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[mwphisto]

LaDs: Things I think they do during sex

~ just like many others, I have no real explanation behind writing this. Just one of many thoughts that struck my noggin

Sylus grabs fistfuls of your ass like it’s a toy. I’m talking both hands are encompassing your ass and pulling, squeezing, damn near ripping your cheeks apart. He’s fucking obsessed. Especially when he feels it moving as you bounce on his cock, his grip on your ass being the driving force of your movements because you’re damn near dumb as this point. He likes it that way, though. Good luck.

Caleb sniffs his fingers after he’s done fingering you. He’ll lick them clean too, don’t you worry, but oh he’s inhaling the sent of your cunt like it’s the finest aphrodisiac he’s ever encountered. He’d fucking use it as his own personal cologne if he could, he’s even tried and you smack his hands away before he could.

Rafayel is INNIT, oh he’s entire face suffocated in that pussy. I’m talking about your slick on his mouth, his chin, his nose, his fucking forehead. That man is diving in and he is drowning, not even the world ending could pull him away from your cunt before he’s ready. Hell, he’ll tie your hands to the bed frame so you quit trying to push him off of your poor sensitive cunt.

Zayne cums all over your back. He loves creampies too, but fuck does he love seeing your body smeared in his cum. His personal favorite is your back, of course, but he also loves covering your tits in his cum and then licking them squeaky clean. Also, cumming on your ass and then spreading your cheeks so he can watch it dribble down before plunging his cock back in, shoving some of the cum in too.

Xavier likes to ruin your clothes. Like yeah, you have sex stark naked. But something about fucking you stupid when you’re both still half dressed? Seeing the physical wetness of your arousal staining his swears or ruining your sleep shorts? Careful, he might purposely cum on your favorite sleep shirt just to see the stains form.

[mwphisto]

imagine struggling to ride valko cause he's just so big so sylus settles behind you and holds your waist and bounces you on valkos cock like a toy

Sylus and Valko comparing dicks, lining them up to see who’s bigger. Using a measuring tape to see who’s got a bigger girth, jotting down the exact length of their dicks both hard and soft (if you can even keep them soft long enough to measure) Valko having to use three whole fingers to fuck you open, whining when Sylus squeezes more lubricant out from a bottle. Not that you’re not wet enough as it is, b it even Sylus has to admit the wolf is large. Some extra slick wouldn’t hurt, though Valko worries he’ll cum sooner.

Getting you on Valko’s cock and the stretch of him is actually bordering painful. But that delicious kinda pain where you can’t help but keep going. Like when you scratch a bug bite you’re not supposed to or clench your teeth when you have a toothache, that kinda pain that hurts so bad but somehow feels so, so good? 🤤

Sylus bouncing you on Valko’s cock, angling his own dick between your ass cheeks and rutting up between them at the same steady pace. Leaking precum all over your cheeks and lower back, grunting into your skin all the while. Telling you that you’re taking him so good, and that the wolf should be so proud but Valko is fucked too dumb to even form a thought never-mind get words out

[chaacoonnee]

✩ thin ice

“Your big brother won't touch you...but he can touch me. Can’t you, Caleb?” “...Yes.” “And I can touch her. Can’t I, kitten?” “Yes.” “Then look at that...look at how convenient that is.”

synopsis: your boyfriend is a hockey star. your brother is his rival. you’re tired of playing referee between them—until sylus decides he wants to be the one in the middle.

wc: 8.8k | ao3

tags: explicit sexual content, pseudocest, proxyfucking, kissing, dry humping, cunnilingus, spit as lube, voyeurism, vaginal intercourse, missionary, creampie, aftercare

a/n: help, i’ve fallen for gegecest-enabler sylus "just the tip" qin and i can’t get up……..

“You’re dripping.”

Caleb cracks one eye open. The bag of frozen peas you set at his neck fifteen minutes ago has gone soft, condensation tracking down his throat and disappearing into the collar of his henley.

“I’ll get him a new couch.”

You cross your arms and raise a brow. “With what money.”

“He can add it to my tab. Right under the chiropractor bill.”

“Careful with the tab, captain,” Sylus warns drily. “I’m very creative about collecting, and I’m starting to think you enjoy owing me.”

Caleb chucks a pillow across the room. Sylus catches it without flinching and tucks under his arm like he won it fair.

“You boys—” you look between Sylus, settled into his armchair like a throne, and Caleb, sprawled on the couch “—are going to play nice.”

“We’re behaving,” Sylus says.

“Barely,” Caleb adds.

Sylus shrugs. “Barely counts.”

They’ve been like this since tonight’s game. Before the game, actually. Since the first time they met on the ice two seasons ago, since something sparked between them the first time your brother knocked your boyfriend flat on his ass only for the silver-haired menace to come up smiling.

Tonight’s third period had been ugly. Caleb’s team down two, Sylus’s team running clock, and somewhere around the seven minute mark Caleb had taken Sylus into the boards in a way that could have looked accidental from the cheap seats and looked extremely on purpose from the bench. Sylus answered with his fists. The refs let them go for longer than they should have. Both were ejected, and you’d watched them get walked off in opposite directions like dogs separated mid-fight while five thousand people screamed.

You’d had the idea on the walk back to your dorm. Stupid. Catastrophically stupid.

Come over, you’d texted Caleb. Sylus’s place.

Three bouncing dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. He’d called you instead.

“You’re out of your mind, pips.”

“Probably.”

“Meimei.”

“Gege.”

He released a long, suffering breath. “Why?”

“Because I love you and I love him and I’m so tired of being caught in the middle like this.”

“He gave me a split lip.”

“You gave him a bloody nose.”

“And you think this is a fix?”

“I think it’s a try.”

He showed up an hour later, of course. You’d never asked Caleb for something he didn’t give you.

“How’s the nose,” Caleb says without opening his eyes.

Sylus touches the bridge of his nose, more out of habit than concern. “Fine.”

“Shame. Could’ve sworn I did more damage.”

“You always did overestimate your impact.”

“Overestimate?” Caleb’s eyes finally open. “I’ll overestimate my fist up your—”

“Okay!” you interrupt, lifting both hands in surrender. “New rule.”

“This should be good,” Sylus says under his breath.

“Each of you has to say one nice thing about the other,” you announce. “One. Single. Nice. Thing. And then we can move on with our evening like adults.”

“I am being an adult,” Sylus counters. “I haven’t poisoned his drink.”

You scoff. “That’s baseline human decency.”

“For me, sweetie, it’s generous.”

Caleb snorts. It’s the first sound he’s made in Sylus’s direction that isn’t hostile, and you watch Sylus clock it with a small flicker at his eyebrow.

“Caleb,” you say. “You first.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re in his apartment drinking his whiskey and bleeding on his furniture, and I think that earns him a compliment.”

Caleb stares at the ceiling for a long second, jaw working, like you’ve asked him to move a mountain with his bare hands.

“He’s fast,” Caleb says, finally.

“Fast,” you repeat.

“On the ice. He’s fast. Faster than he should be for his size.” Caleb pauses. “It’s annoying. Like a cockroach.”

“That’s not exactly a compliment.”

“It’s adjacent.”

You look at Sylus. “Your turn.”

Sylus takes a sip of whiskey, holding it in his mouth for a moment as he turns over his options. He swallows and tilts his glass toward Caleb.

“He doesn’t quit.”

Caleb glances over.

“Down two,” Sylus says. “Most players know when they’re beaten. He apparently lacks that particular survival instinct. Played the last seven minutes like he could bully the scoreboard into changing.” He takes another sip. “It was irritating.”

“So we’ve established you’re both fast and stubborn and you hate each other for it,” you say. “Wonderful. Truly groundbreaking diplomacy.”

“You asked for one nice thing,” Sylus says, swirling his glass. “That was one nice thing.”

“That was one nice thing wrapped in three mean ones.”

“What can I say? I’m efficient.”

“You’re efficiently a prick,” Caleb fires back.

“Mm,” Sylus hums, entirely unbothered. “Is that what you say when you don’t have a comeback, or is that what you say when your sister’s watching and you want her to think you’re tough?”

Caleb sits up. Drains his whiskey in one go, sets the glass on the table, and lets the bag of peas slide from his neck and thud to the floor.

“Watch it, pretty boy,” he says, eyes narrowed.

“It’s a genuine question. Because you do the same thing on the ice. All those big hits, the scrapping, mouthing off at the refs. It’s very impressive. Very masculine. Especially when she’s sitting third row.” Sylus tilts his chin toward you without taking his eyes off your brother. “Must be exhausting, carrying a crush that obvious for that long. I’m surprised she hasn’t said something.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“She’s a kind girl. Probably doesn’t want to embarrass you.”

“I said shut your mouth.”

“Or maybe she likes it. Having her big brother panting after her like a dog at the door every time she—”

“That’s enough!” you yell.

Both sets of eyes snap to you. You’re not one to raise your voice, and they both know it. You don’t know what you’re going to say next until you’re already saying it, and by then it’s too late:

“If you can’t talk it out, maybe you should just kiss and make up.”

You know it sounds wrong the second it leaves your mouth. You’re tired and tipsy and your brother and your boyfriend are having a conversation about you like you’re not in the room, and all you wanted was for them to stop, and what resulted was the dumbest sentence you’ve said in your entire life.

You try to chase it with a laugh that doesn’t quite land. The room doesn’t laugh with you.

You scramble to walk it back. “Kidding. Obviously. God, your faces. I’m going to get more ice—”

Sylus sets his glass down. The sound of crystal on marble is small, though it lands like a gavel.

“Interesting,” Sylus says.

“I was joking,” you reply, too fast.

“Were you.”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

Sylus rises from the armchair, crossing to the couch in three steps. He holds out a hand to Caleb.

“What the hell are you doing?” Caleb asks.

“She asked us to make up,” Sylus says simply. “I’m making up. Stand up, captain.”

“You’re out of your goddamned mind.”

“She’s been mediating between us all night, and she’s running out of patience.” Sylus’s hand is still extended, patient and unmoving. “Your poor sister has spent two years trying to keep us from killing each other. The least we can do is give her what she wants for a few seconds.”

Caleb tries to look unbothered, but you catch this jaw tightening at your poor sister. ”She was being sarcastic.”

“Was she?” Sylus glances at you over his shoulder. “Sweetie. Were you being sarcastic?”

You should say yes. You should laugh it off and go get more ice and let the night fade into something survivable.

You just can’t seem to make yourself do anything at all.

Sylus turns back to Caleb, eyebrow raised. See?

“Fine,” Caleb says. “Fine. One kiss.”

He doesn’t take Sylus’s hand. He stands up on his own, because of course he does, and squares up in front of Sylus with his shoulders braced like he’s about to take a penalty shot.

“One kiss,” Caleb repeats.

“One kiss,” Sylus agrees.

Sylus cups the side of Caleb’s face, thumb settling by the butterfly bandage at his brow. Caleb swallows hard, but doesn’t pull away.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Sylus teases. “It’s a kiss. We’ve gotten more physical over a little black puck.”

Caleb’s hands curl into fists at his sides, his face carefully impassive. “Get on with it, pretty boy.”

Sylus leans in and kisses him.

It starts as nothing. A closed-mouth press, chaste, just sufficient enough to satisfy your request. Sylus’s hand stays at Caleb’s jaw. Caleb’s hands stay at his sides. It’s two men doing something for the benefit of a third person they both care deeply about, and nothing more than that.

Then Caleb’s mouth moves.

It’s the smallest shift—his lower lip catches against Sylus’s, and you watch Sylus notice it—tilting his head to change the angle, transforming the kiss from nothing to everything in the span of a heartbeat.

Caleb’s hand comes up to Sylus’s collar, fisting the cotton there. Not pulling, just holding, his split knuckles going white behind their tape. Sylus makes a small sound, approval or surprise or both. His hand slides from Caleb’s jaw to the back of his neck and he deepens the kiss, mouth opening against Caleb’s slowly, like he’s afraid to startle him, afraid for the moment to vanish, and Caleb lets him.

The kiss isn’t for you anymore.

You can see the exact moment it stops being a performance and starts being something private. Caleb’s other hand comes up, both fists in Sylus’s shirt now. Sylus’s fingers curl into the hair at Caleb’s nape, tugging gently. The sounds shared between them are wet and obscene and utterly, nakedly honest.

Your hands are in your own lap, fingers laced tightly together. You’re watching your boyfriend kiss your brother and the thing you're feeling isn't jealousy or shock or any of the things you are supposed to feel. What you feel instead is heat pooling low, the kind that makes you press your thighs together and the friction of your jeans agonizing.

Sylus pulls back first, turning his head just enough to look at you. His eyes scan yours, drop to your lap, then return to your face. His mouth tilts, and he’s beside you on the couch in three strides.

Caleb stands frozen in place, mouth still slightly open.

Sylus pats the empty space beside him. “Sit down, captain.”

Caleb sits.

Sylus settles between you, one arm stretched across the back behind your shoulders, the other behind Caleb’s.

“Well,” Sylus says to no one in particular. “That was overdue.”

Caleb is staring at the muted TV, jaw working, suddenly captivated by what might be the least consequential Division III basketball game of all time. His lip is bleeding again, the split reopened from the kiss, but he makes no move to wipe it clean.

“Caleb,” you say.

“Don’t.”

“Your lip—”

“I know.”

“It’s bleeding again.”

“I know, pips.”

Sylus reaches over and swipes his thumb across the corner of Caleb’s mouth, catching the blood. Caleb flinches but doesn’t pull away. Sylus studies his thumb for a second, then wipes it on his own jeans, satisfied.

“Good kisser, by the way,” Sylus says lightly. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Caleb closes his eyes.

“Very direct. Bit aggressive. Holds on like he’s afraid you’ll leave.” Sylus glances your way. “You should try it, sweetie.”

Whatever lust-drunk haze you were in is sliced clean through by the implication, cold and brutally sobering.

“Try what,” you murmur.

“Kissing him,” Sylus clarifies. “You should try it. I think you’d like it.”

Heat floods your face. “Sylus.”

“Hm?”

“You know we can’t—that he’s—” you gesture vaguely between yourself and Caleb, then toward Sylus. “—and we’re—”

“Why not? Because we’re dating?” Sylus asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Or because he’s your brother?”

Your stomach falls through the floor.

Because you thought you’d hidden it. You’ve been so goddamn careful—with your eyes, your hands, the way you angle your body when Caleb sits too close and the way you laugh at his jokes exactly as long as a friend would and not one second longer. And Sylus just picked up everything you’ve been hiding and set it on the coffee table between the three of you, and now you’re all staring straight at it, and there’s no putting it back.

“Both,” you say. “Obviously both.”

“What if it’s neither,” Sylus says, holding both of you in the loose parentheses of his arms, as if he doesn’t find any of this complicated at all. ”What if the problem is that you’ve both wanted each other for so long you’ve turned it into something you’re not allowed to have, and the not-being-allowed has gotten so big you can’t see past it anymore.”

Caleb is staring blankly at the TV again. His throat works around his response.

“She’s your girlfriend, Sylus.”

“She is.”

“And I’m her—”

“You’re her brother. Yes. You’re also in love with her. We all know this. We’ve known it all night. We knew it long before tonight.” Sylus inspects his nails, nonchalant. “So let’s stop building the case and move to the verdict, shall we?”

“Sylus,” you whisper.

“Sweetie. Look at me.” You do. He’s giving you the look he gives when he wants your full attention, a look he doesn’t use often and one you’ve never been able to refuse. “Listen to me. Both of you. I’m going to say something, and I’m going to say it once, and after I say it neither of you gets to pretend you didn’t hear.”

You nod. So does Caleb, in sync, and you watch the small flicker pass across Sylus’s eyes that means he noticed.

“Your big brother won’t touch you,” Sylus says to you. “You know that. I know that. He knows that. He’s spent—how long, Caleb?”

Caleb blinks up at the ceiling.

“How long,” Sylus insists.

“Since I was thirteen.”

“Since he was thirteen. All those years deciding he’s not going to touch you. He’s not going to undo that tonight. Not for me. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Your heart beats so heavily you’re certain the whole room can hear it.

“But,” Sylus continues. His arm tightens behind your shoulders. His other arm tightens behind Caleb’s. “He can touch me. Can’t you, Caleb?”

“...Yes.”

“And I can touch her. Can’t I, kitten?”

“Yes.”

“Then look at that. Look at how convenient that is.”

Caleb leans out of Sylus’s reach, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “Did I knock something loose up there, Qin? Lay into you a little too hard tonight?”

“Not nearly hard enough.” Sylus smirks, the amusement fading into something more focused. “Nobody touches anybody they’re not supposed to touch tonight. Everybody goes home having had exactly the experience they pretend they didn’t want.”

“That’s a nice speech. You rehearse that in the penalty box?”

“I had five minutes. Figured I’d make good use of them.”

“You’re delusional.”

“And you’re still here.”

That lands. You see it hit in the way Caleb’s mouth opens and stays there, the argument dying in his throat. Because he could leave. The door is right there. He has a car. A phone. Yet he’s sitting under Sylus’s arm and hasn’t taken a single step toward any of them.

Sylus sees it, too.

He reaches up and catches Caleb’s jaw, thumb finding the split in his lower lip, and presses into it. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to feel.

Caleb hisses through his teeth. His hand wraps around Sylus’s wrist but doesn’t pull it away.

“Unless,” Sylus says, his thumb resting in the seam of Caleb’s mouth, “you’d rather go back to arguing about hockey.”

Caleb doesn’t argue. He doesn’t say yes, or nod, or do anything at all except sit there with Sylus’s thumb against his lip and his hand around Sylus’s wrist and his chest rising and falling faster than it ever has on the ice.

That’s enough for Sylus.

He tilts Caleb’s jaw down and kisses him, tongue working in slow and unhurried strokes, like he has the whole night and intends to use every second of it. His thumb slides to the hinge of Caleb’s jaw and rests there. His other hand stays on your shoulder, keeping you close. Keeping you watching. A warm, heavy, point of contact that says stay and watch this and you are not going to look away from what I’m doing to your brother’s mouth.

Caleb’s hand finds the back of Sylus’s neck, and you inhale sharply.

Sylus pulls back at your gasp. His hand leaves Caleb’s jaw and finds yours with the same grip, thumb at the corner of your mouth, fingers curving under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes scan yours, and something in his expression comes alive and hungry.

“Open, sweetie.”

He kisses you, and it’s a kiss you know. The shape of his mouth, the pace, the pressure of his tongue against yours. You’ve kissed this man so many times you could map it blindfolded.

But there’s something in his mouth that isn’t his.

It takes you a second to place it, a warmth that doesn’t belong to Sylus. A faint copper edge that blooms on your tongue when his presses against it. The blood of a split lip. Caleb’s, carried on your boyfriend’s tongue, delivered to yours with each stroke. You whimper against his mouth, and feel Sylus smile into the kiss—a small, satisfied flex that says his hypothesis just proved correct.

“There,” he says quietly, pressing a parting kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Now you’ve had him, too.”

On the couch behind him, Caleb’s eyes are focused on your face—specifically on your mouth, more specifically on the place where his blood is still sitting on your lower lip and you haven’t wiped it off.

“Now,” Sylus says, turning back to Caleb. “Your turn, captain.”

Caleb opens his mouth and Sylus kisses him, tongue sweeping wet and slow and thorough. Caleb’s teeth close around Sylus’s bottom lip and hold, pulling, tasting the sweetness that’s sitting on Sylus’s lip from yours. The bite pulls a low sound from Sylus’s throat, his eyelids fluttering at the pressure, and Caleb doesn’t let go. If anything he sucks harder, desperately chasing your mouth the only way he’s allowed to. 

Sylus finally pulls back with noticeable effort, running his tongue over his own lip where its newly swollen.

“Well?” Sylus asks, amused and knowing. “Could you taste her?”

“Apple.” Caleb swallows. “Green apple.”

The words hit you hard and low. Your Chapstick. The one he’s bought for you in bulk since you were in middle school and keeps in his glovebox because you always lose yours. The one he tosses into your lap without comment every time you get in his car, the one you reapplied before walking into this apartment.

“Yeah,” Caleb says, rougher. “Yeah, I could taste her.”

Sylus’s mouth curves. “Good.”

“Again,” Caleb says to Sylus, not asking. “Kiss her again.”

Sylus obliges. He turns to you and claims your lips, longer, dirtier, a thin strand of spit connecting your mouths when he pulls away. He turns to Caleb, who catches it with his mouth before Sylus finishes turning, desperate and graceless and nothing like the controlled athlete who commanded the ice earlier tonight. Caleb’s hand comes up to the back of Sylus’s head and holds him there, kissing him harder, letting Sylus feed him the taste of you, only pulling apart when his lungs burn for air.

“More,” Caleb groans.

Sylus huffs a laugh. “Greedy.”

“More, Sylus.”

The rhythm turns hypnotic. Sylus kisses Caleb, turns, kisses you. Kisses you, turns, kisses Caleb. Each pass filthier than the last, a little more urgent, carrying more of your brother to you—not just his taste but his small, wet sounds, his shallow breaths, the barely-held-back noises he keeps making against Sylus’s tongue that Sylus carries to you like gifts.

You don’t know how you end up pressed together.

Caleb’s thigh is flush against Sylus’s, their shoulders overlapping. You’ve managed to end up in your boyfriend’s lap, straddling his hips. And Sylus keeps one hand on each of you the entire time, one at your hip now, the other on Caleb’s bicep.

You lean in after one of the passes and catch Sylus’s mouth before he’s fully turned away from Caleb, the kiss off-center and messy, and you taste Caleb so strongly that your hips buck against Sylus’s.

Sylus laughs. He gives your ass a teasing smack.

“Bedroom,” he says.

Caleb pulls back, eyes widening. “Sylus—”

“We’re moving this to the bedroom. This couch costs more than your car, and your sister’s about to ruin it.”

You frown. “I am not—”

“Sweetie, your hand is on his belt.”

You look down. Your hand is, in fact, on Caleb’s belt.

Not through Sylus, just—your hand, on Caleb’s belt buckle, fingers curled around the leather, and you don’t remember putting it there and you don’t remember Sylus guiding it, and you’re dangerously close to not remembering why this whole thing was ever a bad idea in the first place.

You pull your hand away like it’s been burned.

“Bedroom,” Sylus repeats, an order rather than suggestion. He stands, bringing you with him, your legs wrapped around his waist. He eyes Caleb and tips his head toward the hallway. “Now.”

Nobody argues.

Sylus’s bedroom is all dark wood and low light, with a bed that takes up most of the space. It’s a mattress you’ve been on a hundred times. You know how the sheets feel bunched in your fists, how the pillow positions your hips at just the right angle when he puts it under your stomach, how the comforter feels around your shoulders when he tucks you in with a kiss to your temple.

You have no idea how different it’ll feel with three people on top of it.

Sylus deposits you in the middle of the bed before crossing to his nightstand. 

“Caleb,” Sylus says. He turns the lamp down another notch. “In or out. I won’t ask twice.”

You watch your brother from the doorway, his gaze flicking to and away from you, like the sight of you—leaning back on your elbows, lips kiss-swollen, hair a little mussed, eyes alive and wanting—is too much to bear.

He steps in, locking the door behind him with a loud click. “I’m doing this for her.”

“Of course you are,” Sylus says.

“I mean it, Sylus. This isn’t—I’m not here for you.”

“Nobody asked you to be.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Sylus reaches behind his neck, pulling his shirt up and over his head. “Clothes. Off. Both of you.”   

“All of them?” Caleb asks, still lingering by the door.

Sylus drapes his shirt over the back of his desk chair. “Leave the underwear. We’re not animals.”

“Debatable,” you mutter, and Sylus’s mouth twitches.

The three of you strip in silence, shirts tossed aside, all three pairs of jeans hitting the floor at different speeds— Sylus’s first, folded; yours next, kicked off the edge of the bed; Caleb’s last, shoved down and stepped out of.

You’ve seen your brother shirtless—at the beach, after a shower, when he mows the lawn in the dead of August. What you haven’t seen is your brother in gray boxer briefs that do nothing to hide the way his erection strains against the fabric, tight enough that you can tell where the head of his cock meets the shaft, that you can see the darkened spot at the tip where precum bleeds through.

Caleb catches you staring, eyes finding yours and holding them until you’re the one that breaks. Your cheeks burn violently, fingers fumbling with your bra clasp like you’ve forgotten how it works.

“Eyes up, captain,” Sylus warns, moving to the foot of the bed. “She’ll still be there in a minute.”

“You going to coach me through this like it’s a power play?” Caleb grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If that’s what it takes. You never could finish without a setup.”

“I have fourteen goals this season.”

“And how many assists?”

Caleb's mouth opens and shuts.

“...Shut up.”

Sylus huffs out a laugh. He pulls you to the edge of the mattress by your ankles, and you yelp.

“I’m going to tell you where to look all night, sweetheart. Get used to it,” he says to Caleb before turning his attention back to you. “Lie back, kitten.”

You settle back. Sylus stands between your legs, one hand braced beside your head, and for a moment it’s just the two of you. He kisses your throat, your collarbone, mouth moving down the center of your chest slow and warm. His free hand finds your waist and holds there, thumb tracing the skin above the waistband of your underwear.

“Caleb,” Sylus says against your skin. “Behind me.”

“I’m not cuddling you, Sylus.”

“Nobody’s cuddling anybody. Get behind me. Hands on mine.”

“This isn’t—”

“For her, captain. You’re doing this for her. Remember?”

Caleb positions his knees on either side of Sylus’s calves, chest close to Sylus’s back but not quite touching. He braces one hand on the mattress, the other settling over Sylus’s at your waist, lining up finger over finger, his broader palm bracketing Sylus’s against your hip. The added weight presses Sylus’s grip firmer into your skin, and you arch up into it.

“There,” Sylus says. “Feel her through me. When I move, you move. Yes?”

Caleb’s voice is barely there. “Yes.”

Sylus’s thumb traces up the curve of your waist. Caleb’s follows—riding the back of Sylus’s hand, tracking every motion. Sylus’s hand slides to your ribs, and Caleb’s follows, up and around. Sylus’s fingertips graze the underside of your breast and you gasp, and Caleb’s knuckle catches the edge of your skin where Sylus’s hand doesn’t fully cover.

Caleb freezes.

“I didn’t—I—”

“Caleb…” you whisper.

You look up at Sylus, but he doesn’t intervene. He watches your face from above, letting you be the one who tells Caleb what’s allowed.

“It’s okay, gege,” you decide. “You don’t have to stop.”

Caleb’s hand unfreezes. His fingers resettle over Sylus’s, and they keep moving.

The next touch isn’t an accident.

It’s the back of his ring finger, tracing a line along your ribs that Sylus’s hand doesn’t cover. A quarter-inch of contact, gone, then back—his pinky, grazing the curve of your waist as Sylus’s hand slides lower, gone just as fast. Ghost touches, so minimal you could pretend they didn’t happen. Caleb finding the gaps and pressing into them, testing, learning you through the spaces between your boyfriend’s fingers.

“Sylus,” you whisper.

“I see it, sweetie.”

“Is he—”

“He’s being creative.” Sylus’s mouth lifts. He shifts his hands enough to widen the gaps between his fingers by a fraction, adjusting his grip to give Caleb more room. “I’m allowing it.”

Caleb presses closer behind Sylus. His chest makes contact with Sylus’s back, and the added weight pushes Sylus’s body down against yours.

“Caleb,” Sylus says, in warning and permission at the same time.

“I know.”

“You’re on top of me.”

“I know. That doesn’t mean I like you.”

“You liked me just fine on the couch.”

“That was—that was the situation. That was for—”

“For her. Yes. You’ve mentioned.”

Sylus lowers his mouth to your breast. His tongue traces the curve, teeth teasing your nipple, and you arch up into him. The motion presses your hips against his, and Sylus’s hips press back against Caleb’s, and Caleb—

Caleb grinds forward.

It’s a small, involuntary roll of his hips against Sylus’s ass that pushes Sylus’s hips into yours, and you feel the force of Caleb traveling through Sylus like a wave cresting against you.

Your mouth falls open.

“Caleb. Do that again,” you urge.

“Pips—”

“Gege, please. Do that again.”

He does it again, harder this time. His hips roll forward, grinding Sylus into you, and the pressure hits you exactly right. You gasp and grab Sylus’s shoulders. Sylus makes a low, strangled sound you’ve never heard from him before, Caleb’s hips driving him forward and yours rocking up to meet him.

“More,” you gasp.

Caleb grinds harder, his exhales ragged against Sylus’s neck. The bed is moving. You’re moving. Caleb’s hands are now white-knuckled on Sylus’s hips and Sylus’s are braced on either side of your head and you’re gripping the sheets with both fists as the room dissolves to nothing but friction and heat and breath.

“Caleb—” Sylus manages, his voice is rough in a way that makes your stomach clench, “Caleb, you need to—fuck—you need to—slow down.”

Caleb doesn’t slow down. His next stroke grinds Sylus into you so hard you nearly scream, grabbing onto Sylus’s shoulders, and your boyfriend shudders—actually shudders—and Caleb’s hips snap forward again, relentless.

Sylus throws his weight backward, driving Caleb off him enough to break away. He holds a hand between you and Caleb like a referee calling a penalty—chest heaving, skin flushed, entire body vibrating with the effort of stopping.

“Christ,” he grits out. “The pair of you.”

You stare up at him, breathless. Caleb has one knee up at the end of the bed, hands still shaped around hips that aren’t there anymore.

“We need to slow down,” Sylus says, pushing his hair back with one hand, “or one of us was going to finish in our underwear like a teenager, and I am not going to let that be me.”

“Could’ve been me,” Caleb says, roughly.

“It was going to be all three of us. And we haven’t even started yet.” Sylus looks between you, eyes dark, still catching his breath. “Underwear off. All of us.”

“Thought we weren’t animals,” Caleb mutters.

“We evolved.” Sylus counters, already halfway out of his own boxers. “Take them off, captain.”

You lift your hips and shimmy out of your panties, tossing them off the side of the bed without ceremony. Caleb relents, kicking his underwear off in the general direction of his jeans.

It’s seeing them side by side that knocks the air clean out of you.

Sylus stands tall, lean and carved, all controlled lines and casual strength. A trail of silver hair guides your eyes to where his cock hangs heavy between his thighs, the tip flushed and leaking. Caleb stands broader, rougher around the edges, the bruise on his ribs going green, tape still half-wound around his knuckles. Dark hair runs in a line below his navel, and when you see your brother’s cock for the first time—thick and eager in his hand—you draw your knees together.

Sylus’s hand catches them before they close.

“Uh-uh,” he says simply. With one palm on each knee, he eases them back apart. “None of that, sweetie.”

He guides you back against the headboard, adjusts the pillow under your lower back, running a hand down your calf once he’s finished like he’s admiring his handiwork.

“Comfortable?” he asks, sitting back on his heels.

You nod. “Yes.”

The mattress dips as Caleb moves to kneel behind Sylus. He reaches for your boyfriend’s hip, already angling to resume the position—his chest against Sylus’s back, Sylus between your legs, the structure of this arrangement he knows and trusts.

“No,” Sylus stops Caleb with a hand around his forearm, pulling him to kneel beside you instead. “I want you to see something.”

Sylus settles between your legs, lowering himself on his elbows. His mouth grazes the inside of your thigh, red eyes pinning Caleb.

“You can look, captain.”

Caleb swallows. “I am looking.”

“Then look properly.” Sylus’s breath hits your aching core with each word, and you squirm. “It’s okay. Look at her.”

Sylus holds Caleb’s eyes as his mouth moves higher. He kisses your hip, the crease of your thigh, the soft skin below your navel. Then his tongue teases your clit, and your hips jerk up off the bed. Caleb’s hand, resting on his own thigh, curls into a fist.

“See how pretty she is?” Sylus murmurs against you.

“Sylus—”

“Look.”

Sylus parts you with one long, flat stroke of his tongue, closing his lips around your clit with a teasing suck before pulling away—giving your brother an unobstructed view, you realize hazily. He spreads you open with both thumbs, displaying your swollen, slick pussy with an almost reverent care. You’re so wet that you’ve made a mess of your inner thighs, so wet it should shame you, but the way Caleb is looking at you right now leaves no room for any feeling other than the dizzying certainty that your brother wants you as badly as you want him.

“You did this, Caleb. Your sister’s pretty little cunt is ruining my sheets. All because of you,” Sylus muses. He drags a thumb up through your slick heat, eyes locked on Caleb’s expression as he circles the wetness around your clit. “She’s been like this since you grabbed me by the shirt. Since you made me bleed on the ice, I’d imagine.”

Sylus lowers his mouth to you once more, tongue patient and expert, licking into you the way he knows you like. The sensation makes your toes curl, but you’re faintly aware that the act isn’t for your pleasure, but for the benefit of the man kneeling beside you with bated breath.

Caleb watches intently—the way Sylus’s jaw works, the speed and pressure that makes you gasp, the way your hips buck when he hums against you every few strokes—studying like an exam he’s desperate to pass.

“Caleb,” Sylus says, lifting his mouth just enough to speak. “Spit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t put your mouth on her,” Sylus explains. “But you can give her something from it. Can’t you?”

Caleb exhales hard through his nose, but doesn’t deny it.

He leans over you, and his face is close, close enough that his breath heats your stomach, close enough that you see his nostrils flare, briefly, involuntarily, his lips parting at whatever he finds there. He lets saliva pool under his tongue and glances at you sideways, a silent plea for approval.

You nod, quickly, anticipation buzzing under your skin. “I want to feel you there, gege.”

He spits.

When it lands directly on your swollen clit, you cry out. The streak of saliva runs down your slit slowly, torturously, so erotic it makes you clench around nothing.

“Good,” Sylus murmurs, and drops his head back down. He works it in with his tongue, and the added slick makes you moan. “Feel that, sweetie? That’s all your brother. You’re taking him so well.”

Your hand finds the nearest solid thing—Caleb’s thigh—and grips tight.

Caleb lets out a strained sound at the contact, but he doesn’t pull away. You can feel the small shifts in his weight as he leans closer, pulled in, unable to help himself. He watches Sylus’s mouth on you with an expression that’s long passed hunger and arrived somewhere more primal.

“Sylus,” Caleb says, more groan than word.

Sylus hums against you but doesn’t move.

“Sylus. Let me—”

Sylus lifts his head, mouth glistening. He looks at Caleb with his chin resting against the inside of your thigh and a lazy, knowing expression that makes your stomach flip.

“Let you what, captain?”

Caleb’s throat moves. “Taste.”

“Taste what.”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“I’m going to make you say it.”

“Her. I want to taste her. Sylus, let me—”

“How badly.”

His jaw flexes once. Twice. “Badly.”

Sylus presses a kiss to your thigh before sitting up, giving his cock a few lazy strokes. “Hm.”

He positions the head of his cock between your legs—not to enter, just outside—sliding just the tip up and down the wet of you. You gasp, cunt throbbing, aching to be filled by him—by Sylus, by Caleb, by both.

Caleb is watching with his mouth open.

“How badly,” Sylus repeats, eyes on your brother as he rolls his hips against you this time, dragging the full length of him through your folds.

“Sylus—” Caleb urges.

“Tell me, sweetheart. I want to hear you say it.”

“Please.” It falls out of Caleb’s mouth unauthorized. “Please, Sylus, let me—”

Sylus grinds against you again, slower. He makes sure every inch of him is covered, glistening with you, and Caleb is watching with every muscle tense and his hands gripping his thighs hard enough to bruise.

“More?” Sylus asks Caleb, almost bored, like he’s asking about the weather.

“Sylus, for fuck’s sake—”

“That didn’t sound like more.”

“More. Yes. More, just—Sylus, come on—”

Sylus rolls his hips into you one last time, a long, slow grind that pulls a moan out of you and leaves him drenched. He rises onto his knees, cock gleaming with you, and looks at Caleb.

“Come here, captain.”

Caleb moves before the sentence is finished.

His mouth is on Sylus faster than you can process it—tasting you with one long, flat stroke of his tongue from base to tip; a wrecked, thankful sound torn from somewhere deep inside his chest.

“That’s it.” Sylus’s hand finds the back of Caleb’s head and holds there. “Taste your baby sister, Caleb. That’s what she tastes like when she wants you. And she’s been wanting you all night. Can you taste that? Can you taste how badly her body needs yours?”

Caleb’s hands grip Sylus’s thighs as his mouth works—tasting, chasing it, trying to get every trace of you off Sylus’s skin. You watch your boyfriend lose himself for a moment: his hips jerk forward once, and he looks down at Caleb with an expression you’ve only ever seen him give you.

“God, look at you,” Sylus says, low. “This is what you’ve been missing. Years, Caleb. Years of this.”

Caleb lifts his head. His mouth is wet, eyes nearly black. He looks at Sylus first—a look that is somehow both grateful and furious—and then he looks at you.

“I know,” he says, bitter but not at you. 

“Was it worth it? Being noble?”

Caleb shakes off Sylus’s hold, running his hand over the back of his head like he could erase the man’s touch. “Shut up, pretty boy.”

Sylus raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“I’m thinking—” Sylus wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and settles beside you against the headboard. His hand finds your knee, pulling it closer to your chest. “—your sister has been lying here all alone, begging for you to fuck her, while you’ve been busy showing a lot of enthusiasm for a cock you claim to hate.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Qin.” His words are calm. His ears, unfortunately, are bright red. “That was for her, not you.”

“Was it. Then prove it.” Sylus gives your thigh a squeeze. “Do something for her she can actually feel. Between her legs, captain.”

“No. That’s—no. That’s not what we agreed to.” Caleb’s whole body goes rigid. “You said nobody touches anybody they’re not supposed to. That was the rule.”

“We didn’t agree to anything,” Sylus counters. “We’ve been making it up as we go. And so far, everything we’ve made up has worked, hasn’t it.”

“This—this is different.”

“Is it? You tasted your sister on my cock and the world kept turning.” Sylus raises a brow. “What makes you think this will be any different?”

“It’s completely different and you know it.”

“How.”

“Because she’s—” Caleb gestures at you without looking at you. “She’s right there, Sylus, and I—”

“Look at her, Caleb.”

Caleb looks at you, and you don’t soften it. You don’t close your legs or reach for the sheet or give him something to hide behind. You let him see the aftermath of an hour of being touched through another man, what a lifetime of being so close to your brother but never close enough has done to you.

“Caleb,” you say. “Please. Just come here.”

His hands open and close at his sides. “Pips, you don’t know what’s going to happen if I—”

“I know exactly what’s going to happen.”

“You don’t.”

“You’re going to touch me and it’s going to feel like it should have felt a long time ago. And I’m going to be fine. And you’re going to be fine. And I’m asking you, gege. I’m asking. Please.”

He’s quiet. He looks at Sylus—not for permission, not exactly. Giving your boyfriend one last chance to change his mind, to tell him this is wrong, to kick him to the curb and slam the door behind him and pretend none of this ever happened.

“She’s asking, Caleb,” Sylus says gently. “And I’m tired of being the only one who listens to her.”

Caleb closes his eyes with a heavy exhale. Opens them.

He moves between your legs.

“Closer, sweetheart,” Sylus directs from beside you. “She’s not going to bite. Yet.”

Caleb nods and inches closer on his knees, until the front of his thighs are flush against yours. He takes himself in hand and you open for him, drawing both knees tighter into your chest.

“I don’t—” Caleb starts. “What if I—”

“Just the outside,” Sylus says. “You don’t have to go in. Just feel her against you. That’s all.”

That’s all.

He presses the length of his cock flat against you the way he watched Sylus do, sliding slowly through your slick heat without entering, and the weight of your brother against your cunt makes you forget how to breathe.

“There,” Sylus says from beside you. You watch him wrap his hand around his own cock, stroking it in time with Caleb’s slow rolls, the visual sending a new wave of heat down your spine. “Just like that. Easy, captain.”

Caleb rocks his hips in long drags, hot and devastating as he slides through the wet of everything the night has built. His hand is still on himself, still controlling the angle, still holding onto the last bit of restraint he has left.

“Shit,” he manages. “Sylus, she’s so—feels so—”

“I know.”

“She’s—I can’t—”

“You can,” Sylus assures, gentle and genuine. “You’re fine. She’s fine. It’s just the outside.”

Your hips rock up to meet his on the next stroke, shifting the angle, and the head of his cock catches at your entrance.

All three of you gasp at the same time.

“That’s okay. Just a little is okay,” Sylus says, quieter now. He leans closer to rest a hand on Caleb’s lower back. “You can give your sister just the tip. That’s allowed. That’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing—”

“It’s close to nothing. Let it happen.”

Caleb rocks forward and the head of him slides in—just barely inside, the tight heat of you closing around the first inch, your legs falling wider open with a small gasp. He collapses forward, free hand fisting into the sheets beside your shoulder. Your mouths open, only inches apart now. His hand tightens around himself like a brake.

“There,” Sylus murmurs. “See? That’s fine. Nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid,” Caleb grits out.

“Then go a little further. You can let go of yourself. You don’t have to hold on anymore.” His thumb soothes small arcs on Caleb’s back. “Why don’t you give her a little more. Just an inch. She can take it. Can’t you, sweetie?”

Caleb’s hand releases. He plants it beside your other shoulder.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, more, please—”

Caleb sinks deeper. An inch. Another. His jaw is clenched so hard you can see the tendon at his neck as his eyes lock on yours, searching for the thing that will tell him to stop.

You don’t give it to him.

“More,” you beg. “I can take it. I promise I can take it.”

“Pips—”

“Gege, please. I need you closer. I need more.”

“All the way,” Sylus says, and his hand presses flat against Caleb’s lower back. “All the way, sweetheart. She’s asking so nicely. Give your baby sister the cock she’s been begging for.”

Caleb pushes all the way in.

His forehead drops to yours, eyes squeezing shut. His forearms are shaking where they cage your head, and you’re full of him, completely, finally, and you have never in your life felt more whole.

Your arms come up around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist, and you hold him there, as deep as he can go. Sylus strokes the back of Caleb's head once before returning to your side.

“There you go,” Sylus murmurs. “There. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Caleb’s breath shudders against your mouth.

“Give me a second,” he says. “Meimei, give me one second.”

You give him a second. You give him several. You lie there with him buried inside you and his sweat-slicked forehead against yours and your breath mixing in the inch between your mouths and you wait.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

When he moves, it’s in rolls, not thrusts. He moves like he’s terrified of the end of this, like if he goes slow enough it will never stop, and you let him, because you’ve waited years and you can wait a few more minutes.

Sylus settles back against the headboard, stroking himself slowly, watching the two of you with half-lidded eyes, his free hand resting on his own thigh. Occasionally it drifts—brushing a strand of your hair out of your face, giving a reassuring squeeze to Caleb’s forearm. Though you can barely register anything aside from the way Caleb is looking at you the way you always dreamed he would, like he’s burning alive and doesn’t want to be saved.

“Faster,” you plead, gripping his forearms for leverage.

Caleb doesn’t check with Sylus anymore. He goes faster.

You dig your heels into his ass, pulling him impossibly deeper. He groans against your throat, the loudest sound the room has heard all night, and his hips snap forward and the bedframe hits the wall with each thrust and neither of you cares. You’re nothing but two people who have been starving trying to eat at the same time, and it’s too fast and too much and not enough and—

“Caleb,” Sylus says.

His rhythm stutters. “What could you possibly—”

“Kiss her.”

Caleb cuts Sylus a sidelong glare, but he doesn’t reply.

“You heard me, captain.”

Your brother looks down at you, hips still rolling in a steady rhythm. He lowers his mouth to your forehead and presses his lips there. It’s the kind of kiss you’ve received a thousand times—at the airport, at graduation, in the parking lot after games. Safe. Known.

Sylus clicks his tongue, dissatisfied. “Lower, Caleb.”

Caleb inhales sharply, eyes scanning your face, contemplating. His hips have all but stilled, as if he needs all of his focus to fulfill the request. He picks a lower spot—the apple of your cheek—and kisses you there softly.

“Gege,” you whisper against the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah.”

“Please.”

“I know, meimei.”

You tilt your chin up, lower lip brushing his. “Please. Just one.”

Caleb kisses you, and the world falls away.

It’s slow, unbearably slow, just the full, warm weight of his mouth against yours for the very first time. His hand comes up to cradle your face, the gesture so tender you feel the start of tears pooling behind your lashes.

Caleb pulls away a fraction and comes back. His lips part, barely, and yours open to meet them. His tongue finds yours tentatively, nothing like the way he kissed Sylus, and you savor the way it glides against yours like it was always meant to. He tastes like whiskey and copper and Sylus’s skin and underneath all of it like Caleb—not number five, not the hockey captain, but your older brother, the one who taught you to skate when you were nine and held both your hands the whole time and never once let go.

His hips start moving again, each stroke matched to the kiss, each deep roll timed to the slide of his tongue against yours. Your hand moves from his jaw into his hair, and you kiss him back and feel a lifetime of careful distance dissolve like it was never there. Like all those years you thought were keeping something out were really keeping something in, something alive and wound tight and desperate for the chance to break free.

Caleb deepens the kiss, hungrier now, tongue licking deeper against yours as his hips snap forward so hard it’s almost painful.

“There he is,” Sylus says, barely above a breath, hand quickening on himself. “Fuck, look at you two. Let go. Together. Let everything go.”

“Gege,” you manage. “I’m close.”

“I know.” Against your lips. “Me too, meimei. Me too.”

“Don’t stop.”

“I’m not—I won’t—I—”

You both let go.

You break around him. His hips stutter. The sound he makes into your mouth is the twin of the one you make into his, and there’s nothing poetic or graceful about it. He holds your face like he’s trying to live inside the kiss, like if he stays long enough it’ll become something he can keep. You feel his release pulse hot inside you, your own orgasm pulling him in even deeper, and you hold each other through every wave, never breaking the kiss. Not even when he’s shaking, and you’re shaking, and neither of you can breathe.

Beside you, Sylus comes with his forehead tipped back against the headboard and his hand in your hair, fingers tangled loosely in the damp strands at the back of your neck while the two people he brought together fall apart. His exhale is long and heavy and sounds, if you’re listening for it, like satisfaction.

The kiss finally, reluctantly breaks.

Caleb pulls back an inch, resting his forehead against yours, the two of you trading shaky breaths while you wait for the room to stop spinning.

“I just kissed you,” he whispers.

You laugh, and it comes out wet. “You did a lot more than that.”

“Yeah, but—“ He wipes away a tear from your cheekbone you didn’t realize had fallen, his eyes glassy and dark and full of so many emotions your chest aches. “I kissed you, meimei.”

“Yeah, gege.” You grin. “You did.”

He smiles. It’s a smile you’ve know your whole life but never from this close, and from here it simply looks like pure, wild joy. And you think, without deciding to, that you’d burn the entire world to the ground just to see him smile like that twice.

Caleb stays inside you for a long time. His face is in your neck, your fingers in his hair, the two of you so thoroughly entangled your heartbeats are nearly synchronized.

Sylus is the first one to move.

He gets up quietly. You hear the tap run in the bathroom, the sound of a drawer opening and closing. He comes back with a glass of water and a warm cloth, sits on the edge of the bed, and rests a hand on Caleb’s shoulder.

“Out,” he says, gently. “Easy. I’ve got her.”

Caleb pulls out—reluctantly, carefully—and rolls onto his side. He reaches for you immediately, pulling you against his chest, arm heavy over your waist, nose in your hair, like he’s afraid someone’s going to call time.

Sylus cleans you up. Sets the water on the nightstand within reach. Pulls the sheet up over both of you, kisses the top of your head, and goes to the other side of the bed.

He lies down beside Caleb. Not touching, giving the two of you your own space to come down together. Caleb’s palm presses into your bare abdomen, soothing circles over your stomach. And after a minute or two, he shifts backward. Just enough that his shoulders meet Sylus’s chest.

Sylus lifts his arm and drapes it over both of you, over Caleb’s ribs, your waist, his palm settling on your stomach on top of Caleb’s hand.

Caleb exhales. His whole body goes slack against Sylus’s chest.

“Don’t you dare say a word, pretty boy,” Caleb murmurs.

“I’m not saying anything.”

“And don’t bring this up ever again.”

“Bring what up.”

“This. Any of this. Not on the ice, not in the locker room, not ever.”

“Caleb, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m asleep. You’re asleep. She's asleep. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing at all, sweetheart,” Sylus confirms. “Though if it had, I’d be putting myself down for the assist.”

“I will smother you with this pillow.”

“That would require you to let go of her first, captain.”

Caleb’s arm tightens around your waist. Sylus’s arm tightens over his. You lace your fingers through both of their hands where they overlap on your stomach and close your eyes.

Somewhere in the living room, the basketball game has ended, the TV humming without an audience. Nobody gets up to turn it off.

Nobody gets up at all.

if u made it this far....thank u for reading, fellow freak ;)

still hungry, sweetie??? -> masterlist | ao3

◡̈ ♡

[mwphisto]

Part 1 <-

"Valko! Harder, please..."

Your fingers are digging into the leather seat of his jeep, ass nearly hitting the steering wheel as he guides you up and down the thick length of his cock. "Don't wanna...ha-hurt ya, pretty girl."

His grip is steady on your skin, sweat beading down his temple as he watches your breasts bounce with each drop of your hips. He hadn't even made it to the convenience store. Barely gotten five minutes away from his Gram's home before you were begging him to pull over.

"You're not gonna hurt me." You push down in time with his hands, slamming onto the thick base of his cock with a high-pitched mewl. "Fuck me like you mean it, Val. Please." The growl that vibrates his chest makes you clamp down, hard. Heat flooding your body as his hips jerk up to slap into your own.

"Y-ou're such a devil." He musters, knees hitting the bottom of the steering wheel as he gets leverage. Timing his hands and hips to truly pound into you. "Yes!" Head falling back, your hands slip from the leather to bunch into the shirt you had forced him to put on.

The very shirt you hadn't been able to get off him all the way. It was pushed up as far as you could manage, revealing the toned abdomen and pecs that had landed you both in this predicament in the first place. "Like that! Oh my god, Valko! Yes, yes!"

Valko's face was tense, jaw tight and teeth bared as he struggles on where to focus. His eyes can't land on one spot, stuck on the backwards tilt of your head. The tantalizing exposure of your neck and jiggling breasts. The bite mark he bestowed on you, claiming you as his on full display even in the darkness of the car.

There is also where he keeps disappearing inside of you. Your thighs and his wet with your arousal, wet plaps sounding in the enclosed space. His sense are overwhelmed, the car reeks of sex and your scent. He could cum from that alone, never mind your pretty sounds.

"That's my girl, ride this dick baby. Just like that, yeah? That's how you like it? Nice n'hard? Love it when I pound you dumb?" He's losing it, twitching inside of you as his nails dig into your soft flesh.

"Yes! Yes, fuck. I love it, I love you." You're nearly drooling, finally looking down at him and nearly crying at the fucked out sight of him. "Gonna cum for me?" He manages, face flushed and jaw finally relaxing as his own releases creeps up on him. "O-only if you cum for me... in me, please!" He's done for, you're too much, he's a weak, weak man.

You feel the base of his cock swell, excitedly slamming your hips down before he can do it for you. Body trembling as your orgasm rocks you, the stretch of his knot being enough to push you past the brink.

"Thank you, oh fuck, thank you thank you..." you sob, hips grinding down into his lap as you fall into his chest. Valko's grip is still tight, chest heaving as the first wave of cum floods you. "You're so cute."

He manages, finally loosening his grip to hug you properly to his sweaty chest. The windows of the jeep are fogged, the air inside warmer than when you got in. "We're going to be here for a while." You mumble, wiggling slightly as the second wave of cum dumps into you.

"Ain't that what you wanted?" "Duh."

[mwphisto]

You swear Valko is trying to torture you.

A weekend stay at his grandmother’s house, a good chunk of his immediate and extended family staying as well. And he still has the audacity to prance around his childhood bedroom is nothing but a pair of low handing gray sweats.

“Val, baby. Please find a shirt.” The house had finally gone quiet for the first time in hours. The pups asleep, the parents finally able to relax, uncle Valko and their new auntie now hiding in uncle Valko’s old room… “It’s just you and me, why do I need a shirt?” Oh, bless him…

You shift under the blankets, thighs pressing together deliciously as you glance over the tanned muscles of his torso. Only for him to shift and remind you that he has model robots collecting dust on some bookshelves behind him with a middle school robotics trophy. “Because.”

It’s all you can muster, and his tail wags slow and steady in honest confusion. “Because why? I always sleep without a shirt, don’t I? My family has seen me like this plenty—“ you roll over, burying your burning face into his pillow and whining. He was totally missing the point, by a mile.

“Ohh, I get it.” He murmurs as he watches your legs kick under the blankets. Nose twitching as he zeroes in on your scent shamelessly. “You’re horny. And my nakedness isn’t helping your cause, right?” You pop up, looking over your shoulder to glare at him with an exaggerated pout.

“You’re so hot, Val. And you’re making it worse with what you’re wearing. Plus we’re in a house full of wolves, not only can we not have sex. Even if we could, I’m not letting you fuck me in your childhood bed.”

That earns a rich, deep rumbling of laughter from his chest, only fanning the flames. “We could always sneak out for some late night snacks? There is a convenient store that’s 24 hours like fifteen minutes…” you’re already rolling out of bed, not bothering to grab your purse.

“You still need a shirt.” You murmur as you make it for the door, eyeing him with wide, needy eyes. “Even if you’re going to rip it off me in 5 minutes?”

“Even if I’m going to rip it off in 3 minutes.”

-> Part 2

[chaacoonnee]

denim miniskirt — caleb

“God, pips. You’re making my job real fuckin’ hard.”

You trail a daring finger along the prominent outline straining through the front of his jeans, the subtle twitch of his cock beneath your touch igniting a thrill that spreads through you like wildfire.

“Just your job?”

synopsis: your attempt at seeming unbothered by Caleb working shirtless at Abercrombie fails miserably, and now he won’t let you leave the fitting room until you admit you’re just as possessive of him as he is of you.

tags: nsfw, jealous/possessive!reader, mutual pining, porn with feelings, fluff, mild emotional hurt/comfort, kissing, grinding, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, underwear theft, dressing room sex, creampie, love confessions

wc: 7.7k / ao3

The text comes at 2:47 PM on a Tuesday, right in the middle of your boring chemistry class.

Caleb: working at abercrombie til 7. you should stop by ;)

You stare at your phone screen, reading the message three times before it fully registers. Caleb. Working at Abercrombie. Wanting you to visit. Your heart does that annoying little flutter thing it's been doing whenever his name pops up on your screen.

One hundred and twenty-seven days. That's how long he'd been away at college.

Not that you were counting.

He's been home for winter break since Sunday, but between his new seasonal job and your school schedule, you've barely exchanged more than a few words in passing—just quick hellos in the hallway and rushed mornings sharing the bathroom sink.

There's something different about him now, though. Maybe it's the way he carries himself, more confident somehow, or how he seems taller, even though that can’t be right. He's off doing college things now—more experienced, busier, probably with stories about parties and girls and a whole life you know nothing about.

The thought makes your stomach twist in ways you don't want to examine too closely. Maybe he’s outgrown this place. Maybe he’s outgrown you, too.

You barely pay attention to the rest of class, mind wandering to dark hair and violet eyes and that stupidly charming smile. And by the time the bell rings, you've already made up your mind.

The mall is busier than you expected for a weekday. You find yourself standing outside of Abercrombie, suddenly second-guessing everything. Heavy music thumps from inside the dimly lit store, and you can smell that signature cologne from here. What if this is a mistake? What if he's just being friendly? What if—

"You gonna stand there all day, pipsqueak?”

You spin around to find Caleb leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and—

Oh.

Oh.

He's shirtless. Completely, unapologetically shirtless, dressed in nothing but low-rise jeans and a wicked grin. The denim hangs low on his hips, ensuring every line of his torso is on full display–each carved muscle of his abs, the sharp V of his hips that guides your eyes downward like an invitation.

A sharp whistle cuts through the music, followed by an appreciative “Damn, honey!” from somewhere behind you.

His work attire was an open invitation for everyone, you realize bitterly, and you feel a sudden urge to throw a shirt at him—preferably a very large, very baggy one.

“Better close your mouth, sweetheart,” Caleb says with obvious amusement, straightening up from the doorframe. “You’re gonna catch flies.”

"I was just—" you start, trying very hard to keep your eyes on his face and failing spectacularly. “Shut up.”

"Just what? Having second thoughts?" He uses that teasing tone you know so well, but his eyes are softer than his voice. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No, it’s just that..." You gesture vaguely at him, then the store, then him again. "I didn't realize that this was...that you were..."

"Shirtless?" he supplies innocently, though his eyes glint with mischief. "Yeah, it's part of the job. Company image and all that."

He runs a hand through his hair, which only makes things worse for your chances of pretending you’re unaffected. Infinitely, unfairly worse.

"Trust me, you're not bothering me, if that’s what you’re worried about. This place has been dead all afternoon,” he explains, extending a hand toward you with an easy smile. “Come on, let me show you around."

He leads you inside, hand in hand, past the perfectly folded stacks of jeans and the wall of color-coded sweatshirts. A few other employees glance over—also shirtless, you realize with growing mortification—but Caleb seems completely unbothered.

"So this is where the magic happens," he says, gesturing around dramatically. "Folding the same shirt seventeen times a day, asking people if they need help finding anything, convincing them that hundred-dollar jeans are totally reasonable." He picks up a stack of graphic tees, muscles shifting as he straightens them. "Oh, and looking good while doing it, apparently."

"Well, you're certainly not modest about it," you say with an eye roll, though you're fighting a smile.

He grins at your response. "Modesty is overrated. Besides, why would I be modest when I've got you staring?"

"I'm not—" you start to protest, but he raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, clearly enjoying this way too much. He leads you deeper into the store, weaving between racks of flannel shirts and ripped denim toward the back.

“These are all the new arrivals,” he explains smoothly, like nothing about his casual claim of your hand as he’s working is out of the ordinary. “Tops, dresses, skirts…basics over here—tees, tanks. And, of course, jeans along the back wall. I can explain the merchandise, talk about fabric quality…”

"Sounds thrilling," you manage, hyperaware of every little thing about him and trying desperately to act normal.

"I'm full of useful information." He stops walking, turning to face you fully. "Like the fact that you're cute when you're flustered."

“I’m not flustered,” you insist, though you’re pretty sure your face is now the color of the red hoodies hanging nearby. “You’re just full of yourself. I think all the cologne is getting to your brain.”

"That's rich, coming from the girl who nearly walked into a mannequin when she saw me," he says with a laugh, stepping over to lean against a display of cologne bottles. "Speaking of cologne..."

He picks up a bottle, spritzing it on his neck. "This one's new. Cedar and...something else. Sandalwood, maybe?"

You try to focus on what he’s saying, but it’s incredibly difficult when he stands there looking like he stepped out of one of the black-and-white photos hanging on the walls. He steps closer, tilting his head slightly. "So, what do you think?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "I think you're showing off."

"Maybe a little," he admits shamelessly. "Is it working?"

"No," you bluff, even as your heart races.

"Liar." He's so close to you now that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "Come on, just one little sniff. For quality control purposes."

"Quality control, my ass,” you scoff.

"Language," he tsks, but he's grinning. “What would Gran say about that filthy mouth of yours?”

"She’d say you're being a bad influence."

"Good thing I like being a bad influence on you."

Despite yourself, you find yourself leaning in, close enough to catch the scent mixed with whatever is just naturally him. Your faces are inches apart, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"Fine," you say, trying to sound annoyed instead of breathless. "It's good. Happy?"

"Devastatingly good, or just regular good?"

"Don't fish for compliments."

"I'm not fishing, I'm diving," he says with zero shame. "Come on, gimme something to work with here."

"It's...really good,” you sigh theatrically. “There. Your ego has been sufficiently fed."

His grin widens like he’s won something. "See? Now was that so hard?"

"Yes, actually. I think I pulled something."

He laughs again, a genuine sound that makes your chest tight. "You're such a brat."

"And you love it," you shoot back without thinking.

"Yeah," he says simply, "I really do."

Just as he's about to grab your hand once more, a group of girls walks into the store—clearly college-aged, clearly gorgeous, and clearly on some kind of shopping mission. They spot Caleb immediately, and you watch their faces light up.

"Oh my god," one of them whispers, not very quietly. "He's so hot."

You feel your jaw clench automatically. "Wow. Subtle."

Caleb glances at you, enjoying every second of your reaction. "Play nice," he murmurs.

"I'm always nice," you say sweetly, though your tone is doing a terrible job of selling it.

"Hey, ladies," Caleb calls out, slipping effortlessly into work mode. "Can I help you find anything?"

"Actually," the boldest one says, bouncing over with her friends in tow, "could we maybe get a picture with you? We're here for my friend's birthday and—"

"Sure. No problem," Caleb says easily, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The girls immediately start arranging themselves around him, and you step back, crossing your arms. They're all perfect hair and white teeth and tight clothes and everything you suddenly feel like you're not.

"Wait," the birthday girl says, looking straight at you. "Could you take it for us? Pretty please?"

You stare at her for a moment, then plaster on your sweetest fake smile. "Of course. I'd love to."

Caleb catches your expression and has to bite back a laugh. Be good, he mouths silently to you as you take the phone.

You want to flip him off—God, do you want to—but think better of it. Instead, you give him the same innocent smile, batting your eyelashes for added effect.

You watch through the camera screen as they pose with him—arms around his shoulders, leaning in close, giggling. He's professional about it, friendly but not encouraging, but it still makes something twist in your chest.

"Perfect," you say after taking several shots, handing the phone back.

"These are amazing," they chorus, already scrolling through the photos. "Thanks, babe!”

They finally leave, but not without several backward glances at Caleb, who waves goodbye with effortless charm.

"If they only knew how insufferable you are when you're not on commission," you say, just loud enough that a passing employee glances over with raised eyebrows.

Caleb notices, but he doesn’t care. If anything, he finds your defiance thrilling. "You tryna get me fired or something?"

“What? I’m being perfectly nice."

"Right. Perfectly nice.” He shakes his head, stepping closer. “Don’t worry, babe. You're the only girl I've ever wanted to give the full Abercrombie experience to."

"That's a terrible line," you manage, though the word babe lands with more force than you want to admit.

"Yeah? Then why are you smiling, babe?"

"I hate you."

"Sure you do, babe."

You are smiling, you realize. Despite the embarrassment, despite the photo situation, despite everything. Because he's looking at you like you're the only person in the store, and his thumb is tracing gentle circles on your hand, and you're pretty sure coming here is the best worst decision you've ever made.

"Actually," he says, glancing around the store, "since you're here...why don’t you pick something out? Anything you want. Jeans, a shirt. Both. All of it. Whatever you like.” He shrugs like it's no big deal, but there's something softer in his expression. "Employee discount is pretty good."

"Caleb, I can't—"

"Yes, you can." He steps closer, voice dropping to that tone that makes you forget how to argue.

"You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to." His hand finds your face, thumb brushing across your cheek. "I want to. Big difference."

Your chest does something complicated at his words, at the feel of his hand warm against your skin, at the way he's looking at you like making you happy is the most important thing in the world right now.

"Okay," you whisper, and his smile is so bright it could power the entire mall.

After a few minutes of browsing aimlessly, you find yourself standing in front of a display of miniskirts, fingers trailing over the denim ones that look suspiciously similar to what those college girls were wearing. Maybe if you tried one on, you’d feel like they did—bold, noticed, a little dangerous.

You grab one in your size and head toward the fitting rooms, very aware of Caleb’s gaze following you. He’s helping another customer now, but you can feel his attention on you as you head down the hallway like a physical thing.

The fitting room lighting is soft and sultry, designed to make everything look better than it probably should. The bass-heavy music thrums through the walls, creating an atmosphere that feels more like a nightclub than a place to try on clothes. You slip out of your comfortable jeans and into the miniskirt, wondering if this is what those college house parties Caleb probably goes to are like—dim lighting, pulsing music, girls in skirts like this who know exactly how to make men want them.

You turn to face the mirror, expecting—hoping—to see some version of that girl. And all you want to do is disappear.

It isn’t that the skirt doesn’t fit—it does, technically. But it feels wrong. Too short, too tight, too much like you’re trying to be someone you aren’t. The denim sits awkwardly on your hips, and every time you move, you feel exposed and uncomfortable and completely out of your depth.

You tug at the hem desperately, as if pulling it down another inch might transform you into the kind of girl who belongs in clothes like this. But it’s a hopeless effort, a problem that no amount of adjusting and readjusting could fix. With a frustrated sigh, you start to take it off.

But the zipper catches.

“No, no, no,” you plead under your breath, wrestling with the stubborn zipper. It's completely stuck, and your attempts to force it are backfiring spectacularly.

A soft knock on the fitting room door makes you freeze.

“Everything okay in there, pipsqueak?” Caleb’s voice rings, warm with concern.

“I’m fine!” you call back, though you very much are anything but fine. The zipper is thoroughly jammed, and you’re trapped in a skirt that makes you feel like a kid playing dress-up.

Extremely scandalous dress-up.

“You sure? You’ve been in there a while.”

You close your eyes, mortified. “The zipper’s stuck.”

“Want some help?”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “You can’t come in here.”

“Says who?” He counters like it’s nothing. “I work here. Customer service and all that.”

Before you can protest, you hear the sound of the door opening. You spin around, arms flying to cross over yourself despite being fully clothed.

“Caleb—!”

“Relax, princess,” he says softly, and his voice has lost most of its teasing edge. His eyes drop to where your hands are hovering protectively near the front of the skirt, then back to your face. “Let me see what we’re dealing with.”

Caleb sinks down to one knee in front of you, and you forget how to breathe. His fingers find the stuck zipper, movements gentle and unhurried as he examines it.

“Yeah, it’s really stuck,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your stomach. “Hold still.”

His knuckles brush against your skin just above the waistband as he works at the zipper, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making a sound.

“There,” he says finally, and you feel the zipper give way. Yet he doesn't immediately stand. Instead, he looks up at you from where he's kneeling. “But before you take it off…”

You start to turn around, but his hands settle lightly on your shoulders, keeping you facing the mirror.

“Look at me,” he says quietly. “Not the skirt. Me.”

You meet his eyes in the reflection, and something in his expression makes your breath catch.

“This isn’t you, meimei,” he says simply, gesturing toward the skirt. “So tell me. What is it?”

“You don’t know that,” you snap, though your voice trembles slightly. “And it’s nothing.”

Caleb tilts his head, scanning you in the mirror. “Try me,” he murmurs. “I notice everything. I know when you’re holding back.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, cheeks hot, because yes, he does see. And yes, you are holding back—but not from him. From everything else. From the girls, the camera flashes, the way he lets them stare and smile and touch him and—

You glare at him, voice trembling with a possessiveness you didn’t realize clawed so strongly within you.

“Maybe I do want to get you fired. Maybe I don’t like that you’re here half-naked for the whole world to see. Maybe I hate that you take pictures with girls drooling all over you. Maybe I—“

You stop yourself mid-sentence, your stomach sinking as you realize what you just admitted.

“Say it,” he whispers, brushing his hand along your arm, just enough to make you shiver. “Go on. Finish it.”

You shake your head, the words caught heavy in your throat. He watches you for a long moment before continuing.

“I told you I notice everything. Every glare, every sigh, every time you try to hide how much it eats you up.” His fingers play with the hem of your skirt, knuckles grazing the inside of your thigh. “I see every single reaction. And I fuckin’ love it.”

“I’m not reacting,” you protest, which would be more convincing if your voice didn’t break halfway through.

“God, you’re perfect like this,” he laughs, dark and low. “All worked up over this. Over me. Do you know what that does to me?”

You shake your head quickly, lungs tightening, yet the predatory spark in his gaze tells you he won’t be denied.

“No?” He grips your sides to keep you in place, your bodies so close now that your back is flush against his chest, so close that you can feel exactly what you’re doing to him. The pulsing heat of his erection against the curve of your ass is undeniable, yet your mind insists it’s just part of the game you’ve always played—teasing, testing, holding back, and never crossing the line.

His breath is hot against your ear. “You really don’t have any idea how badly I crave you exactly like you are right now?”

“Caleb, stop–” You twist in his hold, heart pounding as heat floods through you in ways that make you panic. You need space, need to think, need to get away from whatever this feeling is before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have. But every movement just drives you harder into his body, leaving you trapped and breathless.

“I invited you here because I can’t stand being apart from you for a second,” he admits, voice raw with something like longing. “Ever since I left for school, it’s been driving me crazy—every day without you feels like a goddamn lifetime.”

“But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see what you’d do.” He slides a hand up to your chest, fingers grazing your collarbone, your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips once, then again. “Wanted to see if you’d get jealous.”

“I wanted to know if you missed me half as much as I’ve missed you.” He guides your chin upward, forcing your gaze to meet his in the mirror. “Wanted to see if you’d fight it. Or if you’d let yourself feel a little…possessive.”

The admission should scare you. It should make you angry. Instead, something dark and thrilling flares in your chest—the realization that he orchestrated this whole thing, that he wanted to see you jealous, that he was testing you. Your pulse hammers against your throat, and despite every rational thought screaming at you to be outraged, you're fighting the urge to lean into his touch, to let him see exactly how much his little game worked.

Your breath shakes, but your glare doesn’t waver. “You wanted me to break? Fine. You win.”

You manage to step back, reaching for the doorknob as you try to pull away. His hand clamps down on your wrist before you’re even halfway there, grip iron-strong. “Going somewhere?” he growls, voice gruff. “I don’t think so.”

“I could scream,” you try to threaten, but it comes out hollow.

“Yeah, you could,” he admits, his thumb tracing slow circles on the pulse point of your wrist. “But you won’t.”

He steps closer, backing you against the mirror until the cool glass presses against your shoulder blades, his free hand braced against the surface beside your head.

"Because you want this just as much as I do."

The certainty in his tone makes your heart rate spike. The thrill of being caught, trapped, and completely at his mercy makes you clench around nothing, even as you pretend to resist.

“You care,” he whispers, teeth grazing your temple. “You care so much it makes me insane.”

"That sounds like a you problem," you say, but your breath catches on the last word.

"Is it?" he mouths against your cheekbone. "Because I think it's becoming an us problem."

"There is no us," you lie, even as you ache with need between your thighs, your body betraying every word coming out of your mouth.

"Then why are you still here?” He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. “Why didn't you leave when those girls showed up? Why do you look like you want to murder anyone who gets too close to me?"

"I don't—"

"You do." His voice is soft but certain. "You care. You just won't say it."

"Maybe I just like making you a little crazy," you toss back, tilting your chin up with a defiance that does little to hide the way your breath is now coming in shallow pants.

“Crazy…” he repeats slowly, his eyes darkening as they drop to your lips. “God, pips. You’re making my job real fuckin’ hard.”

The admission hangs in the air between you, heavy and dangerous and full of promise. Every rational thought screams at you to pull away, to make some joke, to deflect like you always do. But you're so tired of running. So tired of pretending you don't feel exactly the same way, exactly as crazy and reckless and obsessive as he is.

You know this is it—the moment where you either run like you always do, or stay and face whatever this thing between you really is.

And so you surrender.

You trail a daring finger along the prominent outline straining through the front of his jeans, the subtle twitch of his cock beneath your touch igniting a thrill that spreads through you like wildfire.

“Just your job?” you tease, looking up at him through lowered lashes.

He hisses through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he doesn’t believe it’s real yet, like every nerve in his body is preparing for you to take it back.

You shift closer, pressing into him so he can’t mistake your intent. A lifetime’s worth of hesitation finally gives way to something you can’t withhold any longer, and you cup him fully over the denim with a certainty that makes his breath stutter.

“Shit,” he curses, grinding helplessly into your palm like he needs it to breathe. He lets himself melt into you, hips moving with shameless need. “One little touch from you and—fuck.”

You ease your hand away like you might stop, only to grab him firmer at the last second. A small, victorious smile tugs at your lips as he groans into your shoulder, heat and tension radiating off him, and you revel in just how undone he is under your touch.

“You really do wanna get me fired, huh?“ He presses his forehead to yours, fingers tangling in the hair at your nape, anchoring you against him. “You want me all to yourself, is that it?”

Yes. God, yes. Of course you want him to quit. To quit and drop out of college and leave everything else behind just for you—just to hold you, to touch you, to fuck you, to belong to you. Only you.

Still, you don’t dare to say it out loud, hiding the ache behind a cool, unreadable expression.

“Hmm.” Your fingers fumble with the button of his jeans until it pops loose, unzipping him enough to feel the heat of him through the soft fabric of his boxers beneath. “Looks like I already have you all to myself.”

Your bravado falters, immediately undone by the gasp that escapes when you wrap your hand around his cock. You can feel it pulsing even through his underwear, barely able to reach your fingers around the thick length of his shaft. Before you can go further, his large hand covers your small one with a grunt, rough fingers coaxing your grip to relax until he can weave them together with his own.

“Damn right you do.” His free hand snakes behind the back of your knee, hauling your leg up against his hip. “You’ve always had me. You just like making me prove it.”

You bite back a moan as he rocks into you, your nails digging into the hand that still pins yours. The skirt has ridden up high around your waist now, long forgotten, leaving your pink cotton panties on full display. You can see the darkened spot on the fabric where you’ve soaked through, even in the dim fitting room, but you’re too turned on to feel embarrassed, too intoxicated on whatever this is to hide the evidence of just how badly your body wants his. All you can focus on now is the feeling of Caleb grinding his hips into yours, the way he bucks into you like he can’t get close enough.

“M-maybe I’ll get this skirt after all,” you murmur, tilting your hips to match his rhythm. “You said I could pick out anything I wanted, didn’t you?”

His jaw flexes, eyes going dark. He loathes that skirt—loathes the thought of anyone else seeing what he sees now. “Careful, princess. You’re one word away from finding out just how much I hate it.”

You choose not one word, but two.

The two words that you know will undo him. The ones that, without fail, will have him wound around your little finger before he even realizes it.

“Please, gege?” You draw them out slowly, eyes wide, savoring every second of the effect.

With a growl, he drops to his knees, yanking you back against the mirror so you can’t escape. His shoulders force your legs wider, and before you can protest, he’s mouthing at your skin, hot and claiming.

“You like this skirt, yeah? Then maybe I should remind you who you’re wearing it for.”

His teeth sink into your thigh, leaving a bruise he licks over just to bite again harder.

“You think I’ll let anyone else see you like this?” he snarls against your skin, another sharp nip punctuating his words. “Not happening. Not ever.”

He holds you firm, lips moving up your thigh with intentional cruelty, alternating between sucking bruises into your skin and sharp bites that make you whine. Each mark is deliberate, carved into you where only he’ll know they exist.

“You wish I would, though. Wish I’d done this right out there in the store in front of those girls, let ‘em know who’s mine.” A low, rough chuckle rumbles from his chest. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

His hand drags along your thigh, fingers tracing the marks he’s left, face inching so close now that his nose brushes the band of your underwear. You shiver, an unbearable heat burning behind your ribs, caught between wanting to push away and wanting to pull him even closer.

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” you murmur, trying to steady your breath with a smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re the one who can’t get enough of this.”

Without warning, he drags his tongue along the front of your underwear, sucking at your clit hard through the fabric. Your knees go weak, and you press your palms back against his shoulders instinctively, shivering with both surprise and desire.

“You have no idea,” he says, lips grazing that same spot again. “No fucking idea.”

His teeth scrape a final time before he leans back on his heels, breathing hard, lips red from the trail he’s left along your thighs. He grips your leg tighter, forcing you closer to him as he angles your body toward the mirror.

“Look. Look how pretty you are like this,” he orders, voice ragged. His hand guides your chin until you’re staring at your own reflection—skirt rucked up indecently, legs painted in his marks, undoubtedly claimed by him. “You see that? You can’t wear this skirt again. Every inch you thought you could show off? It belongs to me.”

You swallow hard, pulse racing, and, despite your taunting, your body betrays you, arching slightly against him as you realize exactly how right—and wrong—it feels. You’ve imagined this moment a thousand times, but never like this, never so dangerously public and stupidly reckless and wildly all-consuming.

“Do you do…this…with all your customers?” Your voice trembles with a mix of teasing and nerves.

Before you can even blink, his hands slide firmly to your hips, guiding you forward until your hands hit the mirror for support. He presses a kiss along the curve of your backside, both hands grabbing the soft flesh of your thighs, controlling and sure.

“Do I do what? Do I bend them over in the dressing room?” He rips your underwear clean in two, baring your cunt, soaked and swollen, fully before him. You’re too dazed to even notice him slip the pink fabric into his back pocket. “Do I make them keep on a tiny little skirt so I can fuck them with my tongue until they scream?”

His mouth is on you before the words can register, tongue parting you from behind in one languid stroke.

“I’m not—ah—!”

“Shh,” he hums against you in satisfaction, which only makes your thighs tremble harder. “I know. I know.”

He could make you beg, could make you work for it–but Caleb has never been one for patience. Not when it comes to you. You feel his smile against your skin in between long strokes of his tongue, each one greedier, pressing into you a little deeper. “No, I don’t do this for all my customers. Just you, meimei. Only you.”

He brings a broad finger to join his mouth at your pussy, slipping past your tight entrance so easily it makes him curse. “You…you’re…holy fuck.”

He dares to add another, slowly, too slowly for your liking. You arch into him, urging him deeper, letting him know exactly how much you want it.

"You know what I love about you, pips?" He fucks you unhurriedly with his fingers, tongue dipping into your pussy from behind like he can't help himself. "Your body gives you away every time. You tell me everything...without saying a word. Always have."

Your face burns as you realize how exposed you've been. Every time you'd watched him through barely-cracked doors. Every time you'd pressed your thighs together when he walked shirtless through the house. Every time your breathing had changed when he got too close. Every desperate, hungry look you thought you'd hidden—he'd been reading your body like his favorite book.

“So, are you finally gonna admit it? That you’re as possessive of me as I am of you? That you want to own me every bit as badly as I want to own you?”

You lean back further, pressing your palms against the glass, craving more—more friction, more pressure, more him. And it’s from this angle that you see it: Caleb, stroking his cock with his free hand, the muscles of his arm flexing hard as he moves.

“Or…” He curls his fingers inside you, dragging them torturously against your inner walls. “Do I have to show you how obvious it is?”

His words, his mouth, his hands on you, on himself…it’s all too much, too overwhelming, too powerful of a feeling for you to handle. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, desperate to keep quiet, desperate to cry out his name. You feel yourself clenching involuntarily around his fingers, so close to the edge it hurts.

“There she is,” His voice is rough with triumph, eyes locking on yours in the mirror. He pulls away, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. “You want me, don’t you? God, you want me so bad I can feel it in every inch of you.”

He shifts to stand, hauling you up effortlessly with him until your legs lock tight around his waist. The movement knocks the air from your lungs, his body pinning yours against the wall, hands gripping under you like he’ll never let go.

“So I’m gonna give you what you want, okay, princess?” he murmurs, mouth dragging over your jaw, daring you to deny it even now. “Even if you won’t admit it.”

He grinds his thick shaft along your sensitive cunt, and you lose yourself in the feel of it. Of how perfectly he fits against you, the bass thrumming through your bones, of his breath warm against your neck. Until it's just Caleb and you and nothing else. Maybe it's how his body feels around yours, maybe it's the way he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing on the planet. You don’t know. You don’t care. You just need to finally speak the truth that's been rooted inside you, long before you even understood what it meant.

“I don’t want you.” Your chest heaves, the words clawing up your throat before you can stop them. “I need you.”

Those three words strike him like a match. You watch him—half afraid, half relieved—as the sound leaves your lips.

He leans in just enough for his nose to graze yours, pausing there, hesitant to cross that line. His eyes search yours, daring, warning, wanting. After everything else you’ve just done, a kiss should be nothing. But it isn’t. It’s the point of no return—and he knows it, too.

Because a kiss isn’t just skin on skin. It’s the first undeniable proof that you belong to each other, that the teasing, the games, the carefully measured boundaries are over. It’s the moment where want turns into claim, where the dynamic between you shifts in a way that you can’t come back from.

“You can still say no,” he whispers, “but you have to say it now.”

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his lips brush against yours. He waits, holding back, giving you one last chance to run away, daring you to give in.

And then, all at once, the restraint shatters. His lips press fully to yours, firm, claiming, urgent. You gasp, melting into him, and the line you feared so much vanishes beneath the fire of what’s finally real.

It’s you who deepens it first, teasing your tongue at his bottom lip until he parts wider, inviting you in, his own tongue meeting yours with hungry strokes.

He kisses you again and again, hard and claiming, then softer, like an apology and a promise at once. He kisses you a dozen times, a dozen different ways, like he’s dreamed of them all and refuses to pick just one.

“I need you, too,” he admits into the kiss, voice thick with desire. He aligns the head of his cock with your center, bare and hot, the sight of his precum mixing with your slick pleasure enough to make your heart beat faster. “I need you so goddamn much I’m sick with it.”

“Caleb…” you plead breathlessly. “Make me yours.”

He doesn’t waste another second before pushing inside of you with a groan, stopping halfway, giving you time to adjust to the stretch of him. Or maybe he’s the one who needs a moment to breathe.

“Please,” you’re practically begging at this point, trembling with the need to feel him completely. “I–I can handle it.”

“Not…you I’m…worried about.” His head drops to your shoulder with a shaky exhale as he eases in another inch. You’re so wet and soft and warm with months, years of pent-up need that even his impossible size sinks into you without resistance. “You’re so–fuck–so goddamn tiny, meimei. But you…you take me so…so well.”

Every strained word makes you tense tighter around him, pulling him deeper, closer, until he’s finally, finally, buried fully inside you. He stays still like that at first, letting himself enjoy the feeling of your body wrapped entirely around his, kissing your neck, your jaw, your lips like you’re something holy.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this…” he murmurs against your mouth between kisses. ”I told myself I’d never put you in this position, never…never take something from you you weren’t ready to give.”

Even like this, you feel his cock twitch against your inner walls, just holding you and kissing you like this enough to make him come undone. And you’re right there falling apart with him, too.

“But, God,” he swallows hard, dragging his cock slowly, tortuously, in and out of you like he hates himself for it. “Missing you hurt so bad—so fuckin’ bad—it turned into…this. And now…now I don’t know how to stop.”

When he moves, it’s with careful brutality—fast enough to take you, slow enough to keep you there—and every motion says the same thing: you wanted him, you admitted it, and now he wants to give you everything that you need. Still, he holds back. Like some part of him still doesn’t believe you want this as badly as he does.

“You think you’re the only one who’s been miserable?” you challenge, voice tight.

He tries to look away, but you thread your fingers in his hair, forcing his eyes back to yours. “Stop acting like you’re the only one drowning in this. You left, and I thought I’d suffocate without you. Don't you understand? Every day you were gone felt wrong.”

You press your lips to one corner of his mouth, then the other. “You didn’t take anything from me. You’re not the only one who couldn’t wait.”

You have his full attention now, his eyes burning into yours as he continues to thrust at a punishingly tender pace.

“I missed you so much, gege. I couldn’t even sleep in my own bed. I stayed in yours, every night you were gone, because it still smelled like you. And I’d…I’d…”

His voice is a low growl. “Tell me.”

"I’d...touch myself, under your sheets. Because it was the only way I felt close to you.”

“You did what?” His pupils blow wide at your admission, hips jerking into you a little harder now, faster, messier.

“I’d put on your big t-shirts, you know, the ones I like to steal? I’d put one on, j-just that.” The thought of you lying in his bed like that, needy and aching just for him, unleashes something primal. He sucks and bites on your bottom lip until you moan into his mouth.

“Then I’d fuck myself with my…my fingers, pretending it was you instead.”

“Yeah?” He hauls you higher against him, holding you so close you can barely breathe. “You wanted me to fill you up like this? Wanted to come all over my cock, didn’t you, meimei? Wanted to make me all yours?”

You try to say yes, but it comes out more breath than word, each thrust driving you closer and closer to the edge of your release.

“I should never have left you,” he admits, tone softer with a dark edge. “I should’ve taken you with me, should’ve taken us somewhere no one else could find us, locked you in with me where you belong.”

“Please,” you whisper back, “it’s all I…all I ever want.”

“Someday, pretty girl. I swear it." He's so deep inside you it's almost too much, but you still crave more, crave anything he'll give you. "And God help anyone who tries to stop me.”

You can picture it so clearly now: you and Caleb running away together, losing yourselves in each other’s arms, day after day, night after night, learning each other’s bodies like a map–slowly, thoroughly, again and again–then laughing over burnt toast in the mornings, folding laundry with your fingers still brushing.

It’s unbearable, the way the thought swells in your chest, the way he fucks into you like he’s trying to become a part of you. It’s warm and aching in every fiber of your being, like your body and your heart can’t decide if they're meant to break or burst.

“Caleb, I think I’m–ah–”

“Shit, you’re really–” his pace is frenzied, desperate, relentless. “You’re coming. You’re…you’re coming.”

Your forehead, slicked with sweat, drops forward as you clench helplessly around him. You clamp your teeth into his shoulder to silence the cry of your release, but tears spill hot and uncontrolled anyway. Without hesitation, Caleb leans in, his tongue tracing a rough line along your cheek to catch a stray teardrop.

"I’ve got you. I’ve got you...I–"

A low sound tears deep from his chest, and his hips stutter a final time before you feel the heat of his orgasm spill deep inside you. It should terrify you, the way he claims you so completely. You know it’s wrong. You know this could ruin everything. But there’s no space left for fear. Still, your body leans in like it’s always known his. Still, you want more. Still, you think—let it ruin me. Just don’t let it end. Never let it end.

Your body goes slack in his arms, legs still wrapped tight and trembling around his waist, and the world tilts dangerously. Without a word, he carefully lowers both of you down onto the floor, keeping you close, keeping you safe.

“Just breathe,” he murmurs softly into your hair, and everything else fades. There’s only the heat of his arms around your waist, the shaky rhythm of your breathing, and the quiet promise in his voice.

“I love you. God, I love you,” he kisses your head, your ear, the curve of your neck as his cock still pulses lazily inside of you with the echoes of his release. “I’m so fucking in love with you I can’t think straight.”

Your fingers drift over the hard planes of his stomach, tracing slow lines up and down his chest.

“I love you, too, Caleb. So much. And I–I don't know how to go back," you whisper, voice breaking completely. "I don't know how to pretend this doesn't matter."

"Then we don't go back. We can't—I can't. You're everything to me. Everything." His hand catches yours, presses it flat against his chest where his heart hammers against your palm. "We’ll figure it out, you and me. We always do. Nobody else matters.”

You don’t say anything else. And you don’t have to. Because right now, for just a moment, it’s enough to believe him. To let yourself exist in this bubble where loving him isn't complicated, where he doesn't have to leave you, where it's just you and him and the promise that this feeling—this overwhelming, terrifying, beautiful feeling—might actually be forever.

You’re still clinging to him, skin flushed and heartbeat all over the place, when—

“Yo, Caleb?!”

The voice is way too loud and way too close. You both jolt like you’ve been caught sneaking out of a crime scene. Caleb blinks at you. You blink at him. Neither of you moves.

“Dude, where the hell are you? Fitting rooms? Are you serious?”

You both freeze.

“Bro, it reeks like sex in here! This is a place of business, you animals!”

Your mouth opens to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a breathy, panicked laugh. Caleb looks at the door, then at you, and whispers, “…I think I might be fired.”

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing too loud. “You're definitely fired.”

There’s another bang on the fitting room wall.

“We’ve got a Karen having a meltdown in Denim! Caleb, get your horny ass out there!”

He fumbles trying to zip himself back into his jeans, kisses your forehead way too fast, and mutters, “Pray for me.”

With a reluctant sigh, he pushes himself up from the floor, guiding you up to stand beside him. He helps you step out of the skirt, letting the fabric pool at your feet.

Gathering the skirt in his hands, he starts wiping away the dampness clinging between your thighs—his come dripping out of you, the sticky heat of your own release, all the traces of everything shared between you.

“Caleb! What the hell are you—”

But he cuts you off with a low murmur, eyes dark and amused as he brushes a hand gently over your skin.

“Relax, babe,” he says softly. “It needed to be burned anyway.”

He fixes his hair in the mirror as you pull on your jeans, ready to head out, when his eyes catch something—a faint, darkened mark just above his collarbone. His fingers pause, tracing lightly over the bite mark you left on his shoulder. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, eyes heavy with something wild and heartfelt all at once.

“Next time, leave a deeper one,” he says, thumb still circling the mark. “I’ll have it inked.”

You meet his gaze, matching his smile with one of your own. “Or I’ll just bite you every day. Save you the trouble.”

He ruffles your hair with such gentle affection, and suddenly the childhood gesture feels like something else entirely. “You’re trouble, pipsqueak.”

“You love it,” you shoot back, nudging him as you follow him out of the fitting room.

He crumples the denim miniskirt in his hands, giving it one last glare—like it personally offended him—before tossing it unceremoniously into the nearest trash can.

“I do.” When he looks back, his eyes are soft and fond, like he's memorizing this moment. Like he wants to remember exactly how you look right now, flushed and happy and his. “I really do.”

He leans in quickly, stealing one final, gentle kiss before disappearing down the hall to face the dreaded denim emergency.

"Go," you say softly, even though every part of you is screaming for him to stay. "Before you actually do get fired."

He grins, backing toward the register. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Caleb!" you laugh, shoving him playfully toward his duties. "Go already!”

He's still grinning as he jogs backward, nearly colliding with a display of cologne bottles in his eagerness to keep looking at you. "Worth it!" he calls over his shoulder.

You shake your head, watching him go with a smile so wide it makes your cheeks ache. It's only when he's halfway across the store that you notice the sliver of pink fabric peeking out from the back pocket of his jeans.

Your boy. Your impossible, reckless, definitely-getting-fired-tomorrow boy.

[zaynezone]

USE ME (ft. Zayne, Sylus, & Valko)

synopsis: A free use agreement is always fun pairings (separate): Zayne x f!reader, Valko x f!reader, Sylus x f!reader content: oral (m!receiving with Sylus, fem!receiving with Zayne), penetrative sex (with Valko)

ZAYNE

You don't even hear him come home.

You're a little too focused on trying to clean the underside of the table, on all fours underneath it. It's only when you feel the weight settling behind you, cool hands gently gripping your waist and tugging down your shorts.

Immediately, you grin. This agreement was really the best.

"O-oh my god..." You gasp feeling his tongue run over the seat of your panties, soaking the fabric. He hums, doing it a few times until you start to whine. Still, he's mostly ignoring you. This is for his pleasure after all. Your orgasm is just a bonus.

You try to keep cleaning, you really do. But you manage three swipes with the damp cloth before giving up, arching into his tongue when he pulls aside your panties and licks a loooong stripe up.

"Z-Zayne!" You grip the cloth tightly in your fist, trying to ground yourself. It's not much use, he knows exactly where to push to make you cum.

"Fuck!" Curses slip out of your mouth as you cum, only partially directed at the stupid table from keeping you too still to turn around and watch him. You can already picture the pleased smirk on his face as he pulls away, though not without cleaning you up with his tongue and making you whimper from the overstimulation.

"S-stressful day at work?" You ask as he fixes your shorts, then helps you out from under the table.

"Just the usual. Do you need any help?"

"...Wanna help me clean the shower? I think it's a two person job."

SYLUS

It couldn't possibly be that important, right?

Well, surely he'd say something to stop you if it was. So you shrug, and make your way into Sylus's office, mouth already watering.

He glances up when you step inside, slutty little glasses perched low on his beautiful nose. His robe is tied low, as it usually is, as he half listens to someone on the phone drone on and on about some business deal.

A smirk appears on his face when you wave at him, already knowing what you're up to. But he doesn't object, turning his chair so there's adequate room between his legs for you to kneel down.

"That sounds fine." He murmurs into the phone, watching you undo his robe and palm his half hard cock. Even now, it's an impressive length, one you're never fully able to fit in your mouth, but you're not a quitter.

He inhales quietly the moment your mouth swirls around his tip, moaning at the taste. From an outsiders perspective, it might look like you were doing this for his pleasure. But you and Sylus both know that really, this is all for you.

"I'm sure you can handle it." You glance up instinctively, but he's still on the phone, eyes full of mirth as if he can read your mind.

Still, feeling encouraged, you take him deeper, drooling around his hard length. He always tastes so good somehow. It's nearly addictive.

"Feeling hungry tonight, kitten?" You hadn't heard him hand up, but it's clear he has. You hum in response, bobbing your head around him as he sighs, tossing his head back in pleasure.

"Use me as much as you like. As long as I can return the favour once you're done, yes?"

VALKO

As annoyed as you were at your boyfriend for working so late, when everyone else had already gone home, it did have one perk.

"H-hi?" Valko's eyes go wide when you straddle him, immediately stopping what he's doing to rest his hands on your hips.

"You can keep working. Just wanna ride you." You murmur, pressing a few kisses to his neck. It doesn't take Valko much to get going, probably because of the way your scent currently envelops him.

"You don't w-want my help?" He picks up what he was working on, but you know his focus is elsewhere as you start to undo his pants.

"Nope. Just relax and let me use you?" He shivers at your words, no longer able to respond the moment your hand wraps around his cock.

You're grateful for the skirt you chose today, simply pulling your underwear aside and sinking down on him, whimpering slightly at the feeling of his cock splitting you open so deliciously.

"Fuck..." He sighs, device clattering to the desk behind you as he grabs your hips, already thrusting up into you.

"Y-you're supposed to stay still and let-let me use you..." Your complaints are half-hearted, forehead falling to his shoulder as his hips snap up to bury his length inside you.

"You are u-using me." He pants, using his grip on you to bounce you on his length. If anything, it's the other way around, but you're not complaining.

"Oh god I'm close!" You gasp, the chair squeaking underneath your bodies. He moves you faster, thumb finding your clit and making you see white instantly, nearly screaming out.

"Woah...you should come use me at work more often."

[mwphisto]

Sylus loves the look of your wedding ring on your finger. 18+

He can't get enough of the way the diamonds shine so beautifully in any environment. How he crafted it to sit so perfectly on your finger, so snug yet comfortable. Never to be lost or damaged.

Sylus especially loves the look of your wedding ring when it is the only thing you have on. When you're pressed down over his desk, clothes discarded everywhere around his office. Your stomach flat again the cool mahogany, your branded finger twitching in the dim light of the office as you grasp on for something - anything - to keep you sane.

"S-sylus... please!" Every thrust is brutal, so deep you swear you can feel him in your chest. "Please what?" he rasps, heavy body leaning down over yours. Dwarfing you entirely, pressing you harder into the surface supporting your naked frame. "What do you want me to do?"

He plows himself into you, sheathing his cock in its entirety inside of you. The bones of his hips digging into the fat of your ass and nearly making you hook a leg up over the desk to try and pull away. "Tell your husband what you want him to do to you." You should have kept your damn mouth shut, your head is spinning from how deep he is.

"I-I..." you feel the saliva pooling in your mouth, stars blinking across your vision as your glittering finger catches the light once more. Reminding Sylus why he had gotten so worked up in the first place.

He was still getting used to you being his wife. His pretty, pretty wife. His hips started moving again before you could speak, his own imagination running from him as he leans back. A large hand coming down to connect with your ass cheek in a brutal smack.

"Don't be dumb now, baby. Tell me what you want. Or is my cock really that good? Your pretty pussy can't take a good pounding without your pretty little head going all stupid, huh? Your husband fucks you so good, doesn't he? Tell me how good I fuck you, baby."

You could feel the drool slip past your lips now, heat flooding your cheeks as you cry out in pleasure. "S-so good, Sy. You're f-fuckin me so good. My per-perfect huuuh-hushand!" God he was going to explode.

[smuttycravings]

fucking obsessed with the thought of valko cumming sososooo much inside you

he's thrusting and thrusting before eventually he can't hold it in anymore. valko is desperate for his release but he can't bring himself to pull out from your slick, dripping warmth to cum on your stomach or thighs.

"gonna cum baby, mfhh~ hold still." you hear close to you, seconds before sexy sounds of uncontrollable grunting and deep growling.

like a man starved of pleasure, he's howling loudly. the moans escaping his needy lips are overpowering, as your beefy boyfriend atop you isn't afraid to be noisy because he knows that you enjoy it.

he spurts his thick seed between your velvety walls, long rope after long rope with yet another aggressive moan. it's too much for you to take, too much for your pussy to hold. before valko even pulls out, it's already spilling.

each time he breeds you, he releases an impressive amount of cum. lots more than any previous boyfriend you've ever been in love with, and he knows that fact.

it takes two entire minutes before all of it spills onto your asshole and for that time, he's there lovingly with his big nose just inches from your hole intensely watching you push it out.

[humanjarvis]

gravity

synopsis: caleb makes you use his evol to ride him. that is all.

tags: smut, dom caleb, mean caleb, mean dom caleb, lowkey brat reader, p in v, riding, improper use of evol, unprotected sex, coming inside, somnophilia reference, he threatens to withhold his own orgasm, teasing, mocking, caleb makes you kiss him, sweat, implied marathon sex, impact play, Caleb the Interrupter 

pairing: caleb x fem reader

word count: 1.1k

“when you sink down, do it slowly. i want you to feel every inch of it.” 

“isn’t this too much?” whining, you make a desperate attempt to escape—to no avail, of course. that familiar feeling weighs down on your body almost instantly. “please? i’ll help you next time, i swear! today was just a one-time thing!”

“you begged me to help you clean up the house before your big book club meeting this weekend. i take off work, get here early, and as soon as we get started, what do you do?” glaring at you from below, he clears his throat and puts on a high-pitched voice. “caleb, i’m so sorry, but my friend’s car broke down. i need to drop them off at the store, then at work, but i’ll be back soon, i swear!” he squeaks with a dry chuckle. “yeah. if by ‘soon,’ you meant seven hours later.” 

“there was traffic! and i ended up just staying through their whole shift, because—”

“i’m not fallin’ for your little tricks today, so you can cut it out already.” he takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, firmly forcing you to meet his heated gaze. “our house is spotless because of me. my hard work. it’s time for you to return the favor.”

his hand engulfs yours, and the familiar warmth of resonance flows through you.

caleb gives, you take, just like usual. he lets his power becomes yours and smiles at the sight.

this time, his reasoning is far from selfless.

“don’t hurt yourself.”

it’s his command for you to start.

whimpering quietly, you sink down on his thick, hard length, breathing slowly while your body accommodates the stretch. 

by now, your core is more than used to him—his size, his girth, his occasional punishing pace—but now, you hold the reins. mastering the monster bullying the rawest parts of you? it’s almost as big an adjustment as your first time together.  

he watches you brazenly as you start your own rhythm, maneuvering yourself with timid, exploratory drags up and down. when you channel his evol, harnessing gravity to inch yourself up ever so slowly, you can feel his hot, tender skin slipping past your walls, promising never to leave you for very long. and each time that invisible force tugs you right back down? he grows a little bit bigger inside you. 

a sharp hit to your backside disrupts your unsure movements, the loud crack resounding through the otherwise quiet bedroom. “you think you'll get any leverage like that? hold onto me harder. push at my chest if you need to. i can barely feel you.” 

gritting your teeth at his wanton order, you bury your nails deeper into his skin. you tell yourself you don’t care if it hurts—he deserves it—but eye him with caution all the same. “i’m trying, caleb. you know i’m not used to this. i’m already getting tired. i’m not as strong as you.”

he tsks, knocking on your temple twice with his knuckles. “a fact hardly works as flattery.”

“i—”

“you say you’re sooo tired,” he drawls. “how? i’m doing all the work, just like always.” to prove his point, he flicks a hand in the air. your head tilts forward at his command, and he puppeteers you down for a heated kiss.

he pulls back once your air supply starts to wane, only to narrow his eyes as your skin smacks together once again. “i may get tired, letting you use me like this, but don’t think you can stop if i drift off for a sec. we’re in this for long haul. you can stop when…if…i say so.” 

“can you at least help me?” even with his support, your thighs still burn like hell. 

“if you’d helped me this afternoon, i’d be rewarding you right now. you’d be moaning my name even louder than normal.” 

“caleb, please,” you whine. “what else do you want me to do?”

“just keep going,” he says smugly. “i did allll the work earlier. i’m not doing a single thing ‘til you prove you can pull your own weight. right now, i’m just gonna sit back and enjoy my luxury view.” 

grumbling, you swipe at his neck but keep moving, gasping when the slight curve of him brushes just right against that special spot. 

“are you getting close?” he purrs. “good. go faster.”

faster? since his outright refusal to help you, you’ve made enough squelches and smacks to make an erotica author blush. lines of muscle and stores of fat ripple with every slam down on him. how are you supposed to go faster? 

“i can’t! this is as fast as i can— i can’t go any faster, caleb.” 

your cries fill his ears, and he leans in close to murmur in yours. “make me come, and i’ll let you stop. but unless you go faster, i’ll hold everything back. we’ll be here all night. i promise you that.”

you’re babbling now at the weight of his threat, spearing yourself up and down on his length too fast to even sneak words in between. each time you rise and fall in the air, all you can smell, all you can taste, is sex. you and him, him and you. both of you, together.

despite his bravado, his head falls forward on the hardest bounce yet, slumping against your sweat-slick shoulder. he doesn't hesitate to mouth at the damp skin, groaning as his thighs finally start to tremble beneath you.

“good,” he hisses. “so, so good.” an open-mouthed kiss sears your collarbone. “can you feel it? how close i am? you’ll feel all of it soon. don’t stop.”

“not gonna stop,” you slur, shaking your head frantically. “just hurry, please. i can’t hold on, i can’t, i—”

strong arms wrap around your back and yank you downward. fully seated on his spasming cock, you feel the heat first—then the unsteady bursts flowing inside you. 

each thick spurt flooding in, claiming all of you, plays its part in sending you over the edge. before his high loses momentum, your muscles clamp down on him, forcing all of what’s left into your deepest depths. 

gasping to catch your breath, you all but mewl into his keen ears. “there’s so much…so much…we need to wash the sheets before we go to be—”

big, warm hands squeeze the flesh of your thighs, hovering you threateningly above his still-soaked tip. that cruel, cunning smirk you’ve come to dread curves his full lips. “i said you could stop when you made me come,” he murmurs lowly. 

“i never said i’d be done with you.” 

[calebsfavoriteusedthong]

Inspired by this art. Go follow the artist! 🩷🩷

CW: P in V. Smut. 🔞MDNI🔞

The sand was too hot and the sun was too bright and you had been telling yourself for the past ten minutes that was why you were irritated. Completely reasonable things to be annoyed by. Nothing to do with the group of women who hadn't moved in twenty minutes.

Every time Xavier went up for the spike —shoulders rolling back, arms coming over, the full length of him extending into the air— you'd heard it. The collective intake of breath from the small crowd gathered. Women who had started watching casually and then stayed, cups in hand, not even pretending anymore.

You'd watched them watching him. Broad shoulders, sculpted chest, abs glistening with a light sheen of sweat, and those low slung shorts, he looked like a walking sun god.

You were NOT a jealous partner. He'd always been the one simmering quietly over a look someone gave you, a hand that lingered too long on your arm, and you'd always been the one teasing him for it.

Today it had flipped, and he knew it.

You'd caught him looking at you between serves. Reading your face, tracking where your eyes had gone, what they'd found and what they were doing with it. And the blue of his irises had changed to something that looked a lot like want.

When the final point landed you didn't discuss going back to your suite. You grabbed his wrist before he could reach for a towel and pulled him. The hidden stretch of shore you'd found yesterday was a ten minute walk down the beach, tucked behind a curve of dark rock that blocked it completely from view. You'd spent an hour there yesterday, doing nothing, just lying in the quiet. You had different plans for it today.

He hadn't caught his breath yet. His chest was still working, sweat at his sternum, hair damp at his temples, a silver whistle swaying on its cord as you turned to face him.

You pushed him down and he let you, dropping back onto the sand without argument. From the ground he tracked your face with half lidded blue eyes. Patient, the way he always got when he'd decided to let you lead.

You stepped over him and settled across his thighs, your knees pressing into the sand on either side of him.

"You had a lot of fun out there"

His hands came to your waist immediately and his thumbs pressed into the dip of your hips. "I always have fun when I'm with you."

"That's not what I mean."

His mouth curved slightly at the edge.

"Liar." you reached down and hooked one finger around the cord of the whistle, pulling him up slightly by it, bringing his face close to yours. "Every girl was watching you. Every single one" You tried to keep your voice even. "Looking at everything that belongs to me."

His hands tightened on your waist.

Beneath your thigh, through the thin fabric of his shorts, you felt him respond —an involuntary pressure, his hips moving slightly under you before he caught himself.

The blue of his eyes had gone several shades darker. His bottom lip was slightly parted.

"And you loved it"

He opened his mouth.

You reached down and pulled the front of his shorts down before he could say anything. When you freed him he was already hard, warm and heavy against his stomach, a bead of moisture at the tip calling for your mouth. The sea breeze moved over him and he exhaled through his nose.

"They watched you the whole game," you whispered, fingers wrapping around him"Every serve. Every jump." A slow stroke, barely anything, enough to make his cock jump in your hand "But they didn't see this. Only I get to see this."

His stomach contracted.

You picked up the whistle and pressed the mouthpiece gently between his teeth. His eyes widened slightly and he tried to say something —the soft instinctive murmur he defaulted to— but it came out muffled, cut off by the metal.

"No." You held his gaze.

He bit down lightly on the mouthpiece.

You reached down, pulled the strings of your bikini bottoms loose at each hip, and tossed the fabric into the sand.

"Blow that whistle when you want to cum, handsome"

His eyes dropped and then came back up to your face when you lined your wet pussy directly over the tip of his cock.

You sank all the way down and his back left the sand, just the upper half, shoulders rising off the ground, abs contracting hard. The sound he made into the whistle came out broken and half formed, more breath than anything.

You waited. Stayed still and let him feel it, let the moment sit, watching his throat work as he swallowed.

Then you started to move.

Rising until he was barely inside you and dropping back down in one smooth roll of your hips, your hands braced lightly on his chest. He exhaled in a rush through his nose. His knuckles had gone white where he was gripping you.

"Everyone out there thinks you're so cute," you found rhythm and stayed in it. "So quiet and sweet." a tight circle of your hips made him twitch underneath you, a full body response, his jaw clamping hard on the mouthpiece. "They have no idea what you're actually like."

His hips rose to meet yours. Trying to take more, to push the pace. You let him have it for a moment and then pulled back, slowed down and made him wait.

He groaned into the whistle.

"Is this what it feels like?" you continued, dropping down onto him again and grinding slow, feeling every inch of the stretch. You leaned forward, hands moving from his chest to the sand on either side of his head, bringing your face closer to his. "You liked watching me get jealous?"

His eyes closed briefly.

You sat back up and picked up the pace.

The sound of the waves covered every sound. The wet slap of skin against skin. His abs locked under you every time you came down, holding himself back, and the sounds coming through the whistle were small, bitten off exhales that got away from him.

His hands slid from your hips down to grip the back of your thighs, pulling you in harder, closer, his own hips working up to match yours. His eyes were fixed on your face, blue and blown wide open.

You felt when he got close. His breathing changed, shallower and faster, his whole body starting to pull tight. He tried to hold onto the rhythm but it was slipping, hips stuttering, back beginning to arch again.

He tried to blow the whistle.

What came out was a breathless, thoroughly defeated little sound. A whisper of air through metal that died out almost immediately, collapsing under the weight of a chest that was heaving too hard to sustain it.

You stopped your hips completely and he made a desperate sound.

You reached up and wrapped your fingers around the cord at his neck, pulling him up toward you again until his chest met yours, his face right there, close enough to feel the heat pouring off his skin.

"You can't even blow it," you mocked him softly, right against his jaw. "All that out there. All those serves, all that diving around in the sun, putting on a show." You let the pause sit. "And you can't manage a clear whistle?"

His face, up close, was completely wrecked.

"Blow it properly," you ordered. "If you manage to blow it loud and clear... I'll let you cum."

Xavier’s eyes widened in determination. He gripped your hips hard, taking a deep breath to steady his racing heart and shaky lungs.

He blew.

The note came out loud, one long sustained sound that scattered into the sea air, clear and steady from start to finish.

You dropped your hips down hard and didn't stop.

A long and terribly warm moan tore from his throat, muffled against your skin, while his large hands fisted hard into your ass—holding you tightly pinned down.

The whistle slipped loosely from his lips as his breathing fell apart into trembling gasps. Sweat poured down his spine, his abs twitching helplessly beneath you with every surge of hot release filling your pussy.

He dropped back onto the sand and took you with him, one arm locked around your waist. You lay there with the sound of the ocean and his heartbeat gradually slowing under you.

"They were watching you too," he said quietly, after a while.

You looked up at him.

He was already looking back. Completely serious. "Just so we're even."

Hello again! 🩷🩷

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[calebunny]

Valko can be a little too tall for you.

You were gripping onto a shelf lined with all sorts of files and papers, completely bent over between the rows inside what looked like a storage room. Dimly lit by the fluorescents peeking in under the door, shadows of passing footsteps appeared every now and then. Your pants were pooled at your ankles, the wood in your hold creaking with every shift in movement. 

“Ko, please.”

He responded with a low whine from behind you.

He had been dry humping you for a while now, or at least in theory, because his dick was the furthest it could be from your achy cunt, sliding along your lower back instead. 

You wanted to take matters into your own hands, but he was making it real hard with the way he was kneading your ass, still red from his smacks earlier, sending the stimulation straight to where you needed him most. 

“F-fuck, I wanna– I wanna be inside you so bad.”

“Then go inside, you idiot.”

Of course, you could feel your patience wearing thin, your pussy was drooling so much it probably left a puddle at your feet.

“I-I’m trying baby.” he whimpered, burying his face in your hair. 

You felt his hand grip your hip tighter, guiding you up onto your tippy-toes while his other hand reached down to lower his dick toward your puffy entrance. 

When you felt his blunt tip pressing against you, your back arched on its own, a moan spilling from your lips as you chased sweet relief. 

...And then his dick popped back upward, resting flat against your ass again. 

“Fuck. me.” So close to feeling your sweet pussy just to have it taken away.

His hand shifted down to reach your clit, rubbing circles as he bent his own knees instead, but the angle just wasn't working. 

He let out a growl, utterly frustrated with how he was cockblocking himself.  

“You know what, puppy?” He straightened up, planting both hands firmly on your hips to steady you. “Sorry in advance.”

“Wha–”

Before you could ask what he meant, your feet left the floor completely. He hoisted your entire body by your hips up to where he needed you, and your hands scrambled wildly for support against the shelf. 

All your complaints dissolved in your throat as Valko drove his dick all the way inside you in one swift thrust, knocking the air clean out of your lungs. 

“There ya go. Good girl.”

And oh did he fuck you after that, like a man deprived of his needs for way too long.

Acting as if he weren't supporting your entire weight with his arms alone, he effortlessly positioned you to take every thrust. 

“Finally– shiiit just like that ngh– you’re gonna take this dick baby.” 

“Ko–”

You could do nothing but hold on for dear life and sob. Being fucked mid-air was too overwhelming, all control given up and your body completely at his mercy.

“Maybe next time we should get you a stool,” he snickered to himself, enamored by the way your back arched and tensed for him. 

B/N : thought i might extend the edging curse to valko aswell :>

[grecianotes]

How I feel with all the blurbs, fics and fics ideas

@mwphisto @zaynezone @calebsfavoriteusedthong

Srry for tagging xd

[rainfrogsimp]

FACTS

[calebsfavoriteusedthong]

Your Gluttony fic made me insane XD If I may - I love impressing the boys - How about when MC first gets a good right hook in on Sylus during boxing?

Excuse me?!!... have you been snooping through my drafts? This has been rotting in there for a while, so I'm going to take this as a sign to finally post it. I just changed a couple of things to fit your idea, I hope it's what you wanted!🩷🩷

CAUGHT

You'd been at it for thirty minutes and Sylus had spent most of that time looking bored.

Moving around the ring with a loose limbed ease that meant he was fighting at about thirty percent capacity and finding it enough, his guard up but relaxed, letting you come to him and redirecting everything you threw with minimal effort and maximum condescension.

"Wider stance," he noted, for the third time.

"I know."

"You know but you keep—"

"I know, Sylus."

He tilted his head with the expression of a teacher waiting for a student to stop arguing and start listening. You hated that fucking expression on his face. You'd hated it since the first session, when he'd shown up to the gym in a fitted black t shirt and informed you that everything you thought you knew about close combat needed to be rebuilt from the ground up.

That had been six weeks ago.

In six weeks he'd redirected every punch, avoided every combination, and said "almost" exactly twice, which was his version of high praise.

He came in with a jab. You dodged it, turned your shoulder, and threw a right hook from the hip with everything you had.

It connected.

The sound of it was different from the glove on pad sound of training. Solid. Real. His head snapped sideways and he took two full steps back, the back of his leg hitting the rope, he grabbed hold of it with one arm, and stood there for a second.

You stood in your stance with your fist still up and stared at him.

He straightened slowly. Raised one hand to his face. Pulled it back and looked at his white glove and there was red on it, faint but there.

"Oh god—" You dropped your guard. "I'm sorry, I didn't—are you—"

"Don't apologize" he cut in.

His voice came out different. Slightly rougher than usual, the smooth controlled drawl with something underneath it that you couldn't place. He touched his nose again, looked at the blood, and something moved through his expression that was gone before you could read it.

What actually happened in the two seconds after the punch landed was something Sylus had absolutely no intention of telling you.

The impact had been flawless. Good weight transfer, rotation from the hip, the hook landing at exactly the right angle with more force than he'd been expecting from you. Smart. He'd noted that with a distant professional appreciation right up until his body had made a decision that had nothing professional about it.

He was hard before he'd even fully registered the pain. The ache in his nose was almost useful, something to focus on.

Pin her down his brain supplied helpfully Right now. This second. Get her on the mat and get your hands on her face and...

He shut that down.

You were talking. Apologizing, which he'd told you not to do, crossing the distance between you with your gloves off already, and he needed to say something normal before you got close enough to notice the state he was in.

"Don't look at me like that"

You stopped. "Like what?"

"Like you broke something." He pressed the back of his wrist to his nose"You didn't"

"But you're bleeding."

"Barely."

"Sy—"

"It's a nose, they bleed. It's a known characteristic of noses."

You were close enough that he could see the flush on your face from the exertion, the way you were still breathing slightly hard, your hair coming loose from where you'd tied it back. You had a small cut on your lower lip from where you'd bitten it in concentration earlier, he'd noticed that about twenty minutes ago and had been ignoring it since.

He was continuing to ignore it. With great effort.

"Tilt your head back," you ordered, reaching up.

"I don't need—"

"Tilt it."

He tilted his head back.

Your fingers touched the edge of his jaw to angle him properly and his jaw tightened under your hand and he was very glad you were looking at his nose and not the lower part of his body.

I want to bite her hand he thought I want her to throw that punch again I want to catch her wrist this time I want to back her against the ropes and...

"It's not that bad," you concluded, studying it with a small frown. "I don't think it's broken."

"I know it's not broken. I would know if it were broken."

You looked at him. Your hand was still on his jaw. "When did you break your nose?"

"Long time ago." He let you keep the hand there because the alternative was removing it himself and he wasn't doing that. "And I survived."

Your thumb moved. Just slightly. Probably unconsciously, just adjusting your grip, just checking the angle of his head. He felt it across every nerve ending in his jaw, down his neck and elsewhere and he was going to need you to step back in approximately the next thirty seconds or this was going to...

"You should still ice it"

"Sweetie."

"I'll get the—"

"Ice?" he finished."What do you think my Evol is for? You punched me so hard you knocked my Evol right out of your memory?"

"You're insufferable."

"Next session, don't hold back."

"I won't"

"Promise?"

"I promise" you answered

He nodded. Turned away to deal with his nose (dick). Gave himself ten full seconds before he turned back.

"Go shower, we're done for tonight."

You held his gaze for a couple of seconds before you picked up your bag and walked toward the door.

He watched you go and kept his expression exactly where it was until you'd pushed through and the door had swung shut behind you.

He stood in the middle of the ring. Breathed.

His nose ached, his ego did not, that punch had been clean and he could admit that to himself in the empty gym if not to you. And the other thing, the less manageable thing, the problem that had been quietly building for months, that was going to continue to be a problem.

He was going to have to do something about it eventually. But not tonight.

He sat down on the edge of the ring and waited for his pulse to normalize and thought about nothing specific until the sound of the shower running in the back of the gym stopped and the outer door clicked shut.

Then he lay back and stared at the lights.

"Impressive," he said, to nobody.

He meant the punch.

Mostly.

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[rainfrogsimp]

It's actually more suggestive than anything, but it's worth reblogging regardless. I need a part two asap.

[calebsfavoriteusedthong]

As my official favorite lads author on tumblr, I offer you my best idea:

What do we think of XavMc overstimulated bc Xavier eats the 🐱 waayyy too much to the point where mc cant take it anymore; but he JUST. WOULDNT. STOP. pussy drunk some would say.

Since MC is a strong hunter, her only way to stop Xavier from pushing her to another orgasm is to lock her legs on xavier and roll him alligator style and knocks him off the bed :D

Gluttony

Is not much, dear anon, but it's honest work 😊

CW: Oral 🔞MDNI 🔞

You knew Xavier. The soft spoken, patient Xavier.

But you also knew the one between your legs right now. He had his forearms hooked under your thighs, legs pinned wide open.

He was eating you out like it was his only source of oxygen, lap after wet lap, sucking your clit into his mouth and teasing it with the tip of his tongue until your were practically floating out of your body.

"Xavie." you pulled at his hair."Xavier."

He hummed against you. A self satisfied hum that went straight to your clit, to all the eight thousand nerve endings of it

"I'm serious," you gasped, thighs trembling against his shoulders, fingers tightening in his hair with what was supposed to be a discouraging grip "I can't —fuck— Xavier, I'm going to pass out—"

He pulled back half an inch. Just half an inch, just enough that you could see his face, which was a huge mistake because his face was not the face of a man who was about to stop. His mouth was slick and swollen, his eyes had that particular glaze that meant his brain had fully departed the premises, and he looked at you with unfocused devotion.

"Just one more, you sound—"

"No."

"—so pretty when—"

"I can't—"

He went back down.

His tongue found your clit again— he'd mapped the whole thing by this point, knew exactly the angle, the pressure, the combination that made your back leave the mattress— and he used all of that information without mercy, two fingers pushing inside you and cuuurling up while his tongue worked in slow circles.

Your thighs tried to close but his shoulders were in the way. He pressed them back open and didn't even look up.

Words had failed. You'd tried please, you'd tried stop, you'd tried the man's full name in three different tones of voice. None of it had worked. He was pussydrunk. Again.

You were a trained Deepspace Hunter and desperate times call desperate measures.

He dipped his head to lick your entrance just above his fingers and you snapped your knees together around his neck.

"Mmph—"

Locked your ankles and felt him go still. Gave him approximately two seconds to understand what was happening and then threw your weight sideways with everything you had and executed a full roll.

THUD.

The sheets went with him. Two pillows hit the floor. Xavier hit the floor.

Your breathing was the loudest thing in the room. You were lying close to the edge of the bed, every muscle below your waist sending you strongly worded messages, but you were free.

Slowly, a head of disheveled hair appeared over the edge of the mattress.

He was sitting in a nest of fallen pillows, sheets twisted around his legs, looking up at you with beautiful innocent blue eyes.

"Did you just—" He cleared his throat, rubbing his jaw.

"You left me no choice." You pointed at him, your hand was shaking slightly. " I have lost feeling in my legs."

He looked at your legs. Then back at your face and pressed his lips together.

"Don't."

He pressed his lips together harder but it wasn't working. The corners were losing the battle.

"The lock was—"

"Xavier."

Resting his chin on the edge of the bed, he looked up at you with a slow, stupidly calm smile. He had absolutely no right to look that pleased with himself after what he’d just put you through.

"You're so beautiful when you're furious"

"And you are grounded" you looked at the ceiling "You don't get to be sweet right now."

"Sorry. I got carried away."

"You got possessed," you said"There's a difference."

"I got carried away," he repeated, softer, and he was your sweet Xavier again. "Are you okay?"

The problem with Xavier was that he did this. Went from whatever that had been directly to this, like there were two completely different people living in the same body and they took turns and you never got enough warning before the switch.

"I need water"

"I'll get it."

"You're still grounded."

"Okay."

"I mean it."

He stood up, gathering a tangled sheet off the floor and held it out to you like a white flag, bending low to brush a kiss against your cheek."The roll was genuinely impressive"

"I know" you yanked the sheet up to your chin and clamped your mouth shut, fighting for your life not to crack a smile.

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[bibbysstuff]

Good Boy