love and kinkspace day four: drugging, noncon, stalking, calebmc. read on ao3
Your gege is shy.
No one would believe it if you told them. Not that you would. They don’t deserve to know such a secret about him. He doesn’t seem like it; attractive and affable, he’s been surrounded by admirers his entire life. People have always flocked to Caleb, hoping to catch some of his light for their own. But being personable is different than being people-person.
You know your gege. If it was up to him, he would keep the two of you trapped together for all of time. Untouched by anything but each other. Not that you blame him. You’re not particularly fond of sharing him either. You’re just more practical.
You can’t keep Caleb trapped by your side forever, even if you want to. So you’ll just have to bind him to yourself instead.
The flesh beneath your hand burns. Even asleep, Caleb runs hot. He likes to joke that he was custom made to be your own personal heater, built to keep you comfortable no matter where you were. He’s sweet like that. Always keeping you in mind.
It’s time you return the favor.
You haven’t got much time before Caleb wakes. Even with the sleep medication, you know he won’t stay down for long. You’ve got most of your preparation done, but there are still the last few steps before you two can really begin.
It’s easier than you thought it would be to move him in his sleep. You don’t shift him that much; just enough to strip him down. It takes everything in you to keep your focus on your goal. As much as you want to ogle your gege’s incredible body, there will be plenty of time for that later. For now, you have a mission.
The cuffs are cold beneath your touch. You stare at them for a second, wondering if they will really work. You trust Sylus, of course. You’re just also aware of how strong your gege really is.
You’re delicate with your ge as you take his wrists in your hands. You pause for a moment, examining his flesh beneath your touch. Those awful scientists really did do a good job. No one would be able to recognize the synthetic skin unless they already knew. It almost feels the same. Almost. He may not be able to feel much through it, but you’re still careful as you cuff him to the headboard.
He looks good like this, spread out for your satisfaction.
You settle down on top of him, throwing yourself over his hips, and begin your wait. It doesn’t take long. You’ve barely begun to get bored when his brow starts to furrow with consciousness. You can’t help but brush your thumb across the crease, doing your best to smooth it out.
“Hi sleepyhead,” you murmur.
“Meimei?” Caleb’s eyes slowly flutter open. He peers up at you through drowsy blinks. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were in Linkon.”
The cheer is evident in your voice. “We’re gonna have sex silly!”
“What?” He jerks up, only to be yanked back down by the handcuffs.
“Well you want me and I want you. And I’m tired of this stalling so…” You trail off, giving your gege a wide grin.
“Just wait a second-“
“I have waited. And then you died.” Your voice wavers for a moment before you clear your throat. “So now we’re doing it my way.”
He’s distracted, split between shaking off the medication and stumbling through speaking to you. “Meimei, be reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable,” you snap back.
It’s not like he doesn’t want this.
It’s easy enough to ignore his whining as you strip down. Your clothes go easy, thrown haphazardly across the room as you join him in nudity. Caleb goes still while he watches, quieting down somewhere between you stripping off your shirt and your shorts.
It’s only when you reach for your underwear that he speaks again.
“I’m too big, baby. I’ll hurt you.”
You roll your eyes. Like you don’t know how big he is. You both know that your teenage years were spent stealing glances between cracked doors. “Don't worry, I've been practicing.”
Caleb goes cold as he hears that. “With who?”
If looks could kill, the glare Caleb’s sporting would strike you dead. It makes you grin. He can pretend all he wants but it’s moments like this that reveal his deep-seated truth. You let him stew for a moment, basking in his jealousy before you relieve him of it.
Leaning over him, you flick his forehead. “A dildo, dummy.”
Caleb exhales, releasing his rage.
“A dildo isn’t gonna compare to my size.”
You continue to ignore him as you fling your underwear next to his face. He goes quiet once again, jaw clenched tight while he tries to keep his composure.
“You can sniff them, I don’t mind.” Your nose scrunches as you giggle. “Not like it’d be the first time.”
For the first time tonight, Caleb blushes bright red. It sneaks over his cheeks, spreading across the pale skin as he stutters. Your gege is very cute when he’s flustered. You can’t help but lean down, pressing sloppy kisses against his cheek as you get out all of your affection. For a brief moment you’re seventeen again; catching Caleb in his crowd of admirers before staking your rightful claim on him.
Crawling back over him, you catch Caleb between your thighs. He’s hot against your core as you cradle him in your folds.
“At least prep, baby.”
”God ge, I did.”
Even when you’re about to fuck, he can’t help but be annoying.
You’re plenty wet already, leaving a slick trail across his skin. It sticks between you two as physical proof of what’s finally occurring. It wouldn’t be hard to cum like this. Caleb’s cock catches perfectly against your clit while you rut down on him. But as pleasant as that sounds, you have something better in mind.
You snag his tip on your hole just like you practiced. Pre-cum covers your cunt as his leaky head squirts against you, making even more of a mess of your pussy. Eager eyes watch Caleb’s expression as you sink down on his cock.
His lip splits beneath his pearly white teeth, a bead of blood welling up as he tries to tamp his feelings down. Caleb keeps himself quiet even as you cradle his chin in your hand. With a gentle touch, you pull his lip free and press the pad of your finger against the wound.
“You are so stubborn,” you pout. “Balls deep inside my cunt and you still can’t admit you want me.”
He opens his mouth—undoubtedly to argue—before slamming it back shut as you begin to shift. You start small, lightly rolling your hips as you attempt to adjust to his size. Caleb wasn’t lying; even with all of your practice, he is big. And warm. And so much better than you could have ever dreamed of. The dildo didn’t prepare you for the feeling of being filled to the brim with something so alive.
Your eyes roll back as he twitches inside you.
You’ve been dreaming about having him for years. Many late nights were spent squirreled away with his shirts as you squeal around your fingers wishing they were his. You really didn’t want it to come to this; in your fantasies, your first time is much more romantic than this impromptu ambush. But that’s alright. Next time will be better—once Caleb stops being so fussy.
It’s not long before you’re bouncing in his lap, rocking the bed with your fervor. Your chest heaves with each drop as sweat drips down your chest. The muscles in your legs are straining with exertion but you pay no attention to the pain. Not when you’re finally getting what you want.
Caleb finally breaks his silence, puppy-dog eyes pleading with you. “Baby, s-slow down.”
“Am I going too fast?”
“Yes!”
Your giggles fill the bedroom at his pleading but you comply with the request. Slowing to a steady roll, you shift down to kiss Caleb’s cheek again. You can’t help but tease him though. You take it slow this time, trailing your way across his skin to get his blush to bloom again. It’s fun to watch his freckles fade as he flushes under your attention.
He’s terribly cute like this.
The air heats between you two as you crawl closer to Caleb’s lips. You and gege have shared plenty of kisses before, but none like this. You’ve come close before—only to crawl away from the edge every time. No longer.
He’s always been your gege. And this has always been yours to take.
The taste of blood still lingers on his lips as you finally kiss him the way you’ve been wanting to all these years. You can feel him moan into your mouth, catching it in your throat to keep the noise for yourself. Even in the privacy of his home, you can’t help but dread every inch of separation that someone could sneak through.
Your weight does nothing to keep Caleb from bucking into you with a desperate thrust. He hits deep—certainly deeper than you had been going before. The pleasure almost distracts you from the sticky sensation starting to drip out of you.
Almost.
With every throb of his cock, another wave fills you with warmth. It’s easy to ride out your orgasm like this—simply feeling Caleb’s heat inside you already had you on the edge. Now you’re absolutely spinning. None of your self-soothing orgasm sessions after Caleb worked you up felt this good.
Your eyes flutter open to take in Caleb, only to freeze.
Caleb just came inside your cunt. You thought he’d look happier.
Unless—
Unless you were wrong. Maybe Caleb doesn’t want you after all. Maybe he’s just been humoring you this entire time, playing along like he always did with your games.
You know your gege better than anyone. But maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought. Despite your best attempt to steady yourself, your composure falters; the thought is simply too much for you to handle. Tears well in your eyes as you turn away, trying to hold yourself together before you fuck up again.
“What’s wrong?” Caleb’s voice cuts through your haze, though you don’t acknowledge him. He strains against his restraints as he tries to reach you. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing!”
His brow furrows. “Are you crying?”
“I’m not!”
“Are you hurt?” His voice raises, worried at the mere thought.
You can’t help but cry out, “You hate me!”
“What?”
“I ruined everything and you’re gonna hate me forever!”
The handcuff chains snap with a quick jerk of Caleb’s wrists, splintering beneath his strength. You yelp, rocking back to try and run. Caleb doesn’t give you the chance. He catches you in an instant, cradling you in his arms. You can’t escape no matter how hard you struggle.
“Pip-squeak, what on earth are you talking about?”
You turn your face from him, trying to hide any way you can. He won’t let you. He never does. Caleb’s got you tight in his grasp, pressed flushed against his chest. There's nowhere to go, but that certainly doesn’t stop you trying. He’s sturdy against your pathetic shoving.
“You don’t like me and you never did and everything’s ruined!”
Tears start to drip down your face. Your chest heaves with jagged breaths as you begin to hyperventilate. It’s getting worse by the second, snot staining your shoulder as you try to contain your meltdown. You’re failing, of course, but you do make an effort.
“Meimei, I need you to take a deep breath for me.” Caleb’s chest expands, pressing against you as he pins you in place. You can’t help but follow him as you always do, slowing your breathing to match his pace.
It’s hard to breathe through your hysteria but you don’t want to disappoint him again.
It’s hard. So hard. But eventually you settle down, sniffling as your gege soothes you. Your face is flushed, equal parts stress and shame. You’re sure you look like the disaster you are. Still hidden in your shoulder, you once again try to pull away. As always, Caleb doesn’t let you.
“Won’t you look at me, baby?”
You can’t help it. Caleb has always been your weakness.
Teary eyes peek up as you hesitantly face him. He breaks into a smile as soon as he sees you properly, pulling one hand up to cradle your cheek. The warmth of his palm radiates through your skin as you sink into the touch. You can feel it deep inside, chasing away the storm you just unleashed.
“You’re my whole world.”
You freeze as his lips brush against your cheek, kissing away the wetness. He doesn’t stop there either.
“My whole universe.”
Kiss after kiss is pressed against your damp skin, your heart pounding with each one. He trails his way across your face while he showers you in affection.
“The only thing that matters.”
Your breath hitches as he pauses. He exhales, breath ghosting across your lips before he bridges the distance and finally kisses you back.
It tastes like coming home.
Staring you down, he murmurs softly, “How could I ever hate my sweet girl?”
HI IDK IF ASKS R OPWN BUT LIKE CAN U PLS PLS DO ANYTHING (MALE)DR HARPER RELATED X FEM READER THX
YES OF COURSEE btw. Dr Harper my first opp in this game because i hated his ass when I got fucking milked by Remy anyway yes some Harper headcanons coming right up!!
So he's a sadistic fuck we know that already, but what you don't know is that he also likes pain inflicted on him, just smaller amounts. He's definitely got a nice dick like it's got one vein, probably a mole and is above average but skinny. That's my hc anyway lol, he's violating HIPPA in every way, but would use lube (if he loves u), only if it's anal tho.
I think a first date with him would be like perfect somehow? He's so insane that he can act completely normal. Would be courteous, charismatic, and would probably end up charming the pants off of you. Would pay the bill, would not let you split, he would insist.
"Please allow me," Harper whispered, looking at you with a pearly smile. He extended his arm to collect the bill from the waiter. "Let me pay my part at least," you urged, feeling a pang of guilt because this was a Fancy place, taking out crumpled notes from your purse.
Harper made the reservation the night he asked you out, during your regular checkup at the clinic. You would've been more than fine with fast food too, but he said he wanted to give you the best as he's been trying to work up the courage for months now.
Looking back at it now made your heart flutter as Harper laid his hand on yours gently pushing it away. "I insist, besides I'm the one who asked you out so it's only fair that I pay for the meal. You've paid me back by being wonderful company." He said with a smile.
Ya you 100% agree for a second date and THATS when you end up with you drugged and strapped to a table as he tries to hypnotize you into stockholm syndrome to keep you as his little pet yup
tags/warnings: dubcon, medical kink, inspection kink, fingering, reader has a pussy but no explicit gender, gross medical malpractice
Trips to the doctor always filled you with trepidation, and they always had. Now, with Harper as your doctor, these feelings only worsened. You were sat on the uncomfortable paper of the examination bed, feet swinging awkwardly as you tugged the gown to cover more of your thighs. You felt so exposed, with nothing on underneath the gown, as your doctor requested. Only your socks were offering some semblance of modesty.
Your doctor had you see him weekly, which would be fine, only he insisted on doing a full examination every time. You weren’t sure why you always needed a physical. Harper said it was necessary for your…health.
“And how have you been sleeping lately?” He asked from his seat, scribbling on his notepad.
“Fine,” was your short response. It didn’t faze Harper, though. He simply nodded. Like he always did.
“Mhm,” Harper replied. “And your sexual activity?”
Your fingers clenched the hem of your gown, knuckles turning white. “...same as always.”
“I see,” all you could hear was the scritch of pencil on paper. “A little more detail, please. Activity with penises or vaginas?”
Now, you were chewing on your lip. “...both.”
“Oral, penetrative...?”
“Both.”
“And are you using protection?”
Images of your recent sexual encounters - consensual and not - flashed through your mind. “Um…sometimes.”
“I see.” A few more scratches and Harper set the notepad down, looking at you. “Well, you should know that isn’t very safe. I’ll now need to conduct a physical examination. Please lay back and put your feet in the stirrups.”
You had done this so many times by now, the motions were like riding a bike. Did you even have the right to feel embarrassed with your hole exposed like this? Was there a point to feeling bad?
Harper snapped on his latex gloves and moved closer to you, shining a light into your crotch. He hiked the hospital gown up towards your waist and gently placed his hands on your hips, making mildly approving noises as he moved further down your legs.
“Ah,” now he was looking directly into your cunt. “It doesn’t look inflamed or anything, which is good. I need a closer look, though.”
The same old song and dance, every week. Why did he keep up this pretense? Then again, why did you go along with it? Something shameful burned in your chest. Something that you kept pushed down, out of sight. You liked it.
No, no way. You shook your head. “Doctor, I don’t see why you need to…”
“You are my patient, and I am a doctor. It is my duty to ensure you are in peak condition,” Harper said smoothly, his hands creeping closer to your pussy, which unfortunately, was starting to feel wet. “And you just indicated you are having unsafe sex. A closeup exam will show if you have contracted any sort of STIs or other diseases.”
You weren’t entirely sure that was how it actually worked, but there was no point in saying anything. What would you do? Run out of the office, half-naked? You had heard rumors of places they sent patients who acted out, and they did not sound pleasant. The mere thought made you shiver. So, complacency it was again.
One gloved finger slid into your cunt as heat coiled in your belly. Harper’s fingers were slim and long. He hummed a tuneless song as the finger moved around inside, curling against your gummy walls. The other hand came to rest on top of your lower stomach. “Everything feels normal so far,” he said. But you knew the doctor was far from done.
Another finger slipped in and you let out a small gasp as his knuckles brushed against your g-spot. “I see that sexual pleasure is still normal as well,” Harper said with a light chuckle. “No need to feel embarrassed. This is, of course, completely normal.”
The pair of fingers slowly started to pump in and out, all under the guise of an examination. You whimpered softly, your body squirming subconsciously as it sought out more friction.
“Please try to stay still, or it could mess with my process,” Harper said. The hand on your belly dipped down to tweak your clit, eliciting another gasp from you. “Your clitoris seems normal, too.”
His fingers continued to stroke your insides as his other hand slowly rubbed your bundle of nerves. “I think,” you took in a sharp breath, trying to cover up a moan threatening to spill. “I think you’ve gotten your answer by now.”
“Please don’t interrupt.” You knew that was all you would get out of him.
Both of his hands were making quick work of you, and Harper added a third finger. “Very good,” he said appraisingly. “See how well you took that? Very nice elasticity. That said, you may want to work on strengthening your pelvic floor. We can practice some kegel exercises after this.”
“Ngh–okay,” you managed to squeak out. The consistent pumping of his three fingers combined with the circular rubbing of your clit had you nearing your limit.
“I can feel your walls tightening around my fingers now. I see you are close to climax. This is good, I’m glad to see your functions are working as they should,” Harper kept up his tempo, trying to draw that orgasm out of you.
And no matter how you tried to hold it back, it burst forth from you, just as it did every week with Harper. A low moan came from your lips as it hit you, and stars danced before your eyes. You also felt a gush from your aching cunt as it clenched around those latex fingers.
“Wonderful!” Harper said with a smile, drawing back and disposing of his gloves. “And look at that. Ejaculate.”
You looked down to see a large wet patch on that crinkly exam paper. No fucking way. You squirted on the doctor? Now, your cheeks truly were burning with shame.
“Ah, please don’t feel embarrassed!” Harper was entirely normal, standing up and heading over to his notepad. “It’s completely, totally normal. A perfect response to sexual stimulation. And you did excellent work. It seems like your body is in excellent shape.”
Harper offered you a grin, which seemed kind, but a hungry, predatory look lingered in his eyes. “Same time next week?”
some super sexual Sydney/Sirris stuff below don’t look at me
Just had a very vivid image of Sirris keeping Fallen Sydney in a cock cage. Sydney leaves the temple after he and PC go through a purification ritual and moves back in with Sirris. But one day Sirris catches him trying to me pocket a (super pretty pink) cock cage from the shop and confronts him. Sydney is just so used to being locked up it’s felt bizarre without it. He just wanted to try it.
So Sirris teaches him how to work it. And since he’s missing his temple rituals, he should probably routinely check the cage is on too. And the temptation was always the best bit, so he should tease and flirt and caress while Sydney strains against the cage. And since he’s only ever had sex with PC, they should come along, shouldn’t they?
Specifically I pictured a nightly ritual where Sydney takes the cage off to wash it while PC loudly throats Sirris’ cock. Not allowed to touch himself, only to feel himself get hard, feel the need for release build in his body, unable to keep his eyes off the other two.
Sirris’ ultimate goal is to make him cum untouched, but waiting patiently for the boner to go down so he can lock his desperate boy up again is satisfying all on its own.
warnings: reader is described with a pussy but no gender/actual sex is given, dubcon, heavy pregnancy talk obvi, lactation mention, pseudo-incest??? its not really a focus but there is incest like vibes in here so be warned, no contact between sirris n syd tho
if ur reading this ill see you in hell
It was Sirris’ idea to invite you to dinner. You’re Sydney’s puppy-love partner. You two are so sickeningly close: attending mass regularly, walking to school together, chattering in hushed voices over the library counter. Sirris has been mulling over inviting you home for a while, but he wanted to wait. He wanted to make sure you were perfect for his little Sydney. Sirris just wants the best for him.
For all intents and purposes, you are very much a chaste and sweet person. Angelic some have said, convinced you bear a divine light of some sort. He thinks you’re very cute next to Sydney, two peas in a pod. Both of you, sweet and kind and, above all, obedient. Sirris has tried to urge his son to take it easy, that it’s okay to come out of his shell, but in some aspects it’s better that Sydney is such an obedient son. Certainly it’s easier to convince his little Syd to get between your spread thighs, even when the flush of his cheeks makes him look like he’s about to pass out from exertion.
Sirris lets you rest your head on his thighs, even as Sydney fucks into your cunt with barely restrained enthusiasm that borders on manic. He may be getting a bit too much pleasure out of this, enjoying the way you squeal and mewl under his little Syd, thighs trembling where they sit cupping Sydney’s hips. Every now and then you toss your head and brush his hard on with your cheek or forehead, eyelashes fluttering against the tops of your cheekbones. Above you, his little Syd is the picture of beauty, strands slipping loose of his hair tie, reflecting gold in the lamp light. He was so reluctant and shy to start, but he’s seemingly having trouble controlling himself now that he has his beloved spread before him. Sirris can remember being that age, so hesitant but so eager, sure that he would die if he couldn’t be with his love. He just wants that for Sydney; true love. Sirris had gently worked the idea in, assuring Sydney that it was okay to get you pregnant. You’re promised to each other; marriage is more of a formality than a necessity. And Sirris wouldn’t lie to him. If his father said it was okay to, goodness, get you pregnant, then it must be.
He would take care of everything for the both of you.
It will be an absolute delight to have you around the house when his little Syd’s seed has taken. He can finally move you out of that dreary orphanage; after all, wouldn’t it just be more hassle for your caretaker to have to take care of his ward’s baby? Sirris can already see you puttering around the house, sweet and respectful and growing rounder by the day. He knows Sydney will be a loving, devoted parent, overachieving in everything he attempts, but you’ll want for so much while pregnant. So much food, so much care, so much attention.
When you’ve grown beautifully round and heavy with his child, tits aching and leaking milk, you’ll want for nothing more than rest and a warm body pressed against you. He has to admit, you’re adorable every other day of the year, warm grin and bright eyes and soft skin, but you’ll be irresistible when you’ve the glow of pregnancy upon your face. You’re hard to look away from most days, shining like a stained glass angel in the setting sun, and Sirris has caught himself staring at you from across the staff parking lot. Chest tight with anxiety and stomach flipping at the undeniable heat you inspire in his loins. Too many mornings he’s awoken to a pitifully lonely bed, his own spunk cooling on his pajama pants and the phantom taste of your breast milk in his mouth. Too many nights have his memories of her been overlapped with images of you, his recollections becoming fuzzy around the edges when all he can think about is you and Sydney.
He knows he shouldn’t think it, he doesn’t want to wedge himself in your relationship, but there’s a part of him that waits patiently, giddily, at the thought you will be desperate for any sort of touch, and his Sydney, his poor, overworked, ever-busy Sydney, won’t be around much to relieve you. But Sirris is family, he will help you in any way you need. Any day now, you’ll be more than his child’s partner. You’ll be the piece that fills his family with joy and healing, ensuring that even if she’s gone a part of her will live on.
Sydney’s hips stutter at the end of his struggle, his face at once pinched in frustration but near relieved at the rising pleasure. Before he can think to pull away and finish on the valley of your pelvis, Sirris clasps a large, warm hand around his son’s hip and pulls him flush to your cunt. His smile is tender, fatherly, and incredibly self-satisfied. Sydney pulls away almost begrudgingly to look upon the mess he’s made, a flicker of regret passing across his face. Your own face is a conflicted mish-mash of guilt, embarrassment, and exhaustion. Sirris coos over you both, pressing a chaste kiss to Sydney’s sweaty forehead as he slips a very familiar plug into your dripping pussy. He can’t let this encounter go to waste, not when he finally has what he wants.
He’s all at once back to everyone’s favorite teacher, the responsible guardian, as he ushers you both to the bathroom to at least rinse the sweat off; brushing out Sydney’s hair even when he bristles with mortification at being babied. He just wants the best for Sydney, and the best is you. It may take some time, a bit more calculated coaxing, but Sirris is already thinking up ways to fit daily encounters into Sydney’s too-packed schedule. Adding it to his lesson plan sounds like the most efficient way, mulling the idea back and forth as he blowdries your hair, at least until you’re actually pregnant. It’s so rare that he’s able to get a live demonstration of such an important process.
If you feel apprehensive about his fatherly behavior or the way he talked his son into fucking you raw, you don’t say anything. You’re still a little out of it, unable to meet his eyes when he talks to you, but Sirris knows you’ll get used to it. He tucks the two of you into Sydney’s bed, his poor boy already drifting to sleep after a long day, but you watch Sirris leave with an expression that’s hard to place. Sirris just gives you a warm smile before he turns out the lights.
Pairing: Male!Avery x Fem!Reader (one-sided, Reader hates Avery here), Male!Whitney x Fem!Reader
Avery's taken over your life. It was only a matter of time before Whitney made an appearance considering you've been gone for so long from school, but you're surprised to see he actually cares somewhat.
ayo writing whitney is HARD but after seeing a couple events where he actually seems to CARE about PC (like him saving them from drowning and comforting high trauma!pc at school) i wanted to try writing soft whitney. and yeah, brown-eyed whitney supremacy, fight me about it.
also no smut this time guys, sorry 🥀 just hurt/comfort, some angst, and i guess being naked but like, non-sexual
Recently, it seemed like your whole life had been taken over by Avery. You didn’t like it, but it was something that needed to be done. Landry had entrusted you to sneak into Avery’s mansion and to replace the wishing bones. The Brown Fox trusted you to infiltrate Avery’s parties and make sure the building was going as planned.
You didn’t like Avery at all, but it seemed like nobody else could do what you apparently could. Besides, it wasn’t completely without its perks. You now lived in a nice mansion (even though you were tasked to clean it every day). You no longer owed Bailey his weekly payments (although you were basically bought by Avery, so you weren’t sure if that was much better). You had it easy, so long as you followed Avery’s demands. Clean the mansion. Keep your hair neat and above your shoulders. Greet him with a bow, dress as a maid, and cook what he craved every night. Always be available every night to him.
Avery had a lot of demands, and God forbid he ever come home from work even feeling mildly inconvenienced. You had learned early on in living with him that he had anger and control issues. If he felt you acted even a step out of line, he was immediately dragging you to his dungeon to punish you—the last time he had forgotten about you and had left you chained up for two hours before he came back down to let you go.
You had sacrificed a lot to carry out the plans of others, but you told yourself it’d be worth it in the end to see Avery suffer.
But fuck. You missed your old life, the one before you basically became Avery’s little mistress and plaything. You missed the orphanage. You missed walking to school with Robin as she talked about whatever comic or video game she was into at the time. You missed hanging out with Sydney in the library, you missed going to class, hell, you even missed that creepy little shit Kylar that seemed to follow you around everywhere.
Surprisingly, somehow, most of all… You missed Whitney. He had made your school life a living hell, and yet he had kept it entertaining. You missed being dragged around by him after school, missed those rainy days you would spend with him silently in the park as he smoked underneath his umbrella, too lost in his own thoughts to even think about harassing you.
It was only a little bit longer, you had to remind yourself. Avery’s little building project on Elk Street was almost complete, and once it was and he did what the Brown Fox was setting up for him, you’d be free. Ideally. Realistically, you had no clue what was supposed to happen—Landry and the Brown Fox both were keeping you in the dark on that part. All you knew was that it was supposedly going to make Avery’s empire blow up in his face. Whatever was to happen, you had a first row seat, and you couldn’t wait to see it all unfold.
Avery’d be home soon. You had ensured beforehand that the house was sparkling clean. You were dressed in your little maid outfit, and had just taken his beef wellington (he really just had to pick the most difficult and tedious dishes for you to make, didn’t he?) out of the stove. How you wished you had a phone to pass the time—last time you bought one with the money Avery gave you, he had confiscated it. You hadn’t had time to get a secret phone, although that was next on your personal to-do list. Instead, you busied yourself with watching the telly quietly, keeping an ear out for the sound of the garage door opening.
It wasn’t long that you heard it. You were hasty to turn the television off, smoothing down your skirt before going to the door to greet Avery with a small bow. He didn’t look upset—just tired, although he gave you a small smile when you greeted him.
“I want to visit the building site today. Meet me in the garage.”
No, ‘hello, how was your day?’. Just a straight demand, as usual. Keeping yourself from scowling, you followed Avery into the garage and got into the passenger seat, looking as demure as possible despite the seething hatred that boiled underneath your skin.
The drive to Elk Street was silent. It was only about a 10-minute drive, and soon you were parked in front of the towering skyscraper. You got out of the car, surveying it. It was almost done—the windows had finally been placed, making it look perfect on the outside. It seemed like they were probably just finishing up the inside. Hopefully this meant that soon you’d be free from Avery.
“What do you think?” It was rare for Avery to ask for your opinion on anything, but you knew he was just looking for an ego boost. Your response was well-rehearsed by now.
“It’s impressive. Definitely the tallest building in town,” you told him politely when what you really wanted to do was bash your head into the chain-link fence that blocked outsiders off from the construction site.
It was a short visit. You really didn’t understand the point of it at all, because it wasn’t long before Avery was turning back just to freeze. You heard raucous shouts behind you, and you whirled around as well only to almost choke on your spit.
Was that fucking Whitney?!
Sure enough, hopping into Avery’s unlocked car were Whitney and two of his lackeys, all laughing obnoxiously.
“Get the fuck out of my car!” The look on Avery’s face was nothing short of murderous, but Whitney was not one to ever listen to authority. Flipping Avery off, he turned the car on—and, really, what did Avery expect, leaving his keys in the damn thing?
Whitney’s gaze fell on you. For a moment, you could have sworn his eyes widened, but then he was turning away and driving off, the tires screeching against the pavement.
“That—” you were given no time to even formulate a sentence. Avery was gripping onto your arm with a grip that felt like he might break it, forcefully dragging you to one of the many construction vans that were parked around the facility. It was also unlocked, with the keys neatly tucked into the cupholder.
Are people really just leaving their keys in their cars like complete idiots..?
You barely had any time to close the passenger side of the door and yank your seatbelt on before the engine was roaring to life and Avery was peeling out of there, slamming on the gas to chase after Whitney.
It wasn’t the first time you had been in a speeding car with Avery. Avery had no care about traffic laws, obvious from the plenty of times he had taken you into his sportscar after work only to speed like a maniac and even outpace local law enforcement. However, that was when he was in a good mood. Something about the look on Avery’s face, paired with how fast the van was going, made your skin crawl. You felt nauseous. This couldn’t end well if Avery didn’t pull his shit together, but what could you even say that wouldn’t just piss him off further?
“I know him,” you found yourself saying, wanting to do something so you didn’t wind up dying in a car wreck before you even graduated school. “He’s reckless. There has to be a way to cut him off.” You knew it was futile to tell Avery to slow down or be careful—that would just result in punishment when you got home. But suggesting to him to at least be strategic about it might save you from a premature death. Maybe.
You gripped onto the side bar as Avery veered into an alleyway, the van barely fitting. Whitney had also gone down the alley; they weren’t too far ahead, thankfully.
“I know where they’re going,” Avery gritted out, and you couldn’t help the yelp that left you as he cut through the park, narrowly missing pedestrians as he made his own shortcut. Unfortunately, you were forced to trust him, even though you had no clue how he had deduced where Whitney was heading since you had no clue yourself. You were given your answer soon enough—as the car took a sharp turn onto Mer Street, you caught sight of Avery’s sportscar once more, heading towards the docks.
Avery didn’t slow down. Instead, he sped up as he approached the docks, and a new wave of nausea crashed over you.
He’s going to run the car off the docks…!
You could jump out of the car—your eyes darted towards the handle, your mouth going dry. You looked back at Avery, but he seemed determined to catch up to Whitney. Both cars were going to go over.
You couldn’t handle it. “Avery, stop!” You shouted, watching as Whitney’s friends jumped from the car. Whitney had followed suit, landing in the water just as the car shot forward off the docks and landed into the sea.
You were going to die. Avery wasn’t slowing down. You were going to die.
You hastily unbuckled your seatbelt. Fuck that. You were not going to let Avery be the death of you. With your seatbelt unbuckled, you swung the door open just as the car screeched to a stop, but it was too late—you had jumped from the car, overshotting the docks and landing into the water as well.
The water was as cold as ice. The chill from early spring didn’t make it feel much better, seeping into your bones. Your clothes weighed you down, and you struggled to swim back to the surface, struggling to see through the murkiness of the sea. Something grabbed you—you instinctively gasped, water flooding your lungs as you were hauled upwards and out of the water.
Everything was blurry, your ears were ringing, and you could barely breathe as you coughed up water. Something hard was beneath your back. You had been dragged onto the beach, and the moment you were laying down you rolled over and vomited up water and foam, trying to empty your lungs.
Holy shit, you were alive.
Slowly, your vision came back into focus. Your ears had stopped ringing, and you glanced up to see that it was Whitney who had hauled your ass out of the water, sitting sprawled onto the beach beside you and panting. Faintly, you could hear the sound of tires squealing, and you looked up only to see Avery reversing off the docks before driving off.
Fucking prick left me!
Whitney voiced your thoughts. “Seems like your sugar daddy left you behind,” Whitney snidely remarked, not making you feel any better at all. While your opinion on Avery wasn’t high at all, you had thought he had cared somewhat. He had gotten you out of the orphanage, after all—but to not even try and rescue you or see if you were alright? To just leave you?
You weren’t sure what expression was on your face. It felt numb. Either way, it had Whitney’s expression change as well, into something more unreadable. He got up from where he was sitting, looking over at his two friends that hung around somewhat awkwardly.
“Fuck off,” he snapped at them. “Fucking pussies, jumping from the car.” They were quick to scatter, leaving just you and Whitney on the beach. You slowly sat yourself up all the way, but you didn’t make a move to stand up. Your clothes clung uncomfortably to your skin and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that crawled throughout your body. Fuck, if you didn’t die from near drowning, you were probably going to die of fucking hypothermia.
There was a bonfire nearby. Empty bear bottles around it made you think Whitney and his friends had been hanging out here before deciding to go cause mayhem and steal Avery’s car on Elk Street, and you shuffled closer to it to try and soak up what little warmth you can. Whitney didn’t say or do anything for a moment before he was approaching you from behind, tugging roughly at your shirt.
“Strip.”
Annoyance flashed through you, and before you could think about it you had turned around and shoved Whitney off you. “I’m not in the mood right now.”
He looked just as annoyed, brown eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s to dry your fucking clothes over the fire, asshole.” Still, he surprisingly backed off of you and instead began to take his own clothes off until he was down to his boxers. He got a large stick, propping it carefully over the large fire to hang his clothes off of.
You stood there for a moment, shivering. It’s not like Whitney hadn’t seen you naked before, and the beach was deserted. There really wasn’t anything to lose. With that in mind, you reluctantly began to strip down to your underwear as well, well aware of Whitney’s gaze on you the entire time. Your clothes were right next to his to dry, and you sat on the sand in front of the fire, curling your knees up to your chest and just staring into the fire. Whitney sat next to you; he made no move on you like you had been half-expecting.
You couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. He was staring into the fire as well with an unreadable look on his face. It was the same, pensive look he got on rainy days at the park, unwilling to ever talk about what was on his mind save for that one time he got mad at you for saving him from being carted off to God knows where (after he had tried selling you himself).
The fire was nice. With Whitney clearly not in the mood, you glanced back at the fire as well, content to sit there in silence while you waited for your clothes to dry.
“You’ve been gone.”
Whitney’s quiet voice had you jerk towards him, your eyes widening slightly. You didn’t know what to say—it’s not like you could tell him what you had been slowly working towards with Avery. Nobody, outside of Landry and the Brown Fox, knew what you were truly up to. Even if you did want to tell one other person to unload the burden from your shoulders, Whitney would have been the last person you would tell. Trusting him with any kind of secret was just asking for trouble, and honestly… Even with all the grief he caused you, you didn’t want to drag Whitney into this mess.
“Yeah.” It was all you could say at this time. You didn’t owe Whitney of all people an explanation, and you had no intention of apologizing to him.
He went silent again, and you snuck another peek. He was still staring into the fire, his lips downturned into a frown. There seemed to be something else he wanted to say, but he either was struggling to spit it out or he didn’t know how to say it. Considering he was emotionally constipated and had the emotional maturity of a toddler—it was probably a bit of both.
So you spoke instead. “Why did you save me?”
It was his turn to jerk towards you, his eyebrows furrowing. There was an immediate scowl on his face, but you pressed on.
“I can swim perfectly fine. I wouldn’t have drowned.” You actually weren’t sure what would have happened if Whitney hadn’t jumped into the water to pull you out, but you didn’t want to say that out loud. That would make you seem weak, and one did not show weakness in front of Whitney unless they wanted it exploited.
Whitney continued to scowl, and you could see the way his jaw clenched. For a split second, you wondered if he was going to snatch his clothes and just storm off without answering your question.
He surprised you by actually answering you.
“I don’t know.” The short answer had irritation wash through you again. It had been a long fucking day even without Whitney’s impromptu joyride of Avery’s car, and you felt like the answer was specifically to irritate you… But Whitney looked like he truly didn’t know. He glanced away from you, averting his attention back to the fire. You kept your stare on him, taking in the way the firelight reflected in his brown eyes, making them seem much warmer than you had ever seen them before.
“. . . You don’t know?” You prompted, trying to keep yourself from sounding too annoyed.
“I don’t fucking know!” Whitney snapped back, angrily running a hand through his still sopping wet hair. “I just jumped in. What the fuck do you want me to say?”
Your relationship with Whitney was an enigma to you. He bullied you relentlessly one moment, letting his friends harass you, and then other moments he’s telling his friends to fuck off from you and saving you from being lost to the sea. You truly didn’t understand him. When you did think you were beginning to understand how he worked, he pulled shit like this.
God, you fucking hated him. And yet, you couldn’t imagine how boring your life would be without him. It was almost pathetic—out of all the people you could choose from, it had to be this asshole that had your heart rate acting up.
You wanted to be angry. Whitney had a way of easily pissing you off, but at his outburst you could feel the anger flag from you. Now, you just felt exhausted. Tired. And yes, you were pissed, but that was more directed now at the fact that Avery just abandoned you.
“Damn it.” What was his problem now? You hadn’t even realized you had looked back at the fire, lost in your thoughts and emotions, until he spoke again. You looked over, just in time for him to wrap his arms around you. The action had you stiffen, waiting for something more—was he going to push you down onto the sand and force you to have sex with him anyways?
But no—he didn’t do that. Instead, he just… held you close. His body was warm, and the skin-to-skin contact had you slightly flustered if only because you weren’t expecting it at all. When you realized that he wasn’t going to initiate more, you relaxed slightly in his hold, resting your head on his shoulder. You hadn’t realized you were shivering until he had hugged you, hadn’t even noticed the dampness on your cheeks until you were pressing your face into the crook of his neck.
When had you even started crying?
You didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed. Exhaustion and fatigue weighed you down. More tears slipped free, and you clung onto Whitney tighter. He didn’t say anything; his own hold was a bit stiff. You doubted comforting anybody came natural to Whitney at all, and yet here he was, trying to comfort you.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. It was well into the night, that was for sure, when you finally pulled free from him and hastily wiped at your eyes. He stayed quiet, but those brown eyes pierced into you. That unreadable expression was on his face once more, looking as if he had plenty more he wanted to say but not wanting to voice anything.
It was odd to think Whitney of all people would be the one that saved you and was comforting you right now, but you supposed odder things happened in this God-forsaken town. It was getting late, though—even if Avery had left you behind, you still had to go back to his mansion. He no doubt still expected you to go back to him, even with his betrayal.
It was a shame you couldn’t stay here longer.
“I should get going,” you muttered, standing up. Your legs felt somewhat wobbly as you checked to see if your clothes were dry. They were, for the most part. Perhaps a little bit damp, but definitely not drenched like they previously had been.
Whitney stood up too, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he yanked his own clothes off the shoddy clothesline he had created, pulling them on. You were slower in getting dressed, if only because your entire body ached. You were definitely going to be feeling this tomorrow.
A part of you just wanted to walk off. You weren’t sure what else to say to Whitney when he was in this kind of odd mood. There was a fifty-fifty chance of him either being soft or lashing out at you, and you weren’t too keen to risk that. However, his earlier words had gotten to you, about you having been gone. Missing from classes, from those rainy days in the park—you hadn’t been around, too entrenched in this mission thrust upon you to ruin Avery’s livelihood.
“I’ll be back soon,” you blurted out suddenly. Whitney hadn’t been expecting that as he turned to you. “I just have to finish up some loose ends. But I’ll be back.” You were on the verge of rambling, slipping up what exactly you were up to, and you clenched your mouth shut before you could risk that.
It was a promise, though. You would be back. You’d get back to your normal life—however normal it had been, anyways—even if you had to pry it from Avery’s cold, dead hands.
You would come back to Whitney.
Whitney surged forward. Instinctively, you flinched, expecting him to shove you down, but instead he pulled you in closer. One hand was gripping your forearm, the other coming to the back of your head to pull you in as his lips smashed against your own. Much like most of Whitney’s kisses (as he was capable of some softness occasionally), it was aggressive and all tongue. Your lips parted for him immediately, and his tongue slipped inside as if to reinstate his own claim on you. It took all you had to keep your legs from buckling as he kissed you, pulling you closer so your body was flush against your own.
When he finally let go and pulled away, you had to take a moment to regain your bearings. You felt almost dizzy, your knees weak and your head light. Your heart was thumping rapidly in your chest. Funny how just a kiss from Whitney could do this to you when sex with Avery did absolutely nothing.
“You fucking better be,” Whitney snapped at you. He was back to his regular self for the most part. “You’ll have to make up for me saving your ass anyways.” Of course—because Whitney didn’t have a single altruistic bone in his body. You should have known he was going to demand repayment for pulling you out of the ocean.
Instead of rolling your eyes like you usually would have, you nodded, a small smile on your lips. For just a moment, things felt back to normal.
Unfortunately, they weren’t. Reality was waiting for you in the form of Avery’s suffocating presence in his mansion, reminding you of your position and what you had to do.
“Understood.” Still, your tone was somewhat dry as you turned off, only to jump as Whitney smacked your ass and began to walk off in the opposite direction. You weren’t surprised he wasn’t going to walk with you; quite frankly, you didn’t want him to, anyways. Besides the fact you risked igniting Avery’s rage if he saw you with Whitney (especially after what had just happened with his car), you would be risking your own mission if Whitney got involved with you in any which way.
Everything would be over soon. You repeated this like a mantra in your head as you walked back to Avery’s mansion, your expression becoming stoic and your gaze hardening. Avery’s tower was almost complete, and soon, you’d be basking in the victory as his life and hard work was ruined.
Things were almost back to normal. You just had to wait. Only when they were, you could involve yourself with Whitney once more. Because, for all the shit he had put you through so far… He was your rock in this fucked up town, and you made a promise to return.
And that was a promise you fully intended to keep.
cw ⋆｡‧˚♡ smut, spanking, name-calling (slut, pet, bitch, etc..), petplay-ish, swearing, Dom/Sub concepts, fingerfucking, ambiguous hole reference for GN posterity
summary ⋆｡‧˚♡
You love your boyfriend, simple as that. Talking to him is a natural want, it's not like you were bothering anyone by telling him about your day. But, it's Whitney we're talking about, so of course you're bothering him. Your punishment is harsh, but it surely comes from a place of care...right?
1.2k words
confession ⋆｡‧˚♡ ;; started playing degrees of lewdity, and accidentally fell in too deep <3 i hope you guys enjoy! i know its not super long, but i really needed to get this one out
You don’t often push him to the limit, but everyone has their breaking point.
Sure, you’d invited him over to hang out, but that didn’t mean he needed to be in a good mood. Coming over, in his mind, was supposed to be somewhere he could relax without the annoying dicks in his friend group. Sorely, he was mistaken. You were simply excited to have your boyfriend in your room, talking about anything that came across your mind. But Whitney couldn’t fucking take it anymore.
Lying across Whitney’s lap, you’d been warned so many times before. Pressing his buttons, disobeying his commands. Even if you’d been his little pet, but defiance was a running streak in you. Telling you to shut the fuck up just didn’t work, so he decided it was time to put you in your place. “Now, what did I tell you?” He spoke as the nicotine rolled off his tongue, the cigarette resting in between the fingers placed on the top of your butt.
It was really your fault getting into a situation like this. With your hips bent over his knee, ass perched in the air, with his hand firmly holding you in place by the back of your neck. Vulnerable, you were in the palm of his hand in the most literal sense. “Stop fucking chattering in my damn ear, bitch.” His hand left its place on your neck to grab at your hair with authority.
You whined his name, a high toned beg for mercy. As if he’d relent. Placing the cigarette back between his lips, he pulled tight at your hair as if it were a warning. A quick slap sounded in your room, his palm making contact with your bare ass. Underwear and shorts pooled at your ankles, writhing at the pain of the harsh sting.
“C’mon, you’re not even gonna cry?” He sighed, his next slap hitting hard enough to leave a pink blush across the skin.
“N-No–” You managed to fight back, to his own pleasure. In his jeans, his dick pressed firm against the seam. He wouldn’t give you what he knew you craved. Fucking ungrateful brats don’t get what they want. “Fine.” Flicking his filter-burnt cigarette onto your hardwood, smoke blew out from his nostrils in a huff. If you wanted to be so stubborn, he’d just have to make you cry.
You managed to take a breath in his moment of deliberation, almost getting too comfortable in the concept of him letting you go before another sharp impact hit. With a swear escaping you, you stifled back the whimpers from the surprise. “Fuck, Whitney, what the hell…?” Your voice almost moaning out, Whitney’s face heated up. His usual sadistic smile splitting after hitting you for a fourth time, then a fifth.
Relentless in dealing out pain, it’s not like you weren’t used to his frequent punishments. Whitney was just like this, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t even into it. The pain was a little hard to adjust to, but even now, you dripped onto his leg. The sting sending pleasure up your spine, shaking through the sixth hit. It almost felt numb until he quickly cracked down again. His own sick joy spawned from a place of watching you squirm under his touch.
Finally, a cry slipped out. In the middle of taking a shaky breath, his broad hand cracked against your tender skin. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, even trying to fight the feeling seemed to cause more to well up. Fighting it was futile, even Whitney seemed to pity his poor pet. A soft coo escaped him, “Has my slut learned their lesson yet?” He released your hair, petting back your tussled strands that escaped his hands.
Tears managed to creep from their ducts, unwillingly fluttering your lashes to get them out. Moments where Whitney felt the slightest sympathy were rare, but never unwanted. A moan quietly sounding under the affectionate pets. The old desk chair under the two of you creaked in response to Whitney’s legs spreading further, your back stiffening at the feeling.
“Hmm…” His hand moved from your hand, his body jittered with excitement. He wondered how far he’d take it, was he done? He could easily march you out the door and fuck you in the hall for everyone to see, or even on the sidewalk outside. Whitney’s other hand was red from the discipline, but still he rubbed gentle circles into your own imprinted skin. On the other hand, he wanted to keep you to himself, a rare moment of privacy between the two of you.
With his middle and ring finger, he slipped down your slit. Teasing at your wanting hole, running his dry fingers just lightly over the surface. “P-Please…” You beg, trying to push against the pressure. Stupid fucking desperate whore. The throbbing in his pants was almost enough of a reason to deny you, if he wasn’t giving in, neither would you. Until those sweet begs became more urgent, choking out like sobs.
Whitney swallowed the painful tension in his throat, a firm ball of desire that goading him into fucking the brains out of you.
After all…you did learn your lesson. And he wasn’t the most unkind master in the world, his special pet needed a reward for taking their spankings so well. His two fingers plunged into your hole without warning, granting mercy for your sweet desire. A low hum of pleasure rose from his chest, watching his fingers pull sticky trails of your cum with each pull out. “God, you’re so fucking nasty..” He spoke quietly to hold in his own moans from breaking out.
Spilling all of his secrets about how much he loved watching you beg for just his fingers to fuck the sense out of you. Secrets that revealed just how happy he was being your boyfriend, being the one guy who you’d willingly fuck yourself stupid for. He wondered if the whole orphanage could hear you begging for more, not that he even cared. Whitney just wanted you to be his dumb pet forever. Without humoring the seriousness of the thought, he focused on pounding his knuckles into your dripping cunt.
Milking out your orgasm was easy, hooking his fingers inside and circling around to drive you crazy. Your back arching and legs flailing behind you. Whitney bit at his lip, watching the sweat beading on your back. Pulling his fingers from your gasping hole, he wrapped his hand around to make you clean the white slick off his fingers.
Gratefully, you sucked. As if it was a treat for letting him fuck you out. Your eyes looking up at him as he towered, thanking him without saying a single thing. Whitney knows just how hard you work to keep him happy, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt to play a little more with his favorite slut.
“Get on the bed, bitch.” He smiled, detaching his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop. Happily unbuttoning his jeans as you scurried onto the bed, not wanting to disobey him anymore than you already have.
Pairing: Male!Brown Fox x Fem/AFAB!Reader, Male!Gwylan x Fem/AFAB!Reader
“You haven’t forgotten who your real master is. You may serve Avery here, but he’ll never own you.”
the longest smut i've written yet. thank you sososo much @seabirdslullaby for the beautiful idea of the brown fox fucking pc on avery's bed while he's at work.
anyways, unsurprisingly spoilers for avery's mansion and the brown fox storylines!
Warnings and Tags: Mentions of abuse from Avery, hypnosis (very minimal), overstimulation, pet play, doggy style
After weeks of hard work and ingratiating yourself to Avery, he didn’t expect a thing from you other than to clean his house, cook his dinner, and look pretty. Was it a bit of a blow to your pride? Maybe, but it was a small price to pay in order to stop him from his dastardly, evil plans… Or something like that. Honestly, you weren’t sure what exactly Avery and Remy were planning, but knowing the two of them, it probably wasn’t anything good.
The only bump in the road was replacing the wishing bones. You had the replicas, and you knew where they were stored, but they were protected by a combination safe. Finding the right code would take days of work for you—you were talented in your skullduggery, but you weren’t a genius.
However, you had a plan for that.
Resisting the urge to fiddle with your collar—an accessory Avery wasn’t fond of but was now aware that it could not be removed—you saw Avery off to work with a fakely bright smile and a wave, promising sweetly that you’d see him later. You waited until his car was out of sight, giving it a few extra moments lest he turn around because he forgot something (not that he ever did, but you couldn’t risk fucking this up), before heading to the lounge. Taking a deep breath, you sat down at the piano and played a tune you had memorized, a simple five-note melody.
Moments later, a head was peeking into the lounge, although you weren’t at all startled. Long brown hair was hidden by a hooded cloak, and a brown fox mask covered the top half of his face. A part of you wondered why he had come disguised; it’s not like you didn’t know who he was. Still, one couldn’t be too careful, and you respected his need to stay undercover, which is why you didn’t greet him by name.
“Clever, playing the tune on the piano instead,” was the first thing he said as he came into the lounge from the garden. You smiled wryly.
“I can’t whistle. Not well enough to whistle a tune like that, at least.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. You ready to get started, dear?”
Standing up from the piano bench, you gave a quick nod. The two of you had hours before Avery would be back from work, but you still didn’t want to dally.
With little conversation, the two of you headed towards the study. It was locked, but the lock was nothing against your picklocking skills, and soon enough you had the door open. The Brown Fox—what he went by while he was undercover, although you knew him as (your boyfriend? situationship?) Gwylan—was amused.
“Are you sure you needed my help?”
“The safe is the issue,” you sighed, gently closing the door to the study behind you. Nobody else was in the mansion to hear the noise, but it was a habit you had acquired long before you moved in with Avery.
Knowing exactly where to go, you reached out to the bookshelf and pulled out a thick book. The pages had been cut out in the middle, so when you opened it up there was a deep pocket hiding a remote in there. You barely noticed Gwylan’s stare as you clicked a button on the remote, instead focused on the way the bookshelf opened to reveal a set of narrow, stone stairs leading into the depths of Avery’s Mansion. It was only when he didn’t move to follow you that you looked back and saw he was staring at the book, a contemplative look on his face that you didn’t see often. You placed a hand on his shoulder—it did the trick, snapping him out of whatever thoughts he was caught up in.
Gwylan gave you a short apology before descending down the staircase. You knew better than to question him on it—as much as you loved him (and really, you truly did love him even if he never said the words back to you), Gwylan was never quite forthcoming. You wouldn’t get a straight answer from him.
The stairs led to Avery’s dungeon, a place he loved to drag you to when he had a particularly frustrating day or was just pissed at you for no reason. Instruments lined the wall, from floggers to whips, and there were chains that hung down, as well as a table. Your gaze darkened, memories of being strapped down and left for hours haunting you.
You fucking hated it down here, but this was also where the safe was kept.
Gwylan’s own gaze was dark, and you followed his line of sight to the whips he was glaring at.
“Welcome to Avery’s little dungeon,” you dryly stated, breaking the silence. Your back stung just looking at the whips. Gwylan had seen the bruises during the times you had sex, but hadn’t really ever questioned them. Now, he could probably fathom a guess as to where they had come from.
Tearing your gaze from the assortment of BDSM equipment that Avery possessed, you walked over to the safe and tapped it once. “Don’t know the code, though, so I hope you came prepared.”
He did not, starting to fiddle with the keypad and punch in different combinations. The dull beeps from the safe had you restless.
“If I would have known this was the plan, I would have started whittling down combinations myself,” you sighed, crossing your arms. “Gwy, you can’t possibly—”
Beep beep.
You paused, staring at the safe incredulously as it swung open.
“. . . Are you fucking kidding me?” You couldn’t help but blurt out. Despite your mind reeling at the sheer, insane luck, you were already pulling out the wishing bones. You really didn’t see a difference as you looked back and forth between the real ones and the fake ones, although there was something about the real ones that was just off-putting. “There are ten thousand possible combinations, and you got it right in just a few minutes? How?”
Gwylan gave you a cheeky grin, his green eyes glinting underneath the mask. “I have my ways.”
Shaking your head, you stepped forward and swapped out the bones, holding the real ones towards Gwylan, but he only shook his head in return.
“They’re yours,” he insisted, closing your fingers gently around them. His hands were warm. Comforting. “You did most of the work. You hold onto them.”
You weren’t sure how you felt about holding onto them, but you had no will to argue. After a moment, you gave a small nod and pocketed the real bones before closing the safe.
Hopefully, Avery wouldn’t be able to tell the difference when the time came. The replicas were impossible to tell apart, but there was still a gnawing anxiety that something could go wrong. As if sensing this anxiety, Gwylan pet your head softly.
“Good pet. Let’s go.”
As always, his praise made you feel warm and gooey on the inside. Eager to leave this hellhole behind, you followed him out of the dungeon and the study, making sure to cover your tracks and lock the doors behind you.
Avery would never know that you were here.
“What now?” You asked as you followed Gwylan down the hall.
“Now, we wait for the tower to be completed.” He stopped outside an open door, peering in. It was Avery’s bedroom—you had tidied it up earlier. There weren’t many personal touches in the room. “You can handle yourself until then, right, dear?”
You stepped into the room, humming in agreement. “I’ve made it this far. Although I have a request.” Gwylan followed you into the room as you made your way towards the dresser, opening the bottom drawer and pulling a folder from underneath the neatly folded clothes. He tilted his head as you held it out to him.
“Would you mind holding onto this? It’s from the kids at the orphanage. If Avery finds it… I’m afraid he’ll throw it away.”
Gwylan’s expression softened as he gingerly took the folder from you. “Of course, dear.” He stared at it for a moment. “How long until he’s back?”
You blinked a couple times. Why did it matter? The heist was done. “Not until late tonight.”
His green eyes seemed to almost glow as he placed the file on top of the dresser, stepping forward until he was right in front of you. Just staring into his eyes made you feel your cheeks heat up, your body reacting instinctively to him.
“You’ve done such a good job,” he murmured, cupping his hand towards your face. You immediately rested your chin on it, and he smiled indulgently as he scratched underneath your chin. “You deserve a reward.”
Before you could respond, he pulled you into a kiss. It was slow, unhurried, but he was completely in control as he held you close, his tongue pushing into your mouth. The hand that had been near your face moved to the back of your neck, his other hand resting on your waist as he slowly maneuvered you backwards. You hadn’t even been aware you were moving, so consumed by his lips, until you felt plush bedding against the back of your thighs. Gwylan pulled back from the kiss, mere millimeters from you.
“Sit.”
Your legs buckled beneath you, the command reverberating through your being as you hastily sat on the bed. He pet your head again. “Good girl.”
He seemed to contemplate for a moment, his hand moving to rest on your cheek before he stepped back. You couldn’t help but whine at the loss of contact, but thankfully it wasn’t for long. Gwylan’s hands plucked at your shirt, pulling it from your body with ease; you never quite understood how he always managed to undress you like that, but it was really the last thing on your mind right now.
In no time at all you were naked before him. His gaze raked over you, taking in the sight before he raised his hand to your neck for a quick moment. When he pulled away his hand, there was a green leash wrapped around his hand, almost like a vine, attached to your collar.
“You haven’t forgotten who your real master is,” he purred, his gaze turning hooded. “You may serve Avery here, but he’ll never own you.”
“Gwy…” Your voice came out much needier than you meant it to, almost another whine, but you cared little about it. All you could think about was getting him inside you.
Sensing your desperation, Gwylan tugged firmly on your leash, leading you further onto the bed. You followed eagerly, crawling further onto the bed. Gwylan was close behind you, shedding his clothes with ease until he was in nothing but the fox mask he donned. You reached up to pull it off him—before your fingers could make contact, Gwylan was using one hand to grab both of yours, pulling your wrists together.
“No.” The command was simple, but you didn’t fight it, letting your hands fall instead. He smiled once more, cupping your cheek, calling you a ‘good girl’ once more in a low murmur. Releasing your wrists, his now freed hand trailed down your body to settle between your legs, running his fingers through your folds leisurely. You were already dripping wet, soaking his fingers with him barely touching you already. He let out a hum, and his smile almost seemed condescending as his gaze flitted back up towards your face.
“Do you want my touch? Do you want me to fuck you on his bed?” The way his tone was so sweet despite the debauched words had you squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to trap his hand there—to no avail. He only tsked, moving his hand to one of your thighs to keep your leg still, your juices smearing on your skin. “Beg me.”
At those last words, he tugged meaningfully at your collar. Your mouth went dry for a moment, a breathy sigh leaving your lips. “Please,” you murmured. “I don’t belong to Avery. I belong to you.”
“Good pet.” He moved his hand completely away from your thigh. “Roll over.” His other hand moved away from your cheek, allowing you the space to immediately roll onto your hands and knees, presenting your ass to him. His fingers smoothed over your head, petting you a few times before he began to push down until your face was buried into the pillows beneath you. You had a brief realization you were on Avery’s side of the bed (his pillow being much firmer than yours) before Gwylan was slowly pressing his cock into you. Then, all thoughts flew out of your mind.
Your moan was muffled as you felt his cock slowly drag through your walls. He only went halfway at first, shallowly rutting in and out of you. You tried to push back, but with one hand on the back of your head and the other curling into your hip, he was able to keep you still. Nails dug gently into your skin, but the pain only added to your arousal.
“Please..!”
It was all you could manage to get out of your mouth, but it was enough. In one sharp thrust, Gwylan fully sheathed himself inside you, both of you moaning in sync at the feeling. He stayed like that for a moment, savoring the feeling of just being inside you. Just as you were getting impatient, squirming beneath him, he began to move his hips.
There was no controlling the moans that left your mouth. Gwylan’s hand left the back of your head, instead tugging at your leash in a way that had you lifting your head back up so he could hear you better. Your moans drowned out the wet smacking noises from every thrust into you, although you wouldn’t have been able to focus on that anyways, instead solely focused on the way he seemed to hit your weak spot with every thrust. It was a miracle you didn’t collapse completely into the bed with the way your limbs felt like jelly.
Despite the volume of your moans, you could hear Gwylan perfectly as he spoke, his words coming out in soft pants as he attempted to remain composure. His voice echoed through your brain, leaving you nearly entranced.
“He could never make you feel as good as I do, pet. You’ll never belong to him, will you? You’ll only ever be mine, right?”
Perhaps there was something worrying about the possessiveness in his tone. You most certainly did not care, especially when he made you feel so good, when this felt so right. Gwylan was right. You’d only ever be his.
You could barely work your lips, but when you didn’t answer, Gwylan’s pace slowed down, tugging at your leash once more. He repeated his last question. “You’ll always be mine—right?”
“Yes,” you whimpered, forcing out the word as you pressed back into him in an attempt to get him to continue fucking you again. The slow pace was tortuous—you needed him to pound you into oblivion, to leave you unable to walk as his cum dripped out of you. Fuck, you needed him. “I’m only yours…!”
Satisfied with your answer, he resumed his pace, his movements almost feral. His nails dug into your hip harder, the pain a mere echo in the back of your mind, and with each thrust he tugged the leash back. You were completely under his control and at his mercy. You didn’t mind one bit.
“Such a good girl for me,” Gwylan leaned down to murmur in your ear, his hand finally moving from your hip to reach under you, forefinger pressing down on your clit. That pressure was all it took for your pussy to tighten around him, orgasming with a high-pitched moan. You wanted to bury your face into the pillow, but the grip on your leash made it impossible to do, allowing Gwylan to hear you.
He fucked you through your orgasm, picking up pace. It wasn’t long before it began to feel like too much; his finger rubbing slow circles on your clit, contrasting against the rough way he shoved his cock into your pussy. With your walls fluttering around him, the sensations only seemed to heighten, another orgasm already building into you, coiling tight into your abdomen. Pathetic whines left you. You attempted to move your hips to grant you a moment of relief from the onslaught of sensations, but there was no escaping Gwylan.
“One more time. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
You didn’t think you could. Each thrust, each press of his finger, sent lightning through your limbs. Your oversensitive pussy tingled with each pass of his cock through you, but you weren’t given much choice in the matter. Your body was no longer yours to control—at his command, you were orgasming again. Shudders racked your body, your hips twitching at your second orgasm, an almost pained whine leaving you.
Too much. Much too much. Gwylan wasn’t stopping, but he had at least moved his fingers away from your clit, granting you little reprieve. Both hands moved to your hips to keep you still as his pace picked up, chasing his own release as you struggled to keep up.
“Once more. Cum for me when I do.”
It was a command you were unable to resist, even though you felt spent already. Nails dug into your hips harder than before, leaving indents in your skin that would result in bruises. Each snap of his cock into you left you feeling weaker than the last, clawing at the blankets that laid underneath your hands. With Gwylan no longer tugging on your leash, your head fell back into the pillow, doing little to muffle the loud moans and whines that spilled from your lips.
He leaned forward, his chest pressing into your back, his cock pressing impossibly deeper into you. Moments later, you could feel his cock twitch inside you, filling you up. Gwylan continued to rut into you as he came, sharp teeth biting into the junction of your neck and shoulder, pressing his entire body against you. One hand rested on the bed beside your head, the other staying on your hip to keep you from squirming too much.
In response to his own release, his command reverberating throughout your mind, you came as well, just as intense as the first two orgasms as your mind went blissfully blank. Even the bite felt no pain, although it was for sure to leave a mark later that Avery would not be pleased about.
Like this, with Gwylan draped over you, his cock buried deep inside you, you felt comforted. As if everything would be alright.
Everything will be alright, a voice not quite your own reassured you, although who else’s would it be?, so long as you stay with Gwylan.
Gwylan waited a moment, making sure you were properly filled, before he finally lifted himself off you and pulled himself free. Cum dribbled down your legs and onto the bedding in small splotches, and you slowly eased your body out of the position that Gwylan had you stuck in. Your legs and pelvis felt sore, your movements slow as you tried to sit up. It was hard; you wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and take a nap.
“You’re always such a good girl for me,” Gwylan told you, petting your head once more before he extricated himself from the bed, standing up. Despite the mask covering most of his face, you were positive his cheeks were pink. Sitting, you tried to regain your bearings, your thoughts and sense of reason coming back to you in bits and pieces.
Gwylan began to dress himself, pulling clothes on with ease as you took the moment to reorient yourself. You were still naked, sitting on the bed when he finished dressing. His lips quirked upwards in amusement at your dazedness.
“C’mon, pet.” His touch was gentle as he helped you stand up. Your legs still felt like jelly, the feeling slowly coming back as you nearly wobbled for a moment. “Go bathe yourself. You did a good job today.” Once you were steady, his hands left you, only for him to reach back and scratch under your chin for a moment.
With the world around you coming back into focus, you languidly picked up your clothes, taking a glance back at the bed that you and Gwylan had made a mess of. Damn—you’d definitely have to clean that as soon as you were done bathing. Considering Avery was willing to beat you over making the wrong food for dinner, you did not want to see what would happen if he saw the bed like this, with dried cum on his side of the bed.
You swallowed, your throat feeling dry. Now lucid once more, you were aware of the skin around your mouth and chin feeling slightly dry—at some point while being fucked by Gwylan, you had begun to drool. It’d almost be embarrassing, but you were long since past the point of being embarrassed around Gwylan.
“I’ll see you later?” you didn’t mean for it to come out as a question as you looked back at Gwylan. Not a single hair or piece of cloth looked out of place, as if the two of you hadn’t just had sex. You were envious at how easily put together he always seemed. It had to be some kind of magic.
“Of course, dear. And don’t forget we have our ritual tomorrow, too.”
You nodded. Even the thought of missing your weekly rituals with Gwylan made guilt overflow through you, not that you would ever think of missing it.
Gwylan’s expression softened. He cupped your cheek once more, leaning in to place a chaste peck on your lips. “I meant it,” he murmured when he pulled back. “You did a good job today. It won’t be long until I have you out of here and back where you belong.”
With that promise and one more pat to your head, he grabbed the file that he earlier placed on the dresser (you had completely forgotten about it) and walked out of the room. You followed him into the hallway, intending to head to the bathroom—despite only being a couple steps behind him, when you stepped out into the hallway, he was already completely gone.
Another sigh left you, and you continued your course to the bathroom.
“It won’t be long until I have you out of here and back where you belong.”
Truthfully, he almost looks like he’s suppressing a giddy smile from crossing his lips, with limited success. You throws your leg over his, and he buries his face into your hair. He’s warm, threateningly so- perhaps even enough to snuff your last breath- but you can’t bring yourself to care.
(Gwylan nurses you back to health, as a snowstorm passes.)
Notes: Spoilers for Gwylan’s unimplemented romance route. PC is mentioned to have Fox TF, but it’s not the fics focus. You may interpret them however you wish.
..—•••—..
You’re not sure which deity you pissed off to end up in this predicament, but you can’t deny they’re quite original.
Snow falls like a rhythm across the sky, behind your bedroom window, making a white globe of the forest. You and Gwylan had huddled together at home for nearly a week long, terrorised by constant snowstorms and the shop’s apparent displease with the weather- and it’s displease with your pair, for not cleaning the snow off the roofs. It lashes out rather creatively- opening windows at random, hiding food in the deepest corners of the shelves and confusing you with changing hallways, until your head spun into a silk spoon.
After five days of this, you finally lost your patience and left to get the ladder, said to be guarded by the old scarecrow dummy, who’d paddle you over the head anytime you wanted to cross, only to find it had frozen over and broken into three conspicuous pieces. A scream into your hands and a trip to the town’s shop later, the shop seemed to have, at last, calmed down.
But that had apparently meant passing it’s grump onto somebody else.
Your head feels heavy and all too warm, pressed cheek to desk, writhing with another headache on the way. Your fingers absently nab at the needle in your hands, as if hoping it would spark some kind of fire back into your bones and you’d be able to lift yourself up, at least, and make it to the bed across the room.
You should have listened to Gwylan. The thought makes you sigh and you run your fingers down your neck, over the golden heart where your name is engraved. That washes away some of the heaviness in your eyes, but not enough to instill enough will back into your body.
You really should have listened to him and waited out the snowstorm, at least for another hour. But you would’ve been driven mad if you didn’t clean that goddamn roof right there and then. Perhaps another day, you could come up with a better excuse to save some grace- but today, your head is just as empty, as it is heavy.
Your mind blanks for some time, until the door to the bedroom opens, and you think you smell the fox enter. His eyes though, you can feel burn into your skull without a glance or a clear mind. It’s hardly his fault, an annoying part of you reminds your other annoying parts. You did kinda ask him to hypnotise you until he rearranged your brain, sorta.
You groan.
“Hard day?” You hear him. You manage to push your head, to meet his face. His playful smile vanishes from his lips, upon seeing your condition. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh dear, indeed,” you agree, as he comes over, lifts you up into a sitting position and presses his hand against your forehead. The contrast nearly makes you flinch. “Get your freezin’ands off me, you spark eyed-,”
“Oh shush,” he frowns, pressing his other hand against his forehead. “It’s like you’re burning. You’re hotter than an oven- don’t look at me like that,” he sighs at your smirk. His hand wraps around your waist and you lean against him as the two of you stagger to the bed. You drop like a dead weight into the soft blankets, exhaling a long breath in content.
Gwylan shuffles around for a bit, before gently helping you onto your back. He mutters something under his breath, his eyes briefly glowing green, as he drags his index across your face, from ear to ear. The same kind of ease you’ve felt from the collar come alive in you again, but maybe ten times stronger- just enough to feel your fingers and legs.
Gwylan gives you a soft look. “I’m sorry I can’t do more, love. I restored enough energy in you to make yourself comfortable, for a little bit. I’m afraid if I used any more of this, your mind would shatter under the pressure.”
He climbs off the bed, as you sit. Only as he turns around do you notice your pyjamas laid beside you, as well as a tea cup and a kettle. You only thought you had closed your eyes for a moment, but even the old grandfather clock squeezed between the wardrobe and bookshelf tells you a different story.
You slip into your nightclothes, just as Gwylan comes back around, holding a vial in each hand. You stare and watch him at work, as he pours a pretty purple liquid one into your teacup and shakes out familiar blue dust, before he dabs it under your nose and against your lips. You fix him with a look and he chuckles. “Don’t worry. It’ll only dull your senses some more, no side effects this time.”
He shuffles you into the bed and nearly feeds you the tea mouth to mouth, until you stop complaining about the taste. His fingers run over your hair, massaging your scalp as your face scrunches up and you resist the urge to spit out the drink. For a moment, you even start to see yourself from his perspective- flushed and grumbly, and very incoherent. You look more like you’re in heat, than seriously sick. Then again, you suppose that correlation isn’t so empty founded anyway.
You lay drained afterwards, despite being hydrated like some plant minutes before, and huddle under the warm blankets, as your pain and fever slowly fade into the shadows of your mind. Gwylan says something you don’t catch and gets up, turning to leave. Without much thinking, you grab his arm, drawing a yip from him, and you snag your arms around his hips and bump your head into his lower back. He looks back, a little red himself.
“Dear-,”
“Now where do you think you’re going, mister?” Even with half your strength at God’s mercy, you’re able to pull him down to you, and rest your chin against his shoulder. You blow a breath into the crook of his neck and feel him shiver. “Gonna sleep in the pet bed? How far we’ve fallen…”
“We have guest rooms, if you’ve forgotten,” he huffs, going beetroot. “And you shouldn’t be moving around so much. I put enough in that drink to paralyse an elephant.”
“Elephants got nothing’ on me, unfortunately,” you nuzzle into his neck. “Come now. I won’t bite.”
He sighs, but doesn’t seem so displeased, once he crawls under the bedsheets with you. Truthfully, he almost looks like he’s suppressing a giddy smile from crossing his lips, with limited success. You throws your leg over his, and he buries his face into your hair. He’s warm, threateningly so- perhaps even enough to snuff your last breath- but you can’t bring yourself to care.
However long after, he leans back a little, and flicks you on the nose. “Naughty kit,” he grumbles, before he’s all in your space again. He steals a kiss that nearly drives you over the edge, but draws away just in time. He almost looks upset with you. “Spreading your corruption like that. Whatever shall I do with you?”
“Continue to love me, I’d think,” you tease, before you’re sent into a laughing fit, as he covers your hot face with just as warm, ticklish kisses.
You knew the risks of taking on a dangerous job that required you to infiltrate Avery’s mansion to stop the cult from doing a forbidden rite. You knew the dangers that came along with acting the part of a pretty pet for somebody clearly unhinged and deranged.
You knew all of this—but knowing and experiencing are two different things.
It had taken weeks to get to this point. Playing the part of Avery’s brainless little girlfriend/sugar baby/pet had been annoying, but necessary. Landry had said the vault was somewhere in his house, housing the wishing bones—bones you were meant to replace. While you weren’t too sure of the full repercussions of letting Avery and Remy and them carry out their weird little ritual with the real wishing bones, Landry and her associate, the Brown Fox, had made it sound bad.
That was all you needed to know, really. Not that you’d claim that you were a do-gooder by any means, you had broken your fair share of laws just to earn some cash, but there was a limit to what you could ignore. This cult stuff was way above your paygrade, but you knew about Remy’s side business, and you had seen just how far Avery was willing to go for power.
Both of them deserved to be knocked down a few pegs.
Landry had made sure you knew it was dangerous to move in with Avery. The Brown Fox warned you that if you pissed off Avery enough, he might slip up and reveal the location of the vault.
You went into this knowing damn well the dangers, but it still couldn’t have prepared you for this.
Everything hurt.
Perhaps you had gone too far in pissing Avery off, but that should have never warranted the abuse you received. You figured he’d be mildly pissed coming home to an unclean house; perhaps he had just had a bad day.
You never would have thought he’d have actually beaten your ass for it.
And it didn’t just end there. Only when you were curled up on the ground, metallic taste in your mouth from biting through your lip, did he relent. He relented, only to pull you up to your feet and drag you to his study, announcing he wanted to show you something as your punishment.
You should have known there was a secret room. You sort of figured, having scoured his mansion day after day with no vault in sight, but you wouldn’t have guessed for him to have a literal dungeon.
At the very end of the dungeon, inlaid into the wall, was a large vault. The very one you had been looking for. Its very presence mocked you, so close yet so far, as Avery shoved you against a wall only to chain you there. Your clothes hung in tatters, his words going in one ear and out the other as he grabbed a whip.
Punishment, he said. In all of the scrapes you had gotten into in the past, for all the shit you had gone through, you don’t think you had ever been treated like this—and that was saying something. Your pain tolerance was high, but even that only went so far as he whipped you, ignoring your cries of pain before he finally left the dungeon, leaving you there to hang, your body sore and burning in pain.
You weren’t sure how long you had hung there. Briefly, you had debated escaping; the shackles around your wrists were loose and could easily be maneuvered out of, but you didn’t trust yourself to leave fast enough with the amount of pain that coursed through your body. Your gaze kept flickering to the safe, recognizing how close you had come to your goal.
Would there have been a better way to discover the safe that didn’t involve any sort of pain like what you had endured?
Eventually, Avery came back. He seemed calmer, unlocking your bindings and helping you up the stairs. He said nothing to you, leaving you in the hallway as he headed to the lounge, probably to pour himself a drink. He probably expected you to follow him. Like hell you’d do that.
You needed to get out of here.
Despite the sorry state your attire was, you left the mansion, not even bothering to change. You needed to get to Landry and the Brown Fox at the pub, needed to tell them the vault’s location—but you couldn’t go like this.
You couldn’t let them see you in your moment of weakness.
For a moment, you considered going back to the orphanage. It was only a street over, but the thought of Robin seeing you like this made your heart ache. Robin, who was too sweet and kind to know what horrors you were going through. You couldn’t worry her like that.
Alex’s farm was too far—you also didn’t trust her to not retaliate against Avery.
Before you could think too much on it, your feet began to carry you towards the forest, shambling down the street and through the treeline. It was a slow process; every part of your body ached and screamed for reprieve, but if you stopped now you’d collapse into the street, and that was the worst option by far. With the sun already long gone, who knew what would happen to a vulnerable girl on the street at night. Especially in this town.
So, you forced yourself forward.
Eventually, a familiar shop came into vision, towering above the trees. Its presence comforted you, and you didn’t think twice about entering. The comforting scent of fresh rain and cedar greeted you, the atmosphere warmer both physically and mentally. Just being here was like a balm to your frenzied mind.
“Ah, if it isn’t…” The very person you had been seeking had turned the corner. He originally brightened upon seeing you, only for his eyes to widen as he fully took in the sight of you. You hadn’t the opportunity to see just how bad you looked, but if it was like anything you felt…
He called out your name, just as your limbs finally gave in. He was in front of you in a flash, catching you before you could hit the ground.
“What happened?” His voice trembled, his grip too tight and yet comforting all the same. It was nothing like Avery’s grip around your neck had been.
“Gwylan…” you murmured his name, burying your face into his chest. The smell of petrichor was stronger, the familiar scent of him helping calm your beating heart.
You had wanted to remain strong. Had wanted to keep up the unbothered, nonchalant front whenever you told Gwylan one of your many misadventures that would have left somebody of weaker will broken.
But you couldn’t.
The crying started quietly at first, tears dampening his tunic as you clung onto him. They then evolved into sobs that wracked your body, and Gwylan’s grip on you only tightened, holding you even closer. One of his hands entangled into your hair, petting your head in an attempt to comfort you.
Time blurred together. You cried until your voice was hoarse, until fatigue seeped through your bones.
“Come on. Your wounds need to be treated.”
He didn’t press for details as he helped you to a stand. When you wobbled, he gently wrapped your arm around his shoulders, and together the two of you hobbled towards his garden, one that was off limits to everybody else. Even you rarely found yourself in here, unless you were helping Gwylan with a ritual or asking for help to sleep better and deal with your nightmares.
His movements were gentle as he sat you down, but quick all the same. He wasted no time in filling the wooden tub nearby with steaming hot water, quickly heading back to you.
“I’m going to undress you, dear.”
His tone was soft, soothing, treating you as if you were an injured animal that might lash out. Perhaps it wasn’t far from the truth. You didn’t fight, though, as he stripped your clothes from you.
Gwylan had seen you naked plenty of times before, but something about this time left you feeling vulnerable, almost nervous. Perhaps it was the extent of your wounds, bright red lines decorating your torso from the whip. There was dried blood in some sections from where Avery had whipped too hard; he really hadn’t pulled any punches with his ‘punishment’.
Green eyes darkened as he dipped a washcloth into the tub, only to gently blot at your torso. A pained hiss left you, your skin stinging anew, and he quickly withdrew his hand with a hurried apology.
“It’ll be okay.”
He reached forward again with the hand not clutching the cloth, tracing faint shapes over your abdomen and murmuring something in a language you couldn’t parse. The pain seeped out of your limbs with every trace, the sting morphing into a dull ache as you relaxed slightly. Gwylan took this as a sign to try again, and when he next pressed the washcloth to your skin, it didn’t hurt as bad.
You remained quiet as Gwylan cleaned you up. When he finished with your torso, he guided you to the tub and helped you in, washing your hair and the rest of your body. He didn’t try to speak either, instead humming a familiar tune that only further eased your nerves.
The entire time he treated you with care. He cleaned you up, treated your wounds with an efficiency that told you he had done it a hundred times, and soon you were wrapped in bandages and wrapped in towels.
“How bad is it?” you asked quietly as he towel-dried your hair. His hands paused, deliberating how honest he wanted to be with you.
“. . . It’s bad,” he settled on being honest. “I tried my best, but some of those bruises…” His voice trembled again with an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Dear… what happened?”
You hesitated. Nobody other than Landry and the Brown Fox knew what you were up to—and while you fully trusted Gwylan, you weren’t sure this was something you wanted to drag him into. You had just gained the Brown Fox’s trust; you felt like blabbering about your mission to somebody else might shatter that trust.
Gwylan would know if you lied, though. He had a habit of dragging the truth out of you, even when you didn’t want to tell him anything. There was just something so compelling about him that made your mind blank at times.
“I…” Your mouth went dry. Shady business aside, you weren’t sure you wanted to recount the events of tonight. Not now. You were afraid that if you did, you’d break out in tears again, and crying once in front of Gwylan was bad enough. “I wasn’t careful enough.” You spoke slowly, carefully, monitoring what you said in case you slipped up.
Gwylan didn’t press you for details. He continued to towel dry your hair slowly, giving you the time to gather your thoughts and calculate your words as if the two of you had all the time in the world.
“I’m… working on a mission. To stop somebody bad from doing something even worse. It’s why I haven’t been around as much. This person, though… I guess I underestimated him.” Your voice grew bitter at the end. Underestimated Avery indeed—certainly not a mistake you’d ever make again.
What made it all worse was that you would have to go back. The wishing bones had not yet been swapped out, and you were determined to see this through to the end. You were never one to renege on your word.
“Is it worth it?” Gwylan asked quietly. There was a knowing tone in his voice; there was no way he could have known exactly what you were up to, but then again, Gwylan always seemed to know more than he ever let on. You don’t think you’d be too surprised if he already was aware of what you were up to.
His question was enough to make you think. Was it worth it? Neither Landry nor the Brown Fox had been forthcoming about what you were putting a stop to. You had no clue what this ‘ritual’ entailed, had no clue what to expect when Avery’s tower was finished or what would happen afterwards. You were left in the dark, blindly carrying out the Brown Fox’s requests without complaint.
Was this all worth it?
But then, you reminded yourself of what you knew about Avery, and Remy, and even Harper. You may have not known what they were up to, but you knew them well enough to know it wasn’t anything good. Whatever it was they were planning, it would only spell trouble.
Maybe you were trying to repent for your own sins. You weren’t an angel by any means. You had done plenty of things you weren’t proud of—stopping those three and the others was something you could be proud of.
“I don’t know,” you admitted in a small voice, slumping slightly. “But I have to see this through. It’s much bigger than just me.”
Gwylan pulled away from you, circling around so he was standing in front of you. He knelt down, reaching out and gently cupping your face with one hand. Where he cupped felt swollen, but it didn’t hurt as much as he ran his thumb over your cheekbone. His eyes took in your appearance. Even cleaned up, you knew you were a sight for sore eyes, the dull throbbing in your cheek and neck and the rest of your body reminding you of what happened earlier in the night.
“You’re strong,” he murmured. His expression was downcast. “But you’re not invincible.” You knew that. More than anybody were you aware of your own mortality.
“I know.” You sighed, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes for a moment, just focusing on his warmth. “But as I said, this is much bigger than me. If I don’t do this… how many others could get hurt?”
His hand stayed there a few moments more before he pulled away. His lips parted for a moment, before closing, wanting to say something yet not knowing what to say. When he remained silent, you reached out and gently grabbed his hand, squeezing it in reassurance.
“Thank you.” Your voice was a low murmur, the words almost sticking in your throat from how grateful you really felt. “I promise… I’ll make it out of this.”
“You always do.” His response was automatic, but his smile was sad as he squeezed your hand back before pulling away. “Let’s grab you some fresh clothing.”
Neither of you spoke anymore on the matter as Gwylan threw away your tattered clothes, supplying you with fresh clothes from the shop. When you tried to pay, he only shook his head, patting you on the head instead.
It was in the dressing room as you pulled the clothing on that you saw how bad you truly looked. Your cheek bone was swollen and bruised; if he hit any higher, you would have had a black eye. The lower right side of your lip was busted with a small cut, and purple tinged your neck in the shape of fingers. Your torso was mostly hidden from view, expertly bandaged up. It was probably for the best—you didn’t want to see how bad it looked right now.
You… were going to kill Avery.
Truly, you wished for nothing more than his death.
More put together, now, you stepped out of the changing room and forced another smile on your face. It was tight, not reaching your eyes, but Gwylan didn’t comment on it.
“Thank you. Truly.” You couldn’t help but thank him again, and he stepped forward to cup your cheek once more.
“Be safe, dear.” His voice was almost gloomy as he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead.
It wasn’t something you could promise. Not in your current condition, not with how things were, but you would certainly try.
Giving a short nod of acknowledgement at his words, you began to leave. You wanted nothing more than to stay in his shop. Perhaps even ask if you could sleep here for the night; Gwylan might even agree.
But there was no rest for the wicked. With the vault’s location revealed, you needed to go tell Landry and the Brown Fox immediately so you could plan the next move. After that… Well, you’d have to go back to Avery’s and continue playing the part of his doll without resorting to murdering him in his sleep.
Gwylan was right. You were strong. You’d make it through this. You always did.
“I’ll see you soon.”
With that promise, you left his shop. Your body ached all over, but with a newfound determination, you began your walk to the pub.
You’d see this through to the very end. If not for yourself, then for Gwylan and everybody else you cared about.
despite your knowledge on how transformations come to be, it never crossed your mind that one could occur because of gwylan. needless to say, this only brings you closer to him
m!gwylan x gn fox tf!reader | mdni, 4.1k wc, penetration, unprotected sex, breeding kink, knotting, fluff, not beta read
note: i need that gwydick inside me
masterlist read on ao3
Three weeks and two days. Gwylan has gone three weeks, two days, and fifteen hours without seeing you—and no, it isn’t because of his avoidance of intimacy, surprisingly. Those days are somewhat behind him now that you’ve torn down all his walls with your infuriating (endearing) persistence.
This is simply too cruel of you. You’re more addicting to him than the sweet nectar of the plant people he tends to, how can you so abruptly pull away after giving him a taste of everything he’s been yearning for? There’s a never–ending anxiety in his mind whispering into his ears at all times telling him that you’ve left him for good. The only solace he has is the knowledge that your life is full of chaos. You’ve gotten wrapped up in life many times, but you’ve always returned and told him all your stories.
To your credit, the first week of your disappearance wasn’t your fault at all, but the fault of a hysterical Kylar prodding at your recent changes.
Yes, recent changes. Because why in the world have you suddenly grown a soft tail and pair of ears resembling that of a fox? You know that Gwylan also has these traits, but it never occurred to you that they could spread to you. Does he also have some kind of magical property in his cum like the rest of the wildlife in the forest? How ridiculous!
Being away from him for so long feels like torture. Home is wherever he is; you have a bad case of homesickness. There’s a Gwylan–shaped hole in your heart that you’re eager to fill now that you’re free.
Distance makes the heart grow fonder, the forest is even more beautiful than you remember. Flowers always beg for an admirer, and the birds for a listener. You’re more than happy to fulfill their wishes as you make your way home.
After twirling a flower in your hand and whispering an apology for pulling it from the Earth, you start plucking each petal.
“He loves me.”
Pluck. Images of the first kiss he has ever initiated with you drift to your mind.
“He loves me not.”
Pluck. What about the time you asked him to say I love you back and he responded with: I’ve lied to you enough?
“He loves me.”
Pluck. Your collar feels warm—the same one he crafted specifically for you, the same one that keeps you safe from some of the advances of others.
“He loves me not.”
Pluck. Well. Is there any reason to doubt his love for you other than the fact he can’t directly say it to you?
“He loves me.”
You pluck the final petal off as you arrive. It’s a childish and inaccurate way to get an answer, but the result fills you with happiness regardless.
The shop’s wooden door opens on its own with a loud creak as a way of eagerly greeting you. With all the clattering noises coming from inside, you get the impression that furniture is being scrambled around. A sweet smell drifts over to you the second you step in, one so thick it feels like it’s enveloping you whole and sweeping you off your feet. You stand there in a daze, heart thumping wildly beneath your ribcage.
When you come back to reality, you’re on your back with a familiar figure hovering over you. It’s none other than your—
Master!
“There you are.” His cheeks are flushed, he’s barely managing to restrain himself from putting you into a mating press right then and there. “Where have you been, dear? I’ve been waiting for you, the shop’s been so lonely without your sweet stories.”
Your insides are burning with a flame that can only be put out by him. Being around him has always made you feel dizzy, but it’s never been this strong before without the help of the hallucinogens he uses during his rituals. “Gwylan, I—”
“I know.”
“But how?”
“You smell different. In the past, you’ve entered my shop sharing the traits of wolves, cats, birds, cows, and yet…I think this is my favorite. Don’t be shy, show yourself to me.”
Resisting him is no easy feat now that you’re this lost in him. Your ears and tail immediately appear out of thin air.
His legs kick behind him, he’s clearly giddy. “So, how did this happen?”
“From having so much sex with you! How else could it have happened?”
“Ah.” Gwylan isn’t surprised in the slightest, and he doesn’t have an ounce of shame either. “Seems my pet has a bit of an attitude today. I’m the one who should be irritated, you owe me an explanation for disappearing on me.”
“Did you miss me?”
He stares back at you in unsettling silence. There’s no shift in his eyes—not one of surprise or agreement—and it makes your heart drop to your stomach. There have been so many conversations between the two of you where he reminds you that what he has for you isn’t love, and that you’re not the first to harbor his affections. If he can’t say I love you to you, he can at the very least say that he missed you.
As he continues to say nothing, you look away in shame. Trying to put on a poker face is futile when your ears give you away by turning downcast.
Gwylan, on the other hand, is completely exasperated. Did he miss you? What kind of a question is that? Did he not just pounce on you? Do you need everything to be said to you? He holds you so dearly to his heart that it would crumble if you didn’t come visit from time to time. In the grand scheme of things, after all the loss in his previous lifetimes, three weeks is basically nothing. He can bear the pain but is by no means unaffected by it.
Before you can tell him to forget it, he leans in and captures your lips into a kiss that soothes the sting of rejection you had felt just now. White roses fill your vision, the brightness of them make your descent into an abyss of questions feel like a heavenly experience. It isn’t until he pulls away that you feel the need to breathe.
He averts his gaze away from you as rosiness blossoms over his cheeks. “I missed you, of course I missed you. Didn’t I once tell you that I’d miss you if you were to stop coming around? So, don’t ever be late again.”
I missed you so much that the entire world seemed just as tainted as it was before I started cleansing it. I missed you so much that the shop covered the windows to stop me from looking out to check if you were coming. I missed you so much that it felt like I was drowning underneath the strongest of currents all alone.
Gwylan, of course, leaves this all unsaid. He tries so hard to act stern even though he wants nothing but to coddle you. “Now, explain.”
“The day I woke up looking like this, the first thing I tried to do was come home—I mean, to the shop. I unexpectedly ran into Kylar, or I guess that’s not unexpected because hello? It’s Kylar. Anyway, things escalated and I found myself under his basement again.”
Gwylan casts you an unimpressed glance but lets you continue.
“I think he was already prepared for me trying to escape after last time, so it was even harder this time and it took me longer. When I finally managed to get out, I hurried back to the orphanage and of course Bailey just had to be in the hallway at that time collecting everyone’s rent. I barely had enough money, and then I had to work as much as I could to make it all back and it…took a lot of time.”
“You’re forgiven, but you need to make it up to me.”
“Okay!”
At this, he finally breaks and giggles. “You’re not even going to ask what? Keep being so obedient and I’ll consider bringing your pet bed back out.”
“You took it away?” Hearing that upsets you, it’s the only bed you’ve ever felt safe sleeping on.
He chooses not to explain why, instead appeasing you by petting your head. You melt under his palm, whining blissfully as his attention turns towards your ears. The sound of calm ocean waves and some distant whispers are all you hear for an unknown amount of time.
Something pulls on your collar.
You’re completely naked in the garden, just like Gwylan (except for the large hat atop his head, like usual). A thin string of green light connects your collar to his index finger.
“Oh good, you’re back! Sit.”
You drop to your knees on the comfortable blankets. From this angle, you get a closer look at his erection. You’ve seen him naked so many times, but it never makes it any easier to not get hot and bothered. It’s not like he isn’t aware of his effect on you, given the seductive smile on his face.
Gwylan hums, satisfied. He rubs underneath your chin to give you a small treat before carrying on. “Good kit. Now, turn around. On your hands and knees.”
Your tail wags as you follow his instructions. You feel him get behind you and prep you with lube.
His quiet panting easily reaches your ears. As much as you hated being away from him, the knowledge that you’re able to make him so sexually pent-up that he sounds like this while simply touching you is exciting.
“I’d usually play with you some more but…forgive me, I don’t have much patience right now.”
Slowness and gentleness are a forgotten concept when lust goes unattended for too long, even more so when mating is part of your instincts.
You feel his fingers quickly draw something on your lower back, and the next second, he’s buried inside you. You’re just grateful there isn’t a headboard in front of you or you’d be at the risk of a concussion from the pace of his thrusts.
This is hardly the time to be as equally amused as you are aroused, but you can’t help it. You might as well speak your mind before all coherent thought slips from it. “Someone was pent-up.”
You can’t see it, but his tail beats in irritation. “This is your fault, dear. You…drive me mad.”
This is the same person who looked entirely unaffected the first time he had sex with you—stoic and calculated like it was purely for the sake of the ritual. Oh, how times change.
“It must’ve…ah!” It seems like he’s thrusting harder just for the sake of shutting you up, but it doesn’t work. “It must’ve been so hard without me.”
“Stop it.”
“Did you use the fox plushie I bought you to get off?”
His breath hitches and he immediately leans down to bite your neck, right beneath your collar. It always hurts when you don’t have a transformation, but at the moment, it feels like nothing more than a mark of love.
You try to apologize, but nothing comes out. It feels like trying to speak under water, just bubbles come out. In this case, the bubbles are moans and whines.
“Don’t be surprised, you were being rude. Consider it a time-out.”
It isn’t easy to make Gwylan lose himself during sex. Before he met you, he had held countless rituals on his own—and even then, the most he would do is let out a pleased sigh and feel his face flush during his act. Intimacy with you is an entirely different world altogether, a dream he painted as a nightmare for ages in order to make it seem unappealing. But with you, he has no control over his whines and yips that fill the forest.
He’s as passionate about you as an artist is with their creative outlet. His hands itch to be on you at all times, just like a musician with their instrument. He has every detail of your body committed to memory, just like a sculptor with their finished work.
You feel his desperation all over you. His hands are electrifying and practiced as they caress your body, the tips of his fingers dedicate more time to the places you have any kind of marks or scars.
You’re close already, it’s impossible to hold out when you’re with Gwylan.
But he always uses his knowledge of your reactions to his advantage. He comes to a stop immediately. “Not yet.”
He always does this, and yet it feels like a surprise every single time. No matter how much effort you put into trying to move your body back against him, it won’t budge. You look back at him, eyebrows knitting with frustration.
“Aww, that’s a mean glare you’re giving me! Where does my pet want it?” He places his hand on the curve of your ass. “Here?”
Mind melting with want, you quickly shake your head. There’s no other option but for him to come deep inside you, you won’t settle for anything less.
“Mm, here?” He leans down to tap on your lips.
You instinctively take his fingers into your mouth and briefly suck on them. Regardless, you shake your head again. “Mm–mm.”
“Really? What a shame, you’re awfully skilled with your tongue. What about…on your chest?”
“Ah…” Your nipples harden under his touch, pert and attentive to each swipe and tug. Another shake of head.
His palm slides down to your stomach and slowly makes its way to your pelvis. Your tail starts wagging immediately.
He whispers into your ear. “Do you want me to breed you?”
Just the thought makes your vision all starry. He once told you that foxes mate for life and now you understand. No one else will ever come close to eliciting the same thrill that he does. You want to take everything he has to give and be bound to him in every way possible. You want it so bad that you’d feel heartbroken if he denied you of it.
Just how long have you been nodding for that it has Gwylan giggling in between heavy breaths?
“Someone’s eager—I like it. Beg for it.”
The word please is replaced by a drawn-out whine.
“G-Good kit. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re full of my litter by the end of this.”
He resumes his pace and kisses you. The closeness is still so utterly terrifying to him—it feels so good, too good. If he lets himself be swept away by the feeling of your lips, he won’t be able to withstand all the emotions that come with it. He worked so hard to shield his heart with stone walls just for it to crumble so easily.
Each round reminds him of all the other ways he has had you in the past.
One. His head dipped between your thighs, the tug of his hand on your leash to keep your eyes on his. Tongue swiping all the way up so he can press gentle kisses on the most sensitive part of all. A deep flush spreading over his cheeks when you run your hands through his hair and pet his ears.
Two. The times during rituals where you’ve managed to overpower him both physically and mentally. Gwylan always has so much to say, but all that leaves his mouth when he’s on his back are yips and breathless demands for you to go faster. He submits oh so easily, turning into putty in your hands and quivering with pleasure.
Three. Pinning you down in the deeper parts of the forest after a fun chase. Pawing at your clothes and rutting against you like he can’t help himself, like he’ll die if he isn’t able to take you on the spot.
Four. Softly moaning each time his tip hits the back of your throat. He doesn’t stop stroking your head for even a second—how can he when you’re being such a good pet for your master?
“One more.”
Somewhere between the rounds, your ability to speak came back to you. Not that it was of much use, though.
“I can’t…” You weakly shake your head, on the verge of tears from the constant waves of pleasure. He has coaxed you through so many orgasms that all your limbs feel sluggish. “I really can’t anymore.”
Noticing that your arms are about to give out on you, he tugs on your leash to bring you up so he’s chest-to-back with you.
“Nonsense.” He flutters kisses all over the nape of your neck. “You’re strong, I know you are. Be good and give me one more.”
“But—ah!”
Your back arches as he resumes his pace. If it weren’t for his arm around your torso and his pull on your leash, you’d be face-down on the ground right now. You’re so full that some of his cum leaks out with each thrust, it makes you wonder how he has more left.
Reaching to hold onto his forearm, your nails dig into his skin just the way he likes it. “Gwylan…”
“There you go, let it out for me.”
There’s nothing you love more than listening to him. You let yourself sink into the ocean with him one final time—there are no thoughts of rising for breath or reaching the shore.
His lips are against yours and you taste salt. Are those his tears or yours? He brings you back down towards the ground. Your insides feel warm with each rope of cum he spills, but there’s something missing.
It isn’t until you regain your bearings that your bleary eyes suddenly widen and you frantically try to move away from him when you feel something else trying to force its way in. “W-Wait—”
It’s no use. Grabbing your hips, he holds you still and presses deeper until his knot is fully inside.
There’s the missing puzzle piece.
You let out a single cry, thighs still quivering from the orgasm you haven’t recovered from. Your head drops down onto your folded arms.
Panic washes over him at your abrupt silence. He made sure this wouldn’t be painful for you by drawing a shape on your back beforehand like he does every time he penetrates you. Or did he simply imagine himself doing so?
“Oh dear…does it hurt?”
“No.” You murmur shakily, sounding like you’re about to start sobbing any second now. Your tail swishes. This feels natural, things were always supposed to be like this. “I like it. I really like it. I just don’t understand how it happened.”
He came inside you multiple times, after all. How come this didn’t occur during all the other rounds?
“Don’t think too hard about it.”
There’s a lot about Gwylan that you don’t completely understand. “I’ve had one of your tentacles inside me before.”
His face reddens. “…Was there a point in you saying that? How do I get out of you?”
In spite of his complaint just now, he starts gently grinding against you, ears twitching as they pick up on your faint whimpers. Leaning down, he fishes one of your hands out and slots his fingers between yours.
“Are you in control of this? The…knot, I mean.”
“I try my best to hold back. Being with you again felt really good, though. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Don’t hold back anymore.”
He nuzzles against your shoulder. “I won’t.”
When his knot deflates and he pulls out, you turn over to face him, pulling him into a deep kiss that he immediately reciprocates. It doesn’t last very long, though—kisses never do with him, but you always cherish what you can get from him.
“Am I officially forgiven?”
“Of course, dear. You did so well!” He pats your head and helps you get up. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”
In the bath, you sit on Gwylan’s lap and cling onto him as he gently scrubs your body all over. You feel so safe in his presence that it’s hard to not doze off on the spot.
“I’m so happy.” The apples of your cheeks hurt from smiling.
“And why is that?”
“I already felt really close to you before so I didn’t think it was possible, but I feel even closer to you now. All the transformations I’ve had in the past were helpful in some ways, but the attention they brought was enough for me to always hide them. With this one, though…well, isn’t it all the better to love you with? I won’t hide it from now on.”
He blinks his tears away as soon as they start gathering in his eyes and pulls you into a tight hug. He truly doesn’t understand how a heart as kind as yours was drawn to him, he doesn’t feel worthy of it.
There’s so much he wants to say to you, so much he has to confess about his feelings towards you. He isn’t quite there yet, but he trusts you’ll be patient with him. “You have a beautiful way of thinking, dear. Never change. I can’t imagine not having you by my side.”
His words echo in your head like a catchy melody. Driven by instinct, you start lapping at his fox ears to groom him, content that his hat isn’t in the way now.
He’s completely flustered by the unexpected move and tries to shy away from it, though he knows he won’t have the heart to do so in the future—being groomed by his partner is a dream come true. “Stop that, I already cleaned them. Turn around and let me wash your tail.”
“Fine, fine…” You do as you’re told and face the other way.
He stares at the back of your head for a moment and gets even more emotional, just like a dog owner does when seeing the back of their dog’s head.
“You did a good job brushing your tail, I don’t feel any matted areas. What kind of shampoo have you been using on it?”
“Just the regular human kind. I figured you’d know more about how to care for it and I didn’t want to risk wasting any money since I was hiding my tail most of the time.”
“The shampoos and conditioners at the pet shop work well enough. Some brands are better than others, though. I can write you a list of them later along with which brushes to get. If you’re aiming for a sleeker look, though, you can always come to me. I’ve been working on making my own shampoos and oils over the years, I’d be more than happy to share them with you and teach you the recipes.”
A loud moan suddenly escapes you when he presses his fingers above the base of your tail.
“Sorry.”
He doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest.
“All done. You can turn around again, I want to get a proper look at you.”
It takes you a second to focus again, but you eventually turn back around.
His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. Once you obediently open your mouth for him, he prods at your sharp fangs. “I kept feeling them during our kisses and I…really liked it.”
His inspection continues until he’s finally satisfied, he stabilizes his breathing.
Worried, you ask, “what if I accidentally hurt you with them, though? Like when I’m—you know, when I’m…down there.”
“Silly pet, a little pain is nothing to me. And with enough practice, it won’t be an issue. You’re sweet for thinking of me, though.”
His gaze then goes to your ears.
He quietly whistles and watches them immediately perk up. When he speaks, it’s in an indecipherable language to you. Your ears remain facing forward, but they twitch a little and your head tilts to the side.
The more he stares at you, the faster your tail starts wagging, making the water slosh behind you.
“Now you’re just playing with me.” You grumble.
“You’re so cute, dear!” He pinches your cheek for a moment before bringing you in close, rubbing the side of his face against yours. “And very…very alluring.”
Even when he lets go, you lean back in, resting your head nice and snug atop his shoulder. Somehow, you feel ten times clingier than you were before.
He happily encourages your behavior, stroking your head and humming a tune to lull you to sleep. For a moment, the forest seems livelier—like it’s celebrating the sight of him with his cherished companion. The trees have witnessed all of his solitude-filled years, after all.
Forever may not be promised, but he truly has the greatest treasure in the world: you.
a/n. based off of this mutual’s art (please check them out! (@applepuppy77)). sorry if there are mechanical inconsistencies, this is out of my profession. i’ve only tinkered with my pc before
“Caleb, are you sure you don’t want a break… you’re panting a lot…”
There’s a strained smile on Caleb’s face, thick eyebrows furrowed as beads of sweat line his forehead and drip down his cheeks.
“…Caleb?”
“Hah… I’m fine, pips. Keep going.” The quiet whirl of the mechanical parts that make up his abdomen fills the silence, mingling with Caleb’s uneven breaths.
“I’m nervous, you have to tell me when it hurts, okay?” You bite your lip, picking up the circuit board with care. “You know I’ve only worked on your arm before… what if I mess up?”
“You’ll be okay,” Caleb assures you, lashes fanning his cheeks. His eyes are hazy, half focused on his open stomach, and half focused on you. “I’ll guide you if you need help. Just… trust your instincts and remember the techniques from when you helped me with my arm.”
You shuffle to make yourself comfortable in his lap once more, trying to ease the stiffness in your body. “Okay. I’m going to install the piece now. Ready?”
“Ready.”
With slow movements, you carefully insert the mechanism until you hear a click, narrating as you go. “It’s in. I need to make sure it’s stable though, tell me to stop if it hurts or feels weird.”
Fighting to keep still Caleb leans forwards, smile wavering. “Tighten the south bolt tighter than the others. There should be a red mark on it. It loosens too easily.”
The system is glaringly more complex than his arm, multi-coloured wires threading around the main central core in the middle. You let your eyes trail down towards the bolt he mentioned, nodding.
“Mkay. Tightening it now.” Taking a deep breath to stop your hand from shaking, you take the small wrench and lean in, a tight furrow between your brows.
The second you touch the metal connecting his main system to the circuit, Caleb jerks forward, a breathy gasp escaping his lips. His hand curls around the lower half of his face, muffling his sounds as he flushes red of either embarrassment or arousal.
“Hah… pips. Slow…haaah… down, fuck.” He curses when you tighten the bolt while he’s somewhat distracted, his head jerking back and ramming into the wall behind him.
“It’s done…! Did it hurt? Sorry, I thought it might be better if I was slightly quicker.”
“No, it was only a pinch.” Caleb’s cheeks burn a brighter red and his eyes have yet to clear, still glazed over. They dart away from yours when they make contact. “Mind helping me close up?”
“Mhm,” you say absentmindedly, mind wandering elsewhere. “Masochist.”
“I…aha, wha—?”
Your fingers inch forward again to trail down the stabilizing rod, letting your fingertips trace each ridge and texture. The whirling of the fan gets louder as he overheats, his eyes widening at the betrayal.
After a moment Caleb’s eyes drift shut, shuddering as his hand reaches out to grasp your wrist, though not stopping you.
“You’re not going to stop me?”
“You know I won’t. You can do whatever you want to me, I’d take it all.”
He lets your curious fingers wander, body tightening beneath you when your touch reaches the newly installed component, vibration humming through the metal.
“Ah—”
The sound escapes him before he can stop it, eyelids fluttering shut.
“Sensitive?”
“No,” he says quickly. You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe a little,” he admits.
“A little… hm?”
Caleb’s throat bobs as he subconsciously spreads his thighs apart below you. Your fingers brush a bundle of colored wiring near his core, and he jolts. The reaction is immediate, and the lights beneath his synthetic organs flicker erratically.
“Wow,” you whisper before you can help it.
“Hah, don’t...” His voice comes out wrecked, breathless around the edges. “You’re making it worse.”
“Worse?” you echo, as your thumb strokes carefully along one of the wires. A shudder tears through him.
“Fuck.” The mechanical whir deepens in pitch, and his hold on your wrist tightens.
“Caleb?”
“That’s… that’s enough,” he pants, voice strained.
“Painful?” You pull away, watching him carefully.
“Something like that.” He motions for you to close up his abdomen, sighing in relief when he’s finally protected from all your teasing. Caleb’s arms loop around your waist as if he doesn’t want you to move away yet, holding you tightly against his chest. “Thank you, pipsqueak.”
You lean into him, humming in response. “You know I could have turned you off?”
“If it’s you touching me, I want to experience all of it,” he murmurs, nose brushing your shoulder. “Help me next week?”
hi!!! i'd love to rq some headcanons for DKill if that's cool! maybe just some general dating hcs for the three boys (if you do multiple!)? you can do a mix of regular and yan if you'd like! ((i'm so happy to see activity for killmulator on here THANK YOUUUU!!!))
hiiii! I went ahead and did hcs for all the boys (and a polyamory option)! i totally wish there was more killmulator activity on tumblr too 😭😭😭 i just love all of them so much, i’ve played all their routes by now <3 regular hcs are in black/white (depending if you’re on light or dark mode) and more yan hcs are in red! im soo tired and didn't proofread so pls ignore mistakes :)
Abel <3
This man is the sappiest and corniest dude alive. He canonically has you saved as “Future Wife” on his phone… You’re literally his emergency contact
He sings to you all the time, like he literally never shuts up. Especially love songs or the most annoying meme songs ever. During special occasions like Valentine’s, anniversaries, or your birthday, he makes sure to write or learn a special song just for you and plays the whole thing himself, instruments and all (because he can canonically play instruments!)
He adores cooking… it’s his love language. You get into an argument with him? You’re coming home to a feast.
He speaks Italian to you all the time and loves calling you endearments in Italian. He secretly doesn’t want you to learn the language so he can keep saying dirty things to you without you knowing ;)
He doesn’t let you lift a single finger. “Why do you think I work out, tesoro? Of course it’s so you don’t have to carry a thing!” He’s also always carrying you with one hand. He jokingly uses you as a dumbbell so much.
He’s a total doofus and loves messing around and making you laugh. Sometimes, he goes overboard. He always feels incredibly guilty afterwards though and will make it up to you times ten.
He adores taking care of your hair and styling it cute. “Oh come on! We’re matching!! I look better though lmao”
Would burn the world down for you but is actually better than that because he’ll drop everything he’s ever aspired for just to be with you <3
You’re his first relationship and he’s damn sure that you’ll be his last.
He’s secretly insecure, which is why he might have over obsessive tendencies.
He’s scared you’re going to abandon him or leave him. You’re the only one he’s ever loved this way. You can’t do that to him…
He has no need for trackers or other fancy things. He’s simply glued to your side 24/7. You never have a moment of privacy. Everything is shared and together from now on.
He knows he can’t stop you from interacting socially with others, but he sure as hell deters people by acting like you big scary guarddog shadow.
He still has a fanclub but he couldn’t care less. He’d murder them all if you were to be jealous.
In fact, he’s down to hide the bodies of anyone who even dare utter a single negative thing about you.
Cain <3
This man was in sooooo much denial when he first started falling for you
He has literally no experience in love. All his examples of it growing up were horrible too. He's winging it as he goes (and taking unhinged advice from Abel, Florian, and Giu's yaoi novels).
Still, naturally, he's a very charming man! He's blunt but in a hot way <3
He'll buy anything that you so much as glance at. You want something? It's yours. What's the deal with all his money if he doesn't spend it on you?
He has horrible perception of prices though… like would totally spend thousands of dollars on regular flowers. Welp, it's the thought that counts, even if his wallet is taking the damage.
He's a picky eater and likes high end food because that's mostly what he's been fed. However, if you start introducing him to junk and comfort food… he might just get into it.
He gets really hurt if you think badly of him or any aspect of him. You're the only person in his life that matters to him. You're everything. Of course your opinion is either what boosts his ego to infinity or makes him doubt even existing.
He's constantly scared of losing you. He even has nightmares about it.
He's away often on work trips, but if you're not busy, he's even more happy to book another plane ticket and take you on a mini vacation at his place of work for the week.
He doesn't seem like the guy to be attached to you all the time, but you best bet that he has eyes on you all the time.
He has a tracker on everything about you. Your phone is automatically linked to his, your location is always displayed on his watch… anything to keep you safe (read: watch you) is put into place.
Sometimes he just enjoys the feeling of stalking you. It's exilerating… even if you're both already dating, he just likes seeing you vulnerable and kept under his watchful eye.
Need someone dead? He's ten steps ahead. That person was dead yesterday already, sweetheart.
Don’t even think about breaking up with him either. He’ll pull all his strings to make it impossible for you to live without him.
He’d kill the whole world before he would lose you. He rather it be just you and him, all alone, anyway.
Florian <3
With you, he claims its love at first sight. I mean you must have put him under a spell or something…
He’s extremely logical and rational and yet will somehow secretly think you’re both soulmates.
He’s broke but he does but best for you with what he can. He’ll even spend an excruciatingly and embarrassing amount of time making you something special. If he can’t afford something expensive, he’ll just make it expensive by putting his time into it.
He’s very amused when you find out his hair is all natural. He even jokes about you dying your hair to match him.
He’s a completely closed book. You find he’s not that bad at anything other than cooking, making drinks, and technology. It’s like he’s a jack of all trades, even if he’s not particularly good at just one thing. You won’t know a thing about him, but the next day you’ll suddenly find out he’s suspiciously good at archery…
His build seems pretty weak and frail so his strength always surprises you, especially when he swoops you up as often as he does.
His favorite pastime is either reading classic books with you or watching movies. He always finds a way to make complicated psychological theories about everything.
He calls you very romantic endearments and takes things at your pace, even if he’s puling the strings in the back…
Every single aspect of you and your life is known. He even has a whole journal just dedicated to you. You best bet he writes new information in it every single day, like you’re some kind of new specimen he’s studying.
He will totally hurt you psychologically in order to get closer with you, even if it takes manipulation and gaslighting.
I also have a feeling he’d be physical if necessary for his plans, however he wouldn’t go as far as to kill you.
He has a shrine of your things. He likes to look at it every day and desperately tries to grow his collection.
He’s very very slick with his murdering. It’ll take a few months before people around you die but it’s because he needs it all to look like a horrible little freak accident…
Yeah idk i just fully confidently believe Florian is insane but I love him <3
Bonus Polyamory <3
I’m not even kidding you guys polygamy would be my dream ending but ik it probably won’t happen lol. Anyway, let me justify myself-
Cain and Abel are the most flirtatious bastards ever though it’s mainly Abel teasing Cain and Cain getting sucked into doing stupid things. They’re in the early stages of dating before you meet them.
Florian is much more reserved, and he falls for you first before getting dragged into the bigger relationship.
At first, Florian feels like an outcast, but it’s not long until he genuinely loves everyone.
Cain is much more relatable than Florian thought, and he’s so loyal and sweet too. Who wouldn’t fall for a man who does everything to make sure you don’t lose your job and gets upset when he can’t do anything about it?
Abel brings out his fun side that he honestly didn’t even know he had. They get close because Abel starts nude modeling for him and honestly Abel’s just hot as hell. Abel does take the time to reassure him and learn more about him though, even if he’s cheeky and teasing.
Hear me out but you guys bond over nude modeling- like not even in a sexual way. Being nude is such a vulnerable state, and by doing so together, it just brings you all very close. You all take turns sketching each other. (Florian’s is always the best lol).
You and Abel are the only ones who can cook in the relationship. (Minus you if you can’t cook lmao). Abel doesn’t mind cooking for everyone, he loves it honestly. More people to enjoy his cooking <3 You’re all more than lovers, you’re a whole damn family.
Somehow you all end up living together. Probably with Cain because he’s the only one who can afford housing and he already has a mansion-
You all cuddle pile on a couch watching movies every Friday.
Abel can probably lift all three of you at once. Cain will, of course, spoil you all individually, catering to each person’s interests and wants. Florian is the man everyone runs to when they want advice.
You all sleep in separate rooms because space is important to all of you, but more often than not everyone will randomly climb into each other’s bed and spend the night. Most the time, you all end up piled up on Cain’s bed because he has the biggest bed lmao.
You wake to wet heat between your thighs, Caleb’s tongue working methodically against your folds. His hands grip your legs, keeping them spread wide as he devours your still half-asleep pussy.
“Mmm, good morning,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep as your hips instinctively rock against his mouth.
Caleb responds with a groan, the vibration traveling through your sensitive flesh. His eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils already blown wide with hunger. Even after days of this, he still looks at your cunt like it’s the first time he’s tasted you.
It’s been like this since that day on the couch—Caleb’s apparent addiction to the taste of you only growing stronger with each passing day. Sometimes you wake to his face between your thighs. Other mornings, he’s barely stirring when you straddle his face, lowering yourself onto his waiting mouth without a word.
He never complains. Not even once.
Your fingers tangle in his sleep-mussed hair, tugging him closer as his tongue circles your clit with precision.
He knows your body now—knows exactly how much pressure makes your thighs quiver, knows the rhythm that usually pushes you over the edge. His hands slide beneath your ass, lifting you slightly to give his tongue better access to your entrance.
“Fuck, ge ge,” you sigh, closing your eyes as pleasure builds in familiar waves. “Your fucking mouth.”
He hums in approval at your language, sucking your clit between his lips in that way that normally sends you spiraling into ecstasy within minutes.
But today—like yesterday, and the day before—the release seems just out of reach, hovering at the edge of your consciousness but refusing to crash over you.
You grind harder against his face, chasing the sensation. Caleb’s enthusiasm never wanes—if anything, he works with more determination as he senses your struggle, his tongue flicking faster, his grip on your ass tightening to the point of bruising.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of building tension, your orgasm washes over you.
It’s good—of course it’s good, Caleb never leaves you unsatisfied—but it lacks the mind-shattering intensity of those first few times. It’s like drinking watered-down liquor when you’ve tasted the pure stuff.
Caleb laps at you through the aftershocks, cleaning every drop of your release with reverent attention. When he finally pulls away, his chin gleams with your slickness, his lips swollen from use.
“You taste even better in the morning,” he says, voice rough as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Could eat this pussy all day.”
Three days of Caleb’s tongue—sometimes twice or three times a day—and your body seems to be building a tolerance. The orgasms still come, but they’re taking longer to achieve and feel less intense when they finally arrive.
“What’s wrong?” Caleb asks, instantly alert to the shift in your mood. He crawls up your body, hovering over you with concerned eyes. “Didn’t you like it?”
“No, it was good,” you assure him quickly. “It’s always good.”
His eyebrow arches skeptically. “But?”
You bite your lip, embarrassed to voice your concerns. How do you tell the man who worships between your thighs daily that his efforts are becoming less effective?
“I think something’s wrong with me,” you finally admit, unable to meet his gaze.
Caleb’s hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip. “What do you mean, Pips?”
The tenderness in his voice gives you courage. “It’s taking longer for me to cum. And when I do, it’s not as... intense.”
“You’re not getting bored of me, are you?” There’s a teasing note in his voice, but you catch the flash of genuine concern in his eyes.
“No! God, no.” You rush to reassure him. “Your tongue is fucking magic, ge ge. I just... I don’t know, maybe I’m broken or something?”
Caleb laughs, the sound low and warm against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck. “You’re not broken, Y/N. Your body’s just getting used to one type of stimulation. It’s completely normal.”
Relief floods through you. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirms, trailing kisses up to your ear. “Think about it. If you eat the same meal every day, even if it’s your favorite, eventually you start craving something different.”
You nod slowly, understanding dawning. “So my pussy’s just bored of your tongue?”
“Not bored,” he corrects, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “Just ready for more.”
“More what?”
A slow smile spreads across his face, hungry and promising. “More everything. Your body’s telling you it wants to be stretched, filled.”
His hand slides between your bodies, fingers tracing your still-sensitive folds. “This greedy little cunt wants more than just my tongue now.”
“But I’ve never... I don’t know how to—“
“You don’t need to know anything,” Caleb interrupts, voice dropping to that commanding register that makes your stomach flip. “I’ll teach you. Just like I taught you how good my mouth can feel.”
“You’d do that?” You search his face, finding only sincerity and hunger in his expression.
Caleb laughs again, but this time there’s an edge to it—something darker, more primal. “Pips, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you feel good. Nothing I wouldn’t teach you.”
His finger traces your entrance, not pushing in, just teasing the possibility. “Do you trust me to show you what comes next?”
“Yes,” you whisper, spreading your legs wider in invitation. “Show me everything, ge ge.”
Satisfaction transforms his features, his smile sharpening into something almost predatory. “Such a good girl,” he praises, leaning down to press his lips against yours.
The taste of your own arousal lingers on his tongue as it pushes into your mouth.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with purpose. “I’ll make you feel things you’ve never imagined, Y/N.” His thumb brushes your clit, making you shiver. “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t remember what it felt like to be unsatisfied.”
The conviction in his voice settles something in your chest. Whatever’s happening to your body, Caleb understands it.
Caleb will fix it.
He’s never failed to take care of you before.
“Now,” he says, sitting back on his heels, “let’s explore your options.”
Caleb has you spread-eagle on the bed, your knees bent and legs pushed wide apart by his broad shoulders.
Your head rests on the pillows, giving you the perfect view of his dark hair between your thighs as he devours your pussy with the same enthusiasm he’s shown for days.
But twenty minutes in, and your orgasm still feels like a mirage in the distance—visible but frustratingly out of reach.
“Fuck,” you whine, arching your back as his tongue makes another slow pass from your entrance to your clit. The sensation is good—it’s always good—but it’s not enough anymore. “Caleb, come on.”
He responds by humming against your sensitive flesh, the vibration sending ripples of pleasure through your core. His hands grip your inner thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he holds you open for his feast.
The wet sounds of his mouth working against your slick folds fill the room, obscenely loud in the quiet afternoon.
You try to focus on the building pleasure, to concentrate on the skilled movement of his tongue as it circles your clit with practiced precision.
Closing your eyes, you chase the sensation, rocking your hips against his face in a desperate bid to increase the pressure.
But your mind keeps wandering, the familiar rhythm failing to hold your attention like it once did. Your body craves something more—something deeper, more filling than just the shallow dips of his tongue into your entrance.
“Ge ge,” you plead, your voice taking on a desperate edge. “I need more. Please.”
Caleb pulls back slightly, his chin glistening with your arousal as he glances up at you. “Patience, Pips. I’m getting you ready.”
“Ready for what?” you demand, frustration sharpening your tone. “I’ve been ready. I’m fucking soaked.”
To prove your point, you reach down, dipping your fingers between your folds and holding them up to show him the clear evidence of your arousal. Your fingertips glisten in the afternoon light, connected by strings of your wetness.
Instead of being chastened, Caleb just grins. “I can see that,” he says, before diving back down to continue his ministrations.
Your frustration mounts as he returns to the same techniques that have become predictable over the past weeks.
The lick-suck-circle pattern that once sent you spiraling into ecstasy now feels like a tease, a prelude to something your body desperately wants but isn’t getting.
“God damn it, Xia Yi Zhou,” you growl, your hands flying to his hair. You tangle your fingers in the dark strands, yanking harder than you intended in your frustration. “Fucking do something different or I swear I’ll—“
Your threat cuts off in a gasp as he sucks your clit hard between his lips, the sudden intensity momentarily silencing your complaints. But even this more aggressive move isn’t enough to push you toward release. Your body feels wound tight, tension coiled in your core with no outlet.
“I’m getting tired,” you whine, tugging at his hair again, trying to pull his face deeper between your legs as if you could force him to give you what you need. “Make me cum already!”
Caleb allows you to guide his head, his tongue still working diligently against your clit. But you can feel him smiling against your flesh, clearly amused by your bratty demands rather than bothered by them.
“You’re being such a little bitch today,” he murmurs against your pussy, the crude words vibrating through your sensitive flesh. But there’s no real heat in his voice—just amusement and something like satisfaction, as if your frustration is exactly what he wanted.
“I don’t care,” you snap, lifting your hips to grind against his face more forcefully. “Just fucking make it better.”
Your behavior would probably offend anyone else, but Caleb just chuckles, the sound rumbling through your core.
He finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks up at you from between your thighs.
“You know what your problem is, Pips?” he asks, his purple eyes dark with a mixture of hunger and amusement. “You’re ready for more than just my tongue.”
“Then give me more,” you demand, spreading your legs wider in blatant invitation.
Caleb sits back on his heels, his hands still resting possessively on your thighs. “I’m trying to, you impatient brat. I’m warming you up so you can take my fingers without any pain.”
The explanation makes logical sense, but you‘re too far gone in your frustrated horniness to care about his careful preparation.
All you know is that your pussy is aching, empty, and his mouth isn’t solving the problem anymore.
“I don’t need warming up,” you insist, reaching down to spread your lips apart with your fingers, exposing yourself completely to his gaze. “Look how wet I am. Just fucking finger me already.”
Caleb’s eyes darken at your display, but he shakes his head. “It‘s not just about wetness, Y/N. You’ve never had anything inside you before. I need to make sure you’re relaxed and ready.”
“Blah blah blah,” you mock, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Always so fucking careful. Maybe I don’t want careful. Maybe I want it to hurt a little.”
His expression shifts at that, something dangerous flashing across his features. “You don‘t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” you challenge, your frustration making you bold. “Or I swear to god, I’ll give you the silent treatment for a week.”
The childish threat draws another laugh from Caleb, this one deeper, darker. “The silent treatment? Really, Pips? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Try me,” you warn, crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child. “See how you like it when I stop talking to you. Stop letting you eat my pussy. Stop—“
“Alright, alright,” he interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender. But the glint in his eyes tells you he’s not really giving in—he’s just shifting strategies. “You want more? You think you’re ready?”
“Yes,” you hiss, uncrossing your arms to grab his wrist, trying to guide his hand between your legs. “I’ve been ready for fucking ages.”
Caleb resists your pull, his strength easily overpowering yours. “You know,” he says conversationally, as if you’re discussing the weather rather than begging him to finger you, “I love it when you get all bratty like this.”
“I’m not being bratty,” you protest, even as you pout and tug harder at his arm. “I’m being honest.”
“Mmhmm.” His tone is indulgent, patronizing. “And what happens to bratty girls who make demands instead of asking nicely?”
There’s a warning in his voice that sends a fresh wave of heat through your core. “I don’t care. Just do something about this sopping fucking pussy before I lose my mind.”
His eyes flash with approval at your vulgarity, even as his expression hardens with determination.
“Fine,” he says, his voice dropping to that commanding register that makes your stomach flip. “But don’t say I didn’t try to go slow for you.”
Before you can respond, he’s leaning down again, his tongue making one more broad stroke up your slit.
“Last chance to be patient,” he warns, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” you spit at Caleb, your frustration boiling over. “All that talk about giving me more, and you’re still just—“
The rest of your sentence dies in your throat as Caleb’s purple eyes darken with something dangerous. His hand, which had been resting on your inner thigh, suddenly moves.
“You were saying?” Caleb’s voice drops to that low, commanding register that makes your stomach flip even as you try to maintain your defiant glare.
“I said you’re a fucking tease,” you repeat, doubling down despite the warning in his expression. “All talk and no—oh!”
Your bratty tirade cuts off abruptly as Caleb’s index finger pushes inside you without warning.
The sudden intrusion—the first time anything larger than the tip of his tongue has entered you—makes your back arch off the bed, your eyes widening in shock.
“There,” Caleb says, his voice deceptively casual despite the intensity in his gaze. “Is that what you wanted, Pips? Something inside this greedy little cunt?”
You can’t answer. The sensation of his finger—thick and warm and so different from his tongue—has robbed you of words.
It doesn’t hurt exactly, but the stretch is unfamiliar, foreign. Your body seems frozen between the impulse to push him out and pull him deeper.
“Breathe,” he instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your lower belly, steadying you. “Relax around me.”
You hadn‘t realized you were holding your breath until he mentions it. The exhale comes out as a shaky moan, your inner walls fluttering around the intrusion as your muscles slowly unclench.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his finger remaining still inside you, allowing your body to adjust. “Just like that.”
When he’s sure you’ve relaxed, he begins to move—pulling his finger back until just the tip remains inside, then pushing slowly forward again.
The friction is unlike anything you’ve felt before, sending sparks up your spine that make your thighs quiver.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on where his finger disappears into your body. “Taking my finger so well. Where’s all that bratty attitude now, huh?”
Your hands fist in the sheets, head thrashing against the pillow as he establishes a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each push inward seems to reach deeper, touching parts of you that have never been touched before.
“Shut up,” you gasp, but there’s no heat in the words—just desperation as your hips begin to move of their own accord, rising to meet each thrust of his finger.
Caleb’s laugh is dark, knowing. “So fucking mouthy,” he says, but his voice holds admiration beneath the mock scolding. “Always ready with a comeback until I get my hands on this wet little pussy. Then you’re all whimpers and moans.”
He’s right, and you hate how right he is.
Every sharp retort you might have made dissolves into incoherent sounds of pleasure as his finger curls slightly, exploring your inner walls with meticulous attention.
“You like being filled, don’t you?” he continues, his thumb brushing teasingly against your clit with each inward push. “Like having part of me inside you.”
“Yes,” you admit, past the point of pride as pleasure builds in your core. “Feels—feels good.”
“Better than just my tongue?”
Your eyes roll back as he presses against a spot inside you that sends electricity shooting up your spine. “Yes! Fuck—right there!”
“Knew it would be,” Caleb says, satisfaction evident in his tone. “Knew your body was ready for more. You just needed to be put in your place first.”
Just as you’re getting used to the sensation, adjusting to the rhythm of his thrusts, Caleb withdraws his finger entirely. The sudden emptiness makes you whimper, your hips chasing his retreating hand.
“No, don’t stop,” you plead, previous attitude entirely forgotten in your desperation. “Please, ge ge.”
Caleb‘s eyes glitter with triumph at your begging. “Don’t worry, Pips. I’m not stopping. Just switching things up a bit.”
Before you can ask what he means, his hand is between your legs again. But this time, it‘s his middle finger that presses against your entrance—noticeably thicker than his index finger, and longer too.
“Wait,” you gasp, suddenly nervous as you feel the blunt pressure. “Is that—“
“My middle finger,” Caleb confirms, his voice steady even as his eyes burn with hunger. “It’ll reach deeper. Hit spots my index finger couldn’t.”
He doesn’t wait for your permission—perhaps knowing you’d only delay out of nervousness rather than genuine reluctance.
With slow but insistent pressure, his middle finger pushes past your entrance, sinking deeper than his index finger ever did.
The stretch is more pronounced this time, drawing a strangled sound from your throat that’s half pain, half pleasure. Your body instinctively arches, legs spreading wider as if to accommodate the intrusion.
“Holy fuck,” you breathe, eyes wide as you stare at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled.
“Too much?” Caleb asks, pausing with his finger halfway inside you. Despite the dominance he‘s been displaying, there’s genuine concern in his voice now.
You shake your head frantically. “No, no—don’t stop.” Your hips shift, pushing down against his hand, taking him deeper. “It’s good. So good.”
Relief and renewed hunger flash across his features as he resumes his careful penetration, pushing until his finger is buried to the knuckle inside you.
“Look at that,” Caleb murmurs, his gaze fixed on where your body swallows his finger. “Taking me so deep. Such a good girl.”
The praise sends warmth blooming through your chest even as pleasure radiates from your core. You find yourself nodding mindlessly, agreeing with whatever he says as long as he keeps moving, keeps touching you like this.
When he crooks his finger, pressing forward against your front wall, stars burst behind your eyelids. Your back arches sharply off the bed, a sound you‘ve never made before tearing from your throat.
“There it is,” Caleb says, triumph lacing his voice. “Your sweet spot.”
He repeats the motion, rubbing firmly against that spot that makes your entire body jerk with pleasure. All thoughts of brattiness and demands have vanished, replaced by pure sensation and the desperate need for more.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, no longer caring how wanton you sound, how completely you’ve surrendered to his touch. “Right there, please, don’t stop.”
“Not so bossy now, are you?” Caleb teases, but his voice has lost its edge, softened by the obvious pleasure he takes in your reactions. “Just taking what I give you. Letting ge ge make you feel good.”
You nod frantically, beyond words as his finger works magic inside you. Your entire world has narrowed to the point where your bodies connect, to the sensation of him filling you, touching parts of you that have never been touched before.
“That’s it,” he encourages as your hips begin to rock against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. “Show me how much you like it. Show me how much you need me inside you.”
And you do, shamelessly rolling your hips, fucking yourself on his finger as pleasure builds to levels you didn’t know were possible.
Whatever complaints you had about his tongue not being enough anymore have evaporated, replaced by the dawning realization that this is just the beginning of what Caleb can make you feel.
Caleb’s finger continues its relentless assault on that spot deep inside you, making your legs tremble as pressure builds at the base of your spine.
Just when you think you might explode from the sensation, he slowly withdraws, leaving you empty and aching. Your pussy clenches around nothing, hungry for the fullness it just lost.
“No,” you whimper, reaching for his wrist. “Please don’t stop.”
“Patience,” Caleb murmurs, his voice thick with arousal as he brings his slick finger to your clit. The pad of his middle finger, now coated with your arousal, slides easily over the sensitive bundle of nerves, making lazy circles that send electric pulses through your lower body.
“Need to make sure you’re wet enough for what comes next.”
You let out a breathless laugh, gesturing to the obvious evidence of your arousal gleaming on his fingers and undoubtedly soaking into the sheets beneath you. “I think we’re well past that point, don’t you?”
Instead of answering, Caleb increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing up and down with firm, deliberate strokes that make your hips jerk involuntarily.
Each pass of his finger sends pleasure radiating outward, but it’s a shallow kind of pleasure—not enough to satisfy the new emptiness you feel inside.
“I’m sorry,” you find yourself saying, the words tumbling out as his finger continues its maddening path across your most sensitive spot. “For being a brat. For pulling your hair and being impatient.”
Caleb’s eyes soften, though the hungry edge never fully disappears. “Are you really sorry? Or are you just saying that so I’ll give you what you want?”
“Both,” you admit, honesty winning out over pride. Your hands reach for him again, fingers curling around his strong wrist. “I’m sorry and I want more. Please, ge ge.”
A slow smile spreads across his face—part triumph, part genuine affection. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, his finger never stopping its rhythmic circles on your clit. “Using your words instead of demands. Asking nicely.”
You nod eagerly, beyond caring how desperate you look. “Please. I need to feel you inside me again.”
“Since you asked so nicely...” Caleb’s finger leaves your clit, trailing down to gather more of your wetness at your entrance. For a moment, you think he’s going to tease you with just his middle finger again, but his hand shifts slightly, and you feel a different pressure—wider, more insistent.
Your eyes widen as you realize what’s coming. “Wait, is that—“
Before you can finish the question, Caleb pushes forward, and both his middle and ring fingers slide into you in one smooth motion.
The stretch is immediate and intense, drawing a startled cry from your lips as your inner walls struggle to accommodate the increased girth.
“Fuck!” The word explodes from you, your back arching off the bed as dual sensations of stretch and fullness overwhelm your senses.
It doesn’t hurt exactly—you’re too wet, too aroused for pain—but the pressure is so much more than before, making you acutely aware of every millimeter of space his fingers occupy inside you.
“Too much?” Caleb asks, his fingers remaining still, giving you time to adjust. His other hand strokes soothingly along your thigh, a contrast to the intensity of the penetration.
You shake your head frantically, unable to form words as your body processes this new sensation. It feels right somehow—like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
The initial shock fades quickly, replaced by a deep, throbbing pleasure that radiates outward from your core.
“No, it’s... it’s perfect,” you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “So full.”
Pride flashes across Caleb‘s features, his purple eyes darkening as he watches your face.
Slowly, carefully, he begins to move his fingers, pulling them back a fraction before pushing deep again. The friction sends sparks up your spine, your inner walls fluttering around the intrusion.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his gaze traveling down to where his thick fingers disappear into your body. “Taking two fingers so easily. Like your pussy was made for me to fill.”
The dirty words send another wave of heat through you. You find yourself nodding in agreement, too consumed by pleasure to be embarrassed by his explicit praise.
Each thrust of his fingers reaches deeper than his tongue or single finger ever could, touching parts of you that feel like they’ve been waiting forever to be awakened.
Caleb establishes a steady rhythm, his fingers pumping in and out with increasing confidence as your body yields to his intrusion.
The wet sounds of your arousal fill the room, obscene and thrilling. Your hips begin to move of their own accord, rising to meet each thrust, silently asking for more, faster, deeper.
But just as you’re getting lost in the rhythm, Caleb slows his pace, his movements becoming more deliberate, more measured.
The change is maddening—you were so close to finding the perfect friction, the perfect angle.
Acting on pure instinct, your hand shoots out, gripping his wrist tightly. Caleb’s eyebrows rise in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he watches with fascination as you take control, using your grip on his wrist to guide his fingers back into the faster, deeper pace your body craves.
“Show me,” he encourages, voice rough with arousal. “Show me how you want it.”
Still holding his wrist, you begin to fuck yourself on his fingers, using his hand as a tool for your pleasure.
You angle his fingers to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, controlling the depth and speed with surprising precision.
“Like this,” you pant, driving his fingers into you at a pace that makes the bed creak beneath your writhing body. “Right here—fuck—right there.”
Caleb lets you take control completely, his muscles relaxing under your grip, allowing you to use his hand however you need.
His eyes never leave your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure, every gasp and moan your movements produce.
“That’s it,” he praises, his free hand coming up to stroke your cheek with surprising tenderness. “Take what you need. Use me.”
You're working his fingers like a toy while he's touching your cheek like you're made of glass—the mixed signals make your insides do a hot little dance.
Your movements become more frantic, less coordinated as pleasure builds to a fever pitch at the base of your spine.
“Gonna cum,” you warn, voice breaking as your grip on his wrist tightens to the point of bruising. “Fuck, Caleb, I’m so close.”
“I’ve got you,” he assures, making no move to take back control. Instead, he shifts his position slightly, giving you better leverage as you chase your release. “That’s my good girl. So perfect, learning to take what you want.”
There’s pride in his voice—genuine admiration as he watches you pleasure yourself with his fingers. With one last thrust of his fingers, angled perfectly against that spot deep inside, the tension breaks.
Your orgasm crashes over you with an intensity that steals your breath, your inner walls clamping down on his fingers as waves of pleasure pulse outward from your core.
Your legs shake uncontrollably, your grip on his wrist tightening and then relaxing as the peak washes through you.
Caleb watches it all with hungry fascination, his eyes tracking every tremor, every gasp, every flutter of your eyelids as you come apart around his fingers.
And through the haze of your pleasure, you see something like awe in his expression—as if witnessing your pleasure is the greatest privilege he could imagine.
“Beautiful,” he whispers as your spasms begin to subside, his fingers still buried deep inside you. “So fucking beautiful when you cum for me.”
You collapse back against the pillows, chest heaving, limbs suddenly heavy with satisfaction.
The emptiness you felt earlier, the frustration that drove you to take control, has been thoroughly banished. In its place is a warm, pulsing contentment that makes your lips curve into a smile.
But even as your breathing begins to slow, you notice something in Caleb’s expression—a hunger not yet sated, a determination that tells you he’s far from finished with you yet.
“Such a good girl,” Caleb murmurs as your breathing slowly returns to normal. His fingers remain buried inside you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm as your inner walls continue to pulse around him.
“Look how wet you got,” he observes, slowly withdrawing his middle and ring fingers. They emerge glistening, coated in a thick layer of your arousal that strings between his fingers like honey when he spreads them apart. “All this cream just for me.”
Your cheeks flush at his observation, but you can’t deny the evidence.
Your thighs are slick with your own wetness, and you can feel more of it pooling beneath you on the sheets. The orgasm was intense—more powerful than any you’ve experienced from his tongue alone—leaving you feeling boneless and satisfied.
But his purple eyes remain dark with hunger, fixed on your exposed pussy with an intensity that makes your core clench despite your recent release.
“You deserve a reward for that,” he says, bringing his wet fingers to his mouth. He sucks them clean with obscene thoroughness, eyes closing briefly as he savors your taste. “For taking control. For showing me exactly what you needed.”
“A reward?” you ask, voice still slightly breathless. “I thought that orgasm was my reward.”
Caleb’s laugh is low and dark with promise. “Oh, Pips. We‘re just getting started.”
Before you can ask what he means, his hand returns between your legs. You expect him to resume the now-familiar intrusion of two fingers, but instead feel a different pressure—wider, more insistent.
Looking down your body, you see Caleb positioning three fingers at your entrance. Middle, ring, and index.
“Wait,” you gasp, suddenly nervous at the sight. “All three? Will they fit?”
“They’ll fit,” Caleb assures you, his confidence unwavering. “You’re so wet from cumming, and your body’s learning to open for me.” His eyes meet yours, searching. “Do you trust me?”
Despite your apprehension, you find yourself nodding. “Yes.”
“Good girl,” he praises, and begins to press forward.
The initial stretch is uncomfortable bordering on painful—your body resisting the unfamiliar width despite your arousal.
Caleb moves with slowness, watching your face for any sign of distress as his three fingers work their way inside you millimeter by millimeter.
“Breathe,” he reminds you when you realize you’re holding your breath. “Relax around me.”
You follow his instructions, focusing on relaxing your muscles as he continues his careful penetration. The burn of the stretch gradually subsides, giving way to a fullness that feels both foreign and oddly right.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages as his fingers sink deeper. “Taking me so well.”
Despite the initial discomfort, you find yourself growing aroused again at the mere thought of what’s happening—at Caleb being inside you, filling you more completely than before.
Your hips shift restlessly, trying to adjust to the intrusion while simultaneously seeking more.
“So full,” you whisper, eyes wide as you look down at where his hand disappears between your legs.
“And taking it like a champion,” Caleb praises, his free hand stroking your inner thigh soothingly. “But I think we can make this even better for you.”
Acting on some instinct you don’t fully understand, you reach down and grab behind your knees, pulling them up toward your chest.
The position feels vulnerable, exposing—but it also relieves some of the pressure, allowing your body to open more fully around Caleb’s fingers.
“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes darkening at your display. “Look at you, spreading yourself wide for me. Such an eager little slut.”
That filthy insult would've made you cringe, but right now—with his fingers knuckle-deep and your legs spread like you're begging for it—it just makes you wetter, hungrier, desperate for whatever comes next.
“Is that better?” he asks, experimentally moving his fingers now that you’ve given him more room to work.
“Yes,” you gasp as he begins to thrust shallowly, the three fingers moving together. “Different, but... good.”
Caleb’s expression turns focused as he watches your reactions. “Let’s try something,” he murmurs, and then his fingers are moving in a new way—no longer just in and out, but spreading apart inside you, stretching your inner walls in different directions.
“Oh!” The sensation is startling, making your back arch and your toes curl. It’s not quite pleasure, not quite pain, but something in between that makes your nerve endings sing.
“Too much?” Caleb asks, stilling his movements.
You shake your head frantically. “No, don‘t stop. It’s just... a lot.”
Encouraged, he resumes his exploration, his fingers moving inside you with growing confidence. Sometimes he thrusts them together, other times he scissor them apart or twists his wrist to change the angle of penetration.
Each movement seems calculated to expose a different part of you to his touch, to prepare your body for even more.
“Look how you’re opening up for me,” Caleb says, his voice thick with wonder as he spreads his fingers again, stretching your entrance wider. “Your pretty little cunt is learning exactly what it was made for.”
His praise sends another wave of heat through your core. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your body producing more slick to ease the considerable intrusion of his three thick fingers.
“Caleb,” you moan as he finds that spot deep inside you again, the one that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. “Right there, please.”
He obliges, focusing his attention on that sweet spot, pressing and rubbing with deliberate precision.
Your previous orgasm has left you more sensitive, more responsive to his touch, and you can feel another climax building with surprising speed.
“Gonna cum again,” you warn, your voice high and breathy as tension coils tight in your core.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, increasing the pressure inside you. “Give me another one. Show me how much you love having my fingers stuffed inside this greedy pussy.”
His words push you closer to the edge, your inner walls clenching around his intrusive fingers as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable pitch.
When his thumb finds your clit, pressing and circling with ease, it’s enough to send you hurtling over the precipice.
Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, drawing a strangled cry from your throat as your body convulses around his fingers.
Waves of pleasure pulse outward from your core, making your legs shake and your vision blur. More of your arousal gushes out around his fingers, adding to the mess already coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you.
“That’s it,” Caleb croons, his thumb continuing its relentless circles on your clit as he extends your pleasure. “Cream all over my hand, Pips. Let me feel how good I‘m making you feel.”
The wet squelching sounds of your arousal fill the room as Caleb continues to move his fingers inside you, pushing through the tight grip of your spasming walls.
“Listen to how fucking wet you are,” Caleb says, his voice rough with his own arousal. “The sounds your pussy makes when I’m inside it. So fucking perfect.”
As your orgasm begins to subside, you expect him to withdraw, to give your oversensitive body a reprieve. Instead, his eyes lock with yours, determination hardening his features.
“We’re not done yet,” he informs you, his fingers still buried deep inside you. “I know you can give me more. And I expect you to take it like a good girl.”
Despite your exhaustion, despite the lingering sensitivity from two powerful orgasms, you feel a fresh surge of arousal at his words.
Caleb believes your body is capable of more pleasure than you ever imagined, and you find yourself desperately wanting to prove him right.
“Yes, ge ge,” you whisper, spreading your legs wider in renewed invitation. “Whatever you want.”
“Let me help you with that position,” Caleb murmurs, noticing how your arms are starting to shake from the effort of holding your knees to your chest.
His eyes narrow in concentration, and you feel the familiar weightless sensation as his gravity evol activates. The invisible force takes hold of your legs, pulling them back and up until you’re completely exposed, folded nearly in half in what you vaguely recognize as a mating press.
“Caleb!” you gasp, surprised by the sudden use of his ability. Your legs hover in the air, held firmly by his power, leaving your hands free to grip the sheets instead.
“Perfect,” he says, satisfaction evident in his tone as he admires his handiwork. “Now I can really see everything.”
His three fingers remain inside you, stretching you open in a way that’s become almost comfortable after your second orgasm. But when he slowly begins to withdraw them, you feel a pang of emptiness, a protest forming on your lips.
“Don’t worry,” Caleb soothes, noticing your expression. “I’m not stopping. Just... adjusting.”
Before you can ask what he means, he’s repositioning his hand. Your eyes widen as you watch him press his three fingers together, and then—to your shock—add his pinky to the formation.
“Wait,” you breathe, sudden anxiety fluttering in your chest. “Four? Isn’t that too many?”
Caleb’s eyes meet yours, his expression serious despite the hunger darkening his gaze. “Do you want me to stop?”
You consider the question, genuinely weighing your answer. Your body feels stretched already from three fingers, sensitive from two powerful orgasms.
And yet... there’s a part of you that craves more, that wants to know just how much pleasure—how much of Caleb—you can take.
“No,” you finally answer, your voice small but determined. “Don’t stop. Just... go slow.”
Pride flashes across his features, followed by a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “Always so brave for me,” he murmurs, then returns his attention to the task at hand.
The pressure is immediate and intense as he begins to push all four fingers against your entrance. Despite your abundant wetness, despite your body’s previous accommodation of three fingers, this new intrusion feels impossible at first.
The stretch burns, drawing a hiss from between your clenched teeth as your body fights the invasion.
“Breathe,” Caleb reminds you, his free hand stroking your inner thigh soothingly. “Relax and let me in.”
You try to follow his instructions, forcing your muscles to unclench, focusing on your breathing as he maintains steady, gentle pressure.
Tears spring to your eyes—not from pain exactly, but from the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond what you thought possible.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages as your body slowly yields, allowing the tip of his four fingers to slip past your entrance. “Opening up for me. Taking everything I give you.”
A tear escapes, rolling down your temple as you stare up at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the fullness. Caleb notices immediately, concern flashing across his features.
“Too much?” he asks, stilling his hand. “We can stop—“
“No,” you gasp, shaking your head frantically. “Don’t you dare stop. It’s just a lot.”
He holds his position, not pushing deeper but not withdrawing either, giving your body time to adjust to the considerable stretch.
Just as you’re about to tell him to continue, to push deeper, Caleb does something unexpected.
Leaning forward, he gathers saliva in his mouth, then deliberately spits directly onto your exposed pussy where it’s stretched around his fingers.
The action is so lewd that it momentarily startles you out of your discomfort. You watch, transfixed, as the glistening glob of his saliva lands on your swollen flesh, immediately mixing with your own arousal.
“What—“ you begin, but your question dies in your throat as Caleb uses his thumb to spread his spit around your stretched entrance, lubricating the tight ring of muscle.
“Need you wetter for this,” he explains, voice rough with arousal. “Want to make sure I don’t hurt you.”
It‘s filthy, degrading even—your brother spitting on your most intimate parts. But you find yourself hypnotized by the path of his saliva as it trickles down to where his fingers are stretching you open, mixing with your own juices before disappearing inside you.
“Your spit,” you whisper, the realization hitting you with unexpected force. “It’s inside me.”
Caleb’s eyes darken at your observation. “That’s right,” he confirms, slowly pushing his fingers deeper now that the extra lubrication has eased the way. “Part of me, inside you. Mixing with your wetness.”
It’s not just his fingers invading you now—it’s his DNA, his essence, mingling with yours in the most intimate way possible.
“Your spit, inside my pussy,” you repeat, the crude words feeling right on your tongue. “Your DNA... mixing with mine.”
Something flashes in Caleb‘s eyes. Understanding, hunger, approval. “You like that idea, don’t you?” he says, pushing his fingers deeper still. “Like having me inside you, becoming part of you.”
You nod, unable to deny the truth of his words. Each thrust of his fingers feels like he’s claiming you from the inside, marking territory that no one else has ever touched, ever will touch.
“Say it,” Caleb commands, his thumb finding your clit as his four fingers work deeper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I love having you inside me,” you gasp, abandoning all pretense of shame. “Love how you’re stretching me open, filling me with your fingers, your spit. Making me yours.”
Your words spur him on, his movements becoming more confident as your body continues to yield to his invasion. The squelching sounds coming from between your legs grow louder, more obscene with each thrust of his fingers.
“Listen to how fucking wet you are,” Caleb groans, his eyes fixed on where his hand disappears inside you. “Your greedy cunt sucking my fingers in, making those slutty noises.”
Your inner walls clench around his invading fingers, your clit throbbing beneath his thumb as tension builds to an unbearable level.
“Gonna cum,” you warn, voice high and desperate. “Caleb, I’m—I’m—“
“Do it,” he commands, increasing the pressure on your clit. “Cum all over my fingers, Pips. Show me how much you love being stuffed full of me.”
The orgasm that tears through you is different from the previous ones—more intense, more wet. Your back arches sharply despite the restraint of Caleb’s gravity evol, a guttural sound tearing from your throat as pleasure explodes outward from your core.
And then something new happens—fluid gushes from you in a hot rush, spraying around Caleb’s fingers to soak his hand, his wrist, the sheets beneath you.
“Fuck!” Caleb’s eyes widen in delighted shock. “You’re squirting for me. That’s it, baby, let it all out.”
You’ve heard of squirting before but never experienced it—never imagined your body capable of such a response.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you as more fluid pulses from your core, your inner muscles contracting violently around Caleb’s fingers.
“So fucking pretty,” Caleb murmurs, watching in fascination as your body releases in a way it never has before. “Look at you, making a mess all over me. All because of my fingers inside your tight little pussy.”
The intensity of the orgasm leaves you gasping, trembling, tears streaming freely down your temples now.
Caleb’s gravity evol holds you firmly in position even as your body shakes, ensuring you remain spread wide open for his hungry gaze as you ride out the most powerful climax of your life.
The force of your orgasm is so powerful that it actually expels Caleb’s fingers, your pussy contracting with such strength that his four digits slip free in a rush of fluid.
You both look down in shock at the sight—his hand glistening with your release, your pussy clenching around sudden emptiness, more of your arousal trickling from your entrance to pool beneath you on the already soaked sheets.
“Well,” Caleb says after a moment, his surprise giving way to a slow, predatory smile. “That’s a first.”
You blush, embarrassed by your body’s violent reaction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he interrupts, his eyes gleaming with determination rather than disappointment. “That was fucking gorgeous. But I take it as a personal challenge now.”
Before you can ask what he means, Caleb lowers his face toward your exposed center, so close that you can feel his hot breath against your sensitive flesh. To your surprise, he begins speaking—not to you, but to your pussy directly.
“Looks like she wants to talk to me,” he murmurs, his lips nearly brushing against your swollen folds. “Pushing me out like that. But we‘re not done yet, are we? You want more of me inside you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whimper, arching your hips toward his face, seeking contact. “Please, more.”
Caleb’s eyes flick up to meet yours, satisfaction evident in his expression. “See? She agrees with me.” His gaze returns to your center, still held open by his gravity evol. “So greedy for me. Can’t get enough.”
His hand moves between your legs again, four fingers pressing together as he aligns them with your entrance. Despite your body’s attempt to expel him moments ago, you find yourself eagerly anticipating his return, your hips pushing forward to meet his touch.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages as the tips of his fingers breach you again. “Welcome me back inside.”
The reentry is easier this time, your body still loose from before, slick with the combination of your arousal and his saliva.
His four fingers slide in gradually, your inner walls yielding to his invasion with less resistance than before.
When his fingers are fully seated inside you again, Caleb pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to the fullness. His other hand comes up to stroke your lower belly, feeling the slight bulge where his fingers fill you from the inside.
“Can you feel me?” he asks, pressing down gently on your abdomen.
You nod, gasping at the sensation of his fingers shifting inside you from the external pressure. “Yes. So deep.”
A look of intense concentration crosses his features. “Good. Because I’m about to go deeper.”
His hand shifts slightly, and you feel his thumb, which had been resting against your outer lips, begin to move. Instead of circling your clit as it has before, it now presses against your entrance alongside his four fingers.
Your eyes widen as you realize his intention. “Caleb, wait—it's not gonna fit.”
“It will,” he says with absolute certainty. “Your body was made to stretch, to take me. We just need to go slow.” His eyes meet yours, searching. “Don’t you trust me?”
Despite your trepidation, you find yourself nodding. “I do.”
“My perfect little mei mei.” The approval in his voice sends warmth blooming through your chest. “Now, breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
You follow his instructions, focusing on your breathing as Caleb begins to work his thumb in alongside his fingers.
The stretch is immediate and intense, your entrance burning as it struggles to accommodate the widest part of his hand.
“Breathe,” he reminds you when you instinctively tense. “Relax everything. Let me in.”
You force yourself to exhale slowly, consciously relaxing your muscles as Caleb maintains steady, gentle pressure.
It seems impossible—his hand is so much wider than four fingers—but gradually, incrementally, your body yields.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with concentration. “Almost there. You’re doing so well, Pips.”
The moment the widest part of his hand slips past your entrance, the pressure changes. There’s a strange popping sensation, and suddenly his entire fist is inside you, your entrance closing around his wrist like a tight bracelet.
“Holy fuck,” you gasp, eyes wide with disbelief at what your body has just accomplished.
Caleb looks equally amazed, his eyes fixed on the point where your body swallows his hand. “Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes, awe evident in his voice. “You took my whole fist. My perfect little sister.”
He remains perfectly still, allowing you to adjust to the unprecedented invasion. You can feel your inner walls pulsing around his fist, adjusting to his shape from the inside.
“How does it feel?” Caleb asks, his voice gentle despite the extreme act you’re engaged in.
“Full,” you whisper, struggling to find words adequate to describe the sensation. “Like... like you’re part of me now. Inside me completely.”
Your answer draws a groan from him, his eyes darkening further. “That’s exactly what I want,” he confesses. “To be inside you. Part of you.”
The admission sends another pulse of arousal through your core, your inner walls clenching involuntarily around his fist.
“Don’t want you to ever leave,” you admit, the words tumbling out without conscious thought. “Want you inside me forever.”
Slowly, cautiously, he begins to move his hand, not pulling out but rotating his wrist inside you, exploring your depths from a new angle.
“Fuck!” The sensation steals your breath—his knuckles brushing against spots inside you that have never been touched before, the pressure shifting and changing as his fist turns within you. “Caleb, that’s—oh god—“
“Good?” he asks, though the answer is written plainly across your flushed face.
“So good,” you confirm, your hips beginning to move of their own accord, grinding against his wrist as his fist continues its careful exploration of your inner walls. “Please don’t stop.”
As Caleb’s fist works its magic inside you, a new need arises—your clit, neglected since he stopped using his thumb to rub it, throbs with desperate hunger.
Acting on instinct, you reach down, grabbing Caleb’s head and pulling it toward your exposed bud.
He understands immediately, a smile curving his lips as he allows you to guide his mouth to your clit
“Greedy girl,” he murmurs approvingly. “Wants my fist inside her and my mouth on her clit. Taking everything I can give.”
Without further prompting, Caleb seals his lips around your swollen clit, sucking gently as his fist continues its careful rotation inside you.
“Yes!” you cry out, one hand fisting in his hair to hold him in place while the other grips the sheets beneath you. “Right there, don’t stop!”
Caleb responds by increasing the suction on your clit, his tongue flicking rapidly against the sensitive bud while his fist maintains its steady rotation.
His free hand grips your thigh, holding you open as his gravity evol continues to keep your legs suspended in the mating press position.
The combination is overwhelming—too much sensation, too much pleasure for your overworked nervous system to process. A pressure builds low in your abdomen.
“Something’s happening,” you gasp, panic edging into your voice as the pressure increases to almost unbearable levels. “Caleb, I feel—I think I’m going to—“
He lifts his mouth from your clit just long enough to say, “Let go, Pips. Give it to me. All of it.”
His lips return to your clit with renewed hunger, sucking harder while his fist makes a quarter turn inside you, pressing against your front wall.
The shift in pressure is the final push you need—the dam breaks, pleasure exploding outward from your core as fluid gushes from around his wrist in a powerful spray.
Unlike your previous squirting orgasm, this one goes directly into Caleb’s waiting mouth. His eyes widen momentarily in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away—instead, he seals his lips more firmly around your clit, swallowing your release as it pulses from you in rhythmic waves.
Watching him slurp up your juices like a man dying of thirst while his whole damn fist is still buried deep in your guts has you cumming so hard you think you might actually pass out.
“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb,” you chant, his name the only coherent thought your overwhelmed brain can produce as your body continues to convulse around his fist.
Tears stream freely down your temples now—not from pain but from the sheer intensity of the pleasure consuming you.
When the final pulses of your orgasm begin to fade, Caleb gently releases your clit from between his lips.
His chin glistens with your release, his eyes almost black with hunger and satisfaction as he looks up at you from between your trembling thighs.
“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your oversensitive clit before resting his cheek against your inner thigh. “Taking my whole fist and squirting in my mouth. Such a good girl for me.”
His praise washes over you like a warm blanket, soothing the raw vulnerability of what you‘ve just experienced.
You lie there, trembling and spent, his fist still buried inside you, his gravity evol still holding your legs open, feeling more completely possessed—and more completely satisfied—than you’ve ever been in your life.
“I need to take my hand out now,” Caleb says gently, his fist still buried deep inside you. “Try to stay relaxed for me.”
His wrist moves, rotating slightly as he begins the careful process of withdrawal. The sensation is strange—your body both reluctant to release him and grateful for the relief from the intense fullness.
As the widest part of his hand reaches your entrance, you feel a momentary resistance before your body yields once more, his fist slipping free with a wet, obscene sound that echoes in the quiet room.
You gasp at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing as it adjusts to his absence.
Caleb’s eyes remain fixed between your legs, his expression a mixture of pride and fascination as he observes what he’s done to you.
“Need to see,” he murmurs, bringing both hands to your center. His thumbs hook at the edges of your entrance, gently pulling you open to examine the aftermath of his invasion. “Fuck, you’re so pretty here. All pink and swollen for me.”
The cool air hits your exposed inner walls, making you shiver as Caleb spreads you wider, tilting his head for a better view.
Before you can respond, he’s burying his face between your legs again, his tongue delving into your sensitive opening.
Despite your exhaustion, despite the oversensitivity from multiple orgasms, your body responds to his ministrations with a weak pulse of renewed arousal.
Caleb doesn’t try to build you toward another climax—he simply laps at your folds with broad, gentle strokes, cleaning the evidence of your pleasure from your skin.
His eyes close in apparent bliss as he tastes you, drowning himself in your juices one final time.
“Mmm,” he hums against you, the vibration sending tiny aftershocks through your oversensitive flesh. “Could eat this pussy forever.”
Your body twitches under his attention, caught between pleasure and discomfort as he continues his gentle feast. You reach down, fingers tangling in his hair in a gesture that’s half encouragement, half plea for mercy.
Understanding your wordless communication, Caleb gives your pussy one final, reverent kiss before pulling away.
His face is a mess—chin and cheeks slick with your release, lips swollen from sucking your clit. He looks debauched, wild, yet somehow more satisfied than you’ve ever seen him despite having received no direct pleasure himself.
With a final glance at your well-used center, Caleb sits back on his heels. He examines his right hand—the one that was just buried inside you—with something like wonder, turning it in the light to observe how it glistens with your arousal.
“Look what you did to me,” he says, but there’s no accusation in his tone—only pride and satisfaction. He makes no move to clean his hand immediately, seemingly content to wear your essence on his skin like a badge of honor.
Finally, he wipes his hand on his t-shirt, leaving dark wet streaks across the fabric.
“You did so fucking well,” Caleb praises, his voice thick with genuine admiration as he releases his gravity evol, carefully lowering your legs from their suspended position. “Taking my whole fist like that. Squirting all over my face. Such a good, perfect girl for me.”
The release of his evol sends blood rushing back to your legs, pins and needles prickling along your thighs as circulation returns.
Caleb notices your discomfort immediately, his hands moving to massage your calves and thighs with firm, confident strokes that ease the sensation.
“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, working the stiffness from your muscles with practiced ease. “Kept you folded up for too long.”
“It’s okay,” you assure him, your voice raspy from crying out during your orgasms. “Felt good being held open like that. For you.”
He leans forward, covering your body with his larger frame. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and musk—your own essence transferred from his lips to yours.
The kiss is surprisingly tender given the filthy acts you’ve just performed, his hands cradling your face as if you’re something infinitely precious.
When he pulls back from your lips, his mouth doesn‘t leave your skin. Instead, he begins trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—each press of his lips gentle but insistent, marking a path across your body.
“Mine,” he whispers against your throat before sucking hard enough to leave a mark—a visible reminder of his claim on you. “All mine.”
His mouth continues its journey, leaving a constellation of small hickeys across your skin—some in places easily hidden, others deliberately placed where they’ll be visible to anyone who looks at you.
“Everyone should know,” he murmurs against the tender spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “That you belong to someone.”
You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he continues marking you with his mouth. Your body thrums with satisfied exhaustion, every muscle loose and heavy in the aftermath of such intense pleasure.
“How do you feel?” Caleb asks eventually, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at your face. His expression is soft now, concern replacing the hunger that drove him minutes before.
You consider the question, taking stock of your body—the pleasant soreness between your legs, the sensitivity of your well-used flesh, the lingering tremors of satisfaction still pulsing through your core.
But most of all, you notice the absence of the frustration that plagued you this morning, the dissatisfaction that led you to challenge Caleb in the first place.
“Complete,” you answer finally, the word encompassing everything you’re feeling. “Like you filled a space inside me I didn’t know was empty.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his palm.
Caleb smiles—that rare, genuine smile that transforms his entire face, the one reserved only for you.
“No, Pips,” he corrects gently. “Thank you for trusting me. For letting me be the one to show you everything your body is capable of feeling.”
Caleb sits at the kitchen table, focused on paperwork from his squadron, purple eyes scanning each document with military precision.
He’s been like this for hours—calm, collected, frustratingly responsible.
It’s been days since he reduced you to a quivering mess with his fingers buried inside you, and the memory makes you shift in your seat.
You need his attention, and if being good won’t get it, perhaps being bad will.
You stretch, deliberately making your t-shirt ride up above your navel, but Caleb doesn’t even glance your way. His pen scratches against paper in a steady rhythm that only intensifies your growing agitation.
Boredom is a physical ache, and Caleb is the only cure.
“Ge ge,” you call, infusing your voice with sweetness that doesn’t match the mischief bubbling beneath your skin. “I have a question.”
“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up, just makes another note in the margin of whatever document holds his attention captive.
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
That gets his attention.
His pen stills, and he looks up at you with one eyebrow raised, purple eyes meeting yours with amused confusion. “A worm?”
“Yeah.” You nod seriously. “Like, a regular earthworm. All slimy and wiggly. Would you still love me then?”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “I suppose I would. Though I’d have to find a very small jar to keep you in.”
“You‘d keep me in a jar?” You feign outrage. “That’s cruel imprisonment!”
“Would you prefer I let you loose in the garden, where birds could eat you?”
He’s back to his paperwork already, amusement dying on his lips as his attention returns to whatever boring military matters consume his day.
This won’t do at all.
You slouch deeper into your chair, studying his profile. His jawline is sharp enough to cut glass, especially when he’s concentrating like this.
You think about how that jaw felt between your thighs, how those perfect lips stretched around your clit, and heat blooms low in your belly.
“Don’t you wish you were taller?” you ask suddenly, knowing full well that at 6’2”, Caleb towers over most people.
He doesn’t even look up this time. “Not particularly.”
“I bet if you were taller, you’d have made Colonel faster.” You keep your tone innocent, fishing for any reaction. “Maybe they’d respect you more.”
Caleb’s lips curve into a patient smile, still not rising to your rage bait. “I think my height is adequate for commanding respect, Pips.”
You huff, frustrated by his nonchalance.
Most brothers would have snapped by now, told you to shut up or go away.
But never Caleb.
His patience with you seems inexhaustible, which only makes you more determined to find his limits.
“I bet I could beat you up,” you declare, rising from your chair to strike a martial arts pose you vaguely remember from a movie.
This earns you a genuine laugh, the sound rich and warm. Caleb finally puts his pen down, giving you his full attention as he leans back in his chair. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely. I’m scrappy. You‘re getting soft behind that desk.” You dance around him, throwing fake punches that disturb the air inches from his shoulders. “All that paperwork. Not enough action. I could totally take you.”
Caleb catches one of your wrists mid-swing, his grip gentle but impossible to break. His thumb presses against your pulse point, feeling it race beneath your skin. “You think so, mei mei?”
There’s a challenge in his voice that makes your stomach flip, but he releases you just as quickly, returning to his paperwork with maddening composure. The brief contact only sharpens your need to provoke him further.
“You didn’t even deny it!” you crow, spinning away. “You know I’m right.”
“I’m simply choosing not to engage with your delusions,” he replies mildly, flipping to the next page in his stack. “Some might call that maturity.”
You stick out your tongue at his bent head, even though he can’t see it. “Maturity is boring.”
“So I’ve been told. Repeatedly. By you.”
His calm dismissal stings more than it should.
You pace the kitchen, trying to think of another angle of attack.
What would actually get under Caleb’s skin? What would crack that infuriating composure?
You glance at him, taking in the steady hands that have explored every inch of your body, the strong neck you’ve marked with your teeth, the mouth that’s tasted every part of you.
And suddenly, you know.
If there’s one thing Caleb can’t stand, it’s having his devotion to you questioned.
The way his face changes when someone even hints you might not be his priority, the possessive gleam that enters his eyes when another man looks your way for too long.
That’s your ammunition.
You pause your pacing, studying him with new purpose. Questioning his love for you—not as a joke, but as a genuine doubt—that’s what will finally break through his calm facade.
The thought sends a thrill down your spine, pooling heat between your legs. You want to see that look again—the one that says he’s going to devour you whole and make you thank him for it.
But you can’t just blurt it out. This requires a more tactical approach, something that will catch him completely off guard.
You need to position yourself where he can’t easily escape, where he has to confront your challenge head-on.
Your eyes drift to the laundry basket by the couch, filled with clean clothes waiting to be folded.
Perfect.
Caleb always folds the laundry when he finishes his paperwork—a habit from his military training. He claims it helps him decompress.
You’ll wait until he moves to that task, then strike. Your bratty behavior has earned you his attention before, but this time, you’re playing for higher stakes.
A slow smile spreads across your face as you watch Caleb sign the last document with a flourish. He stands, stretching his arms above his head, his black t-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of toned abdomen that makes your mouth water.
“Finished?” you ask innocently.
“For now.” He cracks his neck, then glances at the laundry basket. “Thought I’d fold these before dinner.”
You watch him walk to the couch, exactly as predicted, and settle beside the basket. It’s time to put your plan into action.
Without hesitation, you launch yourself across the room and drop directly onto Caleb’s lap, sending a t-shirt he was folding tumbling to the floor.
Your weight lands squarely on his thighs, your back pressed against his chest in a move calculated to disrupt his perfect composure.
His hands immediately fly to your waist, strong fingers gripping your sides to steady you both and prevent you from toppling the entire laundry operation.
“What the—“ he starts, but adapts instantly, his military training showing in how quickly he regains his balance. “Y/N, I’m trying to fold laundry here.”
You wiggle your hips, settling more firmly against him. “Boring.”
Instead of pushing you off as most would, Caleb sighs and stands in one fluid motion, lifting you with him as if you weigh nothing at all.
His hands remain locked around your waist as he carries you the few steps to the couch, then sits back down with you still attached to him like a barnacle.
“There,” he says, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “Now at least the clothes won’t end up on the floor.”
You turn sideways in his lap so you can see his face, your legs draped over his thighs. His expression is one of fond exasperation, purple eyes warm with the affection he never bothers to hide when it comes to you.
“You’re so accommodating,” you say, poking his chest with one finger. “It’s annoying.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against your side. “Would you prefer I toss you on the floor?”
“Maybe,” you challenge, jutting your chin out. “At least that would be exciting.”
Caleb rolls his eyes, one hand settling on your thigh while the other reaches for another shirt from the basket. “Your definition of excitement concerns me sometimes, Pips.”
He attempts to return to folding, managing to fold one sleeve of the shirt while keeping you balanced on his lap. You need more. You need his full attention.
You pout dramatically, pushing out your lower lip and widening your eyes in the expression that used to get you extra dessert when you were children. “You’re ignoring me.”
“I’m multitasking,” Caleb corrects, though his lips twitch with amusement. “Some of us have responsibilities.”
“Folding t-shirts is hardly saving the world,” you scoff, plucking the garment from his hands and tossing it back into the basket. “And you’re avoiding the question.”
His eyebrow arches. “What question? You haven’t asked one.”
Perfect opening. Your heart rate kicks up a notch as you prepare to deploy your tactical strike. You shift in his lap, turning to face him more directly, your eyes locked on his.
“Caleb,” you begin, your voice deliberately soft, vulnerable. “Do you love me?”
The question hangs between you, transforming the air. Caleb’s expression shifts from amusement to something more serious, his purple eyes darkening slightly as they search your face.
“Of course I love you, mei mei,” he answers without hesitation, his hand squeezing your thigh gently. “You know that.”
The tenderness in his voice almost makes you reconsider your plan.
Almost.
But the heat simmering beneath your skin demands more, and you’ve come too far to back down now.
“Then why haven’t I tasted you?” you ask, the words tumbling out in a rush.
You watch his expression carefully, delighting in the way his eyes widen fractionally, the only sign that you’ve caught him off guard.
“If you love me so much, why haven’t you let me taste you the way you’ve tasted me?”
Caleb’s breath catches, his body tensing beneath yours. His hand on your thigh tightens imperceptibly, fingers pressing into your flesh.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, but his voice has dropped half an octave, taking on that rough edge that only emerges when his control begins to slip.
You press your advantage, leaning closer until your chest brushes against his. “You’ve had your tongue all over me, inside me. You’ve tasted every drop I have to give.” Your own boldness surprises you, but you don’t stop.
“But I don’t know what you taste like. Do you taste bad? Is that it?”
A flash of something dangerous crosses his features, there and gone so quickly you might have imagined it. But his breathing has changed, grown deeper, more measured, like he’s deliberately controlling each inhale and exhale.
“You’re crossing a line, Y/N,” he warns, but makes no move to push you away.
“Or maybe,” you continue, ignoring the warning, “it’s because you’re stinky? Poor hygiene? Is that why you won’t let your mei mei taste you?” You wrinkle your nose in mock disgust. “I bet that‘s it. Colonel Stinkypants.”
The ridiculous accusation hangs in the air for a beat before Caleb’s expression transforms. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face, turning your insides to liquid heat. This is the look of a man who’s decided to stop playing nice.
“I mean, seriously, when was the last time you showered? Yesterday? The day before?”
You continue your teasing assault on Caleb’s cleanliness, the words spilling from your lips in a nervous stream as you register the dangerous shift in his demeanor.
His eyes have darkened to near-black, the purple barely visible around dilated pupils.
“Because I’ve heard that guys can get pretty funky down there if they don’t wash properly, and—“
Your words die in your throat as Caleb moves with military precision—one hand shooting up to grasp the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair and forming a tight fist.
His other hand finds your throat, not squeezing but holding—his thumb and fingers positioned on either side of your windpipe, applying just enough pressure to make his control unmistakable.
“You want to keep running that pretty little mouth?” he asks, voice dangerously soft. The sudden shift in power steals your breath more effectively than his hand on your throat.
Your spine curves like a drawn bow, ribs lifting toward the ceiling as if pulled by invisible strings, a puppet responding to its master's touch without conscious thought.
You try to respond but can only manage a small gasp as Caleb’s grip in your hair tightens, pulling your head back to expose more of your throat to his hold.
“I’ve been patient with you all day,” Caleb continues, his breath hot against your ear. “Answered your stupid questions. Let you sit on my lap and interrupt my work.”
His thumb traces a gentle line along your jawline, contradicting the firmness of his grip. “But questioning my love for you? Suggesting I’m not clean enough for your precious mouth?”
He pulls your head back further, your neck stretched taut under his hand.
“That‘s crossing a line, mei mei.”
You reach up instinctively, your hands finding his forearms, feeling the corded muscles tense beneath your touch. You don’t try to pull him away. Instead, your fingers curl around his wrists, holding on like he’s anchoring you in a storm.
“If you want to act like a brat,” Caleb says, his lips brushing against your ear with each word, “if you want to push me until I snap, then you better be prepared to take whatever I give you. You understand that, Y/N?”
The question demands an answer, but his grip makes it difficult to speak. You manage a small nod, feeling the slight increase in pressure against your throat as you move.
“No,” Caleb tightens his hold on your hair, sending pinpricks of pain across your scalp that somehow translate into pleasure between your legs. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me you understand what happens when you push me too far.”
He releases just enough pressure on your throat to allow you to speak, his eyes watching your face with predatory focus.
“I understand,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and unfamiliar to your own ears.
“And what happens when you push me too far?” He’s teaching you, making you articulate the consequences of your actions.
You swallow hard against his palm. “You—you snap.”
“And when I snap?”
“You take control,” you manage, heat rushing to your cheeks at having to say it aloud. “You make me take whatever you give me.”
“That’s right. And is that what you want, Y/N? For me to take control? To make you take what I decide to give you?”
The question hangs between you, weighted with meaning. This is your chance to back out, to laugh it off and return to safer ground.
But the heat pooling between your legs, the way your nipples have hardened beneath your shirt, the quickening of your breath under his hold—all betray your body’s answer before your lips can form the words.
“Yes,” you gasp, your hips shifting restlessly in his lap. “Please, ge ge.”
His hand moves from your throat to cup your jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks.
“Such a fucking brat,” he murmurs, but there’s a note of affection beneath the roughness. “Always pushing, always testing limits.”
His thumb traces your lower lip, pressing against it until your mouth parts slightly. “Well, congratulations, mei mei. You’ve found my limit.”
His grip on your hair loosens slightly, not releasing but adjusting for better control. You feel his other hand leave your jaw and slide down to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.
“So you want to know what I taste like?” Caleb asks, his voice pitched low, resonating through your body like a physical touch. “You want to put that smart mouth to better use than asking stupid questions?”
You nod eagerly, your hands still gripping his forearms, feeling the power contained in those muscles.
“Yes,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze from his face. “I want to taste you. All of you.”
Caleb studies you for a long moment, his eyes tracing every feature of your face as if committing it to memory. Then he nods once, decision made.
“Good,” he says, and there’s that dangerous smile again, the one that promises both pleasure and punishment in equal measure. “Because I’m going to feed you every fucking inch of me until that pretty throat bulges with it. I’m going to make you taste me until you can‘t remember any other flavor.”
“And if you still think I’m ‘stinky’ after that,” he continues, his voice hardening, “I‘ll wash your filthy little mouth out with soap. Understand?”
“Yes, ge ge,” you respond immediately, your body humming with anticipation. “I understand.”
“Then let’s see if you can be a good girl for me after all that bratty behavior.”
Caleb’s hands move with decisive strength, lifting you off his lap only to force you down onto your knees in front of him.
Your legs hit the hardwood floor with a thud that sends shock waves up your spine, the sudden position change making your head spin.
You barely have time to adjust before he‘s spreading his legs wide, his grey sweatpants pulling taut across his thighs as he creates a space for you to kneel between them.
“There,” he says, satisfaction coloring his tone as he looks down at you from his seat on the couch. “That’s where bratty little sisters belong when they question their ge ge’s love. On their fucking knees.”
His hand finds the back of your head again, fingers threading through your hair with deceptive gentleness before closing into a tight fist.
“Caleb—“ you start, but he cuts you off by using his grip to guide your face toward his crotch. Through the thin material of his sweatpants, you can see the outline of his cock beginning to harden, the impressive length making your mouth go dry.
Your hands instinctively fly to his thighs, trying to brace yourself as he pulls you closer. His muscles feel like steel beneath your palms, tense and unyielding.
For a moment, you resist the pressure of his hand in your hair, not out of reluctance but from the sheer overwhelming reality of what’s happening.
“Be a good girl,” Caleb commands, his voice dropping to that low register that bypasses your brain and speaks directly to the ache between your legs.
He tugs your hair sharply, the brief sting bringing tears to your eyes. “After all that talk, all those questions, this is what you wanted, isn‘t it? To taste me?”
You nod as best you can with his firm grip controlling your head. “Yes, ge ge.”
“Then stop fighting me,” he growls. “Put that fucking mouth to better use than asking if I‘m stinky.”
You feel a familiar weightless sensation enveloping your arms. Caleb’s gravity evol activates with a subtle purple glow in his eyes, and your arms are suddenly pulled behind your back, wrists crossing at the small of your spine as if bound by invisible restraints.
“What—“ you gasp, testing the hold and finding it unbreakable. Without your hands to brace yourself, you’re completely at his mercy, your balance dependent entirely on his grip in your hair.
“Can’t have these getting in the way,” Caleb explains, his free hand gesturing toward your restrained arms. “I want your mouth focused on one task only. No helping with your hands like a little cheater.”
“Now,” he continues, gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail, “since you’re so concerned about my hygiene, why don’t you help me out of these pants?” His smile is all predator as he watches your face. “With your teeth.”
You blink up at him, momentarily stunned by the degrading request. Leaning forward with Caleb’s grip guiding you, you bring your face to the waistband of his sweatpants.
Your nose brushes against the warm skin of his lower abdomen, and you inhale deeply, finding not the imaginary stink you teased him about but the clean scent of soap and that unique musk that's sole scented. He must've been using your soap again.
You open your mouth, catching the elastic band between your teeth. It tastes of laundry detergent and salt, not unpleasant but strange against your tongue. With Caleb’s hand still firmly in your hair, you begin to tug downward, teeth clenched on the fabric.
“That‘s it,” Caleb encourages, lifting his hips slightly to aid your efforts. “Such a good little bitch now that you’re getting what you want.”
The praise makes your core clench, your thighs pressing together as you continue your awkward task.
The waistband rolls down inch by inch, revealing the defined V of his hips, the trail of dark hair leading downward from his navel. When you reach the base of his cock, the fabric catches, requiring a harder tug.
“Come on, mei mei,” Caleb taunts, his voice rough with growing arousal. “Show me how badly you want to see if I’m clean down there.”
Determination fuels your efforts, teeth clamping harder on the fabric as you pull downward with renewed vigor.
The waistband finally clears his cock, which springs free with enough force to make you flinch back slightly.
Caleb’s grip in your hair prevents you from retreating far, holding you just inches away from his now exposed flesh.
“Keep going,” he orders, and you obey, continuing to drag the sweatpants down with your teeth until they’re bunched around his thighs. Only then does he release your hair, allowing you to sit back slightly and take in the sight before you.
Caleb’s cock stands at half-mast, thicker and longer than you’d imagined even in your most private fantasies.
The head is flushed dark pink, emerging partially from the foreskin, a bead of moisture already gathering at the slit. Veins run along the shaft, giving it a texture that makes your mouth water at the thought of feeling it on your tongue.
“See? Not stinky at all,” Caleb says, his tone mock-offended as he watches your wide-eyed assessment. “Clean enough to eat off of.”
His hand returns to your hair, this time grabbing a fistful at the crown of your head. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
With firm pressure, he guides your face forward until your cheek makes contact with his cock. The heat of it against your skin is startling—like touching velvet-covered steel, hard yet somehow soft on the surface.
Caleb sighs at the contact, his grip tightening as he begins to rub his shaft against your face in slow, deliberate strokes.
“This is what questioning my love gets you,” he murmurs, using your face as if it’s his personal toy. “My cock marking every inch of this pretty face. Is this proof enough for you, Y/N? That I love you enough to let you taste me?”
Your eyes flutter closed as he drags his cock across your cheekbone, then down to trace the seam of your lips. The musky, clean scent of him fills your nostrils, and you can taste the salt of his skin when the head brushes against your mouth.
“Open those eyes,” Caleb commands. “I want you to see what you begged for.”
You comply immediately, looking up to find his purple gaze burning into yours, pupils so dilated they nearly swallow the color entirely. The intensity of his stare pins you in place as effectively as his evol holding your arms.
“Now get it hard for me,” he instructs, still rubbing himself against your face. “Show me what that bratty mouth can do besides ask stupid fucking questions.”
With your arms still pinned behind you by Caleb’s evol, you lean forward and extend your tongue, making that first tentative lick along the underside of his shaft.
The taste is clean, slightly salty—nothing like the imaginary funkiness you teased him about. You trace the prominent vein from base to tip, feeling it pulse against your tongue as his cock hardens further under your attention.
Each stroke of your tongue reveals more of his flavor, drawing a small grunt from deep in his chest that fuels your determination to draw out more sounds.
“See how fucking clean I am?” Caleb taunts, watching your exploration of his cock with hooded eyes. “All that shit-talking about me being stinky, and now you can’t get enough.”
You respond by lapping at him more eagerly, dragging your tongue up and down his length in long, wet strokes.
With each pass of your tongue, his cock grows harder, fuller, the head swelling to an angry purple-red that matches his eyes when he uses his evol.
When you reach the tip, you circle it with your tongue, tracing the ridge where the head meets the shaft before focusing on the sensitive underside. A drop of pre-cum beads at the slit, and you gather it with the flat of your tongue, savoring the slightly bitter tang.
“Fuck,” Caleb hisses, his grip in your hair tightening. “Look at you, finally putting that mouth to good use.”
Emboldened by his reaction, you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, sucking lightly as you glance up to gauge his response. The angle forces you to look up through your lashes.
Caleb’s expression is a mix of arrogance and strain—lips curled in a smirk even as his nostrils flare with each inhale, eyes narrowed but unable to hide the flash of vulnerability your mouth draws from him.
You hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction around his sensitive head, and are rewarded with a sharp exhale that sounds almost like surprise.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, the harshness in his voice softening momentarily. “Take it in that pretty mouth.”
You maintain eye contact as you work your lips further down his shaft, taking him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth.
The size of him stretches your lips wide, the weight of his cock heavy on your tongue. You can only manage about halfway before feeling the urge to gag.
But what you lack in deep-throating skills you make up for in pure horniness, going at his dick like it's your last meal, tongue working overtime while your head bobs up and down like a dashboard ornament on a dirt road.
Caleb rolls his eyes, though the gesture is belied by the pleasure evident in his tense jaw and the pulse you can feel against your tongue.
“Amateur hour,” he taunts, but his breathing has grown ragged, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before. “Is that the best you can do?”
The challenge in his voice spurs you to take him deeper, relaxing your throat as you’ve seen in videos. Your effort earns you another inch before your body rebels, eyes watering as you pull back slightly.
Apparently tired of your pace, Caleb’s hips suddenly thrust forward, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth than you were prepared for.
The unexpected movement makes you gag slightly, your throat constricting around his intrusion.
“That’s better,” he groans, holding your head in place as he rolls his hips, feeding you more of his length with each shallow thrust. “Taking what I give you, just like you promised.”
Tears spring to your eyes from the effort of accommodating him, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you focus on breathing through your nose, on relaxing your jaw and throat to make room for his increasingly forceful movements.
Just as you’re getting into a rhythm, Caleb abruptly pulls you off his cock, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his glistening head. You gasp for breath, lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed with exertion and arousal.
“Not bad,” he concedes, his voice rough with desire despite the casual assessment. “But I think we need to make sure you understand exactly who’s in charge here.”
Without warning, he grabs the base of his cock with his free hand, the other still firmly tangled in your hair.
“This cock is a fucking privilege,” Caleb states, his tone shifting to something harder, more colonel than brother. “Not something you get just because you decided to be a brat today.”
Before you can respond, he slaps his cock against your cheek, the wet smack echoing in the quiet room.
The impact isn’t painful—just enough to startle you, to remind you of your position kneeling before him. He does it again, harder this time, leaving a wet streak of pre-cum and your own saliva across your skin.
“This what you wanted?” he asks, continuing to slap his cock against your other cheek, your chin, your forehead. “To be marked up with my cock? To have my cum all over your pretty face?”
Each smack makes your whole body shiver with that dirty, fucked-up pleasure that gets you so wet, the humiliation turning you on even more till you're writhing around on your knees like a bitch in heat, desperate to grind against anything that'll give your aching pussy some relief.
“Open wide,” Caleb commands, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. “Stick out your tongue like a good little slut.”
You comply immediately, opening your mouth and extending your tongue, presenting it as a target for his next blow. Caleb rewards your obedience by slapping his cock directly onto your waiting tongue, the weight and heat of it making you moan around the intrusion.
“That’s it,” he praises, dragging the head of his cock across your outstretched tongue in slow circles. “Taste every fucking inch of how clean I am.”
He keeps it up, switching between smacking that hard dick on your eager tongue and sliding it all over your lips, leaving them sticky and shiny with his juice.
Your jaw aches from being held open, drool beginning to spill down your chin, but damn, the sheer dirtiness of it all has you squeezing your legs together like that's gonna help the throbbing ache between them that's practically begging to be touched.
“Please,” you manage to whisper when he pulls back for a moment, your voice barely recognizable to your own ears.
“Please what?” Caleb asks, eyebrow raised as he continues to stroke himself inches from your face, occasionally tapping the head against your lips.
“Please feed it to me,” you beg, surprised by your own desperation. “I want to taste more of you.”
A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. “Since you asked so nicely.”
With deliberate patience, Caleb begins to push his cock back into your mouth, inch by excruciating inch. This time, he doesn’t thrust—he simply feeds you his length gradually, allowing you to adjust to the invasion at his pace, not yours.
“Take it all,” he encourages as you struggle with the last few inches. “Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat.”
Following his instructions, you manage to take him deeper than before, your nose nearly touching his lower abdomen as the head of his cock nudges the back of your throat.
Tears stream down your cheeks from the effort, but the pride in Caleb’s eyes makes everything worth it.
“Perfect,” he breathes, holding you there for a moment before allowing you to pull back for air.
As you enthusiastically begin sucking him again, you become increasingly aware of your own neglected arousal.
Without conscious thought, you begin to rock your hips, seeking some relief for the ache between your legs. Finding Caleb’s foot positioned between your knees, you press your core against it, grinding down in small, desperate movements that match the rhythm of your mouth on his cock.
Caleb notices immediately, his lips curving into a smirk. “Look at you, humping my foot like a desperate little dog while you suck my cock.”
He doesn’t move his foot away—if anything, he presses it more firmly against you, giving you something solid to ride. “Go ahead, get yourself off. Show me how much you love serving me.”
You increase the pressure and speed of your grinding, shamelessly using his foot for your pleasure while continuing to work his cock with your mouth.
Your pussy’s soaking wet while his fat cock stretches your mouth open and his foot grinds against your clit, making you dizzy with how fucking good it feels.
“Such a filthy little slut,” Caleb growls, watching you grind against his foot while sucking him. “Look at you, so desperate you’d fuck anything. Even your brother’s feet.”
His words only make you wetter, hungrier for more. “Is this what you wanted all along? Why you were being such a pain in my ass today? Just needed to be put on your knees and shown your place?”
You moan around his cock, the vibration traveling up his shaft and drawing a hiss from between his clenched teeth.
Now you’re exactly where you wanted to be. On your knees, being used for his pleasure while he watches you fuck yourself on his foot.
“That’s it,” he continues, voice rough with arousal. “Take it deeper. Show me how sorry you are for questioning whether I love you enough.”
You relax your throat further, taking him deeper than before, your nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips jerking slightly. “Always knew this fucking mouth was good for something besides talking back.”
Your saliva flows freely now, coating his shaft with each bob of your head, creating obscene wet sounds that fill the room. Strings of drool connect your swollen lips to his glistening cock when you pull back for air, only to dive down again with renewed enthusiasm.
The messier it gets, the more Caleb seems to enjoy it—his breathing growing ragged, his grip in your hair tightening to the point of pain.
“Such a sloppy cocksucker,” he taunts, though the strain in his voice betrays how much your efforts are affecting him. “Getting your fucking drool all over me. This what you needed, huh? To be treated like the little cumslut you are?”
You try to nod around his thickness, earning another grunt of approval as the movement causes your throat to constrict around him.
Growing impatient with your pace, Caleb suddenly releases your hair only to grab your head with both hands, fingers splayed across your scalp for maximum control.
With this new grip, he begins to thrust more forcefully into your mouth, using you as if you’re nothing more than a warm hole for his pleasure.
“Gonna fuck this pretty throat,” he warns, his hips picking up speed. “Show you exactly what happens when you question me, my love.”
You struggle to keep up with his brutal pace, your jaw aching as he pushes deeper with each thrust. Just when you think you might need to tap out, to signal that it‘s too much, Caleb’s foot beneath you flexes, his lace of his feet pressing firmly against your clit through your clothes.
The sudden pressure sends a jolt of pleasure through your core, momentarily distracting you from the assault on your throat.
“That’s right,” Caleb murmurs, noticing your reaction. “Hump my foot like the desperate little bitch you are. Get yourself off while I use your throat.”
“Open wider,” Caleb commands, his voice strained now, control slipping as his pleasure builds. “Let me see those fucking eyes.”
You comply immediately, stretching your jaw to its limit and looking up at him through tear-spiked lashes.
“That’s it,” he praises, his thumbs stroking your temples in a brief moment of tenderness. “Taking my cock so fucking well now. Such a good little sister.”
You moan around him, trying to communicate without words how much you need this, need him.
Suddenly, you feel the restraint of his evol release, your arms falling free at your sides. The return of sensation is almost painful, pins and needles racing up and down your limbs as blood flow returns to normal.
Before you can fully process the change, Caleb’s hands tighten in your hair, holding you firmly in place.
“Gonna cum,” he warns, his voice dropping to a growl that seems torn from somewhere deep inside him. “Gonna fill this fucking throat. And you’re going to swallow every drop, aren’t you?”
You can only make a muffled sound of agreement, your hands now free to clutch at his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingers as he approaches his climax.
“Look at me,” Caleb demands, waiting until your eyes lock with his before delivering his final thrust. “Don’t you fucking look away.”
His cock drives deep into your throat one last time, his hands holding your head firmly against his pelvis as his entire body goes rigid.
You feel him pulse against your tongue, hot spurts of cum shooting directly down your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow or choke. His eyes never leave yours, forcing you to witness his pleasure.
Your orgasm crashes through you without warning, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure radiate outward from your core. You moan around his still-pulsing cock, the vibration drawing a hiss from Caleb as he empties himself down your throat.
“Fuck,” he gasps, his hips jerking with aftershocks. “That’s it, take it all. Every fucking drop.”
You swallow reflexively, again and again, your throat working around him as your own orgasm continues to pulse through your system.
As the intensity begins to fade, your movements become languid, your mouth lazily suckling at the head of his cock, reluctant to release him completely.
Your hips continue to roll against his foot in slow, deliberate circles as you chase the last tremors of your climax.
His hands have loosened in your hair, fingers now gently massaging your scalp where he had pulled so roughly moments before.
Slowly, carefully, he withdraws from your mouth, his softening cock slipping past your swollen lips with a wet sound. You open your mouth to show him the evidence of his release—a small pool of cum mixed with your saliva on your tongue.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “Swallow it.”
You close your mouth and swallow obediently, maintaining eye contact as his seed slides down your already well-used throat.
A small smile of approval curves his lips, but it’s quickly replaced by something more wicked.
Before you can react, Caleb leans down, gathering saliva in his mouth. With deliberate slowness, he spits directly into your open mouth, the warm glob landing on your tongue alongside the lingering taste of his cum.
“That too,” he commands, his voice softer but no less authoritative. “Swallow everything I give you.”
You don’t hesitate, closing your mouth and swallowing his spit just as eagerly as you swallowed his cum.
When you’ve swallowed everything, you open your mouth again to show him your empty tongue, seeking his approval.
Caleb’s thumb traces your swollen bottom lip, his eyes taking in the mess he’s made of you. Your face is tear-streaked from the effort of taking him so deeply, saliva and traces of cum glistening on your chin and cheeks.
With careful movements, he begins to clean you, using his fingers to wipe away the evidence of your submission from your skin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice gentler now that his lust has been sated. “Such a fucking mess. My mess.”
Instead of wiping it away, he pushes it back between your lips, watching intently as you automatically suck his thumb clean.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, repeating the process with another drop that had escaped down your chin. “Don’t want to waste any, do we?”
You shake your head, still floating in the hazy aftermath of your orgasm and the intensity of what just transpired between you.
Caleb continues his cleaning, gathering every stray bit of cum and saliva with his fingers and feeding it back to you.
When he’s satisfied that he’s reclaimed every drop, his hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with surprising tenderness.
“So beautiful like this,” he whispers, leaning down from his seat on the couch to press his lips against your forehead. “All fucked out and sweet for me.”
His mouth travels across your face, placing featherlight kisses on your eyelids, your tear-stained cheeks, the tip of your nose.
“Never question my love for you again,” he murmurs against your skin, the words both command and plea. “You understand?”
“Yes, ge ge,” you respond, your voice hoarse from the abuse your throat has taken.
Caleb’s kisses continue their journey, trailing down to your jaw and then your neck. When he reaches the sensitive juncture where neck meets shoulder, he lingers, sucking gently at the skin until you know he’s left a mark.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, pulling back to examine your face with sudden concern. His hands run down your arms, checking for any damage from being restrained by his evol. “Was I too rough?”
You hadn’t considered whether anything that happened could be classified as “too rough.”
“No,” you assure him, your hands reaching up to rest on his thighs. “It was perfect. I wanted all of it.”
“You did so well,” he praises, his fingers threading through your hair much more gently than before. “Taking me so deep. Swallowing everything I gave you.”
His praise warms you from the inside out, making you glow with a sense of accomplishment that seems disproportionate to the act of sucking his cock.
But that’s how it’s always been between you—Caleb’s approval means more than anyone else’s, his praise capable of sustaining you through the darkest times.
“Did I taste bad?” Caleb asks, a hint of teasing returning to his voice as he references your earlier taunts. “Stinky, was it?”
You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite the residual soreness. “No. You tasted...” You search for the right words, wanting to be honest rather than just flattering. “Sweet and tangy. Nothing like I expected.”
“And what were you expecting?” His eyebrow arches, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just wanted to get a rise out of you.”
Caleb laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Well, you certainly managed that.” His hand drifts to your chin, tilting your face up to ensure you meet his gaze. “You were amazing, Y/N. Taking me like a fucking champ.”
The praise makes you blush, as if you haven't been sucking the life out of him just seconds before.
“My perfect little cocksucker,” he continues, thumb brushing across your still-swollen lips. There’s genuine wonder in his voice, as if he’s discovered something precious and unexpected. “Who knew you had such talents hidden away?”
You duck your head, suddenly shy. Caleb doesn’t allow the retreat for long, his fingers under your chin gently but firmly guiding your gaze back to his.
“Don‘t hide from me,” he says softly. “Not after that. Not after showing me how perfectly you can surrender.”
“I‘m not hiding,” you whisper, your hands sliding up his thighs to rest on his hips. “Just processing.”
Caleb nods, understanding without further explanation. His hand moves to the back of your neck, massaging the tight muscles there with expert pressure.
“How about we get you off this hard floor? Get you cleaned up properly?”
You nod gratefully, allowing Caleb to help you to your feet. Your legs wobble slightly, pins and needles shooting through your calves as circulation returns.
Caleb steadies you, his arm wrapping around your waist. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple, pressing another kiss there. “Always got you, mei mei.”
🗡 warnings/notes: mdni!!!, canon adjacent, blood (no gore), implied murder, dkill spoilers, not edited or revised I just needed to put this on paper, finally writing for games and such yippee!!!
He swallowed hard as the wash cloth swiped across his skin, crimson etched into the threads of the grey fabric - ruined. He usually would do the clean up himself and watch the blood swirl down the drain in a haze; but you caught him in the doorway to the bathroom and he crumbled into you.
Your touch was gentle, precise, as you wiped away the remnants of the night. Blood that was speckled across his cheeks now stained another cloth Guisseppe would ultimately throw out. You held his chin within your other hand, rubbing small circles onto his jaw bone that made his heart squeeze.
You turned his head softly, fingers still on his jaw and he watched you frown. "You got hurt, stupid." He knows. The deep cut near his collar bone, next to the sigil on his shoulder blade, that bled into his shirt.
"I'm fine." Direct, but soft. Always gentle with you, though he'd taunt and tease, and never one snap even remotely in your direction.
"You're not a good liar, Mr. Montgomery." You jeered, pulled back his collar, and sighed. "It looks deep."
"Stop calling me that, freak," said through a huff. He rolled his eyes at the name, but he knew upon hearing it he was in deep shit. "You should see the other guy."
You rolled your eyes and his dreams were dashed of making you laugh to change the subject. "You're deflecting."
"I've never done that in my life." He knew the way you stare through him, like you can see every cell and bone of him. It used to run a chill down him that you could read him so easily, now he finds himself letting you crack the spine to his literature. He doesn't need to say anything else now, as you scanned over his face like your favorite book; because to you, he was. Read fluently without so much as a single mistake. There was a twinge of worry in your eyes once you saw it, the yearning and tragedy, but a ghost of a smile appeared back on your lips and he reciprocated.
"No, of course you haven't," you chuckled. There was a lapse in conversation while you cleaned his wound and the rest of the blood that splattered him. The bathroom smelled metallic, the sink a mix of water and crimson as you wrung out the wash cloth, and his stained shirt now strewn in the trash. He watched you the entire time, eyes never leaving you swipe after swipe from the cloth in your hand, taking in the surrounding he found himself in. Three in the morning, covered in blood, sitting on the counter of your shared bathroom, and reaching to you for normalcy.
"You should be asleep, it's late."
"It's early, and you should've been home hours ago."
"Aww- how romantic, you stayed up for me," cooed through a cheshire smile. "I'd prefer some candles or something next time though." He felt you press harder into his shoulder as you cleaned him up, a small smirk on your lips as he winced. "Fuck- I could've done this myself, y'know? I'm a big boy."
You settled between his legs once you were finished, standing between them as he remained on the counter. "Only this once," you teased, "I need some good karma." Your hands settled on his knees before looking over your handy work. Gauze and bandages across his shoulder, far from a nurse's doing, but it got the job done.
"How generous of you and your karma, I'll be sure to put a star next to your name on the good noodle board."
"'Last time I help you, asshole." Your hands reached for his chest to shove him from the counter; however, his hands caught your own and held them tight. A smile etched into his lips, wide and playful, painted on beautifully before he felt you squeeze his hands. Just for a moment he felt himself slip, teetered off the edge of a tightrope but found his footing once more before it was too late.
His lips twitched and hazel eyes went blank for a fraction of a second, but nonetheless you smiled. Allowed him to navigate the treacherous waters of his own mind himself, but with a calming touch and a candy sweet tone to remind him he wasn't alone.
"Some good noodle you are, trying to push my ass off the counter." His smug smile returned to its rightful place, lips pulled up again as if it never flickered away. "What if I fell and died? Huh?"
You squeezed his hands again with a laugh before pulling away, "you'd find a way to haunt me. You'd watch me change like a perv and throw random shit at me." Hazel eyes lingered on you as you padded past the counter and to the door. Just beyond was a shared bedroom, the one he snuck through hoping he wouldn't wake you.
"So nothing would really change," he scoffed and hopped down from the counter. There was a sting in his shoulder that made him grit his teeth, but ignored it once you pulled open the door. "Not even an 'I'd miss you so much babe, you're the love of my life! What would I ever do without you!'"
He heard you laugh and he felt the world pause. Stopped in the doorway, leaned against the frame, and eyes locked onto you as you sat on the edge of the bed and grinned at him. You said something to him he couldn't make out, words in that saccharine tone you always use, with a glimmer in your eyes that made him weak. Your eyes were dark from lack of sleep, clothed crumpled from tossing and turning in bed, and fidgety hands from unsettled nerves even after you laid eyes on him.
He blinked, trying to clear his head of the lingering thoughts of worry, again and again until he ultimately gave up. An uphill battle he couldn't win in the dead of night and sleep deprived. Worry knitted within blood vessels and bone, and wove into his heart; pulled taut with every passing second he gazed at you. Worried you may lose interest, worried he may be apprehended, worried he may lose you, worried it would all be his fault.
You stood up, smile faltering as you eyed him in the doorway. He watched you, one foot in reality and the other far away, step closer to him until you were in front of him and stop. Your fingertips touched his cheek, cold and soft, and he instinctively leaned into it. "Get out of that pretty head of yours," your voice was soft, full of care, and dripped with love. You turned yet another page to his novel and his soul shifted, dialed and changed until it landed in the shape of you.
He reached for you, fingers grabbing at the fabric of your shirt before finding purchase on your waist once he pulled you close. No longer covered in blood, no longer sitting on the counter in the bathroom, but finding normalcy in the touch of your skin. You felt his smile return against the skin on your neck, "love you," he hummed. "I guess you can get your good noodle star back."
The Colonel Behind Closed Doors (Is Your Good Boy)
summary °✧୨ৎ Caleb’s favorite place to be is at your feet, leashed like a dog. he tries to be a good boy, but you make it challenging, pushing him until he breaks.
content °✧୨ৎ pet play/collar + leash, humiliation/degradation. teasing, begging, bondage, spitting in mouth, stepping on him, praise, crying/dacryphilia, orgasm control (delay&forced), overstimulation, drugs mentioned as a metaphor, mentions he previously failed to pull out, calls himself your “bitch boy” once, sucking fingers, masturbation/fingering, squirting, pet names, he humps your shoe, he licks his own pre-cum, he cums untouched (again), some cuddling aftercare
a/n °✧୨ৎ may contain errors. I’ve looked at this too much & can barely tell how it sounds anymore. <3
The colonel instills fear with a mere glance. His name alone summons dread. He fits the role so well that it appears innate. Many assume it’s just his constant disposition.
They couldn’t be more wrong.
Plenty of layers lie beneath that mask of a cold-hearted superior. He sits at the hierarchy’s pinnacle, yet there’s someone he answers to, of his own volition; no ulterior motifs, hidden strategy, or power to be gained.
Their commander is under your command—under your heel.
That dangerous, imposing force pines for your approval. So, he’s made to work for it.
Stripped naked, he sits obediently on the floor, staring up at you like he’s seeing God. Uniform tossed to the couch, his authority is discarded, all transferred to you.
“Gonna be a good boy for me?” Your stiletto hovers over his crotch, nearly grazing it, before digging into his upper thigh.
“Mhmm, i’ll be so soo good.” He’s brimming with energy, livened by those two simple words. As always, they melt him into something so malleable.
His lips part as you brush over them, quivering under your thumb. Drool seeps from the corners.
“This is all you’re getting for now. Open.”
You’d been letting saliva accumulate. With his immediate compliance, it descends onto his tongue. Emitting a lengthy groan, he allows your spit to linger there, mixing with his. He revels in its presence, before swallowing. Eyes shining with excitement, he awaits further instructions, practically foaming at the mouth to serve you.
He’s your sweet little pet—striving for perfect adherence to each rule. If told to sit and roll over, there would be no hesitation.
He's on a tight leash, woven into your palm.
And it’s not solely metaphorical.
The ruthless colonel loves to be collared.
Red leather encircles his neck. Dangling from the center, is a silver dog-tag engraved with his name. The strap fastened to him is kept taut. He moans with each assertive tug.
To him, nothing is hotter than being thrust into submission. It has his tip dripping, tinged an angry blend of red-purple hues. The veins on his shaft are so pronounced, like marking a path, imploring you to follow.
“Aww, your cock is already crying for me, what a needy boy you are…gonna have to be still though, okay? Can you do that for me?”
He nods with genuine conviction. However, determination won’t be enough. Failure is a promise reinforced by each moment.
Especially, once the ultimate temptation is level with him.
Wrists bound by rope and a verbal order, he’s denied permission to touch. Escape would be easy, you both know that. Of course, some knotted fibers are utterly useless against him. But that adds to the fun. It’s harder to resist when giving in would be so simple.
Your bare pussy is so close. Its heat whispers against his skin, beckoning him.
He leans forward slightly.
“Stay.”
That strict tone makes his cock dance. His shaky apology is silenced by the parting of your folds. The wetness is audible as they reveal your fluttering hole. A trail of your essence spans to your ass, each glistening bead chased by another.
The remedy to his thirst is smeared slowly over your pussy, flaunting what he’s been barred from. He tracks every movement, teeth puncturing his bottom lip. Unable to claw him from his trance, the blood goes unnoticed.
Two fingers slip past your entrance, a drawn-out sigh past your lips. “hah—everything’s so sensitive, even my small fingers are just sooo muchhh. Nothing compared to the stretch yours would give…mmm, down to the knuckle, prying me apart.”
Like a puppy begging for nourishment, his pupils are massive, fixed on the meal in front of him. The proximity stirs his taste buds; he swears they detect a faint trace of the flavor. It’s carved into his memory, taunting him with recollection that’s too vivid, yet too hollow. The urge to indulge is difficult to reject.
Watching him struggle to fight it turns you on.
You’re soaked, loud squelches produced by each motion. It’s hard to delay what you so badly desire. But watching the cracks multiply is too enticing.
You love having that power over him—the only one capable of crumbling something so sturdy. And he’s always so eager for it, welcoming any method.
This one is the most brutal. Arms tied behind him, he’s forced to observe passively. Arousal shines on your wrist, dribbling onto the tile. He wants nothing more than to lick it all up, shamelessly lapping at the ground. It’s a privilege he’d do anything to earn.
“Want some?” It’s not truly a question, you already have the answer. It’s just way more satisfying to hear it from him.
“Please pips—w-want it!” He bounces slightly, restlessness bleeding into every syllable.
Such an adorable reaction warrants a little treat.
Torso guided by your heel, he lies back, legs outstretched. His head is supported by the chair. Your right foot is raised to the cushion, settling beside the crown of his skull. The other is against balls, making him gasp.
Leaning forward, your cunt is positioned over him. Your fingers thrust aggressively. Droplets spill intermittently into the mouth awaiting them—injecting him with euphoria so intense that it hurts. You’re the most potent drug. He can’t stop himself from chasing that high, humping your shoe like an animal.
“Tsk, did I say you could use my foot?”
With a distressed noise, he goes rigid. Expression pinched in concentration, he’s straining to remain still. Everything within him calls for the opposite.
The sight makes you burn, laugh rippling into a moan. “Now tell me how pitiful you are.”
“So fuckin’ gross, a dog that keeps makin’ m-messes.” He twitches with want, getting off on those words.
“Yeah, that’s exactly right.” Tension is ushered to your center as you push into that dizzying spot. More and more juices leak from you, claiming him inside and out. “Should I take you for a nice walk around the fleet? Show aallll those subordinates how fucking pathetic their colonel is?”
“Do whatever’ya want with me. Belong to you pips—mm’your little bitch boy, fuckin’ looovee it.”
The thought of being fully at your mercy drives him closer to the edge, as it does for you. He’s rutting against you once again, leaving streaks of pre-cum past your ankle.
“Yet, you still can’t control yourself, huh? About to shoot your dirty cum all over me, aren’t you?”
The tells are so obvious. His inhales are sharper, the snapping of his hips more chaotic. Seconds from his grasp, that peak is yanked away. Your leg shifts to the left, planting itself beside his outer thigh.
The loss of friction makes him flinch like he’s been kicked. “I-I didn’t mean to. Baby, please—I’m so sooo sorry! I’ll make it up to you—reaaally need to cum!”
His length is so engorged, screaming for relief. Tears fall towards his chin as he aimlessly thrusts into nothing. They’re collected with a swipe, swirled over your puffy clit—pleasure fueled by his frustration.
“Poor thing…gonna have to hold it, bad dogs don’t get rewards,” you pout mockingly. “Don’t sulk.”
That last part is insincere, you’d hate for him to stop; desperation makes him even more stunning, amplifying every sensation within you.
The pulse in your core sends shockwaves with each beat. Your hands accelerate to match its haste. “Hngh—aching so bad, might fill that whiny throat of yours. Think you deserve it?”
“I d-don’t deserve you, try so hard to be better. Please—need to drink it all up, miss that sweet little pussy so much, you’re killin’ me.”
Seems he has learned something.
Even if your mind had changed, it would be too late for interference. You squirt violently, struggling to stay upright. Gravity immediately adjusts to steady you. The feeling of release, paired with his evol’s embrace, is sheer bliss. If he wasn’t ensuring your balance, you’d certainly collapse. Strong spasms grip every inch of you so tightly. The consecutive gushes are almost too intense.
He treats each one like they might evaporate, Adams’s apple bobbing with avid gulps. Lids heavy, he consumes everything to the very last trickle. Staring up into heaven, he’s completely drunk off its taste, longing to be inside. It always greets him so warmly, hugging him like he’s been missed. That unrelenting grip insists that he stay. It gets him into trouble. His mind becomes too scrambled; when spoken orders conflict with your body’s, he sometimes follows the wrong one.
That’s why access to you has been revoked for a week; he failed to pull out—again. It hasn’t even been two full days, and he’s already distraught.
“Just the tip, pleasepleasepleaseee—I know you love my cock, always tellin’ me how good it feels. It can do muuuchh more than your fingers."
Amused, you expel a short puff of air. “Seems I haven’t trained you well enough. It's almost like you want to add another week…”
"Wait, please don’t! I won't do it again, swear!” His gaze is panicked, searching for forgiveness in yours.
“How cute.” Hand withdrawing from your cunt, you gather some of his pre from your shin. Fingers now lathered with both of you, they’re shoved past his lips. He sucks automatically. As the substance is consumed, satisfied noises continually flow from him.
When deemed to be enough, you stop him. Freeing his mouth, you point downward. “Clean up after yourself.”
His tongue promptly meets your leg, whirling over that remaining filth. The wet licks become more hurried as you smile down at him. His eyes are wide and glassy, brows raised and drawn together. Gazing up at you is a look of complete subservience.
One fluid of his simply replaces another. He still shines on your skin, now in strips of saliva. Once that’s all there is, he keeps going, as if trying to absorb you.
“Good boy,” you purr.
His moans drop in pitch as you pat his head. Lids squeezing shut, he fucks the air faster, and faster, before suddenly locking up. Unassisted by touch, all that bottled pressure bursts.
Lowering to your knees, you caress his face—contorting involuntarily, yet still unbelievably perfect. Pleasure has seized all control of his body. Thick strings of him repeatedly splash your top, sliding down your cleavage. Broken ‘sorry’s follow his strained growls.
“I know baby…you tried so hard for me,” you coo. One hand still soothing him, the other contrasts it—drawing invisible shapes on his sensitive tip, continuing once his climax subsides. You pull him closer, resting his head on your shoulder. “Since you wanted to cum so badly, let’s see how many times.”
His dick is bullied into numerous orgasms. Each one leaves him more disoriented than the last. He’s panting loudly, sobbing into your neck. But he endures it willingly—gratefully. Even torment is delightful when inflicted by you.
Nearly all his strength is depleted by the time you’re done. Once untied, his arms immediately wrap around you. You find him so endearing in this state. All toughness is gone. He’s completely vulnerable—exhausted to a rare degree, unable to pretend otherwise.
Around you, he doesn’t have to.
“I’m so proud of you, you did such a good job,” you whisper, stroking his hair. The praise offers a short burst of energy, before he slumps against you. Attempting to express gratitude, his words are muffled by fatigue. Nuzzling into your warmth, his breathing gradually slows. He dozes off within minutes.
Even when the position becomes uncomfortable, you maintain it for a while. Holding him silently, you admire this part of him.
