𝕊𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤: Do you know what would bring two enemies together? A movie day!
𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: pure smut, nothing else-
𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2,122
𝕊𝕠𝕝 𝕩 ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕖 𝕩 𝔽𝕖𝕞!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣
𝟙𝟠+ !!ℕ𝕆 𝕄𝕀ℕ𝕆ℝ𝕊!!
ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: ℙ𝕃𝔼𝔸𝕊𝔼 ℝ𝔼𝔸𝔻: I was making this while I was sick before (I got over being sick only to freaking become sick AGAIN!) But it's not that bad this time. It's what happens when you have a horrible heart and a bad immune system TvT
I wrote this because I needed practice for my smut scenes so...
✍️(◔◡◔)
Anyways, here you go, for all my Sol and Crowe fans!
Enjoy!!~
You’ve had… better ideas than this.
Much better ideas than this. And regretted a few. But you couldn’t decide if this was a regrettable decision or the best decision you’ve ever made. All you tried to do was to get your two guy best friends to get along, is that too much to ask?
Apparently it is.
That morning, you had texted both of them separately, asking them to come over around noon for a movie you bought the day before. Sure, you didn’t say that the other one was coming as well, but there wasn’t any harm in a surprise, was there? At least you didn’t think so.
Crowe was the first to show up, ten minutes early. Not that it had bothered you. You had told him to wait on the couch while you finish getting everything ready. And he did just that, waiting patiently, thinking that it would be only you two. Until there was another knock on the door five minutes later, and it was none other than Sol. Who else would it have been, really?
But as soon as the two guys saw each other, the room felt… tense. You could probably cut through the air with a knife from how suffocating it was.
You were sitting in between them on your couch, the movie playing in front of you three, but no one was watching it. Sol was busy throwing glares in Crowe’s direction. Crowe was trying to focus on the movie, but obviously couldn’t because of Sol. And you were just.. there. Right in the middle of their… whatever this was they were doing.
This was so bad. You just wanted them to get along for one afternoon.
You reached for the popcorn on the coffee table, picking it up and offering some to Crowe first, being polite, trying to break the very uncomfortable silence.
“Would you like some popcorn?” You gave him a gentle smile that made his heart skip a beat. Of course he took some, because it was you that was offering it to him. But the death glare Sol gave him didn’t go unnoticed from either of you.
You turned and offered some to Sol. “Popcorn?”
He tore his gaze from Crowe to you, a gentle smile on his lips the moment he looked at you. He shook his head, not voicing his answer before going back to glare at Crowe for even existing in your presence.
And with that, the tension is back. You tried to ignore it, eating some popcorn of your own until Sol grabbed your wrist suddenly, making both you and Crowe look at him.
“Pumpkin, your fingers are dirty,” His red-orange eyes flicked to Crowe for a brief moment, as if making sure he was looking before looking back to you. “Let me clean you up.”
You blinked in confusion, unsure of what he meant by that. “Sol, what are you–” Without letting you finish your sentence, he brought your index and middle finger up to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the pad of your fingertips, tasting the buttery and salty goodness of the popcorn and you.
Your face burned as he licked and gently sucked on your fingers, his eyes closing as he savored the taste, humming softly around your fingers, the vibrations sending shivers through your nerves. The warm and wet feeling of his mouth making gentle sucks sent a soft yet audible shudder through your body.
Sol finally pulled your fingers out of his mouth, a string of saliva connecting from his lips to your wet fingers, breaking as he opened his eyes, his face left flushed. Yet his eyes bore into yours, his pupils dilating the longer he looked at you.
Crowe’s expression was horrified at the sight before him. He couldn’t form a single thought other than the image of Sol’s mouth on your fingers burned into his brain. Was Crowe going to let this stand? No. This was war.
You felt Crowe gently grab your jaw, turning your head to face him. He gave you a gentle smile, his eyes seemingly darker than you remembered them being before.
“Starlight, you have a little something right–” He leaned in, his hand on your jaw tightening slightly, ensuring you wouldn’t pull away. “There.” His tongue licked the corner of your mouth suddenly, making your breath hitched from the contact.
Crowe gazed over to Sol, noticing how very closely Sol was watching. Sol’s eyes narrowed at Crowe, but it didn’t scare him. Not one bit.
As soon as Crowe pulled away, Sol let go of your wrist and took your face in his hand, turning your face to him a little too roughly before his mouth crashed into yours, muffling your gasp. Sol never looked away from Crowe as he kissed you, watching as Crowe’s face crumbled from watching you two.
It was a war. A war of taking turns on kissing them, of who would get your attention more than the other. And the kissing soon turned into groping and grabbing, a race to see who would be able to take your clothes off first. A race to get you into your bedroom while trying to kiss and touch you.
It was happening so fast that you didn’t know how to process everything, didn’t know who to touch first, who to kiss back. You thought you could feel one of them biting your skin, but you couldn’t tell who it was, not with both of their mouths on you.
When you felt them pulling you down on your bed, Sol tried to take over first, kissing you deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you feel his pierced tongue exploring yours. Then you felt Crowe’s tongue on your body, his smooth and wet tongue running up your ribcage until his mouth found your nipple—capturing it and giving it a gentle suck, making you cry out against Sol’s mouth from the feeling. It was an intense sensation yet you didn’t want it to stop.
That would be a crime if they stopped now.
Sol’s hand slid down your stomach, then lower, before dipping between your legs, making you gasp as his middle finger rubbed up and down your slit, gathering enough wetness before bringing that finger up to his lips, pulling back from you to lick his finger. The soft hum of approval made your stomach clench from anticipation.
Crowe noticed your attention wasn’t on him, making him gently nip at your wet peak, making it ache more before he soothed it with his tongue. You groaned, tearing your gaze from Sol to Crowe, feeling him dragging his tongue from your hardened nipple and up to your neck, gently starting to suck on the hollow spot near your collar bone.
Sol watched for a moment, watching how the person he hated most left a dark red mark on the person that he loves most. It was unacceptable.
He moved down on your body, placing wet open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, moving lower until his head was between your legs. His hands opening your thighs more for him, fingertips digging into your skin as he buried his face into your wet cunt, his tongue licking up your wetness.
“Ah!~” You tilted your head back on your bed, your legs instinctively moving to close around Sol’s head, but he kept them open as he ate you out—licking and swirling his tongue as if trying to taste all of you, inside and out. As if he was eating something for the first time in a long time.
Crowe lifted his head up from your neck, smashing his lips into yours, nipping at your bottom lip before letting his tongue slide into your mouth, muffling the sounds you were making. The sounds you were making because of Sol.
It was so… erotic. How they fight over you, your attention, your lust. You wanted more, to see how far you could take them before they break. Before they tried to tear each other apart before either of them got inside you.
You leaned into the kiss, one hand coming up and into his hair, kissing Crowe back deeply and desperately. He groaned against your mouth, one hand coming up and gently grabbed your hardened nipple in between his index finger and thumb. He gently twisted it, making a moan rip from the back of your throat, arching into his touch.
Sol noticed. Of course he did. You wanted him to notice.
Sol doubled his efforts, moving his tongue inside you, fucking you with it, making you feel the ball on his tongue gently scratching you in the most pleasurable way imaginable.
You tore your lips from Crowe’s, a moan breaking free, a moan that made both Sol and Crowe’s cocks stir in their pants. Crowe gently grabbed your face again, turning you so you could kiss him again.
“Pay attention, my Starlight.” He whispered against your lips, but Sol heard. And he hated it.
Sol got up then, his mouth and tongue no longer giving you the pleasure that you so desperately wanted. He shoved Crowe a little but still hard enough to make him stop kissing you to look at the angry man.
“Hey, be careful.”
“You. Why can’t you just go away? Why are you always around like a damn fly?”
Crowe gave him a confused look, unsure what he meant, but Crowe didn’t really care right now. He turned back to you, seeing the rise and fall of your chest, your flushed and pouty face before looking back at Sol.
“Hate me all you want, but I only care about her.” He gently cupped your chin, squishing your cheeks a little, making you look even more cuter to them. “You can either continue what you were doing or move out of the way and let me do it. I have no doubt that after a few licks from me she’ll cum sooner.”
If Sol didn’t hate Crowe before, he definitely does now.
As if taking his challenge, Sol leaned down and pushed his tongue back into you, making you whimper from the wet sensation again. Crowe went back to what he had been doing; teasing your aching breasts, kissing you breathlessly.
The sensations were too much, too much for your mind to comprehend, too much for your body to adjust and to handle. Especially all at once. But then Sol’s tongue found your clit, using the ball on his tongue to tease it, flicking against it.
It was overstimulating. You didn’t know when or how it happened so quickly; your body became tense, tilting your head back as a hoarse cry came out of you as waves of pleasure crashed into you, seeping deep into your nerves and bones. And the evidence of it was all over Sol’s mouth and face.
Your body went limp on your bed as Sol leaned upwards, licking his lips with another hum of approval. You panted heavily, feeling Crowe’s fingertips dance along your burning hot skin. Teasing your nerves.
“I think that took a lot out of her.” You heard Crowe say, his voice soft and gentle, like a warm blanket after a cold shower.
“It looked like it did… but I think she can handle more.”
You lifted your head when Sol said that, looking at him as if he was crazy. Well, he was insane. For you. They both were.
Crowe looked down at you, gently cupping your cheek, making you look up at him.
“Can you handle more, my Goddess?”
The way he asked that, the way he worded it made you want to submit to whatever they wanted. To anyone else, it may have seemed like he was giving you a choice. But you knew you didn’t, but Crowe wasn’t the type to take like Sol was. He wanted you to say it. To voice that you want more from them, to take whatever they wanted to give to you willingly.
“Y-Yes…” You stuttered out, despite your core aching and your body in bliss. You still wanted more. You wanted all of them.
Crowe’s lips twitched as he tried to conceal his smirk, moving a hand down to undo his dress pants.
“Whatever my sweetheart wants.~”
You felt Sol’s hands running up your thighs, moving to grip your hips and suddenly pulled you down closer to him. You whined at the feeling of his bulge in his jeans pressing against your wet core.
In that moment, you knew that you did indeed have a bad idea making them come over for a movie. But it wasn’t regrettable. No. Far from it.
𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: sol x gn! reader · crowe x gn! reader · smut · kink exploration · 3am reading vibes · short & sweet headcanons · playful teasing · canonical + headcanon mix · reader as observer · light dom/sub undertones · spicy content · slightly unhinged fantasies
𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Ah, kinks—everyone’s got ’em, especially us fanfic addicts. Soft, spicy, or delightfully unhinged, there’s always that one thing that hits just right. You know the vibe: it’s 3 AM, you’re scrolling AO3, Tumblr, or Wattpad, hunting for that one trope that makes your brain and heart go yep, that one. Guilty? Same.
For this little experiment, I mashed a bit of canon with my own headcanons for Crowe and Sol—because why not? This time, I narrowed it down to just four kinks, short, sweet, and spicy.
Buckle up—it’s gonna be a fun ride.
𝓌𝒸: 19k
Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.
For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!
On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.
✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒
Naturally, I had to start with the man himself—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. Though the details are still unclear, he exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.
His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy.
Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?
At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.
What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.
✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…)
For Crowe preferences!!
He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished.
When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender.
And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after.
Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.
Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.
When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.
There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.
He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment.
There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.
But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.
With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.
So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment.
And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.
✑ Praise (giving + receiving)
Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin.
“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.
He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”
Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.
Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.
But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...
I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."
One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”
His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”
And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!
✑ Experimentalist
Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.
There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew.
His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore.
And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.
However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.
Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer.
When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable.
And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.
Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy.
And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down.
✑ Dacryphillia
Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.
You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?
He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions.
So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous.
Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.
You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.
You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.
Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache.
You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you with his cock, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.
His fingers tease your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.
Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want, love. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing down lightly as if testing the waters.
A soft moan released from your lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”
His soft gin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory.
“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears running down your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him.
“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.
Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him.
Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.
Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.
✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁
Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.
Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.
And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.
Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?
Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you.
✑ Switch (A Pervert…)
Now, about Sol’s... preferences.
From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.
Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.
When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor.
He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.
To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability.
As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.
Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.
He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there.
There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed.
Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching.
He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.
Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.
✑ Praise (Receiving)
Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares.
But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away.
They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break.
His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck
✑ Masochist
The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior.
Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.
Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable.
He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.
There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)
You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”
Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable.
It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.
And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it.
A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.
Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.
Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.
And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
✑ Somnophillia
It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend.
Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you.
Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.
Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you.
You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.
It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.
His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.
But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.
He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.
God, he was losing it.
Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further.
Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly.
Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it?
He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry!
His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.
Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.
“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.
To Sol, this meant everything.
This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special.
So sacred.
There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.
And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.
To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Even the shadowed obsession that came with it.
♤ — 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ
cw: sadist reader, edging, kinda dacryphilia, char is NOT A MASOCHIST, begging
art credits: @pyanyasha on x
"haah.." he pants, sweat dripping down his bare body.
his pants rest around his ankles as a slight restraint, and wrists tied together behind his back. youre fully clothed under him (even though your shirt and pants are basically see-through now from his sweat.). They stick uncomfortably to your skin, you try to wiggle around to free yourself, just for the wettness to drench another part of skin; you shiver from the coldness.
When he said he'd do anything for you, he didn't know you'd take it so far. It's been 3 hours into you edging him now, and he's starting to go crazy—but he quickly loses himself in your touch again when you whisper sweet nothings into his ear, licking the shell of it to earn another moan out of him.
"baby.. come o-on.. please!.." he whines.
he turns his head to kiss you but you lean back. You can't help but giggle at his attempts to try and please you even while his hips jerk up into your unforgiving hand. He's trained so well.
"Youre so mean—hng!"
He keels over as you press your thumb into his tip, precum gushes out of the slit in an instant, and you swear you could hear him sob.
"t-that hurts.. (your name), please.." he sputters and writhes under your grasp, but his hips don't hesitate to move desperately now. he's so fucking embarrassed at the mess he's made already, and he hasn't came once. his pink tip puffy and glistening with his essence.
"You can take the pain.." Your lips quirk up into a devilish smirk; which he can imagine is plastered on your face based on your honeyed tone, but he has trouble looking at you, as his body involuntarily coils up.
He chokes on his own gasp of relief when you remove your thumb from his aching tip, he's eternally grateful, even if his mind is too fogged up to tell you. he lays his head back to rest against your chest, eyebrows knitting together, and lip trembling. his chest heaves with growing intensity each time your hand pumps his base; you can tell he's getting close now, so of course, you slide your hand off of it.
He cries out furiously, causing you to flinch, but you can't help the smile that forms when he tries to babble pet names and pleads. even though it's useless since they're shadowed by his rasped and feverish breaths, you appreciate the effort. His face contorts into a pathetic expression, and he looks up at you—seemingly unaware of how his hips keep bucking up into nothing.
this is the hottest thing i've ever seen
You reach out to wipe a tear threatening to spill out of his lower eyelid, while your other hand uses the blanket to dry off his cock. Then you finally lean in to kiss him, pressing your lips against his. his eyes flutter shut when you lick into his mouth, and allow his tongue to mingle with yours. you slowly close your lips around his tongue to suck on the wet muscle, bobbing your head as if it was his dick. Your hand creeps towards his unknowing cock, and You gently run your nails up and down the shaft. Causing him to shiver from such a small gesture makes you giggle into your boyfriend's mouth proudly.
you swallow his moans as you wrap your hand around his dry manhood, spine instantaneously arching. You pull away from the kiss when you pump him faster, the friction of your dry hand and his dry shaft rubbing against each other not slowing your movements down one bit. Not even when his eyes gloss over, when his nostrils flare, or even when he yelps in pain. You quickly feel the heat building in your core as he thrashes around, trying to escape the overwhelming feelings of arousal and pain youre inflicting on him.
"stop! stop, (your name)! it—Fuck!" he wails, panting shakily.
but his cries only spur You on. You lean in to nip and lick at his neck as he sobs in agony. tears start to dribble out of his eyes, contrasting the way he keeps bucking into your hand.
"it hurts! it hu-hurts!" a guttural cry tears out of his throat as you feel wetness suddenly drench your hand. salty liquid drips onto your tongue; it seems his tears made it down to his neck already, but it's hard to focus on giving him a hickey when he keeps seizing. You slow your movements down and lift your head up to look at the mess he's made.
Fuck..
drool trickles down the corner of his mouth, eyes blood shot red and skin stained from tears, hair drenched and stuck to his forehead, flushed cheeks, nose dripping with a disgusting mixture of sweat and snot, and chest heaving with quick and recovering breaths. Your eyes trail down to where your hand lies, holding the base of his raw, red, skinned cock. Shit. the wetness wasn't his cum, it was from serous drainage. (the clear/yellow liquid that comes out of a cut/injury). his peeled skin resigns under your fingernails, and he disorientedly looks at you, eyelids heavy. he mutters something, but youre too focused on his beautiful expression to listen, lapping up the drool that spills from his kiss-bruised lips. He whimpers at your soothing touch when you plant wet kisses on his forehead.
"hu...hurts..." his eyelids flutter closed. you worry that he's gonna faint, but he just seems exhausted for now.
"i know, let me take care of you." your hand trails along his chest, finding one of his nipples and rolling it between your fingers.
he can feel his balls aching for release, and his dick throbbing in anguish, nausea churns in his stomach at the thought of you touching it again. it hurts. so so so badly.
"No, no, please! please please please!" he hiccups.
"but don't you want to feel good? You dont wanna feel my cunt around you?" you taunt him.
"No—yes! i, i do!" he whips his head around to kiss your neck, trying to encourage you to fuck him.
You shamelessly laugh at his efforts, making his eyes gloss over once again.
the end ☺️
thank yew for reading!!! this was fun to writeeee like i literally wrote this in one day dawg 😭 - peach!
Summary: you decided that Caleb deserves an extra special gift on his birthday
Warnings: established relationship, no plot besides birthday, dom!caleb, kissing, oral (m!receiving & f!receiving), food sex, improper use of birthday cake and whipped cream, edible lingerie, p in v, unprotected sex, doggystyle, 69, creampies, overstimulation, spanking, biting, praise, pet names (pips, baby, sweetheart, princess), hes so downbad for her, i feel like im missing stuff idk its 3 am
Wc: ~3.4k
a/n: guys i saw his birthday card and something triggered in my brain and i knew what i had to do + I got his card in 30 pulls and I feel blessed
The front door creaked open slowly, Caleb balancing his luggages in one hand as the other fiddles with the keycard he just used to unlock the door. He steps inside the living room, the June air making the room warm as golden rays of the setting sun lit up the space.
“Pips?” He calls out to you, dropping his bags on the floor and shrugging his jacket off before hanging it on the coat rack.
“Stay there, im coming!” You yell back from the kitchen. He could hear the excitement in your voice and it makes him smile. He takes a step forwards, entering further into the living room. His side brushes the couch as he leans against the side of it, eyes locked on the doorway to the kitchen.
You emerge a moment later, smiling brightly as you approach him holding a cake decorated with his name on it and covered in whipped cream and a handful of different fruits. His eyes, however, quickly abandon the cake and rest on you. Hair done up, makeup glowy and perfect and a lingerie set in an orange colour that hugged your curves so perfectly he was already drooling.
“What ahh.. whats all this?” He asks, a small breathless chuckle leaving him, eyes trailing over how your breasts look in the lingerie before dropping down to trail over the curve of your hips.
“Its your birthday, silly!” You smile brighter, walking towards him with the cake outstretched. “Wanted to do something special for my Caleb”
His breath hitches at your words, eyes closing for a second to make sure this was all really happening before he reopened them. He nods slowly, peeling his eyes away from you to look at the cake.
“So now i can make any wish i want?”
“Yeah duhh, youve had birthdays before Caleb you should know how this works”
“Can i wish to take this off you?”
You pause at his words, eyes resting on his before a wide catish grin spreads across your face. You set the cake down on the side table before gesturing for him to come closer. You let out a small giggle as he immediately does and you point to the strap of the bra.
“Bite it. Part of your surprise”
One of his eyebrow raises in confusion at your words but he complies, wrapping his mouth around the strap and chewing on it. A sweet taste instantly spreads on his tongue, the fabric of the strap dissolving as he continues chewing on it. He groans against the “fabric”, eating it until the right side of your bra has no more strap to hold it up. It sags slightly along your skin, still hiding you breast from him.
His hands find your hips and rubs along the material of your edible panties. He moves to push you back against the couch but you stop him.
“My surprise involves making you feel good Caleb” you purr, pushing him backwards instead so he could sit on the couch. He shakes his head, hand reaching out to hold your jaw.
“Only feel good when im making you feel good, princess” you shudder at the words, heat curling through you as you stare back into his eyes. The intensity in them is destructive, a burning heat that threatens to set every one of your own nerves on fire with it. You let out a shaky breath, mind already muddled and fuzzy from the hunger in his eyes.
“Then… lets do it together” your hand slides along his chest, pushing him to lay down on the couch. He hesitates for a brief moment but complies, intrigued by what youre suggesting.
When he finally lays back on the couch; head propped slightly by a fuzzy pillow, you crawl onto his body in the opposite direction. Your hips hover above his face as you position yourself so your face hovers above his crotch, the bulge evident in his jeans. You steady yourself on one arm, the other tugging at the button of his jeans and tugging them down. His cock springs free from the fabric, slapping gently against his abs as you push the hem of his shirt up, revealing the toned skin underneath. You stare down at his length, hard, and big, and begging for your attention in a way that makes your face flush and your pussy clench. Beads of precum decorate the swollen red tip already, delicious thick veins trail along the side of it and youre barely thinking straight anymore when you lean down to lick a long stripe down the length of it.
On the other side Caleb is surprised he hasnt gone into full cardiac arrest yet. His heart is beating so fast he thinks itll pop from his chest at any moment. He reaches up, big hands grabbing at your hips to steady himself as he stares up at your pussy. The wet heat of you stains the fabric, dissolving a wet circle when your hole clenches and drools for him. He thinks hes going to die right there and then on the couch as he watches it clench around nothing.
You take him into your mouth and he groans, hips bucking as his head falls back on the pillow, making you gag. He decides in that moment that all he wants for his birthday is to eat you out so disgusting and messily, and the only noises you should be making are the loud moans and soft gasps that slip from your lips when he devours you.
And thats exactly what he does. He dives in instantly, tugging your hips down to sit flat on his face as he trails his tongue over your pussy, juices and the sweet candy taste of your panties dancing on his tongue and he moans out, hips bucking wildly into your mouth. His arms hook around your waist, locking you tighter against him as he glides his tongue over your clit and sucks on it before shoving it into your wet, needy hole.
You moan loudly above him, his cock pistoning in and out of your mouth as you move along with it, gagging as it fills your throat and pulls back out. Your fingers dig into his thighs, your own shaking despite being sat flush against him. Hes eating you so good, skin flushed and sticky as you feel the low burning tension growing in your tummy. Your whole body is hot, buzzing with a need that can only come from him. From the look in his eyes, or the desire for you that so easily rolls off him no matter the situation. A feeling that sears each one of your nerve endings until youre numb and needy and babbling nonsense, the only intelligible thing leaving your lips being his name.
He hums against you, pulling away from your dripping pussy and his arm snaking away and towards the side table, grabbing a scoop of cake before bringing it and slathering it all over your pussy. You gasp around him, pulling away to look back at him over your shoulder. Hes diving back in, sticky fingers massaging your thighs as he eats the cold cake off your clit, the sensation making your head fall to rest on his thigh. He spreads the cake around, shoving it into your pussy before sticking his tongue in after to scoop it out.
“C-caleb, hahh.. what are you doing?” He doesnt reply, just grabs another glob of the cake and smears it along your ass, using his mouth to lick and eat it. His long, thick fingers move to push inside of your pussy, the sticky cake still coating his skin as he curls them inside of you and fucks you with them.
You moan at the feeling, completely gone from the nasty mess between your thighs. Your juices gush around his fingers, coating them more thoroughly as it mixes with the cake. He bites into your ass cheek, kissing it as you let out a sharp yelp at the feeling. You try to go back to work, try to fit your mouth around his cock and make him feel good but youre too gone, moaning so loudly as his fingers twist and curl and plunge deeper inside you until theyre brushing past every part you, pressing into the sweet spot that has you seeing stars and yelling out his name.
The pleasure is blinding and you bite into his clothed thigh as you finally cum, the tension snapping hot and angry in your stomach as you cum on his fingers. You let out a loud yell, muffled by his thigh in your mouth, vision blurry as you press yourself harder down on his face.
Caleb doesnt let up, fingers pulling out of you to dive his tongue back in, licking every ounce of your juices away and into his greedy mouth, desperate to taste every part of you. Everything you had to give was his. Only his. Every soft sound and every flushed reaction, every drip of your juices and every breath that passed your pretty plush lips, he owned it just as much as you owned every part of his own being. Like you had since the first day you had met as kids.
You cried out, overstimulated as you tried to shuffle away from him. He lets out a low groan against your skin, eyes rolling back as he tastes you before finally pulling away and rolling you over.
You pant as you look up at him, his chin covered in slick and cake, fingers messy with so many different remnants you cant even tell whats what anymore. He licks his lips as he stares at you, the hunger so bright and evident in his eyes it makes you feel small. His pupils are blown out, purple eyes turning black. He leans forwards, pulling you into a heated kiss, mouths crashing together from his hunger. He kisses down your jaw and neck, biting gently at the skin before sucking it into his mouth.
“Youre still sweeter than the cake” he mumbles against your neck, licking a long stripe up from your collarbone. He lays you back along the couch, resting between your spread thighs and looking down at you.
Somehow your bra is still intact besides the small part he had chewed off in the beginning. He smiled at the look of it before his eyes trailed down to your messy thighs. Cake and slick coating along your skin, sticky and sweet and so delicious it made his mouth water and he wanted so badly to go down on you again. You snap him from his thoughts when you tug at his shirt, a small frown on your lips. He leans down and kisses you before leaning back and pulling the shirt off and tossing it onto the floor.
He hums as his eyes fall back to your thighs, his cock rubbing along the mess of cake and cum as he bites his lip. He shakes his head after a moment and reaches for the side table, grabbing the whipped cream and fruit off the cake to slather along your tits and stomach. You stare at his hand, watching as he makes sure to place the most over your covered nipples.
“Was this how you had planned for the surprise to turn out? He asks, rutting his dick along your creamy, cakey thigh.
You shook your head, “well… not entirely” you pouted and he grinned at the look of your plush bottom lip jutting out.
“Awww im sorry baby, didnt mean to ruin your plans” he teases, leaning forwards to kiss along your collarbones before moving further down to lick the whipped cream away, collecting it and fruit on his tongue before moving back up to your mouth to kiss you.
The sweet taste and chewed up fruit pass between the two of your mouths, eyes closing as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeper. Everything about him was intoxicating — his smell, the feeling of his soft hair, his slightly chapped lips against your glossy ones, and the feeling of his strong muscular body as it shifts above you.
He reluctantly pulls away, mouth moving to suck on your tits, the fabric of the bra disappearing against his tongue as he pulls your nipple into his mouth. He sucks on it greedily before moving to the other, moaning at the sweet tastes on his tongue.
He moves down, licking a long stripe of the creamy cake off your stomach before sucking and biting at your tits again.
“Caleb” you whined, tugging at strands of his hair. He nodded against your sticky skin, tapping your hip for you to roll over when he finally pulls away.
“I know baby, need you so bad” he moans into your shoulder and you roll onto all 4s under him. He moves back, positioning you to arch your back, your ass raised in the air and your face pressed down against a pillow. He reaches back for the cake, rubbing it along your ass cheeks and back down over your pussy, his cock rubbing along the creamy folds as the whipped cream and cold filling stick to your skin.
“Happy birthday to me” he grunts out as he sinks in fully in one push, hands squeezing at your ass as a moan slips past his lips. You in turn squeeze around him at the sudden intrusion, moaning and whining loudly as you bite into the pillow. He rocks his hips forwards, long thick cock jamming into your cervix as he shallowly fucks into you. Youre dripping around him and so creamy as the cake and whipped cream coat his cock, fucking it into you with delicious squelches that muddle his brain.
Your hips pushed back into his, fucking yourself back onto him as every thrust rubs your insides raw, long thick cock hitting your cervix and that sweet spot inside you. He was so big, it felt like he was mixing your guts up in the most delicious way possible and you whined and moaned for him.
His name left your lips repeatedly in soft babbles as he spread the cake around on your ass before giving it a harsh slap. A yelp left you at the feeling, bits of cake flying onto the floor and he pressed his thumb into your asshole. You moaned at the added feeling, mind so numb as you smiled, happy youre making your Caleb feel so good on his day.
“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. Best present ever” he moans out, hips slamming into yours as he fucks you at a brutal pace that leaves your brain numb. He reaches down, pushing the cake from your ass up your back so he could lick it and eat it off your skin. His hand returns to your ass, giving it a few more harsh slaps until the sticky skin turns red.
You moan loudly, sounds pornographic as you grip at the pillow. His thumb digs further into your asshole, the whipped cream allowing it to slip around more easily in it. He tugs a little at your ass, hips angling higher so he could watch the way you stretch around him, pussy creamy and sopping wet for him as everything mixes together.
“You take me so good” he praises, slapping your ass again. “Look so pretty with my cock in you” he groans out, your hips pushing back harder into his as a buzz lights under your skin, a familiar feeling spreading inside you.
“C-caleb, oh my god, feels so good” you moan breathlessly, face pressed into the pillow as your hand move to drag down the back of the couch, trying to find some form of support from how hard hes fucking you.
His hips slam harder at the praise, fuelling the deepest parts of his soul. Hes so happy, trying so hard not to cum from the knowledge that hes making you feel so good. If his brain wasnt so empty from the feeling of you clenching around him and trying to milk him dry he could tell you the exact number of times hes fucked you like this. The exact number of times he was blessed with the ability to make you so completely and totally his, every inch of you belonging to him when he has you spread wide open for him, taking him so well it made his heart almost burst through his chest. He was so far gone, so completely entranced with everything about you. He needed to go harder, deeper, needed to push himself inside you in a way that was so proper the two of you could never be split again, until you truly were as much of one as you claimed to be.
His hips stuttered as his thoughts raced, cock growing impossibly harder as he whined and moaned, falling forwards to rest his chest against your back, face pressed into the back of your head, inhaling your scent. He panicked slightly at the almost slip up, biting his lip hard to control himself as he reached down, fingers finding your clit and you moaned out louder.
You pressed down against the couch, every part of him touching every part of you. Hes rutted into you so hard and deeper you were seeing stars, each thrust sending electricity vibrating up your spine from where his cock slammed into your gummy walls. When his fingers circled your clit you felt it, the hot liquid of desire right under your skin, the molten lava blazing through you and pushing you right to the edge of your orgasm.
“‘M so close Caleb” you moaned out, knowing he would do anything to get you there. He littered your shoulder and back with bites and kisses, sucking dark marks into the skin as the heat grew deeper in your guts, threatening to spill over.
“I love you so much, fuck, could die right now and id be the h-happiest man ever” he moaned against your back, fingers squeezing into your hips and leaving bruises. He slammed into you hard as he pinched your clit and you broke, cumming on a high pitched shattered moan that would definitely get you a noise complaint the next morning.
White hot pleasure filled your veins, mind buzzing with nothingness as you felt like your skin was on fire. Pleasure swirled around in your system, a feeling so delicious and addictive you had half a mind to tell Caleb to just do it all over again. You couldnt move, couldnt speak besides the muffled babbles of his name and the bucking of your hips against his own.
He came inside you a second later, hips twitching and losing all rhythm as white hot sticky liquid filled your insides, his cock shoving it deeper inside you to mix with the remnants of cake and whipped cream already inside you. You collapsed against the couch, hips held up by hands as he continued to slowly rut into you, ridding out his orgasm before pulling out with a wet squelch.
He rolled you over, watching the warm cum ooze out of you and onto the couch. He smiles down at you, both of your chests heaving and trying to catch your breaths. You reach out for him but miss him as he dips back between your thighs, licking up the cake and wetness from your skin before gathering the leaking cum onto his tongue and fucking it back into you hole. You cry out at the feeling, overstimulated and already spent.
“T-too much Caleb” you whine out, hands finding his hair as his tongue drags lazily through your walls. He pulls back slightly to talk , reaching out to grab another scoop of cake with his sticky fingers.
“It’s my birthday, Pips. This is my gift” he grins and covers your core with another glob of cake. “Need you to cum four more times for the gift to be worth it” he bites your thigh hard before diving back in for round two of a very long and sleepless birthday night.
a/n: i never specified but i think ice cream cake would be elite for this
Caleb who knows your secret hobby of writing fanfiction on the internet.
You think you're sneaky, but he had already made a fake account complete with a profile picture, bio, and even reposts from time to time to seem like another human being.
He follows you and comments on your posts regularly and you suspect nothing-just another mutual who enjoys your interests, right?
He anticipates each post, a smirk curling on his lips when he sees you had posted something new.
All your previous entries had been rather tame, cute scenarios with your favorite characters, but this one was different.
The little warning at the top made him curious and he clicked the 'read more' button.
He read the filthy 5k fic you wrote about the character you were currently obsessed with, his eyes widening, totally taken aback by how vulgar you could be.
To think that just a door away, you were hunched over your computer writing about this, thinking about this-
"Coulda just asked for help," He murmured to himself, reading the authors note at the bottom.
Hey everyone! Sorry for the hiatus-my gege came back from school so I've been hanging out with him all the time! I hope you enjoyed...it was my first time writing smut so like its probably really horrible LMFAO
His fingers hovered over the keys, wondering what type of expression you would made if he revealed that gege was reading your fanfictions. Would you shrivel up and apologize? Never speak to him again? Scream at his face?
The last thing he wanted to do was make you feel weird about it (even though it was already weird) and he did want to read more about what was going on in that pretty little head of yours-so he typed out a simple reply and scrolled back up, pulling the band of his sweatpants down, eager to reimagine the scene as you and him instead.
nyahpple_20 replied to the author: Please write more smut!!! <33
a/n: hello everyone it's been 1000,00942049 years...but I decided to write a mini drabble to get warmed up. I have so many drafts and plans for things and my mind is just a jumble of stuff LOL!! Sigh I wish caleb was secretly reading my fics from the other room...Feel free to expand on this idea or just use the idea lmfao. (PLZ TAG ME IF YOU DO <33) divider by @jellyskyy-art
Your phone goes missing. Caleb finds it first, and reads everything he shouldn’t.
“Caleb, have you seen my phone?” You patted your pockets for the familiar weight of your device, only to find nothing.
You'd gone downstairs for five minutes to hand your calculus notes to a classmate. Five minutes. Somehow, in that short amount of time, your phone had vanished.
“Your… phone?” he repeated, like he was trying to remember why that mattered, head turning toward you while his eyes stayed fixed on the assignment in front of him.
“Oh… your phone,” he finally looked up, staring at you for a few seconds before shaking his head. “No. No, I haven’t.” He went back to the sheet before him, as if the conversation had already ended.
“Well, get up and help me look for it. I’ve searched the entire house five times and still haven’t found it.”You grabbed his bicep and pulled him up before he could protest.
He blinked at you in silence. “Alright, alright.” He placed his pen down. “You check the kitchen, bathroom, and your bedroom. I’ll do mine, and the living room.” He held his hand out and you shook it. He looked entirely too serious for someone searching for a missing phone.
It was barely ten minutes later when Caleb heard a faint vibration coming from your sage green couch.
The phone itself wasnt visible at first. Frowning slightly, he leaned in and pushed an arm into the narrow gaps between the cushions, searching blindly.
Another vibration cut through the cushions.
Closer.
His hand paused.
And there it was.
His lips parted, ready to call your name in triumph when the phone lit up, vibrating yet again.
“Okay but be honest y/n… is he always this intense or is it just for you?”
Caleb freezes. Who is he?
Another notification followed.
“No seriously because your roommate gave me a 10 second stare when I said hi to you last week. Should we be worried?”
Oh. Caleb is he.
“…not yet,” he muttered under his breath, answering you when you called from the other room asking if he’d found it yet.
“Come clean y/n, are you guys married or is this some experimental domestic situation?”
His breath hitched.
He almost stepped out of the room to hand you the phone and pretend he had seen nothing, but another notification rooted him in place.
“But no seriously, you can’t keep calling him cute when he’s clearly a menace.”
…Cute?
“Oh please she’s far down the rabbit hole.”
Another message directly followed.
“She has a whole album of his forearms and biceps. Be worried about the real menace here.”
Caleb could feel heat creeping up his neck.
He stared at the screen for a long second.
Then, against his will, he let out a quiet laugh.
“Caleb have you found it yet-“ You stood at the door of the living room, eyes flickering between Caleb and the phone in his hand.
“You found it!”
“Technically.” His gaze refused to meet yours.
“You found the phone long ago, didn’t you?” Your eyes narrowed.
A pause.
His silence was enough of an answer.
“Technically.” He nodded, biting back a smile.
From his hand, the phone vibrated again.
Both of you looked down.
A new message lit up the screen.
“Y/n remember when you said you’d forgive Caleb for literally anything if he just smiled at you.”
“Give me that!” You half shrieked.
“Nuh uh.” He leaned back slightly, holding the phone just out of reach.
You snatched the phone from his hand, pulling it to your chest as you scrolled through all the messages.
Color drained from your face.
“You… you didn’t just read all of that did you?”
He smiled at you.
Slow.
Easy.
Infuriatingly calm.
“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “your friend did say you’d forgive me for anything if i smiled at you.”
feat. Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne (No Caleb, you already had Caleb in the previous post)
"Hold on."
He looks up, confused, only for his eyes to widen just a fraction. You've dropped to your knees, and your hand is pulling your hair up.
Oh.
Then you stand up, but you see him shift- and the strain in his jeans is not unnoticeable. You smirk... and stand back up like nothing else happened.
Sylus leans back in his chair, crimson eyes narrowing as you drop to your knees with deliberate slowness. His fingers tighten on the armrest when your hands gather your hair, but the second you rise again without touching him, a low growl rumbles from his chest. The thick bulge straining against his dark jeans is impossible to miss. You smirk, watching his jaw clench.
"Teasing me already?" His voice drops an octave. He spreads his legs wider, one hand palming the heavy outline of his cock through the denim. "Get back down there and finish what you started, kitten."
You stay standing, letting your gaze linger on the way his cock twitches under your stare. Sylus exhales sharply through his nose, then stands in one fluid motion. He grabs your wrist and guides your palm straight to his crotch, grinding your fingers along the rigid length.
"Feel that?" he murmurs, voice rough. "That's what your little game does to me. Now on your knees properly this time."
Xavier's book slips from his fingers the moment you drop. His sleepy expression cracks into something sharper when you lift your hair, exposing your neck. The second you stand again, his cock visibly hardens in his loose pants, a dark spot already forming at the tip.
You smirk. Xavier's ears turn pink, but he doesn't look away.
"…You're cruel," he says quietly, shifting on the couch. His hand drifts down to adjust himself, but the movement only makes the outline more obvious. He swallows. "If you're going to tease, at least stay down there a little longer."
You take a step back. Xavier's hand shoots out, catching your wrist and tugging you forward until you're straddling one of his thighs. The hard press of his cock against your leg is immediate.
"Or," he breathes against your ear, "I could just take what you're offering."
Rafayel freezes mid-brushstroke, paint splattering across the canvas when you sink to your knees. His amethyst eyes go wide, then darken as you gather your hair. The tent in his silk pants is instant and obscene. You rise again, smirking, and he actually whimpers.
"No—wait, come back," he pleads, setting the brush aside with shaking hands. His cock strains visibly, a wet patch blooming at the front. "That's not fair. You can't just… do that and stop."
You tilt your head. Rafayel stands, crossing the room in three strides. He cups your face with paint-stained fingers, pressing his forehead to yours.
"On your knees again," he whispers, voice trembling with need, his hand already guiding yours to the only growing bulge. "C'mon, cutie. You're not that cruel to leave me like this, hm?"
Zayne's medical report crumples in his fist the instant you drop. His usually composed face flushes when your fingers lift your hair, and the thick line of his cock pushes hard against his slacks. You stand up smirking, and his breath hitches audibly.
"…That was deliberate," he says, voice low and tight. He adjusts himself once, twice, but the erection refuses to calm. His eyes track your every movement. "If you intend to finish what you started, get back down. Now."
You don't move. Zayne steps forward, crowding you against his desk. One gloved hand slides into your hair, gripping firmly as he guides your head down until your lips brush the bulge in his pants.
"What if i were? What if i died right here of low blood sugar because my wife refused to let me have one macaron?” The seriousness in his voice might have fooled anyone but you.
"Stop being dramatic. You’re not going to die of hypoglycemia just by skipping one macaron right after your dental appointment.” With that said, you snatch the plate from his hands and head straight to the kitchen to hide them somewhere he can't find.
When you come back to the living room, you see Zayne lying on the couch with his eyes closed, body still. “Zayne, are you okay?”
A small smile appears on his face at your concerned voice and you roll your eyes. You can't believe what lengths this grown ass doctor with a prestigious medical degree could go for sweets.
You decide to play along and walk over to him, crouching down on the floor. "Oh no. Did the famous cardiac surgeon of Akso hospital dr Zayne Li die of hypoglycemia?” You fake mourn his pretend death. “What a tragedy! I have no choice but to check his heartbeat."
His smile grows bigger, awaiting your touch on his chest, instead he feels them on his crotch.
He grabs your hands off almost immediately and pulls you on top of him, looking equally amused as surprised. "Do you think my heart is located there?”
“It’s not my fault that they're both big and do a very good job in loving me. Anyone could be easily mistaken.” you say while tracing a huge penis on his chest.
He seemed pleased with your answer. “What if i propose a deal? You show me how much you love me by giving me one macaron and i dedicate both my big attributes to love you back?”
“You're trying to sell your body for one macaron?”
He innocently nods, and you giggle. "As tempting as your offer is, Zaynie." You pat his chest and climb off him. "I'm going to have to pass."
"So my wife would rather see me dead than let my teeth rot?”
You shake your head, he's acting like a man in withdrawal except his addiction is sweet and so is his suffering. You almost pity him, “Yes, no sweets for..... a month.”
His face falls comically and you turn away, already running before he becomes more dramatic.
i found this in my drafts from a few hours ago, what the hell is this!?!? I changed my password so many times on here AND on minecraft... just cut it out already, this is giving me the CREEPS x_x
synopsis: in which xavier learns three things: (1) his work partner’s heels are a human rights violation, (2) being in your body makes him feel things he can’t blame on the wanderer, and (3) you’re just as insatiable as he is.
or: the body swap fic where xavier fucks himself stupid on his own dick.
(he’s not apologizing.)
contents: (!) xavier/fem!reader, smut (rare athe smut yay), body swap setting, body swap sex, slow start, pining, mutual pining, emotional intimacy, identity porn, porn with plot, porn with feelings, vaginal fingering, masturbation, p in v sex, praise kink, shame kink, orgasm delay, post-sex fluff, body dysphoria, switch dynamics, unresolved sexual tension, shitty humor, confessions from our boy, some meta terms, more than friends less than lovers, slight somnophilia, selfcest undertones (selfcest truthers rise), xavier has a nasty mouth, xavier is a freak like always, poor reader needs to be saved from him and his theatrics asap!!! and no beta we die like xavier’s dignity
please don’t read if any of the above upsets you :)
word count: 7.2k
note: i have decided to let this uh... interesting piece finally see the light of day... smut is genuinely so hard to write, and i still stand by this stance. i applaud and am envious of anyone who can write sex without banging their head on the wall. please teach me your ways, masters ૮ o̴̶̷᷄ ·̫ o̴̶̷̥᷅ ა
“watch out!”
it’s the last thing xavier hears before an unknown blackness swallows everything visible. smoke — most definitely, but this one isn’t like the aftermath of a bad enough accident on a packed road, or when he thought his cooking skills would accommodate an intermediate recipe. the smoke is heavy, unlike burnt petrol or spices, as it fights its way through his nose.
xavier coughs, hands fanning through the smoke. the danger still persists; the protocurves continue to emerge faster than his body could sense. that wanderer... one hand rises in front of his chest, and he tries to summon his light blade, except it doesn’t respond to him. weird... he needs to find you first. he squints at the swirling black, trying to locate you somewhere in there.
“(name)?”
something’s not right. his voice is faint, almost drifting in the smoke. his breath doesn’t settle in like it used to. the strong pulse in his ears, an echo of his soul, is unlike the barely-there rhythm it used to dwell in. his heart trembles the more smoke gets into his nose.
something’s definitely not right with that wanderer either. the infuriated beast was a bit too feisty, but this outcome was not expected with this grade of wanderers, or any, really. thousands of years’ worth of experience, all at his disposal, and yet xavier can’t figure out or do anything about this stupid smoke. irritated, his hand comes over his nose; he doesn’t pause to acknowledge the unusual smoothness of his hands that are often calloused. no time for that.
“can you hear me, (name)?!”
no response comes, which only fuels xavier to keep fanning and move through the blackness. when the smoke finally clears out, he sees them — fingers, relatively smaller fingers, ones that most definitely were not his, just like the hunter’s uniform that now sits on his body. he’s certain that his own uniform did not have this black leather nor a crop top.
his lips part, struggling for a breath. “huh?”
this voice...?
taken aback, he tries to speak again.
“(name)?”
and xavier stops, a conclusion dawning on him quickly. why does he sound so much like you? he missteps on a broken crate; the crack is loud enough to startle him, goosebumps shooting up his arms, cold finding place in his limbs that felt too small.
he looks down at his body.
why does he look so much like you?
his ears, slowly recovering from the sound waves from the protocurves, adjust to the receding levels. soon, he hears his own voice somewhere in the warehouse, more specifically, calls of his name.
this wasn’t a... dream?
“xavier?”
a few footsteps thump against the cemented floor of the abandoned warehouse, causing xavier to look up. it is indeed his own voice calling his name. the lingering smoke curves around a figure he wakes up to see every day in a mirror: it’s you who finally step out of a hidden corner, or was it even you? xavier has never seen himself look so meek. his body looks unusually tight, like joints bending to a gravity that suddenly feels too strong. his face mimics a frown, no doubt your doing.
“that... wanderer?” he sees you look around, silver hair gleaming in the dusk light. is that how his hair usually looks? you return to him, blue eyes piercing enough — his blue eyes.
“i-i think it got away.”
this can’t be...
xavier wills himself to say. “u-unfortunate.”
a mere comment, he can’t even force anything out — confirmation, consolation. his throat is wrapping around something prickly the moment he hears himself speak, almost mistaking himself for you instead. he wants to rub at his nape, an urge of an old habit, though he doesn’t know if it’s even appropriate for him in the least; it’s your body after all. he should be ashamed.
“and... this?” you mutter after some time of contemplating. your arms lift and spread to the sides, gesturing to your body — well, his.
“switching bodies? how can this even happen?” your arms flop back down, and the frown on your, or rather his, face deepens. you freeze, the dim light from outside framing your disbelief in an almost cruel manner.
“don’t tell me we are—”
“it must be that wanderer’s doing.”
xavier speaks whatever you must be thinking. perhaps it was the protocurves from that wanderer’s protocore or the black smoke it emitted right before fleeing. he, too, looks around, but for nothing, because seeing the pained expression on your face is too cumbersome for him right now. he can’t believe how he managed to miss the faint spike in the levels. this mistake of his is going to cost too much; the consequences are already here, after all...
your eyes fall to the rotten floor: moldy wood that instantly grosses him out, and prickly grass that would have definitely left rashes on bare skin. he shouldn’t have accepted this mission.
“what do we do now?”
nothing — and xavier says the same to you. he desperately wants to say something else, to ease your mind a little, but he can’t do anything. he stands still, just like you, watching your grip on his blazer that is slowly making his head spin. all he affords in the end is a pull on your hand before he’s leading you back out into the open forest. there’s no other logical choice but to wait until tomorrow morning. the wanderer has long shaken the two of you off its trail, so no point in chasing it, and the association would probably be closing right about now, judging by the way sheer moonlight lands on the ground instead of orangey rays from dusk.
you are silent as he brings you back to the entrance of the warehouse his evol just blasted moments ago. now, he can’t even sense it anymore, nor can he manipulate yours.
he turns to you suddenly. “can you try to use my evol?”
hope flares into something bright. maybe you can, or even teleport the both of you? it should be feasible enough; it is you, after all.
you look at him, bewildered, before slowly lifting a closed fist against your chest, silver eyebrows cinched with concentration. c’mon. c’mon. a few minutes pass, filled with heavy breathing and unspoken prayers, but only dust particles float where a golden light should have begun to shine.
“i... don’t think it will work,” you mutter, the now open fist dropping to your side.
you become silent again, only compelling him to fill in for you. “we’ll have to wait this out then.”
xavier sighs deeply and begins walking again, carefully guiding you through the shattered glass from the windows that line the way to the front gates. the dread that washes over him is unlike anything. this places both of you in a far more vulnerable state than he wants. he needs to get you both home safely now.
if the florist is even awake at this time, that is...
outside the warehouse, the pale moonlight strikes xavier more vividly. the forest seems to breathe more languidly, making him wonder if another threat was creeping under the green canopy. your hand tugs on his just as you reach your bike, parked right where the main road cuts through the forest. your eyes are glossy, twinkling stars making a home in a familiar blue, but he knows not to comment on them even though the sight of his teary eyes is quite mortifying right now. he hears you inhale sharply, finally looking down at him.
the height difference is weird, too weird; he doesn’t know how you have managed to keep your neck cranked up to even look at him all this time. he gulps. “(name)?”
your eyes fall shut. “please don’t tell anything to anyone.”
you must be feeling incredibly awkward. so he is! truly. the heat in his cheeks says it all. but you don’t know that... your eyes don’t open anytime soon, so xavier steals the chance to look at the sky. it’s a full moon tonight, and he doesn’t like the foreboding it seems to reveal.
he faces you again, repressing a sigh that was pleading for release. “o-of course, don’t worry.”
your eyes finally open, that taunting blue, and you whisper sorry with another tug on his hand, as if you are still not convinced enough. “i... should have been more cautious.”
“i should have been too. it’s not your fault. don’t worry.”
if you think xavier’s angry at you, then you’re wrong. how can he ever be angry at you? he squeezes your hand back with a smile that would calm you, surely.
“okay?”
you nod. “okay.”
he wonders if it felt like looking at a photo for you.
“all right, we should head back now.”
xavier bites down his rumination and encourages you to start your bike with a pat on your... broad shoulders.
it’s going to be a long night.
“xavier!”
“(name)—” he stops the elevator doors with his foot. “what’s wrong?”
the heel of your shoes is beginning to hurt his ankles. he is definitely going to file a complaint with hr for a change in the uniforms once everything returns to normal. you, on the other hand, seem to walk just fine, as you come before the open elevator again, your hands clasped together, that same cinched expression on your face.
your energy has been off ever since the two of you came back. the ride home wasn’t anything memorable, apart from the times you accidentally bent on a corner more than what should be considered safe. his eyes fall to your shoes, his choice for today. xavier gets it; it’s strange walking, breathing in a body not yours, let alone riding a bike.
no accidents or attacks happened, fortunately. that should have been fine and soothed whatever dread he was feeling back in that warehouse, but what he doesn’t understand is the tightness he’s beginning to feel in his abdomen. the feeling is familiar, little beats of heat that lingered right on the cusp of remembering before vanishing before he could connect the dots. not dread, of course not.
xavier licks his lips, your taste more rich, while your own lips part:
“can you... stay the night? at my apartment, i mean?”
your voice trembles with a rasp, taking him back to the moments when he’s just woken up. his gaze moves up, from the thigh straps he usually wore to the high neck of his black turtleneck peeking underneath your neck. are you feeling those little beats of heat too? he asks himself. is that why you are asking for him? not as a friend, but something entirely different. he blinks and remains silent for some seconds, listening to your unusually slow breaths. the elevator begins to close once again, before xavier places his foot in between the doors once more.
“are you sure?”
his concern shouldn’t have been forced. he eyes the tight bite of your lips this time. whatever is going on with you, he’s sure he’s not going to last against it much longer. how can he though? he questions himself again before saying, his voice low:
“i don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or do anything... inappropriate.”
inappropriate. xavier stretches the word more than enough — enough for you to finally see the stakes.
your eyes widen immediately. “no! no—”
you finally speak, or rather, yell, pearly white teeth letting go of the plush, pink skin. he sees your hands shoot up, reaching for him through the elevator, not caring about the dinging light or the opening and closing doors stopped by his foot. someone must be waiting on some other floor, but he wishes to stay here, in this small metallic box, for a while longer.
“oh? what is it then, (name)?”
his voice is already teetering on a tone he’s aimed at you more times than he can count. however, considering the tricky situation right now, xavier isn’t sure if you can even catch the flirty notes when it is your own voice. or... his gaze narrows.
“i-i just don’t want anything bad to happen!”
a familiar red seeps into your cheeks, making his breath hitch. apparently, you can — like, you know, like you’ll find him, and his little quirks, and his soul no matter the skin he’s wearing, no matter what. you refuse to meet his gaze and turn around, making him more laden with want than worry.
“please? i am just... worried. that’s all.” you look over your shoulder.
xavier can barely hear your pleas with your back facing him, but he yields anyway, not that he won’t. he steps off the elevator, reaching for your big hand that seems to radiate heat — a familiar kind that is already making waves inside him.
“all right.”
another easy smile for you, as he rubs his thumb on your knuckles, hoping you’d repay him. and you do, albeit a small one, but it’s enough for him.
at last, he can name the familiar feeling within him, even if it comes at the expense of his dignity. it’s difficult to discern if your worry is also just protecting something far more carnal, but he wishes it is anyway; it’s selfish of him, but he needs you to, just so he can condemn his... licentiousness a bit easier, with a little less guilt. the shame from being in your body and having these just as animalistic thoughts and urges hasn’t left him yet, but this old feeling wearing a new facade is more than enough to keep it hidden deep within his mind, leaving it to rot until the daylight comes — when mistakes become realizations.
mistakes xavier hopes he is allowed to make tonight. and realizations xavier hopes you’ll kneel into too.
“let’s go then.”
xavier can’t help but chuckle quietly at your endearing and hasty nods. your footsteps are the only thing echoing through the hallway this late. you have him following you, his small hand engulfed in your big one, as you pull and pull, almost afraid he might change his mind in a second. perhaps you have yet to become aware of the strength of his body, but xavier believes the reminders are not needed right now.
the skin on his wrist might already be blooming with red fingerprints by the time you realize and let go, and he would be lying if it didn’t make his head spin a little faster and his thighs clench. he really needs to be more gentle with you from now on, huh?
“uh—” you stop suddenly, making him bump his forehead against your back. “sorry!” a faint buzzing accompanies your apology.
“it’s okay.”
xavier instantly notices the red glowing light of your finger pad just past your waist. the sensor buzzes again, letting you both know xavier’s fingerprints are unfortunately not added to the system. he bites the inside of his cheek, another familiar feeling making a home in him once again.
why haven’t you added him yet?
“you should add mine too,” he mutters, pulling on your hand.
xavier feels almost, almost upset that you still haven’t entertained the quite intimate idea. the pout on his lips makes itself known even before he can twist it into something far more vexing. you should feel bad, you know? he will die if you won’t.
“all right, all right, can you just—”
your eyes point to the glowing button before flickering back to his totally cutesy pout. “we should probably get inside first.”
“hmm...” xavier feigns understanding as you step out of the way. he lifts one hand toward you, slightly wiggling his fingers. small, still, but... he is sure he can make good use of them. soon enough.
“which one?” his lips purse again.
you ignore him this time. “the thumb, please.”
he nods, trying to hold in his disbelief. your thumb fits perfectly inside the little gap, making him wonder if his could if he tried hard enough. he didn’t know the apartment building also provided custom locks; is this a sign for him to ditch the old-school locks and keys? the button stops glowing before flashing green as a ding fills the silence.
xavier would definitely add your fingerprints to his lock.
“there.” he twists the doorknob and motions toward the ajar door. his head drops slightly, and he thanks your haircut for hiding the sneaky smirk creeping on his lips.
“xavier?” you whisper his name.
why? why? how can his own voice make him hot in the head? are you doing this intentionally? he lifts, eyes ready to pull yours into alluring depths awaiting right behind your apartment’s door.
“c’mon in, your majesty.” he knocks at the door twice.
“wha—”
a flurry of hits instantly land on his shoulder in an attempt to distract him from the blush on your cheeks. he bites down on his lips, ignoring the muscles twitching with pain; your shyness only enticing him further.
“perhaps your majesty would prefer to be carried instead?”
“oh, shut up, xavier!”
another slap, right on his chest. it hurts more than he likes to admit. maybe he should let you know to take it easy while being in his body...
he smiles as you rush past him, finally happy to be home where no one can hurt you. “be careful.”
inside, the faint smell of your perfume greets him — the same one you must have been wearing before things happened. after the incident, and of course being nowhere near as logical or lucid, xavier didn’t quite get the chance to take a whiff. at other times, he would have sniffed you out like a dog when you’d come sauntering to the association, whether it be from his desk or just standing behind you in front of the vending machine.
don’t mind that he couldn’t before, because now, as you sit and bend in the entryway, xavier is finally getting his full fill. he is begging the scent to remain locked inside him forever. this soft musk, nectar of white roses blended with something raw and sweat — this scent that only belonged to you.
xavier inhales deeply. he wants it all. all of you.
in front of him, you take off his shoes in silence, and so does he: those nettlesome heeled boots that have given your poor, poor feet a lesson not to be forgotten. how can you hunt in them daily? they slide off the ankles smoothly, and he drops them onto the floor right beside his. your skin is pulsing; he can feel the swelling cushion his weight as he tries to get used to flat ground again. a weary, unrecognizable sound escapes him, causing you to hum in question.
“my feet — i mean your feet...” he points to the reddened limbs. “those heels are serious trouble.”
you blink and look down at his feet instead: no swelling or anything. “i usually just shower after work — the cold water helps a lot with the swelling!”
xavier stills, lust fogging his mind once more. he stutters. “t-that’s—”
shower? are you telling him to shower? in your body? really, he doesn’t mind, but won’t that make you... he can’t even look at you now, not when he’s feeling himself fucking leak at the suggestion of such a tantalizing experience.
is this how it feels for you?
a sniff pulls him gently back to reality. you look up at him, oblivious to the commotion happening inside him. “really, it would feel amazing afterward!”
are you being dense on purpose?
his eyes snap to yours. your head is tilted to the side, confusion lacing everything playful. you must be really, really tired, or were you?
xavier sighs. “(name)...”
this isn’t an invitation of some kind, right?
“are you forgetting... something?” he points to his body and then yours.
you smile sheepishly. “oh, right... maybe another time!”
another time...?
your hums don’t answer anything. you turn around, already heading deeper inside. one more sneaky comment and he’s going to do things he would probably regret.
you skip your shower, and so does he. dinner was takeout: ready-to-eat hotpot kits (it’s a staple for him at this point, and xavier’s not ashamed in the slightest) and some ice cream because, apparently, you were going to make his body crave it like no other.
“it doesn’t work like that—”
the ice cream is freezing as it licks up his teeth and the insides of his cheeks. he shouldn’t have bitten down...
“why not?” you ask before sneaking a lick of his cone, making him pretend to frown.
“i mean, the fact you are in my body is proof enough. don’t ya think?” you continue, mirth dripping from each word.
xavier wishes he was, actually.
a boop on your nose pushes you away from his melting ice cream and him. “e-eat before it makes a mess.”
(please don’t notice the clench of his thighs.)
of course, you don’t react to his teasing or comprehend the implications of your offhand words. you have his eyes closed as you change his clothes for him, expecting the same from him; he hopes you didn’t hear the hitches in his breath or his fast pulse. after dinner, when the promise of sleep silently awaits in one corner, you only give him two choices: the bed or the couch. xavier would have preferred to sleep beside you, but he’d rather you have a good night’s sleep because he knows you need it.
even if it meant no sleep for him.
as xavier said before: it is going to be a long night.
at eleven ten, he coaxed you into mindless chatter that had no business lasting for twenty minutes — petty drama peddling in the association, or jeremiah’s new inventions that were already causing headaches — but it did for him. just to not let you go, just so he could hold onto you a little longer. at eleven thirty-two, you yelled a good night, xavier, and the door of your bedroom clicked shut, officially separating you from him for hours to come — daunting times where he desperately needs you to be there with him.
the clock is daring to cross one now, and sleep has continued to evade him. outside, barks of a dog — no doubt the same one the whole apartment building takes turns caring for — penetrate the glass of your windows, shooing away what little repose he was beginning to lure in.
your couch barely compares to the one in his own apartment. no, he’s not blaming your design choices, but the cushions are an absolute pathetic excuse, and xavier wants to laugh at them hard. no way he’s going to get even a blink of sleep. this is all part of your plan, isn’t it? to have him come knocking at your door like a dog, soaked after the rain. xavier clenches his thighs again, desperately trying to stop the wetness leaking out. the sensation makes him whine; he can’t just plunge his fingers in there now, can he?
please forgive me.
xavier’s gone. gone, gone.
exhaling deeply, he lifts your night shirt and cups your chest in both hands. god, you are so soft, feeling like silk against silk. his fingers play around with the puckered buds, all the while glancing at the corner of the hallway in case you decide to sneak up on him. he slowly glides one hand down the stomach, lingering on the abdomen, feeling and caressing the skin he’s longed to touch for centuries. and he can’t help the moan.
hearing your voice coming out of him turns him on. more and more. the shorts are pushed to the knees quickly, and he doesn’t waste time sliding one hand into your panties. the only remaining light that graces his vision is the lamp you left on out of courtesy. the golden light laps at the expanse of your thighs, finally letting him see your body in clarity.
fuck, xavier breathes out, immediately letting his fingers trace around the pulsing opening. he does exactly what he has always wanted to do to you. beginning with a slow swirl around the clit, not quite touching but enough for him to feel a phantom of it hypnotize him. with his breath lagging, he collects the slickness pooling out of your pussy, making sure to coat his middle finger well, and gently nudges it past the fluttering muscles.
fuck it.
instantly, he feels your walls clamp down on the intrusion. the insane heat of them makes his mouth fall open, voice strangling in a knot somewhere deep in your throat. another finger pokes at the entrance, eager to join in the fun, and your walls have no choice but to accommodate more and more. his movements are sloppy — as to be expected. xavier is none other than a novice at this very moment, after all.
sweat beads on his forehead, carrying with it a salty taste as it drips into his agape mouth. the pace he picks is relentless. he should be more careful, more gentle, as he loves your body, but he can’t. lust is the only drive in him right now; he just can’t. he’s already becoming adept at pulling your muscles like they were his, and he just can’t contain the urge to experiment and experiment. a flick on your clit, or a pinch that makes his back arch, or even a slow caress on your other puckered hole when the pleasure drove him mad enough.
xavier loves you, he loves your body so much. and he always will.
the sweet, sweet release is more of a tease than the fingers scissoring deep in your pussy; it doesn’t come no matter how much he works his hand. frustration is the last thing xavier wanted to feel right now. alas, your fingers are nowhere near as long as his. if it were his own, he would have easily reached far deeper than what yours are allowing him right now. disgust rises in him, but it’s too late. it’s almost humiliating to admit that he’s downright begging to feel his own length slide right in, feel it harden and pump through the pliant muscles of your walls.
xavier mewls. the filthy thoughts of being fucked by himself cloud his mind, bringing on a feeling estranged yet slightly familiar — one welcomed nevertheless, one he wanted regardless.
i am sorry, (name).
another groan cuts through the tranquility of your living room, and the pressure simmering throughout today finally erupts. the barking dies out in the ringing in his ears, and the orgasm wrecks him, your body, in ways he didn’t know were possible. those little beats of heat now felt like molten fire as they spread from his core, circulating through his body. like a disassembled doll, xavier remains flat on the couch, unmoving except for the erratic rise and fall of his chest. the dull pleasure slowly dissipates in his nerves, only to leave behind the same need that needed to sink its teeth a bit deeper.
he knows this won’t be enough to sate him, at all.
so xavier stands up, his head spinning for a little upon his hurried movements. it’s not long before he’s heading to your bedroom, footsteps creaking against the wooden floor.
should he knock?
a gulp as his hand lifts to rest on the wood, and he waits. a second, then ten more — for something to startle him from behind. you don’t open it for him, and he doesn’t know why he expected you to. his hand finally grabs the knob, and he twists it open.
xavier quietly enters your bedroom without the urgency that brought him to your very door in the first place, and perhaps he knows the reason why. he waddles closer to your bed, the lack of light barely a hindrance for him. seeing you up close makes the gates open again, but now the flow of fervor is tame, because it’s you. he can’t ever bear to be rough with you.
he slips in right beside you, the coldness of the blankets a pleasant surprise for his feverish body. you don’t move an inch as you lie on your side, little snores escaping your lips. the timid moonlight doesn’t do justice to the peace reflected on your face — something he doesn’t want to snatch away from you. he wants you so badly; at the same time, he wants you to want him too.
you will accept him, won’t you, even if it’s him wearing your own skin?
xavier tucks a lone strand behind your ear. his hand cups your cheek, letting his heat permeate the cold skin. his body has always run a bit colder, after all. it would crush him to see his own body hurt you. a pat is all he tests for now as he awaits your impending reaction. when you don’t return to the waking world, xavier tries something bolder. his face lines up to yours, and he presses his lips against yours, eyes squeezing shut.
you see him like a friend, but to him, you’ve always been his everything, forever: from the end of a beginning to the beginning of an end. xavier doesn’t want to label your relationship as mere coworkers or friends or... lovers. it’s just not fair to the two of you. he’s crossing a line here, he knows, but can you even blame him? if only you were aware of everything: the past, his and yours. then you would have understood, right?
like clockwork, you begin to stir awake. it’s the suck of a breath first, one he doesn’t let you claim so easily. his lips move harder against yours when a muffled noise escapes you. when he finally feels you push on his shoulders, he pulls away, already missing you.
“what—” you heave, trying to replace the air he stole from you. “xavier… what are you doing here?”
what does he even say to you?
“did you just...” you gasp. he sees your hand reach up for your lips, feeling the skin he’s been messing with: red and bitten raw. the extra pillow beneath him soaks up any sweat dribbling down his face. the air has changed, hotter; he can feel it melt on him — like salty vapors of a restless sea.
“you should know this by now.” he whispers, hoping you’d hear him.
you blink. “what do you mean?”
“that i am insatiable — that i have been for so long now.”
he moves closer, not paying attention to another gasp of yours. his hand grabs yours immediately and pushes it into your panties. you can feel it, right? the wetness, the mess his fingers had just made moments ago. he stares at your agape mouth, not knowing what you are feeling. your hand doesn’t move, and neither do you, only rendering him breathless.
you don’t want him…?
“please,” he pleads, eyes looking up at you. “i want this. i want you badly.”
you gulp, silver eyelashes fluttering. “xavi—”
“please.”
xavier sits up, completely imprudent by now. he climbs on top of your torso, making sure to press his core right where you should be aching for him. your want doesn’t wish to reveal itself to him right now, but it’s okay. another grind comes, from down to up. another moan sounds from your mouth, which tells him he’s succeeding, slowly but surely. it’s small, subtle, but the bulge only makes him proud for a vile reason; you react well, don’t you? his hips move with a mind of their own, drawing more sounds from you.
“you feel me?” xavier pants from above.
you are beginning to tremble beneath him now, your hand palming his sides. reluctance pulls you by the joints, and your lips break apart, a shudder making you still before you use his own strength to stop him.
“we can’t—”
one more grind just to drive his motives home — one painfully slow for the both of you. he feels your bulge now prod at his moist center, begging for reprieve.
“x-xavier, we can’t do this right now…” you blink up at him.
he tilts his head to the side, letting a smile etch onto his face — one that was definitely more wicked than it looked. “why not?”
“i—”
“you say no…” his one palm slithers in between your bodies, and he presses hard on the pulsing bulge, in essence, trampling over your excuses.
“what’s this, then?”
xavier muffles whatever you were going to say next. his lips are back on yours, licking, sucking, not leaving any skin untouched. you don’t try to push him off this time, in fact quite the opposite. he thinks he might be dreaming as you grind back against him, reciprocating in the way he was wishing you would.
xavier parts from you, and noses against your jaw. “you’ve been wanting this too, haven’t you?”
“xav—”
his hand moves fast to cup your chin. “no, tell me exactly what it is.”
he sees your eyes close, teeth nibbling your lips. “and if i say yes...”
then they open once more with a blue so fervent it nearly makes him collapse.
“what would that make me?”
sudden affection floods him. he chuckles and gives your cheek a gentle pat. “what do you think?”
a pause hits you before: “just like... you?”
that’s the crux of it all, isn’t it?
“just… like.. me.”
another pat lands as your limbs relax beneath him. he asks, “well, do you… want to?”
your eyes widen, and you bite your lips again. he patiently waits even though the bulge pressing against him is yelling at him to do something, quick. because your word is all that matters. xavier hopes you know he would get off you this very moment if you so desired.
but, of course, you don’t.
“i want to.”
you want him too.
xavier smiles, a genuine one for this hectic night. “i know.”
soon, he’s pawing at the waistband of the sweatpants he guided your legs through hours ago. you don’t hesitate this time as he pulls them off you in one single go. it’s you who paws at his boxers next, muttering something that sounds awfully close to a “please.” the word is drawn out in his husky voice, as if you’d finally learned to manipulate his vocal cords for your salacious gains. he does the same with the boxers, throwing them across the room to a forgotten corner before returning above you.
instinct controls him, and he quickly wraps his hand around the hard erection. xavier drinks in your expression, his ministrations making you all the more pliant beneath him — just as he wanted. “how does this feel?”
“i can’t describe—oh!” a moan is ripped out of you when he squeezes slightly.
“strange? weird?”
his eyes meet yours, and you manage a nod, silver hair matted from sweat.
“but familiar…” a smile breaks out on your face.
“you know,” he lets go of the pulsing length, and straddles your lap once more. “i felt the same too.”
“when?”
“when i fucked myself using your fingers.”
“what?!” the shock on your face makes him snort. “is that why you were fucking leaking?!”
his tight grip is back on you, and he’s already guiding the hardness to where he drips.
“it wasn’t enough. i wanted my own fucking dick — so bad.”
xavier lifts, making sure not to break eye contact. “wanted to fuck myself stupid on you.”
a laugh blooms out of you. “you are nasty.”
“never denied that…” xavier bends forward, and pecks your lips.
“so… you’ll fuck me, right?”
you pull him down fast.
with his breath caught, his eyes are forced shut, drowning out every other sense with only you. your fingers are no match for the wholeness he feels. he knew it already, you know? his dick was always going to be the one to fit so perfectly inside of you, nestled in your welcoming warmth, filling every nook; for him and only him.
“xavier—!” he feels you claw at his thighs.
“i’ll move, d-don’t worry.”
and he does, slowly, up and down, up, down, testing the waters, feeling every sensation, everything he’s been bombarded with: your nails imprinting on his thighs, his hot length molding something deep inside you.
“you like it?”
he’s bouncing now, and he has no idea why he knows how to. the slickness from your mixed fluids is dripping out around the length, as it pools on your lap. the splosh, splosh deafening in the silence you both didn’t occupy. you remove your hands from his waist and cover your eyes, making him laugh sluggishly. his hands stretch across your chest, tweaking with your little, pink nipples. your response is instantaneous in the form of a loud shriek, sharp enough to cut through the tension.
“w-why is your body—ahh! so sensitive?!” you moan out.
“don’t blame m-me, baby…”
xavier leans forward, and he’s kissing you again, almost trying to eat you through your mouth. your tongue barely holds against him as he rubs his against yours, hard and filthy, letting saliva leak from the sides of your connected lips.
the tightness returns to your limbs, however, this time because of an entirely different reason. he can feel it too, a feeling he knows too well: this blazing knot, binding deep inside his abdomen. he’s close, and so are you. he can’t tell where you begin and he ends, and truthfully, xavier doesn’t care. he’d weld himself against you if he could. he’s too lost deep in the pleasure by now, that he’s barely paying attention to how his moans begin to deepen with each strangled whine. the gravity seems to have flipped completely, but xavier blames it on the dick drilling through him.
except, it’s not anymore.
one moment he’s hearing you blabber about how tight he feels, and the very next, it’s him feeling that same tightness around him. huh…? he tries to stop his bouncing, only to find out he’s not the one doing that now. his eyes snap open, and he freezes. it’s you, and your face, and your body he sees above him; your thighs on the sides of his waist, your walls clenching around him instead of the other way around.
oh.
he pinches at your thigh. “(name).”
“no,” you whisper, your voice landing fresh. “i was so close!”
“(name)…” his hands come to grope your behind.
being back in his own body doesn’t elicit the surprise from him xavier was thinking it would. and for you, it doesn’t seem any different either — not surprised, only that you are mourning the release he was going to give you. what should he do now that he’s finally free from a fantasy, only to be trapped in a different one?
you pout, tightening around him again. “you are not going to leave me hanging, xavier.”
“of course… come here.” he smirks.
you lean toward him, immediately catching him in another kiss — a kiss that finally feels normal, like puzzle pieces back in their places. his one hand splays on your back, while the other slides down in between your body, finding that tiny bud that still seemed to pulse.
xavier parts from you, lips sloppy. “you are just as insatiable as me…”
“stop—” his fingers press on your clit, making you shut up.
xavier can’t stop himself now, can’t stop the lewd words falling out of his mouth, or his hips that rush to meet yours halfway.
“look at you, baby…”
“bent over me like this.”
“all spread open for me.”
“so obscene, aren’t you?”
his mouth traps yours in a push and pull again, distracting enough for you that you almost miss the way his dick starts moving inside you.
“oh, xavier… oh~”
“fuck—” xavier stills immediately, trying not to cum at the spot. his arms cage you in against him. “don’t, or i might just…”
“aw, you are so cute.”
a flick lands on your forehead, making you whine. he recollects himself and looks at you one last time, mirroring your amusement.
“i am gonna move, okay?”
a nod from you is all it takes for his hips to start moving again. xavier doesn’t find it hard to thrust into you from below, if anything else, he can feel so much farther in you this way. you begin to gush around him as he continues to piston into you, thrust after thrust, not letting his pace falter even once. he keeps you close to his chest, letting you hear his heartbeat that seems to race just like yours.
the clenches around him never stop for even a second, alongside your sucks and bites on his nipples. xavier knows you are beginning to feel good now.
“touch yourself for me?” he coaxes you gently by patting on your back, meanwhile continuing to fuck you steadily.
“eh—”
the request is sudden but sweet you accept it anyways. xavier stares at you through his sweat-slicked bangs, watching your mouth fall agape, as your fingers try to match with his consistent thrusts.
“f-feeling good?”
a moan escapes you just as he angles his dick slightly, hitting deeper. “so goooood!”
after a few more thrusts, comprehension seems to be lost on you. it’s all blabbering now for you: “xavier, please! xavier, i can’t!”
xavier, i can’t take this! then why are you moving despite telling him not to?
xavier, don’t stop! and yet you cry for his mercy when his ruthlessness overtakes.
you are not the only one out of your mind, however. an impatient roar rises in him also. he, too, seems to balance right on the very edge, and your own release would be all it would take for him to tip over it. you have him thrown so out of his orbit, that he won’t be able to return anytime soon. he suckles on your neck, leaving behind purple hues that will match the ones you gifted on his chest.
you have long since stopped playing with your clit; instead, hold onto him as you hide your face in his neck, licking up any sweat drops that pass by your blurred vision. your voice melts against his ears, your moans more like a melody, he wanted to relish and tune according to his desires.
“xavier—” your imminent warning finally sounds in the heat of it all. his arms tighten their hold on you, and he hears you yell: “i am gonna—!”
“gonna cum? on my cock? yeah, show me, baby.”
and you do, making him feel every single fucking squeeze — complete insanity. it’s damn near impossible to move inside the vise-like grip your pussy has on him. not long after, xavier feels himself spurting inside your hot walls as his thick cum drips out of your poor hole in globs.
xavier’s undone all the way to the soul.
a few minutes pass with you slumped atop him, both of you trying to catch your breaths.
“that was…”
no further words leave you, but xavier already knows everything. he smiles as you nuzzle against his cheek.
the need has finally sunk its teeth.
with this, xavier has taken absolutely everything from you in every sense.
(and he needs to keep that wanderer around for… ahem, research purposes.)
notes: just silly fluff, xavier is codependent, zayne is #stressed, rafayel is #indistress, sylus is offended, and caleb is kinda normal but jealous (who is surprised), no explicit mentions of gender (!!!), that’s it (i think)
p.s. dark mode again yayyyyyy Also can u spot me in one of these…giggles (dodges tomato)
a/n: rachel with another bullshit idea who is surprised…ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ── Ink spun from my own fingertips—please don’t take, mirror, or rewrite it.
✑ 𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: So yeah… You've been gone for months.
Not like forever. Just... away for a bit. You told them you needed space. Adult stuff. Life Stuff. Responsibilities that didn't involve a bunch of monsters. they respected it. well, tried to. pierrot left like seventeen tearful voicemails. But weeks turned into months. Texts stopped. Visits stopped. and somewhere along the way, you stopped explaining and just... vanished.
They've had enough and they will not leave until you are given the attention you deserve.
✑ 𝓌𝒸: 5.8k
✑ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: oneshot/s · tfc x gn! reader · hurt/comfort · fluff and angst · emotional hurt/comfort · burnout · depression · established relationship · post-avoidance.
Life has been... life-ing.
If that's even a word. (it's not.) Lately, these days, everything feels chaotic and unpredictable and just... too much.
You've been busy, like legitimately busy. Just dealing with things that required you to stay away from the circus for a while. you can't just live there like some monster who doesn't have real-world responsibilities.
You have a life. Or, you had one.
You switched from full-time to part-time at the coffee shop so you could focus on school. Exams got thrown at your face repeatedly—irritating doesn't even begin to cover it. but now the exams are done. everything should be over.
You should be resting. Recovering from your busy lifestyle.
At least maybe even feeling good.
But every morning, you wake up and you just... don't move.
You’re aware of it, vaguely. The way your body feels heavy, like someone filled your bones with wet sand while you were sleeping. the way your phone is always in your hand before you've even decided to pick it up. the way hours pass and you've done nothing but scroll and blink and exist.
Your boss has noticed. Fuck.
“You okay?" He asked last week, eyes scanning your face like they were looking for something you'd lost. “You seem... rather tired."
“Just busy," you said, and you almost believed it.
they asked again yesterday. “Seriously, are you sleeping? eating? you look—" He stopped himself, however, you heard the word they didn't say.
Empty. Stuck. Motionless. I’m fine," Which you always say.
Same words. Same tone. Same lie.
You know you're not fine. You know that. But acknowledging it feels like opening a door you're not ready to walk through. So you ignore it. You ignore the way your energy drains faster than it used to. You ignore the way getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain. You ignore your boss's concerned glances and the way they leave an extra pastries by your bag every shift now—just in case you haven't eaten.
You ignore it because ignoring is easier.
Because if you didn't ignore it, you'd have to admit that something is wrong. And admitting that means dealing with it. And dealing with it means... what?
Therapy? Medication? Talking to someone? Changing?
You don't have the energy for any of that.
Causing your boss eventually stopped asking. Instead, he just... gave you time off. a week, then two, then three. "take as long as you need," he said, with that same worried look you kept pretending not to see.
He figured, like maybe hoped that staying home would help. that rest would pull you out of whatever hole you'd fallen into.
So you stay home. You live in and out of your bed. some days you're awake enough to sit on the couch. most days you're not.
Every now and then, someone comes to check on you. A friend. a family member. someone who cares enough to show up unannounced.
You don't have the energy to be annoyed—again you don't have the energy for much of anything—but you also don't want them to worry. So you clean. Just enough to make your space look lived-in instead of caved-in. You shower. You put on clean clothes.
You play pretend.
“I’m good,” you say, same as always. “Just tired. exams took a lot out of me."
They nod. they leave. and the second the door closes, you're back in bed, phone in hand.
All you want is to be alone. all you want is to scroll. to disappear into the glow of the screen where nothing matters and no one expects anything from you.
Your handheld game helps, sometimes. one of your friends bought it for you as a congratulations gift—"you finished your exams! you earned this!"—a wildly popular life simulation series where you populate a bustling, personalized island with mii avatars of yourself, family, friends, or fictional characters.
You act as an god like caretaker, watching these little digital people interact, fall in love, fight, perform concerts, navigate bizarre daily dramas.
It was supposed to be fun, relaxing, a reward for once.
Now it just feels like another task. another thing you should be doing. Another reason to feel guilty when you don't.
You even listen to music, too. Your favorite artist. The same songs on repeat, over and over, hoping to feel something. A spark of the person you used to be before everything got so heavy.
But at last, nothing comes.
Just the same boring numbness. Same hollow ache. You're lying there, thumb hovering over your phone screen, when you hear it.
A knock. Soft, but definitely there. Weird thing is—it's not coming from your front door. It's coming from your balcony window.
"What the hell…?" You freeze. Your heart does this weird thing—not panic exactly, but something like recognition. Because normal people don't knock on balcony windows. Normal people can't even reach a third-floor balcony.
You turn your head slow.
And there's a silhouette on the other side of the glass.
Tall. Familiar. Just... waiting for you to open up.
✑ 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓉
“…Pierrot?"
Your eyes watch the figure on the balcony moves, seeing a shift of weight and tilt of the head. Enough for you to recognize that shape anywhere—just a too-tall frame, slump of his shoulders, the way he holds himself like he's always bracing for bad news.
You set your phone down then swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your body feels heavy, each step toward the balcony window an effort, close like wading through water.
The lock sticks for a few secoud, you haven't opened this door in weeks, no truly months. But it finally gives, and the late afternoon air hits your face, cool and sharp, and there he is.
Just standing on your third-floor balcony like it's the most natural thing in the world. His white masked face is even paler than usual under the dim city lights, and his starry eyes—those beautiful, swirling eyes—are wide and wet and devastated.
“My dear," he breathes.
And then he's moving, crossing the small space between you in one long stride, and his hands are cupping your face before you can say anything, his cool fingers trembling against your cheeks.
“We thought you were dead," he whispers. his voice cracks on the last word. “We… )-I thought—when you stopped answering, when the days turned to weeks, we thought something had happened to you. we thought you'd left me forever."
HIs eyes search your face, and you watch the worry settle into his features like a physical weight. Those now starry pupils flicker as they take in everything—such as the dark bruises under your eyes, the unnatural lightness of your skin, the way your cheeks look slightly hollowed out like you haven't been eating enough.
His gaze drops to your hoodie (the same one from three days ago, you can't remember the last time you changed), then to the room behind you, displaying a dim, messy, stuck look, then back to your face.
“And you were just..." his voice cracks. tears spill over, tracking silver lines down his powdered cheeks. “You were just… scrolling?"
You open your mouth. the excuse is already there, the same one you've been giving everyone: i'm fine, just tired, exams took a lot out of me, i just need rest—
Pierrot shakes his head before you can even say it. “No," he whispers. “Don't. Please don't lie to me. i can see you, my dear. You're not fine."
You close your mouth.
He steps closer, his cool large hands finding yours again, holding them like they're something precious. “You look..." he trails off, searching for words. “Dim. like someone turned down your light. like you're fading."His lower lip trembles just a bit
“Please. Tell me what's wrong. I don't understand the things you humans go through, but I want to. I need to. because seeing you like this—" his voice drops to barely a whisper. "it's breaking me."
You don't have an answer.
You don't have words for what's been happening inside your head. Burnout? Depression? Exhaustion? All you know is that you've been stuck and numb and tired in a way that sleep can't fix.
Pierrot doesn't wait for you to figure it out.
He pulls you into his chest again, but this time he doesn't let go. his arms wrap around you tight—not painfully, but firmly, like he's afraid you'll dissolve if he loosens his grip.
His face presses into your hair, and you feel him breathing you in, shaky and desperate. “I’ve got you," he murmurs against your head. “I don't know what's happening, but i've got you. you don't have to explain. you don't have to do anything. Just... let me hold you."
You were still there for a long moment, limp in his arms, letting him support your weight. and slowly—so slowly—you feel something unfreeze in your chest.
He starts moving you toward the bed. not pushing, not dragging, just... guiding. His long body curls around yours as he pulls you onto the mattress, arranging the pillows behind your head, tugging the blanket up over both of you.
“Pierrot, what are you—"
“Shh." he tucks you against his side, one arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other coming up to stroke your hair. “We're going to stay here. in this bed. and you're going to rest, and I’m going to hold you, mayebe later I can cook for you and eventually—" he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“Eventually, you're going to feel better."
“You don't know that."
“I believe it," he says softly. "and sometimes that's enough."
He doesn't understand burnout. Doesn't know the word for it, doesn't have a framework for the way modern life drains the life out of people. But he understands sadness. He understands exhaustion. He understands what it feels like to be so tired that moving your body feels impossible.
So he holds you. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your back. his chest rises and falls against yours. And every few minutes, he whispers something soft and reassuring into your hair.
“You're safe."
“I’m here."
“You don't have to be anything right now."
His starry eyes never leave your face, even as the minutes stretch into an hour. he watches you like you're the most precious thing in the world—like he's memorizing every detail, every breath, every small sign that you're still here.
“Pierrot?"
“Yes, my dear?"
“…Thank you. For coming."
Your felt his arms tighten around you. “Always," he whispers. “Always, always, always." And for the first time in weeks, you close your eyes and let yourself be held.
✑ 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓁𝑒𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃
“What the fuc… Harlequin?”
You whisper his name before you even open the door, and Harlequin's silhouette goes still. “…What?"
“Uh, just... come in."
You slide the door open, and he steps inside like he owns the place—because of course he does, it’s him. You notice his neon green eyes sweep across your apartment, taking in the dim lighting, the messy blankets, the general stagnation of it all. But instead of concern, his face splits into that familiar, jagged grin.
“Well, well, well," he purrs, dropping onto your couch like a cat claiming a sunbeam. “The human seems alive or, well… enough. Same difference."
You sit back down on your bed, phone already finding its way back into your hand.
“So,” he drawls, kicking his feet up on your coffee table. "you gonna explain why you've been ignoring me? or are we just pretending the last few months didn't happen?"
“I wasn't ignoring you—"
“Oh, really?" he pulls out his own phone, scrolling with one claw. “Because i've sent you... let's see... forty-seven reels. FORTY-SEVEN. and you haven't reacted to a SINGLE one."
You open your mouth. Then close it.
The truth is, you've watched every single one.
You couldn't not watch them—harlequin has a way of knowing when you've seen his messages. but the things he sends you are... cursed. Like, genuinely deranged. Last week he sent you a video of a raccoon riding a roomba while wearing a tiny cowboy hat, set to dramatic classical music. The week before that, it was a compilation of geese committing what could only be described as war crimes.
You weren't sure if you were depressed or just terrified of birds now.
“I watched them," you mumble.
“Oh yeah? Then why didn't you react?"
“Because I don't know how to react to a goose stealing someone's sandwich."
Harlequin snorts. “That's fair. That one was art."
You fall into something almost comfortable—him sprawled on your couch, you curled on your bed, both of you on your phones. This is normal for you two. parallel play, he calls it. existing in the same space without being annoying about it.
Except.
Except you stop responding to his commentary. Your thumb keeps scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling. reels blur together. cats, memes, a video essay about something you don't care about. Harlequin says something—a joke, maybe, or a sex joke—and you hum in response, not really hearing him.
“Hello? Earth to the human who's been ignoring me for months?"
You don't look up.
“Okay, that's—" he cuts himself off then you hear him stand feel the bed shift just a bit as he moves. Suddenly his hand is on your phone, tugging it gently but firmly out of your grip. “Hey—"
“No."
You look up. Harlequin is standing over you, your phone in one hand, his neon eyes fixed on your face. and for the first time since he arrived, he really looks at you.
The grin fades while his head tilts—catlike, curious, assessing. his gaze traces the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slump, the hollow emptiness in your expression that you've been hiding from mirrors.
“You look..." he pauses, searching for words. “Bad. like, really bad. When's the last time you slept?"
“I sleep."
“That's not what I asked, little thing.” Still, you don't answer.
One of Harlequin's tendrills flicks behind him—a nervous habit he'd never admit to. He looks at your phone, then back at you, then at your phone again. something shifts in his expression.
Something almost like... guilt?
“Was it the reels?" he asks, quieter than usual. “Did I… was I the reason you—"
“No.” and for once, you're being honest. “It's not you. I’ts… everything. I’ve just been stuck." He stares at you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he shoves your phone into his pocket. Sits down on the bed beside you. Like Close, very close than he normally would.
“Okay," he says.
“…Okay?"
“Okay, you're stuck. Okay, you've been ignoring me. Okay, you look like a sad, wilted lettuce." he bumps his shoulder against yours. “I’m still here, aren't I? I’m not going anywhere."
You lean into him without meaning to. One of his tendrills curls around you. “You're gonna be fine," he mutters, almost to himself. “You're annoyingly resilient. it's one of your few good qualities."
“I have other good qualities."
“Name three."
“…I’m not doing this right now." He laughs—soft, real, nothing bitter about it. And for a little while, neither of you moves.
✑ 𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇
“The hell, Jester…?”
You whisper his name through the glass, and for a long moment, nothing happens.
He doesn't move, speak, just stands there, massive and still, like a statue someone forgot to finish. you almost think you imagined it—the knock, the shape, the whole thing—when his voice finally cuts through the night.
“You took longer than expected to open."
it's not a complaint. not really. just an observation, delivered in that low, resonant tone that makes your bones feel weird. You slide the door open, and Jester steps inside.
He doesn't say anything at first. just stands there in the middle of your tiny apartment, taking it in. The messy bed. the scattered snack wrappers. The phone in your hand, screen still glowing.
His purple eyes, just sharp, steady, ancient eyes—sweep across everything in your place. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and resonant, each word deliberate. “So this is what modern humans consider meaningful existence. Staring at box of light. Ignoring the living world.” He crosses his arms, and you feel the full weight of his judgment pressing down on you.
You should probably say something. Defend yourself at least. Explain your poor behavior. But your throat feels tight, and his presence is a lot, and all you can manage is a weak, "...hi."
One of his eyebrows lifts. just slightly. just enough. “Hi," he repeats, like the word is foreign. like he's testing it on his tongue. “You disappear for months. you stop responding to all forms of communication. You let me believe—" he pauses, something flickering across his face too fast to read. “And all you have to say is hi?"
You shift your weight, just a bit. “I didn't know what else to say."
"the truth is usually a good starting point."
You don't have the truth. Not one you can put into words, anyway. So you just stand there, phone still in your hand, and let him look at you.
He does, like for a long time.
And then he unexpectedly moves. Well not toward you. Toward your kitchen funny enough. You watch, baffled, as the jester—massive, purple, terrifying jester opens your cabinets. Peers inside. Closes them. opens your fridge. makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a hum.
“You have no food," he states.
"i have... some food."
“You have instant noodles and expired yogurt." he turns to face you, arms still crossed. “This is not food. This is desperation or a cry for help.”
Vefore you can respond, he's pulling out his phone—a sleek, expensive-looking thing that seems too small for his hands—and typing something with practiced efficiency.
“What are you doing?"
“Ordering groceries."
“You… you can't just—"
“I can," he says, not looking up. “I am. Watch Me.”
And you do. you watch the most intimidating monster you've ever met stand in your messy kitchen and order you groceries like it's the most natural thing in the world.
When he's done, he pockets his phone and turns to you, expression unreadable. “You're going to eat," he says. "real food. more than once a day. i will ensure this."
“You don't have to—"
“I am aware that I don't have to. I am choosing to." his purple eyes meet yours. “There is a difference."
You don't know what to say to that, so you say nothing. He looks at your bed, all of the the rumpled blankets, the pillow you've been hugging for warmth and then back at you.
“When's the last time you slept? Truly slept? not the restless, nightmare-ridden version you've been enduring."
You blink, "how do you know about—"
“I’ve notice things." he says it simply. like it's obvious. "you have dark circles beneath your eyes. your posture has collapsed. your energy is... dim than before.” a pause. "you are not well."
It's not a question. “I’m just tired," you try.
“You are exhausted, burned out. there is a difference." he moves toward you—slowly, carefully, like you're a wild animal he doesn't want to spook. “And you are not going to fix it by staring at that device."
He gestures at your phone, still clutched in your hand.
"Give it to me."
“What? no—"
“Give me the phone, little human."
There's something in his voice—not a command, exactly. more like... an invitation. like he's offering to carry something too heavy for you. And maybe it's the exhaustion. maybe it's the numbness. maybe it's just that he's him.
But you hand it over.
He takes it gently, like surprisingly gently and sets it on your dresser, face down. “There," he says. “Now you have no choice but to exist in the present moment."
“That’s… terrifying."
“Good. Fear is motivating."
He sits on the edge of your bed, which it creaks under his weight and pats the space beside him. “Come. sit. tell me what has happened to you. or don't. Either way, you are not going to be alone in this room tonight."
You hesitate then you sit.
His presence is huge and warm and solid, and somehow, despite everything, you… feel something loosen in your chest.
“To be honest… I don't know what's wrong with me," you admit quietly.
“Nothing is wrong with you," he says, and his voice is softer now. almost gentle. “You are a human experiencing human things. Burnout. Exhaustion. The crushing weight of existence." he glances at you. “It happens. it passes. and in the meantime..." he shifts, draping an arm across your shoulders—heavy, grounding. “You’ll have to deal with me.”
“I disappeared for months."
“And I found you." he says it like it's obvious. like there was never any other option. “I will always find you."
You lean into him without meaning to. Again, surprisingly, he lets you. And for the first time in weeks, you don't feel quite so alone.
✑ 𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓇
“Wha.. Ticket Taker…?”
You whisper his name, and the silhouette on your balcony straightens. instantly. like he's been waiting for permission to exist.
You slide the door open, and Ticket Taker steps inside. His eye don't wander. they scan. every corner, every surface, every crumpled blanket and discarded wrapper. his expression is unreadable—that perfect, black-and-white symmetrical mask he wears like armor.
But you see the tension in his jaw. The way his hands clasp just a little tighter behind his back. “You didn't show up," he says. No greeting, nor small talk. Just facts.
“I know—"
“To work. To the circus. TO anything." His voice is clipped, controlled, but there's something underneath it. Something that might be hurt, or anger or both. “You failed to appear. Repeatedly. Without notice. Without explanation."
You open your mouth. close it.
he pulls out a small notebook—the one he always carries, the one filled with your schedule, your preferences, your existence filed away in neat, precise handwriting. he flips through it, not looking at you.
“Your screen time has increased by approximately 400% since your departure," he states, adding on, “sleep deprivation is evident. your circadian rhythm appears to have collapsed entirely." his eyes flick to your fridge—you forgot to close it earlier. "nutritional intake is minimal. inadequate. frankly, embarrassing."
He closes the notebook with a snap.
“This is unsustainable. Even for an human, I will be implementing restrictions immediately."
"Restrictions?"
“ON your device usage. on your sleep schedule. on your diet." he finally looks at you, and his gaze is sharp. disappointed. "you have disappointed me."
the words hit harder than you expect.
“I didn't—"
“You didn't show up." his voice cracks, just slightly. just enough. "you didn't show up, and you didn't tell me why. I had to infer. I had to calculate. do you know how many variables I had to account for because you wouldn't simply communicate?"
You don't answer.
He paces—short, sharp movements, like a caged animal. “I have been maintaining everything, hoping and preparing for your return, assuming there would be a return." he stops, faces you. “And then i find you here. In this state. Living like..." he gestures at the room, at you, at everything. “Like this."
“Like what exactly?"
“Like someone who has given up."
The words hang in the air between the both of you.
And something in his expression just changes, a little softens, just a fraction. He looks at you, see him notice the dark circles, the hollow cheeks, the way your shoulders slump like you're carrying something too heavy.
He exhales as a hand through his hair already slick black hair—which is a rare tell, man’s was worried about you.
“…I’m pushing too hard," he says quietly, not a question more like observation.
You don't confirm or deny. You just stand there.
He sits on the edge of your bed—perched, really, like he's afraid of wrinkling his suit. his hands rest on his knees. he looks almost... uncertain. “Let's start smaller," he says. “Carefully. one thing at a time."
He pats the space beside him. “Sit.” which you do.
He doesn't touch you—he never initiates touch, not really—but he's close. closer than usual. his presence is solid, steady, there.
“Tell me," he says. “How do you feel?" It's such a simple question. and you don't have an answer. not one that fits into words.
“I don't know," you admit.
He nods, like that's acceptable. like he was expecting it. "then tell me what you do know."
You think about it. "i'm tired."
“Obviously."
“Like... bone tired. Mentally, the kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix."
He's quiet for a moment. then: “Continue."
“I haven't been eating. or... I have, but not enough. not the right things." you glance at him. “You noticed."
“I notice everything." his voice is softer now. less sharp. “It's what I do."
“Yeah."
Silence but like it's not uncomfortable. It's the kind of silence that happens when someone is actually listening. “I miss the circus," you hear yourself say. “I miss... everyone. I just didn't know how to come back."
He turns to look at you. Now those cool, calculating eyes—but there's warmth there, hidden underneath.
“You're here now," he says. "that's a start."
He pulls out his notebook again—but this time, when he opens it, he doesn't start calculating. he just... holds it. like he's waiting.
“I’m going to help you," he says. “Whether you want me to or not. i'm going to make a schedule. I’m going to ensure you eat. i'm going to monitor your sleep. and eventually—" he meets your eyes. “Eventually, you're going to feel like yourself again."
“You can't know that."
“I can." he says it simply. “I’ve calculated the variables. the probability of recovery is high. provided you cooperate."
You almost smile. Almost. "...and if i don't cooperate?"
His lips twitch—the closest he ever gets to a smile. "Then i will be very persistent. you know this about me."
You do.
He stands, straightens his cuffs and looks down at you with something that might be fondness, if you squint. “We'll start tomorrow," he says. "Today, you rest. I’ll stay." He sits back down.
Doesn't touch you but his shoulder is close enough that you could lean on it, if you wanted.
✑ 𝒹𝑜𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇
“Is that, Doctor??”
You whisper-yelled his name through the glass with confusion, not expecting an answer.
You're about to call out again when you remember—oh. Right. This is Doctor. He doesn't do spontaneous visits. He doesn't leave the circus unless it's Halloween or the entire month of October when he apparently haunts the mortal realm like a goth Santa Claus.
Any other time? Good luck. He's in his greenhouse.
Talking to his ferns. Listening to heavy metal. Dissecting things that probably shouldn't be dissected.
So the figure on your balcony? On a random Friday?
You're either dreaming or he's lost.
But then he ducks because your balcony door is not small, but this man is very much tall. Like, Pirrot tall. Maybe taller. His horns scrape the top of the frame and he has to bend his neck at an angle that looks deeply uncomfortable, and you realize with a jolt that you completely forgot how big he is.
Doctor is not a man who looms. He's a man who exists in the background, in the shadows, in the spaces between things. But up close? In your tiny apartment? He takes up soo much space.
“Well,” he says, his voice that low, pleasant hum that somehow makes your skin crawl in a not-entirely-bad way. "You look awful.”
"...Hi?"
"Hm." He sets down a medical bag you didn't notice he was carrying and starts circling you. Like a shark. Like you're a specimen in a petri dish. "Pupils are dilated. Skin is pale. Posture is collapsed. When's the last time you saw the sun?”
"I don't know. Two week ago?"
“Disgraceful."
He pulls out a small penlight and shines it directly into your eyes without warning. You flinch as you heard him clicks his tongue behind his mask, "Follow the light. Don't blink. Try not to be dramtic about it, sweetie”
"I'm not being dramatic—"
"You're flinching. That's dramatic."
He makes a note on a pad that has also materialized from nowhere. His handwriting is surprisingly neat. Almost pretty. There are little botanical doodles in the margins.
"Your eyes are strained," he announces. "You've been staring at that—" he gestures at your phone, still glowing on the bed “—Rectangle for hours. In the dark. Without proper lightting.”
"I have a lamp—"
“A lamp is not sufficient for retinal health. You need ambient light. Natural light. Just light that isn't blue and screen-sourced." He pulls out a small handheld scanner—you don't even want to know where he got it—and runs it over your face. It beeps. He frowns.
"Your melatonin production is essentially non-existence. Your dopamine receptors are fried. Your circadian rhythm is destroyed." He looks up at you, cyan eyes sharp. "You've turned your brain into much.”
"Wow. Thanks…”
"You're welcome." He pockets the scanner and tilts his head, studying you the way he studies anything else.
"Here's the thing, sweetie," he says, stepping closer. He doesn't ask permission. He just... occupies space. "I don't do interventions. I don't do heartfelt speeches. I don't do whatever Pierrot does—the crying, the clinging, the I thought you were dead theatrics." He waves a hand vaguely, like he's shooing away a fly. "Exhausting. All of it."
"You came all the way here though."
"I did." He says it simply. Like it's obvious. Like of course he did. "Because you're interesting, and interesting specimens don't just get to... wither. That's wasteful."
He pulls a small glass vial from his bag—something pale blue and faintly glowing. "This is a tincture. Herbal. I made it myself. It won't fix you, nothing fixes anything, not really but it'll help your body remember how to sleep. Real sleep. The kind where your brain actually resets."
He presses it into your palm. His fingers are cool, much larger than your own. "Drink it before bed. Not with your phone in your hand. Not with the screen glowing in your face. Just... close your eyes and exist in the dark for a while."
"This isn't going to turn me into a frog, is it?"
"Don't be ridiculous." A pause. "Frogs require a much higher dosage."
You stare at him. He stares back, completely deadpan.
"...That was a joke."
"Ah. Well. I can see that."
"Was it funny?"
You didn't have the heart to answer. Just looked away.
He followed your gaze, glancing around your apartment agaia—the rumpled blankets, the scattered wrappers, the general stagnation of it all. His mask made his expression hard to read, but something in his voice softened. Just slightly. Just enough.
"You've been existing, not living," he said quietly. "There's a difference. I know you know that."
Again, you didn't answer.
He didn't push. Instead, he moved toward you, not looming this time, just... present. Close enough that you could smell the dried lavender and chamomile clinging to his coat.
"You're not a failed experiment," he said, tilting his head. "You're not a specimen that's been left on a shelf to collect dust. You're just... unwatered. Like my ferns when I forget to open the greenhouse blinds."
"...Are you comparing me to a plant?"
"I'm saying plants don't choose to wilt. They just don't have what they need." His cyan eyes held yours. "You haven't had what you need either. That's not a moral failure. It's just... a missing variable."
You blinked. "That's... surprisingly gentle. For you."
"I have my moments." He pulled a small glass vial from his bag, pale blue, faintly glowing, and pressed it into your palm. His fingers were cool, dry, steady. "This will help. Not because I'm kind, but because I don't like watching interesting things wither. It's inefficient."
"You could just say you care."
"I could." He didn't. But he also didn't move away.
The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable, just... full. Like something had been waiting to be said, and neither of you knew how to say it.
"I don't sleep much," he said finally, quieter than before. "I listen to music. I check on my plants. I... could sit with you. If you wanted."
"...You?"
"Surprised?"
"A little."
He almost smiled. Almost. "So am I."
He didn't leave immediately. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, his presence solid and steady.
"You should drink that before bed," he said, nodding at the vial in your hand. "Preferably in the dark. Preferably without your phone. And preferably..." he paused, something unreadable wavering across his masked face. "Preferably not alone."
"...Is that an instruction or an invitation?"
"Yes."
You huffed something that might have been a laugh. It felt strange in your chest.
He turned toward the balcony, his silhouette massive against the dim light. His horns scraped the top of the doorframe again, and he ducked with that same awkward grace, pausing at the threshold.
"If you need anything," he said, not looking back, "I'm in the greenhouse. Or the tent. Or... somewhere. You know how to find me."
And then he was gone, leaving behind a faint scent of dried herbs, cool earth, and something that might have been chamomile.
You looked down at the vial in your hand. And for the first time in weeks, you thought maybe you weren't as alone as you felt.
♤ — 𝓉𝒻𝒸 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ
Why Zayne would be the most likely to get you pregnant by accident: A thesis by Soul
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆Yes I’m taking this dead serious and you should too… I’m kidding I just think this is funny I wasn’t expecting this much of a reaction to the initial post so now here we are… enjoy my thoughts :)
He's very in tune with your body, including your cycle.
Maybe too in tune with it. He knows your cycle like the back of his hand, knows it like all the cardiology textbooks he memorized in grad school. Hell, he can tell where you are in your cycle simply by the way you smell, by the way you taste... you get my point.
Zayne knowing you this well is touching, honestly. But it's also his biggest kryptonite because god dammit he just can't resist you. Especially when he knows you're ovulating.
2. He prefers taking preventative measures rather than you taking preventative measures.
Zayne knows how harmful birth control can be to your body. The pill has a side effect pamphlet that could double as a queen size blanket. An IUD is a painful insertion process even if you get pain meds. They mess with your hormones, with your cycle, can cause more issues than benefits in his opinion. It's just not worth it.
While he is more than willing to get a vasectomy for you - something that is reversible for when the time comes that you do actually plan to try for children - you keep telling him that condoms are more than effective and it's not worth the recovery process at this point... ;)
3. Zayne is very easily persuaded by you in the heat of the moment.
If you didn't catch my drift from above... you are very convincing when asking Zayne to take the condom off and fuck you raw.
He won't do it before sex, no he won't do it before or during foreplay either. But let him slip inside, let him feel how soft and warm you are... or at least let him try because that oh-so-thin layer of latex his holding him back from so much... and then try asking... he'll slip it off in a heartbeat. Consequences be damned... he'll pull out... or at least try.
4. Zayne's diet and life style provide him with pretty healthy swimmers... even with his sweets intake.
Zayne eats good, works out, tries his hardest to get enough sleep. All because of you, all for you. He now treats his body with care, even though he can't resist those damn macaroons, his healthy habits tend to balance out his unstoppable sweet tooth. Making the overall quality of his sperm good, strong, and... well... eager.
5. Zayne has an incredibly high sex drive.
Listen... he's pretty insatiable. The more frequently you do it... the higher the risk... and I mean the second you convince him to take the condom off he is not slipping a new one on for the next round... rounds.
In conclusion, Zayne is the most careful among all the love interests. He is so precise with everything he does that it’s almost… bound to happen? Listen, fate has never been outwardly kind to this man so the irony would just be comical at this point. Not that he’d be upset!
Zayne would love to be a dad, so if it happened a little ahead of schedule? He’d welcome them with open arms.
EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT CALEB’S IN HIS FEELINGS AND HE CAN’T GET OUT OF IT…
Sypnosis: Caleb x non!mc — you find out he only used you in this marriage of three, and had a child with you to prove to the world that he, Caleb Xia, had moved on. 7k words. Warnings: HURT NO COMFORT no seriously, x reader is a stretch. mentions of pregnancy, birth and cheating. selfish caleb. i like exploring his ego. A/N: Sorry for the wait. I smoked 7 cigs in the process of writing this (working through my 8th now as I do the formatting). this stemmed from a little ask that was just too angsty to write a simple blurb on. highly suggest listening to mitski while reading this/earrings by malcolm todd (of which the title originates from) for the maximum angst experience.
There were three of you in this marriage, so naturally, it was a bit crowded.
Part of you felt unbelievably happy to be at the altar with Caleb Xia, yet another part of you couldn’t ignore the nudging feeling that something was very wrong with your husband-to-be.
To the spectators of the wedding, Caleb seemed perfectly composed. Not that most of them would know him any better than you did of the man you were about to dedicate the rest of your life to. The audience of the simple wedding at the courthouse consisted of your family and friends, and for Caleb…well, the only three people who he invited were Gideon and…
And her. MC. Of course.
You’ve always had an idea of who she was. It was hard not to acknowledge the woman your husband was obsessed with, is still obsessed with. You knew how much MC weighed on Caleb’s heart, and you could only guess how much that weight doubled when MC, instead of marrying him, married some cardiologist friend of hers. And you could piece together that you were nothing more than a trophy of proof for Caleb to show that he had moved on.
Yet, you still naively believed that, just like any good fairy tale, Caleb would eventually fall in love with you.
But one look into his empty, loveless eyes, as he signed your marriage certificate, told you otherwise. The chaste, brief kiss you exchanged felt like more of an obligation to show to the wedding guests rather than a genuine embrace of a husband and wife.
But then again, you didn’t think you expected much more.
In fact, Caleb looked happier when after the ceremony, MC bounded up with him with a grin, patting his hair and congratulating him for getting married and finally, finally moving on. To which he blushed and replied to her with something inaudible to you.
So from the very beginning, there’s always been three there has always been three in the spaces you occupied with your husband, three at the altar (you wondered if Caleb had imagined it was MC standing in your place on your wedding day), three in the bed (you could even imagine MC lying in empty space inbetween you and Caleb as you slept, and three at the table (at first before Caleb had learnt more about you, the dishes he served were all reminecent of MC’s favourites). You knew MC haunted, haunts, your marriage. But like any good wife, you looked the other way and hoped for the best.
Although it was not that you expected for Caleb to start acting like your husband right off the bat (you told yourself he needed time to heal). Not that you expected him to treat you like MC. Not that you never stopped praying that the underdog (you) of the story may prevail eventually. Yet the silence in his cold, gray penthouse, the lack of physical touch between the two of you, the meals consumed in harrowing conversation (you’d have to give it to him for always trying to ask you how your day was everyday), the nights spent so far away from each other, was slowly convincing you that this marriage was nothing but one of convenience. All you did was try your best to keep holding onto the hope that maybe things would change with Caleb for the better.
About two years into the marriage, Caleb surprised you by asking if you could have a child together.
You were shocked he was the one to ask.
Your remembered first attempt at intimacy had gone miserably. You could freshly recall on your wedding night when Caleb had loomed over you in the darkness of the bedroom, his chest heaving - though he hadn’t moved to do anything, anything at all - with spots of tears forming in the crease of his eye. After ten minutes of silence, he rolled off you.
‘I— I’m sorry…I- I can’t.’
You had told him it was okay. And you never mentioned it again, so you were coloured surprised when Caleb meekly asked you, as if he thought you might get upset, to try for a baby.
Fortunately for him, it only took about three times before you presented him with a positive pregnancy test. Fortunately for you as well, since each attempt was very awkward, terrifyingly so. You had no idea where you should have out your hands, your legs, if he even wanted your hands on him— and neither did Caleb know what to do with his touch. You’d think he didn’t want a baby by how hesitant he was acting. However, eventually when you did hand him that test with two pink lines, Caleb’s face practically glowed. You had never seen your husband, in all these years of marriage, look so…happy, so much more like his actual age than the cold, gloomy colonel you were married to. For the first time, you saw the sunny Caleb that you only got to know through photos stuck in dusty albums in the corners of your home. He hugged you, kissed you, and laughed in relief.
Relief?
Honestly, you were somewhat relieved too. Usually, Caleb would be away for prolonged periods of time, always muttering about something to to with the fleet, a mission, training, before departing for sometimes weeks at a time, but ever since you got pregnant, Caleb cut back on prolonged duties and stayed by your side if he could. There was one thing you could never complain about him, was that when it really came down to it, Caleb was not a bad husband by the books. He constantly cooks, cleans, cares and caters for you, and even more so now, he’ll drop whatever is on hand at moment’s notice to come running to you if you said you felt the slightest bit of discomfort. Plus, with all the baby essentials Caleb had purchased, they had really livened up the house much more. You watch as he assembles them without the need to look at the instructions whilst sitting on the floor of the living room. As he fusses about with you taking the right supplements, about getting enough sleep…it’s cute. It’s the closest feeling you’ve ever experienced to having a real husband, despite being married for well over two years now.
On a muggy afternoon, you inched out of Caleb’s grasp (he has now found it in himself to sleep closer to you with one hand usually over your stomach if you allow it) and wobbled your way to the walk in closet for some airier clothes. As you sifted through the racks, you accidentally knocked out a few photos from Caleb’s colonel service coat, which fluttered down to the bottom of the closet. Crouching down (whilst you still could), you inspected the photos.
Oh.
It was a laminated photo of your baby’s ultrasound. Not just that, but on the edges of the photo, written neatly in his handwriting in pen, were the words: [name]’s ultrasound appointment on xx/xx/xxxx.
Adorable, you thought, that Caleb carried this around with him. You privately wondered if he would proudly show it off to his co-workers or his underlings. You hoped he might, maybe even boast a little about how lucky he and his wife was. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, wondering if this marriage was finally taking a step into the right direction.
But right next to that photo was that necklace. When U Come Back. You knew very well the story behind that necklace, how MC had given it to him before he left for the aerospace academy. How he used to wear it, 24/7, but had at least the decency to stop wearing it at all times and only keep it on him, after he married you. Yes, at least he had the decency to now never take off your wedding bands. Your eyes glazed over the necklace again. Bitterly, you wondered if he’d ever want to carry a photo of him and you someday.
Nevermind. You dried your eyes quickly. At least in this marriage, both he and you, are getting something that you both wanted, something that you will both cherish more than anything.
A bouncing baby girl.
He wanted your baby. He needed your baby. He wanted to be a father, because he wanted to be a father, a nurturing, loving figure, right? And not for any other reason? Right?
Right.
Two weeks later, whilst tidying up the kitchen, your hand bumped against a bright yellow lunchbox patterned with little apple stickers, long forgotten beneath a pile of documents and papers. Fondly, you picked it up.
In the very earliest days of your marriage, you had done the domestic, wifely thing of making your husband a lunchbox before he departed for work every morning. And he had returned an empty box everytime, down to the last grain of rice being picked clean. You still remember the fuzzy feeling of seeing Caleb smile at you, thanking you for such a delicious meal, how his subordinates had all fawned over the presentation, how delicious it was, how lucky the colonel was to have such a lovely wife…
So why not do it again? You thought merrily, after all, you haven’t made him a packed lunch in a while. Maybe showing up at his work with a delicious lunchbox might perk him up. Excitedly, you got into your car and made your way down into central Skyhaven.
Entering the fleet HQ, you were immediately guided to your husband’s office.
You were about to turn the handle and step in - usually there weren’t much visitors in his office in the middle of the day - but a chorus of loud voices stopped you.
“And to Caleb! The newest dad-to-be!”
“The first of all of us to be a father, actually.”
You heard a round of clinking cups. It must be Caleb, inviting his flight school friends to celebrate the impending birth of your child. At his office though…strange. But it must be because he’s been so busy, he hardly had any time to go anywhere except his workplace and his home.
“Woah…no, no more.” You recognised that as Caleb’s voice. You could imagine his hand gliding over to cover the surface of his glass.
Drinking? In the middle of the day? Seriously? You snorted, hand going down on the handle again, But at least it’s to a good cause. Caleb being a new dad and all.
“But seriously. Here’s also to your marriage not being a total disaster!”
Your stopped before you could push against the door.
“It’s not. A total disaster.” Caleb said, his voice a bit slurred though not completely drunk.
“Yeah, yeah…we all know you had the hots for MC, but she ended up marrying that sexy doctor instead of the big bag colonel, didn’t she, oof—!”
A thud. Caleb had probably slammed whoever said that against the wall. A series of ‘ooohs’ followed.
“Kidding, kidding…”
“You better be.” Caleb dusted his hands off, sinking back into his seat. “I’ve long moved on from MC. I even have proof.”
“Oh yeah? Don’t tell me it’s—”
He pulled out the ultrasound picture that he kept in his uniform pocket, showing it to everyone in the room.
“I had a child with my wife. Can’t you see how much I’ve moved on already? I can have a child with someone who’s not MC. See?”
Tears stung your vision.
So thats what he was using that picture for.
Not for a happy memory’s keepsake, no. But to show the world that he, Colonel Caleb Xia, the yearner, the lover, the oh-so-perfect man…has moved on from his sweet MC.
…
You quickly threw the lunchbox you made away, and fled the building. You needed to get away from him, in that moment. You didn’t want to linger on in this kind of feeling anymore.
…
Time passes a lot quicker, you found, when it wasn’t just you in the house all day. With Caleb by your side (more or less constantly in the final few months of your pregnancy) the days had quickly passed. And before you knew it, there was a living, breathing infant in your arms.
The birth was easy, and again, you were grateful for Caleb’s support (he never left your side in those six hours, plus you’ve heard far too many horror stories of baby daddies bringing their Xbox, or not showing up at all…) though admittedly you swore at him multiple times and eventually snapped at him to wait outside. However, part of you feared he might react to an actual baby, his and your baby, with regret and hesitation. You couldn’t shake the fear that Caleb might feel prejudiced against a baby you made with him instead of one borne from him and MC. But those fears quickly evaporated when you saw Caleb crying, sniffling, holding the little pink bundle in his arms.
Both Caleb and you were overjoyed, though also albeit scared, naturally like most first-time parents. He was seriously dedicated at every step. Again, you’d have to give it to him for being a good dad.
After returning from the hospital, he never allowed you to get up in the middle of the night to soothe the baby. He never complained about doing the messy work that came with babies, often willingly taking care of all her wants every day as if trying to prove a point. He now even tries to come home earlier and go on less long-distance fleet missions to spend more time with the baby, something he’s never done for you in the time you were married. You watched as he poured his whole heart into being a good dad for a tiny little girl. A perfect masculine figure. Ever so sensitive to what she needed.
But what about what you needed?
Sometimes when you come home after a day out with your friends or a solo trip somewhere, the moment you open the door to your home, you feel as if your entire world is behind that doorway. That despite all the freedoms Caleb has given you in this marriage (the financial freedom, ‘you can go anywhere you want’ , you can do whatever you wish, travel anywhere), your world had drastically shrank to the man sitting in the grey parlour, who wasn’t even facing you.
On other days, he wasn’t even there.
Gone to MC’s. Emergency.
….you weren’t exponentially surprised by the reason. Caleb frequently rushed to MC’s house to deal with her emergencies. At this point, you simply shrugged it off and continued on as you usually would. Only that when you went to the nursery to check on your daughter…
The crib was empty.
Your heart dropped. You had frantically dialled his number. No response. You racked your head for thousands of possibilities. Did someone take her? Did he mention he was taking her anywhere? Did he…did he take your child? Taking off with MC to a place where you’d never find him again? Did Caleb pack up and leave altogether? With your baby?
You told yourself it couldn’t be true. That he’d never do something like that. He wouldn’t. That Caleb is a good, kind man. But to what distances he would go for MC, you had no idea. All you knew was that you’d like it to be you instead of her.
Ten minutes later, you were banging the front door of MC’s house.
Surprisingly, it was her husband, Zayne, who answered.
“[name]? What are you doing here?” Zayne asked, surprised.
He didn’t even get to answer before you shoved past him, calling Caleb’s name.
“Caleb, Caleb?!” Your mind flashed with possibilities of where he could be. Maybe he was already gone. Maybe he took MC and drove up to the airport already. But surely not, his car was parked outside, and, and…
There he was. In MC’s backyard, sleeves rolled up, that stupid grin on his face as he…tacked a nail into a piece of plywood, MC hovering over him with a tray of lemonade. You stopped in your steps where the stone of the house met grass, calming down, as you watched your husband beam up at MC, sweat glistening down his muscular arms, droplets forming on his healthy skin, a damp V forming at the top of his t-shirt. Time seemed to slow as Caleb reached up, took a sparkling glass, smiling at MC gratefully, a smile so bright you’ve never seen in all those times you ever offered him something.
“Caleb!” You snapped, finally loud enough that he whipped his head around, MC too. “Caleb! Where’s our daughter—“
Before you could even hear his reply, a beaming MC gasped in delight and smothered you in a hug.
“[name]! You’re here too! That’s perfect, you should stay and have dinner! Ooh, I’ll tell Zayne to set an extra space at the table.” She spun around, shouting into the open patio doors. “ZAAAAAYNIIIIEEEEE?”
She talked at such a fast pace, you barely even got to get a word in on how you didn’t really want to stay for dinner, how you just wanted to demand where your daughter is and go home. In that moment, you didn’t even really care if your husband went home with you. But just as you opened your mouth…
“Aw, pips, there’s no need, I’m almost done with building this part already.”
MC pouted, that little, pathetic, faux-childish pout she always made at her dear gege.
“C’mon, Caleb, staying for dinner is the least you could do for me, after rushing over on such short notice to build Zachary’s treehouse.” She said, referring to hers and Zayne’s son. She turned to you and smiled, dropping her voice to a whisper, “Zayne is so useless when it comes to things like this, and my gege is the best!”
She turned back to Caleb. “And bringing your adorable little daughter too! I’ve been dying to meet her. You know I’ve asked you so many times already.”
You paused. “Wait a minute. You…asked Caleb to…to bring…”
“Yes!” MC replied, “I know she’s only a few months old, but all I’ve been asking Caleb is to let me meet my adorable niece!”
It was almost laughable. The ‘emergency’ that required Caleb’s immediate attention was the construction of a treehouse for MC’s son. You couldn’t help but wonder how many other of these such trips to her house that Caleb took were also something else, something less significant but labelled as an ‘emergency’.
You turned to Caleb, absolutely pissed.
“You. You took my daughter just like that? You took her without asking me?”
“I told you I was going to MC’s—“
“You didn’t tell me you were taking her!”
“I thought you would have assumed—“
Right. Like you should assume, like every other little bit of your marriage, you should have assumed that Caleb’s judgement was right. That your husband is doing his best for you. For this marriage. That you should assume every step he did, he was thinking of you first, and not MC. You should always assume. You’d be happier off that way.
But obviously, you were much more headstrong than Caleb let on. You were no longer the nervous blushing bride that had once optimistically stood by his side.
“You have no right to take her and tell me, her mother, to just assume anything about the safety of her own child.” You replied, in a tone that surprised Caleb so much, that he wasn’t sure how to reply.
MC, caught in the middle, immediately pushed in to diffuse the tension.
“Aw, don’t be like that, my sister-in-law.” She smiled, holding onto your arm. “Don’t blame Caleb, it’s my fault. I asked him to bring the baby.”
“No, no.” Caleb cut in, standing up and putting a hand onto MC’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself.”
He turned to you, frowning. “[name], I think we’ve just blown this way out of proportion. No one’s been hurt and you’re acting if I’ve kidnapped someone!”
“You know that’s not what I—“
“Come on.” Caleb gently took your hand, herding you towards the house. “Our daughter’s fine. She’s asleep upstairs.”
He led you past the living room, past the kitchen where a frazzled Zayne stood, wordlessly watching as Caleb led you up the staircase and into the nursery, familiar with the layout as if it was his own house, to where your daughter was sleeping peacefully in their son’s old crib.
“See?” Caleb sighed, “Nothing’s wrong. You got all worked up over nothing.”
You wanted to yell and him and tell him that this wasn’t nothing. That somehow ‘nothing’ always seemed to be associated with his behaviour with MC, and that none of what happened concerning MC in your marriage could just be swept under the rug like that. Maybe that’s how he preferred it, you thought bitterly.
“I want to go home.” Was your only reply.
Caleb’s shoulders slackened. “C’mon, let’s just stay for dinner…”
“I want. To go. Home.”
Your husband seemed to give up this case, and sighed. “Alright.” He replied, “Let me get my jacket.”
Suddenly, both of your heads turned, as you heard MC rap her hand against the nursery doorframe.
“Caleb…can I just speak with you for a second before you go…?”
You wanted to question if she had been lurking outside, listening, but Caleb cut in front of you.
“Of course.” He replied.
He took MC by her shoulder“We’ll just be a minute.” He called to you.
“You don’t mind, do you?” MC asked graciously.
“Sure.” You replied evenly. “I’ll just be in here. Come get me when you’re done, okay? I’ll dress our daughter to leave.”
You saw Caleb nod, before escorting MC down the stairs. You made sure they both saw you close the nursery door.
You mad good on your promise to stay in the nursery and dress your fussy little daughter (who was looking more like Caleb by the day). Five minutes later, gently creaking open the nursery door, you snuck outside, thinking they’d finished their conversation already. But you realised they hadn’t gone far. As you stood on the stairs with your back against the side of the wall, you could clearly hear Caleb and MC talking in the living room behind the staircase.
Their words made your heart beat out of your chest.
“Is your wife always so…uptight?” You heard MC mumble, her voice suddenly sultrier than before.
“No, she’s just…” You heard Caleb began.
I’m just what, Caleb?
“…she’s just emotional, that’s all.”
You heard MC snort. “Emotional? Hardly. I seem to remember that at your wedding, she was ever so meek and crittery, so nervous, so deferent, so grateful to marry the big strong colonel…” She sighed, “And I thought that, y’know, hey! She might do a lot of good for you. She’s like a squeaky mouse, just like another version of me, how I was your ‘pipsqueak’…” Her voice suddenly dropped to a whine.
“I thought maybe you found a better replacement.”
You heard sounds that indicated that Caleb stepped forwards to hug her.
“MC…nothing and nobody could ever replace you.” Caleb said gently.
They were silent for a long time. Wetness had began to gloss your eyes.
“Well…on that happy note…” MC mumbled, “I have some news for you.”
“Hm? What is it?”
“I’m…” She giggled, “I’m expecting.”
“You’re what?!” You heard Caleb exclaim.
“Shhhh! I said I’m expecting. I’m going to have another baby.” MC replied hushedly.
“Oh wow…congratulations!” Caleb laughed. “Guess I’m ready to be uncle to another mini-zayne, huh?”
MC let out a small happy sigh. “Not quite.”
“What do you mean? Do you think this baby’s going to look more like you, or—”
“No, no…”
A pause. MC gazed up at your husband, clasping his hands.
“Caleb…the baby is yours.”
…
You couldn’t bear to hear the rest of the conversation. You sprinted back up the stairs, going back into the darkness of the nursery. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t help but sob, sob over this marriage which you’ve always held hope to, this marriage which, admittedly, up to that moment you were still clinging onto the hope that things may turn to the better, that your fate might change, that this wasn’t all a mistake, that your marriage wasn’t just a helpless fantasy on your part…
But look at you now.
Crying on the floor of the house which belonged to the woman who your husband was obsessed with. Crying with a baby that was only born into the world to prove a point for your husband, to prove that he had moved on. Or worse, your poor baby daughter wasn’t even born to prove a point anymore, she had only served to prove a lie, a lie that was quickly unravelling at the hands of the man who demanded her existence.
Caleb…oh, Caleb.
Your tears stopped when you heard someone coming up the stairs. Immediately, you dried your eyes and stood up, trying to slow down your breaths and calm yourself down. You refused to face your husband like this. You refused to make a scene. Not now, anyway.
“Ready to go?” He asked, pushing the door open.
You didn’t turn for a second. In that moment, time seemed to stop.
Slowly, you turned to him, your daughter held tightly in your arms.
“Sure.” You smiled, “Let’s go home.”
…
Home. Such a funny word.
As you watched the glowing skyscrapers pass you in the passenger seat, you suddenly felt very calm. The air was wet from rain, and a cool summer breeze had began to sweep through the night. You thought you might feel rage, or resentment, but instead…all you felt was a strange sense of sereneness. You were disappointed at Caleb, sure, but not as surprised as you thought you’d feel.
Which felt worse than being angry.
You’d rather feel that rush of adrenaline, make a scene, throw something at his face and scream at him and cry and slap him, maybe, but no, no, all you felt was a churning pit of emptiness in the pits of your stomach. Your belly empty, while MC’s swelled with life. His life.
“What do you want to have for dinner when we get back home?” Caleb asked you, breaking the silence.
You shrugged, wondering when, or if that all, he was going to confirm for you what you had overheard.
“Don’t be like that.” He nudged you with a half smile, “You can pick anything. Anything at all to eat, it’s up to you.”
You didn’t want to eat with him. Even the thought of sitting at the same table, across him, made you feel sick. The thought of your mouth wrapping around the utensils that once touched his mouth, his mouth that once warmed MC’s tongue. Biting into food prepared by his hands, his hands that once traveled across MC’s naked skin. A sickening scene.
You didn’t want anything to do with him.
“I’d rather you decide.” Came your firm reply. “Since you seem to decide everything that goes on around here.”
Caleb sighed, a long heavy drag. “[name], I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” He spun the wheel, pulling into the familiar street. “So can we please just drop the attitude?”
“What attitude?” You asked, fluttering your lashes as often MC did when she wanted to appease her dearest gege, “I really don’t mind what we eat. Why would I?”
“[name].” He said more seriously, “Please. I don’t want a scene. Our baby’s asleep in the back and I’d really like to keep it that way.”
Right, so you’d be fine having an argument if our daughter wasn’t here. Speaking of children…
“MC’s looked glowing today, don’t you think?” You mentioned, sliding out of the passenger’s seat almost the second Caleb rolled the car into the driveway.
He shot you a strange look as he unlatched your daughter from her baby seat in the back. “Yes…she did. Why do you ask?”
You shrugged innocently, unlocking the front door, “Nothing, I just meant that motherhood agrees with her.”
Caleb said nothing in reply. You watched as he carried your daughter inside, not a muscle in his face giving away a single hint of suspicion or anxiety. You knew what kind of man your husband was. It wouldn’t be so easy to gauge out the truth from him, or any semblance of emotion he didn’t want to express for that matter. But you were expecting this.
“Do you think she’s going to have another one?” You said coquettishly, shrugging off your coat.
He couldn’t help it this time. You watched from behind as his shoulder twitched, ever so slightly, for not even half a second.
“I wouldn’t know.” Caleb replied, his tone ordinary, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. She and Zayne are a happy couple, after all.”
Your husband would have made a great actor, you thought humorlessly. You wondered if he was tearing himself apart inside.
“Actually.” You raised your hand, smiling. “I don’t want dinner.”
Caleb turned, cocking an eyebrow at you. “What? But you—”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” You nodded, one foot on the stairs. “I’m going to bed early. It’s been a long day.”
“But it’s only—“
“Goodnight, Caleb.”
“…goodnight.”
…
Weeks had passed. You’ve continued to act as if nothing had gone wrong. Caleb went to work, came back from work, cooked, played with your baby girl (who was now crawling all over the place) and went to bed. The only aspect that he felt…off, about, was how pacified you acted now.
You didn’t pepper him with questions about his day anymore.
You weren’t there to ask if he was feeling alright the moment he came home.
You couldn’t even bring yourself to stand closer to him.
It was as if the marriage had undergone mitosis and split itself in two, as if the straining cell it had once been has finally pulled away from the other half. All that remained was two individuals, standing inches apart in the kitchen, sitting a meter away in the living room, sleeping in beds that felt miles away from each other at night.
Your scents didn’t even mingle together anymore. The air in your home felt stagnant. You were sure that if you hadn’t got used to it, if you weren’t you for a second and you had visited your current home for the first time, you would assume that there were no inhabitants in it at all.
You could imagine it now. The edge of the scissors pulling the winding umbilical cord into a taught triangular shape in the sterile air, about to snap shut, about to separate the two entities, mother snd baby, to deliver individuality and freedom to both…there just needed to be a little push. A little force. Just a little more, and you would be able to forever sever this rotting chord that ties you to this marriage .
Every day, Caleb would come home and wonder what changed your demeanor so much. And you’d wonder when your husband would grow the balls to tell you that MC is pregnant with his baby.
He didn’t on week one. Or two. Or three. Or four. And as you can guess…
He didn’t speak a word when MC posted a gender reveal (week 19) online, the cutting of the triple-tiered cake revealing flamingo-pink insides. Caleb liked that post, you saw.
He also didn’t mention a word when MC announced a baby shower (week 28), which you were also invited to (the gall. can you imagine the audacity?). You had acted perfectly amicable, presenting MC with a hug and a basket of gifts. Caleb had gone to congratulate Zayne. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.
By the time the date hit 30 weeks after you overheard their conversation, you had had enough.
If Caleb was going to be a coward about it, then you would force him to confront the truth.
…
Week 34 was fast approaching. You knew a normal pregnancy would end at about 37 weeks to 40, so when Caleb, suddenly, in the middle of your morning shot up from his seat after answering a call, you were surprised.
“What’s wrong?” You asked.
“MC had th—her baby.”
“Already?” You hummed. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Caleb gasped, practically sprinting to put on his jacket hanging by the bannister, “That’s why I need to go see her. Now.”
“No wait!” You stood up, grabbing his wrist. “I’m coming too.”
“No.” He replied. “You shouldn’t. Someone needs to stay home with our daughter. And I won’t be long.”
“No, no!” You chirped merrily, picking up your daughter from her high chair. “Let’s bring our baby. After all, she should get to know her new half-sister.”
You enjoyed watching the colour suddenly bleach from his face.
“What?” His tone was chilling, shaken, almost boyish.
“You heard me.” You fished out the car keys from the little ceramic dish near the front door. “Come on.“
“[name]—“
“I thought you were in a hurry to go.”
“[name].” Firmer, now.
“So let’s go.”
“[NAME]!” Caleb yelled. It was the first time he had yelled at you.
“What is it?” You blinked back.
Caleb’s eyes were bloodshot. His shoulders heaved.
“How long…have you knew?”
“I think the better question is, Caleb,” Your face, he thought, was frighteningly unreactive. “When were you planning on telling me?”
He threw his hands down, turning away from you. “I was going to tell you today. After the baby was born.”
“So you can force me to face the consequences of your actions? If I like it or not? Is that why?”
“No! Don’t put words in my mouth.” He faced you again. “I was going…I was going to…”
“To what?”
“To work something out.”
“And how was that going to end?”
“I—“
“I’ll tell you how that was going to end, Caleb Xia.” You stabbed your finger against his solid chest. “It would end in me having to make sacrifices. It would end up in me in pain, over and over again, just to cope with how you’ve decided to treat me! I will be the one at a loss while you, you will get what you’ve always wanted. Every decision you’ve made was never for me. It was always either for you or for MC! I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth when you tell me that you’ll ’work something out’. I know you’ll give me the short end of the straw. You already have, for every day we’ve been married. Yet you never realise, because of course in the end whatever happens would work out for you, because it always fucking does!”
“[name].” Caleb breathed, “Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to—“
“I’ll be home as quick as I can.” He said, pulling on his shoes at the door. “And then we’ll settle this.”
You laughed.
“Oh, Caleb.”
You watched as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
“I’m sure you’ll find yourself right at home.” You said with a smile.
…
“Caleb, come quick!” MC giggled, waving her hand to usher him in. “I just sent Zaynie to go out to the cafe to buy me some lunch.”
Caleb looked over at the bassinet, where a tiny wriggly baby wrapped in white lay. His lips broke out into a smile, a little wider than when he had first met his daughter with you, before gently, very gently reaching into the blankets, prying them apart, to reveal the scrunched up face of his new daughter.
He instantly folded, a finger stroking her wrinkly cheeks.
“Hey there, sweetheart…” Caleb cooed, as the baby made an uncommitted sound.
She was tiny. Wrinkly. But to Caleb, she was one of the cutest things he’s ever seen. She was part of him, and part of MC, after all.
Caleb took an awed breath in, as she fluttered her eyelashes, opening her eyes to reveal…
Big, green eyes.
Her eyes were green.
A bright, mocking, hazel.
Just.
Like.
Her father’s.
Zayne.
…
“What the fuck?” Caleb spun to MC, “You said—“
“Well…” MC smiled devilishly, a telltale sign that she knew the entire time, “I assumed wrong, I guess.”
“But you told me it was from that one night when—“
“There’s no way I could have conceived her with you from just one night, compared to how many times I’ve fucked Zayne around the same time.” She noticed Caleb wince in uncomfort at the mention of her activities with her husband. “You were right. Aren’t you always, gege.”
“But—“
“Caleb, the baby isn’t yours.” MC snapped.
He stood by the beside, shellshocked.
She exhaled out of her nose, smoothing out her blankets. “There is no ‘but’ to it.”
Caleb let out an exasperated breath. “I can’t believe you lied to me. You lied to be about something this important!”
“I had to!” Suddenly, her voice turned an 180 and became a pitiful, little cry.
“Gege…I was trying to help you…you married [name] and seemed to be so upset all the time, so I had to think of a way to get you out of that marriage. And see, now…” She smiled, “She’s out of the picture and will never bother you again.”
“You don’t understand!” Caleb shook his wrist out of her grasp, “I would never have…have put [name] through all this if it wasn’t my child to begin with.“
“Come on, Cay, you’re just being selfish now.” MC picked at her nails, “It’s all for the best. You didn’t enjoy being married to her in the first place anyway. I can’t believe you went through all the trouble of having a kid with her just to prove that you were over me. You’re so pathetic, gege.” She chuckled.
Caleb felt as if he could not move. MC’s voice seemed to become a distant echo, until…
“Gege?”
He snapped back into reality. Caleb frantically began pulling on his jacket, turning his back to MC, his shallow breaths filling the room.
“Gege, don’t go.” She said softly, “It’s all for the best. You’ll still be an uncle to the baby. To our family. We’ll be together again, aren’t you happy about that?”
Caleb’s hand tightened on the door. He turned to look at MC, with the most hollow look in his eyes she’d ever seen him possess. Emptier even than the time she renounced him as her gege.
“No.” He replied curtly, pushing the door open.
“Caleb Xia.” MC barked. “Xia Yizhou!”
For the first time, Caleb didn’t look back to her.
…
Caleb wasn’t sure how many speed limits he broke while making his way home, but from the look of the bumper, he should be expecting a few tickets soon.
He was in a daze as he got out of the car, almost stumbling to the front door of the house, unlocking it.
He was ready. To apologise. To kneel before you and beg for forgiveness.
Anything at all.
To go back to the beginning. To make things right, as they should be between a husband and his wife.
To be a family. You, him and your precious baby, that you gave him.
He opened the door.
The house was silent.
Almost empty.
Empty…
The empty table. The empty living room. The empty bedrooms. The empty nursery. It was as if the house had reversed to its first day Caleb had moved in, where every inch was shrouded by plastic wrap and packed in cardboard. When no life had been breathed into his home.
A home without love is just a house, after all. How long had Caleb been trying to change that?
How long had he stayed, in denial, that his goal had actually been long fulfilled?
Where are the people who made his house a home?
“[name]?” Caleb called out. “[name]? Where are you?”
A prickling feeling creeped up against his spine as Caleb made his way back into the kitchen, where you had the fight just before he left. The plates had been cleared away, leaving only a sticky note taped onto the table.
You finally got your dream. I hope you can be happier with MC and your family with her. It’s all for the best. Love, [name] :)
Caleb fell to his knees.
A choked cry echoed through the house.
What dream? What family?
What had he forsaken to chase after his selfish needs?
SYPNOSIS: caleb x non!mc, except x is a bit of a stretch. snippet of a much larger fic to come
“Is your wife always so…uptight?” You heard MC mumble.
You don’t know how you found it in yourself to stay out of Caleb’s business until now. Perhaps it was the blinding trust you had for this man, the strong, reliable colonel who had graciously married you, who had signed your marriage certificate with empty eyes. But deep down, you always knew.
From the day you came home from the courthouse, there has always been three in the spaces you occupied with your husband, three at the alter (you wondered if Caleb had imagined it was MC standing in your place on your wedding day), three in the bed (you could even imagine MC lying in empty space inbetween you and Caleb as you slept, and three at the table (at first before Caleb had learnt more about you, the dishes he served were all reminecent of MC’s favourites). You knew MC haunted, haunts, your marriage. But like any good wife, you looked the other way and hoped for the best.
That is, until now.
With your back pressed against the cold marble wall, you listened on to the conversation that Caleb was holding with MC in your living room, after an awkward dinner party to which Caleb had invited MC and her husband, Zayne, to attend.
“No, she’s just…” You heard your husband began, an awkward silence stretching over the expanse of MC’s living room.
I’m just what, Caleb?
“…she’s just emotional, that’s all.”
You heard MC snort. “Emotional? Hardly. I seem to remember that at your wedding, she was ever so meek and crittery, so nervous, so deferent, so grateful to marry the big strong colonel…” She sighed, “And I thought that, y’know, hey! She might do a lot of good for you. She’s like a squeaky mouse, just like another version of me, how I was your ‘pipsqueak’…” Her voice suddenly dropped to a whine.
“I thought maybe you found a better replacement.”
You heard sounds that indicated that Caleb stepped forwards to hug her.
“MC…nothing and nobody could ever replace you.” Caleb said gently, tightening his embrace.
They were silent for a long time. Tears had began to bead in your eyes.
“Well…on that happy note…” MC mumbled, her lips splitting into a wide smile, one hand coming to rest on her stomach, the other intertwining with Caleb’s.
