when you had entered his office, you promised that you would be good. you really promised this time!
.. of course, it didn't take a genius, let alone someone as sharp as sylus to know you were totally lying.
you knew he was going to be busy. he had told you before you snuck in that he had a meeting to attend, so you at least had the decency to act like you were respecting his business at first.
but sitting on his couch was proving to be boring, and you couldn't help but watch through hooded eyes as he talked into the phone. he was so cold, so serious, the opposite of the warm and loving man you knew.
you wanted to bring that side of him back.
careful to avoid his suspicion, you padded over with careful steps, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek, your hand resting on his chest to "keep you steady". assuming you were leaving, he gave you a small smile before returning his attention to his phone.
you, in fact, were not leaving.
that sneaky hand of yours trailed its way down, down, down, and the only response you got was the raise of his brow, the clench of his jaw.
smiling oh so innocently, you snuck your hand down his trousers, palming the slowly hardening bulge hungrily. his breaths grew short, red eyes glazing over as he tried to pay attention to the man on the phone.
instead, all he could focus on was you as you slowly tugged his cock free, warm and massive in your hand. you gave a few pumps, once, twice, before you eagerly slid to your knees, smiling like a cat who got the cream.
keeping eye contact, you leaned in, lips pressing tenderly to his length. he stifled a groan into his hand, those beautiful eyes of his narrowing in warning. you'll regret this, a silent threat, one you were all too eager to ignore.
you kissed and licked at all the skin you could reach, pausing at his reddened tip to lick up his salty precum. then, starving, you swallowed him up in the blink of an eye, tears springing free as he pressed into the back of your throat.
you didn't realize he had already ended the call until his huge palm encompassed the back of your head, gently but eagerly shoving you down to take him all.
"since you were such an eager kitten," he panted, groaning as your drool bubbled out, "i'm more than happy to give you what you need, sweetie."
Caleb getting a period cramp simulator when his little Mei mei gets her period for the first time so he can understand how insane it is for you & tend to you accordingly.
Caleb who does your laundry without a fuss if you accidentally stain them and smiles softly at you when you crib about it. “Hey, relaaaax! It’s alright Pipsqueak, it’s not something to be embarrassed about.” He does raise you exceptionally well what can I say.
Caleb who makes you spicy wontons, chicken salad, meatballs, (Yes yes the voiceline reference), and even learns to bake part time for you to satiate your period cravings.
Caleb who studies the phases of your cycle to better understand your mood changes, you entering womanhood. “No, baby. We are not going to watch a sad movie because you already are in your Luteal phase and I don’t want to make you cry?” He hugs you with a purr. Caleb taught you the phases of your cycle btw. :3
Caleb who brings the cutest heating pads for you, they always have your favorite plushies on them. Your favorite is the green apple 🍏 plushie heating bag. It does wonders because it’s drenched with Gege’s warmth too. <3
Caleb who gently massages your sore back and pelvis, cooing at how strong you are for dealing with something like this. Reads you bed time stories and agrees to nap with you whenever you want. (Let’s be real here he always does.) :P
Caleb who takes special care of you in school, checking up on you. Stacking your period pads/tampons in your bag in case you have an accident. Asking if you’re in pain and keeping his own stock of painkillers for you. He is the best baby to ever!
hello! hope you’re doing well ^^ could I pls request a drabble series of all the LIs, where MC asks her husband to leave the room so she can change just to see what his reaction is? it was a tiktok trend where women would ask their bfs or husbands while they’re holding their baby just to enunciate the absurdity of their wife or gf asking to leave the room (because they’ve seen everything/had a whole bay together lol)
if you’re comfortable with it ofc!! i love anything you write so i’ll be happy either way <3
“Can you leave? I want to change”
tags: suggestive, silly
[Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb]
XAVIER
you’re both in the bedroom after a long day, he’s sprawled on the bed in nothing but low-slung sweatpants, hair a fluffy mess from his post-shower towel-dry, scrolling through his phone with that half lidded, perpetually tired look. you’re standing by the closet, holding the cute little sundress you want to wear for dinner tonight, when suddenly an idea pops into your mind.
you bite your lip to hide the grin.
“xav?”
he hums, not looking up. “hm?”
“could you… maybe leave the room for a sec? i need to change.”
silence falls over you two.
then his head slowly tilts, like a confused puppy hearing a new command. those soft blue eyes flick up to meet yours; blink. blink. another long blink.
“…leave?” he repeats, voice low and raspy like he just woke up from a nap.
you nod, trying to keep a straight face. “yeah. just… step out for a minute? please?”
he stares at you for a solid five seconds longer. then his gaze drifts, very deliberately, down to the tiny bundle currently napping in the bassinet by the window. your six month old daughter, little milky cheeks puffed out, tiny fists curled by her ears, wearing the ridiculous onesie with the bunny ears that tara insisted on gifting.
xavier looks back at you.
then back at the baby.
then back at you.
his expression doesn’t change, still that soft, sleepy neutrality but one pale eyebrow lifts the tiniest fraction.
“starlight,” he says, dead calm, “i watched you give birth to her. i held your hand the whole time. i’ve cleaned every bodily fluid known to man off both of you in the last six months.”
he pauses, letting that sink in.
“and you want me… to leave. so you can change into a dress.”
you can’t hold it anymore, the laugh bursts out of you, bright and guilty. “fine, i was just messing with you.”
xavier exhales through his nose not quite a sigh, more like fond resignation and sets his phone aside.
“go on then,” he mumbles into the pillow, already closing his eyes. “change. i promise not to look.”
(he definitely looks. through one barely cracked eyelid. you catch him. he doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty, just smiles that lazy, loving smile and pats the empty spot beside him.)
“hurry up, wife. dinner’s waiting… and so am i.”
ZAYNE
you’re in the master bathroom, steam still curling from the shower you just stepped out of, towel wrapped snug around you while you eye the emerald silk slip dress hanging on the back of the door, tonight’s dinner reservation is fancy, the kind zayne insists on because you deserve the best.
he’s already dressed (of course he is, charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, tie knotted with precision), leaning against the doorframe scrolling through tomorrow’s OR schedule on his phone. the baby monitor on the counter shows your eighteen month old daughter napping in the nursery down the hall, tiny chest rising and falling under the little knitted blanket zayne’s mother sent.
you catch your reflection in the fogged mirror, feel that familiar impish spark, and decide it’s now or never.
“zayne?”
he glances up immediately, attention zeroing in like you’ve just paged him in the ER. “yes, my love?”
you turn to face him fully, clutching the towel a little tighter for dramatic effect. “could you… step out for a minute? i need to change.”
he doesn’t move.
doesn’t blink.
just lowers the phone slowly, deliberately, until it’s at his side. his gaze flicks from your face to the towel, then back up.
a long, measured silence stretches between you.
then he exhales through his nose, the tiniest, most controlled huff of amusement you’ve ever heard.
“hm.”
he pockets the phone, steps fully into the bathroom, and closes the door behind him with a soft click.
“you realise,” he begins, voice low and even, the timbre he uses when he’s about to break news you’re not going to like, “that we have a child together, yes? i cut the cord. i performed the initial Apgar assessment while you were still shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline.”
he takes one step closer.
“i have cleaned colostrum and spit up and diaper disasters from your skin when you were too tired to stand, not to mention i know the exact placement of every freckle on your body, including the ones you insist you don’t have.”
another step. he’s close enough now that you can smell the faint cedar of his cologne, feel the cool air that always clings to him like frost on glass.
his eyes drop pointedly to the towel, then lift again, calm, unhurried and devastatingly fond.
“and yet you would like me… to leave. so you may put on a dress. for privacy.”
the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one.
you crack first, laughter bubbling up despite your best efforts. “it was just a prank i saw on tiktok.”
“i see.” he nods once, solemnly, then, without another word, he reaches past you to the dress hanging on the hook. lifts it by the thin straps with careful fingers, the same fingers that have held scalpels steady and cradled your daughter’s head and holds it out to you.
“in that case,” he says, voice dropping to that velvet murmur reserved only for you, “allow me to assist. professionally, of course.”
he steps behind you, close enough that his chest brushes your back, and begins to gently tug the towel’s edge free, slow, reverent, like every movement deliberate.
“zayne-” you half laugh, half gasp as cool air hits your skin.
“shh.” his lips brush the shell of your ear. “don’t mind me.”
the towel pools at your feet. he slides the silk over your head with painstaking care, smoothing it down your sides, fingers lingering at your waist, your hips, tracing the faint lines that mark where your body grew and birthed his daughter.
when the dress settles perfectly, he turns you to face the mirror, both of you reflected there, his taller frame framing yours, hands still resting possessively at your waist.
“beautiful,” he says simply. no flourish, just fact.
then, softer: “but even if you truly did wish for more privacy, just say the word.”
he leans down, presses the coldest, gentlest kiss to the side of your neck, right over your racing pulse.
you smile up at his reflection “that won’t be necessary.”
“now. shall we wake our daughter and go to dinner? or would you prefer i carry you both out of here myself?”
you meet his eyes in the mirror, steady green and warm beneath the frost.
“carry us,” you giggle.
his arms tighten. “as you wish.”
RAFAYEL
you're in the sunlit bedroom of his seaside studio home, late afternoon golden hour painting everything warm and hazy. rafayel's lounging on the chaise like a renaissance painting come to life, shirt unbuttoned halfway paint smudges on his forearms, hair tousled from running his hands through it while focused earlier. your toddler son (three years old, curls like his, eyes like sea glass) is napping in the little nook bed he built for him, surrounded by stuffed sea creatures and half finished crayon masterpieces of "daddy as a mermaid king."
you're rifling through the wardrobe for something flowy and beach appropriate for the evening gallery walk he's dragging you to (because "the sea god’s beloved should steal the spotlight"). the idea suddenly comes to mind, perfect victim right here.
you turn, holding a gauzy white dress against your body, and say it with the straightest face you can muster:
"raf, babe? could you leave the room for a minute? i need to change."
he freezes mid stretch. literally freezes, arm still raised, like a statue caught in marble.
slow blink. head tilts. those violet eyes narrow, suspicious.
"…leave?" he echoes, drawing the word out like it's a foreign concept. "the room. our room. where i sleep. where i paint you naked at dawn. where our child was conceived on that very rug you're standing on right now."
you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from cracking.
he sits up fully now, barely hiding his grin.
"you want me, your husband, the man who has seen you in every state of undress imaginable, who has had his mouth on every part of your body, to leave? so you can put on fabric?"
he gestures wildly toward the sleeping toddler. "he exists because of us being very, very not-private in this room! he literally came from your body while i cried harder than you did and now you're kicking me out like i'm some stranger at a fitting room??"
his voice masks his amusement, theatrics on full display. he flops back against the cushions, arm over his eyes like a fainting victorian lady.
"the betrayal! my heart, it's shattering! lemurian hearts are delicate, you know. one more blow and i'll turn into sea foam right here. poof. gone. you'll have to explain to our son why daddy is a puddle."
you can't hold it, laughter spills out, bright and helpless.
"i was just joking, rafayel!"
he peeks from under his arm, one eye gleaming with mischief now.
"a joke." he repeats it like it's a curse word. then he's up in a flash, graceful, predatory, closing the distance until he's right in front of you, fingers hooking into the belt of your robe, tugging you flush against him.
"i’ll have you know," he purrs, lips brushing your jaw, voice dropping to that sultry, teasing register that always makes your pulse skip, "you’re not funny at all."
he cups your face with paint stained hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks.
"i've seen your soul, cutie. clothes are just… wrapping paper. and i already unwrapped the best gift years ago."
he steals a kiss, slow, lingering, tasting like salt and paint and forever.
then he pulls back, smirks, and snatches the dress from your hands.
"now. let me help you into this. or out of it. your choice. but i'm staying. deal with it."
(he does help, fingers lingering, murmuring praises in lemurian the whole time. when the toddler stirs and coos "daddy pretty!", he beams like he's won the universe.)
SYLUS
you're in the opulent bedroom of the onychinus base, all dark leather, crimson accents, low lighting from those antique lamps he collects like trophies. sylus is half dressed for whatever shady "business dinner" he's got planned (tailored black suit pants on, shirt open to reveal those delicious abs), lounging against the headboard with a glass of aged whiskey in hand, scrolling through auction listings on his tablet for some rare artifact. your nine month old son is dozing in the custom crib across the room, a fortress of its own with crow motifs carved into the wood, tiny fists clutching a plushie his size that the twins gifted him.
you're fresh from the shower, towel dried hair and a robe that's one of his (too big, smells like gold and sandalwood), holding up the sleek red dress he picked out for you.
you clear your throat, casual as can be. "sylus? honey, could you step out for a bit? i need to change."
he doesn't look up at first. just sips his whiskey, slow and deliberate.
then his head lifts, those sharp crimson eyes locking onto you like a predator sighting prey. the tablet clicks off, set aside quickly..
a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, dark and amused, echoing off the walls.
"you want me to leave," he starts, voice smooth and silky, drawing the sentence out as if tasting it. "me, your husband, the father of your child."
he rises in one fluid motion, setting the glass down without a sound, and prowls toward you, his slow and deliberate steps that make the floorboards creak under his weight. towers over you, close enough that his evol hums faintly in the air between you, that resonance tugging at your core like invisible threads.
his gaze flicks to the crib, where your son stirs lightly but doesn't wake, those tiny features a perfect blend of your softness and his sharp edges.
"you know, sweetie," he says, pointing with one long finger without breaking eye contact with you, "it takes two to make a child. and oh, if i’m not mistaken you were practically begging for another-"
your whole face heats up, you raise your hands in mock surrender, fighting a grin, but he sees it, of course. his lips curve into that wicked smirk.
"i was just messing with you," you manage, voice breathy. "wives ask husbands to leave-"
"ah." he straightens slightly, but doesn't back off, if anything, he crowds closer, one hand sliding to the small of your back, possessive. "testing me. bold, as always."
then, without warning, he scoops you up, one arm under your knees, the other at your back and carries you to the full length mirror by the wardrobe. sets you down gently, but his hands stay firm on your hips, turning you to face your reflection.
"if you really wanted me to step out ," he says softly, meeting your eyes in the glass. his fingers undo the robe's tie with agonizing slowness, letting it fall open. "i would, just for the record. your boundaries are what matter most to me. "
the robe pools at your feet. he reaches for the dress, but instead of helping you into it, he holds it up behind you. his free hand traces your collarbone, down to the curve of your hip, lingering on the faint stretch marks like they're battle honors.
"beautiful," he murmurs, genuine warmth cracking through the menace. "just know that there is no greater honor for me than being able to be this close to you."
he finally slips the dress over your head, zipping it up with care but his touch lingers. when it's done, he spins you to face him, tilts your chin up.
"and next time you want my attention," he says, eyes gleaming, "just say so. i'll clear the room or the whole n109 zone for you."
a quick glance at the crib, where your son coos softly in his sleep. sylus softens fractionally, brushing a kiss to your forehead.
"now. wake the little one, sweetie. we’re about to be late.”
CALEB
you're in the cozy kitchen of your shared home, the one he insisted on rebuilding in the style of gran's old place, complete with apple tree saplings in the backyard and that same creaky wooden table where you used to do homework together as kids. morning light filters through the curtains, warm and golden. caleb's already up, flipping pancakes in nothing but low slung gray sweats and an apron. your two year old daughter is perched in her high chair, babbling happily while smearing applesauce on her tray, short hair bouncing, eyes shining the same purple as his when he smiles.
you're fresh from getting ready for a casual weekend outing, towel still wrapped around you after a quick shower, holding the cute sundress you want to wear (the one with little apple embroidery he bought you.
you lean against the doorway, casual. "caleb? could you maybe head out to the living room for a sec? i need to change."
he doesn't even pause mid flip. pancake lands perfectly. spatula still in hand, he turns slowly, one eyebrow raised in that familiar "really?" way he's given you since you were ten and tried to sneak extra cookies.
brown eyes flick to you, then to the high chair where your little girl is now clapping sticky hands at him like he's the best show in town.
then back to you.
a slow, lopsided grin spreads across his face boyish, fond, but with that quiet edge he's carried since childhood. he sets the spatula down, wipes his hands on the apron, and walks over.
"change," he repeats softly, voice warm like fresh coffee, stopping just close enough that you can smell maple syrup and his cologne. "in our kitchen?”
you innocently smile up at him, “well, i’m already here, you know. might as well.”
he nods slowly, eyes narrowing and grin getting bigger, “right. so, remember how you told me you were pregnant in this very kitchen while i was burning toast because i got distracted staring at you."
he glances at your daughter again, she's giggling now, reaching for him. he scoops her up one armed without missing a beat, settling her against his chest so she can pat his cheek with applesauce fingers.
"this one," he says, bouncing her gently, eyes never leaving yours, "she's proof i know every part of you, pipsqueak.”
his free hand reaches out, tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear, thumb lingering on your cheek like he's memorizing you all over again.
"and you want me to step out. like we're strangers sharing a dorm."
the grin turns softer, almost shy, the same one he used to flash when gran caught him sneaking glances at you across the dinner table.
"it's a prank, right?" he says before you can even explain, because of course he already knows, he's always paid attention.
you burst out laughing, caught. "guilty."
he leans down, lips brushing your temple.
a soft chuckle leaves him. " pancakes are almost done. and she's about to start a food fight if we don't sit. breakfast first, then you can tease me all you want."
he steals a quick kiss to your cheek, then places your daughter back down into the high chair. then he faces you again, turns you around by the shoulders and pats your heads before slapping your ass.
“hurry up and go change, pips. wherever you want.”
Xavier: Warm. Soft clothes. Big spoon. Little spoon. Doesn’t matter. Just be horizontal with him, please. Legs all tangled up in yours. “Just five more minutes” while sneaking his hand up under your shirt. 10/10. King of cuddling.
Zayne: Likes it when you nestle up under his arm. Will kiss your forehead and run his fingers through your hair. Composed. Unless it’s the middle of the night. You’ll wake up to him hugging you from behind, his face squished into the side of your neck, arms locked. Congrats: that’s where you’ll be until morning.
Rafayel: He doesn’t want to cuddle. Why? Do you? Well, if it’ll make you happy… (hard cut to him clinging to you like a koala bear on a eucalyptus tree). Lots of little kisses. Lots of hand holding. Lots of deep breaths. Lots of nuzzling. Full-sensory cuddling experience.
Sylus: You know this man is going to be attached to you. Manages to find ways to cuddle that aren’t actually cuddling. He’ll wind his forearm over yours while you’re holding hands. He’ll pull your legs up over his lap while you’re watching a movie. His foot is always finding yours when you’re eating at a restaurant. Just. Touch. Him. Please.
Caleb: Does not understand the concept of sitting in a chair alone. You’re gonna be on his lap or squished in beside him. His hands? On your thighs. His nose? In your hair. Need to get up? How could you do this to him? Cannot fall asleep unless - at minimum - three of his limbs are wrapped around you. Human space heater. Enjoy.
When you and Zayne start dating, you notice he starts…eating differently.
While he still continues his constant consumption of sweets, you take note of how he switches his spicy chips and junk food snacks for various citrus fruits.
He acquires a large water bottle as well, which you see him drinking far more often than you’ve ever seen him drink water. After a few months of dating, you finally gather the courage to bring it up.
“I thought you didn’t like pineapple?” You question as Zayne sits next to you on the couch, a bowl of pineapple in hand and his water bottle in the other.
“I don’t mind it.”
"Well if you don't even like it that much why are you eating it?" He pauses after hearing your question, as if he hadn't been expecting you to ask.
"It has a variety of health benefits." He answers after a moment, though his ears have gone a telling shade of red and he avoids your gaze. Something dawns on you as you look at the bowl of citrus fruit, a fact you remember reading in a magazine and relaying to Zayne.
"Are you eating more fruit...so that your cum tastes better?"
If invisibility evol existed, Zayne would surely use it in this moment.
so like, not sure it anyone has talked about this so i wanted to risk looking stupid and send an ask.
soooo yes, poly!snowcrow w brat enabler sylus and brat tamer zayne, but like…. what if the roles were reversed and it was brat tamer sylus and brat enabler zayne. it’s so ooc but can we just think about it for a second….. mean sylus in one ear and gentle zayne in the other 🚬
Kit…how could you do this to me…
Sylus was a difficult man to annoy. At least, it was hard for you to annoy him. It was easy for virtually anyone outside of you and Zayne to get on his nerves. Sylus was not exactly known for being benevolent. But inside the sanctuary of your shared home, it seemed like he had endless patience.
Well, apparently not endless.
“Please I-I said I was sorry!” You whine desperately as Sylus pulls the vibrator away from your throbbing clit once again. This had been the fourth time he’d edged you, and it had only been getting worse.
“And still, I don’t believe you.” His tone is almost bored as he runs the vibrating toy over your trembling inner thighs.
“Zayneeee!” You whine desperately, twisting to look at him. He’s sitting behind you, fingers toying with your nipples. Red energy is wrapped around your legs, keeping you spread open for Sylus’s torment.
“What is it, love?” He’s being so sweet, pressing soft kisses to your burning skin as if he’s not also participating in this torture.
“Tell-tell him to let me cum!”
Zayne laughs quietly, but to his credit, he does make an attempt.
“Don't you think four is enough? What she did wasn’t so bad.” The doctor isn’t nearly convincing as he usually is, and he concedes after one sharp look.
“I tried.” He whispers into your hair, nuzzling your skin. You’d curse him out if your brain hadn’t melted to mush, Sylus switching the vibrator up even higher.
“Have you gone dumb already? A shame. Maybe if you were good, you’d get our cocks. But you weren’t.” You can’t help but whine, overstimulation burning through you, mixed with the ache of needing release.
"Don't worry," Zayne practically coos in your ear, "I'll fuck you as many times as you want once your punishment's over."
How could he when you come to him crying big crocodile tears, sobbing how no matter what you do you can’t seem to cum, how you think you must be broken, how no one would ever want such a hard-to-please woman in their bed.
As if he hasn’t spent years watching you, waiting for you, knowing damn well that the problem isn’t you.
So of course Caleb, being such a kind and thoughtful gege, has to prove you wrong, right?
He does. Over. And over. And over again. That is, until you’re crying in overstimulation, writhing away from his punishing thrusts, clawing against the sheets as you try to run from the pleasure-turned-pain.
Or, tried to.
“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Where do you think you’re going?”
You’re running? No, no you can’t run away, not when he’s already spent his entire fucking life chasing you.
Caleb’s voice is teasing, raspy and sweet, but there’s nothing playful about the way his Evol surges to life with a mere crook of his finger, dragging you back along the mattress and pinning you down as he takes his sweet time crawling back to you.
Trapped, your breath hitches as you feel the weight of him settle over you, his intimidating frame caging you in, tracing featherlight kisses along your spine in such a stark contrast to how ruthlessly he was fucking you earlier. His hands roam, slow and deliberate, kneading your ass as he repositions himself behind you.
"If I let you go," he murmurs, "you promise not to run?"
Run? Why did you even want to run? You can’t remember now, not as you viciously nodding your head as much as is allowed under the control of his Evol, already arching your back into his touch as Caleb nips and marks your sticky inner thighs.
“Good girl.” The pressure disappears.
Immediately, Caleb replaces it, his entire body pressing you down before you can so much as take a proper breath. His arm snakes around your throat, flexing just enough to remind you who’s in control, the bulging, thick mass of his bicep choking you deliciously when you attempt to squirm or beg.
He’s got you in a headlock, the rest of his corded body pressing down atop you until your chest is squished to the mattress, ass pressed against Caleb’s pelvis, the combined pressure enough for you to be seeing stars. A drooling, overstimulated mess.
It doesn’t help that he’s practically panting like a dog in your ear, whining as he already begins thrusting himself back into your cunt, delirious moans of your name and filthy praises cooed right into your ear, words barely distinguishable with how hard he’s breathing.
“Aww p-poor thing.” Caleb pants, voice wrecked, whiny with need as he grinds himself against you. His pace is already brutal, his thrusts sharp and unforgiving, every desperate snap of his hips forcing a cry from your throat as his grip tightens, choking you deliciously every time you so much as try to squirm.“Can you be good for me? Be my sweet little girl and cum for daddy.”
It shouldn’t be hot, Caleb, your gege, calling himself daddy, it shouldn’t have you sobbing out an unintelligible plea as another orgasm builds, seizing up your body in tight, aching waves. And yet here you are, loosing your fucking mind at it.
“Please,” you gasp, voice muffled as you sink your teeth into his bicep, embarrassed by the desperate sound of your own voice. “Please, daddy.”
For the first time in thirty minutes, you feel Caleb stop.
He’s frozen entirely, dick hot and throbbing with need within you, each shaky breath hitting your ear as he pressed down closer, flattening, suffocating you into the mattress as you feel the growl come from his throat. You can hear the way his lips curl into a grin.
“You wanna say that again, princess?”
Whining, you try and arch your back further, wiggling your hips up as you try and bait Caleb into continuing, into giving you that release that was only just out of reach. But he wasn’t having any of that bratty attitude tonight.
“Behave.” Caleb’s arm tightens, and your vision swims. ”I asked you a question. You need daddy to—ah shit you tightened, dirty girl— fuck you nice and full, hmm? Fuck you stupid?”
A fresh wave of humiliation burns down your spine, but it doesn't matter. You’ll say whatever he wants if it means he moves, if it means he chokes you more, if it means he finally gives you what you need one more time.
“Yes, m’close, please daddy! Please—ah—let me cum one more time.”
Caleb just snaps.
His grip tightens instinctively. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it, enough to make your breath stutter, your body jolt like the sweet little thing you are under his grasp. His entire frame tenses above you, muscles coiling so tightly it’s like he’s holding himself together with sheer willpower alone. But it’s already slipping.
"Fucking," His voice breaks, dissolving into a strangled groan as he buries his face against your neck, breathing you in like a man starved. "Fuck that shouldn’t be so hot, it really shouldn’t—"
Like you haven't already wrecked him beyond repair.
Caleb’s Evol comes back full force, pushing you prone against the mattress so you can’t feel anything but him, the arm around your throat dropping so his hand can press against your belly instead, pinning you down as he fucks into you so deep, so hard, you swear you can feel him in your lungs. His other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to smash onto yours, sloppy, desperate, sucking at your bottom lip as the two of you jolt with each thrust.
"You have no fucking idea," Caleb laughs against your lips, the words a feverish, choked-out confession, "how long I've wanted to do this to you."
It’s almost like he’s hammering that truth into you, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, the sound of skin on skin nearly drowned out by your own sobs of pleasure.
"Caleb—"
"Say it again," he demands, not even trying to keep his composure anymore. "Say it for me, princess. Say it like you mean it."
"Daddy—"
"Fuck."
Caleb really didn't need another kink, he really didn't need to imagine you calling him all these filthy things on top of every other sinful thing he's already imagined you doing. It must be divine punishment, because god was he into it.
Practically collapsing on top of you, Caleb's barely pulling out before grinding right back in as deep as he can get, like he can barely think to part from you even for a moment, like he needs to feel every twitch, every squeeze, every shudder of your overstimulated body. His hands roam wildly, equally greedy, kneading and groping every tender curve like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, like he’s claiming you in ways he’s never let himself before. And fuck, you’re close.
Caleb notices, of course he notices, nibbling the shell of your ear as the arm around your throat tightens, the other going right back to abusing your clit as you squirt all over him with a scream.
“Aw that’s it, keep cumming sweet thing.” Caleb’s voice is the only thing grounding you, your entire body, your vision trembling as you begin to lose consciousness. The only thing you can think of is Caleb. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb!
You don’t even realize you’re screaming his name over and over again as you squirt down both of your thighs, making a mess against the already ruined sweat-slicked sheets beneath the two of you. You’re so damn messy. He loves it.
Convulsing, walls fluttering around him like you’re made for him, a sweet temptation Caleb is so laughably weak against as he follows, humping against you like a mad dog as his breath shatters into desperate, shaky moans of your name, spilling inside you with a force that has you sobbing with pleasure.
“Oh, princess,” he rasped, his tongue tracing over the tear-streaked path down your cheek before pressing a soft, almost mocking kiss to your jaw. “Shh, it’s alright, don’t cry. Your gege is here, your daddy will take good care of you, promise.”
Rafayel ♱⋅ ── the desperate
You’re going to have to call in sick for the week.
Every year with the return of the tide, with the return of ebb-and-flow day, Rafayel becomes insatiable. You’ve barely been able to be able to escape Rafayel’s grasp for long enough to go to the bathroom, let alone escape enough from his insatiable fucking to walk well enough to fight.
It’s never been this bad. And it’s all your fault. Being back in your arms after eight hundred years, finally remembering the way your voice sounds when it says his name and the way you fit oh so perfectly in his arms. It’s borderline painful to spend even a minute in your absence. His very body violently rejects the notion of it as spasms of violent heat and need drives him right back into your arms again and again and again.
“Please, please let me fuck you. I can’t come like this, you know that.”
Rafayel’s voice is muffled against your thigh, breath hot as he presses a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. His hands are clenched into the sheets beside him, trembling with the effort of keeping them off you, as you ordered. It’s the only rule you’ve given him tonight, and yet it’s breaking him.
"Rafayel," you warn, fingers buried between your thighs, working yourself open as his desperate, pleading gaze follows your every movement.
He whimpers, nodding frantically, his cock throbbing angrily where it rests against the mattress, one hand coming back to violently fist the swollen head as it leaks all over his palm and sheets. "I know, I know," his voice cracks as he drags his hand around its base, rutting into his own palm like it’s not enough, like it hasn’t been enough for hours now. "But please I—fuck—I can’t."
“You can.” You spread your legs wider, letting him see, letting him watch your fingers disappear into your fluttering cunt with a slick, wet sound that has his jaw going slack, his own hips grind into the bed helplessly. “I told you what would happen if you forgot to use a condom, again.”
Rafayel’s eyes plead up into yours, big fat tears slipping down his cheeks, his head shaking against your leg as he kisses the trembling flesh. "You don't understand," he sobs, nuzzling into the crook of your knee like he can smell the orgasm building inside you, like he can taste it on his tongue already. “I need- I need—”
"You need to learn control, Rafayel."
Your voice is less strict than you’d like it to be, already embarrassingly close considering all the times you’ve come earlier today. And the way Rafayel’s looking up at you, begging, pleading, is really not helping.
Tilting your hips slightly, you circle your clit in a way that makes your eyes roll back, making sure he sees the way your poor cunt flutters all empty, the way your body clenches, desperate for something more, something bigger.
Rafayel groans, his grip on himself tightening. Still, it’s useless, his Lemurian biology physically won’t let him cum unless it’s inside his pretty little mate, his cock swollen and weeping with how much he’s holding back, the pleasure that spikes through him now nothing but a cruel, agonizing echo of the real thing.
"My love," he chokes, head falling back against the mattress, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe past the desperate hunger clawing at his insides. "My muse, my sweet darling, please. Taste you, touch you, anything, please!”
You hum, considering, rolling your hips against your own fingers as he moans, watching with wild, fevered eyes. "You wanna clean me up?"
"Yes."
The word is instant, sharp, like Rafayel’s been waiting for you to say it since the moment he first laid his hands on you tonight. Before you can even think of teasing or denying him any further, his grip snaps—both arms wrapping around your thighs, dragging you down the mattress in one swift, fluid motion.
"Rafayel—"
Too late.
His mouth is on you before you can protest, his tongue filthy as he sucks at your clit, licking up everything you’ve given yourself, drinking in the mess between your thighs like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Slapping your own hands away, Rafayel pauses briefly to suck them clean before diving right back into the source, moaning into your cunt, making your body seize with another orgasm before you can even process the first.
"Fuck, fuck," Your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard, but it only makes him groan, rutting against the mattress, his own pleasure reigniting just from the taste of you.
You try to pull away, squirming and kicking at Rafayel’s sides, his shoulders, but he doesn't even budge. His arms lock tight around your hips, keeping you there, keeping you spread for him as he eats you out like a man possessed.
And then he's begging again, voice wrecked, slurred with delirious pleasure, licking at your clit between words as though he really can’t get enough. “Please, please let me fuck you. I promise, mhm, promise I won’t cum inside you again.”
Rafayel is still begging for permission even as he manhandles you beneath him, hesitantly parting with your cunt as he kisses up your stomach, sucking at one of your breasts as you feel the nudge of his cock against your entrance before you can even think. “Promise I’ll be good. I’ll be such a good boy.”
Fuck, you really are weak against him.
Using the last of your strength, you flip the both of you around, grinding down against his cock as you feel it throb, violently jumping between your thighs, the sloppy, wet sound of each movement sending shivers down both your spines. Poor thing is already ruined, body extra sensitive due to his heat, cock swollen and leaking as it begs to be inside you.
"You promise?" Your voice is a whisper, teasing, as you drag your soaked folds along the length of him, feeling him tremble beneath you.
Rafayel nods frantically, breath hitching, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to grab you, wants to force you down onto him, but he knows better. Knows he wouldn’t survive the punishment. His lips are red, glossy with your slick, parted around little choked-off whimpers as he fights against the desperate urge to rut up into you.
"I promise," he gasps, "Please, I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll be so good for you.”
You hum, dragging your fingertips down his chest, nails scraping lightly over sweat-slicked skin, enjoying the way his breath shudders at the contact. The pain. "You say that, but you've already come inside me, what, three times now?"
You rock your hips again, coating his cock in your arousal, watching the way his abs twitch with the effort of keeping still. Gods, he’s so pretty like this, neglected and crying underneath you, muscles strained and glistening with sweat and cum, watercolor eyes bleary as his tears collect on the mattress as dusky pink pearls. The same rosy shade of blush that burns across his cheeks, ears, and throbbing tip of his swollen cock.
“That warrants punishment, don’t you think?”
Rafayel all but whines at that, head tilting back against the pillow, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe, tries to hold on to the last fragile thread of control he has left. "I—I won't this time, I swear, I’ll be good, I just need you."
"You need me?" You lean down, pressing your lips just below his ear, letting your voice drop to a sinful whisper. "Or do you just need to fuck something, sweetheart?"
"You." Rafayel’s answer is immediate, desperate, his hands finally snapping up to grip your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. "It’s always you. Only you, my mate."
The admission makes your stomach tighten, heat pooling low as you let yourself sink down, just enough for the swollen head of his cock to catch at your entrance. Rafayel jerks, eyes wide, mouth dropping open around a silent moan, his grip on you tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
"Oh, fuck."
"You need me, you need your mate?" You tease, rolling your hips, letting him feel the wet heat of you without giving him what he really needs.
"Yes, please, please, please—"
And then, because you’re cruel, because you love seeing him like this, you lift yourself off him entirely.
Rafayel practically cries at that, and you let him plead, let him beg, until his whole body is shaking with the need to be inside you, until his voice is raw and wrecked from crying out your name. Then, finally, finally, you sink down, dropping the entirety of your weight onto him as you both moan at the sudden pressure as your ass smacks his pelvis with a lewd slap.
Rafayel’s body aches up off the mattress, a wrecked, strangled moan tearing from his throat as his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. His head tilts back, chest heaving, eyes glassy and unfocused, dilated almost like a cat’s, as if the feeling of being inside you after so long is too much for his mind to comprehend.
"Fucking finally."
You barely have a moment to adjust before Rafayel thrusts.
Whatever fragile restraint he had is gone, obliterated the second your walls squeeze around him. His hips jerk up in a desperate, instinctual rut, shoving himself deeper, harder, until the thick length of him is buried to the hilt inside you, and then pulled all the way out before ramming back in again. You choke on a gasp, nails digging into his chest, but he doesn’t even seem to register the pain.
"More." Some inhumane warble distorts Rafayel’s voice, nails turning clawed and sharp as he thrusts up into you with more strength than any human should possess. “Perfect, perfect mate.”
Your head spins, the force of each snap of his hips making your whole body jolt. His desperation is relentless, dragging you closer to the edge far too fast, too intense, gripping onto his shoulders just to keep you from falling over as your thighs begin trembling once again.
"Rafayel—Raf, slow down!"
"No," he whimpers, shaking his head wildly, hands tightening on your waist as if letting go isn’t an option. "No, please, sorry, need this." Rafayel’s voice breaks into a sort of trill, something like whalesong, eyes fluttering shut as he drives himself up into you, starved for more, cock throbbing desperately inside you. "Don’t leave me again, please.”
Your heart clenches. "I’m here," you whisper, leaning down, pressing your forehead to his as your body moves with his, rolling your hips as you try to stay in time with his brutal pace. "I’m right here, Rafayel."
He moans, high and broken, clutching you so tightly against him, feeling every inch of you pressed into his skin. His pace turns frantic, sloppy, body shaking beneath you as pleasure racks through him in violent waves. He’s close, but he won’t let himself fall over the edge alone.
"Come with me," he begs, his lips brushing over yours as he pleads for it. "Please.”
And you do.
The orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave, stealing every breath from your lungs as your entire body clenches around him. Rafayel keens, hips jerking wildly as he follows, his cock pulsing inside you as he fucks his cum deep inside you yet again, stuffing you full until you’re both shaking with overstimulation.
But it still doesn’t stop.
Rafayel can’t stop.
Even as his body trembles beneath you, even as his whimpers turn into sobs, he keeps moving, his hips rolling into you in slow, messy grinds. His cock twitches inside your still-clenching walls, sending violent aftershocks through you both.
"Mhh sorry," he moans, lips dragging down your throat, sucking bruises into your skin as if marking you will somehow keep you tethered to him. "Did it again, can’t help it. Pussy feels so nice, wants me too, always so desperate for me. Made to worship me."
You let out a wrecked, exhausted laugh, trying to lift yourself off of him, but his arms snap tight around your waist, keeping you anchored to him.
"No," he pleads, voice cracking, nuzzling into your neck as he breathes in your scent. "No, please, just—just a little more. You owe it to me for being so mean before."
Your head falls into the crook of his neck as yet another orgasm crashes through you, ripping a moan from your throat. Rafayel shudders, gasping against your skin, completely gone, his hips jerking helplessly, overstimulated beyond the point of caring. His body is moving on instinct now, neither of you fully conscious as he keeps moving on his own, chasing another high even as it breaks him.
"Fuck, Raf...”
"One more," he’s licking into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip, too tired and uncoordinated to properly kiss you. "One more, one more."
You don’t even know how many times you’ve both come. The world is a haze of heat and pleasure, of wet, messy grinds and deep, instinctual thrusts, of Rafayel’s loud, unashamed moans directly in your ear between kisses, of the desperate way he clings to you, unable to bear even a second, an inch of separation.
You ride him through another, and another, until your body finally gives out, completely limp against his chest, your limbs trembling too hard to keep yourself upright any longer. Rafayel follows soon after, his movements slowing, stuttering, until he’s finally, finally still beneath you, panting raggedly, body wracked with aftershocks.
The room is finally silent except for your heavy breathing, the two of you floating between sleep and reality for what seems like an eternity.
"I think I might die," Rafayel croaks, voice hoarse.
You huff a weak, breathless laugh as you grumble into his shoulder. "Good, you stupid horny fish."
Sylus ♱⋅ ── the sweetheart (liar)
You’re going insane.
Sylus promised he would finally fuck you, promised he’d finally give you what you’ve practically been begging him for all week. “Just the tip,” you’d beg, whining into his neck or suckling gently against his fingers in attempts to bait him, “Please, Sy, just the tip and I’ll stop asking.”
Technically speaking, he’s held up his end of the deal. After all, you’ve already cum four times. Not that it’s ever stopped you from wanting more.
“What’s this? Are you even listening to me, sweetie?” Something jerks your head up, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts at the same time as Sylus grinds forward, humming as he pulls you closer on his lap, your thighs spread wide atop of his. “Tch, first all that whining and now you’re not even paying attention to me. I’m hurt, kitten.”
You shake your head as best you can with his thumb and forefinger still squishing your cheeks, tears from the sheer overstimulation blurring your vision as you bury your face into Sylus’s chest, chasing the mere friction.
The fat head of his cock slips right back out of your cunt, tapping once, twice, on your swollen clit before grinding back in with a lewd pop. One inch, two, just enough for you to feel the delicious stretch of the tip of his cock, before Sylus lifts you up higher on his lap, pulling out as the torture begins all over again.
You swear you can take more. It doesn’t matter than everytime Sylus lines up his cock it hits your bellybutton from the outside, it doesn’t matter that your hands can barely wrap around his base, it doesn’t matter that even when you suck him off your jaw throbs and he can barely thrust it in halfway without you gagging.
“Sylus, please, please just—” you whine, rutting your hips down to no avail as his firm hands render you immobile. Watching you squirm with thinly veiled amusement. “Just fuck me already!”
Your breath comes out in short, stuttered gasps, frustration bubbling over into pitiful little sobs against Sylus’s skin. He shushes you, rubbing slow, teasing circles into your hips as if he’s offering you comfort. But you know better. The bastard lives for this, the way your body trembles, how your cunt clenches down hard every time he pulls out, desperate for more than what he’s giving.
“Please.” A broken cry rips from your throat as he nudges forward again, pushing the tip back inside like he hasn’t already driven you half-mad. “I can take it. Ah, I swear, I can take it.”
And yet, he’s still so fucking mean.
“Hmm,” Sylus’s voice drips with amusement, low and tinged with laughter as his lips graze the shell of your ear as though lost in thought. “No.”
You whine, digging your nails into Sylus’s back with more force than necessary as you hiss out curses, “Cruel, stubborn, self-assured asshole. I told you I can take it Syl—ah!”
Sylus pushes himself upward, roughly fucking his swollen tip against you, ramming that delicious spot within you as your curses dissolve into mindless babbles of his name, another orgasm ripping through you as you try and match Sylus’s rhythm by grinding yourself on the rest of his cock.
“That’s it,” He hums, dragging his tongue along your pulse, relishing the way it hammers beneath his mouth. He can feel how fast it beats, erratic and needy, the way your breath catches in your throat. “You’re gonna be good and take what I give you. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re already fucked stupid. And I’ve barely even given you anything, kitten.”
It’s humiliating how right he is.
Your thighs tremble violently on either side of his, the ache in your muscles a dull, distant thing compared to the unbearable need twisting in your core. Desperate, you try to grind down, to force him deeper, to make him give you what you need. But Sylus just clicks his tongue, unimpressed, fingers digging into your hips as he holds you still, keeping you right where he wants you.
Sylus shifts back on the couch, pulling you down, controlling your movements with an infuriating ease, guiding you along the few inches he’s deemed fit to give you. It’s barely anything, nowhere near enough, but even that—just that slow, teasing roll of his hips—and the unbearable pressure of the thick, insistent tip of his cock is enough to make your back arch violently against him.
“There we go,” he murmurs, cooing as he watches you, helpless and pliant in his lap. “No more complaining.”
A desperate nod. Another broken whine.
You can feel it building again, the pressure coiling deep inside you, sharp and unbearable. Sobbing, you drop your head into Sylus’s shoulder, biting into the curve of his neck to muffle your cries, nails digging into his shoulders, chest, clawing violent red marks as Sylus shudders, eyes rolling back at the pain. Your legs are shaking too hard to do much of anything anymore, giving out as Sylus is the only thing left guiding you, dragging you toward yet another orgasm.
Or rather, he would have.
But you feel Sylus chuckle, the sound deep and sinful as it rumbles down his chest and into yours, and fear prickles along your spine. Then, with excruciating patience, he pulls out, leaving you empty all over again before tapping his throbbing cock against your clit—slow, deliberate, taunting.
“You wanted just the tip, sweetheart.” He grins, voice a low, cruel purr as he kisses your forehead. “So don’t start crying now that it’s all you’re getting.”
Xavier ♱⋅ ── the munch
“Then sit on my face.”
You stare, dumbfounded, as Xavier already begins leaning back against the cushions of your bed, those big, blue eyes begging up at you in ways that make it hard to breathe.
Xavier’s hands tighten around your waist, fingers flexing like he’s barely restraining himself from yanking you down then and there. The heat of his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making your pulse stammer, making every inch of you ache with want.
“Xavier, I didn’t actually mean…”
“You want me to prove it, right? Then I’ll do what I can to serve you well.” He’s dead serious, you realize, still staring down at him in shock as Xavier frowns, sitting up just long enough to wrap his arms around your waist and haul you toward him, seating you on his chest as protests die in your throat. “Sit.”
Biting your lip, you still find yourself hesitating. What if you’re too heavy? Or if he doesn’t actually like it? You still have your underwear on, shouldn’t you take it off, or does he plan on eating you through it? What if—
"You're thinking too much again." His voice is firm, but gentle, cutting straight through your spiraling thoughts. Before you can get another word in, he lifts you up from the backs of your thighs, guiding you forward until your knees are bracketing his head and you're hovering just above his waiting mouth.
Xavier groans, this is already better than his dreams—just having you above him, so close, so warm—is enough to make him lose his damn mind. His hands are keeping you steady, and when he tilts his head back to look at you again, you almost drown in the sheer hunger in his gaze.
"Please," he murmurs, breathless, sucking and kissing into your thighs like he can't believe you're making him wait so long for something he so, so desperately needs. "I really don’t think I can wait much longer."
A shudder racks through you, thighs trembling as the heat between your legs grows unbearable. Xavier’s so serious, so patient, despite the raw hunger in his voice, despite the way his chest rises and falls in uneven pants beneath you. You’d have to be cruel to deny him.
Slowly, you lower yourself the rest of the way, bracing your hands against the headboard as Xavier immediately pulls you the last few inches down, shoving his face up into you like he’s starving.
He might as well be because the first swipe of his tongue is so hot, so eager, that you nearly jerk away from the sudden pleasure. Not that Xavier would let you. His fingers dig into the marked-up plush of your thighs, keeping you right there as he groans into your pussy like you’re the best fucking thing he’s ever tasted.
“Wait—” Your voice is already breaking, a gasp caught in your throat as he licks into you again, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it. He doesn’t even bother pulling your underwear aside, just mouths at the fabric, dampening it further, teasing you through the barrier until it sticks to your folds and you’re a whimpering mess, gripping the headboard so tightly your knuckles ache.
Then he shifts, hooking a single finger under the waistband, dragging it aside just enough to give himself proper access.
The first real flick of Xavier’s tongue against your clit is devastating.
A high, broken moan rips from your throat as pleasure jolts up your spine, your thighs snapping shut around his head, suffocating him as Xavier feels like the happiest man in the world. Moaning into your cunt, Xavier pulls you down harder against his mouth like he wouldn’t mind drowning in your pleasure if it meant he got to taste you for just a few seconds longer.
You’re already cumming. Head falling backward, your lips part in a silent scream as Xavier’s tongue continues circling around your clit in that same, devastating rhythm, only letting go once you’ve come all over his face. But he doesn’t stop for long.
His tongue flicks and curls and fucks into you with the kind of dedication that makes your vision blur, that makes your whole body burn as you become more and more sensitive. And when you grind down against his mouth, desperate and trembling, he just groans in approval, encouraging you to ride his face like you need this just as much as he does.
"That's it," Xavier mumbles between licks, inaudible between your wet, sinful noises. "Don't hold back. Use me."
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling hard, but it only makes him grin against you, only makes him suck harder, making you gasp and sob as your thighs start to shake once more around his head. Still, he devours you, no teasing, no hesitation. Just raw, ravenous hunger.
"Xavier—"
He hums in response, the vibrations sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you. Then he finally fucks his tongue deep into your cunt, curling against your walls as you clench around the hot muscle, Xavier’s nose grinding deliciously into your clit as his hands begin guiding you back and forth once your rhythm falls apart.
You come hard, a choked cry ripping from your throat as your body locks up, pleasure searing through every nerve. Xavier doesn’t stop—doesn’t let you escape—licking and sucking you through your orgasm like he needs every drop, like he won’t be satisfied until you’re a writhing, overstimulated mess above him.
“Ah, Xavier, seriously,” you whine, every suck against your clit now tender and overstimulated as you try and squirm away to no avail. “Can’t, Xavier, can’t come again!”
Crying, you finally manage to wrestle his head out from underneath you—body still shaking, pleasure crackling under your skin like a live wire—realizing something that makes your stomach flip.
Xavier is panting, eyes half-lidded and hazy with bliss, hair fisted in your hands as the rest sticks to his forehead and pillow with sweat, letting you inch off of him as he finally breathes, heaving in deep breaths through swollen, wet lips. His whole body shudders beneath you, and when you shift, you feel it—the sticky warmth against his stomach, the evidence of his release.
He came. Just from eating you out.
And the worst part?
He’s still hard.
“One more time, please?”
Zayne ♱⋅ ── the addicted
Uh oh.
This was bad.
Zayne has always considered himself a beacon of self-control, having grown up under the concept of restraint and caution when it came to everything from his Evol to his life’s work as a surgeon.
But even he could get addicted to having you spread out underneath him like this.
It had started innocently. Zayne had forgotten his lunch today, probably due to his consecutive sleepless nights, thanks to being on call for not two or three but four surgeries this week. So when you delivered his lunch to his private office like any sweet girlfriend would do, it was only natural that you’d want to see if you could help him feel more relaxed and maybe help relieve the stress that was so clearly fogging up his mind.
This, however, was not what you had in mind.
"Zayne, someone is going to hear us," you hiss, voice trembling, but make no move to stop him.
Zayne only hums, two fingers rubbing right up against your clit with expert precision even with your jeans still unzipped around your waist. His other hand shucks them just barely down your thigh, pressing his fingers right back in, curling against that spot that has your legs jerking against the polished wood of his desk before dragging his fingers out of you agonizingly slow.
"You should’ve locked the door when you came in, then." He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, leaning down, his breath hot against your ear. His free hand presses against your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you open with his fingers, movements slow, deliberate. "You know I don’t like being interrupted."
Your head tilts back against the desk as your cries are muffles into your palm. "Zayne!"
"You were the one who wanted to help relieve my stress, weren’t you?" His voice is calm, collected, like he isn’t knuckle-deep inside you with his fingers glistening from how wet he’s made you already. "So be a good girl and take it."
Your breath stutters, thighs twitching as you clench around his fingers, already embarrassingly close with how well he knows your body, how pent up you’ve been after not having Zayne in over a week. Meanwhile, Zayne watches you come undone with sharp, almost clinical eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained, a predator biding his time.
"Mhm, close, I can’t—"
"Yes, you can," he cuts you off smoothly, pressing his fingers deeper, rubbing firm, steady circles over your clit. His expression doesn’t change, but his voice dips lower, smiling ever so slightly as he watches you. "Come for me."
You shudder violently, hands gripping the edges of the desk as another orgasm threatens to crash over you, your body far too weak to resist the relentless pleasure.
"Zayne," you cry out, hips jerking.
He clicks his tongue, allowing you to ride out your orgasm, but not before ripping his tie off, deft, scarred hands looping through the expensive silk before balling it up and pushing it into your open mouth.
“What did I say about staying quiet?”
Your response is stifled around his tie, and Zayne feels his traitorous cock throb at the sound of your fucked out, inaudible voice, the very picture of debauchery with the slight drool smearing your lipstick, your eyes hazy with post-orgasm glow, your office button-down skewed across your breasts just enough so be can squeeze your breast right under your lacy bra.
He wants to ruin you even more.
Zayne has barely even zipped down his pants, holding up his own shirt as he bites it to keep his leaking cock from smearing pre-cum all over the cotton, before he’s desperately fucking his own fist with one hand, the other still circling your clit.
When the sound of voices echo from right outside his office door.
Your body jerks under him at the sudden noise, but Zayne doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down, pressing his slick fingers harder against your clit, wrenching another broken sob from your throat, muffled by the tie still shoved between your lips.
“Don’t you dare,” he whispers, voice low, dangerous. His free hand tightens around his cock, stroking faster, more desperate, more sloppy than you’ve ever seen him. The sight alone has your walls clenching down around nothing, a fresh wave of arousal making a mess of his desk and the scattered papers on top.
The voices outside the door grow louder, and Zayne’s entire body tenses. Not with fear. Not with hesitation. But something that he thinks might ruin him forever.
“I should stop,” he murmurs, though his fingers never leave you, still rubbing circles into your overstimulated clit, dragging you higher, forcing you to ride that unbearable edge of pleasure. His teeth clench, brows furrowed as his pace on his own cock stutters, his restraint cracking with every second that passes. “I really should stop.”
You whimper, body trembling beneath him, a plea barely audible around the silk in your mouth.
“But you love this, don’t you?” His voice drops, rasping, guttural. “You love making me a mess, love knowing that the only thing keeping us from getting caught is how good you are for me.”
Zayne never talks like this, but god, now you wish he’d never stop. His mere voice is enough to send you over the edge once again. Your moan is strangled, raw, hips lifting weakly into his touch despite the overstimulation.
The door handle rattles.
Zayne snaps, one arm shooting out as ice surrounds the handle, spears of it crawling over the wooden frame of the door, across the tiled floor as he loses control.
He barely spares it a glance. Pulling the tie from your mouth, Zayne immediately replaces it with his lips, swallowing your gasp as he shoves two fingers back inside you, curling them deep, his strokes ruthless, relentless. His other hand leaves his cock only long enough to drag you forward, forcing your legs around his waist, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance as he moans into your mouth.
"Zayne, your Evol—"
"Don’t worry about me," he hums, kissing you one more time before his gaze drops, watching where the two of you meet. “You’ve done more than enough for me. You’ve always been enough for me.” And he pushes in inch by inch, stretching you open around his thick length, your body still pulsing and greedy from your last orgasm.
Zayne exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours as he stills, buried inside you. His fingers flex against your waist, grounding himself, keeping himself from completely unraveling.
“That’s it, breathe,” he murmurs, voice back to the soft, low tone you know so well, the urgency melting into something reverent. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw, as if to soothe you through the stretch. “You’re perfect.”
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently as you grind upward, coaxing him into going faster, into actually fucking you.
Zayne groans, his control fraying as he clutches you tighter, nose brushing against yours. “You're going to be the death of me,” he whispers, lips ghosting yours in a kiss, the intimacy making your heart clench.
You can still hear muffled voices beyond the door, a stark reminder of the risk, of how dangerously close you are to being caught. But it only makes you cling to him tighter, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you whisper, “Then let me take care of you, Doctor.”
caleb x reader x zayne || no plot. just pure, shameless smutty drabble. [mdni — p/v, dp, lots of boombayah, just scroll past if youre a minor cause its hard to write a lot of trigger warning and disclaimer, so read at your own risk] did not proofread so there might be some errors
"why are you hanging out with that douche from the hockey team, huh pipsqueak?"
you huffed while returning the glare that caleb is giving you, as if you owe him an explanation for your actions. you are deeply annoyed as its not really his place to tell you what to do.
not to mention, zayne is not exactly helping, as he is also giving you one of his disappointed and stern gaze as he closed your dorm room behind him with a click.
"that's not really your business caleb. and you are not supposed to be here," you answered back, eyes squinting at caleb, then glancing at zayne with the same annoyed look, "and that goes the same for you too, zayne."
zayne did not even flinch at your tone, just crossed his arms over his well built chest as if he has every right to be in your dorm, "you are lucky we are even here. that guy doesn't even look like he knows how to spell."
"you —," you turned away from them, shedding your jacket off and storming to your bathroom with an annoyed 'ugh' while stomping your foot, "go away!"
"nope. we're here to visit you. we even bought your favorite snacks and drinks," caleb answered with his very confident tone, not caring that he potentially ruined your night with that hot hockey player your friend introduced to you, "come on, forget the loser. you got two college guys right here," he added as a joke.
you stepped out, face still pink at being so annoyed with your two older childhood friends, dressed up in a tight white shirt and small shorts that did wonders to zayne's and caleb's pants and imaginations.
you crossed your arms on your chest (which again, emphasized what the two have been trying not to stare at), rested your weight on one leg which made your hip pop, and the two just knew that they'll see the best meat once you turn your back on them, bonus if you bend down to grab something from the floor.
"come on pips, would you really ignore us for that idiot?" caleb asked with his puppy eyes, resting his chin on his palm, tilting his head to the side in a charming way that kind of disarmed you.
of course it made you blush a bit, cause caleb is just too charming and hot when he does that, but you are too annoyed at the moment.
"we also got some movies," zayne added as he took out dvds from his bag, which you saw were your favorite ones, "figured we could hang out just like old times."
you stared at them, contemplating if its worth doing this when you could have been moaning and cumming right now instead of being stuck with them. yes they are hot, but they're your childhood friends, so technically they're off limits.
even if they're the hottest men you have ever known in your life.
its also not helping that they're wearing slutty tshirts under their university jacket cause those arms... dammit. you scolded yourself to focus.
"fine," you scoffed, then you made your way to your couch which might be cramped for three people, especially with caleb's and zayne's built.
you mumbled to yourself under your breath how you should be cumming instead of watching shit cause you're so stressed from all the deadlines and shitty professors... something that the two caught but didn't comment on — yet.
you realized just how tiny you are when you were squished between zayne's and caleb's thighs, so you settled on bringing your knees to your chest, holding the snack for them since you're in the middle.
and the movie you picked did not exactly help the growing frustration that you have right now.
sure, it's a horror movie, but with lots of steamy scenes in between. like, who the fuck finds the time to kiss and make out while being chased by some serial killer? well, that's the plot and the writing, but dammit it's not helping when you're sandwiched between two hot men.
also, you can feel the heat from their body, your skin brushing theirs from time to time, the way that they shift, the way that one of them would lazily play with your hair just like when you were kids as if its a muscle memory for them, the way that one of them would whisper their side comments to your ear as if their low baritones send signals directly to your already weeping core.
someone help you.
"soooo..." you heard caleb's voice as he interrupted your internal dialogue and turmoil, his hand caressing your scalp in the most soothing way, "how long are you going to pretend that you don't want us, pips?"
your eyes widened, blush instantly forming on your cheeks, heat spreading on your entire body as you clearly understood what caleb is implying.
"w-what are you saying caleb?"
"don't act innocent," zayne whispered in your ear, "you have been pressing your thighs so tightly, squirming as if you thought we won't notice," you felt his smirk against your neck as he planted a soft kiss, his hands squeezing your inner thighs like a vice.
"plus we heard how you'd rather cum instead of watching some movie, yes we heard you, don't deny it," caleb teased in that knowing tone that you have always known and hated because he is right, of course he is.
"i —," you tried to form an excuse, anything, but your brain is too fried at the moment as zayne kept on sucking and nipping your neck, his fingers are dangerously close to where you wanted him, so close that you are aching so bad for him, just a little more...
"you only need to ask," zayne husked in your ear, while caleb grabbed the base of your hair and gently, but firmly tugged it in a delicious way, a mewl escaping your lips when he did.
"come on baby girl," caleb muttered, his eyes drinking your flustered state, grabbing the bowl of snacks from your grasp, and kissing each of your fingers, "you know we're better than some loser who only has brawns for charm. we can make you cum, as many times as you want."
he tugged a bit harder, zayne biting your earlobe, fingers edging your tiny soaked shorts, making you throb and want them to just flip you over and take turns with you, or even fuck you at the same time.
"say it pips," caleb mumbled, staring at you through his lashes, "just one word and we'll make you feel so good."
"even better if you beg, pretty girl," zayne added, "or we'll leave you like this, your choice."
biting your lip, you tried to weigh the consequences, but honestly that's out of the window the moment they came inside your dorm. this tension has been brewing for so long and its bound to explode sooner or later.
"please," you begged breathily, biting your lip as you craned your neck to give zayne more access, caleb smirking in victory as he captured your lips with a hungry kiss, while zayne pressed a finger against your wet, clothed core, making him growl at contact.
"fuck, you're soaking right here sweetie," he husked, replacing caleb's lips with his.
"arms up," caleb said as he pulled your shirt off, then your shorts after, leaving you naked and flushed in front of your two gorgeous childhood friends.
"goddamn pips," caleb whistled as he raked his eyes on your bare body hungrily, spreading your legs wide before him before diving in, lapping at you as if you're the last meal served in his life.
"mmmfphh —" you moaned when caleb flicked his tongue against your clit, while zayne gave all of his attention to your breasts, squeezing and sucking them, rolling your nipples between his slender fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.
just before you come, you felt them shift, zayne slowly prodding your entrance with his fat dick, and caleb is brushing your lips with his thumb, praising you for being such a good girl for them.
"open for me, pips. let me fill that pretty mouth of yours," he muttered, and you welcomed his length in your mouth, taking both of their impressive sizes that made your eyes water from the sensation of being filled.
both guys were intense, too attentive with you, knew when you're about to come, knew when you're having difficulty in taking them, knew when to slow down or pick up the pace, tag teaming you as if they knew exactly how to move with each other.
when caleb had you riding him on your couch, while he is guiding your overstimulated body with his large, strong hands, you felt a cool liquid probe at your other entrance, making you panic, but caleb's lips were on your ears right away.
"relax, look at me, focus on my dick, breathe pretty girl, that's it, you're doing good, fuck you're too pretty for us," he whispered at your ear, as zayne worked on filling you up, with caleb still inside you.
and boy, the stretch, the sensation, everything was too much and too good at the same time.
they both sat inside, groaning at the tight sensation, while you are too mind-fucked to think, words weren't enough to describe everything, that your moans were a bunch of syllables thrown together.
and once they have decided to move, you know how obscene it is, how filthy and nasty, being taken all at once by your two childhood friends, that your body doesn't know what its like to be untouched, unkissed, unfucked mercilessly from the moon and back.
the number of times they made you come, the different ways they made you feel wanted, the touches they have given you, the kisses and marks that were left on your body...
the way they have moved in synchrony, as if they have rehearsed this, as if they have known exactly what you needed.
or perhaps its because you have known each other for eternity which is why it works.
and its not the last time either.
because when they asked you out, caleb and zayne did not make you choose, because they knew that there is no way that you would be able to.
they have accepted it somehow, that they'll have to share.
and they figured it doesn't matter because they both consider one another as somebody important, its just that for them — you are above all else.
and they would do anything and everything to make you happy and satisfied. in all possible ways that exists in this universe.
and with each other, they figured how they could multiply the happiness that you could get.
afterall, their princess deserves only the best.
im feral for these two so... sorry not sorry. bye!
I uninstalled LaDS and then changed my mind and reinstalled it. I had 103 chat notifs, but it turns out the characters just spam the chat in search of an answear.
Part 1 – Sylus , Part 2 – Rafayel , Part 3 – Zayne , Part 5 – Xavier
A/n: feel free to ignore this, kind of a rant: i was literally half ded this whole week bc of my university but its finally done (somewhat) and i have a break of 5 days!!!!
It was taking every muscle in his body to remain quiet, to keep himself calm. To not reach down and grab a fistful of your hair and pull it hard. You were downright evil, nose nuzzling the thick patch of coarse hair at the base of his cock as you swallowed around him. The bulbous head pressing into the back of your throat as your tongue devilishly ran along the underside of his twitching shaft.
The mattress of his childhood bed creaked as he leaned backwards, pressing all of his weight into his palms as they fisted the soft comforter. The last thing he needed was for Gran to catch wind of this. Imagine? Walking in on the two kids you adopted and raised as siblings going down on each other? Talk about messed up.
Fuck, Caleb had never seen you as his sister, never once in his entire adolescent and not once now in his adulthood. Clearly, you never saw him as your big brother with the way you were currently on your knees deep-throating his dick.
“Pipsqueak.” he dared, voice ragged and raw as he tried to check on you. Slowly, you drew your head backwards, tongue flattening to lick up his length as you withdrew to the point only his tip was in your mouth. Salty precum coated your tongue, heady and tasting like Caleb. It made your cunt clench, eyelids heavy and lips swollen from the force of your sucking.
You didn’t dare pull him out of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around his fat head and blinking up at him slowly – waiting for him to speak.
“D-don’t you need a break or something?” But his cock was throbbing, so close to coming down your throat but he forced himself to reel it in. He had an odd feeling you wouldn’t be letting him go ever after he came. Trying to keep his voice down while you overstimulated him would be a battle he would surely lose.
“Nn-mm.” You hummed, shaking your head no while the vibrations made his eyes nearly cross. You were bobbing your head shallowly now, eyes locked on his. You didn’t want him to cum, no, you needed him to cum.
You wouldn’t be satisfied unless you got a chance to taste Caleb’s cum.
Caleb didn’t have anything else to suggest, knowing this was a battle he was going to lose either way. You watch him gnaw on his lower lip, chapped and red, as his fingers twitch in the bedding. He’s so tense, so he must be close. Your hand splays on his thigh, kneading the muscular flesh as a distraction from your true goal.
Carefully, you cup him, feeling the heavy weight of his balls in your hand. Filled with cum and ready to burst, squeezing slightly just to see his tight jaw go slack. The moan he lets out is gutteral, and the gush of pre-cum that fills your mouth only encourages you to work harder. You’ve got him now, you’re not giving up.
Your tongue licks all over his tip, sliding against his slit as you shift the hand you had splayed across his thigh to wrap around his spit-slicked shaft. Caleb’s eyes are wild, cheeks burning hot as he nearly chokes on a whimper. You begin pumping him, hard and fast as your cheeks hollow once more to suck on his tip. Your other hand massages his balls until his chest is rising and falling in hard, desperate pants.
“P-pips you need’ta slow–slow down…! M’gonna cum… fuck m’gonna cum, pips please…!” His head is tossing back, body shaking and hips jerking as if he is trying to run away from your mouth, your touch. “S-stop… oh fuck… pips please s’too much…” his words are slurring, the desperation is only spurring you on.
“Gonna… m’gonna cum please I ca-can’t keep quiet.” He’s pressing his fist into his mouth and biting hard, nearly on the verge of tears from trying to stay quiet. But, as cruel as you are, you don’t stop. You don’t dare slow down, either. You feel him twitching, a smile nearly curling your lips as hot cum floods your mouth.
His moan is muffled by his hand, his body falling backwards against the mattress as you work him through twitch after twitch of his orgasm. Milking him for all he is worth, swallowing every last drop until you feel him soften between your lips.
Everything feels like jelly as Caleb pushes himself upward on his elbows. Eyes lidded and cheeks so red it’s nearly comical. Gently, you pull him out of your mouth, a slick pop sounding before you let your tongue show. Not a drop of his cum is left, you swallowed all of it. “Holy shit…” Breathless, turned on all over again.
“Hope you enjoyed that…” a gentle tease, your smile genuine and oh so addicting…
Caleb’s eyes snap open, chest heaving as he blinks the sleep from his vision. It’s still dark out, and he most certainly is not in his childhood bedroom. And, unfortunately, you are not here with him up in Skyhaven. “Fucking hell what a dream…” he speaks to the quiet of his bedroom, eyes adjusting thanks to the moonlight flooding in.
Sure enough, the blankets are raised over his groin. “M’too old to be having wet dreams like this…” if his disappointment wasn’t strong enough already, he’d now have to settle for his god damn fist over your sweet tongue.
The blankets are kicked off unceremoniously, his sleep shorts not even pulled all the way off as he fishes his hard cock out of them. The cool air of his bedroom makes him shiver, a groan leaving his lips when he realizes how sticky he is. “I came just from the dream?” And it’s still rock hard… this might be a new low for him.
Still, his fist wraps around his length, sticky and slick and aiding his swift pumping. Caleb’s head tosses back, one hand splaying over his bare chest to squeeze his own pec. His other hand massages the sensitive underside of his head before squeezing painfully hard. It’s not your mouth, but if he closes his eyes he can recall that dream and slowly trick himself into believing it is.
“Fuuuck… I miss you pipsqueak, I need ta’visit you soon…” he’s already close, still sensitive from his first orgasm. Knowing where to touch, how hard to squeeze, and the sinful sight of your dream-self deepthroating him is more than enough to have ropes of hot cum spurting all over his abs. “Fuck sake…”
⋮ ⌗ ┆SYNOPSIS In the midst of anger, one might impulsively cling onto desperation desperately. Many know that revenge tastes the sweetest when it creates despair, especially when the God of Annihilation is willing to strike calamity. You love the taste of revenge, willingly using your body as an offering to the God of Annihilation.
⋮ ⌗ ┆GENRE smut, porn with plot, smidge of angst
⋮ ⌗ ┆PAIRING God of annihilation! Zayne x reader (has chubby reader in mind, anyone can read tho!)
⋮ ⌗ ┆WARNING fem! reader, pwp, explicit content, toxic religious, description of death, 15-17th century, smidge of pain/blood, barley proof read, pet names, smidge of body worship, oral (fem), cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex
It’s still quite early, such an early time as now is the only time where everything felt truly peaceful. The sun hasn’t fully ascended into the cloudy sky, not yet, instead it lingers just below the horizon. No villager would be awake this early, it wasn’t needed, except you.
With no husband to constantly work as a slave for nor children that pester and always demanding your attention in a high pitch voice, you spent your days as an average farmer. Here, farming wasn’t a role women dominated, the man was expected to tend to the land not a woman. Therefore, the almost quiet whispers about you were to be expected, you’re hesitant to visit the village for anything, knowing the mothers with 10 kids would taunt you for doing such a masculine labors.
As much as they refuse to accept it, the truth speaks, you are not that different compared to them. While your hands are a bit calloused, weathered, and sometimes dirty with soil, theirs are strong, worn, and calloused. Why they bear such disdain for you is still unclear, they could be envious of you because you were so free, unlike them.
At such a young age, unwillingly, they were forced to marry a much older, disgusting, and lustful man. They crave what you have, unshackled.
“Mmhp. .” You sound completely different, the state of slumber makes your voice sound raspy and deep as you grumble.
Your eyes are hooded and bear the sign of exhaustion, once in a while you’d groggily rub your eyes, attempting to brush the sleepiness away. Farming has become more than a routine for you, it’s become an instinct for you from how often you’ve done it. Even now, you’re barely awake and still clinging into the remnants of sleep, yet, you find yourself in a familiar field before the sun has risen.
Your fingers curl around the worn, wooden,
practically splintered handle of the hoe, the wood rough and cool against your palms. The smell of wet earth and the complex blend of various crops is strong, the scent is quite pleasant, each inhale makes your body feel heavier as sleep seduces you. However, a cool and gentle breeze sways through the land, in response, goosebumps prickle on your exposed skin, summing a hiss from you.
The morning drowsiness that once clouded your senses has finally disappeared, perhaps it was the cold breeze that helped.
“Must this take so long. .?” You murmur under your breath, your grip only the handle is steady and firm.
“All I must do is plant a few more seeds. . it will be quick” you whisper quietly, attempting to reassure yourself that you will have enough time to tend to your flowers once you finish.
Slowly, you drag the heavy metal blade into the soil, cutting into the dark, soaked earth, leaving scratches against the ground. The abrupt scent of rich, wet dirt, raw earthy fills your senses. It was a slow cycle; scratch the ground, drop a seed into the ground, then recover it.
You continued this, over and over, and over again until the seeds you rested on the ground were empty. Peering up from the ground, you glanced at the various vegetables you planted; from corn, to carrots, cauliflower, beets, to even wheat, it kept you satisfied. Compared to some of the other villagers, you didn’t own that much valuables or gold coins, growing crops was rather cheap than buying them.
Sweat clings onto your forehead, beading down between your eyebrows as you work. You sigh softly, wiping the moisture from your forehead using the cotton fabric of your sleeve. You glance around, counting each abandoned house that once sheltered a happy family.
They were all humble and poor farmers, happily spending their time nursing crops and spending time with each other. The silence is unbearable and uncomfortable, they no longer are here, gone. Smoke no longer rose from the chimneys, the sight of kids playing is unfamiliar to you now, the lighthearted chats were silent.
A family was gone in second, all it took was one little rumor of them raising an evil spirit in their enclosed door to have them all hung. . one by one. You never attended the ceremony, disgusted at the thought of celebrating the death of the innocent. Thinking about them makes you feel nauseous and lightheaded, how did those snobby villagers live another day, unbothered, knowing that they brought death to another.
If there was to be another sacrifice to please the gods, the villagers would choose you in a mere second. The whispers from them rang through your head; the woman isolated in the fields isn’t one of us, she doesn’t believe in the holy gods above, she’s never given the gods an offering, she’s a witch, just like the others. .
The village priest’s voice spoke louder than the rest of the village, for his words hold more power, he was the one who spewed deceitful nonsense and those brainless villagers believed him so easily. For a sinless man, he surely knew how to cause havoc and spread hysteria. “The heavenly gods. .” He would mutter in a quiet yet broken voice “. . must be furious. Crops no longer grow in an abundance, they die within seconds they are planted” he spoke on, his words holding a strong impact over the villagers “Cattle grew sick abruptly. It seems to me that I haven’t killed off the evil spirits. . the is one who still casts dark spirits to your homes” he says.
But that never happened to you, your crops never died within seconds. . you grew fast, in an abundance. Of course, they would harbor suspicion about you, it wasn’t your fault that the soil you had was much richer than theirs. You sigh tiredly, weakly carrying yourself to your small home, dropping the worm hoe onto the ground.
The sun has long settled, what was meant to be a quick task took much longer than expected. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t have time to tend to your flowers, it must be another day job. Your cottage was simple and humble; a single room with a low bed, shelves with dried herbs and jars of preserved vegetables and fruits, clothes folded neatly and placed onto the old, wooden rocking chair.
Before you have the chance to truly get relaxed, there is a not so gentle knock on your door, one that brings an unsettling feeling to you. You freeze, unsure to answer. Then, another knock, this time it’s more inpatient and harsh, making you flinch slightly.
Your legs move slowly, each step brings you closer to the door. While your body is quick, your mind is still struggling to comprehend. Slowly, you turn the knob of your door, peeking from behind the safety of your home.
Outside, before you stand 5 men; one holding metal chains, one dressed as a priest, one holding a lit torch, the rest holding pitchforks. Your blood runs cold, the feeling of terror and doom isn’t pleasant, you meekly open your mouth to speak, only for your voice to be stolen. Noticing your hesitation to speak, the priest initiates the conversation.
“Child of god, protector of these fields” he states, his eyes bearing suspicion towards you.
His voice is unpleasant to hear, flat, formal, not the comforting type to hear. You slowly nod your head, confirming that he’s speaking to the correct person.
“You have been summoned to the village center. .” He says in a voice that makes it hard to argue with, his words are broad, not giving you a reason why, but you know why they’ve called you.
“Must I have the honor to know why. .?” You ask softly, still peeking from behind the door.
“I’m sure you know why. . I shall satisfy your greedy curiosity; you must pledge to god for you have been accused of witchcraft” he responds, the man with the chain tapping the cold metal with his fingertips, waiting.
Your mouth dries, you stare blankly at them. You’re unable to speak.
“If you refuse then you will be found guilty of offering your soul to the Devil” he adds, seemingly attempting to soothe your worries, only making you panic further.
A second passes in silence, still you utter nothing. Softly, you speak “I have not sold my soul to the Devil, I am a believer of God. .”
The man didn’t seem convinced, arching a brow towards your confession.
“Are you able to recite the verses? If so, do so now” He says, your silence seemed to answer his question.
It is true, you barely attended the church. You barely had enough time once you were finished tending to your farm. The man with the chains steps forward, hinting for you to bring your arms towards him.
You step from the safety of your home, softly shutting the door behind you. Instead of pushing your hands toward the man, you turned to face the woods and bolted toward it. Your feet this against the hardened earth, the obnoxiously loud sounds of them chasing after you, yelling witch.
Adrenaline rushed throughout your blood, they were chasing you, you didn't dare to look back. The forest loomed ahead, dark, ancient, and unexplored, unsafe. Many whispers of the woods echoed through the village; there must be evil spirits that dwell there, perhaps there is a cruel god that inhabits the forest, that old cult used to make sacrifices in those woods, do you think they still do?
The wood may be unsafe, but so is this damn village. The one difference between the forest and this village is that you wouldn’t be killed by your own people. As you ran, branches would slash at your flesh, cutting at your dress.
The shouts still were loud in your ears, quieter compared to the loud drumming sound of your heart. You scream in pain feeling something stab at your side, blood pouring from the teared skin. Still, you forced yourself to run deeper into the darkness of the forest, clutching your skin to ease the bleeding.
The agonizing pain of fire eating at your skin courses through your body, the pain only encourages you to create distance between you and the maniacs of the village. Their voices rang throughout your head, you felt sick, your flesh torn and ripped by pitchforks, burned by fire from a torch, bruises from rocks being thrown at your legs. It hurt badly.
You would not be burned in front of people, you would not be hanged in front of insane villagers, you would not beg the corrupted priest to cleanse you.
After a while of you limping away, their angry and loud voices become quieter and muffled, the trees swallowing their repulsive words.
“Ugh. .” You groan in pain, still clutching your side tightly, your blood smeared onto the palm of your hand and fingers.
The smell of blood is pungent and clouded your head, the intense metallic scent forcibly and brutally invades your senses, you feel horribly sickened. The once clean fabric of your dress that clings onto your body is torn and tarnished in scarlet red, it was your blood. The holes in your dress exposed your torn and bruised skin, blood oozing from the gash, dribbling onto the white fabric, staining it.
Dizziness and exhaustion creeps behind you, running for the past hour has left you tired and hungry. You feel so so tired, perhaps it was the blood lost, or the throbbing in a violent manner coming from the gash on your side. Your legs ache for a break, bruises coating the fat of your skin, small cuts on your leg.
“Oh god. .” You hiss in pain, leaning against a thick tree for support, your legs shaking slightly.
You can no longer hear the blood-thirsty crowd of armed villagers, the chants of witch and your name were no longer heard. Too afraid and terrified, they wouldn’t dare to venture into the woods like you had. Thinking of them makes your blood boil, does the feeling of guilt and disgust not surround them?
Watching these innocent, happy people die in front of their eyes, were they that easy to manipulate? You recall the times were you were young, you grew up with them. While hunger tore through the flesh for winter had arrived much too sooner than they expected, leaving them with dead crops and cattle.
You worked hard, laborious days to ensure you would have enough food to survive winter, even giving them some. Your breath is still labored and ragged, chest heavying as you take in as much air as you could. Placing your hand on your plush chest, you feel your heart pulsing and pounding against the palm of your hand, blood still rushing through you.
Directions have been long forgotten, everything seems unfamiliar here. The forest floor is covered with tangled and sharp roots that wrap and curl around pebbles and stones. The moonlight above can barely be seen through the trees, engulfing the whole forest in an uncomfortable silence and darkness. You grunt as you push yourself off the tree, limping slowly.
Even through squinted eyes, you couldn’t see the decaying, worn log resting on the floor. You trip, falling hard onto the ground, a broken sob of pain being forced out of you. Your knees scrape at the mixture of soil and rocks, tearing through more of your flesh.
Blood from your knee trickles down your leg, dripping onto the dark soil. Trembling slightly as you weakly lift yourself from the ground, eyes clouded in exhaustion and desperation for food. Stumbling around, your eyes spot a cave, barely seeable from the large and tall patches of grass covering it.
There is nowhere else for you to go, surely you would die eventually out here. Briefly, you glance over your shoulder before crawling into your cave. It looked like cultists used to meet here, an abandoned altar resting in the middle of the cave.
Tall, stone pillars reached towards the ceiling, each having complex and different patterns carved onto it. Numerous jars with intricate designs are scattered on the floor, cautiously peering into one, there are tons of valuables and polished gold coins inside. From above, veins and roots from trees cling onto the stone walls, really giving it that overgrown and abandoned atmosphere.
There’s an area where it’s a large pool of pure water, small, little pink petals floating on top, drifting through the water. Abruptly, you're unsure if this place is abandoned. Small, lit, candles rest on the floor and besides jars, a puddle of melted wax beside them.
Behind the altar lies a detailed, stone statue of a handsome man; although you never were able to remember all the types of gods the village believed in, this one somehow stayed in your memory. God of Annihilation, Zayne, known for his taste of destroying anything and everything in his path. There are countless gold coins and jewelry that lie at his foot, glistening and shimmering.
Whoever carved their statue must have really examined Zayne and spent eons working on it, every detail seemed so perfect. From the long strands of his hair that is sprawled on his muscular back and shoulder, to the jewelry wrapped around his arm, neck, and leg, to the loose and strange patterns on the fabric wrapped around his godly body, to his chest where you can really examine his strong abs.
Your legs feel so sore yet numb, practically giving out on you as your body crumbles onto the cool, stone floor below. You lean to rest yourself on the stone altar, unbeknownst to you, the scarlet blood from your torn flesh drips and trickles onto the stone.
“Curse them. . speaking such nonsense of witches” you huff out, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth.
Your eyes glisten slightly, watering, fat tears trickling down your flushed cheek. Frustration pours from you, your breath heavy as you attempt to breath between your sobs. The cuts on your skin throbs in sync with your heartbeat, the subtle pain making you whimper.
“. . they say they were created by God's image, that they were only doing his duty” you mutter, relaxing further against the altar.
“they pray for prosperity and protection. . though I pray for the opposite” you scoff, tugging the small, stone pendant from beneath your dress.
“Only calamity would fit for them. .” You whisper barely audible, tugging the dull necklace from around your neck, tossing it to the center of the altar.
You glance towards the statue silently, pressing your hands together, kneeling onto the floor.
“Oh God of Annihilation. . I beg of you. Bring destruction to those cruel, heartless, vile villagers; kill their cattles, make food scarce, burn their wooden houses down” you murmur under your breath, ignoring the way your knee digs harder into the stone floor.
There’s a soft, quiet sound of soft steps being taken towards you, getting louder until it suddenly gets quieter. From hooded eyes, you see a hand reaching towards the pendant you placed on the altar, lifting it up. In awe, you glance up from the ground.
There he is; God of Annihilation holding the dull, cheap pendant in his hands gently, thoughtfully gazing at the stone wrapped in metal. With a single finger, he glides it against the weak, thin chain. Golden eyes flicker to you curiously, he squints at you, making you squirm uncomfortably.
“Is this. .” Zayne mutters, gently shaking the pendant in his hand.
“. . the offering you choose to give to me?” He asks in a raspy voice, his voice holds interest, seemingly not expecting an offering towards him.
You flinch lightly, shivering under his intense gaze. Zayne tilts his head to the side slightly, examining you silently.
“Why do you shrink and tremble under my gaze. . little mortal? Was it not you who summoned me?” He asks softly, his hand finding your chin.
You don’t utter a word, you can’t. Who wouldn’t be scared under the intense eyes of the God of Annihilation? You stare at him silently, breaking out of your thoughts when he gently pushes your cheeks together.
“I- I didn’t think you’d. .” You murmur quietly, noticing that he finds more interest in the pendant.
“A thing of beauty, indeed. . though time has dimmed the gold in the chains. . the stone still glistened under the light” Zayne mutters, lifting the pendant higher into the air.
As Zayne said, the stone glistens in the light. He looks back towards you, his thumb smoothing against your soft cheek.
“I express great gratitude for the offering; however. . in order for me to abide by your request, the offering must bear greater value and significance. .” He breathes out.
“Offering. .?” You murmur to yourself.
Everything you had was still in your small cottage, though, it couldn’t be considered as something valuable to be offered to a god. You weren’t even sure if your cottage still stood tall, you’re quite sure those maniac villagers had already burned down both your farm and cottage down to the ground. Calloused hands gently squeeze your jaw, titling your head to look at Zayne.
“I- I have nothing precious and worth to you. .” You whisper as you pat your side, checking the pockets sewn into your dress, feeling nothing.
“May I. . offer my b- body?” You ask, trembling slightly when he squints and arches a brow at your statement.
“You can” he answers simply, tender and gentle hands lifting you from the cool floor and placing you onto the altar, eliciting a yelp from you.
Zayne slowly parts your plush thighs, settling between them. He leans close to your face, warm breath fanning onto you, his lips practically grazing yours. Before he can kiss you, you speak up.
“You shall bring destruction and death if I do this. . correct?” You whisper barely audible, your words only for him to hear.
You reach towards his hair, tender fingers slipping in between the long strands, combing through his hair. Zayne lets out a soft sigh when he feels your fingers scratch at his scalp, sharp eyes melting into a soft and sweet look as he gazes lovingly at you. He reaches over, his fingers brushing your cheek gently, barely grazing your skin.
“. . I will” Zayne replies quietly, humming in delight as you lean in, pressing your plush lips against his.
Being alive for centuries, it’s no surprise that Zayne is rather experienced compared to you. He’s slow, sensual, and rather passionate compared to you, who’s inexperienced, sloppy, yet awfully enthusiastic. You slot your lips against his over and over, letting out a quiet mwah after each kiss.
He flattens his tongue onto your bottom lip, dragging the wet appendage, lapping at the plush of your lip. Your body shivers in response, gasping when Zayne teasingly nibbles at your bottom lips, lips parting ever so slightly. His tongue finds yours quickly, the taste of his lips is intoxicating, coaxing you for more and more of his flavour.
“Mmhp. .” You moan softly, hooked on his taste, reciprocating the way he takes his time.
His tongue glides against yours leisurely, patiently waiting until he feels you start to melt in his hands. He presses you harder into the altar, groaning quietly into your lips. One of Zayne’s hands finds your thigh, greedily gripping and squeezing at the fat, the other tightly holding onto your hip.
The once calculated and experimental kiss quickly turns into a sloppy and heated, pent up and hunger bubbles in Zayne’s chest. Drool dribbles from your lips, eyes screwed shut as you struggle to keep up with the overwhelming kiss, creating such a mess.
“Hmp. . z-zay-“ you manage to get out, desperately taking in air when he pulls away from your swollen, spit-covered lips.
A thin string of spit connects between your lips, breaking as quickly as it appeared. Zayne’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip, smearing spit onto his fingertip. He leans in, burying his head into your neck, forcing you to tilt your head to the side to give him space.
“You taste absolutely divine. . pretty human” He mutters into your warm kiss, nose pressed firmly into your skin, his breath fanning hot onto your flesh.
You shiver in delight, whimpering softly when his tongue presses onto your sensitive neck. He drags his tongue against your skin until you shiver and gasp out his name like a prayer, Zayne responds to each whiney call of his name by kissing your pulse.
“You are quite responsive to my touch. .” Zayne rasps, tongue tracing small circles into your skin, your neck glistens with his spit.
Teasingly, Zayne nibbles at your skin, teeth scratching at your vulnerable skin. The hand on your thigh parts then wider open, giving him enough room to press himself against your clothed, intimate parts. His grip tightens lightly, his fingers digging into the fat of your thigh.
He sucks harshly onto your neck, definitely leaving a small bruise behind to bloom. You gasp, goosebumps prickling all over. Zayne fingers drag further down to your inner thigh, teasingly pinching the skin there.
After he leaves one tender kiss to your neck, Zayne pulls away, the warmth of his lips still lingers on your skin. Hooded eyes, clouded with desire and longing, peer at your torn dress.
“May I?” He asks softly, fingers tracing the hem of your dress.
You nod silently, eyes blown with lust. Zayne delicately peels your clothes from your body, tugging your garments off, until you are exposed fully to his eyes. He presses warm kisses to your chest, sucking hungrily at your nipples until they are perky in the cool air.
Zayne drags his tongue down to your stomach, teeth nibbling gently at the chub on your stomach. He grabs your thighs firmly, keeping them wide and still. His tongue delves between your fat folds, licking a wet stripe up your pussy, eliciting a shocked gasp from you.
Your hands instantly reach for his hair, not tugging on them, but holding onto the strands for dear life. Zayne engulfs your puffy clit into his insatiable mouth, sucking harshly until he feels your thighs tremble before letting the twitchy bud go with a wet pop, then he’d press a sloppy kiss to the hood. His tongue would massage and smooth over the hood, licking and lapping.
“Hnng-! O- oh god. .” You mewl, back arching from the cold stone beneath you.
Experienced doesn’t even begin to describe him, Zayne works magic on your engorged clit, easily pleasuring your body. He drags his tongue up and down through your syrupy folds, coating your pussy is his spot. His tongue dips in your gummy entrance, causing your eyes to roll back in ecstasy.
“Fuck-!” You whimper, grip tightening in his hair.
He glides his tongue back to your bud, lapping and licking at your pulsing clit. Greedily, Zayne drinks up the arousal that gushes from your entrance, moaning in delight at your sweet flavor. The vibration courses through your body, eliciting a sob of pleasure.
“Hnng. . need more” you manage to breathe out, gently tugging at his hair to snap him from his trance.
“Humans are so impatient. .” Zayne mumbles to himself, pressing on last tender kiss to your clit, his warm breath fanning on the slick bud.
Zayne presses his fingers against your clit, dragging them through your folds, two fingers pressed against your fluttering entrance. The wet squeal that your pussy makes when his fingers plunge into your cunt is obscure and lewd, his digits easily reaching deep. You moan loudly, squirming lightly when he curls his fingers, brushing against your g-spot.
The hand on your thigh tightens slightly, a silent warning for you not to squirm from his touch. Zayne slowly pumps his finger in and out of your gushing pussy, each thrust has your gooey walls tightening. His scissors your walls open, ensuring that you're soaking wet and stretched enough.
Zayne tugs down the fabric down his waist, his cock lewdly slapping against his abdomen, precum slapping onto his skin. His cock is fat and long, too swollen and bulbous with a shade of angry red, tons of precum dribbling. He leans in, presses his throbbing cock against your sopping folds, rocking his hips back and forth, dragging his drooling cock through your pussy.
“Hng. . please, don’t tease me” you whimper softly, your hands reaching towards his cock, only to be caught by his, placed above your head.
He hums in acknowledgment, lazily dragging himself through your syrupy folds. Slowly rutting his hips back and forth, back and forth, he cock massages your clit, eliciting whimpers and gasps from your swollen lips. With two fingers, Zayne grabs the fat base of his cock, dragging himself through your slit to your spasming entrance.
Zayne feeds your hungry pussy inch by inch, bulbous tip disappearing into your cunt, stretching your walls apart to accommodate the thick stretch. You sob, squirming to no avail. Your toes curl up, fluttering helplessly around his cock that’s buried to the hilt, his body flushed with yours.
“Ohgod-! S- so big. .” You wail, bucking your hips towards him.
“Divine and beautiful isn’t enough to describe you. .” He whispers softly, leaning in to press his lips to yours.
When you squeeze around him tightly it summons a raspy groan from him, his cock bobbing inside your sticky walls. Zayne draws his hips back until only the tip was buried inside you, only to slam himself back into you with a wet plap. The wet slapping sound of his hips meeting yours echoes through the cavern, along with the subtle squelch of your cunt.
Zayne pounds into your needy, skin sinfully slapping against skin, his cock grazing your g-spot, tip banging against your cervix. He ruts into you like a starved beast that’s been slaved underground for centuries, finally getting a taste of the addictive pleasure. He tilts his hips a bit, giving himself a better angle to brush against your sensitive spots.
He throbs and twitches inside you, precum smushing against your cervix. You tremble like a leaf, cunt swallowing his length, so tight around Zayne. Your eyes water slightly, thighs trembling, jaw agape.
“Hnng. . g- gonna cum” you drool, eyes rolling back so far.
Zayne presses tender kisses to your lips, unbeknownst, his abdomen grinds against your puffy clit, sending you over the edge. An overwhelming wave of pleasure coursed through your body, gushing around his thick cock, a white ring of cum forms around his fat base.
“There you go. . doing so well for me, mortal” Zayne praises softly, eyes gleaming with pride.
“Just a bit more. .” He whispers against your lips, thrusting harder into you.
He buries himself to the hilt, cock twitching rapidly inside you. Ribbons of warm cum spurts deep in your cunt, trickling around the side of his cock. Zayne slots his lips against yours, his tongue brushing against your skin.
There’s a subtle, brief pain on your stomach, a wave of exhaustion coursing through you. You can’t see it, but there’s a small golden mark forming on your stomach. Zayne shallowing thrusts into you, more of his cum spilling from your spasming cunt.
“As we agreed on. . I shall bring calamity on that pathetic village. .” Zayne mumbles, wrapping a small pendant around your neck, this time, it’s gold.
.⋆♱All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block✩₊˚.
SYNOPSIS★ When your sweet old landlady passes away, her grandson Caleb takes over the property. He’s goofy, charming, a golden retriever of a man—except behind that smile is a freak who can’t get enough of your scent. First it’s lost panties, then unwashed bras, and before you know it your landlord is moaning into your laundry and begging for “payment” straight from the source.
CW★ landlord!caleb, writer!reader, panty theft, gooning, scent kink, lingerie stealing, unwashed clothing kink, masturbation, cum everywhere, oral (fem receiving), leg humping, public indecency vibes, crack mixed with depravity, Caleb being a pervy golden retriever weirdo but hot about it, reader hairy + unshaved mentions, rent = panties arrangement, shameless dirty talk. . . wc : 4.3k
CHERRY’S NOTE★ caleb is a freak from heart. only face card is saving him. also, tysm for 4k+ followers—take this as a celebration gift.
You hadn’t exactly planned on being broke.
That was the funny thing about pursuing your dreams—it sounded noble until you were eating instant ramen for the fourth night in a row and rationing your laundry detergent because it was either that or running out of coffee. You’d quit your steady nine-to-five to finally give writing a real chance, which meant no more safety net, no steady paycheck, just you and a Word doc full of half-finished drafts.
And rent. Always rent.
The apartment wasn’t glamorous, but in the middle of Linkon City, it was a miracle you’d managed to hang onto it this long. The only reason you’d survived was your landlady Josephine, a sweet old woman with a soft spot for starving artists and lonely tenants. She never raised the rent, always slipped you leftovers from whatever she’d cooked that week, and told you, in her gravelly smoker’s voice, that you reminded her of her younger self.
Then she passed away.
Just like that, you went from living in a cozy, rent-stable haven to dreading the letter that slid under your door with news of “new management.”
That was how you met him.
Caleb.
Josephine’s grandson.
The first time you saw him was at the front of the building, clipboard tucked under his arm, chatting up the tenants like he’d been born to do it. Tall, broad-shouldered, messy brown hair that fell into his purple eyes when he laughed—and he laughed a lot, loud and goofy, like a golden retriever in human form. He wasn’t what you expected at all.
When it was your turn, he leaned against your doorframe like he already knew you, grin so easy it almost disarmed you. “You must be… let me guess…” His eyes swept you up and down before he tapped his pen against the clipboard. “The mysterious writer in 3B? My grandma used to say you were always clacking away at night.”
You blinked at him. “That’s me.”
“Hell yeah, nailed it on the first try.” He gave you a wink, then extended his hand like you were old friends. “I’m Caleb. New landlord, same building. Figured I should get to know my tenants, y’know? Keep the family business running.”
You shook his hand, noticing the way he held on just a second too long. His palm was warm, rough, and when he finally let go, he still lingered there in your doorway, rocking on his heels, grinning.
“So,” he said, like he had all the time in the world, “what do you write? Horror? Romance? Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who writes smut and tries to hide it. My grandma would’ve loved that.”
Heat crawled up your neck. “I… write fiction. Different stuff.”
“Cool, cool.” He nodded enthusiastically, messy hair falling into his eyes again. “That’s awesome. Bet you’ve got a ton of stories. You’ll have to tell me sometime.”
It was harmless, you told yourself. Just a goofy young guy, suddenly inheriting more responsibility than he probably knew what to do with. He made a couple of corny jokes about rent—“Don’t worry, I won’t make you pay me in blood, ha ha”—and then scribbled something on his clipboard.
But when he finally left, you couldn’t shake the way he’d looked around your apartment like he was memorizing it. Like he wanted to know more than just your name.
It started with one pair.
You figured you’d dropped them somewhere between your bathroom and the laundry room, maybe caught on another piece of clothing or shoved too far into the dryer drum. Things got lost all the time in a shared building like this.
But then it kept happening.
Another pair went missing the next week. Then two more the week after. You counted one morning, standing in front of your dresser with your hands on your hips, and realized you were down nearly half your underwear. The good ones, too—the ones you actually liked wearing.
It didn’t make sense. You weren’t careless. You weren’t that forgetful. And yet every time you shrugged it off, convincing yourself you were imagining things, you’d pull another empty drawer and feel your stomach sink.
What you didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that your missing underwear never made it out of the building. They were upstairs. In Caleb’s room.
He’d tried to hold back at first. The very first pair he’d “rescued” from your laundry basket, he’d told himself it was just curiosity, just one time, just a stupid little peek because he couldn’t stop thinking about how good your smell must be. But one time turned into two, and then three, and then now.
Now he was spread out on his bed, the violet of his eyes blown wide with a glassy haze, his thick brows pulled together in desperate focus. Four used tissues were crumpled on the floor beside him, and he was rutting against the fifth pair like an animal in heat.
Your panties—pink cotton, soft and worn—were pressed to his face as he moaned, voice muffled and filthy. His hips bucked into his fist, stroking himself raw, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down. Not when your scent was clinging to him, filling his lungs, drowning out every thought except you.
“Fuck—pipsqueak,” he groaned into the fabric, voice breaking on the nickname he gave you. “Smell so fuckin’ good, can’t—shit, can’t stop—”
He buried his face deeper, nose dragging over the gusset until he was practically whining. His body trembled, desperate and frantic, as if the panties themselves were his lifeline. The mattress creaked under his weight, the slick sound of his fist pumping echoing through the room.
Around him, the evidence was everywhere. Pairs of your underwear scattered across his sheets, some balled up, some laid flat, some stained and ruined already. He’d tried to keep them neat once, folded in his drawer like trophies, but the hunger was too much. Now they littered his room like a shrine, and still it wasn’t enough.
Caleb’s chest heaved as he came undone again, hot spurts spilling across his hand, staining his stomach, dripping messily onto your panties. He kept rubbing them against his face even as his orgasm tore through him, shuddering with need.
And then, as soon as his breathing slowed, he reached for another pair.
He couldn’t help it. He needed more. Your scent was addictive, sweet and dizzying, and every time he thought he was finished, the ache clawed back inside him.
Caleb clutched another pair to his nose—lacy, delicate ones this time, the kind that made his throat go dry just imagining them stretched over your hips—and groaned low in his chest. His cock twitched in his fist again, aching, insistent, already hardening back to life.
“Fuck, pipsqueak… what are you doin’ to me?” he whispered, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to the lace as if he could sink into it. His body curled in on itself, hips grinding into his hand like a dog rutting against anything that smelled of its mate.
His sheets were ruined, his body sore, but none of it mattered. Not when your scent was in his lungs, not when your panties were his only salvation.
And still, he thought about you downstairs, pacing your room, probably frustrated and confused, probably wondering where all your underwear had gone. The thought made his cock throb painfully, precum smearing over his knuckles.
If only you knew.
If only you could see your landlord, your goofy, smiling Caleb, sprawled out in the dark, surrounded by your stolen underwear, jerking off for the fifth time tonight like a total fucking weirdo.
It was getting ridiculous.
First panties. Then bras. Then—what the actual fuck—your apple-printed pajama shorts. Who even wanted those? They had a bleach stain on the thigh.
And yet they were gone. Just like the too-tight crop top you’d kept for “motivation purposes” and even your socks, mismatched and worn down. You stood in front of your laundry basket one night like a detective on the verge of a breakdown.
“The dryer’s not eating them,” you muttered to yourself. You’d checked. Twice.
Which meant the only possible explanation: some pervert was going to town on your clothes.
The idea made your skin crawl. And yet—there was no way to prove it. No cameras in front of the laundry room. Nothing but your own paranoia. So you started paying attention. Standing guard. Lining up to wash your clothes instead of leaving them overnight. Still, things disappeared, and you swore you could hear the X-Files theme every time you folded laundry.
By the time evening rolled around, you were frazzled. Your desk was covered in empty mugs and crumpled notes. You’d been pounding away at your laptop for hours, trying to hammer out a smut scene for your latest fic, but the flow just wasn’t there.
You slammed the space bar, growled into your hands, and nearly headbutted the keyboard.
“Fucking—”
Ding-dong.
The doorbell startled you upright. Muttering, you padded over and yanked the door open.
And there was Caleb. Clipboard in hand. Purple eyes bright, thick eyebrows bouncing with every word as he grinned.
“Monthly check-in!” he chirped, like he wasn’t the reincarnation of your stress.
You sighed, rubbing your temples, and stepped aside to let him in. “Yeah, sure.”
Caleb strolled in with all the grace of a golden retriever let off leash. His gaze wandered over your living room, lingering here and there a little too long. And then you remembered.
Your laptop. Your violently-typed, wide-open smut scene.
“Shit—” you bolted to your desk, practically diving to slam the tab shut.
Behind you, you swore you heard the low rumble of a chuckle.
When you turned back, Caleb was already scribbling something on his clipboard, face scrunched in fake concentration. And then he looked up, lips quirking into that same goofy smile.
“All done,” he said lightly. “See you later, pipsqueak.”
Your eyebrow twitched at the nickname, but you bit your tongue. He wasn’t raising the rent, so you let it slide.
He clicked his pen closed, spun on his heel, and headed for the door.
You were halfway to the kitchen when your eyes drifted to your laundry basket.
And froze.
The black thong you’d left there—the one you swore you’d wash later—was gone. Just. Gone.
With Caleb.
You stared at the basket. Then at the door. Then back at the basket.
“…oh. My. God.”
Your voice was flat, horrified, disbelieving. You blinked once, twice, as realization hit you like a fucking truck.
Your landlord. Your goofy, golden-retriever-smiling, thick-eyebrowed, clipboard-toting landlord.
Stealing your underwear.
Somewhere down the hall, you swore you heard Caleb humming.
Caleb barely made it to his office before he was clawing at his belt.
The second the door shut behind him, he bolted to the chair, yanking your black thong from his pocket like it was the crown jewels. His cock was already straining against his sweats, leaking through the fabric, twitching with every heartbeat.
“Fuck, pipsqueak…” he groaned, voice cracking as he pressed the thong to his face. “Bet you didn’t even shower yet… fuck, smelled you so good today…”
His hips jerked upward as he fisted his cock with desperate, violent strokes, the slick sound filling the room. He moaned openly, shamelessly, like some bitch in heat. The thong dragged against his nose and lips as he inhaled, shuddering like he might break apart from just the scent.
“Her unwashed thong… mmmhh—fuck, smells so good! God—so fucking good!” His words slurred between panting, his eyes glassy, rolling back with every thrust of his hand. His whole body trembled, thighs spread, cum-slick cock shining under the office light.
The desk rattled with the force of him rutting into his fist. Papers scattered to the floor. He didn’t notice. Couldn’t notice. Not when he was drowning in you, muttering your name like a prayer, a curse, a desperate fucking mantra.
He was gone. Utterly gone.
So gone, in fact, that he didn’t notice the office door swing open.
You stood there, frozen in the doorway, jaw dropping as the scene burned itself into your retinas.
Caleb—your landlord—thick brows furrowed, violet eyes rolled back, cock in his fist, your thong plastered to his face. The obscene sound of wet strokes echoed around the office.
And then—
He came. Hard.
“FUCK—” His back arched clean off the chair, hips snapping up violently as his cock exploded. Cum shot so high it actually spattered against the wall behind his desk, dripping down in obscene streaks. His moans broke into whimpers, thighs trembling, body jerking with the aftershocks as his orgasm tore through him.
Panting, gasping, Caleb finally peeled the thong off his face—only to freeze when his violet eyes locked on you.
Your hand was still on the doorknob. Your mouth was wide open. You swore you wanted to scream, or bolt, or call the cops, but nothing came out. Just stunned silence.
Caleb looked like he’d seen a ghost. His lips parted, his thick brows shooting up, panic flashing across his face.
“P-pipsqueak—” his voice cracked, trembling.
You didn’t move. “….”
“H-hey, p-pipsqueak, I—I…” He scrambled off the chair, tripping over his own pants as he tried to yank them up. His softening dick bounced against his stomach with the motion, making the whole scene even more humiliating.
Your throat worked, and finally, you managed to whisper: “I’ll file a report—”
Caleb practically lunged forward, hands up, eyes wild. “Wait! No—don’t—listen to me!” His words tumbled out, desperate, his voice breaking. “You don’t… you don’t have to pay me rent!”
You blinked. “…what?”
He gulped, then—like the absolute freak he was—pressed your thong back against his mouth, moaning at the scent, shameless even with cum drying on his shirt. His eyes fluttered back, his hips twitching helplessly as his softening cock gave a little jump in his half-zipped pants.
“Pay me in these…”
You stared at him, horrified. “You… want my underwear?”
“Fuck yeah.” His answer was immediate, wrecked, voice thick with hunger.
Silence stretched between you. The only sound was his ragged breathing and the faint drip of cum sliding down the wall.
You thought about screaming. You thought about running. You thought about your dwindling bank account.
Finally, you exhaled, long and slow. “…deal.”
And with that, you shut the door.
It got… normal.
Well, normal in the sense that your landlord would casually sniff the air when you walked into a room, tilting his head like a bloodhound and asking, “Showered yet, pipsqueak?”
You always thought he was a weirdo—which he was, let’s not sugarcoat it—but he was your weirdo, and more importantly, he wasn’t charging you rent. And when your bank account was gasping for air every week, that was enough to keep you tolerating his freak habits.
The first month, Caleb showed up for “check-in,” leaned against your doorframe with that goofy grin, and then just… waltzed right in. You didn’t even fight it. He rooted around until he found your laundry basket, plucked out three pairs of unwashed panties like he was harvesting apples, and left humming to himself.
You sighed, plopped back at your desk, and smashed your keyboard to get another smut scene out. As long as you saved money, having a pervert gooning to your underwear wasn’t the biggest deal in the world. Or maybe it was. You didn’t think too hard about it.
The second month, though…
Caleb showed up again, hair messy, violet eyes wide and twitchy, practically bouncing on his heels. “Pipsqueak, c’mon, I need it fresh outta the source this time. Please. Please.”
You stared at him, deadpan, and then sighed through your nose. Slowly, you hooked your thumbs under your shorts, peeled off the panties you’d been wearing all day, and slapped them into his waiting hand.
He made a sound. A wrecked, desperate, feral sound that you swore belonged in some nature documentary. And then, like a complete horny freak, he stayed in your doorway, panting, jerking himself through his sweats as he buried his nose in the damp fabric.
“F-fuck—fuck, pipsqueak—ohhh god, smells so fucking good—”
You dragged a hand down your face and went back to your desk, deciding to pretend none of that was happening in your peripheral vision.
By the third month, you didn’t even blink when he knocked.
Caleb sauntered in for his “check-in,” twirling a lacy pair of your panties around his finger like a keychain. His grin was pure menace, thick brows raised, violet eyes glinting like he’d just robbed a bank.
“Hey, pipsqueak,” he sing-songed, waving the lace at you before pressing it to his face. He inhaled deep and moaned shamelessly, the sound vibrating in his chest. “Mmmm—bet you’re not showering to let the scent linger even more, huh? you've anything else for me?” He wiggled his eyebrows like he was proud of the detective work.
The worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
You were drowning in commissions, barely sleeping, barely eating. Showering felt like a luxury. Shaving? Forget it. You were running on caffeine and deadlines.
So instead of arguing, you reached under your oversized shirt, unhooked your bra, and handed it over.
Caleb’s reaction was instant. He whimpered. Loud. Like a kicked puppy who’d just been given a steak dinner. His knees almost buckled as he pressed the bra to his face, rubbing it over his nose and mouth, his whole body shivering like he was seconds from busting in his pants.
You blinked at him, expression flat. “…you’re unbelievable.”
And Caleb, muffled against your bra, moaned, “Unbelievably lucky.”
You smashed your keyboard once again.
Caleb had been practically vibrating ever since he could see your thigh hairs peaking out from those shorts. His eyes were sharp, ridiculously so, noticing every single detail. His clipboard was still abandoned by the door, rent forms forgotten, his goofy grin melted into something desperate—hungry.
“God, pipsqueak…” he rasped, pupils blown wide like he was drunk on you, his hand hovering an inch away from your thighs, twitching like it took every ounce of willpower not to latch on. “You really… fuck, you really don’t shave anymore, huh?”
You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’re not seriously—Caleb—”
“Dark little curls peekin’ out—mmhh—fuck, I knew it,” he cut you off, his own voice hitching like he’d already palmed himself half-hard just from the thought. He crouched lower, shamelessly eyeing the faint hair on your thighs. “God, bet this pussy’s a goddamn jungle… been thinkin’ about it all week. Nasty, musky—fuck, I wanna bury myself in there so bad.”
The heat rushing up your neck was embarrassing, your own body betraying you. Your oversized shirt felt suffocating, sticking to your skin, and the way his gaze locked onto the damp spot forming on your shorts made you press your thighs tighter together.
“Don’t say shit like that,” you muttered, but it came out weaker than you intended.
Caleb moaned like you’d just sucked him off, head tipping back, hand squeezing the bulge in his pants. “Nnnhhh, pipsqueak… you’re hairy and smelly and I swear to god that’s all I want. Your pussy probably tastes like heaven after days of sittin’ hot in these panties.”
“Two months rent,” you snapped, face hot, ignoring the way your cunt clenched at his words.
His eyes lit up. “Deal—fuck yeah, deal.”
The oversized shirt rode up when he tugged at your shorts, clumsy but frantic, his big hands swallowing the fabric until he yanked it past your knees. And there it was—your puffy folds straining against damp cotton, dark curls spilling out the sides, the faint tang of your arousal hitting his nose.
Caleb whimpered—whimpered—like he’d just been blessed by god himself. “So pretty…” he moaned, fingers trembling as he hooked his thumb under the waistband and peeled the panties off you, his mouth falling open at the sight.
You raised a brow, trying to play it cool even as your stomach flipped. “What, you never seen a hairy pussy before?”
His jaw went slack, eyes glassy, his chest heaving like he’d sprinted a marathon. “Not like this… oh fuck… not yours.” His cock twitched violently in his jeans, precum already wetting the front.
Then he just folded, literally shoved his face forward and pressed his nose against your mound like a starved man. A strangled groan tore out of him. “F-fuck… musky, sticky, hairy—nnnhhh, god, pipsqueak, this is it, this is it—smells so fucking good.” He humped your thigh like a dog, rutting desperately while inhaling lungfuls of your scent, drool dampening the curls above your slit.
You nearly laughed at the absurdity if it didn’t make your head spin. “You’re disgusting,” you muttered, but your legs parted on their own, your body betraying you.
Caleb was too gone to care. He mouthed at the curls, sloppily making out with your pussy lips, leaving trails of spit that matted your hair further. “Mmmhh—fucking love it—your hairy pussy, fuck, jungle time baby!” he moaned, voice muffled as he shoved his tongue between your folds.
Your eyes rolled back at the first hot swipe of his tongue, and you had to grab his stupid fluffy hair just to ground yourself. “F-fuck—Caleb…”
He whimpered against you, humping your leg harder, his voice vibrating through your cunt. “Mmmhh so good, so fucking good… hairy, smelly, fuckin’ perfect… pipsqueak tastes like heaven. Don’t ever shave, don’t ever shower, just—fuck—let me drown here forever.”
His nose buried against your clit, his tongue lapping messy and desperate, sloppy smacks echoing as he kissed and sucked every bit of you he could get. He was noisy, shameless, every groan dripping with depravity.
“Goddammit…” you gasped, toes curling, heat coiling in your belly. Against all logic, all dignity—you were enjoying this. Enjoying how your drop-dead gorgeous landlord was losing his mind over something so stupid. Enjoying how freaky he was, how it turned you on more than anyone else ever had.
Caleb pulled back for just a second, his chin glistening, panting like a bitch in heat. His eyes rolled back as he moaned again, grinding his clothed cock against your leg. “Y-you smell so fucking strong… f-fuck, I’m addicted, I’m—lemme taste more, please please please pretty please—”
You tilted your head, playing at nonchalance despite how wet you were dripping down the couch. “A year’s rent.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Deal—fuck—DEAL!” he cried, before burying his face back in your hairy cunt like a man possessed. His tongue shoved deep inside you, his nose grinding your clit, his muffled moans vibrating until you were gasping, your thighs clamping around his head.
And Caleb? He was in heaven—whimpering, rutting, face smeared in spit and arousal, a depraved freak making out with your hairy pussy like it was oxygen.
Caleb was already whining into your cunt, his tongue sloppy and desperate, when his hips started moving on their own. The grind of his cock against your thigh was shameless, rough, precum soaking through his jeans as he moaned filth into your folds.
“Mmmhh fuck—smell so good—taste even better—” his words muffled against you, his jaw working as if he could suck your scent out and swallow it whole. His big hands slid under your ass, squeezing, digging in, and suddenly he lifted you halfway off the couch like you weighed nothing.
“C-Caleb—what the fuck—” you gasped, legs dangling, cunt spread wide against his face.
He just groaned, shaking his head like a starving man at a feast, his nose grinding your clit while his tongue lapped up everything dripping from you. His hips rutted harder, humping your thigh like an animal, his cock throbbing as wet spots spread across his pants.
If it were any other guy, you’d be disgusted. Mortified. But Caleb—your stupid, gorgeous, pervy landlord—he made it feel filthy and addictive. He made you want it.
Your back arched, fingers tangling in his hair as your thighs clamped around his ears. His moans got louder, wetter, his whole body trembling with the effort of eating you out while fucking into your leg.
“F-fuck—Caleb I’m—” Your words cut off as your body convulsed, orgasm ripping through you, spasming hard against his face. His tongue never stopped, lapping up every spurt, groaning so loud the vibrations nearly made you scream.
And Caleb? He came with you, rutting hard into your leg until his hips jerked violently, cum flooding his pants, the wet squelch audible as he whined into your pussy. His back arched, his cock spurting through denim, and he nearly sobbed from how good it felt.
When you finally collapsed back onto the couch, panting, legs twitching, he pulled his mouth away with a wet smack. His face was glistening, hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes glazed and blissed out.
He looked up at you with a stupid, goofy grin, panting like a happy dog that just got a treat. “That was… heaven!”
You stared at him, speechless, your brain fried.
And from that day forward, you didn’t have to pay Caleb rent. In fact—you never paid him rent at all.
Now, sitting in his living room years later, you watched him chatting with a nervous guy who came to see one of his apartments. Caleb leaned back, laughing, his wedding ring catching the light as he gestured with his hand.
“Yeah, sorry man—no can do,” Caleb chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m married. A married man. The marriest of all.”
You glanced at your own ring, the sparkle even brighter in the sunlight, and rolled your eyes. Married to your perv of a landlord. The absolute freak who ruined you for anyone else.
And god help you—you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
⤷How they react when you squirt for the first time
Caleb
You soak him mid-thrust—your slick gushing out suddenly, dripping between your thighs and down his stomach. Caleb stills for a moment, eyes locked on the mess pooling beneath you both, then lets out a sharp exhale like he’s just been punched in the gut. “Holy fuck… you just squirted all over my cock.” His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you back onto him as he thrusts up—deep and rough, chasing it again. "That’s it, baby. Make a mess. I want you to keep doing that—over and over until the whole bed’s drenched.” He thumbs your clit while he pounds into you, voice tight and desperate. “You can’t even stop now, can you? Look at you—so fucked out, still leaking. That’s mine. All of it. ”You squirt out suddenly around his fingers and he freezes, eyes locked between your legs, watching the flood of slick that coats his palm and thighs.
Rafayel
Then he smiles. Slowly. Darkly. “You’ve been holding out on me.” He pushes two fingers back in without warning, pressing against that same spongy spot, curling just right—and when you jolt from overstimulation, he laughs softly, voice syrup-smooth. “Aww, what’s wrong? Too much now?” “No, no. You’re not tapping out yet. Not when I just got to the good part.” He leans close, his forehead resting against yours as he whispers: “Be a good girl and squirt again for me. I want this whole room smelling like you.”
Xavier
You squirt mid-ride, and his entire body jerks—like it physically startled him, only to be followed by the dirtiest grin you’ve ever seen on his face. “No fuckin’ way. You just made a goddamn mess.” He grabs your waist and starts fucking up into you from below, rough, wet slaps echoing in the room.“Soaked me, baby. Look at you—dripping, shaking, moaning like a fuckin’ pornstar.” He thumbs your clit with no mercy, lips brushing your ear: “We’re not done. I’m not stopping until you squirt again. And again. Let’s see how wrecked I can get you.”
Sylus
You squirt across his face the moment his tongue flattens against your clit, and he moans, messy and loud, as your slick covers his chin, lips, even his neck. He doesn’t move away. If anything, he grips your thighs tighter, licking through the mess like it’s his last meal. “Ohh, fuck yes… that’s it, pretty girl.” “So wet for me. You gonna do it again while I’m sucking on this sweet little pussy? ”He sucks your clit harder, tongue dragging in tight circles, fingers fucking into you from below. You’re twitching, whimpering—and he’s groaning like he’s in heaven. “C’mon, give it to me again. I wanna drown in it.”
Zayne
Your thighs jerk, body tight, and then your slick gushes out—warm and sudden, drenching his wrist and soaking the sheets beneath you. For a moment, Zayne goes still. His gaze drops to where his fingers are buried inside you, now coated and dripping. The soft sound of your breathing fills the room, ragged and ruined. He doesn’t smirk. He doesn’t flinch. He just stares, almost fascinated. “You lost control,” he murmurs. “Completely.” He slowly withdraws his hand, watching the slick stretch between your folds and his fingers. A quiet pause. Then he drags his fingers across your inner thigh, spreading the mess without a hint of shame, eyes never leaving your face. “So reactive. And yet you haven’t even reached your limits.” He brings his fingers to his lips, tasting you with clinical slowness—not for show, but to commit the moment to memory. Then, without warning, he slides two fingers back in, deeper this time, curling with meticulous precision. “You’re going to do that again.” “I’ll make sure of it. His voice stays soft, composed—but the weight behind it is devastating. “Don’t hold back. I want everything.”
$6.99 APPETIZER 1 ━ NSFW SMAU. ALL FIVE LADS MEN
synopsis. you accidentally text them a nude/explicit photo (pre-relationship)
incl. caleb, zayne, rafayel, sylus, xavier
━ ✧ cw: mdni, highly suggestive and borderline smutty, crack, fluff, the men are very forward, mc is flirty, guys send a nude back in some of these
.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.
✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.
nsfw (18+). includes aphrodisiacs, dry humping, rubbing cock over panties, possessive!caleb, caleb is gentle at first until you piss him off, this is basically ‘testing caleb's patience: the fic’, unprotected sex, creampie, i have to mention that caleb is possessive twice because caleb says some freaky stuff, sappy confession during sex, happy (horny) ending <3 likes and reblogs will be very helpful !!
Caleb doesn't accept love letters and chocolates whenever Valentine's Day comes along. However, girls directly stuff them into his bag without his knowledge sometimes, and you take it upon yourself to eat the sweets because Caleb would just throw it straight to the trash otherwise.
“It's a waste,” you'd always say. “You might not like them back, but they still made the effort to make chocolate for you.”
And then Caleb would shake his head, frowning, “Though most of them mean well, sometimes they put weird stuff in the food. So if I were you, I'd spit out that cupcake, pipsqueak.”
You usually don't heed his warnings—Caleb's always been kind of an overthinker. Now, though, you regret not listening to him as an unfamiliar heat spreads across your body, your core throbbing as you feel yourself dripping in your panties.
...The panties that's rubbing against Caleb's crotch right now, soaking the fabric of his pants while you grind down on him. Caleb's expression looks like a mix of confusion, worry, and arousal, his hands hovering above your waist as if unsure where to touch you. “Nn— hey, what's gotten into you? Do you even know what you're doing right now?”
You see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he nervously swallows, and you start feeling something poking you at your clothed core. Caleb sits up on the sofa where you pushed him down a while ago, grabbing your hands on his shoulders. “C'mon, tell me. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong.”
You whimper, your body collapsing on top of his. He quickly scoops you up, one hand holding the back of your head, the other resting on your lower back, ensuring you're properly seated on his thighs.
“I... I feel weird,” you pant, clutching the front of his shirt. “I'm dizzy, and my body is hot all over. My...” you swallow down your embarrassment, “my pussy feels empty... Caleb, can't you help me? Please?”
Almost imperceptibly, his grip on you tightens by a fraction. He sighs, angling your head to make you look at him in the eye. Perhaps it's the trick of the light, but Caleb's face is a flustered pink. “I can't do that. You're going to regret it when you turn back to normal and get all weird about it.” He glances at the chocolates you ate on the table, brows furrowed. “Aphrodisiac chocolate... I should've known. Then you wouldn't have become like this...”
Your mind is in a daze. Your body feels unusually heavy, but your head feels like it's floating. Most of what he said is lost on you, and at this moment, the only thing you can focus on is that Caleb is looking at something else. You grab both of his cheeks, forcibly turning his attention to you. “Please help me, Caleb...” Clumsily, you lift up your hips, pressing your cunt against the tent in his pants. It glistens with your wetness, and Caleb can't help but groan when you rub the tip with your thumb. “It hurts... I need this inside me...”
Caleb has always adhered to your whims, but even he has his limits. He pinches your cheek, “I can't put it inside, idiot, I don't have a condom. I just have to make you cum, right?” He gestures for you to pick up the hem of your skirt, sucking in a breath when he sees how soaked you are. “Fuck....”
The entire crotch area is damp, and if he looks carefully, he can even see the faint shape of your clit. Curiously, he draws circles on it, breathing heavily when a fresh glob of slick stains your underwear. “That's hot...”
He pulls down his zipper, releasing his cock from his boxers. You gasp softly at the sight. He's long and thick, arching to a beautiful curve, colored almost red from the strain of holding back. He gives himself a few experimental pumps, moans coming from his mouth as he masturbates at the sight of you, holding up your own skirt to give him a perfect view of your wet panties, an innocent, frilly pair he can't wait to ruin.
He positions his cock to your folds, aiming at the spot your hole should be if not covered by your underwear. You both groan at the first slide, his pre-cum further soaking the fabric of your ruined panties. He wraps himself in his fist, teasing your clit as he pumps into his hand. More pearls of white spurt out of his tip. “Ah, fuck, that's good... so good...”
“Ah, ah, Caleb!”
You move your hips, moaning while he rubs himself against your cunt. The warmth of his cock is driving you crazy, and the added friction of Caleb rubbing your nipple through your clothes makes you even wetter than you already are. He's biting his lip, dazed eyes staring at your body appreciatively. “I'm taking this off, baby.”
He impatiently runs his hand through the buttons of your clothes, some of them popping off to clatter on the floor. “H-hey, I liked this shirt— haa...!”
“I'll buy you a new one,” he grunts, mouthing at one of your tits, sucking as if anything would come out. He unclasps your bra one-handed, throwing it over your shoulder. “These things are fucking annoying...”
Finally, he gets tired of rubbing you over your clothes. He lifts the side of your panties, sliding his cock inside to directly grind against your pussy. “Shit, that's more like it,” he moans loudly, your wetness gliding down his balls. “You feel so good.”
“Caleb, put it inside already,” you whine, scrunching up the fabric of your skirt in your fists. “This isn't enough for you either, hnn, right...? Give me your cock, please...”
Caleb grits his teeth, holding your hips to stop you from dropping on his dick. “Didn't I tell you I don't have a condom?”
“I don't care!” you struggle in his hold. “Fuck me, c'mon... it hurts...! If you don't...”
You pant against his ear, knowing exactly what you're getting into, drugged or not, “...I'll ask Zayne to fuck me instead.”
The effect is instantaneous. He pulls out, replacing his cock with two fingers plunging inside you at once, hitting deep all the way inside. You choke, gasping out for breath as his hand doesn't stop, slick jetting out of your cunt with every push of his fingers. His clothes are getting soaked, but Caleb doesn't care about them at all, coldly glaring at your face twisted in pleasure.
“So you're telling me you'd be fine with just anyone?” He's chuckling, but he doesn't sound like he's happy. “Fuck. I should've just done this from the start, then.”
He grabs two of the chocolates, popping one in his mouth. When he finishes swallowing, he places the other one in his mouth again, but then he suddenly grabs your jaw. “Open your mouth, slut.”
He pulls you in for a kiss, mouths locking together. The chocolate melts from the heat, his tongue licking at yours as he's forcing you to swallow. He doesn't let you go until he's sure you've eaten all of it, drool dripping from the corner of your lips.
“We're not stopping until you learn I'm the only one who gets to see you like this,” he grunts, taking out his fingers and slathering your slick on his cock to make it wet. “I'm the only one who gets to call you mine.”
“Haa... haa...”
Clothes are strewn messily on Caleb's bedroom floor, the mattress squeaking with each thrust of his hips. You're on your back, one leg hooked over Caleb's shoulder, staring into space as you're fucked absolutely stupid.
“Fuck, I can't stop my hips....” Caleb's still fucking into you, hasn't stopped for the past hour. The effects of the aphrodisiac have probably passed after the first two rounds, but his cock shows no signs of softening after release. He cums another load into you, overflowing from your pussy to spread into his sheets. “Ah, hng, shit... Hey, I told you not to waste it.”
He pulls out, pressing his fingers inside your loose hole to fuck his cum back in. You make a sound of protest, already feeling full.
“Are you starting to regret what you said now?” He grabs the back of your thighs, pressing your legs next to your ears. “Too late for that, though.”
Caleb groans, sloshing his cum inside your cunt with his dick. You helplessly grab at the sheets, moaning brokenly. His pelvis rubs against your engorged clit on every snap of his hips, driving you to squirt on his abs again, his torso glistening with your mess.
“You're squirting again? How many times have you cum?” Caleb laughs meanly, sucking another possessive mark among the smattering of hickeys he's already left along your collarbones. “Nasty girl...”
He leans back, getting a better view of your body. There are traces of him everywhere, from the hickeys on your neck, his cum on your chest because you couldn't swallow everything he poured in your mouth, and the faint bite marks on your inner thighs when he paid the favor and ate you out.
He presses a kiss on your chest, staring at you with dark eyes. “If you didn't say that, I would've been patient with you. Fingered you loose before putting my cock inside, making sure you're comfortable... I would've helped you ride out the effects of the aphrodisiac and never speak of it again. After all, to you, I'm just family.” He nuzzles against your cheek, his voice taking on a darker tone. “But you just had to call out another guy's name, didn't you... Would've fucked him if it was him here, not me...”
Caleb thrusts back inside you roughly, fucking your cervix. “You can't do that, you know? You've always belonged to me. Every part of you is mine, so no one else can touch you.” He cups your cheek, devouring your cries of pleasure with his mouth. “Just me... it's only me, right? I'm the person most important to you, right? You said so... So why are you bringing up another guy?”
He's asking questions, but he doesn't let you answer any of them, kissing you so much you almost can't breathe.
“Even though I'm in front of you...” Kiss. “Even when I'm the only one who loves you this much...” Kiss, kiss. “You're still thinking of another person...” Kiss, kiss, kiss. “That's hardly fair when you're all I think about everyday.” Another sloppy kiss.
You weakly push his chest, breaking away from the kiss. “Wait, Caleb—”
He pins your wrist to the bed. “I'm not stopping.”
“I'm not telling you to stop, I'm telling you to liste— ahh, haa, hnn!” The cock still ramming up your walls makes it much more difficult to speak, hammering against the sweet spot that makes your toes curl. “Fuck, ah— Caleb, listen to me!”
He hums as he sucks another hickey on your skin. “I am.”
You don't have it in you to argue even when he clearly isn't, trembling at the pleasure. The hand holding your wrist travels upwards to intertwine your fingers together, grounding you back to reality.
“Caleb, I was just— I didn't mean what I said...” you stammer, trying your best to speak without getting distracted. “I, mmh....! W-wouldn't do this with anyone else... haa... I just said that so you'd fuck me— ah, ah!”
He scoffs, slowing his pace when he sees you being overwhelmed. “You're just making excuses to get me to stop.”
“I'm not, you dummy! I...” your brows pinch together, embarrassed to say it but you continue anyway, “Caleb, you're the one I think of when I touch myself... nn... And I know it's wrong, and you only think of me as someone you should take care of, but, I, haah, I like it when you kiss me, or when you hug me, and I— gh! I like it when you fuck me hard, too, just like this...”
You move your hand to cup Caleb's jaw, admiring his awestruck expression. He looks at you like he's seeing you for the first time.
“I'm not telling you to stop,” you repeat yourself firmly. “I just wanted to say I didn't mean that thing I said earlier, and if it's you, you can do whatever you want to me. Because I love you just like how you love me, Caleb.”
His hips come to a complete stop. “Say that again.”
“I love you, Caleb.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“Okay, you're really pushing it, it's embarrassing to sa— aah!”
He grabs your hip, pulling you back to his cock. He fucks you frantically, harsh groans leaving his lips, your name like a prayer. “Fuck... you love me? You love... me?” The words seem unfamiliar on his tongue, heartbreakingly quiet. You squeeze your connected hands.
“I love you, Caleb. I really, really love you, I've loved you a long time ago...” you tilt his chin, making him meet your gaze. “Now say it back.”
“I love you,” he says with certainty, as if it's a fact of the universe. “I love you so much.” He buries his head into your neck, sucking new marks. “I love you... fuck... I love you so badly, it hurts...”
His cock drives deeper, the wet slaps of skin deafening in the room. Cum dribbles out of your hole with his thrusts, and he swipes it up to smear it on your engorged clit. Rub, rub. Rub, rub.
“Shit, Caleb!” You wail, rutting to his finger. “Everything feels so good, ah, ah!”
“You feel so good, too, aw, fuuuck...” he's melting inside you, your warm walls clenching around him so tight, sucking him back in every time he pulls out. “Your pussy keeps sucking me back in...!”
“Ah, hnahh, ngh, yes, like that, ah! I'm cumming, cumming!”
His balls draw tight, his cock about to burst. “Fuck, shit!” he fucks in, in, in, until he's filled every space in your cunt, thumb frantically rubbing at your clit. Clear liquid soaks his cock, wetting his pelvis, and he follows you in your release, shooting ropes of milky cum deep inside your pussy. “Fuck, ah, take my cock, take my fucking cum all the way in, ohh— take it deep in your womb—”
He keeps cumming, and cumming, and cumming. “It won't stop,” he moans against your ear, watching your hole overflowing with his semen. “Your pussy feels too good, it's sucking me dry...”
“Caleb, shit, how are you still— ohh, fuuck...” you whine as the last spurts of semen hit your torso, Caleb having pulled out and pumping his dick to cover you in his cum.
Finally emptied, Caleb collapses on the spot beside you, running a hand through his hair. “I need a shower,” he mutters, feeling the stickiness on his body.
“We need a shower,” you correct him. “I probably won't be able to walk for the next few days, all thanks to you, so you better take responsibility and carry me everywhere.”
Caleb laughs, light and airy, nothing like the dark tone he's been speaking in earlier. He pulls you to his chest, pressing chaste kisses all over your face. “Anything for the girl I love.”
He finally understood why you got so excited seeing him in his uniform.
He had always thought it was cute that you got shy when he was dressed from head to toe in fleet gear. But he never truly understood the appeal until you walked out in it, a perfectly sized fleet uniform for you to play the part of his adjutant.
Clean, form fitting white pants, hugging your thighs and ass just right. The black leather thigh holster made his mouth feel incredibly dry all of a sudden. Inch by inch, his eyes traveled up to the black fitted jacket, tight around your waist and breasts, but flattering all the same. Then, there was the hat.
Oh, yeah… he understood your train of thought now. He understood why you always liked to keep his hat on when you needed to get a quickie in his office. You looked hot, so hot that there was no hiding the way his white slacks tightened around his groin. “So, Colonel. What do you think?” You gave him a little spin, oblivious.
“You look…” but his voice betrayed him, cracking weakly as he tried to find the words. “Colonel?” A look of genuine worry passed over your face, a pout curling your lips as you genuinely believed something was wrong. “You look… too good.” Caleb finally sputtered, cheeks warming as a gloved hand moved to cover half his face.
Before you could open your mouth, Caleb stood. A very visible bulge in his uniform slacks as he approached you. “Adjutant.” Cool, calculated, this wasn’t your Caleb. No, this was the FarSpace Fleet’s colonel, and you found yourself quickly straightening your posture. “S-sir.” Dammit.
“Sit on my desk, that’s an order.” His arms were crossed over his broad chest, nearly brushing against your own from proximity. “Yes, sir.” Your legs threaten to falter as you scurry towards the desk he had just been sitting at. Taking his command as literally as he meant it, clearing a few stacks of paper before he stopped you.
“Forgive me, adjutant. I forgot an important instruction for this order.” His boots click against the polished flooring, not stopping until the visible giveaway of his excitement was pressing up against your ass. “I need you to take off your pants and underwear.”
Your exhale is shaky. “Yes, Colonel.” Somehow, you manage to get your gloved fingers to move steady enough to undo the belt and buttons of your pants. Caleb doesn’t step back either, keeping himself pressed against you as you shove the garments you had struggled to get on in the first place down your thighs.
“Permission to sit, sir?” You dared not to look back, not even as your pants and panties sat in a heap around your boots. “Permission granted.”
You turn to face him, cheeks warm and eyelids heavy. Despite being so exposed, you felt like you were burning up. Carefully, you plop yourself on his desk, suppressing a shiver as the cool material presses into your heated center. Caleb looked you over before getting on his knees before you, slowly pulling the leather gloves off of his fingers before reaching for the laces of your boots.
“Colonel, you don’t have to…” but the look he shot you had you snapping your lips shut. “I didn’t give you permission to speak, Adjutant.” Your first boot fell to the floor with a soft thunk, the rest of your pant leg going with it. Caleb’s fingers were precise with their movements, undoing the other knot with ease before freeing you.
“Spread your legs, that’s an order.” You did so, no hesitation, displaying the result of his commands. Your cunt, smearing your arousal all over your inner thighs, now laid bare for him to see. “Adjutant, why are you so wet?” Violet eyes flash up to look at you, holding your gaze under thick lashes. “Explain yourself, that’s a direct order.”
“B-because you turned me on, sir.” Blunt, you had to be blunt. Caleb’s lips curled, the grin nothing short of smug. “Elaborate further.” Your throat is suddenly too dry, you swallow once, twice, before finally getting the words out. “The thought of you fucking me made my pussy wet, sir.” And, dammit all, if you could crawl under the very desk you sat on right now? You would.
The look on his face only made your cheeks burn hotter.
“I see. Thank you for being so accommodating, adjutant. I know your job isn’t all that easy. You wouldn't mind if your colonel rewarded you, correct?” You had to grip the edge of the desk to keep yourself from lunging at him. “No…” narrowed eyes, your back going rigged a second later. “N-no, sir.”
“Good. One last order…” his fingers splay across your thighs, soft and plush. His face is level with your spread knees. Eyes trailing over every inch of your exposed sex, as if memorizing every detail he’s already well acquainted with. “Anything, sir.”
“Tell me what you want me to do to you. Step by step, describe all the ways you want me to ruin you, Adjutant. That is a direct order from your Colonel.” You knew it was too good to be true, you could feel your ears turning molten. “Cal–Colonel, sir…”
His eyebrow raises, hands tightening on your thighs. Even if you couldn’t sputter out the words, you knew he’d still reward you. Yet, his stare was daring you to try and defy him. “I want you… your tongue, sir.” You swallow, seeing his mouth open, as if ready to order you to continue, but you press on.
“I want your tongue on my pussy… want you to lick it a-and suck on my clit.” You wanted to disappear, unable to believe you just uttered that sentence out loud. But the blush spreading over your colonel’s face told you that the effect on him was anything but humiliating. God, no, it worked him up further.
“Is that all you want, adjutant?” You bite back a whimper as he spreads your thighs just a little further. You can feel your cunt spread in the process. “I-I’ll be grateful for whatever you give me, sir.” He looks like he wants to press you further, looks as if he wants you to write it all out for him to then read aloud. But he’s losing the battle with himself, losing his self composure with every aching second.
“Understood.” Brisk, determined. You feel his evol grounding you to his desk as he surges forward and presses his head between your thighs.
Your gasp is shrill, leaving you to cling onto the edges of his desk as he tosses a leg over each shoulder. His nails, clean and dull, bite your skin as his nose nuzzles against your cunt. Inhaling deeply, memorizing his most beloved scent. The headiness of your musk, your arousal, it makes his cock twitch.
Your clit is aching, the little stimulation his nose provides is enough to have you tensing all over. Clenching around nothing as if that alone would be enough to make you cum. He feels it, feels the way you flutter and clench, feels the way your thighs seize with each nuzzle. Caleb is spearing you apart with his tongue, letting your juice coat his tongue. The taste is familiar, comforting.
“Caleb…” you choke, high and desperate, forgetting the little game. His fingers squeeze, a gentle warning, but he’s not going to punish you for the slip up.
His tongue was soft against your cunt, lapping greedily at everything she had to offer him. Almost all of his attention remained locked on your clit, poking, licking, nuzzling the sensitive, twitching bud but making the conscious effort not to suck on it yet.
Every movement had your noises turning up in pitch, nails biting into his desk rather than his own skin, and part of him felt genuinely envious. But he didn’t stop to vocalize his feelings. No, he was too engrossed with the feeling of your soft, wet cunt twitching so eagerly against his tongue. The heat, the smell, the wetness that glided over his chin as he shook his head like a damn dog between your thighs.
The pleasure he had coursing through your pussy was mind breaking, so lewd yet intimate, the heat of it making your chest heave. “C-colonel, sir…” You choke, not even sure what you wanted to say in the first place but dammit you needed to say something. Or else you’d only blush harder at the noises you made.
“M-making my pussy feel so good, Colonel. M’gonna cum…” There they were, his favorite words. The reward you unknowingly earned each time you moaned them so honestly. Caleb’s lips wrap around your clit, sucking the pulsating bud into the warmth of his mouth. It’s enough to tear a scream from your throat, shrill and unrestrained, totally catching you off guard.
The invisible cord tightens, the pleasure thrumming through your lower half has stars spotting your vision. Your thighs so tense as you clench around nothing, driving the sensations towards your peak as Caleb relentlessly stimulates you. “P-please, oh fuck…! Please, please…” each word melts into the next, too far gone to properly enunciate. “Please” leaving your lips in a mantra.
Caleb obliges, of course he does. The sooner he makes you cum all over his tongue, the sooner he can fold you in half on top of the same desk. The sooner he can spread you open and spear you on his aching cock.
Your entire body arches into his mouth, thighs clamping down around his head as he sucks and flicks his tongue over your clit. The stimulation is enough to drive you off the edge as you sputter and clench around nothing, cumming all over his mouth.
Caleb, expertly-versed in how you like your pussy eaten, works you through your orgasm with ease. Finally easing up on his suckling to kitten lick the now puffy, swollen bud. Not daring to pull his head away from the heaven that is your cunt until he feels those plush thighs relax their iron grip around his head.
