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[bentoverbckwrds1]

I heard abt Valko and I’m so fucking disappointed in InFLOP. The poor people whose work will never see the light of day, who spent countless of hours making a character. The poor VAs who thought they had a stable source income but now lost their jobs (and I loved how all of them sounded too!).

The same people that complained abt lack of MS updates and wanted Valko gone doesn’t realise that since they decided to remove Valko, they will have to rewrite MS. Overall making the production time longer.

I’m so upset with that part of the community. Especially the apple and crow girlies that were a part of this, whose LIs also received hate at first. At least give him a chance to exist, if you don’t like him, don’t spend money on him.

We find out so much about the lore, the story, our MC, in every LIs chapter. It’s not even romantic in MS so it’s not like we’re forced to love them in the main content anyways…

Rant over.

[reignpage]

For Extra Credit You Can Hit!!

Synopsis: Toji, the TA, won't bump up your latest essay a couple marks, not with just some begging at least, so you try a different method:

good ol' pussy persuasion

Warnings: toji art by @/youKa.i on insta, smut, porn with a lil plot, nerd!toji, a couple years older than reader but both students, reader harasses him but don't save him he's right where he wants to be, some comedy aspect, college au, non curse au, f!reader, blowjob under the desk, unethical behaviour, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, briefest choking, sex against the window, pússy inspection, belly bulging, overstimulation, spitting, a little fisting I guess or almost, Toji's poor so this is canon compliant jkjk, creampie and unprotected sex, brief pussyjob, size kink/difference, hidden sex, not proofread Word Count: 10.7k

“For the last time,” he drawls, “I’m not bumping you up a grade.”

You groan, pushing your legs to catch up to him faster.

“Come on, I need this. I’m not asking you to break the rules. All I want is for you to reread my essay and find extra marks, which you will!”

Toji Fushiguro is a tough nut to crack, though he doesn’t look it — one glance at him and one would think he’s a laidback TA. He’s the exact opposite; he takes his job a little too seriously. 

For days now, you’d been hounding him, pleading with him and degrading yourself all for him to ‘remark’ your last paper and ‘coincidentally’ find a few extra marks that would push you to the top performing spot you’d been eyeing since forever. Each time you rushed into his office, waited for him after his classes, and followed him to his apartment, he’d shrugged you off with the same ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ look in his eyes. 

Rounding the corner, his long legs making no accommodations for your shorter ones, he says, “No. If you wanted better results, you should have put in a better performance. Surely you’re smart enough to work out that that’s how life works.”

Hands grab his arm, yanking back with all your strength only to be dragged along with him and his burly body. Your heels scrape along the floor. People stare. You don’t care. “Don’t be an asshole. You know my essay was good. It was really good. Just give it a read. A proper one, and not the rushed job you do because you’re overworked and underpaid.”

He stops.

Your face bumps into this back, forehead nearly bruised by the hardness. 

His brows rise above his glasses as he fixes you a look. “Kid, your essay was good — decent introduction, clear structure, sufficient evidence — but it’s not good enough for the extra marks to push you into the top band. Your closing argument fell flat ‘cause of your wishy-washy writing style, you didn’t adequately humour the counter arguments and undermine them to strengthen your thesis, and, worst of all, you misspelt ‘complement.’”

A frown graces your features. 

“No, I didn’t. C. O. M. P. L. I. M—”

“No. With an I, it’s to flatter someone. With an E, it’s to enhance, pair well, or complete another thing.” Toji explains rather robotically, eyes still dead and voice monotone. “For example, if I said you’re a pretty girl, that’s a compliment. And if I said, your essay goes well with the trashcan over there, that’s a statement that suggests the two complement each other. See the difference?”

He’s already stalking off again, hands in his pockets, huge stature unwilling to accommodate the people walking down the hallway. 

You break into a jog, panting embarrassingly by the time you reach him. “Dude, we’ve known each other for three years. We’ve gone through a lot together. We’re basically friends. Can’t you do your best pal a solid?”

Toji glances down at you. He pushes a door open, holding it a second longer than he needed to. You follow behind him. Somewhat amused, he replies, “We know each other because we’re on the same course, not by choice. And I don’t know what you mean by the whole ‘we’ve gone through a lot together’ thing — the most dramatic thing we’ve faced is when the projector didn’t work and we had to go into a different hall. And we’re definitely not friends.”

Well, fuck, you’re running out of rope. 

“Then, let’s officially be friends,” you offer, elbowing him gently. “If you ever need help, buddy, I’ll always have your back.” Then, in an act of complete desperation, you begin shakily singing, “You’ve got a friend in me. You’ve got a friend in me. When the road looks tough ahead—”

A heavy hand shoves you away by your head. You stumble into a bulletin board.

“Enough,” he gruffs. “My day’s already fucked because the prof lost his papers and wants to blame me. I don’t need to lose my hearing on top of that.”

Your head flits around. “Did you guys see that?” People give you weird looks. “He just shoved me. The TA just shoved me. We need to protest his violent behaviour by demanding he remarks our papers. Who’s with me?”

Everyone walks past without another look at you.

Toji, on the other hand, lifts his glasses and runs a hand down his face. Muttering something under his breath, he pushes a door open and holds out a hand before you can mindlessly follow. “It’s the men’s bathroom. Tell me you’re not shameless and stupid enough to come in here.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

His eye twitches. 

As though an idea comes to him, he straightens ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take a dump; you’ll be waiting a while.”

“That’s okay — I have no more classes so take your time but make sure you don’t stay sitting down longer than you need to,” you tell him, smiling innocently and standing aside to let a guy walk out, ignoring the freaked out face he makes at you. “You can get hemorrhoids."

He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, woman.” 

That seems to be as much of you he can tolerate because he walks in without another word to you. Opposite the door, you lean against the wall, whistling and coming up with alternative lines you can pull on him. 

God, he’s so stubborn. 

It’s not like giving you the marks docks his pay or lowers the professor’s opinion of him. He’s clearly just being an ass. 

If he wasn’t such a good TA, a genuinely intelligent man, you would have gone above his head and asked for the prof’s personal assessment. But no, he has to be knowledgeable, a helpful source of information when you’re lost, someone who seems to know everything about any topic, who knows the exact pages of a textbook you should read to further your understanding, and who’s never declined a meeting for clarification on something you wrote. 

For years now, you two have had a friendship-like relationship, often sharing snacks and exchanging brief words before or after lectures and classes, despite what he says.

Everyone gets along with him, though you’ve never actually seen him hang out with friends or go to parties. Maybe he doesn’t have any. Word on the street is he works part time in a couple different places. Some say so he can afford drugs, some for tuition. 

The rumours never interested you, apart from any that mused about his love life, which seems to be nonexistent except for the many girls who hit on him. Not that you’re especially interested.

It’s just fun to be in the know.

Who knows how long has passed since he went in there. Your phone says fifteen minutes. Is that a normal amount of time for someone to be taking a dump?

Hesitantly, you push the door open and yell out, “Fushiguro? You doing okay? Is it stuck? For a couple extra marks, I’ll give you a hand.”

No one replies. 

Brows furrowing, you bend down, looking through the stalls. No feet. What the hell?

Ahead, a window is ajar. Big enough for a man to squeeze through. Well isn’t that convenient? The kind of convenient that exists only in fiction.

Aggrieved and feeling bamboozled, you stomp back to your dorm room, slamming the door, jumping face down on the bed and screaming into the pillows. You’d feel better if you knew he had a grudge on you, if you bumped into him the first day and spilled his coffee all over himself and he’d never forgotten it. Instead, he’s just like that: does things by the book, does his job well, and achieves the best grades with ease. 

Naturally, he’d become the professor’s assistant, a coveted position that seemed like it was made for him from the very beginning, and made your life a living hell because he won’t ever make concessions for you.

Sure, you shouldn’t ask him to, but it’s not like you’re asking for much. You’re generally a high performing student — punctual, hard working, ambitious — but you had one bad day which resulted in one bad essay and it lowered your average and now the internship you’d been eyeing could be snatched from your hands in a blink of an eye. 

“It’s just not fair,” you cry out to your teddy bear. “It’s three marks. Three! Would it kill him to reread my essay and find those three marks?”

Mr. Teddy stares back at you and says, “He’s a grumpy man. Don’t take it personally.”

You sit up, blinking and processing his reply.

“Teddy…you’re right. He is a grumpy man, a TA with broad shoulders, yummy arms, and thick thighs with a bubble butt, but a man nonetheless. If he won’t pull favours for me, student to student, maybe he’ll pull favours for me man to woman.”

The plushie falls to the bed as you stand, staring at yourself in the mirror and formulating a plan. 

With that you decide to seek him out the next day, sporting a new outfit and a different attitude.

.

.

.

“Hi.”

“Fuck off.”

The cafeteria’s busy. It always is. It’s loud enough that most people wouldn’t even hear the exchange — chairs banging on tile, trays clattering, someone laughing too loudly at a table nearby. 

Toji’s hunched slightly over a bowl of udon noodles, chopsticks moving lazily as he slurps them down. Some sports clip plays on his phone, propped against his dented metal water bottle. Commentators yell about something you don’t understand. His sleeves are pushed up over his forearms, revealing ropey muscle and the faint silvery line of an old scar running across his wrist.

An old hoodie hangs off his shoulders over a plain white T-shirt. Distressed jeans, worn sneakers. He’s too big for the plastic chair, long legs spread under the table. When he saw you approach, his feet had hooked onto the chair legs, forcing you to fight to remove it from his clutches so you could take a seat.

So damn rude.

His glasses have fogged slightly from the steam of the noodles.

He doesn’t look up. But he knows it’s you. You can tell by the way his mouth tightens for half a second before he goes back to eating.

You snatch his phone away. His green eyes flick up, annoyed. You smile, arms pushing your breasts together so they spill over your tight top. Toji’s gaze doesn’t waver. He continues to stare at you like you’re a pest. 

“You can’t take no for an answer?” he asks though it’s not a question at all. “Might want to retake the consent course.”

Manicured fingers walk up his bare forearm before scratching down from his elbow. His skin is warm. Light dusting of hair tickling your fingertips. “Oh, Toj, have I ever told you how handsome you are? Because you really are. You’re so damn hot I can hardly focus on the lectures.”

He snorts, still eating his noodles and still refusing to look at your cleavage. “That’ll explain why you’re missing marks.”

Jaw dropping, you force yourself to recover quickly. A heeled foot brushes against his calf, sliding his jeans up. You bat your lashes, sultrily saying, “The only thing I’m missing is your cock in me, big boy.”

Toji meets your eyes again. His scarred lips twitch. “I don’t need to tell you that was bad, do I?”

You cringe, foot dropping and whole body slumping back into the chair. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.” Then you sit up, handing him his phone, and asks, “Are the noodles good? I’ve never had them.”

Phone pocketed, he shrugs. “They’re just the cheapest deal on the menu. Growing girl like you should get something more filling.”

The menu’s extensive, and the only thing sticking out to you is the chicken burger and chicken tenders meal deal. It seems to be especially popular today but you’re not sure you can finish the whole thing. 

“Hey, if I get the Meal Super Cluck Blaster, will you share it with me? I’ve got dinner plans later so I don’t want to fill up.”

That finally gets a reaction. Toji leans back a little and gives you a slow once-over. Tight top. Lacy bra peeking up. Glossy lips. More jewellery than usual. His eyebrow lifts. “That why you’re dressed like a hooker?” he asks lazily. “Hot date?”

“Nah,” you reply, waving him off. “Wore this for yo— Wait.” You lean forward, staring at him wide eyed. “Are you jealous? Are you in love with me already? Because for extra marks, I’ll cancel my dinner plans and promise myself to you for all eternity.”

Toji rolls his eyes. “Go get something to eat; you sound insane.”

You hop up. “Okay, but stay there, alright? Take my burger because I only want the tenders. Oh, and will you share a pot of cheesecake with me? I’m lactose-intolerant but I really want cheesecake right now.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He’s still here when you come back. 

As soon as you hand him the wrapped up burger, he scarfs it down the way big men do, like they haven’t eaten in days. You push him the tenders too. You’d actually gotten a double serving of everything so you have your own portion of tenders and he gets to eat another burger. There’s no way a man his size could survive on udon noodles.

“Also, let’s not act like you didn’t leave me hanging outside the men’s bathroom yesterday,” you bring up after sipping your juice. “Can’t believe you left through the bathroom window just so you could get away from me.”

“I didn’t,” he says, mouth full and adjusting his glasses. 

You frown, dipping a piece of chicken in hot honey. “No, you definitely did. I peeked and there were no feet in any of the stalls. Unless you’re telling me you can grow invisible.”

“Just lifted my legs when I heard you come in, which I knew your crazy ass would do, so I could finally leave in peace. Didn’t think it’d take you fifteen minutes though.”

A laugh escapes you. “You were waiting me out? Does that sound like the mature thing to do? Jeez, you need to act your age.”

Toji’s eyes meet yours. Your smile falters for the briefest second. “I’m not that much older than you,” he reminds you. “Only by two years.”

“And yet you call me kid or kiddo,” you retort, clearing your throat. Have his eyes always been that green and deep? And is his voice usually that husky and masculine? Because you could have sworn guys your age don’t sound like that.

He shrugs again, second burger finished in a blink of an eye. “Never hurts to remind yourself.”

“Remind yourself what?”

The legs of his chair screech as he pushes it back. He stands, picking up his tray, and answers, “Forget about it. Enjoy your dinner plans. And I’m taking the cheesecake — no one wants a gassy date.”

“Wait,” you call out before he can turn away. “My marks?”

A pat on the head ruffles your hair. 

“Still a no, kid.”

.

.

.

“What if I suck your dick?”

Toji lifts his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’ve got a ton of papers to grade for another class; I don’t have time for you.”

The door shuts behind you. His office is bare, not a single decoration littering the place, not a plant nor a picture. 

His office is exactly how you remember it — disappointingly, aggressively empty. The walls are a dull institutional beige that makes the overhead fluorescent light feel even harsher. No posters. No photos. Not even a sad little plant struggling for life in the corner.

Just a desk. A filing cabinet. Two chairs that look like they were stolen from a waiting room. It’s the kind of office someone occupies temporarily, like he expects to leave at any moment and doesn’t see the point in settling in.

Leaning against the desk anyway, your fingers drum lazily along the edge.

You’ve been here before: once to argue about a paper he’d shredded with red ink, once because you’d missed an exam and needed him to sign a form, and once because you’d sworn you heard him swearing loud enough to be heard halfway down the hallway.

You grip his shoulder, squeezing as you scan the fat stack of papers on his desk — the prof’s particular about handwritten essays. There’s so much to read through; you do not want to be him. 

“God,” you mutter, flipping through a few pages of the stack. “There’s like fifty here.”

“Seventy-two,” Toji corrects without looking up. His handwriting is sharp and aggressive, red ink slashing through entire paragraphs like he’s committing academic murder. You wince in sympathy for whoever wrote the paper currently being dismantled.

“Good thing you can multitask, can’t you? I’ll suck your dick under the desk, you grade papers, and you bump me up a grade. Easy.”

He shrugs you off, hulking body hunched over and pen scratching on the papers, leaving harsh circles and comments like, ‘what the hell does this mean?’ and ‘you can’t just say perchance.’ 

Toji gruffs, “I’m serious. Take your jokes elsewhere.”

Nah, you think to yourself. 

With a massive struggle against his weight, you yank his chair back, wheeling him a distance from the desk and clambering under before he can fill the space again. He makes some noise above you but you pay him no mind. Your hands rest on his meaty thighs through his sweatpants, marvelling at the density, at the strength you find in them. 

“You’re fucking ridiculous.” His foot nudges your knee. “Get the fuck out. I’ll cropdust you if I have to.”

You call his bluff by clutching his clothed cock. He jolts, grunting. Laughing softly, you muse, “You say all that but you have a semi already — did my proposition get you hard, Toji?”

You’re rubbing his hard on, trying not to get flustered by how big he feels, and how fat the girth is. Of course he’s big. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been so surprised; he’s a big man so naturally the proportions will match up. 

“Suck my dick, don’t suck my dick, it doesn’t matter,” he says, sighing and probably pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not getting those marks.”

He thinks that’ll stave you off because he knows you’re whoring yourself out for a grade. What he doesn’t know is that your stupid little brain’s already forgotten about all of that the moment you felt his cock. Now all you can think about is how you’ll have to stretch your lips nice and wide to take him in, and even then, even when your throat is lax and loose, you won’t be able to take him to the base. 

Toji grunts again, peering down at you. “You mouthing at my dick? Did’ya not hear what I said?”

Like you’ve been possessed, you press kisses to where his tip is, humming around it. “I heard, but your dick’s saying other things to me, and I know which I prefer to listen to.”

“My dick’s not marking your paper, so get the fuck up,” he growls.

“Don’t wanna.”

“You’re fucking killing me here.”

A heavy hand bundles your hair up, pulling but you fight against it, hooking your fingers under the waistband and releasing him from the constraints. His boxers have a hole, and yet you only find it endearing. Freeing his cock so it bounces up and smacks your cheek, it leaves a wet mark on your skin. 

Tutting, he wipes away the wetness from your skin. 

Oh fuck, he really is big. 

With nothing between you and his dick, you can see him in all his glory in the partial shadow of under his desk — long, thick, flushed red, already shiny at the slit, veiny as hell, hairs at the base wild and unruly, with weighty balls to match. You’ve never seen anything better. 

Tongue out, you lick him from base to tip, prodding at his frenulum.

“Quit it,” he commands through gritted teeth. 

You moan wantonly, already addicted to the salt on his kin, to the texture of his veins, to the softness of his cockhead. “Toji, you’re so big. I don’t think this’ll fit inside me.”

The thing throbs, bobbing. A droplet oozes out and you quickly lick it up. The hand that was pulling your hair has grown slack, simply resting on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping the wood. 

Voice hoarse, he mutters, “If anyone can make it fit, it’ll be your stubborn ass.”

Your eyes meet his from under the desk, mischief sparkling in them you’re sure. His cock throbs again. “I thought you had papers to mark, Fushiguro. Maybe you should get on that, no?”

A calloused thumb presses down on your lips, shushing you. It slides down, bringing your bottom lip down with it, before releasing it so it’ll bounce back in place. That same thumb holds your jaw open, hand guiding your mouth to his tip. You know what he wants. You also know that he knows that you both know that you won this time. 

Wide as you can, you take as much of his length as possible. You don’t get much further than a third of the way, full beyond belief and overwhelmed by just how much of him there still is. Your nails dig into his thighs.

“If this is supposed to convince me to give you extra marks, then you’re failing real hard, doll,” he notes, gripping the base. “Can barely fit the head, can you?”

He’s acting like it’s your fault he’s so big. 

Challenged, you loosen your throat to take him an inch deeper. You gag around the length. Toji curses under his breath. “Careful,” he mutters. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

You ignore him in favour of shallowly bobbing, sucking and licking what you can, as though he’s a lollipop. It’s actually kinda fun.

The familiar sound of pen scratching on paper and paper rubbing on paper echoes in the relatively quiet office. Only the wet sounds of your mouth sucking his cockhead pierces the silence. 

Growing more and more used to his size, you flick your tongue around the head, letting your hands wrap around the rest of him, squeezing and tugging in time with your mouth. Occasionally, he makes a couple breathy noises — low grunts when your tongue laps up his tip, gravelly groans when you hollow your cheek to suck, and rough exhales through his nose when you grip his balls, massaging them, thumb rubbing the seam. 

It becomes easier to forget why you were here in the first place; you’re just blowing him for your own entertainment now, wanting something to occupy your throat. 

Then, he asks, as though he’s making casual conversation, “How was the date?”

“Hmm?”

Toji rolls his eyes. “The date,” he repeats. “How was it? He pay for the meal? Open doors, see you to your door, kiss you goodnight and shit?”

Your lips stretch into a smile. You release him with a pop! “I didn’t go on a date,” you tell him. “My friends hosted a housewarming party because they moved in together. I had a great time, thanks for asking.”

Is he pleased? Unaffected? Genuinely just making conversation? Hard to tell, except for the pushing of his hand, urging you back to his dick, and taking him further inside your throat, till his tip bumps the back of the gummy walls. 

“Good,” he exhales out, thighs flexing around your body. “That’s real good.”

“My blowjob skills or that I had a great time?” you ask, words muffled and barely understandable.

“Both,” he answers. “Both, doll.”

A knock on the door has you both stiffening. Toji glares down at you and whispers, “It’s the prof. Do not make a sound.”

He didn’t need to tell you that — you’re well aware that if you get caught, you’ll both face disciplinary action, and will likely be kicked out of the university. That’s worse than not getting the internship. 

The office falls quiet so suddenly you can hear the ticking of the wall clock. Toji’s hand tightens briefly against the desk as the knock comes again. “Come in,” he calls, voice steady.

The door opens before he even finishes the word.

“Ah, Fushiguro, there you are,” the professor says, stepping inside with a stack of papers tucked under one arm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d left already.”

From your position under the desk, you can only see shoes. Polished leather. Slow steps across the floor. You don’t slide his cock out of your throat, lest it makes a sloppy noise that’ll give you both away. So you breathe through your nose, being very, very quiet.

“No, I was just finishing up some grading,” Toji replies, cool as a cucumber.

His tone is annoyingly normal. Completely unbothered. He’s really convincing. Has he done this before? Is this a normal occurrence? Do a lot of girls offer to blow him for better marks, and does he take them up on it? Are you the one exception to his generosity? 

“Good, good.” Papers shuffle. A chair creaks as the professor sits across from the desk. “I actually wanted to ask about the research methods essays.”

Of course he did.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Toji shifts slightly above you — just enough that the movement brushes your shoulder — and then he leans back in his chair. “Yeah?” he says.

“I noticed something odd in the submissions this year,” the professor continues. “Half the class seems to misunderstand the section on sampling bias.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You mean where they’re supposed to explain the limitations of convenience sampling?”

“Exactly.”

A sheet of paper slides across the desk.

“You see this one here—”

From below, you hear Toji pick it up.

“—they describe the method correctly, but their conclusion contradicts their own analysis.”

There’s a pause whilst the TA reads. You stare at the underside of the desk and try not to shift your knees. God, this is like torture. Having a cock lodged in your throat and not being able to do anything with it is hell. Above the desk, they’re chatting away, talking about your fellow students, with the professor none the wiser that one such student’s under the desk. 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “They’re treating correlation like it proves causation.”

“Precisely!” the professor says, sounding delighted. “It’s surprisingly common.” Another pause. You hear a pen tap the desk twice. “I was thinking next year we might restructure the lecture slightly,” the professor continues. “Maybe introduce a short case study before the assignment.”

“Could work,” Toji replies. “Give them something concrete, tangible, to analyse.”

Your legs are starting to cramp. Your lips tighten around his hot cock. Toji brushes your hair back from your face, a quiet act to show he hasn’t forgotten about you. The professor keeps talking, completely unaware.

“Also,” he says, shuffling more papers, “the literature review sections were stronger this year.”

“Mm.”

“I suspect the workshop helped.”

Toji lets out a quiet huff that might be agreement.

“You handled that well, by the way,” the professor adds. “The students seem to respond to your feedback.”

This is way too boring, you decide. In an act you might end up regretting for the rest of your life, your offended tongue prods his tip where he’s still leaking salty precum. 

He grunts, knee crashing up on the wood. 

The professor asks him if he’s alright, and Toji replies, “Fine. Sorry. Just had a cramp.”

A triumphant smile pulls at your lips, which is quickly wiped away by the sudden pinch at your cheek. You wince, unable to smack him in retaliation. 

A sigh fills the room. “I fear you work too hard, Fushiguro. You ought to take a break here and there. Do something fun and wild, or whatever it is people your age do nowadays.”

“I am having fun,” Toji says, hand coming back to rest on your head, growing heavier and heavier until you’re forced to take him inside your mouth, deeper and deeper. “In my own way.”

He’s filling you up more than he was before, now more insistent, no longer so passive. You’re struggling to take him but he’s not letting up. Fuck, you’re soaked between the legs. Who knew you had an oral fixation?

“Well, good,” the professor says. He pushes his chair back. Your heart jumps in joy. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know those papers won’t mark themselves. Boy do I not envy you.” He laughs. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You too, Professor.”

Footsteps move toward the door. The handle turns. The door opens. Closes. Silence. Two seconds pass.

Then Toji peers down, licking his scarred lips, and mutters under his breath, “You needy fucking girl. Couldn’t wait, could you? Couldn’t resist not being a pain my fucking ass. If you want cock so badly, then here you go.”

His hips thrust up, hand keeping you in place. Your eyes fly open, throat stretching to take all of him in. Oh, he was as pent up, as frustrated, as you were. The force in which he’s rutting inside your throat displays that nice and clear. 

“You’ll do anything for a good grade, won’t you? Even debase yourself like this. God, you drive me crazy.”

You gag around his cock but he doesn’t pay any mind to that. No, Toji’s just rutting inside your mouth over and over again, grunting louder and louder now. 

Meanwhile, your hand seeks out the heat between your legs. You grind against the heel of your palm, moaning around his length. The vibration has his balls tightening up.

“Fuck!”

Hot cum bursts inside, coating the walls of your throat and your tongue. 

Toji leans back in his chair, which creaks. You pull him out, coughing at the salty burn. Damn, even his loads are big. It’s like a cream puff exploded inside your mouth. 

Hands carry you up, sitting you on his thigh. One rubs your back in circles, the other wipes away the tears at your eyes, licking at the wetness he’s collected on his thumb. “You good, kid?” he asks, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah,” you respond, voice hoarse and not fooling anyone. “I’m good.”

You take a sip of his water from his water bottle, not caring about the fact that you’re drinking from where he had been, and if he cared that your mouth which had been sucking on his dick and cum is on his cup, he didn’t say.

He sighs, tucking himself back in and says, “Come by my place tonight. Hand me your essay again and I’ll reread it. But I’m not making any promises about finding extra marks, alright? It’s just a second chance, and the only one you’ll get.”

Dopily, you smile at him. “Throat game that good, huh?”

His lips twitch. He shoves you away, smacking your ass as you walk away.

“I’ll text you the time and place. Don’t be late.”

Nodding, you head for the door, not leaving however till you ask, “Should I wear matching underwear, or is this a strictly keep your clothes on meeting?”

“Fuck off before I regret it.”

“Lacy thong it is!”

.

.

.

“Should I spread my legs now or do you want me to fluff you first?”

Toji’s deadpan face meets you when he opens the door. He sighs as though he’s regretting this already. Regardless, he lets you in. 

You can tell he showered recently — there’s the scent of cheap soap lingering on his skin and his hair is still a little damp. 

His apartment is nice and clean, which surprises you somewhat. Most guys your age tend to be messy. But you should have known the TA would be neat and organised. 

“I’m serious,” you begin, snuggling up to his side and batting your lashes up at him, “what position do you want me? I’m not the most flexible but I’m not too bad.”

Shaking you off, he pushes you in the direction of the living room where the coffee table is covered with carefully laid out papers he no doubt carried from campus to continue working on. “Go sit down, you horny gremlin. Make some room for your essay and let’s get this over with.”

You do as he says, folding your legs so you can sit by the coffee table on the rug. You take the essay out of your bag, shoving all the others to the side. With a frown, you ask, “So we’re really not fucking?”

He folds himself down too, sitting beside you, knee brushing yours. “I don’t solicit sex in exchange for academic favours. Dunno why you’re so surprised by that — can’t recall having done anything to make you think otherwise.”

“Well, you did give in after I blew you, so…”

“I was gonna offer before you did all that,” he informs you, snorting. “Just never promised to give you the marks.”

Toji adjusts his glasses, taking your papers and starting his reassessment of it. His lips purses, brows furrows, and he stares at the thing like it could tell him the answers to the universe. That or it’s so bad he just can’t fathom what you were thinking. 

“Second paragraph, third line, why the hell is it so convoluted?” he asks, voice returning to that grumpy tone you’re more than familiar with now.

It’s the latter, it would seem. He really meant business. You shaved and everything for nothing. What a shame. 

Leaning over, you rest your head on his big bicep, and, with a pout, reply, “I thought it sounded smart; I was pretty proud of that line actually.”

“No, doll,” Toji says, sighing. “The simpler the better. Don’t purposefully complicate your syntax. Only do what’s necessary to get the point across. If I, an expert in this topic, can barely understand what you mean, how is the ordinary person supposed to?”

“Yeah, okay. Simple is better, I get it.”

He continues reading, red pen in hand and making annotations as he goes. Meanwhile, you’re worming your way into his lap: one hand resting on his thigh at first, then a leg thrown over his. He notices what you’re doing — there’s no way he doesn’t know — but he doesn’t put up a fight. Eventually, you’re sitting in his lap, his chin resting on your head, and his arms caging you in. 

Toji’s warm. He’s comfy to rest on despite all the muscles. Closer now, his soapy scent envelops you. It goes straight to your head. You find yourself squirming. 

“Keep still,” he reprimands, underlining a phrase twice for emphasis. “You can’t just use jargon if you’re not going to explain it. It’s bad practice.”

“Got it.” Fiddling with his spare hand, running your fingers down his and over his palm, you ask, “Are academics supposed to have calluses?”

“They bother you or something?”

“No, not at all. I’m just curious.”

He hums. “I do odd jobs here and there, some more manual than others so yeah I built up some calluses.” Without missing a beat, he pivots the topic. “Tell me again what the difference is between compliment and complement.”

You bring that hand up to your breast, imploring him to grope your tits as you reply, “With an I is to praise someone or something, and with an e is to say something matches well with another.”

A moan escapes your lips when he squeezes in approval. Toji mutters, “Good girl. Guess you do listen to me.” Thumb brushing your hardened nipple through the thin material of your top, you squirm in his lap. His lips move against the top of your head. “No bra?”

“I figured you were going to take it off me anyway so I didn’t bother,” you say, still pressing his hand to your tit, riding the motions of every grope and flick of your nipple. 

Another hum. 

Slowly, you guide that hand down lower. He must know what you’re doing, where you want it to end up, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand or put up any resistance; he’s curious to see how far you’re willing to go. And you’re curious to see how much restraint he has, how long he can hold out before his façade of nonchalance breaks and he’s fucking up inside you.

You tease yourself, and him, first — his fingers, with your guidance, tease your bare thighs, following the hem of your tight skirt. Growing breathless, you ask, “What kind of odd jobs do you do?”

Toji’s calluses tickle the sensitive skin in your inner thighs just right. He’s still marking your paper, occasionally fact-checking your ideas and his theories in a textbook on the table. Amused, he retorts, “You curious about me, doll?”

“Hmm, I want to know exactly whose cock will be stretching me out in a minute.”

He snorts, patting your clothed pussy. You jolt with every impact. “I tutor on the side. Fix up some cars in the garage in town. I’m a physical trainer for three clients at the local gym too. And when I’m low on money, I sell risqué pictures of myself. That disgust you?”

All while he answers, Toji’s blunt nails scrape your slit through your panties. He’s not applying much pressure at all, if any, and yet every skim, every travel up and down has goosebumps rising on your skin.

“N-no,” you answer quickly. “I think that’s really cool. If I had a body like yours, I’d take pictures all the time too.”

His laughter rumbles in his chest. An odd sense of pride warms your own. He says, “Your body’s more than good enough to sell too, you know. Don’t act like you don’t know guys give you double takes all the time, or that your ass could stop traffic.”

Giggling, you lean back, gazing up at him with a smile. “Do you stare at my ass sometimes, Toji?”

God, you’re soaked. You can tell, though you’re not embarrassed whatsoever. If anything, you’re just itching for him to pull your panties to the side and touch you skin to skin, to plunge inside your pussy and make a mess out of you.

“Tell me where you can, and should, insert a semi-colon in paragraph six, and I’ll give you an honest answer.” 

He nudges you with his chin. “Go on. Quit thinking with your pussy and give me the right answer.” A little aggrieved, you sit up straight, holding his wrist to keep his hand between your legs. Your eyes scan the section. Tentatively, you point to a full stop on the second line. Toji shakes his head and smacks your clothed pussy again. “Try again, and don’t guess.”

“Here,” you snarl, feeling way past pent up. “Now give me my reward.”

Toji huffs. “Semi-colons help for varying sentence structures. It’s in the little ways you can convey your points compellingly. Don’t underutilise the right punctuations.”

“Yeah, yeah, smarty pants. Rub my clit and answer my question already.”

Cool air brushes against your swollen, glistening lips. You sigh when his warm hand covers the entire slit barely a second later. His middle fingers are instantly coated in your wetness. He groans. “Fuck, doll, you’re dripping.” Toji doesn’t give you a moment to respond to that; his fingers rub at your throbbing clit in tight circles, drawing it out of his hood. You moan, back arching. 

Finally, he answers, “I stare at your ass all the fucking time after I glare at the losers whose eyes wander from their laptop screens . I’m a big, fucking hypocrite — that what you wanna hear?”

“Fuck yes!”

Rustling of paper reaches your ears. Then two hands are on you: one furiously rubbing the bundle of nerves and the other gripping your throat. He squeezes threateningly. Your vision spots, jaw dropping. “Look at you, all desperate to have my cock inside you. And for what? For a couple marks? You’re not ashamed?”

Your ass is grinding back on his boner, sandwiching the hard thing between your cheeks as your own answer. How could you be ashamed when he wants you so bad too?

“I’m horny! Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

In a split second, you find your world spinning. Your back falls on something hard. You’re staring up at the ceiling, papers scattered beneath you. Rough hands tug you down by your thighs. When you peer down, Toji’s staring up at you from between your lips.

“Yeah, I’m fucking you. You already knew I was gonna. You gonna let me taste your pussy first?” A challenging brow quirks up, like he’s waiting for you to push him away. 

Instead, your legs hook over his shoulders, ankles crossed. You grin at him.

Panties pulled to the side, his fingers spread your pussy for him. Those eyes scan every inch. He releases a shaky breath, cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even your pussy’s pretty. Fucking gorgeous.” Running a hand through his hair, he says, “You’re always such a pain, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help that every part of me’s pretty,” you reply, twirling your hair.

“Shut up and play with your tits — I like a show with my dinner.” Toji spits a fat dollop right on your clit. It slides down your slit but before it can disappear in the crevice of your ass, his tongue is collecting it and shoving it inside your cunt. 

You gasp. “Fuck, Toji!”

In spite of his aggressive tone, you pull down your top, letting your tits bounce out. Those eyes follow every jiggle. “Good girl,” he rasps. “Squeeze them for me nice and hard. Good. Real fucking good.”

His glasses are foggy now with your own humidity, rattling with every movement. He’s eating your pussy out like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything better, like he’s going to make sure not a single trace of you can be found in his apartment after he’s done with you. 

Growling, he spread your thighs wider. “Course you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he says, brows furrowing in what appears to be anger. “Course it’s sweeter than that fucking cheesecake. Course I’ll be craving you till I die.”

Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging for purchase. “Ngh, Toji, my clit…suck my clit!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Those scarred lips, the very ones you’ve stared at more times than you can count, wrap around your clit, sucking hard the way you did when you were blowing him under the desk. Electricity sparks inside, sending tremors up from your lower belly to your tits to the very tips of your fingers. “Oh fuck, that’s so good.”

Filthy squelches are being wrung out of you, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, addicted to how responsive your body is to him.

Two fingers worm their way through your pulsing hole, basking in the rough textures of your entrance, stretching your gummy walls on their way to curling against that spot that has you oozing more cum out. 

“You’re fucking tight,” he hisses. “You’re gonna struggle taking all of me later.” Then he barks a laugh, spare hand pressing down on your belly where the pressure builds up. Your toes curl. “A better man would take pity on you, go slow or wait another day, but I’ve already had my tongue inside your cunt so I’ll spare you the gentleman act.”

More fingers shove in, ignoring the screech that you let out. You’ve never had more than two and yet all four of his thicker, longer fingers are inside pushing your walls to their very limits. 

Despite that, he remarks, entertained by the shock on your face which he studies through his glasses, “Suck it up, buttercup — my cock’s thicker than this, you know that.”

You do. 

It’s all you’ve been thinking about all day. Hours after, your jaw’s still stretched out, sore and creaking after the workout you put it through. The thought of having something even thicker, longer than his four fingers has you growing dizzy, head handing over the coffee table.

“Yeah, my cock can’t wait to feel you too,” Toji says, not to you but to your pussy which is squelching lewdly and loudly. “Had to resist jerking my dick raw all day so you better make it good for me.”

Is it seconds later, or minutes, maybe hours, when you cum?

How ever long it is no one can deny it’s the strongest orgasm of your life. 

Your entire body trembles, spasming beyond control. Are you screaming or silently moaning? Are your eyes shut or have you gone blind? And is he still pistoning his fingers inside you, damn near pushing all of his hand in? 

“Stop,” you cry out. “No more, please!”

Mercifully, he yanks his hand out. Unfortunately, it leaves you feeling so empty you immediately crave the feeling of his hand gripping you from inside. 

Lips and chin glistening, he kisses both inner thighs, which tremble. 

Toji gathers you with one arm, showing off his strength as he carries you off the table and to the glass door which leads out to the balcony. It’s dark out and all you can see are the lights of people’s rooms in the apartment across. There are families lounging, dogs sleeping, TV’s blaring. 

Behind you, you hear the rustling of his shirt as he throws it off carelessly. Bare skin grazes your own soon after his hands make quick work of the clothes you’re still wearing. In a flash, you’re naked. He bends down to pick up your fallen panties, inhaling the gusset deeply. Your legs cross tightly at the deeply satisfied groan he lets out. 

“Next office hour,” he starts, lazily spreading your pussy lips and smearing your juices around so he can listen to the squelches and keep your squirming, “you better leave your panties with me. Consider it payment.”

You laugh. “Sure.”

Groggily, you try to keep your head up, wondering what you’re doing by the window, still a little out of it. A hand clutches your jaw, aiding you. 

“I’m gonna fuck you against this window,” he announces, leaving no room for arguments. “You want those extra marks? Then you’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock like a champ.”

Ass gyrating back against the hot, heavy thing still confined in sweatpants, you wonder, “Do you have an exhibitionism kink?”

He lets go of you. You have to catch yourself by pressing your palms to the cold glass. Toji drags your hips back, foot kicking your legs apart. His cock plops onto your ass, scalding. “No, I have a ‘get my time’s worth from shameless women who waste my time with demands for better grades by humiliating them’ kink.”

“Sounds long. We should get that shortened,” you drawl.

His cockhead slides through your pussy, coating itself in your wetness. The fat thing bumps against your clit. You shudder. 

Satisfied with your natural lubrication, he prods your entrance. “Yeah, we should. Let’s call it, Shut The Fuck Up And Take It.”

Then he enters you in one go.

You scream.

The window fogs up with your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

You’re taking so much of his length so quickly that it should be painful. Despite that, there’s not an ounce of pain, not one you didn’t like at least — only the overwhelming pleasure of being filled up is resonating. 

Toji grunts. “Almost had to fist this cunt and you’re -hah fuck- still too tight.”

Pummelling his cock in, his hips don’t pause for a second. You gasp for breath, palms slipping and sliding on the condensation that’s built up on the glass. It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, so impossibly deep, so hot, so intimidating. 

“God, it should be a crime to have a body like this,” he says, hands groping every part of your flesh he can reach. He slaps your ass to watch it jiggle for him. He’s an ass man, that much is clear.

The force of his thrusting has you pushed closer to the glass, so close now that almost your entire front is flush with the surface. The coldness grazes your nipples. You moan. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

He tugs you back to him, body sliding down the glass till your ass is jutted out. Toji carries your hips up so you can reach him, but it means your toes are only brushing the floor. You cling to the glass door as much as you can. Through the glossy haze, you see the marks you left on the glass, from the oils and sweat on your skin. You see the outline of your tits, all round and fat, the handprints you left and the smearing of them all over the place because you couldn’t grapple with one position to have them in. 

Are people watching? Are you flashing a poor old man, are you reigniting a sexual appetite in a pitiful divorcee, making a housewife jealous, creating fantasies for some guy your age? Are people rubbing one out to the flashes of ecstasy on your face, to the swaying of your tits, to the rippling of your ass?

Toji’s fingers creep under you, furiously teasing your clit. You whine. “I think I’m gonna cum again.”

“Go on, gorgeous,” he rasps. “Lemme feel you cum around my cock. Make my dreams come true.”

Two fingers gather the cream that’s formed a ring at his base. He draws three letters on the glass for you to stare at. It spells out c u m.

God, he’s dirty.

Another orgasm ripples through you. Your thighs shake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Toji!”

He growls out, hands tightening their grip on your hips, threatening to bruise, “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum early.”

Without waiting for you to come down from your high, he flips you around. Your back thuds against the door. His cock reenters you in a clean, easy slide, cunt beyond soaked and stretched out. Your arms and legs wrap around him. 

Those glasses of him have fogged up so thickly now that they fail to serve their purpose. Toji takes it off with one hand, sliding it onto your head, like a headband keeping your face clear of your hair. “Don’t let them fall,” he orders. “They break and you won’t be getting that internship.”

And his lips?

They smack against yours.

He kisses you, all tongue and teeth and drool dripping down chins, like he’s been waiting weeks, months, perhaps years to do that. And you kiss him back just the same. 

Inside you, his cock throbs. Toji’s hips swing back and forth, pelvis grinding on yours, rubbing your clit and wringing our more obscene squeeeelches. 

“Oh god, I’m so full, Toji. You’re so fucking big.”

“You’re -hngh- t-taking me so well,” he praises, littering sloppy kisses all over your face and neck all while he pinches and rolls your nipples. “Moaning so adorably, all pretty and finally keeping this mouth quiet of smartass comments. You should be like this all the time.”

The rocking of his cock inside you is even better like this. The closeness, the warmth, the taste of him — you wonder why you waited so long to do this. 

Tits squashed to his chest, your nipples scrape his skin, slipping and sliding with the sweat beading down your bodies. The hard planes of his chest feel magnificent. Nothing about his muscles are for vanity only, and the knowledge of the strength he’s holding back has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“You’d miss my smartass comments,” you tell him, head thrown back and hips working their way down on his cock of their own volition.

Toji groans against your neck, licking droplets of sweat. “Yeah, maybe. I definitely wouldn’t miss your spelling errors though.”

Smiling, you tug his head up by his hair, and bite his bottom lip. You pull and let go so it’ll snap back into place like he’d done with your lip when you were under his desk. “Maybe if you taught me like this, I wouldn’t -hah- make so m-many mistakes— deeper, Toji! Fuck me deeper.”

His hips plough deeper inside, like you wanted, hitting that spot inside you till you’re sure it’ll be bruised in the morning. Moans after moans are fucked out of you; his neighbours will give him an earful tomorrow, you’re certain. 

“Book more office hours just to see me and not because you want something from me, then we can see if I can fuck your stupidity out of you,” he retorts. 

You peck his lips. “Aw, does poor, needy Toji want me to give him more attention? Does he miss me when I’m not there? What a cute little baby.”

“Yeah, he does, actually,” he says, smirking. “That a problem?”

“It will be if you don’t make me cum.”

Toji reminds you, “You’ve been cumming around my cock this entire time; you still want more? Greedy girl.”

He pulls away from the window, stalking over to the sofa instead. Each step burrows him deeper inside you, kissing your cervix and pushing out gasps from your lips, all of which he swallows. 

Carelessly, he throws you on the sofa. You bounce with an oomph!

Ankles held by one hand, he keeps your legs upright, hips lifted up to meet his. Toji presses a kiss to your ankle bone before he pushes his cock back inside. Your back arches with a mewl. Like this, his huge body becomes even more glaring — he’s casting a shadow over you, completely dwarfing you, reminding you how easily he could break you, how he could take whatever he wants from you. 

Every time he buries himself to the hilt, a bulge pops through your tummy, right under your belly button. 

“Look at that,” he mutters, brushing a thumb over it. You whine. “Feel me deep inside you? You’ll be feeling me inside for days, won’t you? Once it starts to fade, you can always come back for another fill, you know.”

“Promise?” you ask, grinning ear to ear. 

Toji pulls out, leaving just his tip before he slams back in, jostling you down on the sofa. His abs contract, cock throbbing at the sudden clenching of your walls around him. “Fuck, yes, doll. Promise. I fucking promise.”

His glasses have slid off, rattling somewhere on the sofa with the impact of every thrust. He doesn’t seem to care about them anymore. You’re nearing another orgasm, head whipping around at the intensity of the pressure building in your core. He’s bullying his cock relentlessly in your cunt, chasing after his own high and sending you to yours. 

When your eyes clash with his piercing, green ones, unobstructed by his glasses, you explode with a scream. 

“F-fuck,” he grunts, following soon after. 

Searing cum spurts inside you, cock pulsing, cum painting your walls. His thumb rubs your clit, aiding you through your orgasm. Your moans are vibrating against the walls, definitely disturbing his neighbours, but so are his groans. 

He slumps over, rolling the two of you on the sofa so you’re resting naked on his heated body, his heavy arm preventing you from falling off. Your pussy’s sore, a mix of your cum and his dribbling out and creating a sticky mess on your inner thighs. 

Absentmindedly, as you both catch your breath, he rubs your back. You draw shapes and letters on his chest. Toji combs his hair off of his forehead, chest rising up and down with his breathing. The dirty marks you two left are still on the glass, though it’s no longer foggy. 

Reaching up above him, he gracefully finds his glasses, sliding them on his face. You like him with and without them. 

“So,” you begin, “about those extra marks.”

Toji lifts his glasses up to rub a hand down his face. “Jesus, yes, you’ll get the marks.”

“Thanks!” you chirp. 

“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

.

.

.

“Fuck, Toji,” you moan. “I already came three times. It’s too -hic- too much.”

Your TA ruts his cock inside you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His glasses are on your nose bridge, blurring your vision; he gets so frustrated when the thing gets in the way of kissing you or eating you out.

“Shut up,” he rasps, hand pressing down on your lower belly so you can feel him even more. “You’re the one who dragged me here. Take every orgasm I give you and be grateful.”

That’s true — you were supposed to have an office hour with him, which is really an excuse to see your boyfriend before you have to attend the internship induction session, but then you took one look at him and his amazing body and started soaking through your panties so here you two are.

Oh yes, you did say boyfriend.

After he blew your mind out, you’d been visiting his apartment after classes so often, you were practically living there, and he didn’t mind. It started out casual, but after realising you two would go grocery shopping, watch movies together, and text each other practically every day, you decided to just seal the deal and make it official. 

In short, he fucks good, and he can tolerate your personality, so you two stuck together. 

A month in, neither of you are really regretting it. At least, if his desperate thrusting and sloppy kisses to your neck’s anything to go by. 

“Missed you so much, Toji,” you whine, hips fucking back into him.

Toji groans, hand groping your tit from under your shit. “Yeah, baby?”

“Mmm.”

“Missed you too,” he confesses, licking a stripe up your neck and scraping his teeth down. Goosebumps rise on your arms. “Been wanting to see you all morning.”

You giggle, holding onto the stall for purchase and so his thrusting won’t make you smack face first onto the door. “You’re so cute w-when you’re needy.”

“Fuck off,” he says with no real heat to his words. 

In the near distance, the door to the men’s toilets opens with a dull metallic creak, the sound echoing faintly off the tiled walls. Feet pad in—slow, unhurried. The steady rhythm of someone who expects the place to be empty.

“Fushiguro?” a voice calls out. “You in here?”

The two of you go very, very still. Toji’s entire body stiffens behind you, muscles locking. His hand clamps firmly over your mouth for extra measure, warm palm pressing tight enough that you can feel the tension in his fingers.

Your heart slams against your ribs, loud enough that you’re half convinced it might echo under the stall. What the hell is the professor doing here?

“Susan told me she saw you walk in this direction. You got a minute?”

Toji releases a tense breath through his nose, annoyed at the interruption but left with no choice but to answer. He lifts you up so your feet hang over the floor and won’t be seen by the outsider. “Yeah, prof. But I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

The professor laughs. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. I do apologise for interrupting you. I was just locked out of my account and can’t send emails for the next hour. You know how terrible I am with technology.” He enters the stall next door. He unzips his pants. You cringe. “I only wanted to ask if you’re prepared to host the internship induction later.”

You go still, this time for a different reason. 

Your boyfriend releases your mouth. Fingers creep over to between your legs, where you’re still connected to him, where he’s still throbbing inside you. He slowly rubs your clit, keeping you from squirming in complaint with his strong arms. Toji responds, “Yeah, got all my notes ready.”

The bastard’s trying to distract you…

“Ah good, good,” the older man joyfully responds. His stream hits the water, and you fight the urge to face palm. “I had a look over the plans and the schedule. Very well organised, I must say. The competition was fierce, which is a testament to the success of the event, so props to you.”

Do men hold conversation so casually in the toilets?

Toji carefully begins moving in slow and shallow thrusts, prodding your g-spot over and over with his fat cockhead. You bite your lips to keep from moaning. Your nails dig into his thick arm. He ignores you. 

“Don’t mention it, Professor.”

The man zips himself back up and flushes, exiting the stall. Outside, the tap runs, and you’re both still as quiet as rocks, afraid that any sudden movement will out you both as sexual deviants. 

He adds, “Oh, and thank you for handling the applications for me; you know I hate all that paperwork nonsense.” 

Your jaw drops. 

Beyond tense, Toji replies like he’s aware of the weight every word exchange carries, “I do what I can do to help out.” 

“I couldn’t do what I do without you,” the professor continues, sincere and ignorant to the fact that you’re there. The rustling of paper towels echoes. “Well, I’ll see you later. Apologies again for interrupting.” 

The exit door swings open and you relax, but then his voice fills the space again. 

“Do say hello to your pretty, little girlfriend for me.” 

Your heart? 

Drops to the fucking floor.

Toji’s grip on you tightens just slightly, barely noticeable unless you’re pressed this close to him.

Your mind races. Did he see you come in? Did someone tell him? Did Susan, whoever the hell she is—

Toji speaks before you can spiral further, his tone sharper now, suspicion threading through it. “What do you mean, Professor?”

“Oh, you know, the girl you’ve been eyeing for a while now — she’s on the internship, yes?” Then he laughs the kind of laughter old men do, all paternal and wise. “Don’t worry, son, I’m not accusing you of pulling strings; I know she’s a very intelligent young woman. Ambitious too. Almost as ambitious as you. I hope you two work something out.”

Your heart slows its beating but you’re not any less tense. 

Sighing, Toji responds, “I’ll let you know if we do.”

“Yes, yes,” the professor says before he leaves for good. 

Finally, it’s just you two in the men’s toilets again. The silence and emptiness is maddeningly relieving. Although, you’re seething, practically vibrating with accusations and anger.  

Toji lets you down. Your feet touch the ground again. You pull him out, whirling on him with a disbelieving glare. You snatch his glasses off your face with one hand and smack his chest with the other. The man doesn’t budge.

“You sneaky piece of shit!”

He gathers both of your wrists with one hand, rolling his eyes. Toji takes his glasses from you and slides it on his face. Seeing you clearer now, he guides his cock back to your pussy, re-entering with ease. You moan, allowing him to hike your leg over his hip so he can press in deeper.

Kissing your lips, he mutters against your lips, “I did what I had to to get your attention. Sue me.”

“God, you’re the worst,” you breathe out, chest jutting out to his, nipples aching and clit throbbing. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I’m the big, bad wolf, and you’re creaming all over my dick right now. Let’s not act like you got the short end of the stick here.”

“Master manipulator,” you hiss, kissing him back, fingers tangling in his hair as soon he lets go of your wrists to grope your tit and ass.

“Whore,” he fires back.

Then the two of you smile, clutching each other tightly as you both rock into each other, nearing your mutual orgasm and riding the pleasure growing in your bodies. Fuck, he feels so good.

“We’re gonna be together forever and ever, aren’t we?” you ask.

Toji’s scar brushes your forehead with his kiss. 

“That’s the plan.”

[humanjarvis]

like a glove

“you’re so— you’re so tight. i’m not going to fit, pipsqueak. it’s okay. we can try again another—”

in one ear, out the other. paying caleb's pleading voice no mind, you sink down on him inch by inch, relishing the stretch but quickly growing impatient. beneath you, he throws his head back into the pillows, overwhelmed by the sheer warmth of you.

“please. please. you’re squeezin’ the life outta me.” as if to prove his point, he starts to slur his words. “i dunno if i can take it.”

“you can.” you dig your nails into his hip bones. “you will. how much time did we waste, dancing around our instincts? we’ve both wanted this for so long—it’s only right that we take everything the other has to give.” 

“then…can we take a break, at least? what if you hurt yourself? it can’t— it can’t be easy.” his mouth falls open, a whimper escaping as you swivel your hips trying to work your way to his base. “you’re so small. too damn small.”

“maybe you're too big. i like it, though. and once i fit you all the way in, i’ll love it.” 

the rapid swell of his length isn’t making this any easier. every time you make progress trying to take him, he only grows even larger inside you.

“you’re the one who begged for this earlier. i want it, too. but you have to help me—i can’t do it on my own, caleb. you've always helped me, haven't you? always been there to look out for me. can’t you do it again?” 

swallowing thickly, he admires you through half-lidded eyes. when you push your lips into a pout, he nods slowly. giving in like he always does.

nerves alight, he wills his hips to drive three feeble thrusts into your heat. it’s a rare show of weakness from him, but even his lacking efforts make you slide farther down. 

of course, your mixed arousal dribbling down his length does most of the heavy lifting.

“more,” you urge. “more. we’re almost there.” 

“i can’t.” he’s almost delirious now. “so, so tight. feel like i can’t breathe.” 

“do it. you don’t want to disappoint me, do you? if you do, you might not get the chance to make it up to me.”

“no…no.” ardent as it is, his refusal is soft. he’s crashing quickly, devoting his waning energy to blinking the tears out of his eyes rather than projecting his voice. “never.” tensing for a moment, he gathers all his strength and rolls his hips, slow and deep, into your center. you accept him greedily, hissing through the dull sting until the rest of your weight falls on his throbbing length. once you’re fully seated, the scandalous slap of skin on skin echoes through the room. his desperate moans and a string of curses follow. 

finally, finally, you feel so incredibly whole. 

you moan, lewd and lascivious, and lean down to kiss the center of his chest. 

“was i good?” he asks, rapid pants fanning the crown of your head. “you feel so good. is this good?”

when you raise your head, he sits up on his elbows, eager to kiss your lips in grateful reciprocity.

it doesn’t take much to dodge him. grinning, you splay your hand across his now flushed chest and push him back down, earning a whiny, defeated groan. sinking impossibly deeper, you give his nose a conciliatory peck. 

“shhh. just stay like this. you don’t have to do anything,” you murmur into his skin. “that break you wanted earlier? we can take it now. i want to get used to this feeling. don’t you?”

[calebapproves]

is this illegal? it feels illegal.

[Gideon x fem!Reader] What happens in the closet during Seven Minutes in Heaven stays in the closet… or does it? Content Warning: 18+, MDNI, explicit sexual content - first kiss, vaginal fingering, some light violence Word Count: 5.3k Author’s Note: the fandom always jokes about how Caleb can be so mean to Gideon sometimes... and after asking myself why for about a year, here's what my brain came up with! beta-read by @blackhearteyes999 AND @nevesnotworking <3 Required Listening: Illegal by PinkPantheress Click here to read on AO3

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2:32 AM.

Caleb and Gideon’s party was finally dying down. 

To celebrate the end of their fifth semester at the Deepspace Aircraft Academy, the boys threw a party with all of their closest friends — all… 30 of them, if you sent out the right amount of invites?

Their house was a complete and total mess. Red Solo cups littered the floor, empty beer bottles overflowed in the trash can, and most of the holiday decorations you had hung up were either torn up or totally missing. A few old pizza slices sat on the kitchen table, too far gone to be saved as tomorrow’s leftovers. It smelled like someone threw up somewhere. You knew it was gonna be a bitch to clean up in the morning. In fact, the carpet will probably need to be professionally cleaned. 

You didn’t mind, though. You were just tipsy enough not to care. 

You tried not to drink so much tonight, but once the party got going, it was hard to stop. Plus, you just had your own round of finals at the Hunter Academy and felt like you needed to celebrate your success. And it was entirely irresistible when their housemate Patrick’s high-end handle of whiskey was pulled out, and he made everyone take shots.

Now, only a few party-goers remained, listening to whatever party playlist someone pulled up on the speakers and relaxing in the living room. You’re nursing whatever was left in your bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, your hand wrapped around its neck as you feel someone throw their arm over your shoulders. 

It’s Caleb, of course.

The weight of his arm pushes the worn-out neckline of one of the many sweatshirts you’ve stolen from him down to your collarbones as he throws back the rest of his can of beer. His warmth and familiarity envelop you, enticing you to lean even closer in his embrace. You can’t lie, he looks as hot as he’s making you feel right now (though sober, you would argue that he always looks hot). You’ve had a crush on him since you were kids, and often fantasized about what might happen if the two of you crossed the theoretical threshold and took that next step in your relationship.

But you knew you’d never have a chance with him. You were like his little sister. He probably wants a girlfriend whom he doesn't have to dote on the way he takes care of you.

Besides, with how good-looking he is, he probably has a whole roster of potential girlfriends lining up at his doorstep daily — and nightly.

Your gaze wanders over to his best friend and long-time roommate, Gideon. They have been friends since Caleb started at the DAA, and you were introduced to him rather quickly. The three of you have become inseparable over the years — tons of parties, going out on the town, that one camping weekend the three of you took a few summers ago…

He catches you staring before you realize you are, his eyes growing wide as saucers before quickly looking away.

Gideon was like the slender, shyer version of Caleb. Something about him drew you in, made you want to get to know him on a more… intimate level. He stayed pretty guarded, opening up about certain topics or stories about his life, but he never fully let you in. It was almost as if he himself built an impenetrable wall between the two of you, one you felt you were forbidden to cross. 

Was it his sweetness, his dorkiness, his lopsided, genuine smile that had you attracted to him? Or was it the mystery that he was trying to hide from you?

Maybe it’s the wine talking, but you really want to kiss that crooked grin he’s giving you right now. 

You notice Caleb lifting his arm off your shoulders, leaning over to whisper something in his roommate Patrick’s ear. His eyes flicker to you for a second before lifting his arms up, stretching his taut muscles. 

You do your best not to give it attention, but you end up catching his impressive bicep rippling from the corner of your eye.

“Okay, everyone, who’s down for a little Seven Minutes in Heaven to spice things up?” Patrick hollers so everyone in the house can hear it.

The party guests get rowdy once more, their hoots and hollers nearly shaking the foundation. But as you look around the room as everyone comes to sit in a circle, you realize you’re the only girl left behind.

Ah, shit.

You don’t go to many parties, yet you know the urban legend that is this game. Like Spin the Bottle, but instead of kissing, you’re locked in close proximity with another “partner.” What happens in the closet stays in the closet.

Please don’t let it land on me…

“It’ll be okay, pips.” Caleb notices your rapidly shifting eyes, patting the top of your head gently. “I’ll make sure nobody tries to pull a fast one on ya.”

You give him an anxious smile. The likelihood of being selected and then paired with someone you don’t know is low… right?

“Yo, anyone got a bottle?”

You hand their other housemate, Blythe, your now-empty wine bottle. Once everyone gets settled, he places it in the middle of the circle and gives it a hard spin. 

“Okay, so first up will be…”

As he spins the bottle with great force, you feel a slight shift in the air, the tension in the room nearly tangible between your fingertips. Out of the corner of your eye, Caleb watches intently as the bottle spins round and round, never slowing down, almost hypnotic in the way it moves. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the bottle comes to a halting stop, its neck of the bottle pointing right at you.

“Me?”

Of course, what are the odds…

You feel your face flush to your ears, embarrassed that all the eyes in the room are on you now. You turn your head to Caleb for some guidance or comfort—

But before you can get a word out, he stands up, rather urgently.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick.” He announces to the group. “Don’t let ‘em spin it without me, pips!”

He saunters off to the restroom, almost too confidently, and it leaves you curious.

He looks way too proud to be taking a shit right now. What’s he doing? What’s he got pl—

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Patrick’s shit-eating grin, waiting for Caleb to shut the door with a click and turn the fan on.

“Okay then, so you’ll be paired up with…” He says, reaching for the bottle again.

“Wait,” you interrupt, reaching over to swat Patrick’s hand away, “didn’t Caleb say not to—“

“Oh, it’ll be fine, he told me it’s okay if we spin.” He says casually. “He just likes to be nosy with this kinda stuff, especially if it’s about you.”

“Well, I’d rather wait for him.”

“Too bad, Princess.”

You scoff at his nickname for you, no doubt one he gave you because Caleb spoils you so much. You sit back in the circle with your arms crossed over your chest, doing your best to make up a comeback for next time.

“So, you’ll be sharing your seven minutes with…” Patrick spins this time, the glass bottle whirling round and round on the wooden floor. For some reason, it doesn’t seem to spin as long as the first time. 

The neck of the bottle settles on the man sitting right next to you.

“Gideon!”

Wait, WHAT?! 

Both your eyes go wide in surprise as you look at each other. You watch Gideon reach for a shot glass, throwing back whatever mystery liquid someone poured in it.

The other guys grab on to your arms, pulling you up on your feet and pushing you to the small storage closet in the far corner of the living room. 

“Hey, get your hands off me!” You try your best to fight them off, but they are much stronger than you are.

“Relax, Princess,” Blythe says as he opens the door to the closet. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

You roll your eyes, yanking your wrist out of his other hand.

“Takes one to know one, ya little p—“

“Let’s not get too feisty, okay?”

Gideon stands right behind you, placing a large, steady hand on your shoulder. His presence gives you a moment of peace before Blythe opens his mouth again:

“Yeah, save it for the closet.”

You fight the urge to backhand him.

“You got the timer?” Patrick asks as he shoves you and Gideon into the closet together.

Blythe shows off his phone screen, already set to a seven-minute countdown. 

You remember organizing this space when the boys first moved into their apartment, filling the shelves with all the cleaning supplies they would need, plus some extra sheets and blankets. You even stored extra Tide Pods near the bottom, knowing Caleb loved doing laundry, especially when you came to visit.

It was a small space with just you setting it up, and now it felt even smaller with another larger body in there with you.

“Aaaaand go!”

The closet door shuts and locks. You could tell from the shadow in the small gap underneath the door that someone was pushing their body up against it to prevent you from even trying to open it. You try to jiggle the door handle, but it doesn’t budge a bit. You even try the light switch, but the bulb has burnt out. A frustrated sigh escapes your lips.

Now, you’re in the dark. Alone.

Well, not alone. But with Gideon, your best friend’s best friend, pressed snugly against you, in this tiny closet space.

“Well then…” You whisper, trying to make your interactions as normal as possible with his broad chest against your back and the curve of your ass against his crotch. “Uh, how’s your night been going?”

He softly chuckles under his breath. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s wearing that goofy smile you like.

“Better now.” His voice is soft, yet charming, sending a light tingling sensation through your body.

You can feel your cheeks burning, yet you weren’t sure if it was from the alcohol or what he may be implying.

“It was getting real rowdy out there, so I don’t mind a bit of peace and quiet in here.”

Oh.

So he’s not really into this, you think. 

But he does have a point. The music and chatter are muffled through the door, so you can't clearly hear the conversations in the living room, giving your mind a sense of relief. 

That means they probably won’t hear anything we talk about, you realize as you relax your shoulders. 

“Besides, out of anyone else out there, I’d rather be in here with you.”

You pause, remembering who was all sitting in the living room.

“Wasn’t I the only girl left out there?”

“Well… yeah…”

Another pause, an awkward silence shared between the two of you.

Guess this is what the next six minutes and thirty seconds will sound like…

Feeling a bit better about this predicament you two are in, you try your best to turn and face him.

It takes quite a great effort in such a small space, your hips accidentally brushing up against the shelves and the closet door as you turn. Silently mouthing an expletive, you step backward, running right back into Gideon again. But this time, as the soft plushness of your hips dips rub against his crotch…

You feel something much harder rubbing back against you. 

OhmygodohmygodohmygodwasthatwhatIthinkitisssss???

You ignore it the best you can, taking small steps until your chests are practically pressed against each other. Your faces are so close, you can smell the shot he just took on his breath. 

A part of you wants to taste it.

Gideon clears his throat, catching your attention. You can’t see much of his face from the light under the door, but you could tell he couldn’t look you in the eye.

“Listen, uh…”

Before he can finish his sentence, you notice the faint light under the closet door turn red, and a familiar song plays in the background.

“Wait a minute,” you nearly spit out, “did they turn on The Weeknd?"

You hear the boys crack up on the other side of the door.

Of course, this would all be one big game to them…

But then, you feel Gideon’s hand tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the pad of his thumb gently tracing your earlobe.

“You…” He whispers.

Your heart starts sprinting.

“You… what?” 

The light from under the door allows you to see the corner of his mouth lift in a small smile. 

“… I don’t think we’ve ever been this close before.”

His flush is slowly creeping down his neck. You don’t need to see it; you can feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“Is it okay?” You ask earnestly.

“More than okay.”

Oh?

“I think the only other person I’ve been this close with is Caleb.” You confess, a bit embarrassed to be saying it out loud.

“Really?” Gideon says, though he doesn’t seem that surprised. “So that means you’ve never been…”

“Nope.” You shake your head side to side.

You’ve never been kissed, never had a boyfriend, hell, you barely had talking stages (though back in high school, you can blame Caleb for scaring them away). You may have held hands with a guy one time, and you didn’t enjoy it because his palms were sweaty.

That definitely doesn’t mean you don’t want to have your first kiss… You just haven’t been given the chance yet.

You feel his hands drop to your hips, squeezing them gently before pulling you impossibly closer to him. The temperature in the closet seems to rise by 10 degrees as you realize your face is much closer than before.

“Would you like to?”

Gideon’s never been this forward with you before. Part of you blames it on the alcohol flowing through both of your bloodstreams, impairing his judgment and leading him to do something he might regret.

“Are you sure… you’d want to kiss me?” You ask timidly, pressing your hands against his chest. You could feel his heart thumping through his shirt, the rise and fall of his breath quickening as the two of you got closer.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. You swear you can hear him gulp before he says his next, carefully chosen words:

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You always wondered what your first kiss would feel like. Would it feel like an explosion when your lips pressed against someone else’s for the first time? Or would it be sloppy and wet? Would it sweep you off your feet? Or would you be too preoccupied with where your limbs should go?

“Five minutes left!” You hear someone shout.

You wish you could tell your younger self that you were about to find out. 

Your fingers quickly travel from his chest up to the nape of his neck, nails pressing into his skin as you press your mouth against his.

It’s like a single firework shoots up your spine, bursting behind your closed eyes. His lips are so soft and so warm against yours, and you can taste the slightest hint of liquor left behind from the shot he took. His grip on you tightens, his fingertips digging into the fleshy part of your hips.

It may have just been a simple kiss, but oh my god, you already felt addicted.

Your knees nearly go weak as you pull away, your eyes widening as you hear Gideon’s ragged breathing. 

“Do… do you want more?”

You nod eagerly, and this time, he takes the lead.

The fireworks multiply and explode in the sky behind your eyes as he slowly moves his mouth against yours. One of his hands leaves your hip to caress the back of your head, changing his angle to kiss you even deeper. It’s such a foreign feeling, and you’re already feeling so dizzy as he takes total control. You try to match his movements the best you can, but he’s much more experienced than you are, leaving you completely stunned.

You feel him nip at your lower lip, tugging gently to coax your mouth open. You allow him entry as your fingers explore his short hair, tongues tangling with each other in a drunken dance, one where both of you are trying to take the lead. It’s entirely intoxicating, you feel like you’re holding on to Gideon for dear life, his strong arms keeping you steady as he kisses you over and over again.

“If you’ve never been kissed,” he whispers between your lips, “does that mean that no one’s ever…”

The hand on your hip dives underneath your sweatshirt, deft fingers desperately searching for your breasts. Goosebumps travel down your spine as his skin touches yours for the first time…

You hear his breath hitch as he realizes you weren’t wearing a bra.

“You…” He pulls away from the kiss, looking down to where your chest was hidden under your sweatshirt, his hand touching the underside of your breast.

You almost laugh as you shrug. “I almost never wear a bra underneath these big sweatshirts.”

“W-why?”

“It’s not like it’s super noticeable…” 

Unless someone is really looking at my chest…

You weren’t as blessed in that department as some of your other friends. In fact, you would bet good money that Caleb’s chest was bigger than yours. It never really bothered you, but it was probably a reason why you’ve never had a boyfriend.

He sucks in a breath before exhaling, palming your breast with his large, calloused hand.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy…”

He presses your back against the door, pinching your nipple a little bit harder than you’d expect, a high-pitched gasp involuntarily escaping your lips. He silences you with another searing kiss, hoping and praying no one behind the door heard the sounds you were making for him. 

You faintly hear the hollers of the guys in the other room, their cheers ringing through the house. Your teeth bite down on Gideon’s bottom lip, trying your best to stifle the moans from spilling out of your mouth. 

With a strangled cry, his other hand abandons the back of your head, both breasts now being caressed in the palms of his hands. He groans softly with each squeeze, biting his own lip when he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You pant heavily, the arousal growing more and more in your lower stomach.

A chill runs through your body as his hands leave your breasts to lift your sweatshirt over your head. His lips find one of your perked nipples, biting and sucking on the sensitive flesh as he pinches the other. You squeeze your thighs as his mouth lavishes his affections against your chest, your fingers gripping his hair to find something to hold on to. 

“You… I…” Gideon breathlessly moans against your breasts, biting the soft skin and leaving his mark on the newly charted territory. 

You feel his hands move to the waistband of your leggings.

“I need to taste you.”

You instantly know what he’s implying, and your heart skips a beat.

You aren’t even sure if you can… well, you know. You’ve touched yourself plenty of times to know what you like, but you never fully “finished.” Your hands alone weren’t enough to satisfy your needs.

But… jumping from just kissing to this? With your best friend’s best friend?

It almost feels illegal. 

Your eyes meet his as he’s searching for your consent, his fingers ghosting over your hips.

Gideon leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready, you know.”

“No, I…” you pause, your heart thumping loudly in your chest. Your reasoning and desire were at war with each other, and with the alcohol still in your system, your desire was winning.

“I want you to.”

He nods before pressing a softer kiss against your lips. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. I got you.”

One hand moved to the small of your back, the other slowly snaking down to the juncture between your legs, over your clothes. His fingers press against your mound, rubbing back and forth on the smooth fabric of your leggings.

Already, your knees feel weak, a dull pleasure traveling through your body like blood through your veins. You jerk your hips forward, watching his hand move over and over again. You pant softly, pushing your hips against his touch for more of that sweet, delicious friction. It aches so bad that it makes you want even more.

“Does… does that feel all right?” He whispers in your ear.

You nod, your eyes waiting to see what he’ll do next.

“Do you… Want me to do more?”

He leans in, his lips brushing the entrance of your ear.

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

If it already feels this good, then…

“Three more minutes!” Patrick’s voice interrupts your thoughts. 

“Touch me more, Gideon.”

“Under your…” he pants, his breath hot on your skin, “under your… panties?”

You nearly whine from his words alone. 

“Please.”

Steadily, his hand moves from your mound and slips under your waistband, his fingertips already making their way underneath the thin fabric of your panties. You feel a bit embarrassed as his fingers travel through the tuft of hair above your apex, mentally cussing yourself out for not shaving the night before. His fingertips cautiously trace your delicate folds, sensing your body tensing.

“Are you okay?” He freezes, not daring to move a centimeter further.

“I’m good,” you sigh, “just… nervous.”

“I know, pretty girl.” He plants a kiss on your cheek. “Can I keep going? I wanna make you feel so good.”

Either the alcohol was really getting to him, or he was drunk with lust.

“Yes,” you reply, meeting his gaze for the first time in what feels like hours.

In an act of passion (or drunkenness), Gideon’s hands grab the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down with your panties, exposing you fully to him. You yelp in surprise before his arm wraps around your shoulders, pressing your back against his chest, locking your body against his as his other hand parts your folds with his fingers. He presses against your clit, two fingertips moving in small circles against your swollen, needy bud. Your moans are swallowed by his kisses as he holds your body against his own, as his calculated movements make your abdomen tighten, almost coiling against itself as four pleasure intensifies. 

Your thighs are nearly soaked; you’ve never felt so wet in your life before.

Slowly, you start to feel his fingers travel away from your bud, to an area of yourself you haven’t ever explored before. Now it’s Gideon’s turn to moan in your mouth, feeling the slick between your thighs for the first time. You swear you hear him curse before his middle digit approaches your entrance, teasing it as he waits for your enthusiastic consent.

“Can I—“

“Yes.”

He pushes against the tight hole, inching further and further against your walls until his finger is completely sheathed inside. It takes everything in you not to cry out so loudly that the whole house could hear. You knit your brows as you throw your head back, knocking the back of your head hard against his chiseled shoulder.

He softly laughs as he draws his hand back, pulling his finger all the way out. “That good, yeah?”

You nod with a muffled moan, your lips pulled in a tight line. 

His finger enters you again. moving in and out of you at a slow and steady pace. Deep thrusts that fill you completely, reaching spots inside you that you never thought were possible to find, tightening the coil that sits low in your stomach. It’s a foreign feeling, and you’re not sure what will happen next, but you trust that Gideon will take care of you.

Now, whether it was the alcohol or your conscience trusting him, you couldn’t really tell. 

“You’re doing great, babe.” He quietly praises you, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “I told you it would feel so good.”

But as you feel your body clenching as he slides a second finger inside your entrance, you hear someone loudly rattling the doorknob from the other side, a frantic string of curses flying from his mouth.

Caleb.

Your body freezes, unsure of what the hell will transpire within the next few seconds.

“Dammit! Why the fuck did you put her in there with Gideon, of all fucking people?” You heard him ask his roommates.

“Chill out, bro. You know he’s a good guy.” One of the guys you don’t recognize reassures him. “They’re probably just hanging out in there. You know he’s not the type of guy to take advantage of her like that.”

“I will tear the door off its fucking hinges if you don’t get her out of there, now.”

His voice was dripping with malice. You know he’d do it, too. 

Despite his best friend’s threats to interrupt the two of you, Gideon doesn’t stop — if anything, he moves his hand faster and harder, his fingers pistoning back and forth inside of you. The stretch of his two fingers is almost too much, your thighs shaking as you dig your nails into his bicep. You silently thank whoever has the music on so loud in the living room that Caleb can’t hear your soft moans or the wet squelching of Gideon’s fingers entering you over and over again.

You feel yourself about to collapse, fall off the edge, something where your body is about to lose all control.

“They don’t got much longer in there, Caleb,” Patrick says. “About a minute left. Wait it out, dude, you’re doing too much.”

You can hear Caleb’s heavy breathing from the other side of the door… or is it Gideon breathing against your ear?

“Are you ready, pretty girl?” He whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You turn your head frantically in response, wondering what the hell he’s got planned.

You hear Caleb’s loud voice on the other side of the door:

“Fine. But if he even accidentally brushes up against her in that closet, I’m beating his ass.”

Suddenly, you feel a third finger sliding inside, stretching you out so full that you can’t even think straight. Your body shudders heavily as your orgasm crashes through you, your muscles tensing as your release splashes against Gideon’s hand. He moans in your ear as your body goes limp, one arm keeping you upright as his fingers drip with your essence. 

Gideon gently pulls his fingers from your entrance, moving them up to his lips. He moves his long, wet tongue over his digits, and you watch his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head through the light at the bottom of the door.

“Delicious.” He smiles, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as you begin to feel your legs again, your feet pressing against the floor to test their strength.

“That… that was…”

“Good, hopefully?” He chuckles, bending over to pull your leggings over your calves. 

“Yeah…” you say, your voice trailing off in a blissed-out daze as your leggings are pulled up over your hips. “… really good.”

He hands you your discarded sweatshirt, throwing it over your head as fast as you could in your post-orgasmic state. You know the countdown is on, and that door could open any second now.

“Okay, so,” Gideon says as your head pops through your sweatshirt collar, “if they ask us what we were doing in there, just say we were chatting and we’re talking about… personal life stuff. Yeah.”

“Personal, embarrassing life stuff?”

“Totally. That’ll explain why your cheeks are so flushed.”

He didn’t even need to be able to see them — he could just tell.

“Wait a minute,” you start to say, “what does th—“

Before you could answer your question, you hear the key slide into the door handle, turning too rapidly for you to finish your thoughts. The door opens swiftly, revealing a familiar face on the other side.

“Welcome back!” Caleb smiles, though you could tell he was absolutely fuming.

“Thanks, man!” Gideon gives a little wave to him as he steps out of the closet, as you follow close behind. You could see the other guys watching the three of you expectantly, as if they were waiting for an interrogation… or something else? You weren’t sure.

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something feels off.

“So, whatchya guys get up to in there?” Caleb asks, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. The way he squeezes you brings you back to just a few moments ago, when Gideon had his arm wrapped around you and his fingers—

“Uh uh, man.” Blythe interrupts. “What happens in the closet stays in the closet. It’s none of your business.”

“Really?” Caleb smirks. “I don’t know when they introduced that rule.”

His arm releases your shoulders as he approaches Gideon. You could tell from the tension in his walk that he was very unhappy.

“Get your coat,” Caleb says. “Let’s go outside and chat.”

Acting as if nothing happened, Gideon grabs his coat from the rack, following Caleb as he opens the front door of their house. 

When you hear the door shut, you hurry towards the front window in the kitchen, trying to get a glimpse of them through the snow falling outside. They didn’t go far, taking a few steps from the front porch, their shoes leaving fresh prints in the snow.

You obviously aren’t able to hear what they’re saying if they’re not yelling at each other, but judging from Gideon’s relaxed body language, things seem to be going… to plan? As long as he’s not sharing anything he shouldn’t…

You watch Caleb laugh at something Gideon said, his cheeks turning red from the cold winds blowing outside. You can’t help but think how cute he looks, reminding you of all the times the two of you would play outside in the winter, battling each other with snowballs and building igloo forts that you would spend hours in, until Grandma would call the two of you inside for supper.

But also, there’s Gideon, who is just as handsome as Caleb, looking even cuter as snowflakes catch themselves on his short, black hair. You were surprised to learn that he’s attracted to you, too, but you wonder how all of this will change the dynamic between the three of you.

Nothing has to change between you guys… right?

As you watch Gideon reach into his pocket and place a tiny piece of fabric into Caleb’s hand, you realize he’s done the unthinkable.

You rub your thighs together, feeling more friction against your core than usual.

Gideon actually stole your panties and gave them to Caleb.

You feel your cheeks, chest, and ears burn red.

You’re so mortified, you can’t hear Gideon’s shouts as Caleb pins him to the snowy ground, knees digging into his biceps as he pummels his fists against his face over and over again. You can’t hear the sound of Caleb breaking Gideon’s nose, the crack echoing through the chilly night. You can’t see his two other roommates rushing out of the house, trying to pull Caleb off of his closest friend, while another friend cheers him on. You can’t see the snow splattered with Gideon’s blood. 

All you can think about is how the hell you were ever going to face them again.

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

umm so Gideon has definitely caught Caleb sniffing MC's panties one too many times and totally stole it as a trophy... right, right

[qintten]

let's ask the real questions here: what's valko's workout going to be?

[hermitsdontwrite]

chasing his own tail

[bentoverbckwrds1]

We have officially entered the omegaverse 🐺

[roguishcat]

❄️Before us❄️

Chapter 1 of 12

Summary: . On paper, Zayne was the perfect husband. Attentive, kind, successful. But whenever he was around MC, he looked at her like she was the centre of his world. And that raised the question. What in the world were you - his wife - supposed to be?

Pairings: Non MC x Zayne, MC x Sylus, Blythe x Caleb

Tags: Angst, hurt, comfort, MNDI, smut, AU, no evol, the LADS are in their 30s, it gets worse before it gets better.

Word count: 2k

Dividers by @orieriee and @diviniyae

A/N: My first LADS fic! So excited about actually posting this. I love Zayne, but this is a take on Zayne that just can't let go of his feelings for MC. MDNI as there is going to be smut throughout the fic starting from the next chapter.

Hope you enjoy! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! 💖

Sitting across from Zayne at the matchmaking agency six months ago, you couldn’t help but wonder how a man that devastatingly handsome was still single. In comparison, you felt entirely ordinary. You were a woman in your mid-thirties, caught up in the relentless hustle of everyday life until everyone around you started settling down. You didn’t mind being single, but you still harboured the simple dream of finding a partner who would treat you well and make you laugh. Never in a million years did you think you would land someone like Zayne.

You knew who he was, of course. Everyone knew. Unless someone was living under a rock for the past decade or so, they’d know that Zayne Li was one of the brightest, most celebrated medics of his generation. He was your age, yet he was already one of the most successful, sought-after cardiac surgeons in the world.

He was everywhere. He didn’t seek the spotlight, but his intelligence and looks meant that he was constantly the subject of gossip.

Best at mending hearts and breaking hearts.

He was so intelligent and perfectly put-together that he seemed entirely flawless, leaving you to joke to yourself that you had enough flaws to balance out the relationship. You had no idea what made him choose you out of all the women that flocked to him wherever he went, but six months later, you were still together.

When your mother found out that he actually chose you, turned up for the first date and that you were actually good enough for him to keep dating you, she looked like she was about to explode. She could finally hold her head high in public as her not a failure of a daughter managed to bag the most sought-after bachelor.

At first, you were just happy that he was nothing like your father. The real reason why your hands still shook when a man raised his voice. The father that would wake you up in the middle of the night because you were ill and coughing, and definitely doing that on purpose. The father who'd look at you and say that he wished you were more intelligent, more beautiful, just more.

You knew that you could love Zayne when you accidentally spilled your drink on him on your third date. You stuttered an apology and tried dabbing frantically at your cold coffee as it seeped into the fabric of his crisp, white shirt.

"Don't worry, it's just a spill."

The softness of his voice and his even gentler fingers taking the tissues out of your hands made warmth bloom to life inside your chest.

"I'm sorry. I'll pay to get it dry cleaned."

"It's fine,” he replied, a faint, rare amusement in his eyes. “Besides, this isn't even in the top ten worst fluids that I had on me."

You knew that you cared for him when he told your mother off for belittling you in public. Having someone other than her late husband contradict her was a novel experience for the woman. Zayne did not bother waiting for her response. He took your hand like it was the most natural thing ever and pulled you away. You felt your shoulders relax as you followed him down the street, feeling that the gratitude that you felt every time he chose you could grow into something more. Something real.

Then came the proposal. When he dropped to one knee and slid an elegant ring onto your finger, you were in such a daze that his words barely registered. You knew that you loved him by the time he proposed just six months into your relationship. You felt it was a little too soon. That perhaps you were rushing into it. But when you looked into his eyes, most gorgeous hazel-green eyes, and saw the absolute certainty and calm, you said yes.

A few days later, you found yourself at a popular dessert spot, waiting to meet his childhood best friend, MC. Feeling nervous, you had asked your only close friend, Blythe, to come along. Because your father’s job required constant moving throughout your childhood, you had grown up as a quiet, isolated girl who found it difficult to speak up or make friends. But years ago, when you walked into yet another new classroom, Blythe had looked up and invited you to sit next to her. You had been inseparable ever since.

Many years later, and you were still friends. Blythe was actually married to MC’s brother Caleb and they had a beautiful two-year-old son. You only met Caleb a handful of times due to his hectic schedule. Caleb seemed warm and easy-going, so you were hoping that his younger sister would be the same.

You had heard so much about MC and felt a flutter of nervous anticipation.

When they arrived you noticed that MC looked nothing like her brother and remembered Blythe telling you about how MC and Caleb were not related by blood. But she had the same warmth about her. MC gave you a tight hug and you felt your shoulders relax a touch.

But then you looked at your future husband and witnessed something rare.

Zayne was smiling. It was a look of pure warmth, and it struck a painful chord inside you. You couldn’t remember if he had ever looked at you that way.

Had it been anyone other than Zayne, you’d think nothing of it. But you could count the times you saw him smile on one hand.

Zayne went to get desserts and drinks for the table.

“You got yourself a keeper,” Blythe elbowed you playfully. “A handsome doctor who’s willing to turn a blind eye when you stuff your face with sweets? He’s alright in my books.”

“Zayne is wonderful,” MC nodded, shrugging her jacket off her shoulders. “I can’t believe it took him this long to finally decide to settle down though.”

The dessert shop was humming with the low, pleasant drone of afternoon chatter and the clinking of porcelain, but to you, the sound had suddenly mutated into a rushing static.

MC’s words hung in the air, innocent but heavy. “I can’t believe it took him this long to finally decide to settle down though.”

“Yeah,” you managed to reply, your voice sounding thin even to your own ears. You forced a tight, polite smile onto your face, wrapping your hands around your water glass. “He’s… he’s definitely full of surprises.”

Blythe didn’t notice your sudden stiffness. She was already leaning over the table, eagerly scanning the menu. “Well, I for one am glad he did. Do you think they have that triple-chocolate mousse cake you were raving about, MC? If I'm going to ruin my diet, I want to do it right!”

“Zayne probably ordered it already, you know how he gets when it comes to sweet treats!” MC said with a soft, affectionate laugh. She leaned back against her chair, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “He pretends to be all strict about nutrition, but he’s secretly a massive enabler when it comes to sweets. He used to bring me these delicious macarons all the time when we were kids. You are not from round here, are you?”

“No,” you smiled. “My family moved here when I was fifteen.”

“And that’s when we met!” Blythe chimed in, leaning over to squeeze your arm. “Seriously, everyone keeps going on about what a catch Zayne is, but I reckon he’s the one who lucked out. You are the best person ever. To be honest, growing up, I always thought MC and Zayne would end up together. What a disaster that would have been!”

“Hey!” MC swatted Blythe’s arm playfully. “I’m not that bad, thank you very much!”

“No, but I’m glad that Sylus is round to call you out when you are being a brat.”

“Hey! Don’t listen to Blythe! “ MC laughed, turning back to you. “I’m awesome!”

“I’m sure Blythe is just exaggerating,” you said in a light tone.

“Just a tad,” Blythe conceded, taking a sip of her water.

“Well, Zayne happens to think I’m great too,” MC teased, looking toward the counter. “And I’m sure he will defend me against Blythe if she keeps bullying me.”

“Aww, little sis, can’t take a little teasing?” Blythe grinned.

“Don’t call me that, we are practically the same age!”

As the two of them continued their playful bickering, your gaze drifted back to your fiancé standing in line as he waited to order.

When Zayne had proposed a few days ago, you had been too dizzy with disbelief to think clearly. You had spent the last six months convincing yourself that his quiet, stoic demeanor was just who he was. You had accepted the lack of grand romantic gestures because you thought he simply didn't possess that kind of expressive warmth.

But five minutes ago, you had watched him greet MC.

You had seen the way his sharp, guarded eyes instantly softened the moment she walked through the door. It was a look of profound, deeply rooted tenderness. A look earned by years of shared history, unspoken understanding, and an affection so deeply ingrained it seemed like second nature to him.

He had never looked at you like that. Not once.

When he looked at you, his expression was polite, attentive, and calm. He was an excellent boyfriend. He listened patiently to your mundane stories about work, took you to nice dinners, and he never made you feel small for your ordinary life. But somehow it felt like the behaviour of a man executing a duty flawlessly. It was the behaviour of a man who had decided it was time to get married, went to a matchmaking agency, and selected a suitable, uncomplicated partner.

And so, you wondered, a suspicion beginning to take root in your mind.

Could it be that he was in love with MC?

And if that was true, what was the point of him marrying you?

You played with your napkin to keep your hands busy.

Was it because MC didn't see him the same way?

Had he chosen you simply because you were safe? Because you wouldn't demand the piece of his heart that already belonged to someone else?

“Here we are,” a deep, familiar voice broke through your thoughts.

Zayne returned to the table, carrying a tray loaded with plates and drinks. With practiced, effortless grace, he began placing them down. He set a rich chocolate tart in front of Blythe, and a cup of black coffee in front of you, accompanied by a raspberry tarte—knowing you preferred lighter sweets.

Then, he placed a beautifully decorated plate in front of MC.

“Your strawberry milk tea, macaron and ice cream,” Zayne said softly. His voice held that same quiet, intimate undertone you had noticed earlier. “They only had one left. Don’t eat it too fast, or you’ll get a headache.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Zayne,” MC beamed, instantly digging her spoon into the dessert. “Oooh, this macaron is as good as those you’d smuggle into my house when we were kids!”

“Yes, I remember,” Zayne replied, relaxed amusement softening his features.  “I had to bring them in very discreetly because you didn’t want to share with Caleb.”

“See? Told ya,” Blythe chimed in with a knowing smile. “Greedy then, greedy now.”

Zayne took his seat right next to you. His shoulder brushed against yours, a solid, warm presence. Under the table, he reached out and gently laid his hand over yours, his fingers lightly squeezing your skin. It was the gesture of a doting fiancé. It was exactly what a man who was in love was supposed to do.

But as you sat there, sandwiched between the man who had promised to spend his life with you and the woman who held the smile you had never quite been able to catch, the warmth of his hand didn’t bring you comfort. You looked at the three of them. So comforatble, laughing, teasing, and sharing memories of a past you had no part in. And for the first time since you met Zayne, you felt entirely alone.

💖 Tag list 💖

@meiyisha, @roastem, @fruitymoonbeams-blog

[bentoverbckwrds1]

[aizawhore]

GMFU

How the lads boys handle you attending a girl’s night out.

(ft. Zayne, Sylus, Caleb)

**MDNI 18+**

cw: slightly modern! au, drunk sex, rough play, car sex, oral (f! receiving) spit play, choking, caleb is his own warning *pseudocest*, slight BDSM, roleplay, p in v sex, anal play, double penetration, fingering, dacryphilia, spanking, overstimulation, squirting, sliiight breeding kink of you squint, everything is consensual <3

a/n: lowk went a bit overboard with caleb bc i’m insane about him :P this is my first work i’ve put out in like ten years LMFAO- crying n throwing up but pls enjoy!!!!

wc: 16.2k wooof

-dividers are from @/cursed-carmine ty ty!!

Zayne - 911!

Pushing through the sea of crammed, sweaty bodies was already enough to make the poor, overworked doctor’s temple throb with annoyance. You said you’d be waiting outside for him, which he already knew you wouldn’t- anticipating that you’d lose track of time and completely forget that he was coming to pick you up judging by the slur of your sweet voice over the phone not even an hour prior.

It was your best friend’s birthday. What kind of friend would you be if you hadn’t agreed to go clubbing for your sweetest girl’s special day?

You weren’t willing to find out, that’s for sure. You called your sweet doctor, letting him know to not worry about having to stay late at Akso due to complications with a couple of his patients seeing as you finally had plans with your girls. He was pleased at first with the decision, understanding that it was your closest friend’s birthday and you yourself deserved to let loose- being such a dedicated and hard worker yourself it was rare to have plans with your friends to get so excited for.

It was when the snowman finally broke through the crowd that he found you tucked away with your closest gal pals- drink in one hand while swaying your delectably full hips in hypnotic circles as your excuse of a dress rode up dangerously high- that any contentment in Zayne’s brain immediately disappeared and turned into something darker.

You were unbelievable- he couldn’t deny that much. Ethereal in your most authentic state, you danced like nothing else mattered while your friends circled around you like a true hype squad. Your smile was bright, cheeks pink with a deep flush and your hair just slightly stuck to your warm skin. You looked ravishing to the doctor in a tight, dusty blue and silver sparkling mini dress. What had him reeling though, was the significant dip in the back of the dress, showcasing the beautiful curve of your spine as you moved and grooved to the beat.

That annoying throb in his forehead deepened and quickly shot somewhere down south, and suddenly the club was rising in temperature despite his evol desperately trying to cool him off. This was a sight that he for more than selfish reasons needed to cut short. For the safety of everyone in the tight space- it was time to call it a night.

You were in a trance, loudly singing off tune to the song blasting in the club’s speakers when suddenly two large hands placed themselves on your hips. Your reaction time was slightly delayed, but you managed to swing yourself around as your mouth began to spit vicious threats.

“BACK OFF! DUNNO WHO Y’THINK YOU ARE TOUCHIN’ ME LIKE THAT BUT M’MARRIED! BETTER BACK UP BEFORE I CALL HIM- ohhhhh heyyyyy babyyyyyy!”

Your sweet smile only grew as a fit of laughter overtook you, putting your drink down before wrapping your arms around the taller man and hugging him tight. From this angle, Zayne’s emerald gaze dropped low to land directly on your soft cleavage that was squished right up against his hard torso. He scoffed to himself~ clearly the front of the dress matches the back.

You didn’t notice the clear tension in his dark gaze, or the way his grip was tightening on your hips the longer he processed the outfit choice you’ve been sporting all night. “Married, huh?” He teased, a familiar swell grew in his chest over your absentminded upgrade to your relationship title. You could only bat your lashes up at him with that signature glossy pout you used specifically when you wanted to get your way. “Y’wanna dance with me?” You purred and pawed at his muscular chest, still clad in his work attire minus the white coat- he’d come straight from Akso.

His glasses inched just slightly down the sharp bridge of his nose, and your half lidded eyes caught it- taking the opportunity to trail your manicured fingers up the broad expanse of his chest, nails ghosting over the warm skin of his neck and jaw teasingly before gently pushing them back into place with surprising accuracy. A mischievous smirk pulling at your plump lips.

He swallowed, meeting your eyes before swiftly spinning you out of the way of a couple of guys that were drunkenly stumbling into your little snow globe of space. Your body swung with ease and you squealed in delight, clutching his thick biceps with the movement. “C’monnn Zaynie,” you begged before he firmly shook his head. His annoyance was throbbing deeper, between taking in your devastating appearance and taking in the way the other men on the dance floor were also staring you down like they could see through the little blue and silver number you deemed appropriate for the night- he was determined to get you out of here and to the privacy of his car asap.

“We can dance our hearts out another night, my love. Come on, say goodbye so we can go home.” He nudged you while politely waving a farewell to your group of friends that seemed quite intrigued by the obviously jealous expression plastered on your boyfriend’s typically calm face. Grinning at you like they all knew the end to your fairytale of a night before you’d even made it to the climax, they offered overzealous waves and cheers of having a goooood night.

Every drink you had tonight hit you all at once as your bare back slid against the cool leather of Zayne’s passenger seat. You only then realized how short your dress was, riding up your thick thighs until the tiniest peak of your white thong was visible to not only your eyes but also the dark emeralds that peered down right at the same time as he buckled you in.

He was quick to shut the door on you and take the long way to the driver’s door, leaving you to stew in your own buzzed nerves. He got in and started driving, avoiding looking over at your half lidded gaze while still being painfully aware of your every movement.

There was a warmth buzzing in the thickening air of the car, despite how short of a drive it was to his apartment- you each felt like you were going to suffocate from the charged tension between the two of you. You plucked your heels off while shifting to face the doctor in the driver’s seat, your back pressing against the warm glass of the window as your feet came up and perched on top of the center console. “Mm, Zaynie,” you huff out while chewing on your bottom lip and savoring the faint vanilla flavor from your gloss.

You were taking all of him in- well, not ALL of him, and that was an entirely new issue. Your eyes bounced between the terribly sharp features of his profile and the way the dark fabric of his dress shirt was straining against his biceps. A deeper craving to feel those bare muscles brush against your skin caused your plush thighs to squeeze together firmer. The longer you stared, the better your memory served you. It was good enough to vividly imagine the feeling of his rough, precise hands squishing and squeezing the fat of your ass while the fat head of his cock crammed itself into your needy hole from behind- you needed to relive this memory immediately.

“What is it? Sit properly in your seat, please. Sitting like that can be dangerous.” His voice was stern, and you could tell his patience was thinning. You grinned to yourself, inching your feet closer to his warm lap while he drove. Maybe if you gave him a little push, he’d surely give you what you wanted, right? A certain wave of confidence that came exclusively on nights like tonight crashed over you and you folded your arms around your chest, your elbows subtly pushing your plump tits together and offering the man next to you a more amplified view of your cleavage.

“Somethin’s wrong, Zaynie. Think I need to see a doctor-” you’re growing breathless from your own arousal dominating your senses, but your bait was easily snagged as he finally turned to look at you once the car stopped at the red light. His expression was sexily concerned, eyes jumping around to find the cause of your statement as well as drink in your appearance.

“What do you need a doctor for? I’m right here, what’s wrong?” His voice, laced with concern almost makes you feel guilty for worrying him- but you can’t bring yourself to care when he’s looking at you like that.

“Doctor Zayne, It hurts. ’m so wet it hurts,”

You spread your thighs as you spoke to reveal the white lace of your thong was now basically transparent from how damp they were with your slick. Zayne’s soul caught in his throat as he slightly choked at the sight alone, making out the exact shape of your pretty, puffy lips weeping against the fabric. He grit his teeth when he felt your little feet brush softly against the growing tent in his dress slacks, feeling completely helpless for a moment behind the wheel. To make matters worse, you held your needy gaze on the doctor’s darkening gaze, bringing two of your own fingers down to tease your own slit over your panties.

“Sweetheart-” Zayne was absolutely dumbfounded by your boldness. The bottoms of your feet stroked and caressed his length with fever as you tugged the soaked fabric to the side, exposing your glistening heat with a breathy whine from your chest. “Make it better, please? Always take such good care of me. Wanna feel you inside me~”

You were a little temptress, a succubus just dying to feed on his soul through his cock- and he found himself more turned on than he’s ever been in his life.

Of course the two of you have always had an agreement to take care of each other even in the event of one of you being more inebriated than the other and it’s worked out great so far- you’ve built a strong enough trust amongst each other not only in your relationship, but through the fact you’ve known each other since childhood. Still, a distant pang of guilt tugged in his chest, he never wanted to take advantage of you.

But you were stubborn, and Zayne knew better than anyone that if you were willing to slut yourself out in his passenger seat like this- it was only going to get worse from here if he didn’t stop you now.

Your skin was on fire, your free hand shot to your chest but before you could free one of your breasts his strong hands were gripping you tight. One hand grasping both of your ankles to stop your feet from their assault on his straining cock while the other captured your wrist that was reaching for your chest. His chest was heaving as he leaned slightly towards you, eyes narrowed down angrily at your shocked expression. You gasped at the sudden sharpness of his movements, heart pounding in your throat and between your sticky thighs as you met his glare.

“Misbehaving like this in the car isn’t going to get you anywhere you want to be tonight. I advise you to behave accordingly and sit properly like a good girl for the remainder of the drive.”

You couldn’t suppress the pout that pulled at your lips as he shifted your feet back over to your side of the front once the stoplight turned green again. You folded into yourself at first, seemingly defeated while your boyfriend white knuckled the steering wheel as he drove even faster than he was, set on wherever his mind was.

Then you could feel that defiant urge sparking up in your chest.

After a moment of tense silence, his cold voice ran warm down your spine once you placed your feet up on the dashboard in front of you. “Maybe if you behave tonight, i’ll give you what you want in the morning. You just can not cause such a distraction when i’m trying to drive.” He didn’t want to be so harsh with you, knowing how needy you’ve grown-, especially from the fact that both of your schedules have been too busy to take care of each other’s needs in the last week.

He’s even found himself feeling equally needy even without the drinks, craving the sweet taste of your syrupy slick straight from the source- and the feeling of your thighs squeezing the sides of his head like the softest pair of ear muffs he’s ever worn. He misses that dip in your spine when you arched your plush ass up into the air for him.

The same dip in your spine that everybody in the club was gawking at all night.

Your eyes widened over his words and your heart sank initially, in the morning!? As in, he won’t touch you until MORNING!??! Oh hell no. You made your choice then and there, if he was going to pull this card and leave you as needy as you were, then you would make it the most regretful decision of his life.

“Don’t then,” you pouted out angrily, letting your eyes fall down to where your inner thighs glistened with your never ending arousal. You felt your skin buzz with excitement hearing his confused breath, dragging your nails down to the hem of your dress before slightly pulling the fabric high enough to fully expose yourself.

“Excuse me?” His eyes were so trained on the road he was missing your little ministrations, only when he heard the distinct squelch! did his head snap over to find you knuckle deep in your own little cunt, back arching off the leather like it burned you. You were panting, pushing your smaller fingers as deep as they could go in your pulsing walls, pretty brows pinched together in concentration while you pulled your thighs back to press against your chest for a deeper reach. The lewd sounds of your arousal splashing against your fingers began flooding the car and you ground your hips down to chase the burning friction- giving your boyfriend the sluttiest view of you that he’s ever seen. You needed to cum no matter what it took, you didn’t pay any mind to the glare Zayne’s eyes were burning into you.

“Don’t look then. Since y’don’t wanna fuck me, gonna fuck m’self,” your free hand boldly reached across the front seat to push at Zayne’s burning hot cheek in an attempt to tear his eyes away from you. Your fingers thrusted harder and the most diabolical whine left your throat, harmonizing with the symphony of your juices dripping down your wrist and all over the leather seat. It was quite the thrill, you could get off just from the sight of him watching you with that furious tick in his jaw-, you’ve really done it in for yourself now. Knowing his patience was being pushed to its limits, you grinned to yourself as you pulled your fingers out to gawk at how your skin glistened with your creamy slick.

Proud of yourself, you brought your digits to your waiting tongue and lewdly sucked off your essence like honey- moaning at the sweet taste before dipping back in to drag yourself closer to the edge. Your thighs were throbbing, as was your boyfriend’s length at the sight of you. You were insatiable, on your absolute worst behavior tonight and despite how aggravated he was with your blatant defiance, he couldn’t deny the carnal need to put you back in your place brewing in his gut.

Before you knew it, the car was parked and you were ripped from the passenger seat and thrown over a shoulder with an excessive force that to anybody else would have looked like the beginning of some true crime horror story. The wind was knocked out of your lungs-, but you grinned wickedly to yourself as Zayne stormed up into his apartment, balancing you on one of his bulky shoulders. Anyone else awake at this hour would be so worried seeing this display, but worry is the last emotion to cross your mind-

You’re exactly where you want to be.

“Hah- Where do you think you’re going? Fuck, be a big girl now, you asked for this after all.”

Zayne’s hips were relentless, slamming against your ass from behind with no sign of slowing down despite the two of you having been at this for what’s felt like hours. His thick cock was taking its anger out on your poor cervix, slamming against it with every thrust and it had you biting down on the disheveled sheets below you. Your arms were bound behind your back by a piece of rope saved for special nights when you got yourself into trouble like tonight, wrists tied together tightly enough to feel the material dig into your skin with every movement~ surgeons always did tie the best knots. Your legs felt like jelly, only able to keep your ass up in the air thanks to your boyfriend’s strong grip on the plush of your round hips.

“A-Ah, please, m’sorry, fuuuuckkk~” your attempt at an apology is cut short when one of his large hands moves from your hip to push your spine into a deeper, meaner arch. You were a pathetic mess below him, drool and tears mixing together to soak the sheets even worse than they already were from your multiple orgasms prior. Your gummy walls were sucking him in deeper and deeper despite your pleas for him to slow down- you loved making him so mad he’d treat you like his personal fuck toy, you just couldn’t bring yourself to admit it.

“No you’re fucking not, haah-, you know exactly what you did. Now, stop running.”

To hear Zayne curse like this was a telltale sign he was just as delirious as you, drunk and losing himself in the sight of his fat cock dragging iiiinnnn and oouuttt of your sopping wet hole. The way your ass clapped so loudly with every thrust had your face burning, but the doctor behind you was absolutely enamored with the sight.

“Mnnh, c-can’t, I-I- ohmygooooodddd, s’too much!Zaynie pl-please!!” You wailed out when the hand that had pushed you further down trailed back to your ass, giving it yet another sharp spank that cracked loudly in the room~ you were gonna be so bruised after this. His palm came down once more for another mean spank before reaching for your wrist restraints and tugging you up until your arched spine met the hot, hard muscles of his torso.

You squealed at the new angle that allowed the crown of his cock to grind even deeper against your constricting walls, feeling his labored breath in your ear once he brought his face to the crook of your neck. You peered over at him through your blurry vision, his hair was an unkempt mess, some dark strands sticking to his forehead as his eyes stayed locked in on your fucked out expression.

The hand that had tugged you back to him wrapped around your waist to hold you steady as he continued to rut into you from behind while his free hand reached around to get between your sticky thighs and pinch at your throbbing clit. His fingers were so precise, giving your sensitive bud the friction you didn’t realize it was craving. You trembled below him, a string of sobs heaving from your chest as you turned your head away from him in an attempt to try and escape him somehow.

“You can. Give me this last one and we’ll call it a night. Show me you’re sorry and be my good girl one more time.”

His gentle voice rang gruff in your ears while his fingers kept working your clit to the pace of his thrusts. He leaned back on his heels just the slightest bit to take in the entire sight of you while he fucked you like it was the last time. Taking in the way your shoulders trembled with every sob, the way your ass jiggled and recoiled with every slam! of his hips, the strings of your sticky arousal that absolutely drenched the base of his cock and kept him connected to the back of your thighs. You were thoroughly worn out, he knew this.

Nobody knew your physical limits better than your doctor, after all. But he also knew you still had just enough juice for one last orgasm, he craved the feeling of your tight walls suffocating his length one last time. You could do it, he was sure of it.

Your heart pounded in your chest when you felt the familiar pressure in your lower abdomen flare up suddenly, tensing up before a sudden slap! on your clit paired with his swollen tip grinding against your g-spot for the umpteenth time had you fucking soaking the sheets. Your limbs gave out on impact, dropping like dead weight while squirting all over Zayne’s cock as you came hard.

Zayne, who was still locked in a trance at the sight of you completely debauched below him, felt his abs clench tight as the sweet burn of his own release was finally approaching. “Fuck, that’s r-right. That’s my girl. Take what I- hah- give you, baby.” He crammed himself to the hilt before shooting his thick, hot load deep in your womb, groaning out a string of curses while his fingers dug bruises into your damp skin.

It was euphoric- filling you up with his cum until it dribbled out around his girth, completely overfilling you. You became incoherent, whining a soft, sleepy “thank you” as your teary eyes rolled to the back of your head in a sleepy bliss. His hands quickly dropped in temperature, utilizing his evol to soothe the deep ache in your body as he smoothed over your sore muscles.

There was a deep satisfaction that stirred within him as he gently pulled out of you with a sigh, moving to untie your wrists before stepping away to grab a wash cloth to clean you up with. You rolled over onto your side, completely out of breath but too exhausted to chase it as you waited for him. He cleaned you softly, pressing sweet kisses into your skin as he resumed massaging your tender skin.

“You did so well,” his voice is soft, and warm against your skin and it had you purring like a cat as you snuggled deeper into the fresh blankets he’d brought you. “Mmh, love you, Zaynie,” you just barely make out in a whisper as he pushes himself up to grab you fresh pajamas from his closet.

He let his eyes drift over to your already snoring figure, asleep and stretched across his bed, a small smile forcing its way to tug at his lips. This was a sight that would always feel like the first time all over again, making his heart jump into his throat from how beautiful you were to him.

He knew all along this was where the night would end up, the way you’d grown so bratty tonight was a lesson learned for him as well as it was for you.

A lesson for him that he should definitely start saying no to these late night overtime shifts to preserve and nurture his relationship with you and prevent this much frustration boiling over like this again~

And a lesson for you that you should have girl’s night out more often~

Sylus - Playtime!

It was one of those nights where the aether core in Sylus’s eye was causing quite the trouble to his otherwise peaceful evening. He was at his desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork with his face in his hands, trying to fit off the burning desire that relentlessly grew in his chest. He was hungry, starving even.

And you were nowhere to be found in the base.

He knew you’d had plans, your little coworkers planned some sort of bar crawl as a way to bond and you were excited. He found it to be a waste of time, but refused to overstep- knowing you’d eventually grow bored and come crawling back as you often did whenever you tried to go out of your comfort zone with nights out like this. The fiend always found these little escapades especially irritating on the nights where his soul longed for yours.

His eye throbbed with frustration and he sighed deeply to himself, leaning back in his chair to stare out at the empty space of his office. He contemplated for a moment, would it be so bad to have you come over in the middle of your little “girl’s night”?

Before he finished his own thought his phone pinged with a very specific notification. Then again. And again.

Kitten: miss u

Kitten: cmere

Kitten: *image attachment*

Sylus opened up his phone to find a selfie of you in what looked to be a more underground bar. The lighting was low, his eyes trailed over the way the shadows stretched across your skin, emphasizing the deep flush across your complexion. He grinned to himself, you were definitely drunk right now. You gave the camera a kissy face and he could make out you were wearing his favorite shade of lip gloss, red. With your eyes half lidded, you had the camera tilted just enough for him to gawk at the swell of your chest, cleavage practically spilling out of your black corset top.

Despite how happy he was to have a current photo of you enjoying yourself, and knowing you missed him as well- his eye began to throb with more fervor. His craving for you burned hot enough to set his entire estate ablaze, maybe it would be safer for him to not see you tonight like this. Maybe he should just sleep his desires off, he can’t trust himself to not push you too far if he were to get his hands on you, especially if you’re already drunk.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, massaging the skin there while weighing all of his options before typing with his free hand.

Your phone buzzed in your lap as you sat in the smaller booth with your coworkers, listening to them ramble on about their recent dating adventures. These girls were super cool, but something about tonight kept your mind drifting back to those deep red irises that you were sure were waiting for you back at Onychinus. You sent your boyfriend a cute selfie, hoping it would get him to take little break from working and come scoop you up.

Looking down at your phone you see his name pop up and slightly frown at the messages you read.

Sy: my beautiful kitten, you look stunning tonight

Sy: what a shame it is for me to be so far away. I don’t know that it would be a good idea for me to come get you. i’m having a slight inconvenience getting in the way of my evening. do you need a ride home? I can send the boys to come get you

Slight inconvenience?

Your sense of judgement is obviously not in its prime at the moment, but somewhere in your gut you have a feeling he isn’t being exactly truthful. You ponder his response for a bit, meanwhile he’s back in his office staring down at his phone with a sense of guilt tugging at him. He should just be honest with you, to give you an actual choice instead of assuming he’ll be too much for you. But he knows himself, he knows how carried away he gets with you- and with you also being drunk adds in an entirely different layer.

Of course the two of you have had plenty of drunk sex. The two of you go through about 3 bottles of wine alone over most dinners you both share, but he knows how you get as well. You’re a force to be reckoned with when you get drunk, and you forget your own limits. He can’t risk hurting you tonight, he nods his head to himself as if he’s made up his mind- he can’t see you. That’s it. He rubs his large palms over his face in exhaustion before dragging his eyes back to the paperwork in front of him.

Then his phone pings again, as if on queue.

He opens his phone, eyes immediately widening at the messages on his screen.

Kitten: 2 bad. i’m inconvenienced too

Kitten: *image attachment*

Kitten: gonna have to take care of this all by myself :(

Sylus was absolutely shocked, staring at a photo you scandalously took in the bathroom of your pretty pussy from under your leather skirt. Of course you weren’t wearing any panties- your puffy folds glistened with your sweet arousal while two of your smaller fingers spread them open enough to show off your weeping hole. God, your nails were red too- he groaned at the sight of his favorite color adorning your pretty, long nails, his cock throbbing harder than his aether core as he inspected your little photo. You’re so wet- are you able to feel his desire from where you’re at? Do you know how bad he’s suffering? Did you send that to taunt him? Did you want him to suffer even worse?

Without another moment, his fingers were swiping away from the photo and Luke and Kieran were sent an urgent demand to deliver you to the base immediately.

This won’t do, you won’t be getting away with torturing him like this while you enjoy your little night out.

Your phone buzzed as you stepped, more like stumbled, out of the bathroom. The air around you reeked of cheap liquor and only added to the thrill you felt of sending such a bold picture to try and get your boyfriend’s attention. No slight inconvenience will keep him away from your pretty pussy, right? You proudly shuffled towards the booth where all of your coworkers were sat, giggling to each other over some hookup story when you finally looked down at your phone.

Sy: 10 minutes. Be outside.

You couldn’t grin harder if you tried. So beyond proud of yourself for getting the big bad leader of Onychinus to fold so quickly for you. You began to bid farewells and had one last group shot, before stumbling your way out of the little hole in the wall bar you’d spent the last hour in. Your hips swayed a little heavier once the outside air brushed against your skin, your bright and prideful ego immediately deflated once your eyes landed on the twins that stuck their heads out of the familiar black sports car.

What are they doing here? Why isn’t Sylus here to pick you up?

What was once pride sharply turned into fear when Luke helped you get into the backseat and you noticed slight unease across his softer features. Nobody said anything for the first few minutes, it gave the alcohol in your system enough time to amplify your nerves enough to finally make you ask the obvious.

“Ummm, where’s Sy?”

Neither of them looked back at you as Kieran drove, Luke awkwardly scratched at his neck with a nervous chuckle. “So, let’s just say that boss man sent us instead because he isn’t too well tonight.”

Your eyes narrowed, leaning forward in the back seat to grip on the oh-shit handle as you pressed further. “Isn’t well how?” You were on the edge of your seat, literally, as Luke continued scratching at his skin.

“He says his eye has been bugging him all day, he’s kinda been in the worst mood ever because of it.” He muttered, Kieran nodding in agreement from the driver’s seat.

You leaned back in your seat, heart starting to pound between your thighs. His eye- the aether core specifically, you know it only bugs him for one thing. Your brain tracks back to how every time his aether core has acted up you’ve ended up being the one in recovery for at least 2-3 business days. Your brain also tracks back to what you’d last sent him, not knowing what he was dealing with and once your brain puts the equation together of what you were on your way to-

A tiny grin tugged once more at the corners of your lips.

You were so fucked.

Arriving at Onychinus, your black heels clicked semi loudly against the marbled floors as you stumbled through the empty halls towards Sylus’s office. Your stomach was buzzing with nerves, an excitement bubbled in your chest but you wouldn’t let it show as you finally reached the large door to his office. Maybe you could play it cool? Act like you totally didn’t send him a pussy pic to tease him before he sent the boys to come get you. Maybe he won’t be so mad if you make the first move and offer to suck his cock as an apology.

Reality was hitting you that this was quite literally like a deadly dragon’s lair that you were about to let yourself enter, but the liquor in your system saw it more as a game instead of a death sentence for between your thighs.

You pushed the heavy wood open to reveal the man you’d been waiting to see all night, already staring at you with a hunger you immediately clocked. You start with your plan and play it cool, leaning against the doorway in a way that amplified the curves to your silhouette and you noticed the way his jaw ticks at the sight. He took you in like he was examining his last meal- analyzing every little detail of your appearance. The tension is overwhelming to a point, waiting for him to greet you had you almost overthinking the thick stretch of silence. Is he mad? He hasn’t jumped your bones yet- so maybe his aether core isn’t as bad as the boys warned you about.

“Come here.” His deep voice was colder than normal, sharp in its command and you hesitated for a second, nervously reaching for the door knob to enclose yourself in the dragon’s lair before nervously shuffling towards Sylus as he remained seated in the large leather chair behind his desk. You made your way to the opposite side of the desk, his gaze growing in weight that hung heavy on your shoulders and you froze when his eyes narrowed at you. For as sweet and warm as he usually is with you, this side of him comes off as terrifying when you can’t tell what his exact intentions are.

“Not there. Here.” His hand gestures to the open space between his lap and the desk. You swallow your nerves, reminding yourself to think of it as a game, before following his orders and coming around to stand directly in front of him. Your eyes fell to gawk at the giant tent straining against his black slacks, his body was emitting enough heat to burn you alive and you’d gladly let it the longer you took in his own appearance from up close. His hands were firmly gripping the arms of his chair, thick thighs spread wide to emphasize the way his cock was suffocating against the confines of his pants. His eyes were half lidded with his pupils blown out, the right one glowing brightly as it drank you in.

His dress shirt was slightly disheveled, the top buttons undone and his silver hair was a total mess, you could tell he’s been pulling at it or running his hands through it non stop tonight. That fact alone made you smirk, feeling a sense of cockiness knowing he was only this down bad for you and you were proud about it.

“Proud, huh? That’s what you feel about the way you taunted me tonight?” His voice was heavy, rough around the edges and your eyes widened- did you say that out loud? Or did his eye just read you like a fucking book?

“Go on, answer for yourself. Tell me how proud you are of your little picture.” His large hands burned your skin through the leather of your skirt as he manhandled you to sit up on the dark wood in front of him. Your thighs squeezed together shyly as you stared at his angered expression. He’s losing patience fast, but somehow you’re finding it exciting deep down.

“I-I uh, I didn’t know, Sy. M’sorry baby,” your bottom lip jutted out in a pout and you didn’t miss the way his eye glowed brighter when his gaze flicked down to your lips for a moment. He cocked a sharp brow, bringing his hands to grip your soft thighs and pull your ass right to the edge of the desk. Your pulse pounded hard, his thick fingers slipped between your knees before using his strength to force your legs allllll the way open. You gasped at the cold air of his office hitting your exposed heat, feeling like prey to the predator that sat right in front of you.

His eyes dared to roll back at the sight of you alone, and before you could even try to close your legs-, two of his thick fingertips traced your dripping slit from your entrance up to your clit, circling the cute nub as it twitched below his fingers. Your face burned as he brought his fingers to his lips and you watched him lick and savor your taste off of his digits. You were in a trance from the sight, feeling your cunt gush with an arousal that matched the heavy tension that still lingered in the room.

“You didn’t know? Funny, this sweet pussy of yours is telling me she knew all along how cruel it was to send me such a picture even after I said it wasn’t a good idea for me to see you.” His hands were pushing your skirt all the way up to bunch around your waist before pressing his face between your thighs to run his hot tongue up your folds without warning. You cried out, back arching into his face and brought both of your hands to grip at his silver locks as a means to ground yourself. He grunted out, “we’ll have to work on getting your mouth to be as honest as your body.”

It wasn’t long at all before you felt a sharp, heavy grip on your wrists that forced them behind your back as his lips closed around your now swollen clit and sucked!

His hands remained on your inner thighs while your own strained against the force of his evol restraining your wrists to keep them from interfering. He groaned at the raw taste of you, shoving his tongue even deeper inside of you through your cries. Your eyes rolled back, hips twitching to chase his tongue as it fucked into you at a brutal pace. You were delusional from the pleasure alone, looking down to see him completely lost in you, devouring you whole. Your feet rested on each of his knees and you whined out before trailing your heel clad foot up his thigh to nudge the heavy bulge in his pants.

The groan that echoed through his office was the only warning you got before your back hit the hard wood, and your knees were pressed against your chest hard enough to knock the wind out of you. His evol stretched around your thighs to lock you in place, despite how hard you struggled to free your legs once more. The fiend below you was now hovering over your fully exposed cunt, spitting angrily against your clit just to watch it slide all the way down to your quivering hole before shoving his tongue back inside your gummy walls. You were ascending, toes curling against your shoes as the pit in your stomach swelled with a burning hot need for him to fill you all the way up.

“You ran around with your little friends wearing this without anything underneath it- did you know tonight would end this way? Did you know all along i’d devour you like the little treat you are? I hope you’re ready for a long night, kitten,” two of his fingers slid all the way inside of you and curled, the squelch rang loudly in your burning hot ears and you cried out at the stretch. Shaking your head, tears stung at your lashes as you tried to look past the red mist that bound your legs to your chest at him. You couldn’t see the way he was drooling at the sight of your slutty hole sucking his fingers in, curling his fingers again to strum against your g-spot.

“N-No! Thought you’d- AH!”

“Lying doesn’t suit you,” he’s adding a third finger now, the stretch intensifying as he began rocking the digits in and out of your gushing hole. He brought his thumb back to press down against your pulsing clit, listening to your cries of protest with a cruel smile.

You were so close already, thighs tensing against his evol you could taste your own release with the way his fingers worked you straight to it. “Sy-hah-Sylus, I-fuuuuuck, ‘m sorryyy~ m’gonna cum please,” you began to plead with the man, not even sure what for, as you began to tremble against the solid wood of his desk. Your jaw was slack, gasping for air to fill your burning lungs as you craned your neck to watch him bring his tongue back to sloppily lap at your clit.

It was when you felt his fingers twirl inside your throbbing walls and you felt his pinky just barely press against the rim of your empty hole, the semi-foreign feeling shot you straight past the finish line as you writhed against the desk in ecstasy with what sounded more like a howl than a scream. He pressed his pinky in past the first knuckle, stretching you with slight caution. It’s been awhile since he’s played with you there- and he lets out a satisfied hum with how much harder you cum because of it.

Your veins flooded with white hot pleasure, blood pounding loud enough in your ears to completely miss the sound of a drawer opening. That white hot pleasure quickly became sharp overstimulation once Sylus placed the red rose toy against your still swollen clit and turned it on.

You choked on something between a scream and a gasp-, slamming your head back against the desk with a relatively loud thud while your hips thrusted up and sideways to attempt an escape from the vibrations. As much as this man loved to watch you struggle, his desire to make you submit completely overpowers anything else in his mind as he decides to stand from his chair and tower over you. His fingers stayed inside your sobbing cunt and your tight ass and continue working your holes open, as his other hand pressed the rose firmer against your clit. Everything burns as you’re reminded of how much bigger he is than you, trembling under the pressure of his stare along with everything else you’re feeling.

You barely notice the quick look of admiration in his scarlet irises before they darken with a burning hot desire that matched the deep heat in the base of your spine. His chest was heaving from how hard he was holding himself back, refusing to take you exactly how you both wanted before dragging you to your absolute limit. He needed you to feel as desperate as him, to feel the carnal need for his soul like he felt for yours. He needed you delirious, strung out as far as you could take it.

Deciding it was time to crank the heat back up, his thumb nudged the vibration setting on the rose up before using his evol to hold it firmly against your sensitive nub. The hand that had been holding it reached to clasp your throat, cutting off your airflow while he pressed his pinky finger allll the way inside your ass. You screamed at the feeling, thrashing against him once more in hopes that it would get him to slow down- but you knew deep down it was pointless. Without your safe word, you knew he wouldn’t stop- especially with the way his eye was practically illuminating the room with its neon glow.

“C’mon, kitty. Don’t run from it now, you wanted it to be like this,” he purred against the skin on back of your thigh as he leans down before placing a hot kiss to your sensitive skin. His one hand was still gripping your throat and intermittently applying and taking away pressure for you to get just enough oxygen while his kisses turned into bites on the plush skin of your thighs. You sobbed out, still squirming and babbling when he pulled his ring finger from your pussy to join his pinky in stretching your smaller hole out even more.

“You’re really good at running away, sweetie, but it isn’t going to benefit you if you keep trying.” His tongue ran hot against your skin, soothing a deeper bite he’d just left on your inner thigh that was clenching unbearably hard.

Your back arches against his desk as you hiss from the pressure pooling in your abdomen. He was so good with his fingers, knowing exactly how to make overstimulation feel so fucking good- knowing exactly how to make your holes squeeze and suffocate his digits.

This was everything he’d been needing, craving the sight of you completely at his will. He needed to have you writhing from the pleasure he’s forcing on you, corrupting his sweet kitten like this was always what his aether core craved on nights like this.

“Open, sweetie.” Sylus is now face to face with you, leaning over your trembling figure as the hand on your throat let go to trail up your jaw. You were everywhere all at once, so strung out already from the pleasure but you tried your best to focus on him, letting your jaw open and sticking your tongue out obediently.

If the brooding wasn’t already in heaven, this sight of you below him like this absolutely sent him to the pearly gates. He hums in satisfaction before leaning his face down, letting a wad of his spit drop down onto your waiting tongue which you immediately swallowed. Your blurry vision catches the way his grin stretches before he’s slamming his lips against yours.

His fingers curled deeper in each of your holes, rocking his wrist in a way that had you seeing stars. His tongue dragged against yours as you kissed, groaning into you as he’s sharing the sweet taste of your slick. You kiss him back with every ounce of energy that you can muster, feeling your core tighten and burn with another orgasm approaching.

You hear the wet pop! before registering his lips have left yours before you watch him disappear between your legs again. You scream when he replaces the two fingers in your smaller hole with his fat tongue, the groan he lets out vibrates against you in tandem with the rose.

One thing about Sylus, aside from the fact that he is and always has been the messiest eater, is the fact that he is a certified ass man. It was a bit more rare for him to get this down and dirty with you, but the way your little cunt was absolutely drooling the second he started giving your neglected hole a little attention gave him the green light to get on his knees and give into his own desires selfishly.

You cum even harder this time when he fucks your ass with his tongue, still working your cunt with his two fingers and the rose that buzzed torturously against your swollen clit. The satisfied man opens his eyes just in time to catch you squirt right on his face. He’s in complete awe at the sight alone, already ready to force you into a stronger wave of overstimulation when his free hand reaches for the settings button on the poor rose toy.

Yeah, you’re finally starting to regret sending that pussy pic right about now…

The deafening sounds of Sylus’s strong hips slamming into yours were enough to echo throughout the entire base- such obscene squelches rang in your borderline deaf ears as Sylus pounded you from above. You’re practically upside down, upper back against the floor with your ass held up with slight help from his evol as your ankles were pushed past your ears~ your toes were definitely touching the floor and you had no idea you could ever be this flexible, but didn’t have the brain power to even process the fact that you were.

Your back was on fire from rug burn as Sylus pounded into you, each thrust shoving you deeper into the floor as his hands pressed firm bruises into the backs of your thighs to keep them in place. A cute little plug stuffed in your smaller hole adorning a bright red ruby that his heavy balls smacked with every plap! that echoed through his office. You’ve cum so many times you’ve completely lost count- the fiend above you would be lying if he said he hadn’t lost count either.

Your muscles burned, they ached with a deep exhaustion from how many positions your boyfriend has fucked you in, from how many orgasms he’s ripped from you when you thought you didn’t have anything left in you.

Like now, you surely were going to give out at any second, your body endured the force of his hips as he crammed his fat cock as deep as it could go, angrily kissing your cervix as he panted above you.

“You’re going to be the-hah, the death of me, sweetie.” His voice strained with his thrusts, moving one of the hands on your thighs up to brush against your abused clit. You felt so numb, but the way his fingers traced circles against you had you jolting from the stimulation.

“Syyyy- st-stop, g’na-mmph, can’t! I can’t!”

Your voice gargled out a plea, but it went in one of his ears and out the other as he stared down at the creamy mixture of your cum and his seeping out and dripping onto the floor below where you were connected. “You can. And you will.” His voice boomed, landing a sharp smack! on your clit to emphasize the control he had over your body. Your eyes rolled back, sobbing out incoherent pleas as you sunk your nails into the remaining evol that stayed wrapped around your wrists above your head.

He brought his hand down to your face, tracing the skin of your jaw that was damp with sweat before pressing two of his slick covered digits to your swollen lips. You didn’t have the energy to deny him entrance into your mouth, tasting the both of you when your tongue lazily swirled against the pads of his fingers. He groaned like a pornstar at the sight, grinding his hips deep enough to make you feel the tip of his cock kissing your heart through your ribcage.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The overwhelming fullness had your teeth biting down weakly on his fingers, making him stutter and grip your jaw tighter. “Fuck, bite me harder.” He demanded, voice choppy in your ears and more tears burned down the sides of your face as he pleaded for you. His knees were equally burning from the carpet below, but he couldn’t care less as he pressed his fingers down against your hot tongue. His heart was racing from how close he was to his final orgasm, he knew this would be enough to satiate the aether core as well as his own pent up desires. You were so perfect like this, radiant underneath him as you were completely fucked out and his. If you were maybe a little more coherent, he’d ask you to marry him right here and now. Hell, little did you know he technically did already have a ring ready for you hiding in the bottom drawer of his desk.

You obliged his request, and the second he felt your teeth bite down on his flesh again his own eyes finally rolled to the back of his skull as he fully let go and gave in to his desires for the last time tonight. The air was knocked out of your lungs as he fucked you hard enough to make you see white- the pearly gates themselves began to fizzle into reality in front of you as your cunt strangled his girth one last time while he filled your walls once more with his burning hot seed.

You cried out together before your body went completely limp, you would’ve dropped like a fly had it not been for his careful hands maneuvering you to lay gently on your side as he reluctantly pulled out of you. He watched the way your combined juices slipped out of your hole, and scoffed softly before bringing his fingers down to press them back inside. “Can’t waste a drop, kitten.” His voice purred, but it sounded distant as you slipped in and out of consciousness.

This was prime time to assess the damages as he came down from his own high, letting his gaze trail over your entire body to check for bruising, burns from the carpet below you, and handprints from spanking you relentlessly countless rounds ago.

He sighs to himself, knowing you’re okay but still acknowledging he may have gone a bit overboard- exactly what he predicted.

The two of you stayed as you were on his office floor for a good long while, you had fallen fast asleep to the feeling of his fingertips softly running up and down your side to ground you after such an intense session. A pit in his chest burned at the sight of you sleeping so cozily, how was he supposed to clean you up without waking you? No bother- if you wake he’ll just lull you back to sleep.

Scooping you up in his burly arms, he draped a blanket over your sleeping frame with a small smile. A hot bath sounds nice, he can hold you close and clean the both of you up all at once. He smiles proudly to himself as he takes in the sight of his demolished office space, it reeked with the smell of sex and your vanilla perfume, making him huff a quiet laugh before stepping out and down the hall to run into two seemingly agitated red headed boys.

“Jesus christ. Did you kill her?” Luke gawked at his father figure while Kieran pinched the bridge of his nose angrily. “Thought we were gonna need a body bag, boss-man. Next time boss lady goes out for girl’s night and your aether core starts to act up at LEAST send us out somewhere for the night instead of subjecting us to THAT.”

The silver headed man was typically a proud man. A man that always found embarrassment to be pointless when it came to the noise levels of your “sessions”. But the way his two henchmen were chastising him mixed with the post nut clarity of how hard he really went on you managed to make the tips of his ears burn with a nervousness he’d never felt before. Of course, it was more-so a nervousness for you to wake up and realize the twins had heard you, but still-

“I did not kill her,” he began with his defense, holding the blanket tighter around your naked form as he looked down at the irritated boys before walking past them, calling out, “And to be fair, I don’t think our boss lady will be attending another girl’s night out for a long time.”

And with that, he slammed the door to his bedroom shut- leaving the boys to dwell in their mortification as he began running his sweetest girl a relaxing hot bath to clean you up in.

Caleb - XOXO!

It was a normal weekend back home from university, you’d found out about a group of friends from school were getting together to celebrate finals being right around the corner, and you’re beyond overdue for a break from all the stress of homework and studying. Too bad coming home from Uni always came with a daunting tax, that tax coming in the form of the terribly hot boy you’d grown up next to. Caleb was fucking gorgeous. Tall, built like an absolute unit with brunette hair that shined in the light just like his violet eyes that always seemed to glimmer when he looked your way.

He always seemed to find a way to visit home the same times that you did, and you almost wondered if he was tracking you with how spot on his timing seemed to be.

This visit though, you’d pull one over on him.

If he knew you were going to a girl’s night out, he’d surely pull some overprotective shit to try and keep you from going. Whenever he played the “big brother” role that the universe should have never cursed you with, you grew sick to your stomach. Something in your heart never went back to normal the older you got, only growing more sore as the pulse between your thighs when you saw your Gege grew stronger.

You hid it well though, keeping enough distance from him to prevent any form of suspicion that you’d felt anything inappropriate towards the one person you weren’t supposed to. He was your best friend at the end of the day, that alone should make it easy to drown out any and all attraction towards him.

But fuck, the sound of his voice alone was enough to have you squeeze your aching thighs together.

You shake your head to yourself, doing a once over in the mirror before shooting your friends a text that you were ready to be picked up. Caleb had just left for the gym, and you hadn’t said a word to him about your plans tonight. It wasn’t any of his business anyways, so what did it matter? Still, you nervously adjusted the hem of your strapless lavender mini dress. You never dressed so boldly, but you felt good about the way your curves filled out the soft fabric of this dress, especially where the fabric clung to your ass in a way that emphasized every movement.

Tonight was casual yes, but, you’ve been feeling a bit strung out since you’d last ended things with your ex situation-ship, and you were quite open to meeting someone new- even if it was just for a night.

You stepped into your black kitten heels and threw on your favorite perfume- a warm amber fragrance Caleb had actually gifted you for your birthday last year- before heading downstairs and out the front door to meet your friends that were waiting in the loud ass jeep outside. They all squealed together at your appearance and you squealed with excitement in response, the typical greeting you often gave each other especially when everybody looked so good like tonight.

Thank the lord Caleb isn’t here to chastise you or force you to change.

You’ve been gone for at least two hours by the time Caleb comes home from the gym and a short drive to clear his head. He needed to blow some steam off when he’d “accidentally” caught a glimpse of you in the shower through the crack in the bathroom door. The sight of your silhouette through the steam was enough to have his cock achingly hard, and even though he couldn’t make many of your features out too well, the sounds of you lathering your body in that sweet, apple scented body wash was enough to have him palming his length over his sweatpants.

Fuck, it was so wrong of him to be so turned on by you- he couldn’t help but wonder what you’d do if you’d caught him. If you had caught him any of the countless times he’d jerked his stiff cock to minor glances of you prior to this afternoon.

Would you have screamed and freaked out on him? Or would you have invited him in for a closer look?

He shakes the earlier memory away as he jogs up the staircase of his “grandma’s” house, at least that’s what the woman that took both of you in as kids wanted to be called-, and he found himself frowning when he notices the silence that echoed in the house. Were you sleeping? He knocked softly on your shut door, “Pips? You in there?” He gave it a moment before deciding to crack your door open.

His chest tightened not just by the fact that you were MIA, but the fact that you were MIA and he could faintly sniff out your favorite perfume. The same one he bought for you because he’d never smelled something so pretty in his life, perfect for the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his life. His eyes narrowed at the context of this smell though, you’d been suspiciously quiet today, and now that you’re gone his mind can’t help but race.

Are you out on a fucking date right now?

Who would you even be out on a date with? Your Caleb had a knack for technology, to a point where he knew all of your passwords and knew you’d recently blown things off with the guy you’d been seeing over the last semester. Caleb couldn’t help but sigh with relief when he’d snooped through your breakup messages, but quickly felt a foreign surge of anger when he read a little deeper to discover how truly unsatisfied you were in your sex life.

The messages you’d sent dogging on his head game after he’d passively dissed your hyper sex drive was enough fuel for his imagination to last a good month or two. His mind immediately wandered to how horny you typically were, and if his own never ending sex drive would be enough to match you. He’d wondered how soft you’d feel against his tongue, if you’d sit on his face to let him chow down on your sweet pussy or if you’d arch that perky ass of yours up to let him eat you from behind.

Who on Earth would you be going on a date with if you haven’t even been texting anyone new!?

From the club you’re at, you feel your phone buzz as you down your third green tea shot of the night. You look down and feel your chest flutter initially as Caleb’s contact showed up in a text notification.

Big Apple: piiips whered u go? thought i could cook one of ur favs 2nite ;(

You don’t fight the blush that spreads across your face and decide to type something back.

Pip Pip! Hooray!: i just went out for a little girls night out with a couple friends! should be back home tn but if something changes i’ll lyk! :P

Caleb can’t shake the knot growing in his stomach as he reads the message plastered on his screen.

Girls night out? With who!? Why the fuck didn’t you say anything to him before?

The man begins to spiral, spitefully opening the drawer in front of him to fish out a pink lacy thong to hold close to his face like a safety blanket. He inhales the fabric, the faintest smell of you mixed with your favorite fabric softener would typically calm his nerves when he’d get worked up about you, but in this case- it only spurred him on in his growing spiral.

He has to be rational- he can’t scare you off but his thumbs start typing again before he can stop himself.

Your phone buzzed once again as you danced with your friends, you spun your way out of the dance circle back to your little section just to check the notification.

Big Apple: girl’s night? why didn’t u tell me before xD i can drive you home tonight, don’t worry about it :)

Your brow furrows down at the screen, how the hell are you gonna tell him that you’re actually looking to hook up with someone tonight and will not be in need of his services?

Well, fuck, you’re so in need of his services- but, you clearly can’t say that either.

You send one last message before finally putting your phone down to re join your friends, your favorite Megan song started booming in the speakers.

Pip Pip! Hooray!: how about we play it by ear gege. i’ll let you know <3

He takes another long whiff of your panties as he reads your message for a second time. You have no idea what calling him that does to him. Having no blood relation, but still referring to him as your big brother, it makes something extremely dark brew in his gut- something dangerous.

He paces your room for a moment, pocketing the lace before stepping out to go in his old bedroom right next to yours. He digs around his nightstand for his backup phone, turning it on and opening instagram to access your account instead of his. He went through your DM’s, scrolling through your conversations to see what kind of trouble you were getting yourself into. He found nothing at first- no new messages, comments, or likes even. No tags as to where you’re at, which makes him huff out in frustration before pulling up your location on his secret tracking app.

You’re downtown, at one of the rowdiest clubs Caleb’s ever been to. He feels his pulse intensify as his phone finally pings with a new notification from your instagram- a story mention.

Bingo.

He expected a group selfie or picture, you somewhere squeezed in with a bunch of other people also tagged. Something of substance to hold him over until he decided to swing by the club himself to pick you up regardless of “playing it by ear.”

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

You were in your zone, dancing with your best friend when another Megan track started blaring in the speakers. The beat was fluid, possessing you to move your body as provocative as possible. You would’ve made your queen proud with the way you swooped down to the floor, balancing on your ankles as you put your knees to work and bounces your ass in a whole ass circle along the beat. Arms in the air, you threw your head back as you hollered the lyrics out and threw your ass back like your life depended on it.

Before you knew it, one of your friends had the flash on you, capturing the way the fat of your ass recoiled with every movement before your best friend crouched down and smacked your ass over your dress that was just barely covering your cheeks as you danced. You glanced back at the camera with your tongue playfully poking out, not shying away as you switched your rhythm up- shooting back up to throw it back some more against your best friend’s torso.

The video only lasted about 13 seconds, your friend proudly announced how hot you looked, how she wouldn’t be able to recite what the color of ANYTHING was before tagging you and posting it to her story. You grinned as you continued dancing, hopeful that maybe your semi pro dancing skills would elicit enough of a reaction to get you fucked tonight.

Elicit a reaction you did.

Fucked you were.

Caleb was rendered speechless as he watched the video on repeat from your account, blood pounding in his ears loud enough to drown the video’s audio out. The logical thing he could get himself to do at first was obviously screen record the video- there was no universe that he’d be able to see content like this of you again unless by miracle you felt the same way about him that he felt about you. Not likely.

A rage burned in his chest as he watched the way you moved, seeing your dress just barely covering your plump ass he almost could peek at what panties you’re wearing in the video when you go to stand. Growing angrier with the fact that if he could make that much out from just a video- he can’t let himself imagine the view that whatever guys are at the club are currently getting of your slutty little dancing.

He was moving like your actual life was on the line, gripping his keys before racing to his truck and speeding towards downtown.

You were dancing your little heart away in the meantime. You determine that shaking ass with your friends should be a weekly requirement- this was the most fun you’ve ever had. Your little video was stacking up views, and your phone was flooding with men showering you in compliments. Some cheesier than others, you’ll admit, but you couldn’t find it in you to care as long as it ended with you getting your pussy devoured like it was somebody’s last meal.

You’d sent a couple flirtatious replies back, one of which was to an old fling from your freshman year. You’d sucked him off once during seven minutes in heaven and the timer ended before he could ever repay the favor, but seemed more than willing. He was actually in town this weekend with some of his own friends, and was on his way to meet up for a drink.

He showed up quicker than you expected, flirtatious as ever as he offers to get you a drink. By the time you make it to the bar and your potential hookup orders your drink, you feel a sudden energy change in the club. Something’s off but you can’t quite place it, shrugging it off you notice your drink is in the guy’s hands, and he’s smirking down at you before a heavy hand is on the small of your back. Your eyes widen, goosebumps prickling your skin from the contact as you look next to you to see none other than Caleb, burning absolute holes into this guy you’re talking to.

What the fuck!?

“That drink isn’t for my Pipsqueak, is it?” His voice was curious, you were too dumbfounded to react beyond your jaw dropping to the floor from the way his hand wrapped around your hip and gripped, pulling you snug into his side. He was warm, and he smelled so comforting, but you felt super nervous about the way he was holding you and how hard you were probably blushing because of it.

“Your what? Sorry man, just buying my old friend a drink so she and I could catch up. Though, you didn’t tell me you had a man.” His tone grew sharp as his eyes shifted from Caleb to now you. He thinks you and Caleb are together!? Although the assumption does something to your stomach you begin shaking your head frantically to try and mend the situation and scold Caleb for being overbearing as usual, but then Caleb opens his mouth again and you’re completely dumbfounded.

“Buying her a drink? Cute. You always roofie drinks you buy for pretty girls? Or just her?”

WHAT. THE. FUCK!?

The guy in front of you pales as though he’s seen a ghost, eyes shooting between my shocked gaze and Caleb’s murderous gaze as he gripped the glass tighter. “I-What!? What are you talking about, man!?” He panicked, but your eyes tracked the drink in his hand. Right on par, you noticed a bit more carbonation than what’s typical for a regular rum and coke- as if something was dissolving in the drink.

No fucking way Caleb just clocked that.

And the way he called you pretty? That wasn’t like how he normally complimented you.

“If I were you, i’d dump that drink and get the fuck out of here. Before I change my mind on being nice.” Caleb sounded angrier than you’d ever heard him, and your stomach pooled with the all too familiar heat you’d always carried for him. Sighing with frustration to yourself, you watched the guy you were previously planning to hook up with scurry off like a scared little mouse.

Well, though you’re eternally grateful for Caleb saving your night, you can’t drown out the disappointment of another potential hookup flushing down the drain.

“As for you,” there goes his voice again, but this time it was right in your ear- quiet yet still much louder than any of the music playing in the club. You shivered, unable to help it from the proximity and the way his violet eyes bored into yours. He was pissed, that much was obvious, you blinked up at him and he almost folded right then and there as he looked down at your flushed expression, his anger completely diffusing.

You really are the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

“Pipsqueak, I-I’m sorry for just barging in on your night, I was just-” it was then that he realized just how close he was holding you. His fingers were splayed across your plush hip, face only mere inches from yours. He was close enough to notice the way your breath hitched as you came to the same realization, the way your pretty lashes fluttered as you tried to process the proximity, the way your gaze flickered for a split second- but that split second felt like forever when you glanced down at his lips.

Wait a second- is he imagining this!? Did you just check him out?

He’d felt bad about barging in without the invitation- but the second he’d notice that shit bag you were with’s wrist flick ever so slightly over your drink while you were staring off in thought made him see red. This is exactly why he doesn’t like you going out without him, what would you have done without him? You always need your Caleb, and he’s more than willing to prove that to you in every way.

He grew lost in your eyes for a moment, the anger- guilt- everything he’d opened his mouth to attempt an apology over and explain himself about, died in his throat as he watched you purse your glossy lips. He found himself wondering if your lipgloss was apple flavored like your body wash. You leaned into his hold with a huff of your breath, breaking eye contact with a saddened expression as you’d mentally accepted your sexless fate- quickly covering with a small smile.

“Thanks, Caleb. Didn’t have to come check on me but man, i’m sure glad y’did.” Your grin feels forced, and your breath catches in your throat when Caleb’s free hand holds your chin and pulls you back to look at him. Your heart is absolutely pounding at the forced contact, you almost whine from his soft touch as he holds you close- “talk to me, pip. What’s happening in your brain?”

You don’t get the chance to answer as a loud squeal echoes in your peripheral. You both snap your faces to find your friend group rushing you with eager expressions. “Excuse me!? Who’s this tall glass of handsome!?” One of your friend inquires, the way she sized Caleb up makes a pang of jealousy strike down your spine.

“Wait a second! This is the guy from your pictures in your dorm!! Wait, oh my god- the photos don’t do this hunk ANY justice! Why the fuck do you never talk about him!? I’ve been wanting to ask who he is to you buuuut, think it’s obvious,” another girl rambled and the group started nodding in agreement, egging each other on to keep commenting on the way you both looked so good together.

Your stomach dropped- fear engulfing you as you nervously looked between Caleb and the girls. You never talked about him for a reason- but kept all of your photos of the two of you in your dorm to look at when you felt down. Not only did you not care to explain your weird relationship, the assumed “makeshift family” vibe always irked you to talk about. But to give any of your friends an inch to gawk at him or even an idea that they’d ever have a shot, had you absolutely fucked up.

Caleb was beside himself internally. Here you are, looking like you got caught with your hand up your dress, cute face beet red and at a loss for words right after your friends basically outed you for hiding your relationship from them. Curiosity piqued his interest, you never told them about him, and they’re openly assuming you’re together- granted, it sure may have looked like it with the way he was just holding you. He couldn’t have cared less about the assumption, honestly preferring it without admitting that fact.

But you- why would you not clarify? Did you want the impression to be that you’re together? He noticed the way you tensed as they complimented him, growing delighted at this new revelation.

Are you jealous?

Do you really feel the same way?

Only one way to find out.

You feel his heavy arm drop around your shoulders, anchoring you back into his toned torso as he leaned his face up even closer to yours, breath fanning your jaw. “C’mon, Pip. Go ahead and tell them what I am to you. Can’t believe you’ve been keepin’ me a secret.” The angle of which he had you up against him gave him the perfect view of your cleavage straining against the thin fabric of your dress, he felt that same familiar heat pool in his spine watching your chest heave as you tried to get your shit together.

This is a pivotal moment in your life happening right now- you’re suddenly on the spot stuck between the sharpest rock and hardest brick wall. The way Caleb was leaning his weight on you posed the most pressure on you rather than your friends. You could always shrug them off and laugh, but Caleb-

He always did everything with intent, so the way he was holding you- held you just earlier- it was different than anything you’d ever felt before in your life. He’d never touched you with such a sense of possessiveness before- could it have been just because he stopped someone in their tracks from harming you? There’s absolutely no way he could be feeling the same way as you- right? No way he’s testing you, because he won’t say it first, right?

You trembled with nerves from the pressure, feeling everyone’s eyes on you as your face burned a deeper crimson. What do you say? The thought of calling Caleb family always felt sour on your tongue and burned your throat like poison. You never once wanted that to be the establishment between the two of you, always dreaming of a universe where you could be honest and give things a shot with the perfect guy you’d grown up with.

To give him a different label than anything he’s ever been used to terrified you, but you couldn’t shake the desire that fluttered deep in your chest. You take a deep breath, turning to face the girls that stared expectingly at you for a response. “H-He’s my Caleb. Mine.” Your abridged response had the brunette grinning even more, you totally feel the same way and you’re bluffing while still trying to stake your claim on him.

How cute of you to think you needed to stake any kind of claim when he was completely yours to begin with.

“Cute,” his voice was warm in your ear before standing up straight and bringing his heavy hand back to hold you by the small of your back. Your eyes slightly widened when his fingers splayed, just slightly grazing the curve of your ass while he spoke. “Anyways, I just came to pick my sweet girl up a little early. Sorry, ladies, there’s an important matter we have to tend to, together~” his voice grew sing-song-y and confusion swells in your already burning chest.

Important matter?

You’re being pulled out of the club faster than your legs can keep up with, being dragged by Caleb’s massive grip on your wrist. “Wait a second! Slow down!” You’re crossing the parking lot to get to the emptier, sketchier end where his truck is parked. You couldn’t make out his expression, but still pressed on the matter. “Wh-What the fuck was that back there!? Caleb!”

“I should ask you the same thing.” He hissed out as he opened the passenger door, gripping your full hips to hoist you up into the passenger seat before shoving the door shut. Everything was getting way too heavy to be able to play anything off as harmless like you always have your entire lives prior. His large frame enters and sits in the driver’s seat and you finally get a good look at him as he shuts the door. You notice how his own chest rises and falls heavier than normal, his pupils are blown out as he looks at you- the inside of his truck feels so much smaller now.

“Tell me,” he’s almost panting, leaning over the center console to invade your bubble. You don’t realize how badly you wanted him back in your space until he was there- “why were you so upset after that piece of shit left? And why were you so nervous when your little friends pressed about me? About us?” His voice left no room to dodge the questions, and you began to panic.

How the fuck are you supposed to tell him how sexually frustrated you are? Or that you wanted nothing more than to relieve yourself on his heavy cock- the one you always catch glimpses of through his grey sweats during every movie night. Or that you wanted to ride his handsome face until your hips gave out?

You swallow when he leans in even closer, lips only a mere inch apart from yours. Your throat was so dry despite your mouth pooling with drool at the warmth emitting off of him. He’s so close- you’re so close to kissing him-

“I-I dunno,” your lip quivers, and his hands move- one bracing his weight against the center console and the other resting on top of your knee. Goosebumps shoot all across your skin at the action and you squeeze your thighs when his eyes drop down just slightly to your lips.

“Don’t lie- I won’t be mad, Pips. I just need to know what’s on your mind. Need to know if you’re thinkin’ what i’m thinkin’.” His hand on your knee spreads open, fingers dancing ever so lightly on your sensitive skin and you inhale sharply at the feeling.

That’s it- you can’t keep this act up any longer.

“I was m-mad because I-I thought he was gonna fuck me b-before he turned out to be a piece of sh-shit. I-I jus haven’t been f-fucked in so long, n’ I just w-wanna cum so bad, Gege~ I d-didn’t want my friends to flirt with you e-either. Want you just for myself, I’m sorry!!! I-I can’t help it!”

His heart jumped in his throat as tears sprung out of your eyes, making his cock stir to life as he processed your words. You turned your face from him in embarrassment, bringing your hands to furiously swipe at your tears before the hand on your knee reached up to grab at your wrists.

“Pipsqueak,” his voice is like warm butter in your ears and you look at him through your tears, heart racing when his thumb brushes over your pulse point to soothe you while he smiles at you. “Why didn’t you just tell your Gege sooner? You know i’ll always take care of you, no matter what.” Your froze in shock as the weight of where the situation was quickly headed hit you, but you can’t find it in you to fight it when he’s finally leaning in and you’re meeting him halfway in a heated kiss.

Lips urgently pressing against his, you’re both in heaven at the first taste of each other. His hand cups your jaw as he kisses you deeper- tongue teasing your bottom lip as he savors the softness of your lips and the sound of your needy whines muffling against him.

He pulls away when he feels your hips shifting restlessly in your seat, keeping his lips a breath away from yours as his fingertips slip down your jaw to dance across the skin of your throat. “Do you want gege to make you cum? Hm? Are you gonna be a good girl for me, baby?”

If your panties weren’t already soaked, they sure the fuck were now. You’re nodding without hesitation, straining your neck to reach for his lips once more before he retreats a little more just to see your cute pout. He glances at his spacious backseat before motioning with his head towards you.

“Go on then. Get that ass up and climb back there and i’ll take care of you.”

Oh? So he wanted to get straight to it? Not even wait until you’re home.

You bit your lip before eagerly hopping up on your knees to do as he said, only when you started to crawl across the center console-, you yelped when his hand came cracking down on the fat of your ass. “You really went out in a little number like this, huh? My meimei’s a naughty girl,”

Jesus fuck, his words are doing wayyy too much to you.

Unfortunately, it was only the beginning.

You were in heaven, you must have actually died on the dance floor and you’re currently in the arms of angels as Caleb has you folded in half in a mating press in the backseat of his truck. You’re both completely stripped minus his dog tag necklace that’s bouncing off his toned pecs with every thrust. You feel the truck shake as his humongous cock stuffs you completely full.

The second he’d gotten you in the backseat he wasted no time diving between your thick thighs and devouring that pretty pussy he’d been dreaming of his entire life until you came all over his face twice. Tasting you from the source was so much better than any of the dirty panties he’d snagged over the years from your laundry basket. He doesn’t know how the fuck he ever survived before without the taste of you saturating his tongue.

Your voice, oh god it was music to his burning hot ears as you moaned like such a fucking slut while he rutted his muscular hips into you.

The air in the truck had grown so hot and thick you were growing completely insane, but you couldn’t get enough of it. You bucked your hips to fuck up against him with every thrust, craving him deeper and deeper now that the seal had been broken. Your glossy eyes flutter up to meet Caleb’s unapologetic stare, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth when the sounds of your slippery pussy sucking up his swollen cock fill the confined space of his backseat.

“Had no idea y’re pussy would be so wet. You’re a nasty girl. Been thinkin’ bout this? Hm?” His voice was rough in your ear and you whimpered, soaking his cock even more when his words went straight to your cunt. “Y-Yes! Yesyesyess!” You’re crying out honestly, you can’t hide it at all anymore. He chuckled breathlessly, leaning down to press another sloppy kiss to your swollen lips as his hips started to grind against yours. He could die just like this and be perfectly content- buried in your warm, tight walls while sucking on your tongue as you both kissed each other like it’s the first and last time altogether.

No way he’d ever let you stray away from him now, you’ll never need anybody else now that he knows what your pussy feels and tastes like.

“Gonna keep you like this forever, y’know,” Caleb was going insane, feeling the pit in his stomach tighten unbearably so, your eyes rolled back- god, he’s such a fucking talker. You loved every bit of it. You nodded, crying out when one of his hands reached between your sweaty bodies to play with your throbbing clit. “Mnh! Fuck! Caleb!” You gasp out when your orgasm grows dangerously close.

The man above you shakes his head with a dark glint in his violet eyes, “nu-uh, baby. You know what my name is,” he reaches his mouth down to close around your nipple, tongue lathering the hardened bud with his warm saliva. Tears blur your vision and you grip his beefy forearm bracing his weight right next to you, nails scraping against his skin, he groans at the delectable sting.

“F-Fuuuuuckk, Gege! C-Can’t!” You’re all but screaming when you feel him scrambling your guts while grinding the thick pad of his thumb into your clit.

He’s flicking his tongue across your nipple and the stimulation is becoming overwhelming, bringing a foreign pressure somewhere low in your tummy. Your brows pinch in worry, moving to grab at his soft brown locks as a means to ground yourself. “G’na cu-uuumm, ha-ahh, feels s’weird, ngh~”

His ears perk up at that- weird? Oh he knows exactly what’s happening here.

“Yeah? You wanna cum on your Gege’s cock? Hah, you’re so nasty, Meimei. What’ll gram say if she finds out? If she hears the way i’m gonna fuck you all over that god damn house when we get home,” His words flutter in your chest and your eyes roll back in relief at the promise of this not being a one time thing. You wail when he shifts his wrist to press his palm down against your lower abdomen, thumb still working fast swipes across your pulsing clit.

The increased pressure has you flailing around underneath him, your orgasm is coming fast, but suddenly you’re feeling the urge to pee and it’s beyond overwhelming.

“C’mon, pipsqueak,” he’s cooing in your ear, the truck is shaking harder as he starts mercilessly pounding your pussy, “squirt all over me, baby. I need it, I need it s’fucking bad.” His words drown out as your release hits you, making your head slam back against the backseat cushion as you spray his abdomen with your clear juices.

He’s definitely in heaven now, whimpering out at the sight that’s been burnt into his memory for forever. You look so perfect like this, absolutely fucked out of your mind as you cum so hard he almost grows concerned for you as he fucks you through it. His own orgasm is coming up fast, and he decides he needs you even closer.

Your breath is stolen from you when you’re hoisted up and into his lap, his massive arms locking around the curve of your waist and he’s pounding up into you like a man possessed. You’ve had no time to recover from your highs, yet your hips are still bucking to meet his thrusts as your teary face buries itself in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, baby, you did so good. Always such a good girl f’me,” he’s praising you and bringing a hand down to grip the plump fat of your ass. His mind travels back to the video he watched earlier of you-, glancing over your shoulder to watch the same way your ass was bouncing but now on the length of his fat cock was even fucking better that that silly video. Maybe one day he’ll get you to let him record you bounce like this again on his cock for when he’s away.

Your lips attach to his neck and you’re feverishly kissing and sucking on his skin, drunkenly babbling the sweetest words he thinks he’s ever heard.

“Mmh, wan’ you to cum in me, Caleb. Give your Meimei every fuckin’ drop, please~”

He’s seeing white.

All you feel is his grip on your ass tightening before his cock starts knocking against your cervix like it owed him money. “Promise me, fuuuuck- promise you won’t fuck anyone else, baby. L-Let Gege take care of you always, please-“

You’re nodding your head with a cry, biting down on the damp skin of his shoulder. “Only ever wan’ your cock, I promise!!”

Not another second passed before his tip was spurting hot, white cum all over your tightening walls. His hand shot up to your nape to tug your face back to his in a feral kiss, shoving his tongue in your mouth to muffle his own desperate cries as he kept pumping you full with his seed. You’d never felt more full in your life, but god- this was such an addictive feeling.

Your softer hands reach up to cup his face and you kiss him back just as hard, moaning into his mouth. You feel the way he finally slows down and the two of you come down slowly, holding each other in a tight embrace as heavy breaths fill the steamy air of his truck.

You’re both on cloud nine after that, still connected even after a while of just sitting there petting each other. Your head is resting on its side on Caleb’s chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat and you smile to yourself. You’ll talk out all the logistics of whatever the fuck just happened later- all you know now is that you’ve never been so thankful for a girl’s night out in your life.

“You okay, pip? Ready to go home? Need to get you cleaned up,” his lips are brushing your temple warmly and your cheeks are warm again. “M’okay, Caleb. I’m ready.” You hum lazily, feeling an overwhelming exhaustion beginning to hit you and you start to look around for your dress to shimmy it back on.

Your eyes narrow down at the joggers he’d been wearing that were pooled in the floorboard- a familiar bundle of pink lace just barely poking out of the pocket.

Suddenly, you’re not tired anymore, and your head is snapping at the nervous looking man in front of you.

“You mother fucker,” you’re seething, snatching up the panties from his pocket and shoving the cold, hard evidence of his crimes in his face. “IT WAS YOU ALL ALONG, WASN’T IT!? YOU THIEF! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY FUCKING PANTIES YOU OWE ME!?”

He can only shrink into himself with a nervous smile, reaching for your wrists and pulling them downwards to disarm you. “I- uh- I don’t think I can talk myself out of this one, can I?” He’s sheepishly grinning at your adorably angry expression with only one thought repeating in his mind as he’s watching you huff and puff dramatically above him as if he didn’t just fuck the living daylights out of you.

Thank GOD for Girl’s Night.

[bentoverbckwrds1]

Edited by me 😛

[paperlotus613]

💋🧵| Nightly Routine | Zayne❄️ AU: No Prior Relationship↻+♡ appreciated

Out of options, you knock on his door. “Sorry to bother you, but… I locked myself out and left my phone inside. Could you help me call maintenance?” Zayne’s eyes flick briefly over your thin nightwear before he steps aside. “Sure,” he says. “Step inside while I make the call.”

Prof. Zayne Li barely spoke to anyone in the visiting lecturers’ residence. Despite living next door to him for weeks during your temporary appointment at the university, your conversations had never gone beyond hallway greetings.

Yet somehow, after stepping outside to check on some students causing trouble in the middle of the night, you ended up inside his apartment. “No one’s responding,” he says after ending the call. You barely process the words, too distracted by how muscular and hot he looks in grey sweatpants and a fitted black tank top.

It’s a sharp contrast to the formal clothes you usually see him in. His open notebook on the desk tells you he’d been working late before the noise interrupted him.

“You can wait here,” Zayne says when you don’t answer. “I’ll go. You shouldn’t walk across campus dressed like this.” Before you can argue, he’s already gone.

It took Zayne 30 minutes to return, only to find you asleep on the couch. He cleared his throat loudly to wake you, causing you to wake up a little bit embarrassed. “It’s okay,” he says. “There’s still no one at reception. You might as well… stay here tonight.”

You thought about it for a moment and realized there wasn’t much you could do right now. Still, you couldn’t help noticing how Zayne kept avoiding your eyes.

“Thank you, but say… I know we’re not exactly close, but are you always this determined not to look at me? I won’t bite, you know,” you blurted out in frustration. Meanwhile, Zayne disappeared into the bedroom to grab another blanket. You follow after him, continuing to talk. “You know… I’m genuinely grateful for your help, but could you maybe stop acting like I’m some huge inconvenience whenever you see me? Don’t worry, I’ll let you work or sleep or whatever you need to do.” “I doubt it,” Zayne replies flatly. “Huh?” “I haven’t slept properly in weeks thanks to your nightly activities,” he says, pushing a pillow into your arms. “My nightly activit–” You freeze.

Oh god. Is he talking about that?

Your mind immediately jumps to your private moments with your buzzing little companion. His bedroom was right next to yours, after all. Then another realization hits you.

“Wait– hold on. Don’t act innocent,” you shoot back quickly. “If you can hear me, then I can hear you too. For someone who barely speaks, your suppressed moans are surprisingly loud.”

Zayne’s ears turn red instantly. He clears his throat and avoids your gaze. “I was referring to your late-night TV marathons,” he says, slightly losing his composure. “If you want, I can spoil the ending. The plot is fairly predictable.”

Your face burns with embarrassment. “However…” he continues after a pause, “…the other activity you mentioned doesn’t necessarily bother me. It’s a natural human desire and frankly, healthier than binge-watching trash TV.” You stare at him for a second before another thought suddenly clicks into place. “It’s not trash t– Wait… so you DO hear me?” you ask, heat rushing to your core.

“Then all those times I heard you at the same time too… I wasn’t imagining it?” Zayne doesn’t respond. Your eyes widen. “Hold on. Did you… purposely join in?” A mischievous grin spreads across your face as realization sinks in. “Oh my god. Is that why you’ve been avoiding my eyes this whole time?” “MY, MY… Prof. Zayne has the hots for me. If I’d known earlier…” “Then what?”

The sudden confrontation catches you off guard. Zayne steps closer, causing you to fall back onto his bed. “If you knew earlier…,” he says quietly, eyes finally locking onto yours, “…then what?”

You try to come up with another witty remark, but Zayne leans down just enough to hover over you, face inches aways from yours.

“Go on. Finish your sentence,” his voice teasing. Your teasing smile wavers as he leans closer, one hand grapping the sheets, wishing he would close the gap between you.

“Though, judging by the time…” his gaze flicks briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“I’d say it’s time for our joint nightly routine.”

[madamechrissy]

disassociate

Caleb hasn't seen you in a year - and he's come to the inevitable fact that his feelings for you can never come to anything. He moves on in his own way, as a top fan named who becomes very close with a mysterious OF star. You could say Caleb is torn, between his long love for you and the hoplessness of it, and the growing feelings for a girl behind the screen. Yet on a trip back home, you have quite the fucking secret career, and you're even more torn. A crush on Zayne, a secret love for Caleb, and a budding interest in your top fan - Aviator69.

pairings - yandere! Caleb x secret OF star! reader (also a lil zayne x reader!)

warnings- angst, mistaken identity, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, love triangles in a way, camgirl reader, yan Caleb, eventual smut, slow burn, stepcest elements, this chap - masturbation, sexting, sexual tension, emotional hurt, jealousy, and some yummy Dr Zayne, mentions of cum and a hell of a breed kink. WC - 6.2k

credits here and here for the beautiful art!

I'm so nervous and excited to start my second Caleb series! i've been just DYING to write him, so I hope you all will enjoy this one!!! Chap two will be very soon hehe as I'm looking forward to write more of my yearning psycho <3 - tags open.

chap one

Caleb has always loved you – but he's known forever just how off limits you are.

Always in love with your other childhood friend Zayne, yet you both were the childhood best friends who simply can't be more.

He didn't really move on, no, you couldn’t call it that – but he eventually had to take care of himself, had to jerk his cock watching girls who looked like you – taking cock on cam or spreading their pussy wide.

It almost felt like cheating when he jerked it to them – which was laughable, considering you weren’t his, you could never be his. You – happy your senior year of college, and he had already graduated aviation school. A pilot out of town, he never saw you anymore, and your notes, texts, and calls got just a bit shorter.

The last night he hugged you in his arms and kissed your cheek fucking wreck him, but even Caleb needs a little bit to jerk off to, the hopeless situation that would remain that- hopeless.

It's what brought him here, to this pretty girl with this gorgeous body on onlyfans, she's got a mask on her face and a bright pink room, giggly and sweet. She bends over and plays with her cunt with the rose toy he bought her, moaning his name in this way that he could almost imagine was you.

How would you sound if you moaned?

It's been months since he started watching this pretty girl's streams though, and he found himself utterly lost. He felt terrible, wanting her when you exist, but her tits and how she toys with them, her blush that spreads across her chest, her thighs spreading just for him alone?

You could say Caleb becomes obsessed.

"You have to go for two weeks?" –

She asks as he types, her fingers still slick with her cum, the sheer amount she had squirted made him fucking thirsty, imagining lapping those juices off her thighs.

Caleb has kissed girls, he's fingered them and pleased them, he does enjoy another woman’s pleasure but he's just never been able to fully cross that line - even when he’s turning twenty-four next week. But he would – with her – he couldn't help but imagine finally sinking his cock inside that tiny hole, the one that looked so perfect when she spread it wide for his private sessions.

It doesn't make him love you less - it's just he's faced the inevitable fact that there would never be a chance you two were together. 

Imagine Josephine if she ever knew Caleb loved you? When she'd damn near raised you two together. No, you weren't actually related, you two didn’t even share the same last name, but the ties ran too deep. You were too comfy with him, laying in his bed as he counted air planes till you drifted off, snuggling on his lap and looking at the stars.

He types now to the OF star he spends most of his limited free time with, after cleaning off his white coated cock with one hand and moaning softly, it’s sensitive as he hasn’t had time to barely do anything with grueling training for a new position.

Aviator69- Yeah, I gotta go for a bit to visit my hometown.

She sighs, leaning forward a bit, her lips smooching the webcam, he can’t help but smile just a bit – something about her fucking gets him. Is it the fact that she reminds him of you? Your build, your height? Is it the fact that she’s not interested in him as a relationship like everyone else?

"I'll miss you, Aviator69."

He snorts at her, it was insane that she didn't know his actual name, but then again - neither did he.

Hopeless obsession, isn't that what Caleb is known for?

It’s nothing like the obsession with his pips – his sweet best friend since childhood who he’d kill for, die for, fuck he’d do anything when it came to you – but it was nice to have her to talk to, even if she’s never heard his voice. She has outright asked to see his body curiously, so he’s shown her his cock, but even that felt so wrong, wasn’t it for you?

But as he scrolls through your IG and sees you at a dinner with none other than Zayne and all your friends, he has to remember that hope is dashed.

You’ve moved on with him only visiting twice a year.

I’ll be around a bit, maybe. – he tips her an insane amount, she’s blushing again across her chest, her collarbones, thanking him all sweetly.

“I’ll be a bit busy too with family, but if I’m on I’ll make sure to send you a message, have fun!”

You too, honey.

Before he hits send he deletes that – it’s what he calls you frequently, along with Pipsqueak or Pips to torture you, instead just sending a little smiley face and closing the laptop. Just a bit of his white cum coats his fingers, he sucks a bit of it off, humming to himself, wishing he could breed you with it instead of the utter waste it was, but that was just that.

A wish, a hopeless one.

Your text hits his phone right after he’s done packing, he can’t stop the dopey grin from hitting his face, no matter how much he enjoys the pretty OF star, he can’t help but love you just as much. Every day he falls deeper, no matter the time away – a million memories flooding his mind at your very existence.

Pips - Caleb! I’m so excited to see you this week, you better bring your trunks because we are so going to the beach!

His lips twitch up a bit at that.

Caleb - Why, Pips, so I can see you dog paddling like a little drowned rat?

Pips - Rude! I’ve become a much better swimmer, thank you!!! I have been getting lessons.

Caleb’s jaw sets, teeth clicking together.

Lessons from fucking who!?

Who got to see his-

What even were you to him?  His childhood friend, his ‘step sister’? What right did he have to feel this fucking way about you, even as he tries his best to move on from it, to live his life and let you enjoy yours, the jealousy fucking eats at him. Another man seeing you in your bikini, touching your waist, teaching you to swim when it should be Caleb.

Caleb - I’ll see if you improved, you never took well to my lessons.

Pips - hah! Yes you will.

*****

You start packing your room up for the vacation, heart hammering in your chest just a bit too much – sometimes it’s hard to separate your reality from your online persona. Especially when it came to the mysterious Aviator69 fan – lord knows you’ll always have something for pilots, that love for Caleb hasn’t died off in the years of barely seeing him.

Yet it’s unhealthy, that love for him – the obsessive, jealous way you used to feel when you were younger, seeing girls all over him, seeing the way everyone just loved him. Who blamed anyone? There was everything to love about Caleb – your best friend in the world, the most important person there was.

Yet when you were a teenager, everything shifted, what was once fun or silly became too intimate, and since he was just a few years older, his actions became more and more ‘affectionate and brotherly’. Patting your head like you were some puppy, pulling away from a hug that’s too tight.

It was one of the reasons you decided to start an OF in the first place – you played with your pussy so much thinking of him, you might as well get paid for it.

You made so much at this point you got a brand new car, you helped Josephine – ‘gran’ as you all called her – pay off some of the debt she was in, you played it as if you had a killer internship. No one has questioned you, who would, really? You’re every bit the epitome of a ‘good girl’. Good student, sweet best friend, devoted to each and every  person you care about.

There’s just one outlier – an obsession with the one man off limits.

Of all the fucking people to fall for, the boy raised as damn near ‘family’ was unnacceptable, and you’re sure he’s never felt it back. Those brief moments where you  could swear there was something, that there was a tension between you both, now as you pack your luggage they just seem like they were all in your head.

‘I’ll miss you so much,’ you’d hugged Caleb tightly the last time he went away, he was training as a pilot outside of the military, something entirely different. You were so proud, but also you knew he’d be by even less frequently.

Some selfish part of you wanted him to stay.

‘I’ll miss you, honey,’ the way he’d said it had melted your precious resolve almost a year ago today, he’d tilted your chin up, pressing a kiss on your brow, cool and dry lips that he never took good enough care of, that he bit to death.

All Caleb ever did was take care of you, of Gran, of all his friends and his colleagues – the question was, who took care of Caleb? Would he ever let you?

‘Will you really miss me?’ He laughed at first – that easygoing one of his that brightened his face, that made him look so boyish.

Why didn’t he smile enough?

‘Why would ya ask that, hmm? Ya messin’ with me?’ he teased you, one of your hands had slid up his chest, brushing the stark white pilot jacket, your tears filling your eyes, making his face soften. ‘Pips, I’ll not be gone forever.’

‘Close enough,’ you trembled when he hugged you tight.

It wasn’t enough.

The hugs weren’t enough, the pecks on your cheek weren’t enough – not when your body wanted, needed and craved more. You leaned up, kissed his cheek, kissed the corner of his mouth. Collar tugged down in your hands to yank him low – tall as he fucking was, bringing him to hunch over so that your lips hovered.

‘What are you…’ he had paused, cupping your face, his breaths mingling with yours together – the sweet scent of apple on his breath – yet he pulled away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

You gave up that day.

‘I’ll write to you every day, I promise. I never, ever break them, do I?’

No, Caleb never broke his promises –  he never crossed lines he shouldn’t, and you should respect that. No, you do respect that he’s level headed, that he has ultimate control, while you’re a shattered mess, trying to pick up the pieces of the inevitable fact – that it could never be.

You can’t get this mysterious man off your damn mind now, but it almost feels like a bit of a betrayal. Not only do you have this secret life, the feelings for Caleb haven’t died out – and now you’ve been talking to Zayne, he’s almost a doctor and just a few years older than you, in med school. He’s two years older than Caleb, in fact.

Mature, handsome, driven.

Yet he was also sweet, and he wanted to see you –  he had known you for years as well, but you were more of a little pest to him than a childhood friend. Now, things were utterly different.

Would the very ‘seemingly’ uptight Zayne ever be okay with your ‘career’ though? The fact that you make more money in one night streaming on OF than you did in two weeks at your part time college job? Would he be okay you had a pretty pink jewel up your damn ass a couple hours ago, or used a pink rose toy for fucking Aviator69?

You feel torn into three pieces – the hopeless love for Caleb, the intrigue for the boy you’ve been typing for months but never really seen or heard, and a childhood crush come to life for Zayne.

Just how was this week going to go?

+++++

Caleb was back home.

This was the home he spent his teenage years in – the main one he knew, despite being about eleven when Josephine took him in, he hadn’t exactly remembered much of his childhood, nor much of his life before you and Gran. He didn’t want to, and neither had you when he’d met you – the day she brought you into his life.

He’ll never forget meeting you, holding your hand and smiling, you were so shy and sweet then, to eventually form into a little brat who punched his shoulders and teased him. Caleb knows it was the comfort of him that helped blossom that in you, so he loved it even more.

The nights he’d spend holding you when you had nightmares, though? Sometimes he wondered just what your life was exactly like before Josephine took you in, but that was something the two of you had never really discussed. You didn’t even have to, it was as if you both just…

Got each other.

The plane ride was a long one, but he was used to it – though he forgot how odd it was to be a passenger rather than a pilot. The air was just a touch thicker and humid, he could practically inhale the hints of salt from the coast, when he’d recently been in the desert. The house looked the same, it’s only been less than a year, but everything was exactly in its place.

When he walks into the door to his teenage bedroom, he can’t help but be hit with a wave of nostalgia.

Nothing had changed – not a single thing aside from Gran had picked it up a bit, and his bed was made, the duvet the same dark blue he'd picked out in high school. The walls were still covered in aviation posters – his favorite, f-16s, a diagram of a fighter jet engine next to that. His model planes decorated the bookshelves, just a bit dusty from time, with pictures of you and him on the top shelf.

You’re so young there, it was your high school graduation, he had just come back from getting grueling military training. He looks so drained, but you looked so bright and beautiful, but then again when the fuck weren’t you?

His fingertips run across the frame, sighing and frowning a bit at the walls just a light shade of orange, as if the room was frozen in time, with the locket you’ve given him sitting on one of the articulated models.

He has a new one from you now, that one broke and faded – he’ll never forget how upset you were, even after he welded it the little red gem popped out.

He’d gotten it replicated exactly, but how could he get rid of the original? So it stayed locked in time. He wraps it around his fist, the silver chain circling his rough knuckles, Caleb presses a little kiss to it, a little ritual he had with the one on his neck recently before he went on any flight.

He peeks out the window when he hears the hum of an expensive SUV, curiously looking out to see you walk out of it alone.

That SUV is not in a college girl’s budget, Caleb had more than enough to buy one for you, but you’d always turned it down. Suddenly curious how the fuck you have a brand new black Escalade, he heads out of the room, you’re already hugging Josephine when he steps into the living room, your eyes catching his over her shoulder.

"Caleb!" you squeal those words excitedly, running out of Josephine’s embrace and launching yourself at him.

He catches you automatically, as if it’s an instinct to do so – it is a fucking instinct – its a torture as his arms wrap around your waist. It was supposed to be familiar, comforting, sweet and nostalgic, right?

Yet it was torture instead.

Your hips are a little wider, your tits just a bit softer somehow against his chest, he hates himself for fucking thinking that. All this time away, of jerking his cock to another girl, of going on dates and kissing women, having them cum on his fingers, it did nothing to stop the sickness he felt near you.

It was everything not to lift you by those hips that would feel so goddamn good in his hands and fuck you right on a wall – but he’s supposed to fucking greet you. He’s supposed to be that supportive best friend, so he hugs you tighter, laughing as if he’s unaffected with the way you press against him, burying his face in your hair, smelling your shampoo.

It was the same as always – this sweet mix of peonies and blossoms that were made to ruin him, with hints of something uniquely you, some pheromone set out to make him ache. He forces himself to relax, to make it normal, his gran is there for godsake and he’s about to fucking sniff you.

 "Hah – easy, Pips, you’re crushin’ me."

You pull back a bit, blush dancing on your cheeks. "Sorry, I got so excited! It’s been so long.”

“I’ll make you two some tea,” Josephine says with a smile, heading to the kitchen and leaving the two of you alone by the entry way, he pulls back a bit, taking in your outfit.

It’s slutty.

Your tits are out, your skirt is too fucking short, as if this is not the girl who used to wear sweats everywhere. He supposes he should assume you’d change, why wouldn’t you? Yet the thought of anyone seeing that body makes him furious – a body he’s barely seen with how baggy and slouchy your clothes used to be.

“New style?” He asks softly, you giggle and tug a bit at the top.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve gotten into fashion,” you’ve had to dress a little sexier with OF promotion, but you did find yourself liking it, a pleated skirt and a little crop, jacket slung right over. “Do you like it?”

“Ah… do I like it…” He says nothing, his sunset eyes drifting across your collarbone, bare now, the little locket he’d bought you broke and you have it now attached to a little keychain. Suddenly it feels empty, naked, without it, especially when you see his dogtags clearly on his chest.

Caleb says nothing, just looking into your eyes now, the tension as your hands still sit on his broad shoulders making you tremble.

You’re an OF star now – you play with your pussy for thousands of people, you have your damn tits out and make bank. Why then, does it make you so fucking nervous to have someone this close to you look at you this way?

It also makes you wonder – would Caleb ever be okay with that? Would he beat your ass black and blue and delete that damn page? You cannot see your strict, overprotective best friend accepting it. Of course, you wouldn’t tell him, but it makes you curious.

Did Caleb ever watch OF?

Did he date anyone now?

Has he…

Why are you thinking of that? Why can’t you just enjoy the time you have with him – the limited fucking time?

“You don’t have to answer that,” you say now, suddenly shy – you, shy, it’s laughable. Yet Caleb does that to you – the way he looks at you could fucking ruin you completely.

“It’s just a different look,” he manages, clearing his throat, you notice a few new freckles dusting across the bridge of his nose, now, making you bite down on your lower lip. “You always look pretty. Just different.”

“Well look at you! All grown up and official," you playfully tug at the collar of his pilot's uniform he'd worn home – white and gold, you almost can’t handle just how fucking good he looks in it.

"Well look at you – new ride?"

Your expression falters for just a second, a flicker of something he couldn't read before you plaster on a bright smile. You suck at lying, and at hiding shit from him. "Oh, the SUV? Just a little graduation present to myself. Been saving up for years! I got a really good payment plan.”

You paid for that shit in cash – OF was very kind to you.

He hums a bit at that, he knew what you'd made at your part-time campus job, and there was no fucking way you'd saved up that much, he knows your wages. Caleb knows everywhere you go, too.

He sure the fuck shouldn’t but how can he not want to make sure the most important person in the world to him was safe at all times? That just happened to involve all of that – knowing when to ‘surprise’ send you money, when to randomly call you if you’re somewhere he doesn’t know.

A quick search with his connections are all it takes for him to find out what house you were in and who it belonged to.

You’ve spent entirely too much time with Zayne lately.

Zayne was stupidly wealthy – what if he bought that shit for you?

He immediately shoved the thought away, disgusted with himself for even thinking of them, that you couldn’t do it on your own, that you’d need something like that, he puts it all away and then smiles at you instead, ruffling your hair affectionately. This was you – His Pips.

“I’d have bought you it, you know.”

“You can’t go around buying escalades, Caleb,” you poke at his cheek playfully, he catches your wrist with his long ass fingers, taking you over and making you pause, your heart hammering in your chest.

“I would for you.”

You blush once more, sighing now. "There is this huge bonfire at the cove to start the summer," you say, grabbing your luggage, he takes it from you so quickly you giggle a bit. "Everyone's meeting there in an hour. Are you coming with me?"

"Yeah, of course,” he follows you up the stairs, his gaze lingering on the way your skirt rises up on your thighs, he can fucking see those panties with little apples decorating them.

Were you actively trying to kill him?

He needs to jerk off the moment he is alone, but you’re lingering a bit at the door, smiling up at him in this way that makes him wonder how you’d look on your knees, lashes lowered, hearts in your eyes. Would you suck his cock down like a good girl – would you do it too good, and make him wonder where you learned it?

Fuck.

“I’ll go get ready,” he says, rushing off and making you frown, looking at him a bit before shutting your door, leaning on it and shutting your eyes.

Caleb seemed annoyed, short with you, clipped. Perhaps he had moved on, and perhaps that was the best thing – that you imagined the tension, the embarrassment of trying to kiss him for him to shut it down, that it was all in your head. Zayne texts you, asking if you’re coming, and you focus your energy there, shooting him a quick heart and an enthusiastic yes!

Your phone keeps going off, the OF men miss you of course – you decide you can sneak a quick faceless picture of your tits, hanging up the little pink curtain you always do to hide anything personal. It seems drastic, but you have a lot of friends from your hometown, and you’d die of embarrassment if they ever found out.

You set the camera down on your dresser, leaning forward to get a pretty angle of your tits, and the comments and tips start going insane, you suddenly see a name you thought you wouldn’t though –

Aviator69.

You laugh softly seeing it, tilting your head and laying back in your bed after getting dressed, typing directly to him in messages.

You - I thought you’d be gone.

Aviator69 - yeah well, I had to peek at this notification, see your pretty tits.

Suddenly you heat up – Aviator69 has always been oddly respectful, to a point you wish he wasn’t, and now he finally mentioned something like that? You can’t stop yourself from saying more, your apple covered panties soaked and darkening – damp and sticky with need.

You almost feel guilty enjoying him this much, you aren’t dating Zayne, and Caleb is the most off limits boy there could be, but you still felt jumbled as you were slick. You can’t help but write to him again, though.

You - miss me already? Did you miss seeing my titties?

Avaiator69 - maybe I do. Your nipples look like they need to be sucked on, do they?

You - maybe they do need a mouth on them.

You don’t even know what he looks like but you can’t help but let your mind drift, though when your eyes close – it’s Caleb, his mouth wrapping a nipple, and you know you shouldn’t think of it. You know you have to stop it, stop playing with your cunt thinking of the boy in your next room, the one you’ll never have, the one who probably never thinks of you like this.

Yet your eyes flutter shut, and you’re toying with your breast, thumbing the nipple and gasping out, looking as he types to you.

Aviator69 - they’d look so pretty with cum on them.

Oh fuck.

Was Aviator69 a freak!? He surprises you then, you hear the craziest shit as a cam girl, as an OF star, but nothing has made you actually wet quite like this comment.

You - would you lick it off?

Caleb moans softly, muffled with one of his hands as the other strokes his thick, veiny cock – the head is flushed a mean red and dripping, leaking down to the carpet below. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Caleb’s rough hand makes him merely ache for another – a soft little hand that can’t even wrap his base, watching it and laughing at the size difference.

Wondering if he’d cum all over this OF star’s pretty tits, or yours – god they were just about the same size he thinks, he hardly has seen glimpses of yours aside from when you were in a bikini, and they’ve only gotten prettier in the year he hasn’t seen you. He can’t think of you.

He can’t.

Would he lick it off is a fucking insane question, though, he can’t help but whimper, literally typing with one hand while he should be getting ready.

Aviator69 - I think I’d rather gather it up and push it inside your pretty little pussy.

Your fingers circle your clit faster, damn near slippery as this mysterious fan puts those images in your head, you hardly type with one shaky hand as your thighs clench together.

You - oh? Are your fingers long, aviator?

Aviator69 - bet they’d hit your cervix.

You drop the phone when you cum, when you shatter, pulsing and making a fucking mess, dripping right down your sheets, dizzy with how much he’d had you cumming, tears pricking your eyes you’re so dizzy. Hit your cervix – hit your cervix, he really went and fucking said that? He had to have the most filthy images of long fingers pushing white inside you.

You’re struggling to gather yourself after that, seeing texts from your friends wondering if you’re on the way, realizing you haven’t gotten ready at all  – and that Caleb is in that next room. What if he heard you!?

Get it together!

You - I have to go, Aviator.

Aviator69 - did you get to cum?

He’s cocky, it’s surprising, you can’t help but giggle, breathless.

You - maybe I did. Did you?

Caleb’s cock is coated in white cum to the base, his head thrown back against his old headboard, looking up for a moment to see a picture of you in your cute little cheer outfit on his mirror, suddenly torn.

Why does he feel so guilty for a girl who could never be his?

He cleans up, clearing his throat and tipping his favorite star two hundred dollars as her answer. She types him quickly.

You shouldn’t have! It was just… fun for me?

It’s still your time, and your work.

Then don’t be a stranger this vacation.

He cleans up quickly, his head rushing, he’d cum just enough that when he sees you, standing right in your doorway and peeking at you in your room, so fucking pretty – he can almost handle it.

Almost.

You smile at him, in this little sundress, tied up at the neck to reveal the expanse of your back in a haphazard knot, looking at him in the mirror now. “Caleb, can you tie this a little better, my hands can’t reach.”

“Always so spoiled with me, tch,” you giggle when he comes over, undoing the knot. “It’s terrible.”

“I know!” they fall, the little halter straps, you hold onto the top of the dress so it doesn’t fall, smiling nervously at his reflection. “Do you like the dress?”

“You look beautiful,” his voice is too husky then, as he ties the prettiest, perfect bow, swallowing and running the backs of his fingers down between your shoulder blades before he can stop himself, eyes catching your reflection in the mirror. “Don’t you always?”

“You think so, Caleb?” He laughs softly, shaking his head.

What a fucking question.

He supposes he must hide that shit exceptionally well, taking your hair and brushing it back, baring those shoulders he wants to decorate with kisses, with bites, with bruises. You turn and he sees that cleavage, the tits he’d also love to cum right all over, rising and falling with your breaths as he stands too close, your hands sliding up his soft open shirt, the one underneath moulded to his physique.

“You’ve just gotten buffer, you jerk,” you tease, as if you don’t want to feel his weight upon you. “I haven’t worked out much since I quit cheer.”

“Your body is-” He pauses himself then.

He can’t fucking say that.

That he wants to grip your hips and breed you – that he wants to have those tits bouncing in his face, that he’d love to fuck you in your sleep, when you wake up, every fucking moment just bend you over a surface until you’re good and knocked up from him, then you’d have to stay his forever, wouldn’t you?

No amount of jerking it to a pretty girl could fix this sickness in his fucking head, clearly, so instead he stays there, a hand on your waist, the nip of it where it juts in, squeezing so hard over the thin material you gasp. Your eyes lock up to his, your lips parted ever so slightly, those eyes dilated until they’re almost black.

“My body, what?” You ask softly, voice shaking, trying to hold yourself together as he causes you to heat up.

“It’s…” Your phone goes off now, breaking the spell he’d been under, he steps back and eyes you. “Gonna get that?”

“It’s just everyone asking where we are,” you clear your throat now, shoving it all back in. “What were you going to say?”

“It’s… your body is…”

You just look at him.

He’d just told a girl on the internet he pays for that she had pretty tits, that he wanted to push cum inside her, but he can’t tell you what he wants to – no, because it’s too fucking filthy.

“It’s perfect,” he manages, you blush and look down, hugging him around his waist and burying your face against his chest.

“Thank you, Caleb.”

“Mhm, let’s go.”

*****

You let Caleb drive your suv since he hates you driving – you apparently terrify the shit out of him because you don’t know what curbs are. He doesn’t seem to realize that you literally could hit any curb in this giant fucking thing and it’s like nothing now, but you don’t mind being in the passenger seat, giggling as the two of you try to catch up a bit.

Yet the air feels thick with everything unspoken.

You resented him for turning down your kiss and you feel bad that you did, you have to let it go and enjoy the person you love more than anything in the world. You just have to love him the way you should, not in this twisted way you’ve grown to think of him.

When the two of you are at the party, and he’s surrounded by so many damn girls it’s hilarious, he looks at you as if you could help him out, you just laugh a bit, gasping when a cool hand touches the small of your back. You peek back to see Zayne, the soon to be doctor but currently an intern physician, smiling lazily at you.

He looks unfairly gorgeous with the setting sun, casting a million lights of pink and orange against his tanned skin, his soft little laugh when you press a kiss to his cheek. “Doctor Zayne!”

“Already calling me that, hmm?” The bonfire is crackling, making his green eyes glow just a bit with orange flames, his face card is stupidly lethal and makes your heart race just being close.

“You will be soon enough, might as well start,” you lean close now. “Role play a bit, I could be your bratty patient.”

“You’re bold, hmm?” He’s blushing a bit, laughing then, tilting his head a bit. “Why don’t we get a drink?”

“I’d love to,” he heads over to the cooler and grabs you both a drink, opening yours politely, eyes drifting over your dress.

“You look stunning,” he says quietly, you feel the flicker of his gaze dart over your form, taking in his own attire, a dress shirt just a bit unbuttoned, the most casual Zayne really got. “That color is pretty on your skin.”

“Why thank you Doctor Zayne, you look handsome too,” he laughs a bit, sipping his drink, eyeing the swarm of women around Caleb. “Ah, your stepbrother is back home, huh?”

Stepbrother.

It makes you feel so fucking weird to hear him called that – it wasn’t an official term, but you suppose it’s how they perceived you all. It made you feel that much more guilty, for catching Caleb’s eyes across the crowd, across the flames that flick meanly into the sky, the smoke that scatters across, the sun glowing behind him.

Caleb can’t stand to see Zayne’s hand on your waist – right where his had just been, the possessiveness he has no right to feel running through him, until it’s making his stomach sick. He watches from across the bonfire as Zayne leans in close to whisper something in your ear, making you laugh, your head tilting back as if it’s so fucking funny – exposing that delicate neck Caleb wants to mark.

His eyes flicker to his phone, on the off chance that the OF star may be on, texting her for just a moment amidst the girls talking his ear off for the past ten minutes, smiling easily as he tries to focus on anything but rushing right across the goddamn beach and snatching you up.

Hopelessly torn between moving on from the inevitable fact that he’ll never have you, and feeling guilty for wanting to talk to her again.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs to the girl there, smiling brightly. “I need a drink. Want me to grab you one?”

“Yes please!” She’s giggling along with everyone, when Caleb makes a beeline toward you, the closer he gets the angrier, the more he wants to rip Zayne’s goddamn fingers off your waist.

Zayne notices him approaching first, his easy smile clinical, making Caleb want to lose his fuckign shit even more. "Caleb, joining us? Long time no see."

"Just needed another drink," Caleb says smoothly, though his eyes are locked on your face, how your eyes are dilated, glittering in the night. "Are you having fun, pips?”

“I am, are you? You should catch up with Zayne, too,” you say, looking at him now. “Caleb is leaving the military and doing other projects. And Zayne, he’s-”

“I’ll catch you both later,” he smiles and walks by with two drinks, leaving you to look at him curiously, as he dismisses you completely.

Oh.

“He’s as friendly as ever,” Zayne makes you laugh a bit, hand holding out for your own. “Want to dance a bit?”

“You dance?” You ask, tugging him out, each of your bare feet dancing across the warm sand, feeling Caleb’s gaze on you as he spins you around.

“I do.”

Caleb peeks at his phone again.

No answer from her.

And he has to look at his pips in the arm of Zayne.

He’s going to fucking hate this vacation – he may just cut it short.

this is a request from @aizawhore hehe <3

patreon - comms <3

****

tagsss - @yenayaps @1stmagnoila @devileyeswriting @floatinginaer @keeperofhearts1 @pinkmimix @amaiinoo @feral-espresso-boba @seraphineash @forrds @kyon-cherri @m1lfl0verrr @cheriefrosting @zaynies-wifey @nommingonfood @tori8760 @nabisdeepspace @kay-dragneel @doodle-with-rhy @thatweirdomidas @neverlandlostchild @xyzyogurt @oh-no-tia @silviex @unadulteratedtranquility @toomanytocount33 @francinethings23 @yofavyuki @tboy-sylus @kermits-toes @bentoverbckwrds1

lads tags- @demon-master-zero @milkynymphsworld @itsmeaudrieee @dawnbreakerswife @coralbae @space-trashlordd @andhereweareallalone @d1rtywhore @psam4nthe @spiceandsass @lilyalone @tori8760 @jiyuu-zou @nonamedreams @uniquieee-18

[rambld]

break the internet — a caleb xia fic

pairing: caleb xia x nonmc!reader

synopsis: with your rankings lowering and the sudden surge of couple content, your cam girl reputation is at stake. but when your friend makes an accidental appearance on your stream and your viewers go crazy, you think you have found the solution to your problem.

contains: MDNI, unedited (the tenses are off oops), cam girl reader, golden boy caleb, explicit smut, protected sex, filming (obviously), dirty talk, guided masturbation, a sprinkle of praise and degradation, pussy slapping, tattoos and piercings, 6.5k words

note: based on this prompt by @tired-biscuit! art by raonnni <3

The fall from the top is never a good feeling. While you took it in stride with grace like an angel whose wings were injured in front of others, as you sat in your dark bedroom, you felt like a sore, ungrateful loser, feathers scattering sadly all over your floor.

For three years you'd stayed at the top of the charts without doing anything extreme. No collabs. Just you—streams, teasing chats, cozy late-night vibe videos, and the kind of photos that made viewers feel like they were right there with you. Though the videos of you playing with yourself and talking your viewers through it did do numbers.

Apparently that wasn’t enough anymore.

You scrolled through the profiles of the creators above you. Some girls are new and others old. Almost every one of them had partner content now. Couples kissing in thumbnails. Hands on hips. Bodies meshed. Someone behind the camera whispering naughty jokes that made the woman touching herself smile naturally.

You stared at the chart on your second monitor like it was a long time friend that stabbed you in the back which it did feel like on some days.

Three weeks ago you'd been sitting comfortably in the top ten. As of last week, you were hovering around fourteen, occasionally slipping to sixteen when someone new went viral.

“Come on,” you muttered, refreshing the page again.

The rankings didn’t change.

Your chair creaked as you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. The problem wasn’t that you'd gotten worse at streaming. Your viewers were still there, still chatting, still tipping.

But the other girls were evolving.

Couples content. Partner POV streams. “Boyfriend experience” photo sets.

Everywhere you looked it was duos climbing the charts.

You sighed and opened a few competing pages just to torture yourself. Half of them had a guy behind or in front of the camera, laughing softly, interacting with chat. The thumbnails alone looked more real. More intimate.

Apparently the majority of the viewers didn't want solo content that reflected their own situations behind their screens while they watched. Now they wanted to live vicariously through other people's relationships as if that wasn't just as lonely once they shut their devices off and were confronted with the fact that it wasn't their reality.

The numbers weren’t bad, you still made plenty of income from your subscribers and generous, loyal tippers. They just weren’t as satisfying anymore. It left a hollow feeling inside you as if you were subconsciously basing your worth on this career that was supposed to just be a side hustle for pocket money.

After paying off your full tuition in just a year of posting content, it obviously turned into more than that.

The analytics page glowed on your monitor, the chart line dipping slightly where it used to climb. Not a crash, not a disaster—just slipping. You're worried that it may drop lower and lower until you reach rock bottom and everyone forgets about you.

It sucked really, letting numbers and views be your source of validation, but it had been three years of being in this industry so it became a bad habit. You just had to choose a job that revolved around attention, didn't you?

Recruiting a fake boyfriend was out of the question. Having witnessed how crazy fans could get, you had no doubt that they would be able to figure out who you are, who the hypothetical guy is and expose you for being a fraud. It'd concerning how parasocial they could get but you thankfully had no issues like that so far as you kept your identity a secret and set clear cut boundaries for your interactions.

Besides, if you did stage a relationship, you think you'd eventually crack under the pressure of pretenses and the guilt you'd undoubtedly feel for lying. Building yourself up to be something you're not will inevitably come back to bite you in the ass and the facade will fall away when you're too exhausted to keep it up anymore. One white lie would snowball really quick.

You wish your life was as easy as Caleb's. Golden boy of the engineering faculty. Perfect grades, star basketball player, heartthrob smile, lived in hoodies and libraries but also knew how to party and put himself out there. The only man you trusted not to turn weird about your profession. He wasn't judgemental in the slightest when you opened up about it though he did get all flustered.

As if you jinxed yourself with those thoughts, he texted you to ask if you wanted to have a sleepover which you agreed to. It was a good distraction, having him at your apartment and assembling model airplanes with him while some movie played in the background and you ate takeout.

But then it happened.

The next morning he walked past your streaming room brushing his teeth, half-asleep with his brown hair messy, shirt nowhere in sight. He wasn't even fully in the frame of your camera, just a sculpted torso and low riding boxers, arms flexing with the movements of his toothbrush.

Yet that was all it took.

Your chat spammed messages asking who the shirtless guy was. The mystery guy from your stream was suddenly trending, your ratings and ranking climbing once more, shocking you. Everyone began speculating who the man was, wondering if you had a boyfriend even if you insisted that he was your friend.

So now you face a different problem.

However, an ingenious idea was forming in your mind that just might fly you back to the top. Perhaps this moment of your friend breaking the internet will work in your favor.

Later that week, you walked into the living room where he was scrolling his phone. It was a rare sight for a guy who liked to code his own otome games and read up on the latest aerospace breakthroughs in his free time.

“So… funny story,” you start, settling beside him on the couch as you thought about how to word your request as if you didn't think it over countless times already.

“I thought I was the comedian in this dynamic,” he comments in faux offense, tone filled with dry amusement.

“My chat saw you the other morning.”

His head snapped up at that, eyes widened. “You told them I exist?”

Raising your hands, you wave them. “I didn’t tell them anything! You just wandered through like a crossover between a Calvin Klein ad and a toothpaste commercial.”

Caleb groaned and buried his face in a cushion. While he did like attention, being an extrovert and all, he wasn't all that happy about making an accidental appearance on your stream.

“They’re asking about you now,” you continued carefully. “But don't worry. All they saw was your torso.”

“What if they enhance the video and see my tattoos, they'd be able to find me,” he counters, sounding panicked as blood drains from his face, imagining his future career as an aerospace engineer slipping through his fingers.

“No, they won't! Besides, you don't go around showing off your ink to everyone,” you remind him since he's never really shirtless on campus.

“I don't know if I can do this,” he tells you, already thinking of the worst-case scenarios and how showing up on a cam girl's site might just jeopardize his life.

“Wait, hear me out!”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t even show your face.”

He looked up slowly. “Go on.”

Relieved that he was giving you a chance to state your case, you continued. “You’d just sit off camera and talk sometimes. Like a mysterious co-host.”

“Why would I do that?”

You grinned.

“Because the internet is already obsessed with the shirtless toothbrush guy.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

“I hope that nickname doesn't stick.”

“You can change it if you give them other ideas during a stream,” you suggest. “So… is that a yes?”

“Only if I get to raid your snack cupboard.”

You deadpan at that. “That's something you already do.”

Nodding, he thinks about it. “Oh, then let me crash here whenever I want. You know how rowdy my housemates can get. It's hard to study like that.”

“Sure,” you agree since he's already over often enough that he might as well start staying here. “As long as you clean up after yourself and keep up your hygiene.”

His violet eyes bulge out at that as he jerks back in outrage. “I'm not a pig. I take very good care of myself and my surroundings, you don't have to worry about that.”

Caleb knows you're just ribbing him, the smile on your face just confirming that. He smiles as well as you clap and throw your arms around him, pulling him into a crushing hug that makes him chuckle.

“Thank you, Cable Car!” You exclaim the nickname you'd come up with for him one night you were tipsy and called him that instead of his name.

“You're welcome.” He pats your back. “I can’t believe I’m considering becoming an anonymous internet cryptid.”

As you anticipated, your viewers love Toothbrush Guy who's now called Boy Next Door as everyone's so taken by how likable he is, ever the conversationalist. They all agree that he sounds handsome just from his playful, charming tone and the boyish laughs he lets out while talking to you.

Some even tell him to get into voice acting or do those kinds of audios on the same site and he's very flattered by all the compliments.

“Audio porn, huh? I heard about it but didn't know it was such a popular form of sexual media,” Caleb muses.

He's sitting at your dining room table with his laptop, half-absorbed in something that looked suspiciously like code.

He’d been staying over for a few days while his apartment building dealt with a plumbing issue. A polite houseguest. Barely took up space but his presence was felt everywhere.

It was hard not to notice him. He was unfairly good-looking for someone who sat hunched over his laptop like that. Tall, dark hair, soft amethyst eyes, the kind of energy that made people gravitate towards him instantly.

“Yeah, a lot of women prefer it over the videos honestly. I guess it's because the videos are mostly catered towards men and their fantasies whereas audios are more intimate and feel like you're being addressed directly,” you explain, taking a sip from your can of soda.

Caleb blinked at you from behind his glasses, half-hidden behind his laptop like it was a shield to hide his mischievous smirk.

“Oh yeah? So you prefer that over videos, huh?” he asks, dark eyebrows wiggling teasingly.

Face warming, you shrug. “Yeah, I do. What's wrong with that?”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Nothing, I'm just messing with you.”

The clicking and clacking of his fingers on the keyboard fill the silence that settles over you for a few moments until he speaks up again.

“So what kind of audios do you listen to?”

“Huh?” You blurt, not expecting the question as you take another mouthful of soda to stall answering.

Observant as ever, he picks up on that and presses further, leaning back against the chair and stretching his arms over his head, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut on his bulky arms and chest, eyes on you.

“Ah, come on. Don't get shy on me now. I already know what you do,” he says and yeah, this is nothing compared to some of the content you make. “So what do you like then? The boyfriend roleplay? The ambient stuff? Guided masturbation? Story based ones? Dirty talk?”

“Um, a bit of everything, I suppose.”

He perks up at that like a detective that just got a lead on a crime and you feel like you made a mistake by entertaining this conversation.

“Oh? Dirty talk too? So what like praise or degradation? Or both?” He prattles questions as your face gets hotter.

“Depends on my mood,” you answer vaguely and he hums, evidently entertained.

“I see, and guided masturbation, huh? You liked to be told what to do?” His smile is teasing.

“Sometimes.”

There's cogs turning in that brain of his as he tilts his head, gaze roaming over the interior of your apartment while he thinks. “What do they say then? Call you a pretty slut? Tell you to fuck that sweet wet pussy for them? Be a good whore and come for them?”

Vulgar words spew from his mouth casually and leave yours agape, brows shooting up to your hairline as your stomach flips from how he'd lowered his voice to say that.

“Excuse me?”

An easy chuckle leaves him. “Just giving examples. I'm not calling you all those things.”

“Obviously,” you say, though you're not all that convinced.

“Obviously,” he affirms with a barely contained grin.

Clearing your throat, you take another sip of your soda, parched and Caleb just watches. “Yeah, pretty much. Some of them can really go over board and kill the mood though.”

He cringes in solidarity, knowing that he's been put off by high-pitched, overexaggerated moans from porn stars while trying to find something good to get off to at night. There's only so many titles along the lines of “daddy's little cunny” that a guy can take before he goes soft.

Meanwhile, you're still flustered by his mimicry of those audio porn actors. Liquid heat rolled into your stomach from the things he said and you hated to admit it.

“You're good at talking. Maybe we could put that yapping mouth of yours to work and have you talk me through one of my videos.”

It's his turn to be dumbfounded, cheeks pinkening as he points at himself with an index finger to his chest, eyes bugging out. “Me?”

“Only if you want to! I know it's weird but—”

“Sure, I'll do it,” he agrees quicker than you could come up with your next thought.

“Um, okay. But we'll start small. Maybe you could take those boyfriend perspective photos for me and we'll see how it goes from there?” You offer, picking at the loose threads of your old t-shirt.

Mulling over it for a beat, Caleb nods and you beam at how he hardly hesitates when it comes to you. “Thank you!”

“Anything for you.”

With how smooth his responses are, one would think he's a total flirt and even a playboy. You accused him of being a womanizer after your first real conversation on the porch of a frat house where he made you laugh harder than you'd like because no man deserves to see you so entertained by them.

Caleb had widened his eyes comically, jaw dropping to the rickety floorboards as he lowered his head as if deeply offended. But he didn't deny your accusations as he's got them many times before and accepted that a part of being a man is pretending to be worse than you actually are.

His player reputation—as misinformed as it was—preceded him like a gloomy, old house would spin tales of an evil entity residing within its walls.

Whereas a lot of the assholes on campus don't bat an eye and turn their heads away as one of their own harasses a woman, Caleb was the decent human being who stood up to them and called them out on their inexcusable behavior. That's where the rumors about him being a womanizer and fucking half the school's population came from because there wasn't much else dirt they could find to slander him.

Much to their dismay, Caleb accepted and owned those rumors, taking the power they tried to have over him and wielding it once more. He had to hand it to them, now girls would flock to him even more than before and even the crushes he had would be among them so it was a win.

When a guy and a girl have been friends for long enough, they often stop viewing each other as potential romantic partners altogether—that's if there was any other attraction other than platonic there in the first place. The pull just fades into the background.

Yet occasionally there’s a brief moment where one of them suddenly notices the other’s appeal and wonders if there could be something more—or if it’s just a random, fleeting impulse. Most of the time, that thought disappears as quickly as it came, and the friendship returns to its usual rhythm.

Caleb does not know what to make of you now when you're like this in front of him and you know it's not the same as when Macie first helped you film content three years ago after she talked you into starting your page.

The afternoon light pooled through your curtains, warm and quiet, making the living room that was now your photoshoot set feel almost sleepy. Domestic. Intimate.

Just what the viewers would want to see.

“Okay,” Caleb chirps cheerfully behind the camera like a soccer dad at his kid's game rather than a photographer. “Just sit like that. Don't move.”

Curling your legs beneath you, on the couch, the hem of your baggy sweater falling around your bare thighs, you held the pose. “This good?”

“Yeah. Perfect,” his tone was distracted, as if he was only half-listening to her, concentrating on doing his best to get good pictures for her. The camera lifted. “Now look up at me.”

Tipping your chin toward the lens, your eyes shine in the sunlight, intent and bright, framed by long lashes. Your hair was effortlessly unruly, Caleb having told you to keep it that way when you woke up from your nap.

You didn't see why that was important since you made faceless content but went with it because he said it adds to the cozy vibe.

The gentle tilt of your lips was soft and almost secretive as if you were giving someone a glimpse into the privacy of your life. That someone being Caleb.

“Hold that,” he murmured. The click of your camera followed shortly after.

“You look…” he goes quiet, searching for the right words, “really sweet like this.”

A soft chuckle leaves you at that. “Thanks, Caleb. That's kind of the point, no?”

Huffing at your sass, he rolls his eyes, a smile on his face. “Alright, alright. Keep that smart mouth shut for a bit and let me work my magic.”

Amused, you oblige, doing all the poses he instructs you to, little laughs and grumbles of disapproval filling your quiet living room as you sometimes purposely do the wrong thing just to see the downturn of his lips and slight furrow of his brows.

“Looking good so far,” he nods to himself like he's proud of his work as if this was another passion project. “Now, tilt your head a little. Yeah—just like that. And keep looking at me, yeah?”

The cute girlfriend part of this shoot was over so you stepped out of that role, expression shifting slowly, deliberately. The soft pull at your mouth is still there but something salacious curves at the edges, the gleam in your gaze inspiring thoughts that treaded into uncharted, wicked territory.

“Good,” your friend says from where he's standing in front of you, voice quieter now. “And lean forward just a bit.”

The sweater slips from one shoulder as you do as you're told, eyelids lowering halfway, lashes shadowing your gaze as you peered up at him.

“Is this what you wanted?” There's a low hum in your voice that makes his chest tremble ever so slightly with his next breath.

Caleb's heart had never thudded like this in your presence before and it's like you could hear it as you smirked something feline.

Swallowing thickly, he manages a nod. “Yeah, that's good. Really good.”

The sweetness seeps out of the air, something else slinking into the space between you—slow and curious—as it wraps around you. The man feels it like a weighted blanket coming down on his weary body after a hot shower and a hectic day. He feels drowsy and heavy in a comforting way.

“Give me that look again,” he mutters, tongue in his cheek as he holds the camera a little tighter.

Inclining your head, you hold his gaze through the lenses, not demanding or trapping but rather beckoning and inviting without any pressure. He wants to stare, not feeling as if he's forced to.

“Perfect,” he whispers, a bit breathless.

The whole “talking you through it” thing wasn't mentioned after that day you brought it up and you never thought to do so after. The pictures were enough and after cropping your face out of them, you posted it and the thread got thousands of likes within seconds.

It was Caleb who reminded you of the proposition a few days later while he was sitting on your couch, barely paying attention to the movie playing and fidgety like he had something on his mind. Now you know what it was.

About half an hour later, you're set up in your streaming room which is essentially a guest room with your gaming console and monitors on one side and a bed on the other with minimal decor, nothing to give away who you were or where you lived.

Back against the cushioned headboard, your legs bent at the knees and thighs parted as Caleb sat in front of you, camera in hand but his hold slack as he watched you.

“Can you see it?” Your voice is coy as if you don't know that his attention is zeroed in on the spot between your thighs.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

The shiver down your spine is either from the cool air that hits the wetness coating your inner thighs and exposed pussy or his gawking. Maybe both.

A maroon crewneck covers little of your upper body, bunched up just beneath your breasts while your lower body is only clad by your socks. The blinking of the red recording light flashes and you get into character.

“Baby,” you call out to Caleb, peeling him out of his stupor and sending him into another with that endearment topped with honey. “I'm really wet, huh?”

Gulping, your friend is all round-eyed and adorably speechless but he recovers quickly. “Mhm, you're soaked, sweetheart.”

Sliding a manicured hand down from your neck to your soft tummy and then stopping at your thigh, you hum. “Am I soaked for you?”

Lifting his ametrine gaze to yours, his chest hitches as he finds your eyes staring right back at him, expectant. The one-sided smile you grace him with has his cock swelling shamefully in his pants. He tells himself that it's a normal reaction, it's one you've primed yourself to bring out of men in this line of work.

“All for me,” he affirms, voice deeper now.

Caressing your thigh with your nails, you tilt your head, watching him attentively. Caleb's suddenly a rabbit in the presence of a starving wolf and he holds eye contact, paralyzed almost as if he knows he's going to be eaten alive.

“Hmm,” you hum as you pretend to think. “Tell me how you'd touch me if you could.”

Oh, Caleb blinks, heart pounding in his ears. Heavy pumps of the blood rush down to his aching erection, threatening to pull him under. He shakes them off, remembering to be professional as he was just your cameraman.

Who was about to direct you through touching yourself “for him” but he digresses.

“Spread your legs a bit more for me, let me get a better look at that pussy,” the words come out of his mouth easily, just him voicing his thoughts.

The view that greets him stutters his breath as he takes in your swollen, hot cunt, angling the camera towards it. Shifting closer to get a better look before blushing and remembering that he can zoom in instead.

Skin glistening with your excitement, your folds are glossy and puffy, slit as delicate as the petals of a flower. Saliva pools in his mouth.

It's not enough. For the viewers, of course, not him. Definitely not him.

“How pretty,” he compliments and you ignore how your chest swells from the praise. “Put those fingers to use and show me your clit, will you? I'm sure everyone wants to see that new nail set too.”

Smiling at how he's playing along well, you slip your hand lower, cupping your mound briefly then parting your pussy lips with your index and ring fingers, the breeze kissing your sopping cunt. Slick dribbles out of your entrance and strings shimmer and stretch like webs between your folds, smearing you in that sheen.

The hood of your clit is pulled back by your middle finger, the nub flickering and your pussy fluttering around nothing. It's like they're winking at him, daring him to touch.

A sighing exhale comes from Caleb, loud enough for the recording to pick up. He's admiring your pussy like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen and your stomach flips. His eyes are hooded and dark, hair falling into them but there's more than lust in them, there's awe and adoration. It's a fond look that has no place here.

“Want me to show you how I touch myself when I'm thinking of you?”

“Fuck yes,” he blurts with a low groan that has you laughing a purring sound while he flushes.

Eyes on his, you dipped your two wet fingers deep inside you, cunt sucking them in and milking them as you delved and probed at your gummy walls.

“Curl your fingers for me,” you do just that, lips parting on a gasp. “Thaaat's it. Rub your cute little clit too. Don't neglect my baby like that.”

Something snatches his stomach when you look at him again while fucking yourself on your fingers like you'd want him to. Eyes wetter and low lidded, face dewy and mouth parted on pants and sighs, hair clinging to your forehead as your pussy gurgles around your drenched fingers. He's over the fucking moon that no one gets to see this expression of yours.

Fuck, Caleb wanted to palm his cock, maybe pull it out and stroke it in tandem with the pumps of your fingers in and out of you as your stomach caves and your chest rose and fell. But he couldn't, he was just your cameraman.

“Doesn't feel as good as your fingers would, baby. Want you to touch me,” you nearly whine and Caleb almost forgets that you're in character.

“Make yourself come on your pretty fingers and I'll consider it next time,” he promises, truly and sincerely like it's a vow. It makes you clench around your fingers as something flutters in your tummy.

Pumping your fingers into your pussy faster, you gaze dips to his big hands and his long, slender fingers, veins climbing up the back of them. You push another finger in because three of yours would be as thick as two of his. The slight stretch as your back bowing as you buck into it.

Drawing your fingers out of your greedy hole, you spread your arousal all over your aching clit, stomach shuddering as you rub tight, firm circles on the pulsing bud.

“Get a little rough for me,” Caleb tells you, voice gravely now, gaze as dark as dusk as he bites the inside of his cheek and juts his chin towards your ministrations. “Slap it.”

A sharp, crackling wave of electricity zaps you all the way from your spine to your bundle of nerves as you land a heavy palm on your pussy, body jolting. A surprised cry rips from your throat.

“Fuck,” you hiss as the prickle of pain swirls into a pulse of pleasure.

“Come on, you can do better than that. Harder,” he demands and you choke on a sob as you do so, head dropping forward.

“Hey,” his tone is threaded with something dark. “Look at me. I want to watch you come.”

Bleary eyes opening halfway, you stare at him, squirming as your hips grind into the strokes to your clit. Noises growing desperate and higher, you pick up the pace of your petting, the pool of heat in your stomach welling, sitting heavy in your lower belly until it gives into the force of gravity and drops, crashing down on you in a shockwave.

The orgasm is dizzying and leaves you hazy as you melt into your sheets, slumping against the headboard with labored breaths, the layer of sweat making your skin sparkle under the fairy lights.

“That's my girl,” Caleb murmurs, voice all tender and breathless like he had just come too. “You did so well for me. Gonna make it up to you next time.”

Your viewers went absolutely insane after that video was posted. Caleb insisted on editing it just like he did with your photos, making a copy of it on his laptop for safe keeping (the originals where your face was showing). The comments were flooded with requests for more videos like this, adding all kinds of scenarios you could do but the ones that stood out the most were about Caleb.

“That man needs to be in front of the camera, not behind it. Don't hide him from us!” You read the top comment out loud to him in a bored tone that didn't match the enthusiasm of the person who typed it.

“People are willing to pay a pretty penny to see you fuck me,” you say with a snort as you're sat in his apartment while he whips up some delicious pasta for you both.

“It's not about the money,” he murmurs under his breath and you strain to try and hear it.

“What?”

Turning his head to you, he smiles innocently. “Nothing! I'm down for it if you are. I'd love to help you out. Seeing you get your spark back is really rewarding.”

“Oh…thank you.”

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine,” he assures you as he plates up the food and comes over to eat with you, eyes lingering on your form for longer than necessary as he watches you take the first bite.

A week later, you're back in your streaming room. The camera is set up and it's live but you've honestly forgotten all about it.

It was pointless to think of anything else while your friend is fucking you within an inch of your life.

Headboard kissing the wall bruisingly, the thuds were broken by the snap of his hips against your ass as it echoed through the room. Each stroke is punctuated by a filthy, sloppy squelch that chorus with your whimpers and mewls. Clawing at the sheets, you search for reprieve that the man behind you refuses to give.

You're not sure what's more mind-boggling, the fact that harmless, compassionate Caleb is doing this to you or the wanton, unrecognizable sounds that are being kicked out of your lungs with each punch of his tip to your cervix.

“Fuck, you can't speak, can you?” Caleb hisses, crowding you from behind, hands braced on the bedding on either side of you as he ruts into you. “Going dumb on my cock? This is what you wanted, right?”

Back arched in a painful, neat fold, you can only garble out a moan in response. Shutting your eyes, you buried your face in your pillow and bit down on it, sweet whines and squeaks tumbling out of you one after the other as he churned your cunt. The creamy, white ring at the base of his shaft is bubbling and dripping with each shove back into your swelling, abused pussy.

Plump folds numb from overuse in the past hours of relentless fucking, you were undeterred, fully ready to keep going much to your friend's delight. He was like a rabbit in heat, barely stopping for five minutes after coming and just pulling out to discard another condom then roll on a new one. You don't even want to think about how much storage the video is going to take up.

The cold metal of his necklace is refreshing against the dip in your back, cooling your balmy skin as beads of sweat coalesce and run down to the curve of your ass and onto his cock. Your body wasn't sore or stiff, the only part of you that felt exhausted was your mind.

Which was a good thing because if you could string together a bunch of intelligible words to make a sentence, you'd just be saying his name and exposing his identity. The chimes and pings from the live chat reminded you that they were watching and sending generous tips as compensation for you giving the people what they asked for.

Caleb is enamored by the sight of you under him as he mounts you like a feral animal, hands gripping at your plush hips to pull you back to meet his thrusts. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you drop down on him over and over again, cunt smothering his cock as you do and his head drops back at the snug fit.

The webby slick of your arousal glinting in the low lights and clinging to his cock in messy strings has his mind all fuzzy and clouded with you, you, you. Your scent, your body, your voice, your face, your smile, everything.

“Fuck, you're perfect. Should've done this sooner, pretty girl,” he grunts, rocking into you deeper, pressing you into the mattress with his heavy body as you groan.

After coaxing another earthshattering orgasm from you, he pulls out much to your chagrin just to flip you onto your back, tapping the tip of it onto your clit, relishing the way you twitch from the touch as your folds nestle him again, hips drawing back and pushing forward to glide between them.

He's folding you, knees up to your ears, giving you the perfect view of his cock pushing into you again, relieved sighs heaving out of you both. You'd think you're lovers reuniting after years rather than just a few seconds ago. It's nice that he's as insatiable as you are.

Drooping, dazed eyes blink and refocus as you stare down your body to where he's dragging his cock in and out of you, deep stroking you into a coma. Glancing up at him, sheepish from the sight this position gives you despite being quite acquainted his body now, your cheeks warm as you admire him.

A sheen of moisture coats him, his hulking, tanned body shaped by years of discipline and athleticism. The yellow star stickers you'd put on his nipples earlier while rewarding him for making you come with them (as someone requested) are still in place. It's oddly cute.

Bulging biceps, broad pectoral muscles that cushion his dog tag, ridges on his deeply etched abdomen and dips in his hips that direct your gaze down to where he's pumping in and out of you have you drooling. His thighs ripple along with his stomach, sculpted like the rest of him and mouthwateringly thick.

His dark, tousled hair falls over his forehead, framing his sharp features and a subtle flush across his cheeks, damp bangs draping messily over one violet eye as he catches your gaze and winks at you.

The ink that swirls on his skin and his piercings give the impression that he moonlights as the face of a punk rock band. A glinting bead at his eyebrow, silver hoops and studs climbs up his ear cartilage and a lip ring caught between his teeth as he smirks down at you.

“There she is. Do you know how pretty you look? How good you feel?” He rumbles out the questions.

“Mm, just as good as you do, I'd hope,” you reply, finding your voice now that his pace had slowed into something sensual.

Raking your fingers through his hair, you smile to yourself as he shudders from the scrape of your nails on his scalp, cooing at him. “You're so good to me, baby. Really good at this too,” you slur.

His fluttering lashes open so his intense purple irises fix on you, the tips of his ears reddening from something other than exertion as he watches you watch him, ardent. “I'm just following my pretty girl's instructions.”

There's a syrupy, gooey feeling drizzling into his veins at the tender, almost loving smile that you dazzle him with in response. His heart thuds fast, each beat a blow to his chest. It's practically galloping and he has to dissolve this intimate moment into something debauched so his racing pulse can be excused as something else.

Hair fanned out, your brows knit with a squeaky moan of surprise as he barrels his cock into you without warning or time for you to adjust to the swift change of pace. Hard grunts and growly groans bubble out of him as he drives into you, distracting himself with the bounce of your tits, face flushed and scrunched as your pussy drools all over his cock, swallowing it like a glutton.

“Good fucking girl, get louder. Let them hear how good you're getting it,” he purrs and waits for you to do so as if you're not finding it hard to do anything else but take what he gives you. He doesn't let up either, pummeling into you and ripping orgasms out of you before you even register them coming on.

Cupping your face, he squishes your cheeks together until your lips pucker, wrecked, fucked-out noises spilling from your throat as he hums in approval at the sound of them. The mattress springs creak and squeak while the bed frame sways.

Licking at his teeth, Caleb's breathing grows heavy and faster like it has every time he's about to finish too. Burying his face in your neck, he bites down on the skin there, reveling in the whimper you give as he sucks a bruise into it.

Vision dimming, the rhythm of his merciless thrusts loses its consistency and becomes sporadic as his noises grow whinier and needy. With one suffocating squeeze from your cunt, his orgasm rattles through him ruthlessly, hips stuttering as he collapses on top of you after a few weak humps, weight crushing you into the bed.

“There, there. Breathe. You did so good, baby,” you whisper in his ear, hand smoothing over his hair as you press your lips to his sweaty temple, his spent cock spurting a little more into the condom from your soothing words.

“I've got to end the livestream,” you remind him, pushing at his chest to crawl out from under him.

“M'kay,” he mumbled into your pillow, boneless and finally ready to call it a night.

Once you greeted your viewers and bid them goodbye, you switched everything off. “Gosh, I hope that was enough and they don't demand more.”

His head perks up at that, brown tresses sticking up in all directions as he watches you drag yourself to the bathroom to clean up.

“I wouldn't mind!” Caleb calls out to you, voice loud and energetic like he didn't just tire himself out. Your laugh has him smiling as he drops his face into the pillow again. “What's a little more cock between friends?”

Buzzing from his phone disturbs him and he taps around the nightstand to retrieve it. The brightness of the screen is harsh and he squints to read the texts that were sent to him just a minute apart from each other.

Macie: OMG! YOU FILMED A VIDEO WITH HER?!

Zayne: What's this Macie is saying about you “making a movie” with you-know-who?

note: there's nerdleb @peachygelic

[willowsslove]

A Place To Rest My Heart (Sylus x Reader)

⊹₊⟡⋆Chapter 6 - The Warmth Of My Wreckage ⋆⊹₊⟡

Summary ˖ ᡣ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

In a world where hybrids are often treated as little more than exotic pets or disposable labor, you sign up for an integration program out of sheer, aching loneliness. What begins as a desperate bid for connection spirals into something deeper, more dangerous, tenderness that neither of you expected. 

But when betrayal shatters the fragile trust you've finally carved out, you both learn the hardest truth, some tethers cannot be cut. 

Warnings ˖ ᡣ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

18+, MDNI, Violence / injury (depictions of abuse and injuries, including bruises, cuts, blood, shackles, muzzle, collar chafing), Non-consensual restraint, (restrained, drugged, and muzzled; includes choking), Attempted non-con elements (no actual non-con occurs),Miscommunication & betrayal, Angst with a happy ending (heavy emotional hurt, separation, heartbreak, mutual pining), Possessive/obsessive behavior (possessiveness, marking, jealousy), Heat/rut cycle (desperate, instinct-driven sex), Prejudice & discrimination (derogatory language, objectification, leashed hybrids on display), Mature sexual content (oral, penetrative sex, marking/biting).

⊹₊⟡⋆Previous Chapter⋆⊹₊⟡

⊹₊⟡⋆Masterlist⊹₊⟡⋆

You've never understood the impulse to watch someone sleep.

It had always struck you as a peculiar kind of intimacy, the kind that belonged to people who’d earned it, like lovers, parents, or the quietly devoted. Not to someone standing at the far end of their own couch at half past nine on a Tuesday, too tired to move, but too transfixed to look away. 

And yet here you are. Feet aching in that bone-deep way that only comes after a shift that lasted far past its usual end, a dull throb working its way up behind your temples, yet still, you don't move. You just stand there, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.

He'd rearranged the throw pillows around him, three of them stacked under his head, one more clutched to his chest, the rest presumably somewhere on the floor behind the couch. His tail curls and uncurls with each breath, an instinctive movement, the tufted tip brushing the armrest and then falling still. 

His ears, usually carried with a kind of imperious indifference during his waking hours, had relaxed forward in sleep, almost vulnerable-looking. 

There are empty snack wrappers scattered around him like shed skins, the chips you'd left in the pantry, the chocolate bars you'd been saving. But you find, oddly, that you don't mind.

You're trying to remember the last time anything in this flat looked this lived-in, this… alive. 

"You know" he says, without opening his eyes, voice thick and raspy "it's really creepy to stare at someone like that."

The suddenness of his voice is enough to send your heart lurching sideways. You take a sharp step back, heel catching the edge of the rug, and only narrowly avoid making it worse by steadying yourself against the wall behind you. 

He opens one eye, then the other, looking you over once. He sits up, stretching indulgently, arms extending over his head, spine arching, a low and entirely effortless purr resonating from somewhere deep in his chest as he does it. 

He looks, for just a moment, unbearably comfortable in a way that makes you feel vaguely like an intruder in your own home.

"I wasn’t…” you start, then abandon the lie altogether with a slump of your shoulders. "I'm sorry. You just looked so… comfortable."

He lets the stretch unwind, settling back against the cushions and regarding you with the particular expression of someone who has decided, for the time being, not to push the issue. "Right" he says.

You look away from him and find things to do with your hands. It's a habit you've developed in the time since he arrived, filling the silences with small, purposeful tasks so that neither of you has to sit with the awkwardness of them. 

You gather the wrappers one by one, turning each over to check what's left, making quiet mental notes about what needs replacing, what he'd actually finished, creating a quiet inventory of his preferences for later.

"Have you eaten today?" you ask, without looking at him. "Properly, I mean. Not just this.” You wave one of the empty wrappers at him. 

A pause. "No."

You glance back. He's watching you with that look he gets, the one that sits somewhere between suspicion and something else, something quieter than suspicion, but harder to dismiss. 

His arms are crossed loosely over his chest, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, every line of him arranged in the studied posture of someone who is entirely unbothered and would like you to know it.

"There's nothing I like in this…” he gestures dismissively at the room around him "place."

The word lands with a cruelty you didn’t expect. Not home, no never that. Just…place, like it’s a container he's been placed inside, temporary by implication, and the carefully maintained distance in his voice makes the distinction feel deliberate, a small and precise cruelty. 

You stay bent over the floor a moment longer than necessary, fingers closing around a wrapper, letting the small lump at the back of your throat dissolve before you stand.

"Would you want to go shopping, maybe?" You carry the wrappers to the bin, pressing them down. "We could get things you actually want. You could pick."

Silence.

"Right now?"

You turn to him. One of his brows has lifted, amusement curving the corner of his mouth. You nod, perhaps too eagerly, the smile already on your face before you've thought better of it.

Something shifts in his expression, like a door being pulled almost shut, the latch catching before it closes fully. He straightens against the cushions. "Okay" he says, suddenly composed again. "I'd like that."

You grab your keys.

---

Why do you always pick the cart with the bad wheel?

You'd stood in front of the row of them for a full ten seconds choosing, and still somehow managed to pick the one that shudders and squeals at every chance it gets, announcing your progress down each aisle with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. 

You push it with both hands and try to focus on the shelves, but your thoughts keep straying, toward your bed, toward the idea of being horizontal and unconscious for a blessed number of hours.

You blink, bleary eyed, and look around for a moment.

He's not beside you.

You find him further down the aisle, standing before the refrigerated meat section, and even from here the difference in scale is striking. He stands a full head and shoulders above the nearest other shopper, utterly still in the way of someone who is doing a great deal of thinking. The overhead fluorescents catch the white of his hair, tail stilled and jaw set.

You bring the cart alongside him, one wheel complaining loudly at the last turn.

"Is there something you want?" you ask, tilting to read his face. It's a thing you've started doing without noticing, tilting yourself to find the angle he's least likely to guard, searching for the information he won’t offer you voluntarily.

His eyes cut to yours for a single second. "No."

But he doesn't move, and his eyes don't leave the shelves.

You look at the display, the full length of it, the wrapped cuts and vacuum-packed portions and plastic-lidded trays, and then you begin picking things up, working from the top shelf downwards, stacking your arms with as much as you can hold.

“Wait—" His hand closes around your wrists, grip firm and warm through your sleeves, and for just a moment every thought in your head goes quiet. He stares down at the accumulated armful of meat with an expression of genuine disbelief. "I don't need that much."

"You're quite large" you say, as diplomatically as you can manage, letting your eyes track upward from his hands to his face, aware of the heat rising in your own. "And you're still healing." The word feels too personal the moment they’re out, a reference to the bruising that had only just begun to yellow at its edges when he arrived, to the careful way he'd held himself the first few days, guarding his ribs without ever acknowledging it. "Your body needs more than it used to."

He releases your wrists and steps back, and the absence of his hands is immediate and strange, leaving a strange warmth in their wake.

"Fine" he huffs. "But not the lamb."

"Not the lamb" you agree.

"It smells funny."

You put the lamb back and bite down on the smile before it surfaces. He catches it anyway, you think, something in the slight narrowing of his eyes, but he doesn't comment, just trails a half-step behind you as you push the cart toward the far end of the store, the bad wheel still screaming your arrival.

You can feel him bristling before you hear it, that low, near-constant thread of sound from his chest, not quite a growl but close enough. His hands have curled at his sides. His ears are moving in short, sharp rotations, tracking the room and everyone in it.

"Sylus" you say, low enough that only he can hear. "You alright?"

"Why are they staring?"

You don't have to look to know he's right. You can feel it the same way he can, the strange weight of attention, that specific pressure of too many eyes all oriented in your direction. 

You glance sideways and catch a woman openly watching him from across the display, not with hostility, thankfully, but with curiosity of someone looking at something they've decided doesn't require the same courtesy they'd extend to another person. Beside her, a man leans to say something quietly to his partner, and they then both look.

Sylus's lips pull back, the lights catching the sharp white edge of his teeth.

Several people look away immediately. One or two don't.

"Ignore them" you say, then let your own voice carry just enough that the nearest cluster of them can hear the edge in it. "They're being rude." A beat, quieter, mostly for yourself. "Ignorant assholes."

His ears shift, a small, almost imperceptible loosening, the angle of them tilting a degree or two forward, the restless lashing of his tail slowing fractionally. His pupils, which had narrowed to near-slits, ease open by a margin.

It lasts approximately four seconds.

Because that's when you notice the child.

A boy, perhaps of three or four, who has must have detached from his parent's side and is now standing three feet from Sylus with his chin tipped all the way back, staring up at him with an expression of absolute, unguarded wonder. His small hand is raised, reaching, with the cheerful and complete absence of self-preservation instinct that belongs exclusively to the very young. 

Sylus has gone very, very still.

He looks down at the child the way a judge might look at an unrepentant defendant, with an arched brow and a long, considered silence.

"And what do you want?" he says, finally, his voice carrying a quality that doesn't quite belong to ordinary speech, a resonance that sits low in the chest, that purrs softly, melodic in a way that seems less like intention and more like nature. The child stares up at him, completely unafraid.

"Kitty" the boy announces.

Then he raises both hands and makes grabbing motions at the air.

Sylus's face undergoes a remarkable sequence of changes in very quick succession. The composed arch of his brow collapses. One eye twitches, a single, involuntary spasm. His mouth opens, then closes. Something in his expression cycles through affront, disbelief, and a kind of deeply personal offence that might, under different circumstances, have been funny.

It is, in fact, extremely funny. You press your lips together until they hurt.

You're already moving, stepping between them instinctually, some part of your brain running through a silent and extremely rapid threat assessment. 

Because you don't actually know what he'll do. You've seen him sit entirely still while you cleaned bruising from his back, seen him take food from your hand and say nothing, seen him sleep in your living room like a displaced king tolerating a temporary inconvenience, but you haven't seen him with a child, haven't seen how that particular variable interacts with him, and there is a cold half-second where you genuinely don't know if he might snarl or hiss.

He doesn't snarl.

What he does instead is drop, one fluid, elegant motion, looping an arm beneath the boy's legs and lifting him to hip height with the same casual ease someone else might use to pick up a bag of shopping. The child grabs immediately for his ears, both small hands latching on and pulling with cheerful and entirely uncontrolled force. Sylus's expression suggests this is beneath his dignity to acknowledge.

"I am a caracal" he begins, in the tone of someone who has decided that if this conversation is happening, it will at least be conducted correctly, "a carnivorous wild cat, capable of taking down animals two to three times my own size." The boy yanks on his ear. Sylus continues without blinking. "I can leap nearly ten feet in height from a standing position, and I am categorically not a kitty, you snivelling little—"

"Ah—" You reach up and lift the child from his arms before he can complete the sentence, depositing the boy back on the floor with both hands on his shoulders. He immediately turns and presses himself against Sylus's legs, pawing at them with both hands in an unmistakable request to be picked up again.

"No" you tell him gently, trying to steer him aside. "Let's find your mum, shall we."

You're scanning the aisle now with increasing urgency, looking for any adult who has the expression of someone whose small child has just ceased to exist. The store moves around you, carts clatter, people chatter, the tinny ambient loop of the music system, and then beneath all of it you hear it, a voice pitched voice of a parent coming apart at the seams.

"Albie—"

She's three aisles over and moving fast, her head snapping left and right, eyes too wide and too bright, caught in that tunnel vision of panic that makes it nearly impossible to actually see anything. You raise your arm and wave it, but she's past the point where peripheral motion registers, too deep in the catastrophe of a missing child to take in anything that isn't him.

The whistle that cuts through the store is so sharp and so sudden that you have to press a hand over your ear to ease the throb. It stops everything, conversation, movement, the ambient shuffle of commerce, like a pin being pulled, and in the silence that follows, every head in a thirty-foot radius turns toward the source of it.

Sylus lowers two fingers from his mouth and waits, a bored expression all over his face.

The woman's gaze finds him first, then you, then finally, with an exhale that seems to come from somewhere very deep, her son, who is still looking up at Sylus with the expression of someone beholding an oracle.

She crosses the distance at a near-run, arms already shaped for him, and the sound she makes when she scoops him up is not quite a word, something more compressed than language, more instinctive. 

She holds him with both arms, pressing her face into his hair, and for a long moment she just breathes him in, her hands moving over the back of his head in the compulsive checking gesture of someone reassuring themselves that something is real. 

You stand slightly to one side and watch, and feel something uncomfortable move through you, the sensation of witnessing a love so reflexive and so physical that it seems almost like a different category to anything you have experience with.

When she finally lifts her head, her eyes are wet at the corners. She looks at you, then at Sylus, and what you expect, the hesitation, the instinctive wariness you've seen from enough people by now to almost anticipate it, doesn't come.

"Thank you" she breathes.

"It's fine, really… he spotted Sylus and just sort of…” You gesture vaguely, and she nods, already understanding, a short and watery laugh escaping her.

"He's got a cat at home. He's obsessed."

"Oh, that's—"

“I am a Caracal” Sylus corrects sternly, cutting you off. His voice still carried that melodious tone, even in irritation, making the correction sound almost regal.

Both you and the woman stop, she blinks up at him, all of him, the full considerable height and breadth of him, the burning crimson of his eyes, the tufted tips of his ears, that expression of deeply maintained disdain, and something changes in her face. A faint colour climbs her cheeks, she blinks again, once, as if bringing herself back from somewhere.

"A caracal, yes" she says, softly. "Of course. Thank you, for keeping an eye on him."

"Leash your child" Sylus says, and turns, and stalks away down the aisle with the demeanour of someone who considers the matter closed.

You stand there for a full two seconds with your mouth hanging open before you remember yourself, turning back to the woman with what you hope is an expression that communicates sincere apology.

"He's honestly very…” You pause to think of the words. "He means well.”

She's watching the place where he disappeared around the corner, Albie still balanced on her hip, already reaching back in that direction with one determined arm. Her expression isn't offended, more considered instead.

"It's okay" she says, and when she looks back at you, there's something in it that surprises you. "I've seen the news. About…what they go through in those places." A beat. "The facilities.” She finishes with a grimace. 

You nod slowly, keeping your voice low the way you always do when this comes up, some instinct toward privacy overriding the part of you that wants to say more, to say the full weight of it, the chains, the bruising, the brokenness.

"He was" you say carefully, weighing each word. "Very badly treated."

She holds your gaze for a moment, and in it you see the particular understanding of someone who doesn't need the details to grasp what you’re saying. Then Albie makes another grab toward the aisle where Sylus disappeared, and she shifts him higher on her hip and looks away, and the moment closes.

You find Sylus at the end of the next aisle over, standing before a display of tinned fish with his arms crossed, studying the labels like someone conducting a professional audit.

He doesn't look up as you squeal towards him.

You don't say anything either.

The cart’s wheel shrieks as you pull it up beside him, the store’s music shifting overhead. You reach past him for the top shelf, stretching onto your toes, fingers just shy of your target. Before you can try again, he moves, close and deafly quiet, reaching over you with ease. He takes it down in one smooth motion and drops it into the cart, all whilst saying nothing.

You offer him a gentle smile, your heart tightening for a fleeting second, and then he’s gone again, taking the warmth of the moment with him.

… 

If he knew what you were thinking, you're fairly certain you'd receive a variation of the same lecture delivered to that child in the produce aisle. So you keep it to yourself, although the smile on your face might tell him everything.

He acts exactly like a house cat.

It had started in the car on the way back, that all encompassing kind of tired that comes over cats and small children without warning, his head tipping back against the headrest, eyes dropping to half-mast, one arm resting on the door with a heaviness that suggested the bones had gone out of it. 

By the time you'd pulled into the drive he was blinking slowly, jaw working round a yawn he didn't bother to conceal, and he'd leaned against the kitchen counter whilst you began unpacking bags with the posture of someone who had started negotiations for sleep since the door shut. 

You watched him in your peripheral vision, waiting, and sure enough, within ten minutes he had taken himself wordlessly back to the couch, folded himself onto it with his tail curled over his knees. And soon enough he was unconscious, all before you'd managed to fit the third bag's worth of food into the refrigerator.

Every couple of minutes, as if some part of you needs to confirm that he's still there, still asleep, you look back at him, and each time you do, you feel something quiet and warm move through your chest that you don't entirely know what to do with. 

It's not quite pride and not quite tenderness, it's something in between, something that lives in the realisation that he's out here and not locked behind his bedroom door. That he's dropped some increment of the vigilance he carries like a second skin, and has let sleep take him somewhere you happen to be.

You wipe your hands on a dish towel and pull out your phone, leaning against the counter and scrolling with the dim, directionless energy of someone too tired to commit to anything but too wired to stop.

 You're looking for something he might like. Something that doesn't require more of you than you currently have but might still constitute an actual meal. You land, after several minutes of meandering, on a recipe video, a pasta dish, the title of which makes you pause for just a moment.

‘Marry Me Chicken Pasta’.

You prop the phone against the backsplash, wash your hands, and begin.

You end up pausing the video every two minutes, rewinding it more time than you can count. You miscalculate the cream and have to adjust, add the sun-dried tomatoes later than the recipe indicates, burn the back of your hand briefly on the edge of the pan and run it under cold water while the pasta boils. 

The kitchen fills slowly with something that smells better than you had expected, warm, rice and deliciously garlicky. You’re focused enough on the proportions and the heat that you don't hear him wake.

You don't hear him move at all.

What you feel, instead, is the fine hairs on the back of your neck rise, a sensation so specific and so physical that it bypasses conscious thought entirely. You feel him before you see him, the displacement of air, the almost imperceptible change in the room's atmosphere.

Then his chest presses against your shoulder and his head drops down over yours.

"Smells good."

The yelp that escapes you is embarrassingly small. You press it back between your lips even as it happens, grip tightening on the wooden spoon, and he's already leaning over you, his face dipped toward the pan, his nose working in a way that belongs, very much, to the animal part of him. 

"I hope you'll like it" you manage, and reach for the pasta fork to twist a serving into a bowl, parmesan dusted over the top, a pinch of the fresh basil you'd picked up at the store. You hold it toward him like a peace offering.

He takes it and brings it to his nose with the same frank assessment he'd given the meat section, and you watch his face with the vigilance of someone who has been handed back their cooking with an expression of barely veiled contempt often enough to have developed a complex about it.

This time, his expression isn't that.

He takes the bowl to the table without comment, which you decide to interpret as positive.

You turn back to the pan and scrape the rest into a Pyrex dish, pressing the lid down and setting it near the back of the counter for tomorrow. The kitchen is warm and the smell of the food hangs in the air, but your body has started to communicate, clearly and without ambiguity, that it is finished. 

The tiredness makes it almost impossible to keep your head up, and the thought of standing here any longer than necessary feels unthinkable.

"I've left some for tomorrow" you say, setting the container beside the stove. "Three or four minutes in the microwave should do it.” You're already moving toward the hall, depositing the dish towel onto the kitchen counter as you pass. "Leave the dishes, I'll sort them in the morning."

"You're not eating?"

You pause, working the buttons on your shirt open.

He's watching you from the table, a forkful of pasta suspended halfway between the bowl and his mouth, confusion clouding his expression.

"No" you stifle a yawn. "I'm—I'm exhausted. I couldn't face it."

He holds your gaze for a moment, his eyes moving across your face the way they sometimes do, as if he's checking for something, inconsistency, maybe, or the register of a person who is lying. Whatever he finds or doesn't find, he says nothing. He turns his head back to his food, the sight of him forces you to make a sudden decision.

You cross the kitchen and stop beside his chair.

He doesn't look up, not when you pause there, not when the silence between you stretches out beyond what's natural. And then your hand moves, partly before you've decided it should, and your fingers find the back of his head, just for a second, just the lightest pass through his hair, the tips of your fingers finding the base of one ear and scratching there, gently, the same way you might have once done to a cat.

He goes perfectly still.

The fork stops moving. His shoulders cease their infinitesimal rise and fall, every line of him holds still. His brows draw together, not in anger, but something more confused than that, and then his eyes cut sideways to you.

"Good night, Sylus” you say quietly. "Sleep well."

You take your hand away before he has to ask you to.

You don't look back as you leave the room, but you carry the image of his face, the sensation of that touch, with you down the hall. It follows you into the dark of your room, and sits with you longer than you'd like, settling somewhere in the hollows of your chest, like a thing that has found a place to rest.

---

Once your door clicks shut, Sylus sits with the remains of his food.

He stares at it instead, at the cooling pasta and the streaks of sauce along the rim of the bowl, and turns the fork over slowly in his fingers. 

He'd seen it on your face when you came through the door, a exhaustion that goes past simple tiredness, causing that tell-tale lag between thought and movement. He'd clocked it and said nothing, because it was not his concern and you were not his responsibility, and then you had offered to take him shopping and he'd assumed, not unreasonably, that you were fine. That you had more left in you than you looked.

Then, instead of resting, sleeping, you had cooked for him, stood over a hot pan for the better part of an hour because he existed in your house and his eating, apparently, had become something you'd absorbed into the list of things you were now responsible for.

He didn't ask you to do that, he didn’t ask you to do any of it.

The fork bends within his grip, the metal yielding with a soft complaint. He looks down at it for a moment before working it back into shape. 

He should be grateful, he understands the transactional logic of gratitude, the exchange, the acknowledgement, the social currency of it. He has observed it operating in your species for long enough to understand the mechanics. 

What he cannot locate is the account it's meant to draw from, the internal reserve that should make it feel straightforward, because every time he reaches for it, he finds himself waiting, with a cold, patient certainty, for the shape of your kindness to eventually resolve itself into its true form. He knows that the bill will arrive eventually, but that the longer it takes to arrive, the more it will cost.

He wished you'd just get on with it. The waiting was worse than whatever the thing itself would turn out to be. He was tired of watching you for the tell, tired of studying every gesture and inflection for the hidden meaning, tired of running the same calculation and arriving at the same insufficient answer.

Because the alternative, that you were simply lonely, that you wanted his company and nothing else, that you were physically incapable of letting someone go hungry in your house and had no ulterior motive to any of it, that sat in his chest like lead. 

It contradicted everything he had spent years learning to be true. It flew in the face of every account he'd collected, every testimony from every hybrid who had passed through those facilities believing they'd been chosen, wanted and welcomed, only to discover the precise and various ways that humans could be calculated and vicious.

He finished the pasta. He was careful, when he did, to make no sound he'd have to account for later, because the dish was extraordinarily good and he had no interest in giving you that particular satisfaction while you were awake to receive it.

He ignored your instruction about the dishes.

The dishwasher had bested him once already, but he had since conducted what he considered a thorough structural analysis of the machine's requirements, and he loaded it now with methodical precision. Nothing blocking the spray arms, dishes angled correctly. A single pod, placed precisely in it’s slot. 

He pressed the cycle button and stood back and waited, and when the machine began its low, contented rumble without incident, he felt almost victorious. He would not be bested by that pathetic machine again.

He put your leftovers in the fridge, turned off every light on his way down the hall, dropping the room into darkness, until the flat was quiet and unlit and breathing with the particular stillness of late night. He moved through it without effort, his eyes adjusting in the way they always did, the darkness less a barrier than a medium.

He passed your door.

He wasn't listening. He was passing, and your door just happened to be there as he was moving past it. But suddenly, he wasn't moving anymore, because the sound had reached him and his body had decided, ahead of any conscious decision, to stop, to listen.

A whimper. Small, smothered, the kind of sound that belongs to something cornered and afraid. He tilted his head, ears adjusting their angle, filtering out the ambient noise of the building. There was a soft thrash of sheets, the fractured, irregular cadence of someone whose body was fighting something.

"Y/N."

He said it quietly, his hand already on the handle, the door already open by the time he’d finished.

You were alone.

Of course you were alone. He'd known you were alone, had catalogued every entry and exit in this building as a matter of course, had heard nothing arrive and nothing leave. 

And yet some part of him had expected, had almost needed, to find something here, some concrete and manageable thing, a problem with a solution.

Instead there was only you, suddenly smaller than he remembered, twisted in the sheets, your face turned against the pillow, tears dampening your temples. Your hands were fisted in the duvet. Your brows were drawn together in an expression of genuine anguish, the kind that looks as if sleep had delivered you into a situation you could barely face.

He stood in the doorway and did not move.

He should leave. The logical response was to close the door and continue down the hall, because this was not his domain and you were not his charge and the nightmare would resolve itself or it wouldn't, and either way there was nothing he could usefully do in this situation. 

He had spent years ensuring that other people's distress remained at an appropriate distance. It was a discipline he had cultivated with considerable care.

But then your breath hitched, and a sound came out of you, as close to a sob as a body can produce without waking, and it moved through the room and landed like a barb in his chest with a precision that had no business being that specific.

He found himself crossing the room to you.

He stood over you for a moment, watching the irregular rise and fall of your chest, the tracks of tears that had moved from the inner corners of your eyes into your hair. Up close the sounds were worse, the whimpers had a texture to them, a desperation that suggested not just fear but pleading, and he found, with some irritation, that he could not remain a passive observer of it anymore.

He crouched beside the bed, reached out, placed his hand on your shoulder and shook down with just enough weight to be felt.

"Y/N." Softer this time. "It's alright. It's just a dream.”

Your face tightened, another sound pulled itself out of you, fractured and half-formed, more syllables than sense.

"I can—“ A choked breath. “Be better—I love—"

He waited, jaw set, watching your face twist in agony.

"Why?"

Just the one word, small and cracked down the middle, asked of something that existed only in whatever horror played out behind your eyes. 

“Y/N.” He said it louder this time."Wake up."

Your whole body responded before your eyes did, a sharp, wrenching sound pulled from somewhere deep in your chest, half-sob and half-cry, and then you were lurching upright and your arms were around his neck before either of you had time to register the sequence of events that led there. 

You moved with the desperate, unthinking grip of someone who has broken the surface of something awful and grabbed the nearest solid thing, and for a moment Sylus simply could not move at all.

You were shaking, your face pressed into the curve of his throat, and your hands locked at the back of his neck. Then you made another sound against his skin. Small and broken and entirely involuntary, the sound of someone who has not yet fully returned from wherever the dream had taken them.

His arm closed around you.

He wasn't sure he chose it, it felt more like a reflex, and then he was shifting his weight, moving to sit on the edge of the bed so that he could hold you properly. 

You were still somewhere between sleep and waking, the dream still running its current through you, your hands moving against his back, grasping way at him,  fingers closing in the fabric of his shirt.

"It was a dream” he said, voice more even than he felt, which was useful. "It's okay. It's over."

"I thought—" You sucked in a breath, but it fractured on the way out, a tremor moving through your entire chest.

"Yeah" he sighed. "I know."

He didn't know. He had no idea what the dream had contained, what it had shown you thought would have you sobbing in your sleep, but the specifics content felt like the least relevant thing.

He suddenly found himself wondering how long this had been happening. Whether this was the architecture of your nights, whether you moved through some version of this alone on a regular basis, lying there in the dark with no one to hear it. 

The image made him uncomfortable, a wrongness he couldn't explain, and before he'd made a decision about it, his arms had tightened around you, slightly, just enough to mean something he wasn't couldn’t put into language.

"I'm sorry."

Your voice was small and strained, embarrassment suddenly surfacing through the residue of genuine distress. Your hands shifted, moving from his back to his chest, pressing flat and pushing gently outward. You were trying to extricate yourself, withdrawing by degrees, trying to rebuild whatever self-restraint the dream had temporarily demolished.

He didn't move.

"Stop" he sighed "You're still shaking."

The pushing continued for another few seconds, with the determined but ultimately unconvincing energy of someone that had already run out of reserves. He held on, steady and immovable, before you finally gave up. The resistance went out of you all at once, and you sagged back into his arms with a long, unsteady exhale, your hands finding the fabric of his back again and gripping it loosely.

"I didn't mean to bother you" you said, voice muffled where you were pressed into his shoulder.

"It's okay” he shrugged, as if to prove his point. 

You were warm against him, still trembling slightly, but he found, shockingly, that he was not uncomfortable.

You shifted slightly against him, your breathing beginning to slow by increments, the trembling at last beginning to ease. Your grip on his shirt loosened, then tightened again, as if, even in the approach of sleep, some part of you was still checking that he was there.

He stayed exactly where he was.

He stared down at your face for longer than he meant to.

Your lashes had settled at last against your cheeks, the strain in your brow finally beginning to ease, your lips parted slightly on the kind of slow, heavy breaths that suggested sleep had taken you somewhere quieter than wherever it had taken you before. 

He lowered you with a care he wasn't accustomed to using on anything, easing his arm from beneath you, lowering your head onto the pillow, slowly pulling the sheets up to the line of your collarbone like someone defusing a small bomb. 

He held himself still until he was certain the movement hadn't pulled you back to the surface.

Then he straightened.

He was leaving. That was the plan. Close the door, walk back to his room, do not look back, do not stand in the hallway thinking about the sound of your voice as you cried, do not dwell on the tears still clinging to your lashes. 

He was preparing to execute his meticulous plan when your hand shot out from beneath the sheets and caught the fabric of his trousers.

He stopped and looked down.

Your fingers had closed around the cloth at his thigh with a strength that had no right to exist in someone unconscious. Your face was still slack with sleep, your breathing still the slow, weighted rhythm of someone deeply under.

He worked his fingers carefully under yours and began to pry them loose, one at a time, gentle as he could manage. 

But the moment the last of them eased free, your hand turned and caught his instead, your fingers folding around his with the same strength as before, locking around his palm before he had time to withdraw.

He exhaled a slow, audible breath that was very nearly a laugh.

He sank down into a crouch beside the bed and looked at your face properly, with the focused suspicion of someone determined to catch a person in the act. 

He did not, on principle, accept the premise that you had done this in your sleep. He examined your eyelids for the small involuntary movements that come with feigned unconsciousness, watched the muscles around your mouth for the betraying tension of suppression. Your brows were drawn slightly together. Beyond that, there was nothing to suggest you were deceiving him, your lashes settled, your lips parted, your breath even and deep.

You really were asleep.

He stayed there a moment longer, your hand still curled around his, and felt something he was not interested in feeling settle in his chest. The furrow between your brows had returned, some echo of the dream, perhaps, surfacing through the lighter layers of sleep. 

His free hand had lifted, the pad of his thumb pressed against the small crease above your nose, smoothing it out with one slow stroke.

Your features softened again, a barely perceivable thing. The corner of your mouth shifted and your fingers around his loosened by a degree, not enough to release him, but enough to suggest the urgency had drained out of the gesture.

He should have taken the opening and gone.

But he didn’t.

His hand drifted instead, from your forehead to the disordered tangle of your hair, his fingers slipping into it, working through the knots that had accumulated there during your thrashing earlier. He worked slowly. He found the snarls and eased them apart between his thumb and forefinger, drew his fingers through the lengths of it, smoothing the chaos out by patient increments until his hand could pass through without impediment.

He told himself that he was simply returning the gesture. You had, after all, touched his hair earlier, that brief, light pass at the kitchen table, the unfamiliarity of it still humming faintly along his nervous system hours later. 

He was simply reciprocating. Settling an account, balancing one of the small, accumulating debts that had begun to populate the careful internal ledger he maintained where you were concerned, so that when this arrangement inevitably ran its course he would not find himself owing more than he could comfortably write off. That was all this was. A bookkeeping exercise.

The argument was perfectly logical.

It also failed completely to explain why he was still doing it ten minutes later, when your fingers had gone fully slack in his and your breathing had deepened into something deeper and more relaxed. 

He just kept going. His hand moved through your hair with a slow, repetitive rhythm, and he watched the soft rise and fall of your chest.

And again, he found, with a growing displeasure, that the sensation was not unpleasant.

Taglist: @metalpantherapex, @jadeloverxd, @stxrrielle, @satansdaughter123,@babygirl-panda19, @ceruleanseax , @locusterribilis , @sunflowersandsnipers , @ashscarlet07 , @pookiei-bookie, @bentoverbckwrds1, @cancrikain, @harbingers-lullaby, @silverianni, @kal-elkorner, @remnantsofgildedcages, @crowroses13, @pigeons-love, @atinymekanie, @d0wngrade , @dbglow , @pirana10 , @mcdepressed290 , @jo260401

Sorry for not updating this sooner!

Please don't steal, reproduce, feed into AI, or repost without my consent.

[sunsetagain]

Until it's woven into our souls.

[sugarplumpearl]

Synopsis: Frat!Caleb gets turned on seeing you eat a lollipop

Frat!Caleb x Innocent!Reader

Warnings: frat!Caleb, mean!Caleb, blowjob, innocent!reader, Caleb's mind is in the gutter 24/7, manhandling, size difference, dom/sub undertones, spitting, nicknames (honey, good girl), slight aftercare, lemme know if I missed anything!

Series Masterlist

You were too engrossed in the pages of your sociology textbook to notice the purple-eyed male, who couldn’t tear away his gaze from your syrup-stained lips. 

During one of your psychology lectures, you learned that chewing gum while studying aided in recalling important information. Though you knew your jaw would grow tired from the repetitive action that came with chewing gum, you figured eating a lollipop could have a similar outcome as it was another form of oral stimulation. 

Caleb was able to remember the day you had told him. To be honest, he had found the whole concept a bit idiotic. Who would waste their time conducting a trial on the affects of chewing gum and memory recall? But now that he sat across from you, his own textbook abandoned beside him, it made sense. His gaze stayed on you, remembering the way your small tongue looked as it poked past your lips to remove the sugary residue off the corner of your mouth.

He knew you were trying to be quiet as the library was also being used by other students, but every so often, a soft popping or a gentle slurping sound reached his ears. It was enough to catch his attention. With his chin resting in the palm of his hand while the other absentmindedly twirled his pen, his eyes flicked over to you at the sound. Enamored with the way your lips would pucker around the hard ball of candy, his mouth opened slightly as his mind wandered elsewhere. 

By the time the two of you had made it back to his place, you only had yourself to blame as you gazed up at Caleb who was hastily unzipping his jeans as he sat on the couch. The entire time, his gaze was focused on your eyes that gazed up at him in total wonder.

On your knees and in between his spread legs, he didn’t even give you the chance to speak before he was cradling the back of your head with one hand and angling his flushed cock towards your mouth with the other.

“Spit.” He ordered.

You did as you were told, the red coloring clinging to your tongue turning the glob that landed on his tip a sweet pink.

He moved your head side to side, spreading the spit along your lips, unbothered as it reached your cheeks and chin. At the same time, he made sure to cover the curved length as he knew you’d need some help to take him.  

“Now be a good girl and open.”

You were hesitant, but you did as you were told, the sight of your soft tongue as your mouth fell open making his dick twitch.

Shoving the tip past your lips, Caleb’s head fell back against the backrest as your warm mouth surrounded his length. Just like your cunt, it was warm, wet, soft, and inviting. His hips bucked once, the action driving his cock down your throat for a few seconds.

“You were driving me crazy, honey.” A grunt slipped past his lips as he felt your throat convulse as you gagged around his tip. “Had my dick getting hard while at the library like some damn loser.”

Lifting his head from the backrest to get a good look at you, his mouth fell open and his brows furrowed as breathy moans fell from his swollen lips.

You didn’t have to do much as he did most of the work, moving your head up and down with the grip he had on your hair. He refused to break eye contact. The sight of your wide eyes staring up at him with tears clinging to your lashes had him spilling a small amount of cum as his cock involuntarily jerked at the view. 

He had to slow down every so often as you still needed to remember to breathe through your nose, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t tease you.

“You sucked off that lollipop just fine…” He smiled as he heard you whine in embarrassment. You tried to pull away. He didn’t allow it. “…why is my dick any different?”

Every time you gagged, a lovely blush overtook the apple of your cheeks.

“I know you have a hard time with my size, but-ah, shit…j-just like that, honey…but it can’t be helped.” He let out a breathy moan followed by your name, his eyes fluttered shut as he felt himself reaching his limit. “You suck cock pretty well for a sweet little thing.” 

Feeling his abs flex and his balls tightened, he shoved his whole length into your mouth, making sure his cum spilled down your throat. The load he spilled was far too much for you, the excess escaping past the corners of your mouth and down your chin. Once he pulled you off his cock, you took in a deep breath before coughing, your throat sore and your voice too weak to even try to say anything.

Caleb made sure to gently wipe away the cum that remained on your skin, bringing his stained fingers to his mouth. When the substance met his tongue, he could taste himself, mixed with the lollipop from before and your lip gloss. His dick, that still needed to be put away, lay on his abdomen, the red color that clung to your tongue now covering the first few inches of it.

He didn’t mind. He was too occupied cleaning you up with a spare t-shirt he had hanging over the armrest to even care. Once your breathing is regulated, he runs a hand over your head, smoothing down a few stray strands. 

Flinching slightly as his hands cupped your face, you allowed Caleb’s thumbs to wipe away the tears that had fallen, their tracks disappearing from your flustered face. The corner of his mouth twitched as he snickered when you nuzzled against his palm.

“I don’t mind having your cute little mouth on my cock, but if I’m being honest, I prefer eating you out.”

[willowsslove]

A Place To Rest My Heart (Sylus x Reader)

⊹₊⟡⋆Chapter 5 - All The Doors We Left Unlocked⋆⊹₊⟡

Summary ˖ ᡣ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

In a world where hybrids are often treated as little more than exotic pets or disposable labor, you sign up for an integration program out of sheer, aching loneliness. What begins as a desperate bid for connection spirals into something deeper, more dangerous, tenderness that neither of you expected. 

But when betrayal shatters the fragile trust you've finally carved out, you both learn the hardest truth, some tethers cannot be cut. 

Warnings ˖ ᡣ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

18+, MDNI, Violence / injury (depictions of abuse and injuries, including bruises, cuts, blood, shackles, muzzle, collar chafing), Non-consensual restraint, (restrained, drugged, and muzzled; includes choking), Attempted non-con elements (no actual non-con occurs),Miscommunication & betrayal, Angst with a happy ending (heavy emotional hurt, separation, heartbreak, mutual pining), Possessive/obsessive behavior (possessiveness, marking, jealousy), Heat/rut cycle (desperate, instinct-driven sex), Prejudice & discrimination (derogatory language, objectification, leashed hybrids on display), Mature sexual content (oral, penetrative sex, marking/biting).

⊹₊⟡⋆Previous Chapter⋆⊹₊⟡

⊹₊⟡⋆Masterlist⊹₊⟡⋆

“Sylus” You whispered his name into the strange half-light, the sound barely carrying past your lips. “…Sylus?“

The place felt both familiar and unfamiliar all at once, shadows too long, air too thick, the ground soft beneath your feet in a way that made every step uncertain. You turned in a circle slowly, heart picking up speed. “Sylus, where are you?”

A high, fluttering trill answered from behind you. You spun toward it, head tilting down to locate the source.

The caracal stood there, proud tufted ears angled forward, tail flicking once in slow warning. Its coat was paler than any you had seen before, almost silvery white under the muted light, with shocking carmine eyes that caught and held yours. Though the familiar darkness tracing along its nose and cheeks, long legs and lifted hips gave it that unmistakably, graceful caracal shape.

It meowed again, the sound higher and more complex than an ordinary cat’s, vibrating with something almost melodic.

“Hello” you cooed, lowering yourself into a squat. Some distant part of your mind knew this was a wild cat, capable of real harm, especially with those sharp canines flashing every time its mouth opened around another call. But the rest of you didn’t care. You reached out, fingers wiggling gently. “Come here, pretty one.”

It watched you for a moment, red eyes scanning the space around you as if expecting an ambush. Eventually, it stepped closer. Your eyes met then, and there was something too intelligent in that gaze, an almost human like quality that felt uncanny.

You held your breath as it bumped its head against your fingers. 

A delighted squeal slipped out before you could stop it.

“Oh my gosh, you’re so pretty” you murmured, voice soft and breathless. The caracal pressed in further, rubbing its head against your arm, then your shoulder, insistent and warm. You lost your balance and toppled backward onto the ground with a soft grunt, but it didn’t stop. It followed you down, dragging its face slowly along your clavicle, marking you with deliberate strokes.

Your hands moved on their own, stroking every inch of lush fur you could reach, a steady stream of “so pretty” and “so cute” falling from your lips like you couldn’t hold them back.

You glanced away for just a second, still trying to make sense of where you were.  You didn’t really notice that the weight on your lap had changed, now heavier, and warmer. The plush feeling beneath your fingers had become silky-soft strands of hair instead of fur. 

“You smell delightful” a low voice purred against the skin of your upper chest, the words hot against your skin as he nuzzles closer, nose dragging across your clavicle.

Your head snapped back down to the source.

Sylus now lay sprawled across your lap, completely bare. Pale, unmarred flesh stretched over sculpted muscle, every line sharp and pronounced. His back arched lazily as he nuzzled closer, tail flicking lazily in the air behind him. You fought to keep your eyes on his face, but the way he stretched himself over you made it almost impossible.

“Don’t stop” he sighed, nudging his head against your still hand. You jolted, then let your fingers slide back into his hair, scratching gently behind one ear. A deep, rumbling purr rolled out of his chest, so strong it vibrated through your thighs. His mouth fell open slightly, eyes fluttering shut. “Feels so good.”

The words sent a rather shameful heat rushing through you. You hated how provocative it felt, his handsome face relaxed in pleasure, the long, elongated lines of his body, encased entirely in sinuous, sculpted muscle, the lewd arch of his back, the deep rumble that seemed to sink straight into your bones.

After a moment his eyes fluttered open again, locking onto yours. 

“Hey…wake up” He said simply, sharp teeth pressing divots into his bottom lip for a moment. 

“Huh?” Your hand paused its ministrations as you blinked down at him, the words not fully registering. 

“Wake up” His voice had gone cold, sharp with irritation. 

“Hey, wake up” 

You jolted upright in bed, heart hammering as the harsh beeping of your alarm filled the room, cutting through the last threads of your dream. Your eyes flicked around the room until they landed at the foot of the bed. 

Sylus stands there, giant frame silhouetted against the pale, early morning light, hair mussed, eyes puffy and half-lidded. He rubbed the back of his hand across his face, blinking down at you with clear annoyance.

“Your alarm’s been going off for ten minutes” he growled, voice still rough from sleep. He shot you one last irritated look, then turned and limped out of the room, slamming your bedroom door hard enough that the frame rattled.

“Sorry” You called, the word weak and thick with sleep, more to yourself than to anyone who could hear it. 

You flopped back against the pillows, one shaky hand dragging through the tangled mess of your hair as fragments of the dream still lingered on your mind. 

For a moment you simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, willing your brain into some sort of compliance. You reached over and slapped the alarm button with more force than necessary, cutting off the grating beep that had been drilling into your skull.

The house fell quiet again.

You turned your head toward the alarm clock. The red numbers glowed back at you: 9:45 a.m. You stared at them for several long seconds, as though the longer you looked, the more they might rearrange themselves into a more reasonable time. 

Your stomach dropped.

You were officially late.

You scrambled upright, heart already racing, and reached for your phone on the nightstand. In your haste you knocked it off the edge, phone clattering loudly onto the hardwood floor. You followed it immediately, dropping to your knees and snatching it up with both hands. Your thumb found Marina’s contact almost on instinct.

She answered on the second ring.

“I’m gonna be late” you blurted before she could even get a chance to greet you, already on your feet and stumbling toward the bathroom while trying to decide whether you had time for a proper shower or just a desperate 'pits and bits' rinse.

“I assumed as much when I got here and your office was still dark” Marina replied, a faint trace of amusement in her voice. You had never been late before, not once in all the years she had worked as your assistant. There had even been times where you slept on the couch in your office rather than come home to an empty house. 

“It’s okay” She continued “The morning meeting got pushed back anyway. There are rumours of a class action lawsuit coming in.”

“Oh geez, please no” you groaned, already peeling off your sleep shirt and letting it drop to the floor as you twisted the shower knob on. “Do we have any idea who’s bringing it?”

“Rodgers and Morton.”

“Fuck.” You hissed the word under your breath, holding your hand under the spray till the moment the water turned warm. 

“Okay, try to gather as much information as you can. Contact the media department and have them draft some preemptive statements. If we get ahead of this, it might stay manageable. Worst case, we look proactive. Best case… it’s good PR.”

“Got it” Marina said, the rapid clacking of her keyboard audible in the background.

“Oh, and I should be there in about forty-five minutes. If anyone asks, tell them… my cat got injured.” It was only half a lie.

“You have a cat?” Marina asked, surprise clear in her tone.

“See you later, Marina.” You hung up quickly, tossing the phone back through the open bathroom door onto your bed. You stripped off the rest of your clothes and stepped fully under the water, letting it beat against your shoulders while your mind raced ahead to the day already spiralling out of your control.

The dream still pricked at the edges of your thoughts, the weight of him, the heat of his skin, the curve of his... 

You scrubbed harder than necessary, trying to wash the memory away along with the remnants of sleep, but it refused to loosen its hold.

… 

You hopped precariously on one leg, tugging the stocking up your thigh while your skirt remained hitched around your hips in an undignified bunch. 

In the living room, Sylus sat on the couch, the television murmuring some mid-morning talk show with its canned applause and forced laughter. He held a bowl of cereal in one hand, eating with quiet, refined motions, as though the commotion from your frantic preparation were mere background noise. 

He glanced up as you hurried into the room, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, a faint sheen of sweat already visible on your brow from the frantic pace of getting ready. 

You moved in and out of the living room in quick bursts, searching for your phone. You had set it down somewhere between one hurried email and the next, and now the delay felt like another thing pressing on your mind.

“What are you doing?” His voice cut through the frenzy, low and melodic, carrying that rich undertone that momentarily soothed the chaos in your mind.

You paused beside the couch, smoothing your skirt down with both hands. “I’ve lost my phone. I put it down somewhere and—”

“Kitchen. By the sink.”

“Thanks” you blurted, already rushing off. 

Relief flooded through you when you spotted it on the counter. You snatched it up, stuffing it into your bag along with the thick folder of paperwork that needed reviewing before the first meeting. When you returned to the living room, the television was still droning on, but Sylus seemed genuinely absorbed, ears occasionally twitching at something on screen.

“Hey, Sylus” you said, trying to sound calmer than you felt as you stopped beside the couch, slightly out of breath.

He looked over, one brow lifting in silent question, an expression you were beginning to find far too compelling for your own good.

No, stop it. 

“Um… well, you know I’m going into work, so you’ll be here alone…” You chose your words carefully, not wanting to sound distrustful or pushy, though the worry that he might simply run the moment you walked out the door gnawed at your heart. “If you need to go outside, I left a key on the sideboard. Just… be careful, okay…please?”

He regarded you with open suspicion, those beautiful eyes narrowing slightly. “A key?”

“Yes. And some money. In case the food I bought doesn’t suit you.” You busied yourself with adjusting the strap of your bag, trying to appear nonchalant even as your heart thudded heavily, the pulse echoing up into your throat. “I’ll be back by four. If I’m going to be late, I’ll call.”

He gave a single nod and returned to his cereal, scraping the last few pieces from the bowl, before setting it down on the coffee table. Sensing you would get little more from him, you turned toward the door, grabbing your keys from the hook on the wall on your way.

“Oh, I’m making pasta tonight. That okay?” you called over your shoulder as you wrestled one heel onto your foot.

“I’m not sure I care,” he murmured, tone flat and detached. He leaned back against the couch, legs spread wide, taking up most of the space as his attention returned fully to the screen.

“Right…” The small deflation in your chest was impossible to ignore. You knew it was far too soon to expect anything warmer from him, yet the disappointment still stung. You finally managed to get the second shoe on and reached for the door handle. 

You paused there, bottom lip caught between your teeth as doubt flickered through you again.

Before it could take root, you turned and hurried back to the couch.

He did not look at you as you approached, but you noticed the way his hand tightened into a fist on the cushion beside him. 

You leaned over the back of the couch, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, right at the edge of his hairline. You’d imagined this for so long, of having someone to kiss goodbye, someone who might be there when you came home. It felt...right.

His entire frame stiffened. His red eyes flicked sharply toward you, mouth parting just slightly in surprise.

“Be safe and…have a good day” you whispered, the sound tremulous. 

Then you turned and ran, the door clicking shut behind you before he could respond.

The quiet of the morning swallowed the sound of your footsteps as you hurried down the path, heart still beating too fast. The kiss lingered on your lips like a small, reckless choice, and the memory of his sudden tension followed you all the way to the car. 

You wondered, as you slid into the driver’s seat, how long you could keep offering these small gestures of care before they became another thing he resented you for. 

…

Sylus watched your retreating figure until the door clicked shut behind you, the faint press of your lips still tingling against his skin like a itch, the sensation oddly persistent. 

He didn’t understand you, at all. Everyone wanted something, be it power, pleasure, control, or simple novelty. Your insistence that it was pure loneliness felt too simple, too convenient, like you were daring him to see through it. 

He leaned back against the couch, lifting one hand to brush his fingers across the spot you had kissed, as if the gesture alone might ease the sensation. His head tipped back against the cushion, eyes narrowing at the ceiling while the television droned on in the background, some vapid segment about the season’s ‘new fashions'.

He just had to wait. Sooner or later your true intentions would show themselves. They always did. 

He rubbed absently at the fading welts around his wrists, the skin still tight and itchy as it slowly knit itself back together. His ribs ached with every inhale, a dull, persistent reminder of the thick rubber boots that had driven into them during those endless hours in the holding facility. The pain grounded him, kept his mind sharp.

A sharp tap at the window drew his attention. He lifted his head, and the corner of his mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk at the sight of the black bird perched on a low branch outside, its red eyes fixed on him through the glass with an intensity he knew all too well.

“My, my, Mephisto” he murmured aloud, pushing himself up from the couch with a slight wince. “Impressive.”

He crossed the room, struggling briefly with the unfamiliar latch before managing to push the window open. The crow slipped inside with a flutter of wings, filling the quiet space with sharp, vocal caws as it circled once near the ceiling. Then, in a brief swirl of red mist, the bird shifted. Mephisto materialised on the wooden floor with a delicate thud, landing gracefully on one knee. His red eyes swept the room with sharp assessment, a single lock of black hair falling forward across his face.

“Mr. Lord” Mephisto announced formally, head bowed in deference.

Sylus grunted in distaste, waving a dismissive hand. “Get up. I’ve told you before, stop calling me that.”

Mephisto rose smoothly, though the small smile tugging at his lips suggested he took pride in the ritual anyway.

“You were quick” Sylus said, voice low and approving as he stepped closer.

“I followed you, my Lord” Mephisto replied, unable to hide the satisfaction in his tone, straightening subtly as if basking in the praise.

“Very good.” Sylus reached out and patted his head once, ruffling the dark hair with casual affection. Mephisto leaned into the touch for a brief second.

“Are you injured?” Mephisto asked, eyes narrowing as he took in the lingering bruises and the careful way Sylus held himself.

“Only minor” Sylus brushed it off, turning away and dropping back onto the couch with a controlled exhale. Mephisto followed immediately, positioning himself in front of him like a loyal sentry, arms clasped behind his back.

“How is the woman? Has she hurt you?” The question carried a dangerous edge. Sylus knew that if he gave even the slightest indication of harm, you would not live to see nightfall.

“No, quite the opposite” Sylus answered after a pause, his gaze drifting toward the front door. “She’s… strange.”

He couldn’t find a better word for it. You made no sense. You violated every preconception he had about humans, their greed, their fear, their need to dominate anything and everything. Instead, you gave him gentleness, company, light touches of affection, and apologies with no weight of obligation. You worried about him, genuinely, despite the fact that you were still practical strangers, and despite the way he had nearly ended your life the night before.

It unnerved him more than chains or blows ever could. Violence was familiar, reliable. This…wasn’t.

Sylus leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers steepled as he stared at the floor. The television continued its mindless chatter in the background, but neither of them paid it any attention now. Mephisto remained perfectly still, waiting, red eyes sharp and patient.

Sylus could feel the weight of duty pressing against his ribs alongside the lingering pain, the need to observe, to document, to prove to his people exactly how humans treated those they captured.

He rubbed his temple again, the ghost of your kiss still refusing to fade.

“She keeps offering things” he muttered finally, almost to himself. “Food. Affection. As if any of it could make this place feel like anything other than another cage.”

Mephisto remained perfectly still, red eyes fixed on him with patient attention. “What do you think she wants?”

“I don’t know.” Sylus gave a soft, breathy laugh that carried no real humour, slumping back against the couch once more and stretching his long frame with a faint wince. “But I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

The house felt too still around him, too soft, the kind of quiet that made every sound stand out sharply.

“Anyway” he continued, shifting his gaze back to Mephisto, “where are Luke and Kieran? I expected them to be here by now.”

“They’re following leads on the other captured groups” Mephisto replied smoothly. “They wanted to come, but I thought it best if I arrived alone. You know how… excitable they can be.”

Sylus couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him at that. The thought of the twins loose in this neat, orderly house, with its muted tones and pervasive silence, felt almost absurd. Their chaotic energy would have shattered the fragile atmosphere in seconds.

Sylus rubbed his thumb across the fading welts on his wrist again, the skin still tender where the cuffs had bitten deepest. The pain was familiar, it reminded him of why he was here. Not to be softened, but to witness, to remember, to carry every mark back to his people as proof of what humans called ‘integration’.

…

The day dragged, each and every minute seemed to stretch. 

You sat at your desk, eyes flicking repeatedly to the corner of your screen, irritation building every time the numbers refused to change. The office hummed its usual soundtrack, keyboards clicking, distant phones ringing, the low murmur of colleagues discussing case files, but none of it could pull your attention away from the house you had left behind that morning.

He was there. Alone. In your home.

What if he was scared? What if the silence of those rooms pressed on him the same way it had always pressed on you, turning the space into something oppressive and torturous? 

You wondered what he was doing right now, whether he was still on the couch where you had left him, or pacing the halls, or staring at the walls with those compelling, crimson eyes of his. 

For one fleeting, ridiculous moment you considered installing cameras, the kind people used for pets, just to ease the knot of worry in your chest. 

But you cut that train of thought off before it could even finish. He wasn’t a pet. He was a person, a sentient, wounded person who was already carrying far too much damage from the hands of your own kind. Invading his privacy like that would be one violation too many, and you refused to become another mark on the long list of ways humans had hurt him.

Still, your hand drifted toward the desk phone more than once during the morning. Maybe just a quick call, just to check. It wouldn’t be invasive, would it? Only concern.

You held off until lunch.

The sandwich sitting on your desk was dry and tasteless, the cheese and ham curling slightly at the edges, but you barely noticed. You picked up the receiver, dialled your own home number, and pressed the phone to your ear while taking another bite. It rang. You waited, expecting the rich, melodic timbre of his voice to come through any second now.

“The person you have dialled is not available at this time. Please leave a message or try again.”

Your stomach dropped. 

Had he left? Slipped out the moment you drove away, disappearing back to whatever world he’d been stolen from? Or worse, had the injuries from yesterday been more serious than they appeared? Had something happened while you were sitting here pretending to work?

You hit redial immediately, leg bouncing anxiously beneath the table. The rings stretched on. By the fifth, you were already pushing back from your chair, grabbing your bag, ready to abandon everything and race home when the line finally connected.

“Hello?”

The sound of his voice, sleepy, rough, slightly irritated, hit you with a wave of relief so sharp it stole your breath. You dropped heavily back into your office chair, the springs creaking loudly in protest.

“Oh god” you gasped, propping your elbow on the desk and pressing your forehead into your palm. Your heart was still thundering beneath your ribs, each beat line a drum in your ears. “I thought you were hurt.”

There was a long, heavy pause on the other end.

“I was sleeping” he muttered at last, the words slow and grudging.

“Oh… I’m sorry. I’ll— um… I’ll leave you to it then.” You chewed on the edge of your thumbnail, mentally kicking yourself for the intrusion, for the way your worry had spilled over into something that probably felt like control to him.

“What did you want?” he pressed, a soft yawn following the question. “No point disturbing my rest for nothing now.”

“I was just… worried you’d be lonely. Or scared. Or… something.” The words sounded useless even as they left your mouth, small and inadequate. You felt suddenly, painfully stupid, a giant inconvenience intruding on a life that had already been upended because of people like you.

“Well, I’m not” he said after a beat. “Happy?”

Even when the reply stung, his voice remained melodic, the rich timbre softening the edge just enough to keep it from cutting too deep.

“Oh. Okay. Um… there’s snacks in the cupboards. And in the fridge. If you need anything, please phone me. I left my number on the fridge so—”

The line went dead.

You sat there for a long moment, receiver still pressed to your ear, listening to the flat tone of the disconnected call. You tried not to let it hurt. Told yourself it was too soon, that he barely knew you, that he owed you nothing. 

But the reassurance felt hollow. Your appetite vanished in an instant, the half-eaten sandwich lay abandoned on the desk, evidence of your own foolishness. 

You gently replaced the receiver and looked around your office. The space felt like a perfect reflection of the life you had built,  neat and orderly, but devoid of any warmth. Files stacked high, a single plant on the windowsill that somehow still survived despite your inconsistent care, as if it were evidence that something was alive in this room. The room was empty in all the ways that mattered.

And somewhere across town, in the house you had tried so hard to make warm, Sylus was alone again.

You had wanted companionship so badly that you had brought a wounded stranger into your life, and now the silence between you felt heavier than the solitude you had known before. Because this time, the emptiness had a name. A face. A low, melodic voice that could cut and soothe in the same breath.

You stared at the phone for another long moment, fingers resting lightly on the receiver, wondering how many more times you could reach out before the distance between you became something neither of you could cross.

And whether, when that distance finally closed, it would bring relief… or only more pain.

…

You weren’t even sure how you made it home.

The drive had passed in a haze of exhaustion, your eyelids heavy and stinging from hours spent staring at a screen. Every red light felt like a punishment, every turn a small victory against the pull of sleep. 

By the time you pulled into the driveway, the weight of the day had settled deep into your bones, turning simple movements into something laborious. 

You shuffled your keys in your hand until you found the right one, sliding it into the lock and jiggling the handle until the door gave way with a soft click. You stumbled inside, shoulders sagging with relief at the familiar scent of home.

You expected silence to greet you, perhaps the distant murmur of the television.  Instead, you were met with the strained gurgle of machinery and the low, muttered string of insults falling from Sylus’s lips.

Panic flared. You didn’t understand the sounds, only that they were wrong. You kicked off one shoe in the entryway and skidded around the corner into the kitchen, one hand braced against the doorframe to keep from slipping.

Sylus stood by the dishwasher, the hem of his pants dark and soaked, the floor around him flooded with soapy water. Foam spilled out from beneath the metal door in thick, bubbling waves, making it look as though he were standing in the middle of low-lying clouds. The machine itself gave another unhappy gurgle, water sloshing audibly inside.

“Humans and their infernal machines” he muttered, kicking the side of the dishwasher with his foot. His mouth twisted into a deep frown, ears flicking back in clear irritation.

You couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped you. The scene was unexpectedly endearing, this towering hybrid reduced to battling a household appliance, foam clinging to his ankles. His ears flicked upward at the sound of your laughter. For a brief moment something like worry flashed across his face, hardening quickly into defiance. He straightened his back, tail flicking once in a slow, deliberate arc that sent a small spray of suds across the tile.

“Are you okay?” you asked, still smiling as you shucked off your other shoe and tiptoed carefully through the foam toward him.

He took a cautious step back, eyes narrowing as you approached. You ignored the retreat, crouching beside the dishwasher and reaching out to turn it off. The machine gave a pathetic string of beeps, as if protesting its defeat, before gurgling once more and falling silent.

“I was trying to help” he said stiffly, watching as you straightened up again.

“Thank you” you replied gently, keeping your smile in place even as you glanced down at your bare feet disappearing into the suds. “It’s okay. I’ll clean this up. Why don’t you go wash up and get the suds off your skin?”

“You’re… not mad?” The question came out less hesitant than probing, as though he were waiting for the inevitable explosion of anger.

You shook your head, already turning toward the small closet by the kitchen entrance where you kept the cleaning supplies. 

“Why would I be mad?” You pulled out the mop and bucket, returning to him and dragging the mop across the tile to gather the worst of the water. “Quick, go get yourself washed. Those dishwasher pods are quite corrosive, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

He stilled for a moment, staring down at you, then at your bare feet as you moved through the suds without hesitation, wringing the mop out into the bucket each time. You felt the weight of his gaze travel up your spine. When you lifted your eyes to meet his, the intensity there made something stir in your chest.

“Go” you murmured.

He turned without another word, trailing water across the rest of the kitchen floor as he went. The soft slap of his wet feet against the tile echoed behind him, growing fainter as he disappeared down the hallway.

You remained stood there for a moment after he left, mop handle resting loosely in your hands. The kitchen smelled of artificial lemon and soap, the foam slowly dissolving into nothing more than slippery puddles. 

You had come home expecting tension, perhaps another wall thrown up between you. Instead you had found him trying, in his own guarded, frustrated way, to do something ordinary. To help. 

And the simple fact of it pulled on that quiet string of hope you’d been holding onto for some time, but with it was a fear, a fear that this fragile thread of connection might snap the moment you pulled too hard.

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I want Sylus in my dreams 🛌💭

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