As much as I love supportive, nurturing elder brother Dick, the idea of Dick being a little jealous of Jason when he first arrived is sort of funny. Dick is out there, trying to build something outside of Bruce, wanting to prove he doesn't need him.
Then Bruce adopts Jason. Dick doesn't like the idea at first. I mean, he literally just left and Bruce is already measuring up the next Robin's cape? It's a shitty thing to do and for a while he resents Jason a little but after awhile learns that he actually likes the kid and he's like, "This big brother stuff isn't so bad".
Then cue an incident where Dick and Jason are roughousing for fun and Jason gets hurt. Dick is sorry and Jason understands but Bruce and Alfred positively fuss over Jason and reprimand Dick for not being careful and Dick just breaks.
Jason is a great kid and Bruce has been disappointing for a while but elder sibling syndrome just hits him and suddenly he's crouched up in some really high point on the Manor's roof, refusing to come down though Bruce is trying to coax him because "No, I'm never coming down because you love your new son more than me."
Rafayel sighs for the millionth time, his arm draped over his eyes as he lays flat on the couch in a dramatic fashion.
“Seriously, what round is that now?”
“The seventh one,” Xavier answers him serenely from his beanbag chair without lifting his eyes from the book.
“It's actually the ninth,” Zayne corrects, his fingers flying across the keyboard on his laptop with soft rhythmic clicks.
Caleb, is massaging Sylus’s shoulders while he cleans his gun looking bored beyond comprehension.
“She didn't even let me watch, so rude,” he tuts, his crimson eyes flicking up towards the stairs before settling onto the dismantled weapon.
Caleb's fingers dig aggressively into his shoulder making him wince.
“I'm sorry man. I just… What's so great about this Valko guy anyway? A tail and some ears. I could get tail and ears,” Caleb grumbles.
“Yeah you'd need a gene modifier to do it. Valko just has them and can summon them whenever he wants,” Rafayel responds, sitting up.
“Ohhhhhh god!” Your wrecked cry manages to drift through the walls followed by a deep grunt before the squeaking stops.
“Fucking finally!” Xavier says snapping his book shut.
Then a loud squeal and “Valko already!”
All five of them groan in unison.
“It's not an Olympic sport, what is his deal?!” Rafayel whines and starts pacing the living room.
Zayne pushes his glasses back up his face before resuming his work.
“You know how she gets when she has a new plaything. Let her wear herself out.”
“I'm making dinner.” Caleb declares already marching to the kitchen.
Xavier immediately perks up.
“That means a big feast. His cooking is amazing when he is feeling like this. Wait. I'm coming to help,” he is up from the bean bag eagerly trailing behind Caleb.
The sound of the headboard smacking the wall starts up again. Faster and louder, your barely there whines now full blown near screams.
“Yes, yes, yes. Fuuuuuuuuck.”
Zayne shuts off his laptop.
“I have to make a supply run because whatever is waiting for me up there when they're done will need proper care.” He grabs the keys to his Audi and heads for the front door.
“Fishie, wanna go for a joyride?” Sylus is also up on his feet and Rafayel immediately stops pacing.
“Yes please.”
“Ok, let's go.”
All three scatter like roaches running from the sudden flick of a light switch.
The quiet click of the villa door going unnoticed by you upstairs as Valko presses your body in half and pounds you through the bed.
Vampire rafayel x princess reader with knifeplay ahhhhhh 🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈
vampire! rafayel x princess! reader x knife play
a/n. allusions to arranged marriage! your honour, they are husband and wife! thank you for requesting this! hope you enjoy ❤️
event page | event masterlist
the moonlight spilled through the arched windows of rafayel’s chamber, casting silver pools across the castle floor.
you had secretly memorized the path to his quarters over the past weeks, ignoring the words of the servants to not venture into your husband’s wing without his permission.
so now you were in his chamber. your heart hammered against your ribs, but your hand remained steady around the hilt of the silver knife hidden behind your thin nightgown.
you were not afraid of him.
that was what you told yourself as you padded across the room, closer to where he was resting. that was what you told yourself, foolishly, when an inexplicably hot sensation had taken root the night you’d watched him sink his fangs into a maid’s neck.
barely hidden by the hallway’s curtains, she had moaned loudly, her fingers threading through his purple hair as he drank, her eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.
you were not afraid of... the monster.
that was what you told yourself then as you stormed to your chambers, heart thumping increasingly due to — what you assumed — was fear.
now, you crept towards the big, slumbering coffin.
black velvet lined the interior, and there he was — rafayel, your arranged husband of two months.
his chest rose and fell with barely registered breaths, his white shirt hanging open to reveal his pale torso. rafayel was beautiful beyond compare, but also dangerous, that pleasant face hiding the cruelties of a violent beast.
you had to end him.
so you climbed into the coffin, your thighs parting to encapsulate his, the warmth of your core settling against the firm muscle of his lower abdomen.
kill him, you reminded yourself.
you smoothed the shirt aside, baring more of his chest. the knife caught the moonlight as you raised it, the silver blade glinting–
his hands slid up your thighs.
you gasped, the sound sharp in the dead silent room. his fingers, graced with sharp nails, were cool beneath the silk, and they gripped your scorching flesh with confidence.
your gaze snapped to his face just as his eyes opened — a pale blue, gleaming in the moonlight.
a slow smile curved his lips, and you saw the villainous tips of his fangs.
“good evening, princess.” he purred, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your inner thighs teasingly. “to what do i owe the pleasure at such an hour? and armed, no less.”
the knife trembled in your grip. “i came to k–”
“to kill me?” he laughed softly, completing your sentence. “did you, now? i don’t recall climbing onto one’s lap being a killing technique.”
his fingers crept higher, brushing the edge of your undergarments. you flinched slightly, embarrassed, face flushing deeper at his reaction.
“ah, you’re trembling. how adorable.”
“i’m not afraid of you.” you whispered, but your body was stating otherwise — quivering, blushing, desiring.
“i know.” his voice dropped lower, more serious. “so tell me, wife– why are you here, knife in hand, straddling your vampire husband in his coffin?”
the blade lowered an inch. your lip caught between your teeth.
“i saw you.” you spat out in one breath. “with the maid. i watched you feed.”
his eyebrows rose, his insufferable grin returning. “and that inspired you to murder?”
“you’re a monster.”
rafayel’s hands stilled on your thighs. for a long second, he simply looked at you, his eyes searching your face, looking into the rhythms of your heart. a second pulsing sound blessed his ears, booming at a frequency only registered by him, coming from between your thighs.
oh, his poor wife. did she feel… neglected?
“and you are jealous–” he concluded out loud, earning an offended gasp from you. “of a blood maid.”
he sat up, leaning against the coffin wall, and the movement brought your faces inches apart. his breath ghosted across your lips, whispering a damning question.
“you wish to replace her, princess?”
rafayel plucked the knife from your limp fingers, twisting it in the moonlight, admiring the sharp blade.
“i wished to be gentle.” he mused. “to respect your human body.” his free hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. “but you do not want that.”
before you could confirm, he dragged the flat of the blade down your arm, the metal cold against your feverish skin. then he tilted the knife and pressed just hard enough to part the surface of your flesh.
you hissed at the sting.
a thin line of blood welled up along your forearm, ruby in the moonlight. rafayel’s eyes fixed on it, his pupils dilating until the colour was nearly swallowed. he lifted your arm to his mouth, and his tongue swept across the wound in one long stroke.
all while watching you.
the sensation was electric.
his tongue was cool and soft, and the smell of copper bloomed between you. he groaned against your skin, raw and hungry, causing your hips to jerk against his lap. the friction sent a spike of pleasure through you both, two sounds of pleasure vibrating in the room.
“delicious.” he breathed against your arm, lips bloody. “you taste divine, my wife.”
his free hand found your hips once more, guiding you into a slow, grinding rhythm against him. the coarse fabric of his pants rubbed against your clothed pussy, and you whined shamelessly.
your body picked up the pace, rolling against him as he lapped at the cut on your arm, his fangs scraping against your wound.
“i wanted you unmarked.” he murmured, cutting your skin once more, digging deeper with the knife. “safe. away from my curse.”
his eyes were glued to the fresh reddish liquid that cascaded over your arm, adam’s apple bobbing with want.
“but you crave me. my bite.”
you dug your fingers into his shoulders, nails biting into pale flesh, as he slurped up the new wound, licking the blood like a starved man. the coffin creaked beneath you both, each roll of your hips pressing your clit against the print of his cock.
“ah, ugh– raf–”
he watched you with heavy-lidded eyes, reddened mouth stopping against your stained skin, choosing to drink in the lustful state you were in — pupils blown, thighs trembling, that coil in your belly ringing louder than ever.
“you’re beautiful like this.” he cooed, his tongue darting out to catch the bubbling drops of blood. “i could drink from you every night. would you like that?”
“yes.” you whimpered, nodding your head desperately.
his hand tightened on your side, his fingers sharp into your soft flesh. the silver knife was dropped on the floor, clattering against the stone — no longer needed.
“shall your husband indulge in a bite?”
“gods, yes. please, bite me. mark me, husband.”
and he did, cool hands dragging the neckline of your gown down, his lips finding the juncture on your neck. spreading his bloody saliva with his tongue, he marked the spot before piercing your skin with his fangs.
just like the blood maid, your hand jumped in his hair, pulling at the roots as rafayel drank hefty gulps of blood. you could hear his moans of pleasure as he took in your flavor, and you could hear your own being crashing down from the intense feeling, hips speeding up against him.
tags: @yuunileb, @txtworlddom, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world, @demonicangelll, @dreamydaredevil, @glitterykingdomangel, @gardenialily, @weirdothatwrites, @cherrytokkiz, @brailsthesmolgurl, @happyshark2222, @velomira, @darkchococwoissant, @remnantsofgildedcages, @starswillseeus, @ninalove323, @lumichella, @amanehyuga, @txtworlddom, @milumier, @someonestopsoren, @lettushi, @jadeloverxd, @hellothisisnanaaa, @ops-esion, @thealunari, @maplewood-valley, @massivebanananut, @livanavier. if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!
“Please, don’t give up on me.” — TXT feat. Caleb (Xia Yizhou)
Synopsis: You never realized how much of a toll a long work trip could be for your boyfriend, especially as he slowly drowns into his own thoughts. OR comforting your poor baby.
Tags and notes: 4K words of pure hurt/comfort, crying, panic attacks, self care, fluff, cuddling, my baby (he better come home for his bday), words of reassurance, hints of unhealthy and toxic self stereotyping if you squint, give this man a hug, Caleb is described to take anxiety and other pills, has depression, bipolar disorder. Soothing, bed-rotting, NOT PROOFREAD, JUST MADE AT 2AM.
This had been in my drafts for far too long from a request I lost. Sorry for the weird request/uploading schedule, but I was thinking about how we don’t talk about Caleb and his hints of being toxic towards himself, distancing and clinging on, and I plan to make this agenda happen..
Caleb hasn’t been doing well mentally, and had shut his girlfriend out for a two month, and it didn’t help you had missions over missions.
You finally had come to pay him a visit.
You inhaled deeply as you turn the front door knob to Caleb’s apartment. You hoped he was at home, because leaving him for a whole two months because of an unavoidable mission as one of deepspace’s best hunters was bad enough. But before you left, knowing the state Caleb was in? It broke your heart when he was possibly the most vulnerable in his mental state that you inconveniently left.
You promised to text him every day when you could and call every week, but a week before the big work trip, when you were packing up stuff and busy prepping, he stopped texting. He wasn’t online, answering anything. Not even a good morning.
You’d text him about taking his medicine, no response. Eating properly, nothing. Getting to work safely, silence. And this was very out of the ordinary, knowing that your boyfriend was the exact opposite of non-chalant and had no shame in texting you good mornings (at four am in the morning, but who cares) and spam texting you with every single inconvenience or just trying to convince you to visit him.
Just your boyfriend knowing you were at home, his household, no, the both of yours, wearing your (his) t-shirt and waiting for him could soothe him.
But now, as the slow four weeks went by, his profile never seemed to have turned online or read your messages. You knew what was happening, unfortunately. You knew that Caleb battled his own mind with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder and trauma, especially trauma. So he'd, on instinct, just close himself up.
And though very alarming at first, you knew he’d come crawling back into your arms and tell you everything after a few hours, or usually up to a few days.Which then he’d reply to every singular message you texted him in an almost annoying way, but that was Caleb.
So where was your Caleb?
Something wasn’t right, your heart fluttered, and desperate to wrap the mission up as quickly as possible, you returned a day and a half early back to Linkon where you didn’t miss a beat and immediately booked the skytrain to Skyhaven after quickly showering, changing into more suitable clothes instead of looking like you survived war. You didn’t need to pack much.
Literally just a small purse and a phone to spend preferably, no, actually three weeks. Because you were requesting some time out of office, with a sob story that you had priorities, Caleb.
Your heart ached every time you thought about his sad puppy eyes and if he had ears, deflating in desolation as you kissed him a long goodbye.
You couldn’t articulate why just two months away was so long, considering you’ve reunited after a whole year of grieving for his “death” but nevertheless, it seemed longer because it took a toll on him.The moment the train reached Skyhaven plaza, you bolted out, turned back around to retrieve your purse you accidentally left, and took anotyou slow transit bus to Caleb’s residence. And now you were there, hoping endlessly that there was a sign of him fine.
You had to physically shake your head from those thoughts.From the doorframe, his penthouse looked messy. Boots looked like he just tossed them carelessly when they were usually aligned neatly on the shoe rack. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink and even the counter beside the sink and dust collecting everywhere. And the thought his you..
You rapped on the door softly, in the way you and Caleb always did since childhood to let each each other know that it was them. Long, short,short, long. Originally it was a whole ritual, but this was just the shortened version you shortened throughout the years.
There was still heavy breathing, almost as if the person behind was gasping for air.You push the door open, and let out a sharp exhale, the colour that was drained from your face slowly seeping back. Your clammy hands felt more relaxed. Caleb, but worry still wrote all over your face. You walk closer to the bed, and he’s tossing and turning, mumbling incoyouent things.
You kneel onto the bed, your weight slightly sinking the mattress. He was having a nightmare, wasn’t he?
You’ve danced to this before, and you were basically a professional on how to handle Caleb. You stroke the back of his bedridden hair before your hand trying to nudge in the space between him sleeping on his front and the wrinkled sheets. Your hand could feel soft prickles all over the lower part of his face.
He must’ve not looked at his face for quite a bit you thought, but you didn’t care how he looked at the moment. “Caleb..” you softly whisper out, and he tensed a little from your voice or his dream, you weren’t sure. He looked rough. Like he hasn’t been sleeping well in days. Part of you wanted to snuggle in with him and console him until it was all over, another part was screaming that you needed to wake him up.
“Guess who’s ho-ome.” You softly sing out, not wanting to startle him, that could be the worst possible outcome for someone like him. His breath staggers a little in return before his eyes try to flutter open.
And when they did, his once bright violet eyes looked numb. Sad and soulless. Like his brain had been offline.
“Hey baby.”
You whisper down at him. He sits up, sort of robotically before he really wakes up, and when he does?
“Pipsqueak?” His hoarse voice rasps out, his eyes widening and his imaginary ears that drooped low the last time you “saw” them, perked up. Tears rimmed around the bottom of his eyes. You gently smile and hold his hand.
“Yeah, I’m here now.” And those tears threaten to spill out waterfall, as he immediately wraps his arms around you so quickly you almost fall back onto the sheets. You shakily chuckle as he sobs into the crook of your near, warm tears running down your collar bone. His stubble pricks a bit of your neck, but you couldn’t care less as you finally wrap your arms around his broad back as he shakes, your heartstrings threatening to just snap off from heartbreak.
“My pretty boy..” you trail. He doesn’t let go for a good three minutes, in fact, tightening his grip around you as if you’d disappear again before you feel his hands loosen and he collapses onto you, and the both of you fall back into the sheets.
You giggled unsure how to react as you hold back tears of your own. And you get back up and notice how rough he looked. Apart from his puffy eyes, heavy eye bags drooped under his almost emotionless eyes that you shuddered seeing, and his stubble around him told you everything you needed to know.
He didn’t smell like his usual scent of sweet apples and a warm July evening. No, it seemed like he wasn’t able to physically shower.
He had an old faded DAA university hoodie that looked like that was the only thing he’s worn. And with dirty sweatpants.
You tried being discreet as possible but Caleb noticed you eyeing him up and down and became very self-conscious. He awkwardly placed a hand at the back of his neck and looked around at the usually clean but now very messy room.“I..I found it hard to..” he was about to mumble, looking embarrassed but you cradle the right side of his cheek.
“I get it.” And that’s all you had to say before his glossy eyes almost took over as he tremoured to shakily explain himself.
“It was already hard enough ‘fore you left an’ then…then..I don’ know wha’ happened..” Your heart broke at the thought of him silently struggling alone.
“Why didn’t you text me back? I was worried sick.” You asked.
“Couldn’t bring myself to do it. Thought I was being clingy. What kind of boyfriend or man is so clingy, he.. he can’t live without his girlfriend..?”
“My Man.” You whisper.
He looks up to meet with your eyes.
“I couldn’t take it, what if you were..you were.. an’ if by texting you, I’d be more scared.. and..” “you were trying to protect yourself in a way.” You finished off for him, because even though he was jumbling his words, you could always understand him.
He nods, defeat and past anxiety dancing in his eyes. You let out a breath and know what you have to do. “Come on, when’s the last time you took a shower?” And you lead him up, in which he sort of stumbles before using his evol to balance him out, which then makes you really wonder how long it’s been since he got out of bed. He is a little flustered, looks at the ground before murmuring.
“ ‘round a few weeks..” like he was waiting for you to judge him. But you didn’t. Didn’t even make a joke about how bad he smelt. You lead him to the bathroom and turn on the shower knob, not making it hot or cold, just warm in general. You have to physically drag him in, as he sort of follows you, a little clueless. You rub the palm of his hand and gesture to him to get in.
“Want me to stay or to leave?” You ask. “Stay.” He sniffles and you help him out of his clothes, quickly running to the washing machine to throw in (violently). You stay outside, holding a towel as you sit on top of the elongated bathroom marbles counter, smiling at him in which he’d return a weak smile back.
Once he finished up after gently reminding him time was up, you handed him the towel to cover himself and hold up a couple of hygiene supplies. You hold up a razor, your face wash and some of your skincare that you once jokingly(?) warned him to not use, though it was clear he didn’t heed your warnings and just replaced them before you came.
“I’m really getting spoiled today, huh?” He attempted a grin and you were happy just seeing a smile. Fake or not.“It’s part of the girlfriend care package?” You wink and smile. And a few moments later, you have him in between your legs dangling from the counter as you shaved the stubble off.
“You honestly look cute with it, but you also look like a sleep-deprived dad.” You joke, as with utter precision and care you avoid nicking him. “You really think I’m cute when I’m like this?” He slowly whispers. The dark blue razor is just upheld in your hand, in the air as you think about what to say. Because just complimenting him wasn’t…deep enough.
You looked back up at him and smiled as you carried on with the last part of his face.“Caleb, do you think I’m pretty?” You softly tease with the question hanging in the air. He looks up, almost surprised, voice raspy from days of silence. “Yeah,Of course.”You smile for a heartbeat really trying to keep it in but then your expression falters. He looks thinner, the edges of him dulled and you really notice how his eyes are red-rimmed and hollow. The air smells like dust and stale coffee.
“Then… why don’t you ever believe it when I tell you you’re handsome?”Caleb blinks, thrown. You lean in forward and cup his face in both hands. your thumb drags gently over the rough stubble along his jaw, the texture of raw neglect.
“You used to shave. Remember when we were kids? You used to smile like an idiot when I called you beautiful? Now you look at yourself like you’re something broken.”
Your boyfriend opens his mouth, but the words stick in his throat. You shake your head, eyes glistening.
“You are enough. You always have been. You’re my favorite face in the world. The way your eyes light up when you talk about childhood, Lego buildings, just teasing me, the way you laugh like it surprises you every time,God, I missed that. I missed you.”
your voice trembles and you press your forehead to his. “You don’t know what it did to me, seeing you like this. You’ve been torturing yourself, haven’t you? Thinking I wouldn’t come back, or that you weren’t worth waiting for.”
he doesn’t answer. His silence says everything. Your hands cup his cheeks tighter.
“Listen to me. You’re kind. You’re gentle. You love like it’s the only thing you know how to do. You take care of people even when you’re falling apart. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, and I hate that you can’t see that.”
your voice cracks, tears running freely now.
“So yeah, I’m pretty. But you—” your thumb traces his now cleanly shaven cheekbone, trembling “—you’re beautiful. Not because you look perfect, but because you love like this. Because you feel like this. Because you survived it.”
He finally exhales, a sound between a sob and a breath, and collapses into you. His hands clutch you like she’s the only thing keeping him from disappearing.
“I just thought…you… my pipsqueak would leave her Gege if you ever saw me like this.” He mumbles.
“Never, especially when you’re like this.” You whisper. “I stopped checking my phone. Every time it buzzed, I froze. If it wasn’t you, it just… hurt too much.”
You tilt his chin up until he meets your eyes. “I was gone, but I never left you. Not for a second. He gives a soft, broken laugh, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re the only thing that makes me feel real.” Caleb whispers.“This is all real, Caleb. Me sitting on your bathroom counter, coercing you into using my face scrubs, I’m here.”
You press a long, deliberate kiss to his cheek. It feels like time stood still as he leaned into your touch, exhaling as his arms rightfully found his way to your waist. You pull back, and he almost elicits a whine before you give him a watery smile, sniffle as you rub your nose and jump off the counter.
“I think it’s time to get you home-cooked food. Don’t pretend I didn’t see plastic plates and McDonald’s take out bags in the trash.” Your boyfriend smiles as you guide him back to bed, tucking him in with a fresh set of pajamas like a mother hen. You plant a kiss on his forehead, temple and lips after stroking his hair a little bit
. You hum a tune, a slow and sweet one. That one song you and him both discovered once upon a time of early dating. The memories of dancing together,barefoot with pajamas in the middle of the night as popcorn for midnight-munchies were being heated.
His eyes flutter shut, and you slip out after picking up a couple of clothes from the floor and sorted them either into the washing hamper, or back in his closet, neatly tucked and colour coded like he meticulously arranged them. Your work wasn’t done even if you just put your darling to sleep.
You were determined to wash all those dishes, piled after pile. And tackling the garbage from the bin and scattered all over the floor. And an hour of humming tunes where you swore you could hear Caleb very off-key harmonizing with you in the back of your mind, this apartment was clean.
Caleb was safe and clean. It would take him a large amount of time to slowly climb out of this slump, and you’d be sure to let him know that you were there with every little step of the way.
“Baby?” You hear his faint croak. You walk back to the bedroom, peeking your head from the doorframe. “Please..come here.” The bed feels different tonight.warmer, quieter, safer. The air still smells faintly of your shampoo, the one scent that hadn’t entirely disappeared from his sheets.
He lies on his side, back pressed against your chest, your arm wrapped snugly around his waist. His breathing is uneven, still learning how to slow down after two long, hollow months. You can feel the exhaustion in his body, the way his muscles tense even as he tries to rest.“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the dark.You blink, half-awake, your voice groggy but gentle.
“For what?”He hesitates, fingers twisting in the blanket like he needs something to hold onto. “For looking like this,” he finally murmurs. “For letting everything fall apart. I thought you’d come back, see me, see the place, and just… want to leave. I figured you’d want to do other things. Be with someone who didn’t—” He stops, voice breaking in the quiet. “—who didn’t fall apart so easily.”
Your heart cracks.
You tighten your arm around him, pulling him closer until your chest presses to his back and your lips are right by his ear. “Hey,” you whisper. “Look at me.”He hesitates, then rolls slightly, enough for his eyes to meet yours in the soft light seeping through the curtains. His face looks so tired,his cheeks a little sunken, his eyes rimmed with the kind of ache you can’t sleep off.“You think I came all this way to judge you for surviving?” you ask quietly. “You think I care about dishes or dust or any of that?
You were alone, hurting, trying to hold yourself together when you thought I might never come back. Of course things fell apart. You were hurting.”
You reach up and brush your fingers through his messy hair, thumb resting at his temple. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you had it together all the time. I fell in love with you because of how you love,because even when you’re breaking into pieces, you still care.”
His breath stutters, eyes glistening as his chest rises and falls like he’s trying not to cry. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, then another to the corner of his mouth.“You didn’t scare me off,” you whisper.
“You make me want to stay.”That’s when he breaks. His shoulders shake as he turns in your arms, hiding his face against your collarbone. You hold him tighter, your fingers tracing circles across his back. His voice comes out small, muffled against your skin. “You don’t know how bad it got.”
You swallow hard, steadying your voice. “Then show me,” you say. “Let me see all of it. We’ll fix it together, okay?”He nods against you, trembling a little. You press your lips to his hair. “You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you,” you murmur.
“You just have to be here.”He exhales, slow and shaky, and the tension finally leaves his body. You keep tracing patterns along his arm, whispering into his hair, “We’ve got time now. No more counting days. No more empty bed. Just us.”
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.
You can feel it in the way he melts into you, the way his breathing evens out. For the first time in months, he drifts off in your arms,safe, quiet, and finally home.
·······•✦ description: In which; your vampire boyfriend keeps pushing off your worry for him, but when you find him incredibly weak in bed, you figure out exactly what he needs... And you want to give it to him...
·······•✦ pairing: afab!eader x xavier
·······•✦ word count: 4k
·······•✦ genre: smut, porn with plot, fluff
·······•✦ general tags: Vampire!Xavier, Vampires, Canon Compliant, Still canon compliant, Only difference is vampires lol, Established Relationship, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Blood Drinking, Xavier is Hungry, Biting, Marking, Cunnilingus, Teasing, Pleasure from Blood Drinking, Multiple Orgasms, Sexual Overstimulation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, pussy eating, Aftercare, Creampie, POV Second Person, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Missionary Position, Sitting In Lap, Dirty Talk, Pet Names - starlight & princess
·······•✦ posted on: ao3
The first time you notice the pale tone to Xavier’s skin, he brushes it off with a simple excuse that he’s tired. Knowing what he is, the thought comes to your mind of the other things that could be going on, and you get the inkling that there’s something else than just mere exhaustion.
The second time you see the glassy glow and slightly damp expanse of his skin, you know there’s something more than meets the eye.
His apartment is at a comfortable temperature, but it’s the rise and fall of his chest, paired with the way his lips part in stuttered breaths, that has you crossing your arms, giving him a raised-eyebrow stare. “Xavier.”
“Starlight,” Xavier responds in a gentle murmur, one hand resting over his eyes.
He’s lying back on his bed, his robe half-opened to reveal the toned expanse of his chest that is glistening with a light sheen of sweat. With one hand under the pillow, he looks at you with furrowed brows.
“This isn’t just exhaustion.” The way you continue the argument—which isn’t even an argument, just you telling him an observation—leaves Xavier no choice but to drop his hand over his eyes. The hand under the pillow slips out to lie beside his head, and the other rests weakly on his half-clothed abdomen. Even his breathing is slow, and worry ebbs into your voice. “I can grab some medicine or something for you after wo-”
“I’m thirsty.” He cuts you off, not liking the tense deepness of his voice, nor the way you stare at him with wide eyes.
“Huh?” You don’t catch it the first time, his voice too quiet for you to hear through your own rambling. Dropping your arms, you chew on your bottom lip.
“I’m… thirsty,” Xavier repeats, his eyes closing as if he didn’t want to see the emotion he expects to cross your face. Throughout the year you’ve been dating, you know about his vampirism, but all Xavier expects to see when he looks at you are the emotions he’s always seen.
Disgust. Horror. Anger.
But your expression remains neutral. As if he just told you he needed a simple glass of water instead of the alternative.
“Oh.” Unsure of what to say next, you step closer, sitting on the edge of his bed. Although he doesn’t outwardly flinch away, you catch the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. “Well…”
Silence fills the air, your eyes running along his features. He looks dead. His lips are parted and chapped, his skin pale, and his chest rising and falling slowly with his uneven breaths. It worries you, and while you’re unsure of exactly how to help him, you want to come up with some sort of solution.
“Is there… is there anything I can do to help?” Your hand reaches out to touch his bicep as it rests across his abdomen, and a shiver shocks your system. He’s cold. He’s always warm… Always a personal heater that helps you in the winter months with cuddles under a plush blanket. Now, he’s like a corpse. “You’re cold.”
Xavier pauses, twitching at just how hot you feel compared to the chill that’s settled in his bones. He can’t even remember the last time he had to drink blood, but the hunger that itches in his stomach is a sense of discomfort that he can’t recall feeling. It doesn’t help that you—warm and alive—are sitting right next to him.
You, whom he’s spent the better part of two years next to. You, who remind him that he’s more than the label that many associate with vampires. You, who loves him despite all of the tumultuous realizations you’ve come to when learning about him, and doesn’t stop demanding nothing but the truth.
Xavier knows he can’t lie. You can read him like your favorite book. So he takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “I don’t— It’s been a long time— since I’ve had to feed.” He whispers, almost embarrassingly. “I can usually control my hunger with human food… You know my preference for meat.”
Humming, your thumb absentmindedly rubs at his skin in an attempt to calm him down. He’s explained before that he’s never hungry for blood, that his almost insatiable appetite for meat has somehow helped quell that quiet rumbling deep in his gut.
Even though Xavier tries to hide it behind humor, you can see the sleepy, half-lidded gaze that meets yours. It’s easy for him to smile, rub the back of his neck as if he’s not burning inside. However, he can’t stop the tremble in his hand that starts to wrap around your wrist.
“I’m fine,” he says, his voice a mere whisper of what it normally is. In the time you’ve been together, you’ve realized that he’s a pro at hiding his true emotions. He doesn’t give away too much, and it’s always in passing moments that he reveals the depths of his past or his actual feelings. In fact, he’s gotten infinitely better at showing just you what he needs or wants, but when faced with a hunger so deep it aches in his soul, he can’t let you see that side of him.
You can feel his muscles tense under your hold. “Bullshit.” As your eyes linger on the bulging veins in his neck, you inspect his chest with your other hand. “You’re very obviously not fine.” It takes every ounce of restraint in you not to shiver when you rest your entire palm in the middle of his chest. He’s like a block of ice, prickling at your skin until you have to pull back with a frown.
The idea of him dying over something like this sends you into a panic. He can’t die. He just can’t. “You need blood.” The end of your sentence trails off, and your hovering hand finds the edge of his open robe. It doesn’t sit right with you to let him lie here and suffer, especially when there’s maybe something you can do about it…
The answer is simple, and Xavier catches the gleam in your eye before you can voice your thought.
“No.”
“But Xavi–”
“Starlight,” his voice is a hiss now, sharp and unstable as his tremors have become. “I said no.” Xavier’s jaw is clenched so tight that you can see the muscles flinch under the resistance.
“You need blood.” You repeat, staring down at your wrist that holds the answer to his dilemma. “How else can you get it?”
He pauses, giving you enough time to sneak another thought in. “It’s not going to hurt me, is it?”
“Quite the opposite, starlight.” Xavier rubs a hand across his face. “You’ll feel good. Really good.” His Adam’s apple bobs, and you reason that he’s imagining you twisting in pleasure as he feeds from you.
“Okay…” Your eyebrow raises, not seeing the issue. “Then let’s do it. Let me help you.”
Xavier sneaks a glance, his pupils getting larger. “That’s the thing,” he mumbles, “once I get a taste of you, my instincts will take over. I don’t want to take more than you can give me.” His eyes close once again, covered by his arm as he pulls it from your grasp. “A person who hurts you doesn’t deserve to take from you.”
Slowly, giving him the opportunity to wrench away, you tiptoe your fingers up his torso. At the first touch of your index finger on his bare abdomen, he tenses, but doesn’t pull away. Actually, he welcomes the lingering warmth that sits on his skin as you make your way up his chest, holding gently to his jaw.
“What if I want this person to take from me?” The whisper sends a shiver through Xavier. “What if,” The pad of your thumb traces his jawline, “I trust that this person would never hurt me?”
Watching you with heavy eyes, Xavier drags his gaze across your face, seeing that you’re not backing down. With a sigh, he lets both of his arms fall to his sides, lingering so close to your waist but not touching.
“Go on,” you whisper, moving to straddle his waist. “Touch me.” The moment your thighs bracket his hips, you both share a soft gasp, speaking without words. There’s no mistaking the want that pulses with each beat of your heart, or the inexplicable connection when you nuzzle your nose against his. “I trust you, Xavier.”
Xavier shudders as your breath hits his lips, and your scent — god, your scent — is intoxicating. “Princess,” he lifts his head, barely grazing your mouth with his own. “Are you sure?” The whites of his eyes peek out from beneath his irises, and you find yourself leaning closer.
Before you can speak — something close to begging — Xavier dips his head down, kissing the top of your clothed shoulder. His arm wraps around you, his large palm pressing into your upper back. Stealth is Xavier’s greatest weapon, and you’re so mesmerized by his already hard cock pressing against you through his sweatpants that you don’t realize he’s hooking a finger into the collar of your shirt.
Warm lips press to your bare skin, and you cling tighter to him as he gets closer and closer to your neck. Each kiss is accompanied by a sigh, both of knowing you’re so willing to help him like this, to give him part of you, and the thought of sharing something so intimate. It’s more than sex. Deeper and more passionate. Blood is what keeps you alive, and Xavier is going to sap some of that from you.
“It’ll feel good,” Xavier whispers, his voice husky. “You might scratch me, or pull my hair.” He plants another kiss at the apex of your shoulder and neck, sucking at the skin. “Do whatever you need, starlight.”
You can’t help the natural arch into him, wanting him even closer than he already is. “Xavier.” The whimper is soft, and you’re not sure if it’s the gentle hold he has on you or the subtle grinding of his hips against yours, but you’re more than eager to have him bite you. “Please.”
“Patience,” his grip tightens against the back of your neck, anchoring you there to him. “I’ll only take a little.” The finger hooked into your shirt collar pulls a bit more, but it’s obviously become troublesome for Xavier to get a good grip on you like this. “Take this off.”
Hands clamber to throw off your shirt, and Xavier takes a moment to admire you, shirtless, in his lap. “You look gorgeous like this.” A palm cups the weight of your breast. “Like a fox caught in a bunny’s trap.” His lips wrap around one of your nipples, and you respond with a soft moan of his name. Your hand threads through his hair, cupping the back of his head in a way that’s less controlling and more reassuring.
Xavier takes his sweet time kissing up your chest, making sure to give the same attention to the other nipple, before landing right back at your neck. “Now that that’s out of the way.” He kisses the spot right below your ear, and when he speaks, it’s a sinful whisper. “Tap the back of my neck if you’re feeling lightheaded.”
“Okay,” you whisper, lips cresting the shell of his ear as he takes another weak, shuddering breath. Even as he takes another long inhale of your scent, you shiver in his grasp. He can smell the slight fear radiating from you, the hand in his hair tightening slightly as you close your eyes and relax into him.
“You’re scared,” Xavier says it so simply, pulling back to look you in the eyes. He’s so pale, with an almost translucent hue to his cheeks that means you can almost see the veins under his skin.
“Not of you,” you whisper, massaging his scalp while the other hand cups his cheek. “I’ve never done this before.” But you’re determined, tilting your head to the side in an open invite. “I’ll be okay, trust me.”
Xavier isn’t easily convinced.
In one quick motion, he’s flipping you onto your back, pressing your bare back into the sheets with a weak gentleness. You keep a steady grip on him, legs wrapped around his hips as he grinds down against you.
“No.” His tone deepens, looking down at you with such intensity that you almost melt under him. “I know a way to relax you.”
Xavier waits for your nod before dipping back down to kiss your neck. For a moment, you almost think he’s going to bite you, but he doesn’t. He moves down your bare chest, kissing over your breasts, making sure both nipples are spit-slicked and thoroughly pleasured. His mouth whispers praises across your stomach, and when he uses his teeth to tug down your shorts, you can see the sharp canines almost glinting in the light.
“You’re so gorgeous, starlight.” His hands part your knees, hooking them over his shoulders as he kisses right above the joint. “Thank you,” Xavier whispers, closing his eyes as he kisses slowly up your thigh, close to the seat of your panties. “For letting me do this.”
A sharp nip of his teeth at your thigh has your hand shooting down to thread through his hair, but his tongue immediately soothes the sting. It’s not enough to draw blood, not yet, but your answering moan of his name spurs Xavier further.
His lips press against the seat of your panties, feeling how wet you are through the fabric. “All this for me?” He teases, sitting up on his knees and toying with the waistband of your underwear. In one swoop, he’s maneuvering them off of you, leaving the only article of clothing on either of you, the sweatpants hanging low on Xavier’s hips. Where he discarded his robe, you don’t know, but as his breath ghosts over your pussy, you don’t find it in yourself to care.
“All for you,” you whimper at the first long lick through your folds that Xavier delivers, collecting your arousal on his tongue. The groan he lets out is sinful, defying the laws of heaven and hell for a taste of his angel lying under him.
“Your blood,” Xavier dips his tongue into your entrance, the tip of his nose teasing your clit. “Will not compare to how good your pussy tastes.” With his eyes closed, body nearly flat on the mattress, hips grinding down to soothe a fraction of the ache in his pants, he looks like he’s praying.
Xavier continues to feast, eating you out with a fervor that is concerning with how cold his hands are as they plant on your thighs, or the still pale complexion. Especially the labored breaths he takes when he’s buried face-first in your pussy.
“Xavier–” your thoughts are cut off when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, being mindful of his still distended fangs so he doesn’t nick you. “Don’t, fu–ck, don’t overdo– it.” The last thing you want is for him to pass out, or worse, while you’re grinding onto his face.
He mumbles something unintelligible, not wanting to part from your essence for too long. “I’m okay,” Xavier murmurs, his breath coming out deep and slow. “I’ll be fine.” His heart is beating just a second slower, sure, but all that matters is that your thighs are closing around his head, and your fingers tug strands of silver hair out right at the root. “Come for me, princess.”
When he goes back for more, tracing the tip of his tongue around your entrance while flicking his nose over your clit, your vision blanks. All you can focus on is Xavier’s tongue everywhere, his icy cold hands anchoring you in the fire as he holds you still.
“Good girl.” You don’t register that he’s hovering over you until you can taste yourself on his tongue, slick spreading over your swollen lips as you mindlessly push at his sweatpants.
“Shhhh,” he soothes you with a final kiss, pulling back just enough so your hand doesn’t reach his bulge. “Let me do this.”
Lying back on the bed, you watch as he strips himself of his sweatpants, your ears ringing and pulsing with your own heartbeat. Blood rushes through your eardrums, and if his nipping at your thigh felt good, you can only imagine what his actual bite will feel like.
You’re so pliant that Xavier easily parts your thighs for him to settle between, the tip of his cock tracing your folds and teasing you just enough to pull a desperate whimper from you. Reaching up, you hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until your noses bump.
“Please,” you plead, wrapping one leg around him as you beg. “Do it.” The side of your head tilts, exposing the same expanse of skin Xavier was previously ready to sink his fangs into.
“I will,” he soothes you with a kiss to the tip of your nose, a weak smile curling at his lips as he finally, finally sinks into your warmth. “Fuck…”
You watch the emotions flicker through him as you yourself submit to the pleasurable stretch of his cock. Inch by inch, you tilt your hips up, sharing breaths until his pelvis goes flush against yours.
“Good?” He asks, studying you and listening to your heartbeat. It’s much calmer than before, no hint of fear. Instead, it’s only anticipation and a desperation to help him. “Remember… What I said earlier…” Xavier leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your pulse point. “Tap the back of my neck–”
“If I’m feeling lightheaded.” You finish his earlier ask with a sigh. “I know, I know.” Shimmying your hips, you groan when you feel just how full you are. “I’ll be okay, trust me.”
Xavier nods, his hair tickling your cheek as he nuzzles further against you. His entire body presses against yours, and there isn’t a part of you that doesn’t feel him. Not in the tips of your fingers threaded through his hair, or the tense muscles of his lower back felt by your feet digging into him.
With one long breath, Xavier bites, and your whole world explodes.
Fire and ice curl together, racing through your veins in a race to fill every part of you. First, it’s the slight sting of his teeth sinking into you, but it’s immediately coupled by prickling electricity surging across your skin, raising the little hairs on your arms in their wake.
The only thing you can manage is a soft, “Xavier”, as he drinks, your body clenching around him. Your pussy tightens around his cock, and Xavier, in turn, groans into you, his hips working in slow thrusts to help you cope with the intensity of this.
It’s intimate, more intimate than you’ve been together despite going through all of the normal couple milestones. But this is more than that. It’s about sharing life with him, and you would do it ten times over if it meant you could have your Xavier with you.
Xavier can feel your heart racing, beating through his fangs as he closes his eyes and relishes the warmth that fills him. His hands are no longer biting cold, and color returns to his once translucent cheeks.
He can barely think about anything except your pussy wrapped around his cock and your sweet blood filling his throat. It’s the greatest elixir, his own personal alcohol that will leave him dizzy and flushed with happiness. He’s never been one to drink alcohol — it doesn’t affect vampires as much as it does humans, and tastes gross — but from seeing people stumbling through alleys at night, he can guess that it’s a high like no other.
But this? This is his second favorite taste, only behind your pussy.
“Fu–ck,” your back arches into him, a sudden chill passing through you as pleasure crests to an overwhelming degree. It’s part overstimulation from your previous orgasm added to this impending one, but also heightened from whatever sensations that Xavier’s drinking does to your body. “I’m…”
You can’t finish your sentence, words fail you the moment you let your body go, transcending to another plane as you clutch at Xavier like a lifeline. His back is the perfect place to count your score, drawing lines of red over his flexing muscles as he fucks into you with each slow suck of his mouth over your neck.
It’s impossible to feel anything else but the twitching of his cock inside you, and his own muffled groans against you as he falls over the edge alongside you. He fills you to the brim, but you don’t feel the slight trickle of come leaking from you when the tips of your fingers start to run a little cold…
Xavier realizes what’s happening before you tap the back of his neck. It’s not that you’re getting lightheaded. In fact, it’s the opposite. You feel connected to everything around you, especially Xavier. His scent wraps around you, soothing you into a strange sense of safety that you haven’t felt before. Sure, you always feel safe around him, but it’s like his bite has opened doors that you didn’t know could be opened to you.
“Starlight?” Xavier cups your cheeks, staring down at you with wide eyes as he pulls out of you and frantically checks your body for signs of the worst. “Are you okay?”
You lie there for a moment, watching Xavier press his cheek against your palm and finding it slightly cold. “Mhm,” you hum, smiling at him like a patient coming back from anesthesia. “I’m great.” Your voice is weaker than before, but you’re completely coherent as Xavier runs his hands up and down your sides. “You’re warm again.”
With a sigh of relief, Xavier rests his forehead on your collarbone, listening to your heartbeat stabilize into a normal rhythm. “All thanks to you.” He kisses your sweaty skin, finding the exact spot where your very human heart reminds him how alive you are, and how fragile you can be in the arms of someone like him.
“Stay right there,” Xavier suddenly stands, slipping his sweatpants back on.
Still in the same position he left you in, you give him a weak thumbs up. “‘m not going anywhere, handsome.”
Xavier mumbles something with a blushing smile before rushing out to the kitchen. The sound of running water, rummaging cabinets, and drawers continues until he steps back into his room with a bottle of juice, a damp cloth, and a small fruit snack.
“Here.” He sets the food and drink on the nightstand, focusing first on wiping off the sticky sweat, come, and saliva from your body with gentle precision. Xavier is meticulous, and yes, he’s incredibly aroused by how beautiful you look right now, with healing bite marks on your neck, a satiated smile on your face, and trusting eyes that only look for him. However, he knows that it’s important to take care of you properly, especially after drinking so much of your blood.
“You’re the best,” you murmur through heavy-lidded eyes and a stupidly wide smile. You let Xavier prop you up on the headboard, grab one of his shirts from his dresser, and help you slip into it.
“I disagree,” he counters, sitting on the bed beside you and bringing the bottle of juice to your lips. “You’re the best girlfriend I could ask for.”
Staring at him from the corner of your eye, you flicker your gaze between him and the juice. “I can do it myself…”
“I know. But I want to do this for you.” The way he speaks, so softly and gently, but still with a stern determination, has you relenting. His other hand skims the remnants of his fangs. “These will go away in a few hours.”
You let your head fall to his shoulder, opening your mouth and chewing on the bite of food he places on your tongue. “Mmmm,” you groan in satisfaction, reaching down to squeeze his bicep. “I don’t mind them… They’re kinda bad-ass, huh? I got bit by a vampire and survived.”
“You’re so funny,” Xavier says in a monotone voice, but breaks at a small chuckle.
“But really,” you turn your head to look at Xavier, smiling at him. “I would gladly do it again, whenever you’re hungry… Especially if I get that kinda treatment.”
Xavier groans, but pecks your lips. “Of course, starlight. Whatever you wish.”
𝟅ϱ sum. zayne helping you masturbate! cw : mdni, f! masturbation, mirror séx, pūssy smacking, lowkish brat tamer zayne.
“ touch yourself like this. ah, don’t go too fast; you don’t like it that way,” zayne softly guides from over your shoulder. his body is a chair for your much smaller one as you're perfectly situated on his firm thighs, your legs broadly spread open to display your starving pussy, only receiving pleasure from your hands instead of the ones that effortlessly brought you to many orgasms before. directly in front of you, there’s a mirror reflecting your clumsy actions, capturing the tension in your body and the heat from his eyes. “ good girl, you’re starting to get the hang of it, i see.”
despite his supervisory role, the pleasure that your fingers give you doesn’t touch the surface of zayne’s. how every time he fingers you, you’re guaranteed to squirt and soak any surface you’re, and he can easily render you a braindead mess with a few flicks of his fingers, is levels away from the release that you can bring to yourself.
“ zayneeee, my fingers are not nearly enough; want you instead.” you focus your weakening pout towards him, before he gently guides your sight away from him— gently scolding you to look in the mirror and study your reactions. frustration bubbles deep within your gut, mixed with a toe curling sense of need. “ z-zayne! it’s not fair!”
“ you learning how to pleasure yourself isn’t fair? maybe i’ve spoiled you too much for your own good. i can’t always be there to answer your every call— especially when you’re needy.” oh, so it seems he's still upset about that certain phone call. it had been days since you’d seen your husband, or had a proper orgasm, for the most important part. erotic temptations clouded your usual level head, and next thing you know you were calling your husband at the wee hours of midnight, moaning softly in his ear while praising his name, just the way he engraved it into your head multiple times.
you hadn’t expected zayne to let it go so easily— hell, the reason you did it was to get brutally fucked into next week, not taught a lesson involving your hands.
“ a-ah, but do i really have to masturbate in front of you? you’re torturing yourself by doing this, y'know that?” his bulge against your lower back hadn’t been anything more than extremely obvious. with an experimenting roll of your hips, you grind backward on him.
although your smugness is short-lived. a wet, firm smack plants on the meaty flesh of your pussy, making your body uncontrollably lurch forward with profound interest. “ zayne! w-what?”
“ i think you need to be reminded of your situation here,” zayne harshly gruffs from beside you. currently cheek to cheek his calloused hand grips your chin to keep your vision forward and steady on the cursed mirror in front of your shrunken body.
“ by the end of this night, i want to see you completely broken on your fingers, or you’ll go without a month of orgasms from me. i suggest you wisely follow my instructions from now on.”
The keys missed the lock twice. The door slammed harder than it should have. A low, vicious curse followed - the kind he only made when he was trying not to be sick or scream.
You were already in the halllway when he finally got it open.
Cold air rushed in with him. He stood there swaying, jacket half off one shoulder, hair sticking to his damp forehead. His eyes were glassy and too bright, pupils blown so wide the normally gorgeous violet color had almost disappeared. Sweat clung to his throat despite the cold.
He looked like he’d crawled out of something that had tried to keep him.
And he was angry about it.
At the world. At himself. At the fact that he still couldn’t stay away from you even when he’d spent all night trying to fuck the wanting out of his system.
“Caleb.”
His head jerked up at your voice.
For one second, something raw and ugly flashed across his face- like he’d been caught doing something shameful. Then it collapsed into something worse.
Relief.
The kind that looked like it hurt him.
He stumbled forward and you caught him, arms locking around his waist as his weight sagged into you. He smelled like smoke and liquor and the sharp chemical bite of whatever he’d taken to make the night bearable. His arm came around your shoulders too tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t anchor himself to you.
Your stomach turned.
“What did you take?”
He laughed once. It sounded like it scraped his throat raw.
“Don’t,” he muttered into your hair. “Don’t sound like her.”
You didn’t loosen your grip. “Then stop coming home like this. Like you’re trying to die in pieces.”
Caleb went still.
Then his face pressed harder into the side of your neck, breath shaking.
“Needed you,” he said, so quiet it almost didn’t make it out. “All fucking night. Couldn’t stop thinking about-” His voice cracked. “Couldn’t make it stop.”
You knew what it was.
The wanting. The guilt. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. The way he touched girls at parties and hated himself for pretending they were you. The way he kept trying to burn the feeling out of his body with strangers and substances and noise, only to end up herre anyway - shaking and desperate and clinging to the one person he wasn’t allowed to have.
You got him to his room somehow.
He nearly took you down with him twice in the hallway. By the time you shoved his door shut behind you, he was breathing like he’d run miles.
“Sit,” you said.
He dropped onto the bed like his legs gave out.
Then his hands shot out and grabbed you.
Hard.
He pulled you between his knees with enough force that you had to catch yourself on his shoulders. His fingers dug into your waist like he was drowning.
“Caleb.”
He didn’t answer. Just pressed his forehead into your stomach, arms locking around you so tightly it hurt. You could feel him shaking. Could feel the way his breathing kept catching like he was trying not to fall apart completely.
“Loosen your grip,” you said quietly
His arms only tightened.
“Caleb.”
Something in your voice finally reached him. His fingers flexed, then eased by the smallest fraction. Enough to let you breathe.
You slid one hand into his hair, the way you always did when he was like this. “Good. Stay with me.”
He made a sound against your stomach - low and broken and too close to a sob.
The high was turning on him. You could feel it in the way his body couldn’t settle, couldn’t decide if it wanted to collapse or crawl out of his own skin. His temperature was all wrong. Burning up and clammy at the same time.
You tried to step back for water.
His grip went vicious.
“No.”
“I’m getting you water.”
“No.”
The word came out ugly. Frightened. Like a child who’d been left too many times.
You looked down at him.
Caleb lifted his face.
His eyes were wet. Glassy. Furious in that helpless way that made your chest ache.
“Don’t leave,” he said. It came out like an accusation. Like you’d already done it. Like everyone always did.
“I’m not leaving,” you said. “I’m two steps away.”
“That’s still leaving.”
“It’s water, Caleb.”
“I don’t want water.” His voice cracked. “I want you.”
The words hung there, too honest, too raw for whatever he’d taken to excuse them.
You swallowed.
“No.”
His eyes flicked to your mouth. Something dark and wanting moved through his expression, then collapsed into shame so fast it almost looked like pain.
“You always say no like you’re waiting for me to make you say yes,” he whispered.
Your throat closed.
“Not tonight.”
That landed like a slap.
For one terrifying second, he looked almost sober.. Like the drugs had burned away and left only the truth underneath.
Then he dragged you down again- not to kiss you, but to bury his face in your neck like he could disappear there. His breath came hot and shaking against your skin. His arms trembled around you.
You froze.
“Caleb…”
His mouth pressed against the soft skin beneath your jaw. Once. Then again. Not gentle. Not careful. Like he was trying to crawl inside you through the only way he was allowed.
You grabbed his hair, not pulling, just holding him still.
“Stop.”
His mouth opened against your neck. A rough, shaking breath. Then his teeth grazed the spot where your pulse hammered.
You sucked in a sharp breath.
“Caleb.”
He bit.
Not hard enough to break skin.
Hard enough to make your knees go weak. Hard enough to leave heat and ache and something far more dangerous blooming under your skin.
Your fingers tightened in his hair.
For one suspended second, neither of you moved.
Then he went completely still.
Like the sound you made had finally cut through the fog.
He pulled back slowly.
His eyes found the mark on your neck. Then your face.
The horror that crossed his expression was worse than anything else tonight.
Not because he’d done it.
Because he wanted to do worse.
Because even through the chemical haze, he could still picture it — pinning you down on his bed, spreading your thighs open, sinking into you raw and deep while you cried his name. He wanted to bite you harder, mark your breasts, your inner thighs, your throat. He wanted to fuck you until you couldn’t walk, until the only thing you could feel was him, until every other boy who ever looked at you would know you already belonged to someone who would ruin himself just to have you.
But even wrecked and high and half out of his mind, some part of him still knew exactly what he was taking from you every time he came home like this.
You swallowed. Your voice shook. “Bed. Now.”
Caleb stared at you like you’d asked him to cut off his own hands.
Then he obeyed.
You pushed him back against the mattress. Pulled off his jacket. Set water on the nightstand after prying yourself out of his grip long enough to get it. His hands kept finding you - your wrist, your sleeve, the hem of your shirt - like he needed constant proof you hadn’t vanished.
You sat beside him on the edge of the bed, far enough to think, close enough for him to hold your hand.
He took it immediately. Gripped it too hard.
You let him.
He was coming down now. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his body kept jerking like it was trying to escape itself. Every few minutes he made a low, broken sound and turned his face toward your thigh like he wanted to hide there.
“You’re okay,” you murmured.
He laughed once. It sounded like dying.
“No.”
Your thumb brushed over his knuckles.
“No,” you agreed softly. “But you’re here.”
His grip tightened until it hurt.
The anger had burned out of him, leaving only the need. Ugly. Raw. Too big for either of you to hold.
He opened his eyes. Looked at you like you were the last good thing in a world that had already taken everything else from him.
“Don’t tell me you hate me tomorrow,” he whispered.
Your chest cracked open.
“I won’t.”
“You should.”
“I know.”
A tear slipped from the corner of his eye into his hairline. He looked furious about it - like even crying was something he didn’t deserve.
You pretended not to see.
Instead, you leaned down and kissed his forehead. Only his forehead. The same way you had since you were children.
Caleb shut his eyes like it hurt more than anything else tonight.
“Sleep,” you whispered.
His fingers curled tighter around yours.
“Stay.”
You shouldn’t.
You did.
You lay beside him on top of the blankets, one hand still trapped in his, your body turned carefully away from every place he wanted to touch and couldn’t. Caleb shifted closer anyway- not enough to cross the line he’d already nearly broken tonight.
Just enough to rest his forehead against your shoulder.
The bite on your neck throbbed in time with your heartbeat.
His breathing slowly evened out behind you.
And when the room finally went quiet, when the party and the drugs and the girls were gone and there was nothing left but the two of you in the dark, Caleb’s fingers curled weakly into yours like a man drowning.
Like always.
Like wreckage.
Like the only home he’d ever known was the one place he wasn’t allowed to keep.
Cowgirl chair sex, pinv, such a pretty summer dress, light choking, that damn glowing eye, possessive!sylus, evol use
750 words
Please give all the flowers to @t-lostinworlds for the gif we receive 🙂↕️🙌
Slap, slap, slap, slap
Sylus' thighs snapped up to greet yours, driving his thick cock inside you at a punishing pace. He held your hips firmly to hover you in the air for himself.
Supporting yourself on outstretched arms, you braced on his shoulders, pushing your trembling muscles against the marble of his skin.
In nothing but your summer dress bunched around your waist and yanked down under your breasts, Sylus fucked up into you from his office chair.
Slap, slap, slap, slap
You whined and moaned, as Sylus pressed hot kisses against your clavicle, down your sternum to your breasts. He bit and sucked hard on the inner slope, while they bounded in time with his thrusts.
Electricity spiked from where he marked you, your hands flying to fist and tug his gorgeous hair. A low growl rumbled deep in his broad chest and sang through the air.
"Mmngh-no fair kitten," his words were slurred from your nipple suckered in his mouth, "you can't distract me that easily."
"I'm gunna," you began, panting harshly, "bite you on the a-ass cheek when we're d-done, pretty boy."
"Pretty boy?" The faked indignation in his voice made your lips curl into a mischievous grin, "Would a pretty boy do this?"
He'd barely finished the word before he launched out of his seat and your back hit the desk. Shock eeked out a strangled cry, as you giggled in his strong grip.
Still inside you, he deftly aligned your legs along his beautiful body, crossing them at the ankles to lift you by them.
"Don't forget to breathe, kitten." His voice sounded like sex and pleasure; like fire and sin.
Without warning he resumed his pace, the proud head of his cock kissing against your cervix.
You gasped and screwed up your eyes against the newest incredible sensations. The feeling of his length plunging inside your warm, wanting cunt. Stretching deliciously around to welcome him home.
Shlick, shlick, shlick
"Listen to that. That sweet sound. That wet pussy." He drawled, a slightly mocking tone, "She's clenching around me sooo tightly. It feels good, huh?"
You tried to nod but your head lolled at the shunts of his body against yours. You tried to agree but only incoherent whimpers came out.
"Mmn-yeahh. Does he make you feel like this? That other pretty boy?" You can hear the sneer on his lip, "The other one you've been fucking."
You tried to say something. Refuse. Agree. Something.
But his other hand glided around your hips, up your belly and chest, to hover his fingers around your throat, like an ornate necklace.
You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his to strengthen his grip. Your spirit sang with it, rippling pleasure across every inch of your skin. Your nipples puckered painfully, your muscles and sinew trembling with abject need.
"The one who's been crashing at your place when I'm not there. Who brings you food and thinks it means he can touch you."
Your legs cricket against his chest, your thighs burning. He knew what it meant. The sounds and sensations of his Evol echoed in your ears and held onto your curves, as he delved his peace fingers to circle your clit. Trembled whines slip past the force of his fingers on your pulse points. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, as your mouth slackens in ecstasy.
"You can sleep whomever you want, sweetie. But you'll always know I'm the only one who fucks you as good as this." The words curled around his growing satisfaction.
Tendrils of red and black mist wrap around your ankles and part your legs, hoisting them to accommodate his large frame. Climbing on the table to encase you with his body, his cock thrums deep inside you.
"No one in the entire universe can satisfy your desires like I can." He growled, muscles bunching and twitching. You knew what it meant, trying desperately to hold on until he came with you.
Sylus released your throat, then tightened his grip to your jaw, bringing your gaze to his. You almost swallow your own tongue as his hot, heavy gaze pierced you down, his right eye glowing threateningly.
"You. Are. Mine." The words rumbled around his office, like the thunderous promise of a monsterous creature claiming it's prize.
Sylus faltered and jerked, your body shuddered and jolted. Your orgasms cresting over the tallest peak in perfected synchronicity.. and the world fell away, dispersing into nothing but blood red and darkest black.
•°•°•
Mm.. Sylus girlies have eaten well of late with spicy and cute content 😚👌 I hope you enjoyed a morsel more.. I have so much more to indulge in 😏🤭
rafayel/caleb: you are PROTECTED and WATCHED. they get along annoyingly well and end up telling each other all their secrets, even the ones kept from you. they decide working together fully is in your best interest. feed into each other's yandere tendencies. lots of ribbons and blindfolds and manhandling when they fuck you. their shared cute aggression and inability to say no to you is your greatest weapon.
zayne/sylus: daddy duo. zayne is the strict one. you go to sylus when you want to go behind zayne's back to get your way. sometimes sylus betrays you and ties you to the bed posts and leaves you for zayne to find when he gets home. they both call you sweet girl, and when you are in public, they both have a hand on you somewhere at all times.
rafayel/zayne: work really well together when shit gets serious. teacher/student roleplay, often. they have very different worldviews and you are always trying to prompt philosophical discussions between them for your own entertainment. also work together well at night. rafayel holds you against his chest, entirely restrained, while zayne punishes you with his cock. very gentle thorough aftercare.
rafayel/sylus: they nearly kill each other a few times at the start. they are apparently accidents, but you have your doubts. especially when sylus calls raf kitten one day and gets a dagger in his shoulder as a consequence. they take you on exotic trips very often. you get fucked in each place. they keep track of these places on a map and challenge each other in various games to decide who gets to choose the next place to take you. they both love dressing you up all pretty, often in pink.
xavier/caleb: always competing for your attention. snarky. passive-aggressive jealous bickering. lock in together when you need protecting. no hand raised against you lives. every time caleb feeds you a perfectly cooked meal, xavier fucks you for desert to make sure he's keeping the balance. caleb banned him from the kitchen for your safety. xavier makes you call him gege sometimes just to piss him off.
xavier/zayne: you catch them in discussions sometimes that make your head spin. they respect each other a lot. zayne has an accident with his evol one night and needs distance from you, escaping out into the cold night. but before he can spiral into self-loathing, xavier follows him out and talks him out of it. he tells him he's the only one in the universe he trusts with your life.
rafayel/xavier: pure joy and fun with a side of murder. they don't get along at first. xavier doesn't like how involved you are with rafayel's revenge/rescue missions. but after insisting on coming along, he quickly gets on side. ends up completely dedicated to the cause, especially when he sees how it upsets you. you find them napping together sometimes, and rafayel calls xavier old and out of touch when he doesn't understand his art. you have baths together nearly every day, and at night they grab at you and tug you between them like two only children who've never had to share their favourite toy.
xavier/sylus: sylus scares children off as he stands at your side and xavier smiles from your other side and tells them he's not nearly as scary as he looks. sylus stirs up xavier's jealous tendencies on purpose just to fuck with him, and because he knows you like it. he'll sit you on his cock and ask who fills you better or challenge xavier to try and take what belongs to him. respect each other but bicker like they hate each other.
zayne/caleb: serious plotting and scheming. have the potential to take over planet earth. EVER is rubble in 4 business days. no matter how much you want to see them fight, they keep it out of your sight, even when you tease and incite jealousy as best you can. sometimes when you've been more trouble than usual, they punish you together for being a bad girl.
sylus/caleb: the most pampered spoiled princess known to mankind. wants for nothing. sleeps in between them every night and when one of them is gone the other cockwarms you to soothe you. potential for absolute evil to manifest between them as they feed into each other's all-consuming obsession and desire for you. have the potential to work together to destroy all life in the universe if it would make you just a little bit happier.
"You need to pay more attention to what you buy," Caleb's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes anymore. He holds your hand gently, his touch warmer than your skin. His thumb rubs against the ring, it takes Caleb a second to look at you again. "This looks like an engagement ring. People might get the wrong idea."
"I'm getting married," you finally manage to say it out loud. The world seems quieter now. "His family's here to meet you."
Caleb hesitates, his smile doesn't falter. "No. No, no, they're not."
You decide to married. Caleb has something to say about it.
❛ ⟡. o 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: pseudocest, afab!reader, mutual pining, cheating (on a third part), use of meimei/gege, explicit sexual content ft. oral (f!receiving), fingering, spanking (very light), mating press, unprotected sex, coming untouched, dirty talk, multiple orgasms. (word count: 7K. bare with me.)
You don't remember ever being this anxious.
Maybe later you will, you know you've been anxious before. Sometimes you had a reason to be afraid, sometimes your brain was just messing with you. There were many times you shivered, cold sweat running down your back and ruining your clothes. But it never went on for so long.
You undressed because of the sweat, fearing this white fabric might stain. After you started ironing it on your bed that you remembered about the guests downstairs. You were quick to lock the bedroom door, breathless after just a couple steps.
Usually, you wouldn't wear something like this. There's nothing wrong with the dress, you just wouldn't buy something so… coy. Formal, almost. Expensive-looking fabric with a modest neckline, the hem ends halfway up your ankles. Now you know ice white is a real color. It's a good dress. A good bride costume.
Maybe when you finally tell Caleb this feeling deep inside you will disappear. Your meimei is getting married, you practiced once more inside your head. Aren't you happy, Caleb?
You put on the dress again, fixed the tight necklace, and unlocked the door. Downstairs, you smiled at those that soon will be part of your family. His mother told you to call her mom. You felt weird, you don't think you ever called someone that. Besides a teacher at middle school, but it was an accident.
His parents gossiped about a neighbor you met once or twice. You relaxed when they simply continued their conversation. You couldn't deal with being center of attention any longer.
Arms locked around you, stopping you from searching for your phone. "Did you iron your dress again?"
"He's late," you whispered. "I was supposed to pick him up at the station twenty minutes ago."
"He's fine," your fiancee placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. "Doesn't Caleb usually walk from the station when he comes visit you? He knows the way."
"But it's different," you hissed. Sparing a glance to your in-laws, you saw how little attention they paid to you. You turned around to face him. "I want to be alone when I tell him."
You plan on driving slowly on the way back home. You know him. Caleb will need the time to let it sink in.
It was a dumb idea to hide being in a relationship for months. Caleb felt betrayed when you finally told him. And then you were… stupid. It shouldn't have taken you so long to realize complaining to him about your relationship wasn't the best choice. That's to say, Caleb doesn't think highly of your boyfriend.
Fiancee, you corrected yourself.
It's his fault, too. Caleb is strict. Always has been. Maybe you wouldn't have been afraid of his reaction if he hadn't spent your teenage years scaring all the boys that glanced your way. Maybe you wouldn't put on so much effort to tell him everything if Caleb didn't talk about your boyfriend as if he was something temporary.
Or maybe you're thinking poorly of him. Caleb only wants the best for you. Even when he was strict, even when you thought he was the worst brother you could have, Caleb always made sure you'd be happy. At your worst, Caleb has always been dependable.
The doorbell rang twice.
A bitter taste spread inside your mouth. Fuck. There was no point in lying to yourself, you knew it was Caleb waiting by the door. Your fiancee squeezed your shoulders, sitting beside his mother to give you the space you need.
You stopped before the door, seeing how those stupid white heels were already untidy. Shaking fingers grabbed the handle. You breathed in, staring at the green apple key chain Caleb gave you when you first moved. You could feel cold sweat accumulating on the back of your dress.
"Gege," your voice failed. "You didn't call me."
Caleb smiles slightly. "You're already taking care of dinner. No need to make you drive, too."
You step back, leaning more of your weight on your left leg. Caleb brushed his feet on the entrance mat, you're almost sure you gave him this pair of boots. "But I wanted to," you manage to whisper.
His smile is wider now. Caleb raises his right hand, a paper bag from a bakery you have to force yourself to ignore on your way work. It smells like caramel and apple. You drool without meaning to.
"Sorry, pip," Caleb teases. He closes the door before you can. "But I got your favorite."
"I need to-" you hesitate when Caleb hands you the paper bag. Your fingers brush against his when you grab it. How warm. "Caleb, I need to tell you something."
You rub your sweaty hand against your waist, certain that this dress will never be worn again. When you look at him again, you see Caleb's eyes following your hand. Caleb quickly focus on your face again, eyes clenching as he begin to joke about being underdressed.
Caleb stops himself mid sentence, eyes bolting back to your hand.
"You need to pay more attention to what you buy," Caleb's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes anymore. He holds your hand gently, his touch warmer than your skin. His thumb rubs against the ring, it takes Caleb a second to look at you again. "This looks like an engagement ring. People might get the wrong idea."
"I'm getting married," you finally manage to say it out loud. The world seems quieter now. "His family's here to meet you."
Caleb hesitates, his smile doesn't falter. "No. No, no, they're not."
"It's not a prank," you squeeze his hand. Caleb looks at the ring again. You take a step forward, placing the paper bag on the entrance table—right beside a photo of Josephine. "Aren't you happy for me?"
Caleb let go of your hand. "You're saying," his voice starts loud but he decides to whisper the rest. Caleb scrubs his wrist against his forehead."That you want to marry that… that boy? When did this-"
"Shut it," you hiss. "They can hear us."
You grab his hand now, squeezing it so Caleb wouldn't move away from you. Staring at his fingers intertwined with yours, you couldn't force yourself to look into his eyes again. "Your baby sister is getting married. So put a smile on your face and say you're happy for me. I'm not asking for too much. It's okay if it's a lie."
As the seconds pass, you don't hear his voice again. You know better than to look at his face expecting to find a smile there. You're the one to put on a bright smile instead, so large it hurts your cheeks. So large the tears you're battling against will be seem as a sign of happiness by your guests.
You grab the paper bag and pull Caleb towards the living room. Caleb is too polite to cause a scene, that you know. He can pretend for a couple hours. If you can do it, so can him.
Caleb squeezes your hand. "I love you," he whispers.
That makes you stop. You close your eyes, repeating those three damned words inside your mind. Oh, how they haunt you. "I know."
You think you heard Caleb laugh under his breath. "I don't think you do."
--
Waiting by the door, you wave goodbye and listen to the smooth purr of the car engine. It's late. You close your eyes, breathing easier now that you're enveloped by a cold breeze. Your in-law drives away. Once his car makes a turn by the end of the street, your fiancee walks out of your home with his keys.
"Are you sure you don't want to sleep here?" You're not sure if it was a genuine offer. Part of you wants to runaway from the conversation you're about to have, the other thinks it's better to just get over with it already.
"I have an early morning," he says. He touches your waist, bringing you closer to him. "Didn't I told you not to worry about your brother?"
Caleb was always good at playing pretend.
You kiss his cheek, forcing yourself to smile. It was just a dinner and still… you're exhausted. You take a step back. "Call me when you get home."
"You know I always forget to."
When he's gone, you get inside and lock the door. Leaning your forehead against it, you close your eyes and try to calm yourself. It doesn't work. You check if the door was really locked and goes upstairs to the guest room. You can hear the shower running.
Caleb's clothes are folded carefully over an armchair, the bedroom smell like soap. You get out of those heels, leaving them besides his boots, and collapse on the bed. This pillow will probably stain with your make-up. You don't really care about that. Caleb is the only one who sleeps here, anyway.
Those past couple hours didn't work to make Caleb any more happy about your engagement. You know when he forces a smile. It didn't help when all that talk about grandchildren started. They laughed when Caleb said you were too young to have kids.
You'll be a good uncle, Caleb. You saw his eyelids twitching at that. Don't be overprotective of her.
You're almost falling asleep when the bathroom door opens. The idea of pretending to be asleep is tempting. You face Caleb instead, his hair humid and face tense. He doesn't say a word.
"They liked you." Most people do. There's a certain charm about him, something that makes people gravitate towards Caleb. "How couldn't they?"
Watching Caleb hang the towel on the coat rack, you sit up and wait for a reaction. Caleb takes his time, his limbs almost mechanic in their movements. He sits by the end of the bed and stare at his own hands, too far away from you.
It feels wrong. When Caleb isn't close enough. Like something's missing.
His silence goes on. You crawl on the bed, sitting right besides him. You lean your head on his shoulder and waits quietly. This time, you'll allow Caleb all the time he needs. He deserves some patience.
You don't know how long you two had been in silence by the time Caleb clears his throat. Fixing your posture, you search for his eyes. He's staring at his hands, you reach out for them and stroke his knuckles.
"You don't love him," Caleb stated, without any room for doubt. "You won't be happy if you marry him."
That makes you scoff. "So I don't love him now?"
"He didn't go to her funeral," Caleb looks at you. His words make your mouth dry. You move your hand away from his but Caleb holds it in place. "Josephine wouldn't approve this."
"He said funerals make him feel bad," you lied. Although it's not exactly a lie, since he did say that. The lie is you making it sound like an acceptable excuse. But you can't agree with Caleb. If you do, he'll never change his mind about this.
"Funerals make everyone feel bad," Caleb doesn't let you have this one. You stand up, too uncomfortable to stay in place. "I was there. You were there. People that cared about our family were there. And he wasn't."
"That was one moment in our relationship. One mistake, a single wrong call." You taste something bitter on your mouth. "Why would you think I don't love him?"
Caleb rubs his neck. You know he had a long week, all his past flights were on the longer side. He always calls you after landing.
"He didn't stay with you on the hospital when that wanderer pierced your lung," Caleb sounds annoyed. Like he's doing his best not to lose his patience. It makes your blood boil. "When was the last time he showed up for you? Put on effort?"
"I'm also not perfect," you shouted. Time passes and you keep on being the first to escalate things when you two argue. It only makes you more enraged. "How can I expect him to be when I'm not?"
"You should expect him to be perfect." Caleb goes after you, his voice is almost as exacerbated as yours. Caleb reaches for your shoulders, you move away from him. "You will share a life with him. How can you be so easy to please when it comes about choosing a husband?"
"Then I guess he's easy to please when it comes about choosing a wife," you snap.
Caleb hesitates.
"What do you mean by that?"
You take a step back, hands running down your hair. This bedroom feels too hot. You try to calm down when you notice that your hands are shaking.
"That you shouldn't put me on a pedestal," you confess. "I wasn't the best girlfriend I could've been. I turned off my phone when I didn't want to be bothered. There were times he annoyed me when all he wanted was to spend some time together. I've pretended to be on business trips so many times just to escape talking to him when he was sad. If his grandma died right now I wouldn't be the bigger person. I simply wouldn't go to her funeral because I'm not as good as you think I am."
You cover you mouth when you realize what you said. What a petty person you are. Didn't you just claimed it was an excusable mistake of his part? You know how horrible it all sounds. You know you should've been better. You know you could've been better if only you wanted to. And now that you finally said it out loud… it sounds like you can't stand him.
"You don't think he's the best husband I could have?" You breath in, body growing hot from embarrassment. "Maybe you're right. But maybe he's exactly what I deserve."
There are things you'd never say out loud. Things that can't be forgiven, things that can't be accepted. Everyone has secrets, at some point in live you have to learn how to keep them to yourself. Thinking what you do, wanting what you do… would people call you heartless for that?
Caleb runs his thumb against your cheek and that's when you realize you've started crying. He pulls you closer, hugging you so tight you feel like he could crush you.
"Do you love him?" Caleb's voice is so soft you could've mistaken it for a lullaby. He rubs your back when you sob. "You can tell me the truth."
People say your wedding will be the happiest day of your life. That nothing will compare. People dream about this. About finding someone that will go down on one knee to declare how much you're loved. About finding someone you want to share you life with.
You want that, too.
"No," you whisper, melting into his touch. Your voice is so weak your mind barely register it. "I don't."
"Be greedy, then. Ask for more than what you think you deserve." Caleb caress your head, fingers massaging your scalp. He sounds relieved. "When did you start accepting less than what you want, pipsqueak?"
You shove him away. Caleb stumbles, taken back by your reaction.
"Who's going to marry me I'm insufferable as you want me to be?!" You poke at his chest, rough enough for him to take a step back. "Who am I going to share my life with if I ask for more? I can't be alone forever. So what if I have to pretend with him? At least I have someone to hold me when I cry."
The first to yell, the first to push away. You were always the one escalating things when you two were younger. Caleb never got mad at you. Not even when you hurt him on purpose. Maybe it's because you were always the first one to cry, too.
"I'll do it," Caleb grabbed your hand. "I'll hold you."
That makes you laugh. Your vision blurs as more tears begin to spill. Hand fisted in his shirt, you pull Caleb closer and continue to shout at him.
"And will you wash my back next time I break an arm?" You can smell his cologne. This is a new one. "Tell me, Caleb, are we going to share a home now that we're both adults? Do you want to split bills and reform the backyard and go out to buy new wallpapers with me?"
His grip gets tighter. Caleb grabs your other hand, something in his eyes make you shiver. He's closer now, you realize when his warm breath reaches your face. Too close.
"When haven't I given you what you wanted?"
"There are things you won't. Things you shouldn't," your voice breaks. There are no tears left for you to spill. "It's been a long time since I accepted that you're my bro-."
"I'll give it all to you," Caleb promises. His body against yours feel so good. How could this be bad? Why should this be so wrong? "Tell me how to take care of you and I will."
When Caleb promises something, it's because he'll make it happen. And for a second, you believe him. For a second, you want to ask Caleb for all the things you never dared before.
You open your mouth just to close it again.
It all needs to end. This conversation, this night. You can't do this anymore. All you want is to be alone. So you say something Caleb won't be able to argue. Something he knows better than to entertain, that will make him let go of you. You tell Caleb a secret. The dirtiest one you have.
How heartless of you.
"Will you give me a baby when I feel ready?" The shock on his face makes you want to puke. "You told me to be greedy, to ask for what I want. Will you give me a family then? I want to marry someone I love, I want a crystal wedding at a fancy restaurant, I want to be surprised at mother's day and I want someone that will fuck me to sleep. Will you do that, Caleb? Will you fuck your baby sister because that's what she wants? Or will you finally understand you can't give me everything I want?"
Caleb shuts you with his mouth.
It's rough, like waves crashing during a storm. Caleb pressed your lips together, so harsh it makes you stumble back. But he's holding your hands tightly, keeping you locked in place. Your bottom lip burns when Caleb bites down, just like the skin in your hands that gets marked by his nails.
Caleb hungrily invading your mouth. You don't kiss him back. You don't have the time to decide what to do, your eyes are still open when you feel his tongue brushing against yours. Caleb let go of your hands to cup your cheeks, his touch warm and gentle but firm as he brings you closer. It feels like he's trying to devour you.
His eyes are open, too. They never looked this dark. Caleb never looked this… relieved.
"I'll give you everything, anything, you want," Caleb whispers, lips close enough to touch yours. His thumbs stroke your cheeks. "Your big brother will keep you completely satisfied. So think only of me."
You forget to breath, waiting for him to take a step back. Caleb doesn't move away. His eyes keep staring into yours. You give him time but Caleb doesn't seem to regret his words. To regret wetting your lips.
You shiver at that. Eyes softening, Caleb presses a small, tentative kiss on your lips. Caleb leans his forehead on yours. "Just depend on me," he says.
You nod.
This time, you close your eyes when Caleb kisses you. He tastes like the apple pie you shared earlier. His hand is on your nape, keeping you as close as possible. The other lands around your waist. Caleb steps forward, forcing you to move. The wall is cold against your back.
There's no space for doubt or hesitation anymore. Not when all you want is for Caleb to touch you more. You hug his shoulders, not willing to let go of him. You want to glue yourself to Caleb, keep him right next to you for the rest of your lives.
"When did he-" Caleb decides he rather suck on lips rather than talk. He traces kisses on your cheeks and licks at your jaw. His mouth guides him to your neck, a whimper almost escapes you when he bites it lightly. "When did he propose?"
You pull on his hair, not to make him stop but because you need to fill your hands with something. "On my birthday."
Caleb bites hard now. It makes you whine loudly, browns furrowing as you complain. His hands go to your hips, holding you in place as he moves away. "Caleb, what are-"
Something in your belly burns when Caleb knelt in front of you. He grabs your hands and put them on the hem of your dress. "Hold it for me," he demands hoarsely.
You swallow hard, doing as he said. He laughs a little and makes you raise your hands. It's hard to breath when you know he's seeing the white thong and how it's already damped. Caleb inhales deeply.
"Keep it like that for me," Caleb kisses your knuckles. "Were you trying to dress-up like a bride, princess?"
"Yeah," you bite your tongue. Caleb squeezes your thighs, fingers stroking them. "Wanted to look cute."
His laugh is breathier now. You fear he's going insane. "We'll throw everything away, pips. I'll get you a better dress, better heels, better panties. Just-just put this away with the trash, okay?"
Caleb places wet kisses all over your thighs. He doesn't hurry, fingers rubbing against the edge of your thong. You spread your legs open a bit more. His eyes are closed as he sucks on your skin, bitting and lapping at it like some type of animal.
Your skin burns a little. The ache of fresh, still forming bruises.
You shiver when he stops. You look down, eyes meeting with his. Those purple eyes are wide open as Caleb brushes his nose against your clothed pussy. He breaths in and you feel your face hotter now. Caleb inhales once more, you see him swallow. Did his mouth watered at your smell?
He pulls the fabric down by the lace, so slow you want to let go of the dress and do it for him. But you decide to behave.
His nose is hot against you. Caleb breathes again, he looks enamored by your scent. Caleb puts your leg over his shoulder, now giving him more space to see your bare pussy. You whine when he blows cold air against your clit.
There's no warning before he sucks, slow enough to make it feel torturous. Caleb's completely blissful. You can feel his spit running down your legs. Your clit throbs when his tongue latches onto it just the right way to make you close your eyes. Caleb seems so dedicated to make you feel good.
That idea alone makes you shiver. You imagine Caleb imagining you. What is he thinking about right now, with his mouth between your legs and your arousal palpable on his tongue? Does he think you smell good? Does Caleb like the way you sound? For how long will Caleb taste you on his tongue? You wonder what would he see if he just looked up at you. Will he remember this when you're not around?
Then you think about the past. Were there times he wanted to do this? Has Caleb ever looked at you and salivated? You imagine his self-control oscillating. You imagine Caleb wanting you so badly it hurts him. Caleb hard and leaking, never satisfied because he couldn't have you. You imagine him crying for you.
Your body leans forward as you cry out his name. It makes Caleb moan, tongue still discovering more of you. The vibration feels good. It's hard to breath now. Hard to imagine anything when you look down and see him lost on you.
"Caleb, Caleb," you chant. "I'm gonna- fuck, fuck, I'm gonna…"
It comes crashing down on you. Caleb holds you as you cum, your legs shaking and drool spilling from your mouth. You think Caleb says something but you can't understand the words. All you can do is drown on this feeling for as long as it lasts.
When you look down, his mouth is soaked. Caleb's face is flushed, eyes small as if he drank way too much. You can see his tongue, something drips from it. Catching your breath, you pat his hair. Caleb leans his head against your hand.
"I think," Caleb exhales. "I need to…"
His tongue is back on your lips. You whine, looking down at him. Caleb sucks, a wet sound echoing inside your eardrums. It makes your stomach burn. "Caleb, I already-"
"I'm not done with her yet," he says. Caleb kisses your clit so gently, hands groping your tights. "She loves kissing, huh? Don't worry, baby, I can hear you begging."
It makes you feel weak. Caleb gets rougher, tongue slipping inside of you. He curls it as his face rubs against you. It feels like you're not there anymore. Is just him and your pussy, the two of them getting along. It's too much, but you don't want Caleb to stop.
Caleb sink his teeth into your tight when you try to pull away from him. It burns. You see when your drool fall on his clothed back. You fist his blouse, eyes getting wetter as you rut against his mouth. Caleb moves away when you pull it, letting you take it off of him. The moment it's gone, he's back on tasting you.
Tasting her.
Back curling again, you almost lose your balance. Maybe you couldn't stand erect, maybe you didn't thought of doing that. You get your leg off his shoulder, you don't think Caleb notices it, and places your feet on the ground. Your hands find support on his shoulders.
"She tastes-I can't get enough, meimei," Caleb's moan against you. "Give me more, I need more."
"Stop, stop, Caleb," you moan. You feel your legs giving out. Caleb pins you against the wall, his evol making your body tremble. You can't think, can't breath, can't keep your eyes open. All you can do is let him have it his way. "Gege… hm, too much…"
When your mind calms down and starts working again, you realize his tongue is back on you. You push Caleb away before he can make your brain melt again. He falls on his back and it almost makes you feel bad for treating him so roughly. But you look at Caleb, at the smile on his face and the wet spot staining his pants, and you don't think he resents you.
Trying to make your way towards the bed, you take a step forward and loses your balance the moment your legs move. The words spins when your knees are about to hit the floor but Caleb uses his evol to make you land softly on his lap. His smile is closer to a smirk now.
"Karma," Caleb laughs. You do it, too. He pulls at the hem of your dress. "Feeling comfortable?"
Caleb holds you in place as he moves his hips to sit up. Forehead leaning on yours, his eyes are all you can focus on. His hands find the zipper on your dress, Caleb's fingers brush against your back as he opens it.
Wanting more than this, you grab the fabric to take it off. Caleb helps when your earrings get caught on the dress. You throw it away, now bare on top of him except by a necklace. Caleb paid for it.
You should've feel ashamed. What a mess you are. You're naked on top of your brother. Face wet with tears because of his tongue, pussy leaking on his sweat pants. Caleb stares at your chest and your pussy clenches around nothing.
All you feel is empty. You reach for his hands, guiding them to your tits. His fingers brush against your skin, you make Caleb squeeze them. Caleb bites your shoulder, hiding his face from you. There's no hiding of the boner you're sitting on top of.
"Caleb," you lean your head on his shoulder. Be greedy, he said. Fine. "I want you to fuck me to sleep. Make me dream of you."
"Are you trying to kill me?" Caleb groan, you can feel how feverish his face is. "Don't say things like that."
Caleb holds you jaw to make you face him. How disgusting you are. Kissing your brother, sucking on his tongue like no sister should. You taste yourself on him. A mess of arousal and spit make your pussy feel cold even though your body burns just like his. You think you'd beg for more if Caleb wanted you to.
"When have i ever said no to you?" Caleb bites your bottom lip. "But you need to do something for me first, pips."
You pout. "I want you inside. Now."
Caleb laughs deliriously. "What a spoiled girl," he sucks your lip. "You got used to gege always giving you what you want. Can you this one thing for me?"
The pout is still there when you nod. Caleb smiles. "Give me the ring."
You don't understand. When your eyes focus on him, you follow Caleb's gaze to your hand. You take the ring off, sweaty fingers making it more difficult than it should've. You put it on his open palm.
Caleb search in his pockets. He opens his wallet, placing the ring inside it. You hold his hand before he could move away. There's a photo of you there. You don't remember when it was taken. "What will you do?"
"I'll return it for you," Caleb throws it on the bed, you feel the pull of his evol. You kinda wish he would do the same to you, but you don't feel like moving away from him now. "Because you will never see him again, right?"
You agree because you want to get Caleb out of his pants. "Never again," you answer. "Will you fuck me now?"
Caleb kisses your cheek. "Until you fall sleep, right?" You nod, watching his fingers play with the waistband. "I got you. Will make you cum over and over until you calm down, baby. So let it all out."
You whine when Caleb doesn't get rid of his pants. His thumb is on your mouth before you can use words to complain. He presses down and you think about biting it but Caleb just said he's gonna make you cum more. You don't want him to change his mind.
Sucking on his thumb, you hold on to his biceps and look into his eyes. Caleb groans. His long fingers tease your clit. Those fingers appeared on your dreams sometimes. His palm is long enough to press on your clit as he spread your slicky folds.
He's slow now, maybe worried you're too sensitive from your before. You watch as he moves. There's something hypnotic about watching how patient Caleb is. He takes time to explore all your spots, observing how you react to his touch. It feel like he's trying to memorize everything about you.
His fingers reach your hole. You realize now they're thicker than you thought. The stretch makes you whimper, you accidentally bite the thumb on your mouth. Caleb doesn't mind. You suck on them again, this time not to tease but as an apology.
You're so wet that it doesn't hurt when Caleb pushes his finger deeper inside. Your own digits can reach that far. His cock is fully hard beneath you now. You moan around his thumb, rocking your hips against his touch. The friction of your clit on his palm feels addictive.
"You're taking it so well, stretching so nicely around me," Caleb's licks from your shoulder to your jaw. "All that crying and yelling and that cheap ring around your finger just because I wasn't giving you what you needed, huh. My poor, needy baby."
Caleb takes his fingers off your mouth when you squeeze his arm. The sound you let escape makes you shiver. "Don't be mean," you moan, trying to get your hair away from your eyes.
"Why would I be mean with you?" Caleb asks, face inches away from yours, his eyes so attentive it makes you want to look away. He thrusts inside of you in a relentless rhythm. "I love when you act like. So spoiled, so pampered that you can't help but demand for what you need. I want you to cry and make a scene when things don't go your way. Be selfish, be greedy. Your brother will give you anything you want."
You sigh, embarrassed to hear all that. "Then I want another finger, gege."
This finger is longer than the last one. Your nails are deep on his shoulders as you try to stay still. It hits in a place that makes your back arch. Caleb takes the opportunity to kiss your jaw.
"She's so soft, meimei," Caleb coos. You clench around his fingers at that, moving your face to find his lips. Your tongue meets his in an open mouth kiss. "You like when I talk to her?"
You bite his bottom lip. "You're saying embarrassing things."
Caleb adds another fingers. He thrusts them inside of you, devouring each moan and whimper you can't hold back anymore. Caleb has a talent at taking you apart. "Feeling shy now?"
You shake your head. "No… you're embarrassing yourself. You want me that much?"
"So much and for so long," Caleb laughs into the kiss. "I hope I don't wake up from this."
"It's not a dream. I'm here."
You shake when a forth finger make its way inside of you. Your hips rush after this sinful sensation. "Most of my dreams are about you," Caleb bites your shoulder.
That makes you laugh. You try to say something but nothing coherent comes out of your lips. Your forehead bumps against his as you ride his fingers. It's too much, too fast, and it's still not enough. You're almost there but you can't reach it.
Caleb sucks on your earlobe, curling his fingers inside of you. It makes such a wet sound.
"Stop," you whimper. Caleb doesn't. "Stop, gege, stop, stop, I…"
"To think I trusted your choice to be his," Caleb whispers on your ear. "Look at you, riding my fingers and saying you don't want this. I'll make the decisions from now on, meimei."
You stop breathing as he drives you over the edge. He's precise, digits brutally hitting your g-spot with an easiness you never had. Caleb doesn't move faster and it makes you feel like you're going insane.
You close your eyes, body growing tense when you finally cum. There's not a single thought at your brain besides how good this feeling is. It's stronger now, it lasts for a little longer. Caleb continues to thrust inside of your pussy, prolonging it for you.
"Too much," you whimper.
"You asked for more and now acts like a cry baby?" You know that tone. When he teases without believing on what he's saying. "We should stop then, if you're already so tired."
You whine when his fingers leave you. "If you don't fuck me right now I'll go after him."
The moment you close your mouth you knew it was too far. Before you can take it back, his hand — wet with your own arousal — hits you across your face. The sound his fingers make against your cheek is more impressive than the slight burning you feel. It still makes you flinch.
Caleb cups your jaw, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Apologize," he demands, that same unnerving mimic of a smile back on his face.
You feel something wet rush out of you. "I didn't mean it."
Caleb places his hands under your thighs, nail digging into your skin. He shifts beneath you, using his evol to help him get up from the floor with you hugging his neck. He doesn't need any evol to be able of doing this, you know he lifts much more than what you weight.
"What should I do?" Caleb seems to be talking to himself rather than to you. "Wouldn't it be easier to just lock you away? That way you won't get any funny ideas. Then you'll be all mine."
You wrap your legs around his waist. Caleb walked out of the guest room, the cold air making you groan. "Don't be mad at me, gege. I take it back. I swear I'll never think about him ever again."
Caleb opened the door to your bedroom. He laid you on the mattress, you tried to sit up but Caleb pushed your shoulder to keep you lying down. "Will you forget everything about him? Get rid of everything that reminds you of him?"
You got used to seeing Caleb wear his pilot uniform more often than in casual clothes. It only made more evident how large his shoulders are, how reliable your brother is. You haven't seem the dog tag in a long time but you knew I'd be there. Your eyes follow the happy trail leading you to what's hidden by his sweat pants.
"I only want you," you whisper. His silence made your stomach churn. "I'm yours, only yours, I promise you."
"Who's saying embarrassing things now," Caleb says, although you can see his red ears. So he can get shy, too?
Caleb hooks his thumb on the waistband. He sighs. "Guess I teased you too much, huh."
Your mouth waters when he tugs it all the down. Makes sense why he was so decided to stretch you open. His cock is bigger than his fingers. Throbbing, it was too heavy to stand on its one. So big and waiting to fill you up.
You spread your legs for him, fingers working to open up your folds. You smile when his eyes widen. "I want it here."
Caleb knelt between your legs once more, towering over you. A large hand forced your thighs a little bit further, exposing more of your cunt for him. He decides to lean on the mattress, forearm resting beside your head. You look down when you feel the weight of his cock on your belly.
"That's how deep I'll be," Caleb ruts against your soft skin. You moan when your belly button disappear behind his burly cock.
Caleb kneels again, jerking himself against your pussy. It's so wet, the sound it makes feels so depraved. He hits your clit with his leaking tip before sliding it all the way down to your clenching hole. Your eyes are locked on him, watching the way Caleb drives his tip inside of you.
You sobbed. Caleb places his arms beneath your legs, leaning down and forcing your body to move with his. He's slow, devouring every little sound you make as he thrusts deeper into your pussy. You can feel every vein of his cock.
Caleb's all breathless, so focused on sucking on your tongue. What pitiful sounds you made, now pliant and behaved on his throbbing cock. Inch by inch, he tortures you. You're drooling by the time he fills you completely.
"You should learn with her," Caleb grins. He moves all the way out. You don't have time to complain before he slams it all the way in. "See how greedy she is?"
There's no way you can keep up with him. Your pussy is empty but you can still feel his length inside. Caleb moves his arms, placing his hands behind your knees. He fucks into you, forcing his weight on top of you. Completely folded, you realize you can't feel your legs.
You can't pretend to care about them.
It would be a shame to live the rest of your life without seeing how hungry Caleb is for you. He's taking care of you so nicely. Giving you more whenever you ask for it.
"It's too big, Caleb," you cry out loud. Your neighbors will complain tomorrow. "I need you-I need you to-"
"I know, I know," Caleb presses his hand on your belly. Something incoherent comes out of your mouth. "Breath for me."
You felt it coming. At the back of your mind, building it’s way towards you. You shake, drooling as your mind turns off. It wasn't a explosion, it didn't came with full force. It wavered over you, and it simply didn't stop.
Caleb feels deeper now. "I love you, I love you, princess-"
Your vision goes white, and so does your womb.
Caleb collapses on top of you, arms shaking beside your head. You feel his body moving with every breath, a motion that hypnotizes your own. You open your eyes when you feel empty, a sticky pool beneath your ass, and it surprises you to see you almost feel asleep.
He turns you around, hard nipples brushing against the sheets. Caleb moves your hair away from your sweaty face. He kisses your neck, moving to your nape and back. Your eyes close on its own.
You blink slowly. Looking back, your eyes widen at the sight of Caleb jerking off his still soft cock.
"Let's put her to sleep," Caleb says like it's a promise. He leans on top of you, rubbing his face against yours. Your heart melt a little. "I wonder what will you dream about."
You laugh at that. "Most of my dreams are about you," you get cozy on the pillow.
Caleb kissed your smile and you felt perfectly, utterly, completely satisfied.
[⋆☕︎˖] synopsis : sometimes you feel like you and caleb are so different that you wonder how you're even together, but then he reminds you of all the things he loves about you wc. 1.2k
[⋆☕︎˖] tags : caleb x gn!non-mc reader, fluff, comfort, anxious thoughts, reassurance, utter sweetness, caleb soothes you through it all
a/n : this may be a niche scenario but listening to 'cup of tea' by the two lips sparked my brain receptors. i feel like a fairy godmother that stops by every once in blue moon to bring an ounce of comfort to those who need it ಥ‿ಥ
You had been feeling off these past few days.
It started innocently enough. Conversations with friends, casual talks with their partners, listening to them gush about all the things they did together.
Matching hobbies. Shared interests. Couples who seemed to move in perfect sync with one another.
And somewhere along the way, the thought lodged itself into your head and refused to leave.
“Do you ever wish we had more in common?”
Caleb glanced down at you from where your head rested in his lap, brow lifting slightly. “What do you mean? We have plenty in common.”
“Like…?”
“Like our mutual affection for each other,” he said, poking your cheek.
You rolled your eyes. “That’s a given. But honestly, thinking about it now, it’s kind of a miracle we even ended up together.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way,” he said easily.
Your attention drifted away from the movie playing in the background, your thoughts wandering far louder than the television ever could.
The couple on screen fit together so naturally it was almost irritating. They liked the same things, finished each other's thoughts, laughed at the same jokes. They moved through life like matching puzzle pieces.
Meanwhile, you and Caleb once spent forty minutes arguing over whether watching a nature documentary counted as 'quality movie night material.'
“I mean, look at everyone else,” you muttered quietly. “Every weekend they're doing activities together, going to classes together, hiking together…”
“Well, that's them,” Caleb replied simply. “And this is us.”
His fingers drifted absentmindedly through your hair.
“And I love us."
Your chest tightened slightly at how easily he said it.
“You say that now,” you muttered, playing with the hem of his shirt, “but what if one day our differences become too much? What if eventually we just… stop fitting together? What if the things we love about each other now just become annoying later?”
He looked down at you for a moment.
Then—
“Pfft.”
Your head snapped back instantly.
You smacked him in the stomach, and he winced dramatically. “Ow.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” you accused, sitting upright.
“I am,” he insisted, muffling his laugh. “Okay, fine. Let's say one day the thought of my cooking revolts you and you can't stand anything I make anymore.”
Your ears perked up slightly despite yourself.
“Well…” he hummed thoughtfully. “I guess I'd just have to scrap all my recipes and learn some new ones.”
“And what if the food I like doesn't agree with you?”
“Then I either learn to love it,” he shrugged, “or I spend another thirty minutes cooking something else for myself.”
You frowned harder while he fought back another smile.
“This is serious.”
“Most couples worry about communication problems,” he said. “You're over here preparing for the collapse of civilization because we ‘may' or may not end up liking the same food.”
You sighed, looking at the ground. “What if one day the differences become too much?”
“You really think we'd break up over a few disagreements?”
“Not a few,” you muttered. “Over time…”
He adjusted his position on the couch before opening his arms slightly toward you.
You huffed dramatically but still crawled back into the space he made for you, settling against his chest while his chin rested on top of your head.
“Having different interests is one of my favorite things about us,” he admitted softly.
You blinked.
“While it'd be nice to have more in common sometimes, I like seeing the world through a perspective I never would've found on my own.”
“Don't you ever get bored of the things I like?”
“Do you get bored when I ramble about my things?” he posed.
“No…” you pondered for a moment, “well, sometimes.”
He chuckled. “We're not going to agree with each other all the time, just like how we're not going to have the same interests either too.”
His arms tightened slightly around you.
“Do you know how depressing this apartment would look if you hadn’t gotten involved? If it were up to me, everything here would still be dark colours and plain furniture.”
You smiled a little despite yourself.
“Because of you,” he continued. “I find myself liking things I never would've looked twice at before. I go places I wouldn't normally go. I try things I never thought I'd enjoy.”
His voice softened further. “The world feels bigger with you in it.”
Your fingers tightened slightly against his shirt.
“I'll never get tired of hearing you talk about the things you love,” he said. “Even when I don't understand half of it. I like it because it's you, and I love seeing you light up.”
He rocked you gently in his arms. “I adore every little fragment that makes up you.”
“When I'm with you, it feels like I'm learning about the world for the first time. You leave little pieces of yourself behind in everything you do, and before I knew it, those pieces have become important to me too.”
Your expression slowly softened.
“So how can you say we won't work out when we're older?” he murmured. “All couples fight. We just start ours earlier, apparently over what to watch on movie night."
“I still wasn't watching that documentary,” you said, firmly. “Though the physics one was slightly less boring than the others.”
He laughed quietly before suddenly rolling the both of you sideways onto the couch cushions."
“Caleb—”
His face rubbed aggressively against your hair while you squirmed beneath him.
“How lucky am I,” he murmured into your neck, “that I get to keep discovering new ways to fall in love with you?”
The playfulness faded from your expression slightly.
“What if in ten years I'm not the same person you fell in love with?”
He stilled for a moment.
“Ten years is a long time,” he admitted quietly.
Your stomach sank slightly.
But then his arms tightened around you again.
“Who's to say I won't love the version of you ten years from now too?”
You looked up at him.
“I guess I'll just have the honor of falling in love with you all over again,” he reassured.
Something in your chest ached.
“I love you for you,” he continued softly. “And even if you change completely someday, I'll love whoever you become too.”
Your throat tightened.
His thumb brushed against your cheek. “All your sides, show them to me. Let me love all of them.”
“I've only ever wanted you,” he said. “When you're sick. When you're happy. When you're rambling about your hobbies. Even when you're angry at me.”
A grin hugged at his lips.
“Especially when you're angry at me.”
You groaned softy while he laughed.
“I want us to experience everything together,” he whispered. “Even the boring parts. Even when we're wrinkled beyond recognition and yelling at each other over what temperature the thermostat should be.”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead before peppering more along your jaw and neck.
You squirmed immediately. “Stop, that tickles.”
“Never."
He locked his arms tighter around your waist and buried his face into the crook of your neck.
“I could never get sick of you,” he mumbled against your skin. “I want every part of you.”
Your heart swelled painfully.
“So show me new sides of yourself,” he whispered. “Let me love those too.”
Then he smiled softly against your shoulder.
“It's you I want to spend the rest of my life loving.”
a/n : and thus she awakens from her indefinite slumber. i always get inspired at the worst times (rip exam upcoming szn) but that means you might be seeing more of me in the next couple of weeks♪～(´ε｀ ). writing brings me a great deal of comfort esp when im going thru a rough patch. one of my goals when writing is to hopefully ease someone's heart and perhaps offer a bit of comfort to those that need it. I don't write often but i still appreciate everyone giving my work some love. as always ty for reading my sweet bbs!! (✯ᴗ✯)
May i request angry sex with rafayel x non mc where you truly believes he hates you because you had to marry him in the place of your sister, mc, who got married to someone else. But then why does he look at you like you matter while he thrusts inside you? Why does he kiss you places that he shouldnt? So why does not he act like he hates you while hes deep inside you? (You tried suggest backshot since you dont wanna see his face but he refused)
hurts me to write non!mc but oh were we are again... buuuut thank you for the request! (p.s. not proofread so pls excuse the mistakes)
🔞 MDNI 🔞
“Just… just fuck me from the back, Rafayel,” the words escape into a fractured whisper against his cheek. You turn your face away, pressing it into the damp linen. Your voice is a traitor, thick with unshed tears you refuse to let him see. “Please. It’s easier that way.”
You don’t have to explain why. The unspoken words hang between you, sharp as coral shards. Easier because I don’t have to see the contempt, or worse, the blank canvas where my sister’s face should be. Easier to pretend I am just a body, a duty you’re fulfilling, a debt you’re paying to a treaty signed in her name.
His movements, which had been a slow, almost punishing rhythm, cease entirely. The sudden stillness is more jarring than a shout. You feel him shift, his weight propping onto one elbow. A long, cool finger hooks under your chin, exerting a deceptively gentle pressure to turn your head back towards him. You resist, squeezing your eyes shut.
“Open your eyes and look at me.”
It’s not a request. His voice is that same melodic, teasing lilt you know so well, but now it’s stripped of its usual performative boredom. It’s low, carrying an undercurrent that vibrates deep in your chest, one that makes your throat tighten and your eyes screw shut tighter than they had been.
“No. Just do it this way, I’m telling you I—”
“And I’m telling you,” he cuts you off, thumb tracing the trembling corner of your mouth, “that a masterpiece is meant to be viewed, not hidden away in a dark vault. What kind of artist would I be if I turned my canvas to the wall at the most crucial moment?”
The absurdity of the metaphor, so utterly him, almost breaks the dam inside you. “I’m not your canvas. I’m a substitute. A- A stand-in. And you’re not an artist right now, you’re just…”
“Just what?” he breathes, hips shifting inside you. He doesn’t withdraw as you thought he would; instead, he sinks deeper, a slow and relentless intrusion that forces a gasp from your lips. Your eyes fly open in shock, meeting his directly for the first time. They aren’t cold. They’re a deep, bruised twilight, a roiling ocean under a gathering storm. “Just your husband, taking what’s his? Don’t. Don’t you dare look away from me when I’m inside you.”
A tear escapes at his words, betraying you completely, sliding from the corner of your eye into your hair.
“You hate me,” you choke out, the truth of the situation you’re both in acting as a raw, open wound. “You wished I was her. Every day, you look at me and you wish it was her, Rafayel. I—” your voice breaks, making you frown at how pathetic you must look right now. Naked under him, with his cock buried inside you and you soaking the sheets in your pathetic tears. “I can’t handle it anymore, so please…just...”
Something flashes in his blue-pink ombre eyes—a flicker of genuine, blazing anger. But it’s not directed at your words. It seems directed at you, for daring to believe them. With a harsh, frustrated sigh that ghosts across your lips, he grabs your thigh harsh. His long fingers dig into the soft flesh, guiding your leg up and around his narrow hip, pulling you impossibly closer to him.
“Oh, so you think this is hatred, then?” he frowns down at you, voice dangerously soft. He rolls his hips, an excruciatingly deep grind that makes you see stars. You arch against him involuntarily, a sob catching in your throat.
“You think I’d waste my time, my magnificent attention, on someone I despised? There are countless people in this world I find utterly boring, and I don’t give them a single, solitary thought. But you…” he thrusts again, harder this time, a punctuation mark on his sentence that jolts your entire body.
He captures your other thigh, wrapping it around him too, so you are completely open, utterly defenseless, folded into him as if he’s trying to press you back into his own body. Your hands, which were fisting the sheets, flail and find his shoulders, his back, the damp curls at the nape of his neck for something to hold on as to not drift away in your escapism.
“Why?” you sob softly, the question a fragile, desperate thing. The anger is gone from his face, replaced by a searing, soul-deep intensity you’ve never seen being directed at you before, one that terrifies and exhilarates you in equal measure. “Why do you do this… if you don’t hate me? Why do you kiss me like…”
He silences you with his mouth. It’s not a punishing kiss; it’s a drowning one. Slow, deep, and utterly consuming, his tongue sliding against yours with a languid, possessive heat that leaves no room for doubt. He kisses the corner of your mouth, the tears on your temple, the frantic pulse point hammering on your throat. Places a husband obligated to a stand-in wife would never think to go.
“Because, my obtuse little wife,” his breath ghosts against the shell of your ear, a rasp that matches the rhythm of his hips thrusting slow and deep into you, “I don’t paint forgeries. I don’t keep them. And I certainly don’t let them see me as I am.”
He pulls back just enough to look at your face, his gaze roaming your it as if memorizing how you look in this moment, every tear that escaped your puffy eyes, every flicker of bewildered hope. “You are not her. The very notion is an insult to the color of your soul. I married a shadow, I expected a pale imitation, a dull echo… and instead, I found you. Real, and defiant, and so brilliantly, achingly alive it’s a constant, maddening distraction to me.”
He rolls his hips again. A slow and powerful surge that has you crying out, your nails raking down his back. He answers with a guttural groan, his head dropping to the crook of your neck, planting a few kisses there that have you trembling.
His voice is a shattered, beautiful thing against your skin. “Don’t you understand yet? I’m not thinking of her. I can’t. You’ve driven every other thought from my head... you infuriating, beautiful catastrophe. The only thing I hate… is that you don’t already know you’re the one I’ve been waiting to drown in.”
The confession breaks over you as your climax does, a wave of pleasure and relief so acute it’s indistinguishable from pain. He follows you over the edge a heartbeat later. A long, shuddering sigh tearing from his lips as he buries himself as deep as he can go, spilling his warmth inside you.
He holds you like that for a long, silent moment, his face hidden into your neck, his lean body trembling slightly against yours, anchored and finally, completely still. And in that stillness, you don’t hear hatred.
childhood bestfriends caleb and nonMC!reader, who he's secretly in love with while she thinks he likes someone else
warnings. angst, fluff, rejection, she fell first he fell harder, caleb is down bad, groveling, miscommunication, caleb sucks at feelings, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, he gives her a nickname adjacent to pipsqueak
preview. "I love you," he says, pressing his forehead against yours. You want to tell him that it's not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you're sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room is not fair. "Then prove it to me."
wc. 8.4k (she's hefty...)
You proposed to Caleb for the first time when you were nine years old, with a flower ring.
The winter air had nipped at your flushed cheeks as you stepped into ice, holding it out to him. Your breath had puffed into the air like a dragon, and you nuzzled your chin further into the wool of your scarf to keep warm. It had been the only flower left after fall had faded away, yet its white petals stood brilliantly in between your fingertips, weathering against the cold.
The child in front of you was closed off. Eyes narrowed, fists balled inside his pockets, and usually adorning a solemn look on his face. Though, it had certainly gotten better since you first met him as one of Grandma Josephine’s adoptive children. Back then, he hadn’t even spoken much—only keeping MC tight at his side, as if she might disappear if he didn’t. He wasn’t rude by any means…just, cautious. Too aware for a child of his age.
But without a doubt in your mind, he was the most handsome boy you’d ever seen.
He’d raised his brows. “You just met me last week.”
“It’s love at first sight.”
He rejected you, naturally, but it did little to make a dent in your childish heart. Not when his purple hues gazed into your own, with a softness that didn’t seem intent on hurting you.
The next two decades becomes a perpetual cycle of this encounter—in which you learn that Caleb is a very caring person.
In that time, you learn a lot about him, aside from his gorgeous face. You find that he’s fond of nicknames. Pipsqueak for MC. Splints for you, when you launched yourself off a swing and broke your wrist trying to impress him. Safe to say, it didn’t impress anyone but your doctor, who was baffled you managed to fly so high into the air with your 11-year-old legs. Caleb held your other hand tight in the emergency room as you wailed helplessly, waiting for the doctor to ease the pain. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry just a tad longer to keep your hand in his.
“This thing is so ugly,” you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. “Do you think I’m gross now, Caleb?”
“It’s not ugly. You need it to get better.”
“I thought you’d fall in love with me if I went high enough,” you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. “I did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.”
He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you aren’t joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. “Come on, splints. Let’s go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.”
The broken wrist is so worth it.
With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesn’t take long before you’re doing practically everything with Caleb. He’s your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesn’t seem to be a moment where you aren’t glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arises—even when it doesn’t arise at all.
“You get any chocolates for Valentine’s?” you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didn’t take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you haven’t gotten to.
By now, he’s charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldn’t lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose he’s rather bright—almost as much as his face.
“Too many,” one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Life’s so not fair, dude.”
“Just a few,” Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. “Most of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.”
You glance at his friends. “How many is a few?”
“At least five,” another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. “You jealous?”
It’s not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, it’s practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when you’re discussing it with your friends…it tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesn’t really matter.
“Jealous? I don’t think so, why?”
“Most girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,” he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that you’re not dating. Then his friend sighs. “It’s cute when girls get jealous, isn’t it?”
At this, your ears perk.
“Should I be jealous?” you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. “Do you think it’s cute too?”
He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. “Do you ever ask normal questions, splints?”
Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. You’re helplessly in love, but you’re not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesn’t spare for you.
The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesn’t touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.
Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MC’s Caleb.
MC’s Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that he’s naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.
You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesn’t know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment.
Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. It’s to be expected. She’s family, you’re not. You’ve grown used to it, and so has he.
MC doesn’t notice though, because she doesn’t have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re one of her childhood friends, and Caleb’s best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Caleb–and you attribute his tutoring to be the main culprit—though in different majors. It’s a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.
“Take off your shoes at the door,” he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if he’s expecting it. “How was your exam?”
“Awful. I went through war.”
Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. “And whose fault is it that they didn’t want to study?”
“Yours.”
“Funny,” he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. “It’s alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.”
“Even you can’t save me for this class.”
“Is that a challenge?”
He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once he’s finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, you’re oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food? “You should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when we’re married.”
Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. “I didn’t realize I was engaged.”
“Well, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.”
He hums, looking up as if he’s in thought, and then nods. “Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?”
You shrug. “You tell me.”
His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. “Where are you going? Aren’t you done with class?”
“Going out. I deserve it after that exam.”
“With your friends?”
“No, with four guys,” you joke, but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny. “I’m just going to a club. I won’t be back too late.”
He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I can come.”
You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. “No need. You have exams too, y’know.”
“I’m done studying.”
“Liar.”
Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once you’re done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting ready–dolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isn’t home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once you’re done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how you’d likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.
You just smile, because you don’t know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.
The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.
A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessary—confidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like he’s done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where you’re from, if you come here often. The usual.
You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper.
He’s not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you don’t particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. You’re growing bored. Irritated.
Because he’s not Caleb.
It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesn’t quite reach you over the music, even when he’s close. The way you don’t feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.
You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.
But there’s only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.
“You okay?” the guy asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Long week.”
He grins, like that’s an invitation. Says something else—something about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.
You nod again. Smile again.
Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you don’t recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks ‘you’re good, right?’ before she’s gone.
You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You don’t really care which.
The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but it’s particularly hard today.
You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.
No messages.
Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MC’s phone whenever he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.
Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.
And suddenly, you’re pressing send before you can even register what’s happening.
[you]: hi
The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.
[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?
[futre hubs <333]: i can
You’re not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like these—moments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly think—it hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bit—as if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him.
It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.
You’re not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. There’s buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man you’ve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and you’re being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.
Too touchy. He’s saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You don’t like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.
The words either go unheard due to the music or don’t deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to think—almost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if he’ll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years you’ve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that you’re in college, he’d want to explore other people, and he’ll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good.
But you know he wouldn’t. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.
You wonder if he’s ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.
Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew he’d come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesn’t give you the same smile he gives to MC when she’s in trouble.
A part of you wishes he wasn’t always there for you—not when it’s so different from how he’s there for her.
You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You should’ve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.
“Drink.” You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how you’re holding yourself together and frowns. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
“I told you to grab a jacket.”
“You nag too much.”
He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.
“What kind of woman do you like, Caleb?”
“You and your questions.”
“I want to know.”
He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleeves—the fabric almost engulfs you—but he just laughs. “My type? A woman who brings jackets when it’s cold.”
You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. “Other than that.”
“A woman who goes to class in the morning.”
“...Other than that.”
“A woman who doesn’t leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.”
“Something else.”
“A woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesn’t steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesn’t pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesn’t let half the world know that they like someone—hell, maybe even the entire world.”
Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that you’re not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens. “Splints?”
You pick at your sleeves. “So just not me?”
“I was just kidding around.”
“Jokes have some truth to them.”
“Not all of them. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay, Caleb,” you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. “I know you like someone else. I’m not an idiot.”
Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.
Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times—usually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.
But nothing comes.
The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.
You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they don’t reach for him out of instinct.
Caleb glances at you. Then away.
Then back again, like he’s trying to solve something written across your face but can’t quite make out the words.
“Hey,” he starts, softer this time.
You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.
Another pause. God, it’s awkward.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. “You know I think you’re amazing.”
Just not enough.
“I am pretty great,” but it comes out too soft.
Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.
“Why do you like me so much?” He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he can’t bear to watch your expression. “You could do a lot better.”
You smile, but it’s half-hearted. “How could I not?”
He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You mean so much to me. You’re smart, beautiful, and everything good in between—whoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know I’d do anything for you.”
Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before it’s about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.
“But it can’t be me.” Caleb’s lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. “I can’t give you what you want.”
The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that it’s not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you’re sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that you’re in is not fair.
Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that you’ll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That you’ll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him.
“I don’t want it, either,” you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I don’t want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.”
Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you don’t want to look too far into.
Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had roots—tangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.
So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldn’t feel it.
The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that you’ve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. It’s easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself it’s fading, the scars he’s inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.
The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunter’s Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.
“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”
He’s sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in months—only to see that he’s nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, you’d kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, you’d rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which you’re clearly glad you did now. You’d practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.
Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you don’t blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you don’t like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if you’ve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog who’s just been scratched by its owner.
“I dunno.”
You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. There’s a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar that’s been there for god knows how long. “What the hell have you been eating?”
He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. “Eat.”
“Not hungry,” he mutters.
“Don’t care. Sit up.”
He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. There’s darkness beneath his eyes—even stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state he’s in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.
You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.
“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. “For coming.”
“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t rot in here.”
He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Probably would’ve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?”
You nudge his knee with yours. “Starving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.
“…thanks for coming, splints,” he says.
Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden. It feels like it’s threatening to feel something that’s not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. “I had to. You weren’t responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.”
He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. “Bossy.”
“Learned from the best.”
His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. “I missed this.”
Your hand stills. “What?”
He shrugs, eyes still closed. “You being here.”
His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what you’re doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. “You look like shit.”
“Wow,” he mutters. “You have a way with words.”
You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.
“Idiot,” you whisper.
He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then you’re looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.
“Don’t make this a habit. I’m not flying out here every time you forget to eat.”
“Could,” he murmurs. “You would.”
You don’t respond to that, because he’s not wrong.
“…Is she okay?”
It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You don’t answer right away—instead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
“She’s fine,” you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.
“Did she say anything?” he asks, sitting up a little more now. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s searching. “When you talked to her.”
You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. “Just normal stuff.” Stop, you think. Please stop talking.
“Like what?”
“Like her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.” Shit.
He frowns slightly. “She didn’t mention him?”
There it is. It’s always about her.
You know he’s in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether it’s from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him.
“Does it matter?”
Caleb’s face relaxes. “What?”
“Why does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?”
“I just want to know if he’s a decent guy.”
Your ass. “That’s not really your business, Caleb, but sure. He’s a great guy. Amazing, honestly. He’s really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so they’re right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. I’d bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.”
You’re not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but it’s too late to go back. Neither do you want to.
“I wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.”
“Oh. Is he…” Caleb’s back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. “...handsome?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you, he’s perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.”
He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. “Why are you talking like that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff.
He narrows his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, splints.”
“Can you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?”
“You’re angry.”
You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. “Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t feel so annoyed right now.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to watch, Caleb,” you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. “It’s always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, we’re not kids anymore, you need to get over it!”
You’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself anymore.
“Can we calm down and talk? If I’ve been talking too much about it, I can stop, so—”
“We haven’t seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how she’s been? Why don’t you ask her yourself, if you’re so curious? Oh, but you can’t, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like I’m some dispensable object.”
“What?” his balks. “Dispensible? Are you serious? As if I haven’t gotten you out of every little thing you’ve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I haven’t picked you up every weekend from your friends’ places at three in the morning? Like I haven’t called you every single week—”
“Well, I want you to stop that!” your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second.
“You didn’t seem very against it the last forty times.”
“I am now.”
“What has gotten into you, splints?”
“Don’t call me that right now,” you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. “I’m just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesn’t see you like that, can’t you see that?”
Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you don’t lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.
“You told me that you couldn’t give me what I wanted. Well, she can’t either,” you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. “If I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.”
But you’re not over it. Not at all.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, you’ve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. You’re not sure how your nails haven’t drawn blood at this point. You’d rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.
“It’s not fair what you do, Caleb,” you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you can’t help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he won’t face them head on. “How you treat me when you don’t like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesn’t know, but you—you know, and yet you—”
The rational part of you says that it’s not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, you’ve promised a lot of things, but it’s his fault too, for being the way he is—so kind, so thoughtful, just so him.
You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.
“Please don’t cry.” His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. “Please don’t cry, splints, just not that.”
But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that he’s only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasn’t changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips.
“Be as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,” he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. “But don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”
You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.
A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he can’t have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins.
Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurts—because even now, you’re just the place he empties everything he feels for her.
Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.
His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like it’s forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.
Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, though you don’t look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the door—all while he stays locked in a petrified state, like he’s processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.
“Don’t follow me,” you tell him as you leave.
You don’t wait to see if he hears you.
The journey home feels like there’s a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by.
You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close he’d been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.
If you hadn’t pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake he’d regret in the morning?
Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. He’s texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you don’t plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. It’s hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the ‘mute’ button.
You press it and shut your eyes.
Even if it’s difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you can’t bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if you’d be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure it’s just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you can’t count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.
Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. It’s a daunting idea. One that you never would’ve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings you’ve tried so hard to hide clearly aren’t hidden. Is this sustainable?
Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.
“Are you in there?” He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.
“No.”
He chuckles from the other end. “Right. Happy birthday, splints.”
You glance at your phone calendar. He’s right.
As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you don’t want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you don’t know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where he’s on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.
“I don’t know if you’ve read my text, but–”
“I don’t read them.”
Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually don’t give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. “Splints, can you open the door? I want to talk—apologize to you.”
Silence.
“Or I can do it out here. That’s fine,” he sighs. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I won’t keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really just—I need to say that this is my fault.”
You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadn’t folded and read his chats until now, though it might’ve been more so for your own peace than anything. There’s too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone.
[1:41PM]
[caleb]: are you eating well?
[caleb]: i made this today
[caleb]: [image attached]
[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) i’ll drop them off at your place later
[caleb]: i hope you’re not just throwing them out…wouldn’t blame you tho
[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)
[8:13AM]
[caleb]: hi splints :)
[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it
[caleb]: i still think it’s kind of bad…but it was entertaining
[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3
[5:32PM]
[caleb]: ranked first today
[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/
[caleb]: it doesn’t feel as good when i can’t tell you lol
[caleb]: hope you’re okay
[11:23PM]
[caleb]: i wish i hadn’t been so stupid
[caleb]: i didn’t deserve you back then
[caleb]: i still don’t
[caleb]: i shouldn’t have lost my cool when you were over here. didn’t like hearing you talk about that guy like that
[caleb]: im sure he’s a good looking guy, and i know you’re particularly weak to good looking guys…
[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i could’ve explained it to you then
[caleb]: i know you don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to listen to what i have to say
[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol
[caleb]: it was never about her
[caleb]: there’s so much more i want to say but i’ll say it in person
[caleb]: miss you a lot
[caleb]: sleep tight
You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didn’t feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didn’t care about your own feelings for him.
“I love you, splints,” he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech.
“Not in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. You’re my life, and you’ve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. It’s always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldn’t be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesn’t know how to understand their own feelings.” Your throat dries. “I thought it wasn’t fair because I’d already put you through so much.”
“At the same time, I’m a selfish guy, you know? I couldn’t let you go either, because I couldn’t bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,” he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. “I’m an idiot when it comes to you, you know.”
You don’t respond.
Not because you don’t have anything to say—if anything, there’s too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you can’t even remember reading.
‘I love you.’
The words echo, but they don’t land the way you once dreamed they would. They don’t bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.
Your chest tightens, aching outward like it’s trying to break free. Because you’ve wanted this—God, you’ve wanted this—for so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.
Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of you—and that doesn’t disappear just because he finally found the words.
Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.
Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How he’d flick your forehead when you’d get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How he’d tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How he’d message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How he’d always be there. How with just a call of his name, he would’ve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.
You remember him in all parts of your life—and not a single moment you’ve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when you’d broken your arm, and the way he’d lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how he’d pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising he’d visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.
Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.
“…We’re a mess.”
A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that you’re really there. That you’re not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasn’t truly lost you forever as he’d feared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely out of the woods. I’m still mad.”
“You should be,” he whispers out, nearly breathless.
Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod.
Realizing you don’t have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until you’re flush against him and he’s already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you can’t confidently say the same for yourself given the state you’re in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.
“Note to self,” you mumble. “Don’t propose to any handsome guy you see.”
Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. “I thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.”
“I should divorce you. We’re not even married yet.”
He grins, lopsided. “You should.”
“I won’t.”
“I know.
You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. “I don’t want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.”
He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like they’re blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. You’ve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lips–that was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. “Tell me more.”
“You nag too much.”
He kisses your nose. “Hm?”
“You’re emotionally repressed.”
“Ouch.” He kisses your temple.
“You’re too good at things you don’t try at.”
Your jawline.
“You’re unstable. You’re too protective. You’re stupid.”
“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.
Your lashes flutter against his. “Then prove it to me.”
“I will,” he whispers, just as his mouth slots against yours, and a warmth blooms throughout your chest. You melt into him, like you always have and you always will. “I’ll prove it to you for the rest of my life.”
୨୧ — Caleb's palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek, smearing salt and sweat. "Pipsqueak, I…" he murmurs, guilt flickering across his features as he takes in your wrecked state- cum smeared thighs, your puffy, fucked out hole still weeping his seed onto the already wrecked sheets... body absolutely limp. "Shit. I went too far."
You try to reassure him, to push a weak 's'okay', but all that comes out is a garbled, wet mumble, your throat still raw from screaming and stuffed full of his cock earlier.
His knuckles brush a damp strand of hair from your temple, the touch startlingly soft after the bruising grip he'd used hours earlier. "Don't move a muscle," he orders before pressing a feather light kiss to your sweaty forehead, "not one."
He vanishes into the bathroom- click of the light, hiss of running water before returning with a warm washcloth.
The first swipe across your collarbone is heaven as he works with focused gentleness that steals your breath- wiping the mascara that threatens to stain your cheeks, the pearly streaks from your belly the, and the slick mess from your inner thighs. His thumb grazes your swollen folds, making you jolt. "Shhh. Hold still," he says softly, dabbing with infinite care at your tender, reddened flesh, "i've got you."
As he tends to you, his gaze fall on something in the corner of the bed. A small smile tugs at his lips as he reaches for the worn plush frog piloting a plane- a silly gift he gave you months ago that has somehow become a fixture in your shared space.
"Look who's here," he says, voice warm and playful as he makes the stuffed frog bob and weaves in front of your nose. "Mr. Frog was worried about you."
Despite your exhaustion, a smile breaks across your face. Caleb presses the little green pilot against your cheek in a playful "kiss", the childish gesture so at odds with the man who just fucked you senseless that you can't help but giggle. "Caaaleb," you finally manage, swatting at him weakly, "I'm okay." You nuzzle at Mr. Frog affectionately before looking up at Caleb, "We're both okay." and you feel how his arms lock tighter around you- not restraining, just anchoring.
His shoulders seem to release tension he didn't even know he was carrying as he gives you a gentle smile… his palm spreading protectively over where his daughter grows within you. "Both," he repeats softly, wonder and relief painting his voice as his thumb continues its gentle circles on your belly.
He stretches out beside you, gathering your tired body against his chest, his lips brushing your forehead as he pulls the blankets over you both. "My girls." he whispers with quiet happiness, and you feel his chin rest gently atop your head as he tucks the covers around your shoulders.
84 years later and i finally expanded on this.
tw: nsfw, implied sub-space
sylus likes you like this: blissed out and pliant under his touch; all your reluctance in letting him spoil you gone. the weight of your legs over his shoulders and the heat of your body under him as you are pressed against his. he traces the curse breaker mark on your ribcage and delight in the way you shiver — amused and challenged at your silence still.
he’s used to the way you are silent in the bedroom, savors the barely there whimpers and gasps that you don’t swallow down in time. but not tonight. not after the stunt you pulled, putting your life on the line when he told you to stay back. his thumb brushes the mark again, too deliberate for it to be an accident causing you to wiggle out of his grasp.
“sy—, ah”, your voice breaks, instinctively turning away from his touch. he can’t have that; you trying to move away. “that— that tickles.” your voice pitched higher than normal, the telltale sign of you falling into a headspace both of you never acknowledge.
he’s being strategic — cheating, you’d chastise him if you knew his intentions — he knows the mark is one of your sensitive places. but the warmth of you isn’t enough to convince him you’re still here, that he had got to you in time and you’re still breathing with him. alive and real.
you had put up your body as a shield to miss hunter’s bullet.
if it wasn’t for his quick reflexes & his evol, he’d have felt your blood on his skin.
alas, he had smirked for his audience of one as he pushed you aside, the bullet pulverized in thin air. “finally learned to pull the trigger, did you?”
he had watched you retreat to where luke and kieran is in the shadows, as he tried to resonate with miss hunter. but later, after the failed attempts, after he had brushed the imaginary lint from his shoulder to leave her alone, the twins had told him you’ve gone to your room.
no one under his care dies on his watch. he presses a kiss to your neck, and opens his mouth to taste the salt of your skin. maybe if he gives you his mark right now, you’d remember that.
———
you’re a curse breaker. in this world and the next, you see lines connecting people. you discern stories from what you see. once, sylus asks you what it’s like and you tell him it’s a hindrance to watching a movie in the theatre — all glowing and bright; the lights might not as well be dimmed.
that week he rents an entire movie theatre and asks you to watch a recent release you’ve been wanting to watch in a while. when you point out that both of you could have stayed at the base with his home theater, he shrugsand says, “you wanted to watch one in a theater, no?”
in that dark room with only his tapestry of red glowing at the corner of your eye, you tell him, “it’s probably like your eye. you see people’s desires; i see people’s hatred in neon colors all the time.”
but not all curses are born out of hate. sometimes the cruelest ones are born out of love. it’s why the energy to create the linkage is strong enough to withstand efforts to break it.
the more you love someone, the worse the betrayal.
you never tell him about the black line sprouting from his chest. you suspect he already knows.
———
when you come to, you’re tucked under his arms, his hand rubbing mindless circles on your shoulder. the occasional kiss or two to the top of your head. you catalogue the fresh sheets under you, the tender but clean flesh of your body, rid of sweat and fluids, knowing he had cleaned you up, and sink into the warmth of his body heat.
he hums a nonsensical tune. the vibration of his voice grounds you more than the sound itself. you still feel a bit floaty, hazy; the world a bit softer on the edges and a need to be cocooned in warmth. a feeling of vulnerability you can’t quite place that arises after being with him so you seek his other hand, the one holding a book for him to read and thread your fingers together instead.
“someone’s feeling greedy,” he teases without heat, even if he relinquishes the book back to the bedside table without you asking. still you squeeze his hand hard in retaliation because as much as you’d like to pinch him,you don’t want to lose any contact you have with him right now. “and a need to stretch out their claws,” he adds in amusement.
both of you never talk about it — the person you become under him and the person that emerges after — and you trust him to take care of you because he always do. indulges you with quiet moments like this as if business doesn’t knock on his doors, like you both have forever in the confines of his room.
“what time is it?” your words still slur a bit, voice so timid in any other time you hate how small you sound.
“early enough for you to rest,” he commands, planting it to the top of your head. “so rest.”
and you want to. god, you want to. to believe this moment is yours to hold and stretch and bind to your soul. but you know it’s just you. a side effect of waking up from the haze of intimacy: lengthening everything in a rose-tinted lens.
because sylus likes to lie and you endure it.
pretty, beautiful, sweetheart — echoes of compliments you wish he could take back because it’s all a lie. you want to tell him to stop because it’s cruel to ply you with sweet nothings he’s just saying for the act of it, but maybe for tonight, you can soak it in, believe maybe a part of him means it because the only time his reverence doesn’t sting is the one time your brain stops thinking what ifs.
it must be why you can’t stop the words from tumbling out, why you call out his name and when he answers with a hum, it would be your greatest regret to continue. “why don’t we run away?”
his chuckle is a beat late. you know the answer even if he refuses to say it, choosing to entertain you instead. “where to?”
“anywhere,” you reply though your heart isn’t in it anymore. when you look back to this moment in the future, you’ll feel the prickle of humiliation at how desperate you must sound. the only thing you did right was feigning sleep after and not holding him from leaving the bed when a call comes through his phone.
————-
some curses are hereditary or ancient — a passed down line that turns paler with each generation when the original emotion has been weathered down with time; some are shimmery and translucent reds they look more pale pinks than anything else when it’s inflicted halfheartedly like jokes between friends or harmful intent that comes to pass once the other person forgives the other. the latter will usually fade with time.
no one knows what the curse is from looking at the colors, only the severity of it. the deeper the red, the more harmful it is, and if it’s black, well there’s a reason poison labels are that color.
when the twins brought miss hunter to the base, you saw the black line that tethered them together. a caster and its captor and a gun. your lack of hesitation to throw yourself in front of its trajectory selfishly. you only know you don’t want to watch him die.
you heard sylus talk once about not being able to die, not until his beloved kills him, over the surveillance feed in the control room, where you were stationed for a mission he wanted you to tag along for to evaluate some artifacts for any lingering residual resentment on them while giving him and the twins a heads-up should someone sneakily come up to them. cursed objects with protocores tend to be more volatile and unpredictable after all.
you remember his mocking tone right before he disintegrates the captive and their weapon into dust. the cynical, self-assured voice tethered with grief and anger. you never want to hear it again.
————-
“what’s wrong?” you set aside the popcorn and pause the movie the minute you notice a shift in the air. you’re on your weekly (well, weekly is a bit of a stretch given both of your schedules) movie night when his pager beeps. the twins. if the mission was a success, they should be en route home by now.
instead of answering, he grabs his jacket draped on the next seat and pulls up his terminal on his phone, typing away as he turns to leave. mephisto’s footage coming into view on the screen. “keep watching the movie,” he says, dismissively.
you suppress a sigh as you stand, scurrying after him. “for someone who claims to be above everything, you’re a terrible liar.”
he frowns. “what are you doing?”
“going with you, of course,” you move past him to the secret compartment on the wall next to the vase and grab your favorite weapon. there are plenty around the house. you and the twins made a game out of who can find the most in one night which you suppose is n109’s version of scavenger hunts. sylus had given all of you his version of the stink eye because now everything had to be put back and cleaned. no one slept a wink that night and for all his surliness, he had given everyone an impromptu workshop on how to clean weapons properly. his patience when the twins mess up, the slightest hint of shyness peaking through when he’s about to go on a tangent over which bore brush, which oil works best for which gun when one of you asked, probably, maybe won you over as much as you can be won. it was a side of him that was novel to you, a softer contrast to when you had first met him: self-assured, confident, a glowing red eye that makes you think ah, he’s as greedy to take in the world as you are.
that night in the living room with your hands grimy with oil after a clumsy spill, him concentrating on his current weapon, and the twins flitting around him like hummingbirds. you envied him as much as you were intrigued by him at first sight with the number of red lines attached to him where not even the most controversialpublic figure had that many. because what terrible things had he committed to garner such wrath many times over? how could he stand so tall even with hatred surrounding him and still let love in? you had wished to own that self-assuredness for yourself to face the world, to still let light in, and next to luke and kieran, he’s kind, he’s loved, and you added another ounce of your envy for him: that he had remained gentle through cruelty, and then you decided, when he had looked at kieran with barely restrained pride, you wanted to protect him, this version of him, in whatever way you could.
and that means, the twins back to safety in the present. at his silence, you add, “what? you promised you’ll watch the entire before sunrise trilogy with me. ’m not letting you skip that.”
you grab the keys for the jeep on the drawer for good measure and throw it for him to catch. the forecast mentioned rain earlier and it’s the one you’re sure has first aid replenished from a recent run. “come on. you’re driving as always.”
he chuckles as he catches up to you. “has anyone ever told you how demanding you are?”
“why, did you hear something?” you quip, letting him open the door as you walk past him.
in the car later where the twins are patched up and safe and dozing away their medication, you think of the twins’ relief at seeing sylus and start drafting plans of how to make sure he lives despite that death curse should he and his beloved one day cross paths. books to track, people to visit. the car rolls to a stop under a red light and you jerk out of your stupor at the touch of his hand on your cheek.
dried blood you didn’t even realize was there linger on his fingers and the moment breaks when the light turnsand the car moves, but at a different intersection, as the lights whizz past you, he says, “thank you.”
the words are clumsy and quiet compared to luke’s steady snoring in the background. his knuckles tense on the steering wheel, for what you don’t understand. the lingering anxiety and anger, maybe, from saving the twinsand paying back the ones who hurt them. a slow drizzle starts splattering the windshield matching the beat of your heart. “mm,” you hum, “don’t mention it.” n109’s roads are as bright as ever with its various led screens. a commercial on the latest tablet is playing and blurring into splotches of watercolor before the wipers swipe it into clarity again. something inside of you is buzzing. you drum it into something slower on the button that willroll down your windows. maybe the rain can cool you down with how warm you feel but you don’t want to get wet. “we’re rewatching the trilogy from the first one by the way.”
sensing his complaint, you add, “it’s called a marathon. not a start and pause.”
he shakes his head and presses the pedal. “you’re unbelievable.”
————-
curse-breaking is a lost art. no one really does it by trade. some might sell their services online, but at most, it’s a parody and a scam. true cases you’ve seen require either the caster to retract it, or a payment equivalent to fulfill the curse. like a vessel that’ll absorb the curse that you purposefully redirect it to so the balance in the universe is still upheld. even then, it doesn’t guarantee it would break such is the finicky thread of human emotions.
still, you’ve enjoyed reading stories about curses, historical accounts of curse breaking you can find amusement in at its inaccuracy to pass the time perhaps because life has marked you as one who can break it.
you’ve never done it nor study it. in a modern time, where most people think curses don’t actually exist, no one really has a need to learn the ancient arts. it’s a dying breed, but you know of a shop that trades knick-knacks fronting as a place for curse-breakers to apprentice. your mark burns sharper as you get closer to the shop, like some sort of twisted pied piper’s song for curse-breakers to be lured into which was how you found the shop years ago.
the sting dissipates when you step into the shop. truly, you grumble, what kind of wickedness do curse-breakers inherently possess?
no one is in the counter to your left spanning the length of the shop. you step in further, taking note of the rows and rows of jewels, pendants, amulets, signet rings on the display case, and the locked wooden drawers making up the wall behind it. you notice none of the objects in the shop emit a faint glow nor are there lines running throughout the shop. it’s blissfully clean. apprentice work, probably. you’ve never actually looked around the first time you stumbled into the shop and a woman with black hair had looked at you knowingly right before you turned tail and ran back into the night, your mark a dull pain on your ribs.
the door in the back of the shop with a frosted glass pane cracks open as you admire a magnifying glass, and a woman with white hair in a long gown walks out.
“she bet you would come back,” the white-haired woman says as she approaches you. instinctively, you take a step backwards. you’ve never cared about this power of yours, not when it seemed futile to care when people are careless with words and intentions when their emotions run high. it’s a sisyphean cycle with no reward to break curses that will eventually form the minute you look away over petty disagreements. you have no tolerance for it, but now, maybe, maybe it’s worth tapping into and in this shop, you can sense it means something to them. this power.
“would you be able to help me?” you force yourself to look into her eyes, black as the night outside.
a smile slants her face. “only if you can pay the price.”
————-
“tell me again,” sylus says. the movie drags on, the technicolor lights mapping the shadow of his face. truthfully, you’ve checked out from the movie five scenes ago when the characters start brawling in plain daylight. you have no tolerance to view plain hostility like that. the last movie you watched about wrestlers, you asked sylus if they were accurate in hopes to avoid looking at flying fists, and he had said to come to his boxing match to judge for yourself. you did and it solved nothing, and he had laughed when you told him about your observation, which is really stellar of him and much preferable than the version of him sitting next to you. “what is it like?”
the red lines around him are uncountable that it becomes its own canvas of red, but the black thread stands out just the same. you can dismiss it as a trick of the light, but it’s lighter in shade today, more maroon than outright black and you swallow your questions away. “you see people’s desires; i see people’s hatred in neon colors all the time.”
he looks at you then, one eye glowing and you let him read you even the parts you don’t understand yourself. a moment passes, the scene on the screen changes as the light flickering in his face dims. “take what you need,” he says.
maybe it’s what you both need after a close call of almost losing each other if luke and kieran were a split second too late to the extraction point. it’s mostly just the need to know the other is alive, you’re sure, nothing more and nothing less. you think about crossing the line and weigh it against your own need to know he is still alive against your own hands, how his way of offering comfort is also his way of asking for his own. you’ll let him consume you, you think, anything. “only if you do the same.”
————-
the price, it turns out, is just a lot of money and time. to research, to track an object, to be discreet and plan everything between your missions with sylus or the twins. it’s a pet project, of course, to find out how to break his curse. he never expressed it and you’ve never pushed; none of your conversations ever address his curse and eye or if you have tried breaking a curse instead of just seeing them. but if one day he wanted it gone, at least you’d have an option ready in the first place. something you can brush away as a birthday gift, if he ever asked, courtesy of a curse-breaker.
the shop had told you about the existence of a jade dagger, one carved millenniums ago, said to be auctioned where you currently are tonight helping out miss hunter and sylus’ joined mission. you’re not privy to the details of what they are looking for, but you set it aside to look for the dagger on the second floor of the auction halls after doing a sweep of the place. this has been a reoccuring theme – sylus and miss hunter going on missions – a tentative partnership, he had assured you when you ask if it was a wise decision to let the hunter’s association know about his whereabouts. you had taken it in stride because you know to not ask, and so you have thrown yourself instead to tracking the dagger down and doing your own research about the curse.
and it had led you here, placing the highest bid on the jade dagger strapped under your dress. nobody had to know you strayed a bit from your mission. he had only told you to stand by and do your normal sweep of assessing what might be worth buying and you’ve added his name to the list of bids you think would be worth acquiring.
you check in with luke and kieran, amd quickly, move towards the first floor where both of them were last seen. the orchestra plays something lively. the dance has started then and the auction is winding down to a close.
you first met sylus at an auction, not much different than the one you’re currently viewing. at that time, you had stopped at a painting in display – a medieval looking one of a dragon with a sword sticking out of his chest, and a princess on the other end of it. the plaque reads: “a fiend’s doomsday” credited to unknown. it sits in the west wing next to the organ where he’d only play one song every time. you haven’t heard him play in a while. every time you gaze at the painting listening to him play, melancholy eats at you and the painting comes alive in your head like a scene out from a movie, not much different than what is in front of you now: miss hunter and sylus on the dance floor, her dress billowing behind her as he twirls her.
you slow to a stop at the bottom of the steps as the crowd parts around them. the jade digging slightly into the soft flesh of your thigh. they make a stunning pair and for a moment, you find yourself entranced as the music fades until you spot someone from the corner of your eye dashing somewhere and the rumble overhead feels ominous. you calculate where he should be and the time of possible impact. your eyes widen. “sy-” you shout, covers be damned, whipping your head around to pinpoint the flash of red. you stumble to stay upright through the impact reverberating as the ceiling crumbles.
the screams fade to nothing. there’s a commotion around you as the power cuts. dust stings your eyes and you take in the faint reds of curses floating around you not dimmed by the light. multiple shoulders jostle past you so do streaks of red and white and pinks but you stay rooted, the last syllable of his name falling into ash in your mouth.
there in the middle of the darkness is his aethercore glowing red. his red outline holding miss hunter close. the dark maroon line snaking down his chest to her wrist. invisible to everyone but you.
the dagger shifts under your dress, the handle digging into your thigh like a brand. heavy and awful. a stone.
you get it now. the warnings from the sisters in the shop. love is the strongest curse there is. the hesitation on their faces. perhaps, they were right. perhaps, he doesn’t want to be saved.
miss hunter screams at him something indignant, probably about how she can handle herself. you watch the emotions on his face, this look of amusement and assuredness. her ankle twists over something in the midst of backing away, the maroon line jerks and his arms like a puppet clasping her back to him. you tune everything out.
you follow the red threads of sylus’ and the many guests who did not make it out in time and the objects, most of which extends to outside the building, out of sight, to guide your way out the dark. you don’t remember the trek back home.
————-
at the forest clearing, the twins who had begged to come with the both of you on your excursion to the north is befriending the herd of sheep native to the area. a couple of the sheep runs away from luke, who is chasing them with his mask on. maybe, terrorizing would be a better word.
you sigh into your drink as you lounge on the swing nearby. “you really should teach your kids some manners.”
“they have manners,” his voice amused behind you, where you have ordered him to stand so he can provide extra shade from the sun. not that there’s any with the canopy of the tree over you, but he had humored you anyway. a stray sheep approaches the both of you, bleeting once it deems itself a safe distance from you. you can feel his eyebrows raising. “unlike this one.”
you bite back a laugh. it wouldn’t do to choke on your drink. “don’t be mean, sy,” you reach out a hand to pet the sheep who is nuzzling your knees, its wool soft to the touch. “he’s harmless.”
the sheep bleats in agreement. or maybe a call since some of his friends start trodding over.
“calling for reinforcements when we’ve both been harmless is not an ideal display of sportsmanship,” he tuts.
“and since when do you have a stellar sportsmanship?”
one of the sheep snorts in reply.
you burst out laughing, slightly startling the few sheep that has gathered itself near the both of you. sylus’ slight frown makes you laugh harder.
“here,” you take his hand and direct it to the baby sheep looking up at him. “why don’t you pet them so they know how strong you are and how you should not be messed with. restore your reputation.”
“i wasn’t aware i had a reputation to restore,” sylus drawls, despite lowering himself to pet the sheep tentatively like he’s afraid it would run away the second his hands touch it. another sheep nudges the one he’s petting, waiting for a turn, and then another joins in crowding his hand.
“i think you need to work harder or else you’ll be known as a softie,” you tease, content with the lone one who decides to stand next to you.
the quiet settles around both of you and you wonder if he’s as content as you are in this moment. if trying to give a world that make him happy, memories that are soft, would be enough to make him reconsider throwing his life away so recklessly each time he has a mission with miss hunter. you don’t own him, you know. whatever he chooses to do is beyond you, but still. “hey, sylus,” you say, the wind carrying your voice as you smile at him. “thanks for coming with me.”
you remember him about to say something in reply until mephie flies in with a piercing caw, scattering all the sheep away including the one under your touch. he fluffs his feather on his perch on sylus’ shoulders, puffing his chest up and you snort at the silly bird’s jealousy. “or i guess your bird can win that fight for you.”
you’re not sure why it’s this memory intruding your thoughts while you take off your earrings and start prepping for bed. maybe because it was the first trip you had planned with the knowledge that the efficacy of breaking a death curse relies on the bearer to want to live or have enough happy memories to decrease the strain a death curse’s residual might have on the body. how you had stupidly, naively, believe that maybe if you can start making more happy memories for him, it can lighten the severity of the curse. you had a stray thought it was an ulterior motive of the shop sisters telling you she needed someone to go up north and take care of her sheep; an alternative, less destructive path than what breaking a death curse would usually entail.
birthdays, outings, small things like surprising him with his favorite record or knitting mephie silly clothes to wear that you both can laugh at, you’re not the most expressive person and all of this is foreign to you, but you try you suppose. nothing too out of the ordinary of the rhythm you’ve established, of course, you don’t have the heart to stomach it and you don’t think he’ll be receptive to it. and between how the n109 never sleeps, the pockets of time together are rare. and this all had happened months before he’d wind up on your bed, forever cementing your loyalty to him in more ways than one. months before you’ll watch from the sidelines as he throws himself in front of every danger meant for miss hunter, and perhaps it’s why you can let go and accept that he’d choose death for his beloved over any semblance of living with you.
you wipe away the stray tear that comes unbidden. you don’t even know where it’s coming from when you had just finished your skin care. setting your skincare to the side, you’re about to call it a night when the door opens and sylus barges in, collar open and tie askew. “you left first.”
“mm,” you fake a yawn and a stretch before getting into your bed, trying to get away from the smell of her perfume. “i was a bit tired.”
you did come to the auction by yourself while sylus arrived with miss hunter to maintain their cover and leaving at separate times isn’t new to how your joint-missions can be. you’re not sure why he’s bringing this up now when all you want is to sleep this weird day off.
“what’s this?”
on his hands, the jade dagger the shop sisters have warned you about owning – the consequences it can leave you with, which you think is a bit redundant considering you’re dealing with a death curse. of course, it’d have consequences. still, it doesn’t matter in the end. “a pet project,” you offer instead, which is not a lie technically, and you do occasionally have bouts of getting into something. back when you would frequent his bed and both of your routines were predictable enough to expect movie nights, he’d make a quip about your little projects he’d notice. embroidery, painting, cello, gardening, the list is endless. it should be believable enough he’d drop it.
his gaze turns assessing to the open books on your desk. it’s nothing that will lead him to connect the dots; all the texts that mentioned the death curse you have returned to the shop after that night you had asked him if he’d run away with you out of desperation and stupidity. only a general book on artifacts are laid out, and a handful of scrolls in languages you know he’s not fluent in, which the shop sisters have taught you – curse-breaker language, they dub it. you watch him look back at the dagger on his hands, and hope he will leave your room soon. maybe you’ll hand the dagger to the shop as a gratitude gift since it no longer matters.
“i’m keeping this,” sylus declares, pocketing it into thin air, a smirk on his face.
“okay,” you agree, lying down on the bed and closing your eyes, tired and exhausted in ways you’re not sure why. it doesn’t matter. he can have it too.
you wait for his footsteps so maybe you can do something to ease the weird chasm on your chest. you’re not sure what would fix it either, this weird itch to excavate your heart outside of your body, but you know it’s not something you can do when he’s still here. you count your breaths, long enough for you to start drifting and wonder if maybe he’s left, only to feel the heat of his body covering the length of yours. his shadow falling over you.
slowly, you open your eyes and meet his scarlet ones staring back. the scent of her perfume burns. “what do you want, sylus?”
a dozen quips seems to flit his mind, searching for one to land, but in the end he says nothing to break the silence of the room.
you sigh as you reach out, unbuttoning the second button of his shirt, the next one, and the next. his gaze a weight you try to bear as you keep your hands steady, focusing on the expanse of skin revealed to you. he’s pliant to your touch, letting you peel his shirt off and fling it somewhere across the room. her scent gone with it, but not his gaze. you avert your eyes, mustering a smile, like this is an everyday occurrence, a dance you both know. “come sleep,” you blindly pat the space next to you. you think this will be the last time, where you let your longing flay you open. tomorrow, you’ll box all your feelings away and maybe do something to dislodge the weight in your chest. but right now, you wait and count the seconds before he sinks into his side of the bed, exhale the relief in your chest that you can still take his warmth for yourself one last time and sink into the warmth he cradles you in as you drift off to sleep.
————-
a storm warning was issued for civilians to stay clear from the roads, cutting your eta by half. based on the text, luke and kieran is hiding in the trees a mile away from where you’re standing. a forest borders the clearing and it’s where they’ve been helping with long range shots. boss’ orders, they said, since he was supposedly meant to go alone. it wouldn’t do to lose the upper hand so you trek by foot the remaining miles after abandoning your car to one side of the road and pinging your arrival. hopefully the rain would cover any lingering engine sounds.
it’s a desolate rundown landscape ahead of you. a mountain in the backdrop as the only sign of life; everything else a wasteland turned muddy with the torrential downpour. wild grass up to your knees.
you stumble on one body, then two, then spot two hunter associations’ vehicle — one belonging to miss hunter who is standing next to her partner with silver hair who bears a resemblance to lumiere, and a transport van you suspect is loaded with weapons and gadgets meant to subdue sylus, if the electrical charge in the air isn’t proof enough. the air feels evol-dampening; a new device they’ve made like an emp but for evols covering a large enough radius to weaken an enemy at the cost of weakening yourself. the driver is slumped over like she’s sleeping. you suspect it’s the twins’ work tampering with the electrical signalling of her comms to subdue her a little with some neurotech they were excited about a few weeks ago.
there are bodies everywhere. at least, the hunter’s association was smart enough to send a team and not one person to subdue him. at least he had put up a fight, a traitorous thought swims in the back of your head.
in the distance, you hear more siren sounds. reinforcements. you’re at a disadvantage due to the location since it doesn’t provide a lot of coverage. the only time you have an advantage to turn this around is if you finish this before the reinforcements are here, 15 minutes out you’d guess. you survey the scene using the van as cover:miss hunter’s partner stands behind sylus, two swords on his back, miss hunter in front of him. it would be simple, you bemoan in your head, if sylus is willing to fight one of the two who remains standing but knowing who is on the other side of it, you know he won’t. you aim for miss hunter’s neck with your tranquilizer dart, the twins’ newest invention where it sinks to a person’s skin seamlessly, only to get a sword embedded right next toyou in the next second. the metal sings near your ear and you tense at the close call.
at least, he has one weapon down, but you know the calmest ones in battle are the deadliest and his sword still earns him the advantage. on hand to hand, sylus and him would probably equal but with the sword, short range would be trickier. your cheek cuts open. what a fine blade, you think. the blood trickles your cheek. it’s better than getting pinned by your ear you suppose. miss hunter trains her gun to your direction.
it’s deja vu, how you slide into the scene from the shadows, facing the other end of miss hunter’s barrel, only this time you have your own trained at her too, even if it’s not as harmful as hers.
“move,” she says, hands steady. you hear her partner unsheating his other sword behind sylus. “i have no business with you.”
“shouldn’t you be able to kill a civilian since your words mean nothing?” you tilt your head, gun trained at her,feigning innocence. it’s a low blow, but last time you checked they had an agreement to not out one another in their respective territories and now she decides no, her loyalty is to the association. your goal now is to drive her back so if she aims at sylus, her aim might have a higher chance of a miss. “i mean, you killing me or you killing him would be the same result. he writes my paycheck.” you jab a thumb towards sylus, cataloguing his state. smug bastard that he is offering no help, cockily putting his hands above his head like he’s happy to be hereinstead of recognizing a sword is under his throat.
“i should warn you. she does bite,” sylus says, unhelpfully. the sword biting into his neck. a red line of blood starting to flow like the one on your cheek. they won’t kill him, you realize, taking in miss hunter’s partner’s eyes flinting in disapproval or maybe the guy would have if he’s not under miss hunter’s watch. well, that’s an advantage.
you take a step forward, notice miss hunter’s partner tensing in the corner ready to strike and dare another step anyway. sylus has defended himself in worse situations. you’re just cornering the unpredictable variable, the one you know he won’t hurt, but is arguably the easier target to subdue. it’s the only reason he didn’t finish this in one-go. subduing her partner would work if miss hunter doesn’t have a gun on either of you since they nullified sylus’ evol and no one’s bulletproof anymore. if you subdue her first though, sylus has a fighting chance to get out of the swordman’s hold. a risk, maybe, since sword guy would go rabid too to avenge her if she was hurt. you don’t envy her for holding two leashes. “go on, shoot me,” you cajole. “it’s not the first time either, is it?”
miss hunter’s partner’s attention flicks over to her for a slight second. his blue eyes narrowing. ah, he doesn’t know about her excursion does he? “at least you can argue i am armed this time so let’s make it count,” you add with another step, close enough to see the slight wavering of her form as she fights the first dose of drugs and close enough for a sleight of hand to embed another tranquilizer dose on her. the gun trained to her only for show. she slaps your non-holding gun hand away with her gun, causing the trigger to shoot one to the distance, and it kickstarts the skirmish. with her front open to you, you kick her in the chest, shoot your stun gun in her direction, and she stumbles back. something crunches behind you. the swing of a sword meeting flesh. the wet sound of it. sluggish as she is with the drugs in her system, she fights back when you aim to dislodge her gun and when it clatters, you turn to aim at her partner, whose nose is bleeding. the sickening crunch earlier must have been sylus headbutting him, who is also bleeding down his arm. she tries to subdue you with her remaining strength, but you shake her increasingly sluggish body away, leaving her to the ground as you watch how sylus had distanced himself from her partner, whose remaining sword is now missing. both their fists bloody.
you move closer to the pair, keeping your aim at the swordsman, waiting for an opening. sylus turns his body slightly to avoid the jab towards him, his eyes meet yours, briefly widening, and you shoot your shot.
two shots ring out and your world tilts.
a wet cough and blood on the ground.
blood wet on your chest.
you hear rather than see miss hunter’s gun clattering behind you and numbly you shoot another one to her partner still fighting the drugs. they’re out cold for now.
sylus, though. sylus falls towards you. heavy and bleeding, and smiling stupidly. you let gravity take both of you down and cradle him as you frantically open his shirt to try to stop the bleeding. “someone’s feeling hasty,” he rasps.
“stop talking, you stupid oaf,” you focus on putting pressure on the wound, ignoring the wet feeling of his blood on your hands soaking through the fabric as you rip more of your clothing to add to it. distantly you hear luke and kieran finally making their way out of hiding, hotwiring the car of the hunter’s association. the storm rumbling overhead.
sylus places his hand on top of yours, the one marred with his blood over his gasping chest, over the maroon thread tying him to another soul, and his usual warmth is non-existent, does not thaw the stone that is yourself. only my beloved can kill me. the splutters around a mouthful of blood, “run away with me.”
he’s the cruelest person you’ve ever known. “anywhere,” you reply, voice tight as you watch his eyes close.
you help the twins lug his body to the car, not sure how to tell them you’re not sure if he’ll make it, if you had just said goodbye, and in the commotion, the jade dagger falls from his pocket and cracks on the wasteland.
————-
you like to lie and sylus endures it.
“your funeral was a chore,” you pack his bags, back turned against him, grumbling all the while. “too many guests. honestly, who’s going to run this town after?”
the first time he met you was not by the painting, but by the poker table, where you reveal your royal flush as opposed to his full house. he knew you knew he was cursed because unlike the rest of the table who greets him warmly, scooting to make space for him to sit, or the fear and intimidation he is often on the receiving end of, his eye tells him you wanted to know who cursed him and curiosity becomes a two way street.
you are flippant in your loyalty. following him without question to save the twins and expecting nothing in return. you always say it doesn’t matter, but it’s the first time someone helped him carry the burden of protecting his hoard. you say you’ll take as much as he’s taking and yet you placed your heart on a jade dagger and said, it doesn’t matter. it’s a pet project. you’re the cruelest person he knows.
even now, with his bandage aroind his torso more for show than anything after his evol had returned to suture his own wounds just fine, you’re pushing him to rest, not letting him any say in all of this.
well, he smiles as he watches you root through his closet, it’s not like he can blame you.
“what?” you turn around, finally facing him. “why are you smiling like that?” you frown further, rushing to his side.“is the dosage too high? or do you need more? i'll page kieran –”
he chuckles, opting to pull your wrist down to silence you until you flail on top of him. huffy and indignant. you restrain yourself from punching him, which is sweet, he supposes. “sylus,” you glare at him. “let me go. ‘s not good for you.” his torso aches slightly since he wasn’t able to heal it immediately with his evol and had to rely on modern medicine to do its job for the first half of it, so despite the scarring gone, even his flesh can feel painhe supposes. still, he wraps his arm around you, silencing your protest to leave. he’ll take discomfort if it means you’re next to him.
“ask me again,” he implores, his other hand cupping your face. anything to get your eyes to look at him so he can set it right. a lifetime ago, in this same bed, when you had asked that question, and he had been taken aback by the vulnerability he didn’t think you’ll ever let him see, even when he had offered you all of him to take months ago. you knew he was cursed and you never asked, and yet, you had given him acceptance in turn, and the moment had passed before he could make it right. something had splintered then, he knew, the slight distance you insist didn’t exist, you sneaking aorund, your door closed but the light under the door would burn warm when he got back later than anticipated. he noticed, of course, he did.
only he thought, he’d give you the space you clearly need. he knows better than most the armor you wear. he wears it too, after all, and perhaps it’s why this dance has went on much longer than he anticipated. he assumed you knew his loyalty is to you the way you offered yours to him, but clearly he needs to remediate that. “ask me again,” he repeats, softly.
your eyes flicker down to his chest. he does not know what you’re seeing. his curse line, maybe, whatever form it takes. he never asked, and you never offered to describe what his curses look like, but whenever he held you close you’d always place your hand in the same area. it burnt when he had taken that bullet for you, it burnt the first time he almost lost you for good and offered himself to you to take. it hummed when he picked up the jade dagger and he had understood then what you were hiding behind his back. it’s a dull ache now and even he can sense the ache feels more tender than a sharp pain of dissonance. maybe the curse shifted. he still doesn’t know what the jade dagger was supposed to do and maybe one day you’ll teach him about your world, about how you see it beyond what you’ve told him, but right now, you have no idea how the curse never mattered to him. he may be fated to carry it, but he chooses you if you’ll have him.
selfishly, he wants you to say it. selflessly, he wants you to ask it for yourself. take what you need.
you press your trembling hand over his heart. his heart aches. “sylus,” your eyes resolute when you meet his even if your voice wavers. you don’t know how much he wishes to ruin you. “would you run away with me?”
he threads his fingers with yours. you should know by now there is no love more purer than mine. but that will come later, he has all the time in the world to convince you of it. “always.”
———————————————————————
end notes:
happy birthday sylus. this was originally supposed to be angstier where one of them did not make it (yes two alternate endings) but since it's his birthday, i'll give them a kinder one.
first story in a while, very nervous. thank you to everyone who was very enthusiastic about this idea. originally, i was going to update the sylus series but i know if i don't upload this before the ending of sy series, this won't ever go out so despite how rough this is, i hope you can enjoy it just the same. that is still on the calendar i just needed to get this out first.
You knew Caleb had a breed kink - it was why you just had a baby after all.
He loves to grab your hips in his hands and rail his fat cock inside your walls, loves to fold you in half in a mating press and shove his cum in those walls that grip him so good. Loves seeing your tummy bulge with how deep he's buried - fuck Caleb even likes those cute stretch marks you get when you're pregnant.
"Pregnant with my baby," he'd moan, kissing your tummy, lavishing those sensitive nipples and moaning, his eyes damn near black. Caleb loved getting his pretty Pips pregnant, but what you didn't know was how much he'd love sucking your nipples.
You were so embarrassed when he'd had you riding his cock just a little over a month after your baby - just in time to be cleared for sex, and he'd leaned up and squished your tits in his huge hands - rough from years of training. Calloused thumb swirling your nipple as his cock made you re learn its shape, those violet eyes dilated.
"That's it, slutty cunt missed me, huh Pips?" He whispered, sitting up and dragging you down on his girthy length, sucking a nipple into his hot mouth. "mmm..."
That's when Caleb tasted your milk for the first time, moaning and sucking harder, making you dizzy from how sore they were from breastfeeding. You'd tugged at those soft brown locks of hair, trying to get him to stop, but Caleb was drunk off your damn taste.
"It's so sweet, fuck..." he'd dragged you down and you rolled your hips, head falling back for more of his rough suction, his mouth quickly moving to the other, milk just dripping down his lips. "Fuck I can't get enough."
"Y-you can't... Caleb..." You sucked in a breath through your teeth. "Fuck feels s'good... ngh!"
After that Caleb was just done for, every chance he got once you put the baby to bed he was sucking your milk, you'd brush his hair back and arch for more, especially when his fingers fucked into your sore little cunt. "Caleb you can't just drink it all!"
"I can't help it," he grins up at you now, fingers scissoring in and out of your messy cunt. "You love it, hmm?"
"N-no," you're lying and he knows, you blush when you do, but when he sucks again you fucking soak him, letting him drink all your sweetness right down his thirsty throat.
"Mmm... gonna make you a mommy again..."
"Again!?" He's chuckling, literally drunk from your tits that are so full, pulling back and kissing you, letting you taste it, hands gripping them rougher to make them drip more. "Ngh!"
"Need them to stay full, honey," he's swirling the beads of milk around your areolas, sighing. "So pretty, and your tummy all full, round with me again?"
"N-not this quick," he has your thighs spread with the fat head of his cock gliding through your syrupy mess, hair falling over a brow - he looks all cute and boyish when he's being a deviant. "Caleb, please..."
"Please what, honey? Use your words," he whispers, teasing your cunt even more with the tip - barely pressing in just to pull back with a filthy pop of that ridge slipping from your greedy hole. "No baby this soon, want me to pull out, too?"
"No, no," he smirks and shoves his cock fully inside, bottoming out with a sharp thrust, groaning at the sight of your tummy moving with him. His fingertips brush your little stretchies from the baby hungrily.
"All mine, my baby inside you again, huh? You want my cock, my cum, want me to wreck your insides pretty?"
"Please, please," you're lost when he's doing just that, fucking into you and squeezing your tits, your milk squirting down and dripping for his hungry mouth, making him moan as he slurps it all up. Your nails dig into his back, making him even thicker inside you.
"Gonna keep you pregnant - hah," he's grinning against your skin, swirling that milk all around and fucking your cunt harder, watching your cute fucked out little expressions. "Keep drinking you, make you a mommy over and over. Yeah, Pips?"
You're dazed and fucked out, just how Caleb likes you. "Mhm."
"Such a good girl f'me," you melt under the praise, cunt spasming when he flips you on top and tugs you down, putting your tits right back in his face. "Lemme drink more, please?"
How he can give you violet puppy dog eyes while sucking all your milk and pumping more cum in you unprotected - well it's just a problem.
****
well my ovulation had to go to Caleb in anticipation of his myth tmrw - blame @uhnosav for this too hehe
The World Is Cruel But I Still Love You @rae-221 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
