covers instead of beneath them. That's not the unusual part, the two of you are avid nap takers. Many afternoons have been dedicated to curling up together and falling asleep in the sun.

This is different. This is different for several reasons. One, you're napping in nothing but a thin white nightdress that barely comes to the mid-thigh. Two, you have two large fluffy looking cat ears. Three, those ears are accompanied by a lush tail that drapes over your thigh as you slumber.

The fur has a soft pale white sheen. He has no idea how this could have happened, and he's seen so much in his life. Xavier approaches, steps light, as if he is approaching a threat instead of the light of his life. His hand reaches out, tentatively brushing the tip of your new ear. It twitches, not a trick.

He can't help himself, he sinks onto the edge of the bed, you huff but don't awaken. Before he knows it he has his hand around your tail, dragging downward to feel the soft warmth. You open your eyes, and those too have changed. Your pupils are different, cat like, though still your color.

"Do you understand me?" He asks carefully.

You hum, yawn again, and rest your head on his lap, "Xavier." Your voice is the same, still rough with sleep. Still you, just you a little different.

"What happened?" His hand comes to curl into your hair, it feels softer than it was before. It's nice.

"Dunno." You close your eyes, apparently content to go back to sleep. "Missed you."

He smiles, because that never gets old to hear. You lean into his hand, arms curling around his waist. Well, he could nap.

"Move over." He murmurs and you do as asked, knowing well enough he will join you. You'll figure this out in due time. For now he curls atop the bed, with you pressed along his side, tail twitching contentedly as he holds you to him.

It's not entirely uncommon for Zayne to find you in his office, especially since the two of you started openly stating you're a couple. Sometimes you drop in to see him, sometimes you're only there long enough to leave take-out on his desk before you're gone again.

Regardless seeing you is always a pleasant surprise. He says your name in greeting, but you keep looking out the window. You're in a hoodie, hood up. It might be Xaviers'. Zayne chews on the jealousy of that for a moment, before letting out a slow breath through his nose.

You must have been cold. He'll give you his jacket to wear home. You don't look up when he enters, eyes still pinned on something out of the window. He takes another step and sees Clopidogrel hovering on the windowsill. "We should set out some more nuts for him." Zayne says conversationally, walking toward his desk to get the bag he has there for this very purpose.

Once he's by his desk he gets a view of your face, somewhat shadowed by the hood. There is enough light to see your eyes, the unnatural shape of them. Zayne freezes, scanning you over for injuries. Bag forgotten he heads right for you, watching you track the resident squirrel.

His hand comes to your chin, pulling your face up to look at him. A doctor's gaze that floods concern through him, he pushes the hood back and is met with twitching fluffy black ears. His thumb pulls your lip up to see the sharpness of some of your teeth. He's heard of this condition only vaguely.

Harmless, short term. Like the common cold, the tightness in his shoulders relaxes. "Are you alright?"

Your eyes continue to track the squirrel, "Yes."

"You can't have him." Zayne informs you, amusement coloring his tone. He'll need to take the rest of the day off at least, make sure you're safe. Your impulsivity will be up, you're likely to do something foolish.

"Want him."

He reaches out and pets the top of your head, scratching at your scalp with his nails to distract you from the prey you are being denied. It works, your eyes slip closed, and you lean into his hand.

"We'll get you some food on the way home." He promises. "Come on, kitten."

It's the first time he's used the term of endearment but Zayne thinks it might stick.

Rafayel juggles the bags over one arm as he pushes his studio door open with his foot, calling out as soon as he's through, "If only my bodyguard came with me today. These bags are so heavy!" He gets the door closed, frowning when you don't call out in reply or approach.

Depositing the bags onto the kitchen counter Rafayel goes off in search of you. He doesn't expect what he finds. You're on the balcony outside of your shared bedroom, in nothing but one of his shirts. Which normally he would not mind, not one bit.

However. You have a pair of purple ears and a tail to match, a tail that is moving on its own, flicking from side to side. Oh no, oh no. You've got that weird cat sickness. He's read about it, he even had a nightmare once.

Rafayel rushes toward you, colliding with the balcony railing to look at you. And when you turn to him, ears pivoting, eyes strange he doesn't know what to do. "Are you ... are you alright?"

You nod, and then step into his arms. He flounders momentarily before he remembers this is you, cat or not, this is you. And he is safe. He is safe.

His arms wrap around you, as you tuck yourself against his chest. "Play with me, I'm bored."

Rafayel relaxes further hearing you sound normal, if a bit needy. He likes when you're needy, he likes the fact you need him. "What do you want to do? Not eat me I hope."

Your eyes spark with mirth, and then you sink your teeth into the side of his neck. He squeaks, but you let go and it didn't really hurt.

"I'm not on the menu." He scolds. "Find another fish to chew on."

#l&ds #love and deepspace #lads #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #neko #lads headcanons

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janumun · 3 months

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A Lemurian’s Guide to Love (LaDS Rafayel – General NSFW Headcanons)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Tags: oral and vaginal sex, body worship, fingering, praise kink, facial, hand kink, Rafayel shenanigans, allusions to spoilers for Rafayel’s myth dates, certain ASMRs and his character story Words: ~3k

Author’s Notes: The chokehold this man has on me (!!!) has led me to exploring Rafayel’s sexual foray as well as smidges of how I imagine his relationship to progress with his beloved in these headcanons.

Please take careful note of those tags and rating and proceed at your own discretion!

With that said, I hope you enjoy your read.

Rafayel has stood by and waited for you; over the course of several years — from that fated meeting and the result: a promise borne and broken — and through the descent of the sands of time.

And while he likes to consider himself a patient man — and to a degree, he has been just that; endurance incarnate over the course of those long, arduous years without his beloved at his side — when he does finally come across you, Rafayel finds his resolve ripple, and then gradually implode, into paper-thin fragments of yearning and fond desire.

From how Rafayel oft presents his public persona to the world — cool and dispassionate; a tepid smile on the ready for strangers who wish to garner his favour or attentions, one wouldn’t even think to scratch past that surface. The task of avoiding unnecessary engagements, especially since his return to Linkon City a few years prior, preceding his debut as an artist, is one he finds particularly cumbersome.

But during intimate moments, reserved for just the two of you, you see that exact same Rafayel — that handsome, charismatic artistic talent plastered, glossy, across covers of magazines and billboards — mould into silly scowls. A flair for the dramatics the minute he senses your attentions are not his alone for the taking. Ridiculous and feline-like in his excuses of demands from his ‘bodyguard’, to allow him her company.

After an endurance survived this incredibly long, he finds that in certain matters, he can no longer wait.

Great Lemurian entity he may be, but his habits fit firmer akin to a cat’s rather than any fish you’ve kept as a pet.

He likes to tease and prod at you, wind you up and then, burst into subdued laughter the moment you take his bait. He’s frighteningly adept at stringing you along to his whims, a certain boyish charm you’ve never seen him utilize on any of his vast majority of fans in public.

He loves to drag you out to impromptu sea-shell collecting ‘dates’ along the shores of Whitesand Bay, to capture the perfect pearlescent pink and silvers, to grind into paint on days he moans of “not having enough inspiration to paint’.

Tows you along for long drives in the vermillion convertible he was provided by Thomas, purchased from Rafayel’s private funds [the correct color he insisted on getting for the car before a poor Thomas was finally able to fulfil his request].

Had you both stranded miles away from home once, when he had a punctured tire and ‘forgot’ to ensure he had a spare to change, in case of emergencies.

And when you biked him back the rest of the way on a rental bicycle, you had the very nagging suspicion he wasn’t too upset about the mishap as he hummed an odd tune, seated behind you. Bodies close enough you felt the gentle vibrations of his voice deep within your bones, along with the steady movement of the tires hitting the paved road.

Truly a feline more than any amphibious creature.

A wondrous man, a delightful dissonance of character.

That very same man, when the two of you hold each other for the first time:

His digits scour a delicate path across your face, your jaw, down your neckline; Rafayel is incredibly, uncharacteristically quiet the first night you are his. Bathed a sterling blue under the watery gaze of the moon. Save for the thick hitch of his breath with the unveiling of bare skin, he is mute.

His eyes, however, a crisp indigo, seem to set an inextinguishable fire to the rest of your clothes.

He observes — engraves into memory — first with his gaze, and then, his fingers follow. Long, tapered digits mapping the shape of your breasts, thumb denting gentle at the peaks of them. A grip he tests, firm, against the supple flesh of your waist, flaring outwards into the soft squish of your hips.

He makes a sound then; incoherent, incomprehensible. Perhaps, an unconscious break of language into his native Lemurian tongue; the hoarse, barely compacted passion of it, however, conveyed to you in feelings.

You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Your first night is incredibly long, Rafayel shows you truly what it means to be made love to, you nearly weep of joy and pleasure.

He has waited, oh he has pined and wanted, for so long. It’s a surreal and soul shattering experience for him, just the blessing of you naked underneath his fingers alone, has all of Rafayel’s pretenses unravelling, all masks and facades falling away.

The first time, there is no teasing, no hiding.

Rafayel is immaculately thorough in his exploration of your body. His fingers; his preferred medium of following the swells and dips of his canvas — your body.

Unfortunately, and yet so very delightful for you; he takes his time sketching across your body throughout the night, providing no chance of rest or relief from the torrential waves of pleasure he crests through your body. His eyes trained fast on your face, for every slight quiver and break of you, witnessing your response to each single pinpoint of pleasure his fingers brush against.

Responding obedient to pleas of “oh, there, right there, Rafayel.”

This very first time, the sounds of you alone, moaning his name, could bring him to completion but he resists. Your pleasure, first and foremost, in his near-tunnel vision.

When the calls of his name upon your lips become unbearable, with the curve of his index and middle up into your warm wetness, Rafayel caves, like sand carried back into the depths of the sea, underneath the unrelenting break of waves. Long fingers indenting into pliant thighs as he cleaves them up and apart for unobstructed access to your weeping slit and presses a parched tongue to lap up your essence.

Curling his tongue up into your fluttering walls as his fingers dance against the tight bead of pleasure in between your legs, to the steady compresses of your thighs against the strength of his shoulders.

Rafayel adores and encourages your honesty in bed.

Ready to slow down when and if you tell him how overwhelmed you are. Takes you faster when you beg him to make you come with his mouth. All the while, that dark azure gaze is fixated upon you, the flush beneath them turned a deeper crimson with each sound of satisfaction he triumphantly plucks out of you.

Lashes descending involuntarily, only when you crest at the peak of your pleasure and flood yourself onto his waiting tongue. The taste of a delectable sea; he laps up every single drop of until he is sated.

And it is only when you implore Rafayel to put his cock inside you does he startle at the negligence of his body; hard and leaking, soiling the sheets beneath him.

When you finally, finally connect, painfully slow; the push comes without resistance offered, from how wet he has had you from his ministrations, for a good part of the night.

Rafayel has to struggle to breathe at the sensation of your warmth around him, tight, herculean control the likes of which he hasn’t ever had to scrabble for, ever in his life. To not just spill the moment he is inside you.

Her pleasure, I want to feel it. I want to make her feel good.

Still the sole thought behind that glazed, hot gaze. A moment of odd, emotional vulnerability when your eyes finally lock, your hands wandering now, to cup across his face.

And when he begins to move, Rafayel needs to feel each and every single part of you with every single fibre of his own. Fingers resuming their trek of their now favorite canvas as you murmur love and praise into his ears. The weight of a breast hefty against one large palm, the other with his fingers intertwined through yours as he propels into you.

Both of your releases, one and the same; as his eyes remain on the scrunch of your brow, just before he too falls, burying his face against the crescent of your neck.

Rafayel’s style of love-making is firmly passionate.

It is emotional, relieving and often times fun. He is incredibly adept at reading your cues and adjusting his pace according to your wants. Sex, in his mind, is an activity, as deserving of time and patience as his art — an intricate worship — and hence he usually requires the two of you have those several, long hours to spare before he gets to undressing you. Quickies, as such then, he isn’t a massive fan of.

Neither public spaces — a private dressing room at one of his events, requiring the two of you to be out within a certain time period — no matter how desperate or wanting he might be. Silencing your own protests with a long, hushed kiss and a skewed mischievous, flushed smile that has your heart quivering inside your chest. “Be a good girl now and wait,” he remarks before setting your disheveled collar back in order. The graceful sweep of his hand; for you to take, once you are done, ready to escort you out into the venue.

Open but private spaces, however, where you have time to spare and none to disturb, his private beach behind his home, is where you might find yourself spread wide across soft cloth. The cool waves of the shore lapping gentle at your tightly furled toes while Rafayel’s mouth works at the slick in between your legs. Truly his idea of a well-enjoyed romantic date.

On the note of basking in the benevolence of seas, Rafayel loves giving oral as much as he enjoys receiving it.

He isn’t incredibly vocal when it comes to giving voice to his desires, for having your mouth on him, often because he is more than happy [and engrossed] to have his mouth do all the talking (and lapping), while you luxuriate underneath the feel of his tongue and lips, like the [his] Queen you are. He loves servicing you to completion, no matter how much his tease of a foreplay may point to, otherwise.

It is only when your mouth takes him in for the first time, on your request do you make the delightful discovery of Rafayel’s little give-aways. The quiver of his fingers threaded firm through your hair. The clench of a fine toned abdomen, ripples of tight pleasure splaying across his torso.

“You’re doing so well, baby— hah, just like that. What have you done to me? You’re so good.”

The drop of his jaw, the fine, dark dusting of red smeared across his cheeks and ears. His slow, stuttered groans and pants. A deliberate suckle at his tip has him throwing his head back at the sensation, fingers spasming against the back of your skull. Your own resistance shattering and you take him in whole, the moan that chokes out of Rafayel’s throat in reward for your efforts is heaven enough, you keep returning for more.

Rafayel is loud and has no shame in showcasing his love and desire for you through the sounds he makes, just for you.

Part of the reason also why he prefers privacy to public displays of affection or quick sexual encounters. And he encourages just the same for you.

Be it the sounds of appreciation that leave his mouth, muffled and undulating, into your pussy or while he is inside of you, enjoying every single inch of your drenched, clenching flesh against his length.

“If you squeeze me that hard, I’m going to—”

Words fracturing apart into a long, stuttered moan he presses right against your lips. Foreheads slick with the sweat of your desires as he bears down against you. Bright blue gaze meeting yours — the gentle florid fringe of pinks — steeped in pleasure as his fingers curve about your jaw, pleading a kiss from your lips.

“My pretty girl.” A flushed devastating grin. “Let me come inside you. I want to feel the way your body clamps around me when I do. Gods, please.”

Rafayel is an immensely flexible lover. No rules are set in stone, no bedroom innovations entirely over-ruled before the two of you knock it at least once.

There is no sole lead; only the steps you weave in between you two, together. He is receptive to a wide variety of tastes and kinks; ever the most studious, eager participant, save for the rare personal boundary or two, he has set in place (see above: feelings regarding public sex).

Grasping your hand to fold a kiss against your palm as he moves within you. Bidding on sex-hoarse whispers to entrust yourself to his care while he sets to plunging your entire being into flames, pleasure so exhilarating you’re left grappling for air by the end of it all. All the while, he shapes his marks of adoration against your skin, soothing warmth to set nerves lax from all their previous exertion.

Or, when you ask it of him, supplicates himself — a willing, grinning participant — loving, puckish desire set to blaze within his dark eyes. Tracking each single move, the delicate fingers that sketch against his heaving abdomen, the hand that moves to enclose his cock in between eager digits and pump, slow: a delectable torture. And he responds in kind to your enthusiasm, if you leave his mouth unbound and able — sings for you as you so enjoy, in that rapturous voice you so adore. Lent a lascivious flavour from how his head rolls back across his neck in the throes of incoming release, the flush of him flooding down across his chest from how aroused he is for you to be doing what you are to him.

The sight of him in his entirety is enough for your own patience to wear paper-thin, drenched wet from the erotic picture he paints beneath you.

Rafayel’s house is a mess.

...Something he often brushes off as personal ‘creative choices’, declaring he finds a certain order to his disarray of things strewn about.

The colors he knows exactly where to pluck off the floor of his studio. A second draft of an upcoming painting, pinned underneath a [fish] magnet against the kitchen cabinet. A spare shirt draped across the arm of a sofa for when he wants to quickly switch out of pigment-stained clothes in between paintings.

However, he takes special care to keep his bedroom — or at the very least, on worse days, one sofa — in acceptable, spruced order. Especially so, after you start coming over to visit or stay the weekend, accompany him on days he holes himself up in his house, to pore over an artwork. Often so preoccupied, by the time he snaps out of it, several hours later: to a velvet sky outside and you scrunched up in an upright position, with your head coasting sideways at an uncomfortable angle, in your sleep.

The first and last time that happens as he carts you into his arms and off to his bedroom to tuck you into his bed and insists you retire to his bedroom on your own, the next morning, whenever you feel like dozing off. Making a point, then onwards to always have it ready and at your disposal.

For sleep and when you’re both not; tangled within each other and the sheets, cooling down from your highs.

Rafayel craves chaste physical intimacy post-coitus as he drags you into his arms, your breath warm against his chest. He despises being away from your comfort for even a moment’s breath; extra adorable and tetchy in his phase of dramatics if you try and squirm away.

Has startled you on one particular occasion; hunched, stark naked, by the door of the bathroom as you stepped out of it. A frown knit in between his brow, a disagreeable moue to that beautiful mouth and a simple, “I’m cold, warm me.”

An amalgamation of just how Rafayel is like and something else; deeper, you suspect it stems from unspoken fears of loneliness. There are nights you don’t quite understand, when his emotions run rampant and his need for physical affirmation and constant connection are strong; the man immediately soothed to rest the moment your hand is across his cheek, fingers caressing down the sculpt of his jaw. Tiring him at last into exhausted sleep. A vulnerability to his visage only you are allowed to stand witness to.

There is something so incredibly erotic about his girl when she lets him put his cock against her mouth...

Testing every single mental fortitude, he has ever had thrown up, walls of iron built over the course of centuries, crumbling at the feeling of your wet mouth against his length. Drawing him in before you swallow him, right to the base.

Taking his seed down your throat like the damn, amazing girl you are but if you pull back at just the right moment, firm fist bringing him to spill against your cheeks, traversing down the arc of your neck—

Rafayel’s thoughts frizzle into a numb void, mouth agape and panting. A scarlet flush dashed across the ridge of his cheekbones, his ears, to witness your face dirtied by smears of his cum. The sight truly untethers a carnal, primitive want in him, he isn’t able to fully parse himself.

Truly imprinted upon as the bride of the Sea God.

Your sexual sessions are more often than not, kicked off on sensual, fun notes and back-and-forths.

A stray jibe you might throw his way at one of his odd habits and he’s plucking you right off your feet. Nimble digits feathering down the expanse of your abdomen in retaliation before you’re reduced to giggles; both of your fingers catching at the other’s clothes in an attempt for dominance before you drift, natural, against the other’s mouth in soft, scheming smiles.

Or, when you reach to strike the firm muscle of his behind, the sweet, silly twist to his mouth right as he startles, an indignant, scandalized gaze he rolls your way. “Why, you—” Before you reach to grasp him by the collar and drag down towards your waiting, open mouth. Lips drawing wide into a smile as you feel his reciprocated urgent squeeze across your ass; the pads of his fingers tracing the lining of your panties beneath your skirt. “Don’t make me return the favor several fold, pretty siren.”

The bite of restive teeth he sinks into his lower lip as he hauls you up and against his rigid length. Before you reach forward, disengaging his lip, to suckle it into your own mouth. “Try me.”

The act itself leaning more into the romance of the moment and slow, deep thrusts into your body as Rafayel drifts against you. Mouthing every piece of spare skin in sight, affirmations and assurances as clear and heard as the moans that tumble from his lips.

Link to Master List

#lads rafayel #lads rafayel smut #ns/fw text #lads smut #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace headcanons #lads headcanons #l&ds x reader #l&ds smut #l&ds rafayel #rafayel #lads x reader #janussary

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damatically · 10 days

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Since we see Zayne use bow in one of his 4 star card I highkey want to see him use Longbows cuz his back and shoulder muscles??? Also apprently you have to be strong in order to draw longbows and i do think his wide build can do that.

Well he do pull ups bUT MY DELULU STILL WANT TO HC THAT DOES ARCHERY SPORT SOMETIMES cuz why would be a bow in there!?!? Why would be a bow in there?!

#love and deepspace zayne #otome game #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #l&ds zayne #zayne x y/n #zayne x mc #lads zayne #zayne x reader #lads headcanons #l&ds headcanons #li shen #lnd li shen #lnd rei #love and deepspace rei #love and deepspace li shen

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aeyumicore · 2 months

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☾ .⭒˚ she can't come to the phone right now ♡ xavier x afab reader

⋆.˚ ☾ pairing: xavier x afab!reader (very fem!reader)

☾ .⭒˚ genre: smut, porn with very little plot

⋆.˚ ☾ word count: 3.1k (who is she practicing short smuts)

☾ .⭒˚ content warning: mdni, dom!xavier, dark!xavier, ooc!xavier (unless you consider dark xavier canon), jealous!xav, vaginal sex, prone bone, slight voyeurism, light choking, breeding kink, jealousy, sex while on the phone, hair pulling, squirting, unprotected sex

⋆.˚ ☾ image link: https://x.com/honiraccoon/status/1758152675500380654?s=20 (it's nsfw so i highly rec checking it out bc i can't put it here LOL)

☾ .⭒˚ a/n: HELLO bet you didn’t expect me back so soon! I am back with a SHORT smut this time, based on this amazing ovulating inducing fanart @/honiraccoon on twit/x made (with their permission of course). I’ve attached the photo below :’) go support them and their art!

this is very dom and ‘dark’ (if you’ve seen the glitches) xavier. the smut itself is not that dark!! if you’re not a fan of this version of xavier you will not enjoy this.

also header is from @/osk_purinnumee twitter <3

⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚

honestly, you had absolutely no idea how you ended up in this position. after not seeing xavier for several days, having been sent on different missions this week, he and you finally had a coinciding day off. and so you’d spent the most perfect day together, complete with morning cuddles after sleeping in, a homemade breakfast, and a fruitful day at the arcade.

you couldn't stop thinking about the signature xavier smile you’d gotten to see all day, soft and pure, just like xavier himself. but this was not the gentle and adoring xavier you’d seen all day, the xavier you’d come to know and love.

you found yourself naked, with your stomach pressed firmly into xavier’s plush mattress and your feet planted on the ground at the feet of the bed, back arched so deeply it might snap. he was pressed so deeply and harshly on top of you, his feet planted right behind yours. he’d pulled so many orgasms out of you already and showed no signs of relenting, his pelvis smacking your ass repeatedly as he forced himself in and out of you.

“x-xavier, i c-can’t come anymore, please,” your voice was hoarse from screaming, unable to keep up with xavier’s insatiable vigor. you had no idea what had gotten into him today. it’d been a relatively stress-free day, but he seemed to be using your bodies to relieve some kind of intense emotion built up inside of him.

“yes you can, i know you can,” he cooed, his mouth right into your ear as his body crushed you against the bed, “you’re a good girl aren’t you?”

his hands gently grabbed a fist full of your hair, urging you up so your cheeks pressed against each other. you cried out at the sensation, “y-yes, i’m a good girl.”

the wet sounds of his cock ramming in and out of your abused cunt filled the room. xavier’s grip was tight on your scalp and on your waist, and you were sure you’d have bruises in the shape of his fingers the next day.

“you’re my good girl, right?” he groaned out as he removed the hand from your waist to lift you by hooking his arm around your stomach, so that your ass arched higher into the air. at this angle his thick length entered you so deeply that it felt like he might burst through your cervix. your eyes squeezed shut as your tongue slipped out, panting against the brute force of his thrusts. though his tone was dominating and demanding, you couldn’t help but notice a sliver of insecurity lacing his words.

he tugged at your hair, and you yelped at the slight pain bleeding into the pleasure xavier was giving you. he repeated, this time more demanding and threatening, “whose good girl are you?”

your eyes snapped open as his thrusts pushed through every corner of your poor pussy, ravaging every single inch of you. you forced your brain to focus on his words, his rare domineering attitude driving you absolutely insane, “yours xavier! m’your good girl.”

you felt him harden even further at your words. his voice against your ear is deceptively gentle, “really? then why was my good girl so preoccupied with her phone today?” his words are so domineering and possessive, you find yourself clenching at the thought of his adorable jealousy.

so that's how you found yourself in this position.

“h-hah, m’sorry xav. jeremiah kept – ah – texting me today to—”

xavier cuts you off, his thrusts stuttering briefly, “jeremiah? he was the one you were – hah – texting all fucking day?”

“y-yes but he was just sending me, ahhh, stupid ph-photos of different animals with kn-knives,” you sputter out, nails digging into the fitted sheet of his mattress. you almost wanted to laugh at how comical it all sounded but the feeling of him inside of you rendered you a speechless mess of sweat, cum, and ecstasy.

“is that so?” and with that, xavier fucks you with an unprecedented pace. he thrusts so hard your ass ripples against his pelvis and your thighs struggle to stay upright as he presses further into your aching body. you can feel yourself slowly succumbing to the exhaustion of four orgasms, a fifth in the distant horizon.

“you are mine,” he all but growls into your neck, his fingers digging into the delicate skin of your throat. you're jolted back to consciousness at the feeling of his hand closing into your airway, deliciously cutting off your breath. xavier’s rarely this aggressive and brutal. sure he’d love to take the lead as often as he surrendered it to you, but this was a whole different xavier. and you were positively obsessed.

“i’m the only one who gets to see you like this,” he demands against the shell of your ear, using his canines to graze your earlobes. you shiver at his words, cunt clamping down onto him. he moans in response to your grip, but only driving deeper and harder.

his hard abdomen continued to mold perfectly into your arched back, bending your body into mind numbing proportions. he releases your waist, causing you to slump back into the bed. instead wraps his arm around both your breasts, squeezing to the point of seeing black spots in your vision.

the force of his thrusts causes your body to rock onto the bed under his large and imposing stature. every single push made your clit brush against the soft bed sheets, stimulating you beyond belief. you were sure xavier’s sheets were absolutely filthy from the spend of your multiple orgasms, smearing all over them as he pushed your body to its limits.

as you continue to moan uncontrollably for him, xavier refuses to stop whispering filthy praises into your ear, driving you closer and closer.

“you’re so beautiful like this, your body was made just for me, right?”

you nod feverishly, his words going straight to your cunt. it wasn’t often you got to witness this side of xavier and you were living for it.

“m’all yours xav, no one else’s ever,” you choke out, the force of his cock deep in your throat.

his head dips down, pressing wet kisses into your shoulder blades before biting down and sucking brutally hard, and then licking at them soothingly. xavier smiles, admiring the hickies forming on your trembling soft skin, marking you as his.

“if only jeremiah could see you like this. maybe he would realize you’re mine, huh?”

you wanted to retort, reassure him that he had absolutely nothing to be concerned about, but your brain could only focus on his massive cock claiming every part of your throbbing cunt. he’d rendered you absolutely fucked out, a vessel of ecstasy and a means to pleasure himself. your brain fought to form words, to no avail. only the most primal parts of you remained, capable of moaning and screaming for him and nothing more.

you try to speak again, but before you can get anything out the sound of your phone on the bed beside your slick bodies rang out. the screen lit up and through your fucked out haze and tears in your eyes, you could vaguely make out jeremiah’s contact photo lighting up the screen.

“speak of the devil,” xavier grits out. despite the annoyance in his voice you can also make out the faintest hint of mischief.

“pick it up love,” he whispers almost tauntingly, thrusts still unrelenting, “we can’t ignore our poor jeremiah can we?”

while you can tell his words are laced with jealousy and faint bitterness, you know xavier cares about jeremiah and trusts him fully. it really felt like he was just, for once, giving into his primal urges, and enjoying the hell out of it too.

you shook your head no, doing your best to push your phone away.

“no?” xavier asks, amused, “but i thought it was urgent that you respond to him immediately.”

you want to roll your eyes at his childishness, but before you can do anything, xavier snatches the phone from beside you, slowing his rhythm to a languid roll of his pelvis against your flushed ass.

“x-xavier—“ but he cuts you off with a pointed thrust that knocks the wind out of you, his thick length absolutely rearranging your guts. you whine at the blinding pleasure, almost forgetting the fact that xavier was picking up your cell phone, while he was inside of you.

“hello?” xavier answers cooly, as if he wasn’t knee deep into your cunt. he holds the phone to his ear, laying down into the arch of your back. his cheek is pressed against yours, his hot breath blowing into your burning skin while he speaks, as he continues to ravage you.

your eyes widen as you realize he didn’t just decline the call, and that he was actually on the phone. but xavier reads you like the back of his hand, covering your mouth with his palm before you can protest. he grips your face gently, but not allowing a single word to come out beyond the muffled sounds of your sensual moans.

“oh, hey jeremiah. y/n forgot her phone and is currently occupied by me right now,” xavier speaks calmly, but the increased passion in his thrusts send your eyes reeling into the back of his skull. his words hold a suspicious double meaning, and you pray jeremiah doesn’t catch on. similarly, you desperately hope that the loud wet sounds of his pelvis pounding into you can’t be heard on the phone, cause they ring so loudly in your ear.

every time you try to speak, xavier’s grip on your face gets tighter and his pace gets rougher, harder. it’s like he’s trying to force the lewd moans out of your mouth, like he wanted jeremiah to hear everything he was doing to you, to hear the sound of his skin slapping into yours. strangely enough, the risk of it all intensifies the pleasure ten-fold. you tighten around xavier as you continue to leak everywhere.

xavier swears inexplicably under his breath, though you’re sure jeremiah can still hear it, “squeezing me so fucking tight.” your eyes squeeze shut at the excitement and embarrassment of xavier’s inability to contain his own pleasure. or perhaps, he didn’t contain it on purpose.

as if to punish you, xavier gives you a deliberate and pointed thrust, letting his cock angle upwards into your g spot while his body pushes you down so your clit drags against the bed, forcing the most vulgar sob out of your lips, bordering between a strangled cry and a mewling whimper. simultaneously, his hold on your chin loosens and he slips his index and middle finger into your waiting mouth. his actions cause your previously muffled moans to ring out completely unrestricted.

your eyes widen as you realize there is absolutely no way jeremiah didn’t hear that. it seems like you’re correct because xavier’s soft voice pierces through the thick sexual tension in the air.

“no. that’s the sound of a kitten,” you can hear the grin in his voice as he continues to roll his hips into you, his fingers toying with your tongue. you vaguely hear jeremiah’s muffled voice through the phone, doing your best to keep your sounds at bay. and failing miserably.

“okay, bye.” xavier tosses your phone back on the bed, kneeling back into your body and into your neck.

“do you think he bought that?” xavier’s grinning again, and you are certain he’s teasing you.

“xavier!” you cry, the mortification settling in with the pleasure, both feelings fighting to dominate your consciousness.

“i told you, you’re mine. jeremiah needs to know that,” he grumbles breathlessly into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe.

“m’yours xav, everyone knows that,” you cry out. xavier moans out in satisfaction, and you feel his cock twitching inside of your gummy walls. his pace grows erratic as his length swells inside of you, and you can tell he’s so close to coming undone.

his husky groans by your ear fuel the fire of your own orgasm, stoking the burning embers until they threaten to burst into a full blown wildfire.

“sh-shit you’re close huh love? getting so damn tight around me,” xavier grunts, biting into your neck. suddenly he picks your phone back up and you can distinctly see the flash shining down on the bed below your bodies.

“x-xavier?” you moan, completely blissed out, unable to turn your head to see what he’s doing. he lifts his body off of yours and grips your waist with one hand, pushing you down harder on his erection.

“don’t worry baby, just taking some videos for our dear friend,” he mutters and you hear the distinct beep of your phone starting a recording. you try to protest but xavier’s pace becomes unrelenting and you’re only able to moan out his name once more.

“you gonna come for me, my love?” his voice is far away, clouded with intense lust. his grip on your waist tightens as he watches the ripples of your flesh against his viscous pounding. your back arches at his words, cunt tightening in anticipation of your climax.

“m’so close xav, gonna cum s-soon,” you wail, letting your body tighten around him, wanting him to cum with you.

his hand leaves your waist and presses against the bulge on your tummy, “can you feel that love? i’m right here. should i put a baby in here? think it’ll fit?”

you squeal at his words, the pure filth dripping off of them like gasoline to the wildfire that is your impending orgasm, raging through every inch of your body. your pussy squeezes around him again.

“ffuuck, i think that’s a yes, huh baby? want me to cum inside you?” he’s panting desperately as he fills you repeatedly, “fuck – you would look so beautiful with my baby – hah – inside of you.”

in your fucked out state, you nod excitedly, wanting nothing more than to be filled to the brim with his essence, everywhere. you could worry about the repercussions after.

“then everyone will know you’re mine huh? right baby?” you nod again, your voice nothing more than a strangled moan.

“say it for the camera love, let him know,” he encourages, his voice deep and throaty. he doesn’t say who, but you know exactly who xavier is referencing.

though you don’t want to indulge his jealousy, you find yourself unable to deny the man who was guts deep in your womb. and so you cry out, “m’all yours xav, please. need you t’cum inside. i’m a g-good girl, i deserve your cum, please.”

your phone shakes in xavier’s hands as your words set him off, “fuck, don’t worry baby, s’all for you. gonna give it all to you ’kay? you ready love?”

you tighten in response, signaling that you’re about to fall into the chasm of your orgasm.

“x-xavier m’cumming,” you wail, gripping onto the sheets for dear life, your ass grinding deeper into him, back arching into the bed. your body trembles as the climax overtakes you. your vision spots as the sensitivity of multiple orgasms wrecks your body. the pressure in your guts is so intense, threatening to explode, and you feel yourself release all over xavier’s groin. the sensation was so new and foreign it had your brain reeling, trying to grasp onto this new ecstasy your body was falling into.

“h-holy shit did you just squirt on me?” xavier groans out, still recording the sight of your ass against him. and he thanked god he was recording at all, able to capture the sight of you squirting all over him.

“i-i think so xav, m’sorry,” you cry, still quivering around his brutal thrusts. the soaked friction of the wet skin between you two splashes and your cheek burns in embarrassment. you’d never squirt before, and you were mortified.

“no,” he grits breathlessly, almost threateningly, “don’t be sorry. fuck, need to see you do that for me again.” you hear the click of the recording shutting off, and your phone bounces back onto the mattress. xavier grabs your waist with both hands and thrusts sloppily, cock spasming in your tight walls.

he groans through every last thrust, and you cling onto consciousness, riding the last waves of your orgasm. xavier falls back in place on top of you, wanting to be as physically close to you as possible when he finished. his abdomen pressed into the arch of your back and his chin dug into the crook of your neck. with one final savage stroke, he spills everything he has into you.

xavier shivers through his orgasm, rope after rope of milky white essence dripping into you. you can feel every pump of his warmth inside you. he thrusts languidly a few more times for good measure, wanting it to reach as physically deep as possible. he’d be damned if he let a single drop go to waste.

your legs give out and you rest yourself entirely on the bed while xavier rests on top of you, supporting most of his weight with his arms propped on the bed, still caging you in. he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, and then your cheek.

“you’re going to make such a good mommy one day,” xavier murmurs into your ear, rubbing slow and soothing circles into your ribcage.

your heart squeezes at his words, and simultaneously your cunt around his softening cock. xavier hisses at the overstimulation, “fuck you’re going to squeeze every last drop out of me love. you like the idea of being a mommy huh?”

you nod sleepily, losing your grip on consciousness, “mm, slipping out xavier.”

xavier pulls out of you with a groan, and you whimper at the feel of the release dripping down your thighs. he picks you up gently so your legs no longer hang off the bed and then flops down beside you, tucking you into his chest.

you sigh contently against his softly heaving heart. you feel xavier moving around, while still keeping his arm wrapped around you. you force your eyes open so you can see what he’s up to, and find him unlocking your phone, the light illuminating his face in the darkening room.

“xav? what are you doing?” you mumble sleepily, nestling back into his warm body.

“just sending some videos,” xavier whispers, stroking your hair with his free hand.

your eyes fly open and you sit up to face him, “xavier! absolutely not!”

he grins mischievously at you, “relax love, i just sent them to myself.” the reassuring smile he gives you reminds you your soft, adoring, and gentle xavier is back. but you can’t help but anticipate the next time you’ll see that side of xavier again.

bonus: some of the pics that jeremiah was texting mc:

taglist: @queenashen @kttriangle @lyssa-211 @jeikeun

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queen-quintonz · 3 months

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SPOILER

So Zayne betrayed a god for me and received eternal punishment and had to watch me die in every lifetime…. And became a doctor to find a cure for me and now he’s a cardiac surgeon. HE KNOWS THE OUTCOME BUT FIGHTS FOR ME BECAUSE HE LOVES ME OH I FEEL SICK😭😭😭

#love and deepspace #lads zayne #zayne #love & deepspace #lads #zayne imagines #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne headcanons #zayne x y/n #dr zayne #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace headcanons

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missroki · 3 months

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LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN AS LOVERS ┊ ZAYNE. XAVIER. RAFAYEL.

content: female reader × multi lads, black girl friendly, piv sex, vaginal fingering, cowgirl, oral sex (male receiving), bath sex, bondage, reader is called love and angel.

ZAYNE has never been too keen on religion; he grits his teeth at the mere thought of reaching out for a helping hand, never having looked towards the gods for aid. with your soft body pressed against his chest, zayne thinks that he can concede for help. surely you are the closest thing to an answered prayer he has ever known.

a large hand skims down your ribs, curls underneath your sensitive breast. he can feel the sticky remnants of his spend against your hot skin, the water rinsing away the evidence of your love making. he breathes you in, his other hand dipping into the vast depths of the tub — fragrant and steamy — to the swell of your cunt, fingers just barely toying with your swollen clit.

you gasp, and your gaze flickers behind you to his hooded and heavy gaze. "zayne," you don't realize that you are whimpering, "please, no more."

would he give you what you wanted? a sense of reprieve, of mercy? "are you saying you’ve had enough?” his voice is a deep, hungry rasp. "we both know you can take more.” what is love if not indulgence?

rose petals surround you both, some intertwine like veins that keep the hollow depths of his chest still beating. you whine and beg as his slender fingers pump into your heat; from a hand that has healed, that has mended. perhaps he will keep you in the water long enough to watch you break.

XAVIER promised he would be patient, but it’s hard to keep himself calm when your gentle hands travel along his oil-ridden body.

you had begged him to let you do this; to have the opportunity to make him slick and wanting, just barely hiding the firm tent underneath his towel. your soft smile is a sight to behold as you finally lean in close, trailing constellations into his skin. it is different when you are on the receiving end and xavier knows all too well that you want him to see stars.

“a-angel, i–“ his breath catches, mingling with yours as you lean in close. his nerves get the better of him as blue eyes sink closed, “c-can’t. t-think straight. how do you do this—“

“it’s alright, love.” you tease, tugging away the towel to reveal him to you. he twitches with want, your cunt hovering so that just the rosy tip of him grazes your slick entrance. “i’ve got you.”

the smell of earthy oils fill the room, cloud his mind as you slowly ease him inside of you. for all the times he has felt your warmth, xavier has never let you fully take control. not like this. he swears he can still taste you on his tongue, feel your hot breath against the softened skin of his neck.

you bounce on him in a slow, teasing circling of your hips. the breathy moan that flutters from your mouth has his head tilting back to hit the sheets. he wonders if you will help him reach the cosmos tonight… or if you yourself will burn bright enough to steal his vision.

RAFAYEL swallows hard, tongue moistening his parted lips as his skin burns with the rising heat in his stomach. he tries his best not to let you know how much he’s enjoying your touch. he couldn’t possibly give you that satisfaction.

the binds tighten around his wrists, followed by a sharp tug on the silk fabric that keeps him immobilized against the bed. your mouth is warm against him, languidly easing him closer to his peak.

“you’re enjoying this,” he breathes out, “aren’t you?”

you release him from your mouth and his fingers twitch, the desire to touch you almost unbearable. your lover wants to hear your moans, too. wants to hear you sing; high and sweet. “aren’t you benefiting from this more?” your hand grips the base of him, your reward the moan that he can’t hold back. “i thought you liked me taking control?”

indigo eyes find yours, a small pout on the owner’s face. “i do when you’re nice to me. but you’ve been teasing me for hours.” he’s exaggerating, but the leaking red tip of his cock is almost too much to bear. “please, my love? go easy on me just this once?”

you sit up to lean over his naked form, pressing a gentle kiss to your boyfriend’s bitten, red lips. he’s so cute like this, but still holding back. you want him a brainless mess, too wound up to defy you. he’s not there yet, but he will be.

“no.”

note: maaaan just… don’t look at me right now, lmao. i’m in a very specific mood. tagging my lil chuu toy bc she joined the dark side recently (zayne) @awwitschuu

MISSROKI. all original work. do not plagiarize, translate, or repost. this includes feeding my work to ai apps and sites.

#‧₊˚ 🖇️ ۫ ⭒ — sorin writes.#love and deepspace #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #lads x reader #lads smut #lads xavier #lads rafayel #lads zayne #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deep space headcanons

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orkbutch · 7 months

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20 Strength jock bonding

#art #bg3 #Karlach #Lae'zel #wyll ravengard #powerlifting karlach x calisthenics laezel is my new favorite >:)#also drawing wyll as a broad shouldered twink makes me wanna draw him more. i gotta draw my headcanons for the lads

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no1deepspacehater · 2 months

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You Get Into A Car Accident (Non Fatal)

Xavier

When he texted and you didn’t reply. He wasn’t worried.

When he went to your apartment, and you didn’t answer the door. He was mildly concerned.

When he saw on the news that a hunter was injured in a car crash. He grew worried.

And when he logged into the news feed of the UNICORN’s association, which shows direct information on all hunters, without proper pass, to see your status, he was frantic.

Nearly got into a car crash himself getting to the hospital, and when they wouldn’t let him in to see you, he flashed his high ranking badge, which got the message through.

You were unconscious when he got there, which suddenly reminded him how tired he was.

He prevailed through after checking with the nurses that you were okay, and with that, he pulled up a chair and blanket and fell asleep next to you.

You had to wake him up yourself after you had your breakfast (Saving some for him).

He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he blinked awake.

“You sure do know how to keep someone occupied (MC)… Try not to put yourself out of commission so often, or I’m going to have to find a new partner.” He mumbled absent mindedly as he consumed the rest of your fruit.

Zayne

If you’re not being taken care of at his hospital, he’s going to whichever one you’re at and taking over immediately. He’s THE Dr. Zayne so of course, he’s going to have his way.

For plots sake you’re at Akso Hospital for now.

If he’s in his office, whatever he’s doing is stopped immediately as his main priority is you.

If he’s dealing with another patient, or in a surgery, he’s still going to remain with his current patient, but his nerves are at an all-time high, which somehow makes him work better.

Says absolutely NOTHING as he tends to your wounds. You can’t tell if he’s seething with rage at you getting hurt or deeply disappointed that you got yourself hurt.

When you finally get the courage to say something, all you can say is his name.

“Doctor Zayne…”

He says nothing as he finishes applying a bandage. Afraid to say anything else, you wait until he’s done.

He takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh. He looks in your eyes, his own reflecting a type of tiredness you’ve only seen a couple other times you’ve been injured, but with battles instead.

To him, although you put your life in danger being a hunter every day, he’s reminded that the casualties of life are another thing he has to worry about with you.

He caresses your face and just whispers. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Rafayel

He’d called and texted, and you didn’t reply. Almost didn’t answer you when you called him the next morning.

When he saw you in the hospital bed, he got SO MAD.

Immediately hung up. You thought he was being a brat until he showed up to your hospital room exactly 10 minutes later.

“Some bodyguard you are…” He huffed, faux annoyed, as he pulled out fruit, water, a stuffed animal and balloons from his bag. How did he even get all this stuff in 10 minutes!?

Visits every day until you’re out. Argues with the nurses every time visiting hours come to a close. You have to tell him to shut up and go and apologize for him every time before they officially ban him from the hospital.

He brings his sketchbook in tow and draws scenes of you, you in the hospital, and car accidents tinged with red and dark blue. Even though they’re sketches, they still portray his feelings of anxious despair and sorrow of what could’ve been for the one he most cared about.

“Seriously, stop trying to get yourself killed all the time! … I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

#love and deepspace #lads x reader #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #rafayel love and deepspace #l&ds #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #loveanddeepspace #l&ds rafayel #l&ds xavier #l&ds zayne #love and deepspace headcanons #Lauve And Deepspace

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atsuwumus · 2 months

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✮⋆˙ 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 . . . often covers the corners of sharp countertops or open drawers with the palm of his hand whenever you're bending down to retrieve something, ensuring you won't bump your head on your way up. this small gesture often goes unnoticed by you, but his care for you never wavers. as someone who sees many injuries in their day to day lives the last thing he wants is for you to be in pain.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 . . . likes to keep polaroids of you. while his art is often displayed for everyone to see there are pieces of his life he wishes to cherish for himself. he's got a box of polaroid pictures in his studio, some solo shots of you while others picture the two of you on your endeavors. when he feels low on inspiration he likes to look back at these fond memories for inspiration.

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 . . . always links your pinkies together when you're walking. doesn't matter if the trip is long or short, doesn't latter if the streets are quiet or busy — he'll keep you tucked close with a small act of intimacy. and rest assured that he will shoulder anyone out the way who dares to try and break this contact, a glare usually does the trick though.

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revasserium · 1 month

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A request for the prompt "Stolen kisses" + Zayne!! Thank you so much :D

also I love your writing SOO much <3

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

49. stolen kisses

zayne; 1,720 words; fluff, fem!reader, no "y/n", whipped!zayne, implied sex, but still very saucy, zayne is hornee 24/7 and hes not afraid to show it

summary: 3 kisses, some stolen, others willingly given

a/n: i believe in my heart of hearts that zayne is barely keeping it together around the mc

one. After dinner, when the pair of you are cleaning up and your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, his arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into him as he presses a kiss to your neck before trailing his lips up to your cheek. Your laughter rings through the kitchen, folding around the pair of you like wings. His smile is soft, is radiant, is tender and absolute as he pulls back to regard you with his searching eyes.

“Good dinner?” he asks.

“The best,” you answer, grinning as you trail a finger along his jaw to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Good…” he breathes the word against your cheek, leaning in, the ends of his bangs tickling the skin of your face. You make to pull back, but his arms loop tighter around your waist, pressing you close, holding you against the solid cool of the marble countertop.

“But we haven’t yet had dessert.”

Heat flushes up your neck and up, up, up till you can feel your face burning, as you blink up at him from beneath your lashes, feigning innocence.

“I didn’t know we had dessert planned on the menu.”

His grin goes sideways, his eyes taking on a darker, more dangerous light.

“It’s not always planned but…” his voice trails off as a tingling shiver races up your spine, “It is always… considered.”

And then, he leans in to kiss you — and he kisses you with a hunger that has nothing to do with the scrumptious meal you’ve just shared and everything to do with the pulsing heat coalescing between your bodies as he lifts you up onto the counter.

He kisses you like he wants to ruin your mouth for all other tastes but him; he kisses you as if he’s already been ruined by the taste of you.

two. It is unprofessional; you know — and so does he — to do this here, with your back pressed against the wood of his office door, his white coat slipping off his shoulders, his glasses nearly knocked askance by the force of this kiss.

You’d always known that just beneath his smooth, tempered glass facade is the kind of roiling heat that makes up the heart of the earth, the kind of passion that licked at the mouths of volcanoes and rends the sky into nothing but a devastation of ashes.

But here, now, the only rending is his fingers pressing into the dip of your waist, the only devastation his tongue as it traces along the inside of your teeth. You hear yourself make a low, wanton noise and feel him react, his fingers tightening impossibly, his mouth ever and ever more demanding.

“Z-Zayne… we —” but the words die on your lips as he drops his to the bare skin of your neck. You can’t help the gasp that tumbles from your mouth, nor the sudden flash of memory — crystal clear and sharp, as if carved from ice — of the night before, when he had sunk his teeth into your bare shoulder and twisted your hair with trembling fists. It had been pain and impossible, improbable passion. All urge and fire, desperation and need.

“Shhh…” Zayne murmurs against your skin, groaning softly as he finds your lips with his own again. And you are helpless all over again. Weak against the burning need of his embrace.

A soft knock shocks both of you from the frenzied passion soaking through your bones, threatening to blot out your good sense entirely. You pull apart, gasping. From the other side of the door comes the muffled voice of a nurse -

“Dr. Zayne? Your next patient is here. Shall I let him in?”

Zayne hisses out another breath before pulling away.

“Yes, just give me five minutes - finishing a report.”

You can't help the amused grin that tugs across your lips as the both of you make to tidy the slight mess you've made.

“So… I'm a report now, am I?”

But Zayne only regards you with a light, challenging look, quirking his brows.

“No.”

You blink, confused. Then Zayne smiles.

“We’re nowhere near finished.”

A fresh wave of heat crests up into your cheeks as you purse your lips, casting your eyes anywhere but Zayne's pleased face.

“Unprofessional,” you accuse, through the word lacks any vehemence, marred by the extensive blush still coloring your cheeks.

Zayne straightens his impeccably pressed white doctor's coat before taking three swift steps into your space, his chest nearly pushing against yours. He reaches out to tilt your chin up towards him and you feel a hitched breath caught like an insect in amber, suspended perfectly between your lungs and your throat.

Slowly, Zayne draws his thumb across the plush of your bottom lip. You feel his breath fanning across it like a wave of summer heat, found at the heart of winter itself.

“Only in front of you.”

He pulls away just as another gentle knock comes at the door, the nurse's voice announcing the arrival of Zayne's next patient. Zayne casts you one last lingering, meaningful look before gently nudging you aside to pull open the door, the vision of a young and promising doctor as he greets his patient with a small smile, the other hand guiding you towards the opened door.

"Don't forget to take your supplements,” he chides in a voice just gentle enough to inform polite company of his fondness for you, but nothing in it would hint at the indiscretions that had been committed only minutes prior.

"Okay,” you say, ducking your head as you brush by the middle- aged man blinking at the pair of you.

"And… see you at home.”

You only manage a nod and a squeak as the nurse chuckles behind her hand and the middle- aged man makes a soft noise of understanding.

three. You are both eighteen, and teetering on the edge of adulthood — though he’s already well on his way to stardom.

“Congrats — on the Starcatcher Award —“ you feel your throat catch around the words, and suddenly, your mouth is dry, your cheeks hot, your fingers twisting behind your back as you rock on the balls of your feet.

Zayne watches you, his expression thoughtfully blank, but his eyes — they’ve always been his tell. You meet them and search them and feel the fire caught behind them. His Evol might be ice, but… his soul has always been something that burns.

“Thanks,” he says, and you can almost taste the unsaid words bubbling just at the back of his throat. You wish he would tell you, but there’s a depthless chasm cut into the air between the pair of you, rough and jagged and —

“Do you know what I received the award for?”

You blink, startled. You purse your lips, looking away. It’d been too painful, too much to look into it, the knowledge of his brilliance always nipping at your heels like an unruly dog. It had pushed you forward, yes, but only out of the fear that if you let up even one single step, he’d race too far ahead and… leave you behind.

“N-no — I haven’t —“

“For my research on congenital heart defects in infants.”

The world slows, tunnels, and tilts around you. Your eyes jerk up to meet his and there — you see it, the blistering heart of all his so-called fire — and you remember suddenly that if it’s cold enough, the body starts to process the sensation as heat. That ice and fire are not so different.

That ice can also burn.

You find your own hands clutched just above where your heart beats inside your chest and you see his eyes flicker down towards them.

“Zayne —“

“I start work at a clinic next week.”

A frown creases at your temple.

“Our first appointment is on Tuesday.”

Your frown deepens.

“What do you —“

“To qualify for the Hunter Program, you need a medical verification of fitness. And… a primary care physician.”

At these last words, his eyes finally cut away. And here, in the dying light of his brand new living room, the sunset turns his glasses opaque for just a second. You’re left blinking in the aftermath of that light, the afterimages will be stained behind your eyelids for hours after — just that look, the firm line of his shoulders, the determined set of his mouth, his jaw, the softness in his fingers as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering against the bend of your cheek.

“L-Lying on reports would be a medical malpractice suit waiting to happen,” you say, your voice shaking with either delirium or emotion, you’re not sure which.

Zayne quirks an eyebrow, “I have no plans on lying.”

“But —“ your fingers clench at your chest.

“I’m just… confident in my own skills, that’s all.”

The shadow of a grin twists his lips and he turns back to you, his eyes cast in threads of molten gold.

“Oh… of course,” you let out a soft breath of laughter, toppling back into the sofa and tossing your arm across your eyes. A moment later, you feel the cushions of the sofa sink beside you.

“Hey, look at me.”

You drop your arm and turn, your head still pillowed against the back of the sofa. Zayne’s gaze flickers over every aspect of your face before he reaches out to take your hand in his. Slowly, he leans down to press his lips to your knuckles, letting his lips linger there till you make a soft, questioning noise at the back of your throat.

He looks back up with a knowing smile.

“Shall we get something to eat?”

You jump to your feet, “Y-yes! My treat — a congratulations gift!”

Zayne considers for a moment before sighing, “Alright, but just this once.”

“What, we’re not allowed to go out to dinner now that you’re a certified doctor?”

Zayne’s mouth twitches with amusement as he reaches for his coat.

“No, we’ll still go out for dinner — you’re just no longer allowed to pay for them.”

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roll-of-royces · 2 months

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HC: You Come Out as FTM Trans to the LaDS

Zayne is not surprised, he saw all the warning signs years ago. You were never very feminine in your youth, and your desire to 'hang out with the boys' as 'one of the boys' might have made it a tad bit obvious (among a slew of other clues). Regardless of the fact that he knew, he said nothing. It was your discovery to make, so he let you come to it on your own.

When you told him, awkwardly, in too few words Zayne cupped the back of your neck in his hand and kissed you. Soft, gentle, accepting. He said, "I know, we'll figure it out together."

He launches into your transition like a pro, starting by doing a great deal of research on the subject. Zayne is the guiding light through the first steps. He asks all of the questions, figuring out what you're looking to do in regards to your medical transition. And when he knows what you want, he starts the process for you. He vets the correct doctors needed, sets up your appointments, and always goes with you.

Zayne is happy to correct people on your pronouns, he does it on reflex, "Sir, not ma'am. His pronouns are he, him."

You start wearing some of his clothes, a pair of underwear goes missing, then a tie. He picks up on it and all of a sudden you're being treated to a shopping spree to pick out a new wardrobe.

He looks into affirming exercises to help you look the way you want, and does them with you when he has time.

When/if you decide to get surgery Zayne is there through the entire recovery process, only showing his stress through sternly stating rules. "No, you can't grab that, stop trying to lift your arms. Have you taken your pain medication?"

When you tell Xavier he takes it extraordinarily well, in the sense of he acts like nothing has changed. Except he uses the correct pronouns flawlessly, switches to more masculine compliments, and starts call you his boyfriend.

He adjusts quickly and expects those around you to do the same. He corrects anyone who gets it wrong right away. You didn't even have to tell Jenna and the others, you showed up the next day and everyone was carefully using your new name and pronouns (all under the sharp eye of one high level Hunter).

Xavier starts offering you clothes, the pair of pants in the back of his closet, do you want them? That shirt he forgot about, yours now. Here take my underwear, it's more comfortable. You can't tell if he's being polite or possessive.

He's not super helpful with starting your medical transition, he's supportive, and he'll help if you ask, but otherwise he'll journey with you to your appointments, eyes closed as the doctor goes over your options.

He starts sporting items of pride. There's a little trans flag on his desk, a pin on his uniform. You find he's joined a few online pride communities, and has been asking questions behind your back. Things like my FTM boyfriend just came out, can I still buy him flowers? Is it weird to look at my FTM bf's ass or is that affirming?

Xavier will commit assault upon bigots, he's fast and so no one can catch him.

He dedicates that you are now big spoon, and curls up against your chest for all naps, complaining profusely if you don't hold him or play with his hair.

You tell Rafayel about your transition over a long carefully thought out text message. Probably a sort of cowardly way to do it, but you worry. His only response is to text back, come to my studio. With trepidation you journey to his studio, and enter to find him sitting there waiting for you, a bottle of Champaign in a bucket and a cake that says, 'Congrats it's a boy'. It's one of those gender reveal cakes.

He adjusts right away, shifting into your new name and pronouns with a bunch of new pet names thrown in. You are now muse, my lord, handsome, thief, his highness, and sweetness.

Rafayel insists on taking you shopping, buying you an entirely new wardrobe and setting you up with a designer as well (which is overkill but he insisted).

Rafayel has now dictated that you are the provider in everything but money. Carry me to bed, my lord. (He doesn't care that you can't actually carry him.) Sweetness, this box is too heavy. Darling, will you crush this up to make paint for me?

You're pretty sure Rafayel's entire legal team is at your disposal, want your name changed? He's got a guy. Someone called you a slur at work, he can have them sued. And that's not even considering what he himself will do when your 'honor' is threatened. For pretending to need help all the time he punches hard.

All of the gifts he gives you change. Instead of flowers it's a new tie. It's chocolates, designer watches and rings. He paints a self-portrait of you in a more masculine pose and light.

When you're feeling down Rafayel points out all the things he views as masculine that you do. The shape of your jaw is masc to him, the way you walk, the way you make him feel. He's always ready to remind you that you’re the man he wants.

#l&ds #lads #love and deepspace #lads headcanons #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #ftm reader #can you tell Zayne is my favorite

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nath-sanvit · 27 days

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I was swapping screens when this happened. ... ...

NO.. NOT THE SENTENCE, THE SLIPPING SCREEN TO HIS BULGE. Now, I had to put 30mins of workout. Jesus....

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jqnehr · 2 months

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꒰ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲-𝐚𝐭-𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞… ꒱

word count: 950 contains: domestic fluff, crack, my shitty writing strikes AGAIN zayne x female!reader note: guess who's brainrotting again!! 🥰 I haven't posted for l&dps in a hot minute so uh here y'all go (those requests are still sitting in my drafts bro im so sorry 😔) masterlist

⟡ …is fairly uneventful. but it’s the kind of unexciting lull that’s peaceful, not boring. you get up in the morning, turn the ac on, lay out his work clothes and shoes and towel for his morning shower, before heading to get the coffee machine going. you don’t mind having to get up so early in the morning for him; making his bento lunch boxes full of food that would be bound to get him through the day. zayne treats you like a queen, his hefty paycheck leaving more than enough for him to arrive home with a little bag from some expensive jewellery shop, presenting you with either a lovely gemmed pendant, a dazzling pair of earrings or stylish bracelets.

⟡ …is relaxing. when he leaves for the day, you having helped him into his coat and him bidding you goodbye with a long, loving kiss, you get to blast your favourite songs and get on with what housework that needs to be done. once the chores are completed, you can chill for the rest of the day—sometimes, you just settle for being a couch potato and binge your favourite dramas with an entire tub of ice cream, maybe do some baking (i.e., chocolate brownies or cake that zayne adores), or you head out to do some grocery shopping, treating yourself along the way.

⟡ …is amusing for those around to see. from time to time, zayne is rather in a rush and forgets to pack his lunch box that sits on the bench, ready for him to take. this provides you a perfect excuse to visit him at the hospital, tapping on his office door at a certain time when you know he’s free—which is, of course, lunchtime. the idiot usually works through his lunch break. the scolding he receives upon your arrival always has him quickly turning off his computer and obeying your orders.

“you forgot your lunch box again this morni—” looking up, zayne sees you standing frozen in the doorway, his blue bento lunch box in your hands, staring at him with this expression of pure disappointment that immediately tells him what’s coming. resigning himself to his fate, zayne steels himself for a lecture in 3, 2, 1…

“how many times do i have to tell you to actually take a break when it’s break time?” slamming the lunch box down on his desk, zayne watches his wife plant a hand on her hip and jut a finger at him, then the bento box. “do i have to come down here everyday to monitor you like a fussing mother hen? i’m going to start calling you at twelve pm, on the dot, if you don’t get your act together, zayne!”

slipping his glasses off, he reigns in his annoyance and reaches for his bento box. he can smell the still-warm food within it, and his stomach instantly rumbles in hunger. eating meals made by you is always a highlight of his day. “no need, my dear. i’ll set a reminder—”

“rubbish! you said that last week when i barged in here, catching you spending more time with your damn computer and documents than you do me.”

“love, you need to understand that i have a lot of work that needs doing—”

“of course i understand that! but whenever you skip your lunch breaks, you come home grumpier than usual, you grumble at me when i don’t do something right, and complain of a headache! it also sends your evol off kilter, putting you in danger! i hate to be that one nagging wife, but sometimes it’s like i’m taking care of a seven-year-old who refuses to eat his brussel sprouts, and then wonder why he’s not getting any taller.”

so zayne did as he was told and ate every morsel in that bento box under your strict, watchful eye. dr greyson ushers the other interns away from the office when he heard you two ‘arguing’, the young kids snickering to themselves at the sight of the unapproachable, frigid chief cardiac surgeon zayne hastily obeying his wife’s every order.

⟡ …is sometimes stressful. zayne occasionally has these vigilante tendencies, roaming around the alleyways way past his due hour home and wiping out all these wanderers without sending you a single text about it. it leaves you absolutely worried sick, and the beratings he receives immediately upon his arrival home are ten times worse than the ones he’s subjected to when he forgets his lunch box.

⟡ …means there are ‘terms and conditions’ established. he makes the money, but you run the shop. your shared apartment is spacious and very modern, yes, but there’s still quite a lot of vacuum cleaning and window-washing to do. zayne respects that you’re the woman of the house, and never misunderstand that your marriage is a mutual effort. you both love each other very much, and you hardly ever fight (apart from petty arguments over who’s doing the dishes tonight). just because zayne works all day does not mean he doesn’t have to pull his weight around.

⟡ …means his days off are spent sleeping in, making love, and spending what time you have together preciously. you’ll go out to eat or go for a walk along the beach. he’ll tell you about his week, you’ll comfort him over the patients he couldn’t save. it never helps that he always beats himself up over it. no matter how much you try to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that sometimes there’s only so much he can do, he’ll always feel responsible. zayne may seem like a cold, unfeeling man, but he’s likely the most empathetic, humane person you’ve ever met.

it's the RATE at which feminism leaves my body whenever this man shows up 🙏

I apologise for this, it was written on a whim when I am supposed to be studying for my history assignment due next week!! 🥰 oh well <3

and I'd just like to say this - if this has already been done before, then I can tell you right now that I did not know. I don't want to have another anon enter my inbox saying "erm actually this is really similar to [this person]'s post 🤓☝️" and basically accuse me of being a plagiariser. because I wrote this, as I said, on a whim while eating my avocado on toast after doing my dailies on l&dps, not after reading some other author's fic and going "hey im gonna write that", because bro ☠️ that's crazy. so if it is similar to someone else's, I apologise! I genuinely did not know (I can't stress that enough) 💛

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace x reader #lads zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #zayne fluff #zayne x you #lads #zayne #I have 54839753925943 things I should be working on but instead im posting this #pray for me guys im about to wither away completely 🙏#I also have a very bad headache anyways LOVE YALL!!#zayne love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace headcanons

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