I’m Sinematic - 32 - she/her - here for anime, manga, kpop, and love and deepspace 💚
I am currently not writing anymore but I will still be around and lurking, reblogging, and maybe sometimes posting random shit. Absolutely no minors are allowed as this is and will always be an 18+ space.
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All writing belongs to me. Do not post, link, or translate my things on any other platforms.
i hope you enjoy these!! i made them with love and care ;)
Hannibal Lecter:
yeah, whoever made him feel that way is long gone. he’ll take you, tie you down and make you watch him kill that person in a very brutal sick way. he then will go on and tell you a heart filled message, while looking you in the eyes.
“you forced my hand dear.” oh yeah, make sure you enjoy his next meal. he made it special. 🥩
Will Graham:
he will become nonchalant (no joke), he will stop being him for a minute to process his emotions and how to deal with them. he’ll also become a rude bitch. not just to them, but to you as well.
“how would that make you feel?” he may even roll his eyes. soon, that person will come up missing. 🌪️
Billy Loomis:
takes it to a different level even in public. he will try to embarrass that person in-front of everyone. he takes your arm and you guys leave. if you try to talk to him, he’ll ignore you until he’s ready to talk.
“i want you to stay here, with me tonight.” only later to find out that there’s been a ghost face attack…with them being the first victim. 📞
Stu Marcher:
if you think will is gonna be nonchalant, lemme tell you about this guy. not only will he go crazy if someone takes to much of your time, he then will not talk to you for a little bit, which upsets you ofc.
“i think you should just stay away from that guy.” you can imagine what stu will do from there…📞
Micheal Myers:
death. just death. since he’s a lot older than you (probably) he won’t even waste time trying to explain that he’s jealous. he’ll just go and kill them.
you can feel him staring at you under his mask. very creepy. 🔪
Valak:
wow, valak? being jealous? not a change. now, let’s say you were trying to summon another demon. now we’re taking. as i say in all my post he’s very sneaky. which means not only will he banish that demon, he’ll also banish you as well.
have fun in hell with him. forever. 🪞
Art the Clown:
if you expect art to not get jealous you must be mistaken dear. he’s a man child, a big baby. but when he gets mad, he’s mad. he’ll take you and tie you in a chair. then, he peels the victims skin off piece by piece while laughing without a care.
he will later surprise you with a heart …a human heart. 💉
Malthus:
dealing with a demon such as him will not end up good. also considering he’s mostly in the doll then with you. but that doesn’t stop him from seeing you interact with other people for to long.
that doll is everywhere. including that special persons home…🕯️
Ethan Landry:
will pretend everything is okay until it’s just you two alone. “why were you and them so close?” he stares deep into your soul, making you shudder. ethan is a walking mask. on the outside he’s a sweet boy. but on the inside he’s a brutal walking man.
“you stay the fuck away from her!!” as the knife digs deeper in their chest. 📞
Candyman:
he’s more calm actually. he trust you, not them. so as long as it doesn’t go to far, he’s okay with it. now, if it did go to far he’ll step in and take you away from them. he manly watches from afar tho.
“let’s head home.” let’s hope that person isn’t allergic to bees. 🐝
Pennywise (2017):
this clown didn’t understand what was happening at first. why did he feel that way? he had no idea. all he knew was that he didn’t like it, and he knew he had to do something about it. so if that requires him eating that persons chest out then so be it.
“you’re my friend. not theirs.” 🎈
Freddy Krueger:
oh my this man gets jealous so much it’s ridiculous. he’s so insecure about himself so when you find interest in anything other than him for more than 5 minutes he’s all over the place. it’s kinda sad actually.
The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. Death was yet to come for you, perhaps it was because you had a lot to offer the clown; he in turn reciprocated. Perhaps he thought you were amusing, for now.
Your morals must be twisted because one thing was for certain: There was no denying the unshakeable, terrifying tension building between the two of you.
12,400 words
Slow burn
Rough sex (obviously!!)
Art being a fucking dom
The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. In fact, thinking back through foggy thoughts, you couldn't really trace back to where this started.
You supposed fate aligned correctly for you. Logically speaking, you had a lot to offer the clown, and he in turn reciprocated favours.
Living within the vast forest adjacent to miles county, not many people ventured into the thick greenery. You had resided here for some time, at first with your father and then on your own once he passed.
You're grateful for the fact that your father had such a lively business. If not for that, you doubt you'd ever be able to live so well and comfortably all alone on the outskirts of the county.
You lived in an old cottage with ample firewood to stay warm and luscious land that stretched afar. A lot of it you used to keep animals.
You were accustomed to fattening the pigs up through spring while they birthed their young and slaughtering them in the winter for food supply. It was just another day at work for you; not that you had to work. You could live amiably without any need of strenuous hard work like farming, but you enjoyed it.
It was more of a passionate hobby than a job.
You travelled into town for any necessities you may need in your fathers old truck, but largely remained to yourself and a chunk of the townspeople knew that.
Some called you crazy for living in nature while that killer was on the loose, but you moving into town didn't necessarily change your chances of survival.
Thus you stayed put.
It wasn't until one clear night just after Halloween did you hear a disgusting squeal coming from one of your pigs. It was the sound of a slow death, and it startled you enough to grab your late fathers shotgun and storm outside courageously to see just what the hell was stealing your livestock.
You expected an animal. What you found instead shocked you.
A man, tall and lumbering and clad in a monochromatic clown costume kneeled hunched over one of your pigs, it's body twitching and steaming as it's hot innards met the chill of the outside air.
You heard the wet sound of his hands delving into the pigs guts and gripping a handful before bringing the meat to his lips.
This stranger was eating your livestock. Devouring them like an animal, raw and uncooked and grotesquely bloody.
You remained frozen, shotgun pointed, glancing at the black bag that lay beside him full of various menacing tools stained crimson.
If your father taught you one thing, it's that you should treat people with kindness, especially the strange ones.
The weirdos are the most dangerous, and living out here all alone meant that if one ever wandered into your land, it was probably best to treat them as a guest and act amicably, if only for your own safety.
Steeling your nerves, you cocked your head at the man, seeing the gap appear in the pigs abdomen as it's organs were devoured.
"Might want to cook that, stranger." You spoke gently, shotgun lowered to the floor.
The freakish clown paused, fingers laced in guts, head turning slowly and deliberately to the side.
"Tastes better that way, personally. Cooked, I mean." You shifted nervously from foot to foot, the chill of the autumn air getting through your pyjamas.
Maybe coming out here in nothing but some bottoms and a vest wasn't such a good idea.
The mans side profile was lanky even while crouched. His face held extremely prominent features, and you began to wonder if they were prosthetic or not.
You dared to step directly behind the stranger, his blood shot eye staring at you from the corner, pig entrails held frozen. They were cold now.
"Come with me. I can cook that right up for you, throw a few herbs and spices in and make that a great dish."
The clown let the guts slip through his fingers, gloves tainted red, and stood to his feet slowly. Your breath froze in your throat at the way his height seemed to grow and grow as he extended fully, back straight and rigid, and turned around almost menacingly to stare down at you with a dirty grimace.
Apart from the bizarre clown face paint, he appeared incredibly beat up. His one eye was completely red, and you wondered if it was simply shut from injury or if it had been gouged out. It was hard to tell with the amount of blood covering it.
He had a few large gashes littering his body in various places too. His clown costume was ripped terribly.
You both stood silently, your body shivering lightly at the blustery wind and your hair tousling gently. The clown remained unperturbed to the elements.
His good eye was narrowed into a glare, face contorting in an ugly fashion, eyeing your bare feet, your lowered shotgun, up to your bare shoulders and then finally back to your face.
An ominous smirk began to stretch across the strangers visage. It was actually rather unsettling, even without the pigs blood covering him. Merely the smirk alone set your nerves on edge.
You cocked your hip, hand resting on it comfortably as you stared up at him. "So, what do you say? It's a cold night, and you're looking a little worse for wear. Come on in, I'll help you out." Your words were true, and you think the stranger sensed that, but he seemed keenly aware of the way your voice shook.
You don't know how you knew that. Maybe it was the way his lifeless eyes shined dimly at the way it shook. Eventually, the clown nodded slowly, wordless.
You offered him a smile and a nod of finality. "Great. Follow me, if you would." You dared to turn away from this maniac, though you supposed if he wanted to kill you he could easily do that while you were looking at him; He was huge.
Not in the muscular sense, but in height he was at least a head and a half taller than you. Incredibly lanky and thin but from the way he was devouring that pig, he definitely had strength.
Walking a few steps, you paused suddenly and spun around, your silent guest directly behind you. It startled you but you tried not to let it show. "Mind grabbing the rest of the pig? Wouldn't want it going to waste. I'd do it myself, but you know how a lady gets.", you chuckled breathily; it was hard to speak when his void eyes were staring at you, smirk still somehow present and frozen on his face.
"--Don't want to dirty these pyjamas, they're my favourite. And, pardon me for saying but you're already dirty, and you'd no doubt be able to pick it up with ease, so..", you finished lamely, smiling as genuinely as you could.
It felt forced that time. He was starting to unnerve you.
Finally, the clowns expression fell into one of light thought, doing a visual sweep of your stature. It embarrassed you slightly, maybe he was judging your pyjamas. They were simple, but your favourite. Or maybe he silently agreed that yes, he could easily pick the animal up compared to you.
Dead weight was heavy, after all. And he was a big guy, in a sense.
The clown grinned this time, large and sharp, showcasing bloodied teeth, before nodding vigorously. Clapping excitedly, he hunched down to gather up the pig remains and nodded at you, as though to say 'lead the way'.
Smiling in return, you turned and led him to your home.
As soon as your back faced him, your expression morphed into one of doubt and anxiety.
That was some time ago. It was mid winter now, and Art - the odd clown that had spelled his name to you in blood on your window - was no where to be seen.
You hadn't seen him for two weeks, he often appeared when he wanted and left for days on end too.
You had both settled into an accord of sorts.
The clown was a maniac, yes, and had often tricked and teased and terrified you with knives and hammers, pretending to finally put an end to you only to stop millimeters from your face, laughing silently and slapping his knee dramatically.
You screamed each time, gripping your chest in terror but forcing a breathy laugh to escape you, shaking your head. "Got me again, Art. When will I ever learn?" You tutted, voice shaking and body trembling.
You knew it was only a matter of time before he killed you, surely. So, you did things to keep him happy.
Like offering your old, worn out barn as his work place to fix up his weapons or create new traps. It was dingy and damp, but Art didn't even mind. His mouth opened into a perfect 'o' shape, eyebrows high in surprise, pointing to himself and then to the barn.
"Yes," you had confirmed to him, "the barn is yours. Do what you like with it, I.." you had paused. Art sensed something was left out and cocked his head at you with a menacing smile, hand under his chin as though he was ready to listen to you spill a secret.
"I'm going to be honest with you, Art. Im happy to give you the barn, you do what you want in there and I won't ask questions, but in return I was wondering if now and again, when you're free to of course, if you could help me around the place?", you asked softly, sweetly, your round eyes staring up at him so innocently he often wondered if he should pinch your cheeks until the flesh tears off or flail you.
Maybe not yet. He liked having you around for now. You were sweet and entertaining, and cooked good meals.
Art tilted his head left and right in deep thought, eyes rolling up to the sky as though truly debating with himself, before his large hands suddenly slammed down onto your shoulders heavily, causing you to gasp aloud, eyes wide.
Art began to silently laugh, lifting a finger and thumb to roughly tug at your cheek, before nodding excitedly.
You sighed in relief. Well, you couldn't very well ask him to spare your life as a favour, so you supposed asking him to help you with chores was your only option.
In a way, you think he was amused by how ballsy you were. He was terrifying, after all.
Thinking back to the present day, you hadnt seen him for two weeks, which meant he was either out on a killing spree or recuperating after a nasty fight.
You've since gathered that this man, this thing, isn't really human. He eats because he enjoys it, but you've seen him go weeks without food. This thing you've allowed into your home was demonic, and its sick how fond of him youre growing.
Sighing, you felt fatigue catching up with you as you had spent the last few hours tending to the fields, animals, and other chores such as gathering wood and cutting them into pieces.
Mindlessly lost in thought, you bent down to pick up a log, putting it into place and heaving the axe up ready to cut it. Your arms were shaking; how long ago did you eat? Well, it was around 4pm now, and you've been busy since around 7am, so it's been far too long, and you were ridiculously sweaty even in the mild winters day.
You lifted the axe, elbows suffering and shaking, before huffing loudly and dropping it back down. You really needed a break but you also really needed to start getting this wood ready for the cold winter nights.
Determination taking over your features, you lifted it again, fatigue overwhelming you but to hell with it because you had things to do before nightfall. Inhaling deeply, you lifted it high, stumbling forward as you let the axe split the wood sloppily; it was very off mark, and if your father was here right now he'd make you do it again.
The axe embedded itself into the surface below, and with both hands you gripped the handle to try and wrench it out but to no avail.
Huffing agitatedly, you gritted your teeth and tried again.
The sound of a honk startled you, your entire body jumping and a yelp escaping your throat as you spund around with a hand held to your chest.
"Art!", your tone held accusation but you still laughed. "How long have you been standing there? Please dont tell me you witnessed my horrible attempt at cutting wood.."
Art shrugged, picking up the pathetic attempt at cutting the log in half and scrutinizing it. He shook his head and closed his eyes as though disappointed.
You flushed in embarrassment. "Yeah, that really was a sorry attempt..", you turned back to the axe, gripping it and tugging. It didn't budge.
Suddenly, a pale, gloved hand gripped the handle and ripped it out with ease. You blinked at him in shock, watching at how he slyly looked down at the axe in his hands and then at you, rolling his eyes as though to say 'have I got to do everything around here?'
For a speechless clown, he was sassy. And terrifying.
You smiled tiredly. "Thanks. I'm so hungry and sweaty and gross and ugh--", you shook your head, "ignore me. Are you hungry? I'll go and--"
Fingertips touched your lips to silence you, and then a finger shot into the air, telling you to wait. The clown eagerly knelt down to rummage through his bag of..mysteries.
He excitedly rubbed his hands together as he found what he was looking for, and delved in to grab it tightly.
The clown spun around to face you, item hidden in box, and closed his eyes dramatically, then stared at you pointedly.
"Oh, um..Close my eyes?", the clown nodded happily at you being able to understand.
Your pulse increased, fear gripping you. You wouldn't refuse him. Closing your eyes slowly, you held your hands out. "I-I trust you, Art. No funny games, okay? Please.", you pouted.
Art cocked his head at your pouting lips and shaking hands. He had that unexplainable urge to squeeze you tightly and also cut your lips off with a scissors. You were adorable, he'd admit that. He wondered if a day would ever come where you'd flutter your cute eyelashes at him and he'd grab a knife and burst your dazzling blue orbs.
Maybe one day, but not today.
It was only on rare occasion that you'd catch the sadistic killer of miles county choosing to not act with violence.
You were the only rare occasion.
Pushing those tempting thoughts away, Art held the box excitedly and tip toed over to you dramatically. He was eager for you to see his gift.
Firm hands gripped your own as a box was dropped into it, only a small box.
You smiled uncertainly, eyes closed, and felt the box with your hands. Art poked at your eyelids gently for you to open them.
The box was black. Tattered. You lifted the lid slowly.
A multitude of emotions filled you. You didn't know which ones to show. Art watched eagerly, excitedly, though you could still see the sharpness of his eyes.
The box was filled to the brim with Beatles. They were squirming and hurrying over one another in an ugly display, some spilling out onto your arms before falling on the floor. Luckily, you weren't terrified of insects.
Looking at Art, he began mimicking holding an imaginary box and shaking it hard, then pointed at you.
You shook the box hard, the Beatles scattering everywhere, and gazed into the box.
Your blood ran cold.
A decapitated fox head stared at you, eyeless and bloodied with its tongue cut out and shoved into one of its eye sockets. Beatles crawled throughout its skull.
"A..Fox."
Art nodded aggressively, pointing animatedly at your chickens cooing in their pen, then at the fox, then at himself.
"Oh! You killed the fox that has been hunting my hens?"
Art clapped silently and his eyes dazzled as though screaming 'bingo! Finally!', then pointing and laughing at your pale expression and wide eyes. His gruesome smile was held wide, cutting sharp, as he buckled over in silent laughter.
Your mouth quirked upwards in amusement. Well, he was certainly keeping his end of the bargain. The fox was a pest, after all, even if his method of killing was a little..unorthodox. Not that you'd ever complain.
You couldn't help but giggle at this absurd man. "Thank you, Art. I appreciate that. Now with my hens remaining alive and well, I can make you some more of those pancakes you like once they lay their eggs."
Arts mouth opened in surprise, eyebrows raised high. He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly fashion, nodding at you as though to say it's a job well done. You agreed that it was.
Putting the box down, you gripped the axe once more, ready to return it to the shed. "Well, I'm going to have a quick shower, then how about I make us some supper?"
Art wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, and heat lightly warmed your cheeks. Before you could reply, the axe was ripped from your hands and Art had already gotten to work with cutting some more wood. He did it flawlessly.
He shooed you away dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows one more time before chopping through the wood efficiently.
Conflicted in how easily he embarrassed you, you made your way tiredly to the bathroom. You really needed that shower.
You let the hot water wash away the stress of the day, eyes closed as you nourished an apple smelling conditioner through your hair.
You sighed, feeling ten times better already, muscles sore from the strenuous chores you barely managed to finish today.
Standing in the warm confinement of water and steam, you began to wonder if Art was still cutting wood. This led to thoughts about how bizarre it was having a murderer in your residence while you showered vulnerably. He didn't appear to want to kill you yet, and you wanted to keep it that way.
Wrapping a towel around your hair and body, you stared at your tired complexion in the mirror and frowned.
You really shouldn't be so comfortable with his ominous presence, but..
There was something quirky and charming about him, you guessed.
You soon froze at the sound of an alarm blaring.
You ran to the bathroom door, tearing it open. What was--
Was that your fire alarm blaring? But why? You had meat in your slow cooker, yes, but--
Panic surged through you as you darted out of your bathroom and bolted down the stairs. You didn't know how or why but you prayed that your kitchen was in tact.
Barreling through your living room and into the kitchen, you scrutinized the area, seeing no smoke, no fire, nothing.
Eyes wide, you ran to the slow cooker and switched it off. There wasn't even any smoke coming from it, how had your alarm gone off? Bending to check in your oven, you confirmed what you already knew - there was nothing in there.
Standing straight, hands on your hips in annoyance at that blaring alarm, you sighed aloud. Your towel remained upon your head, however loose hair had managed to escape and fall upon your shoulders from your erratic movements.
Glancing around desperately, Art was no where to be found. With his height, he could probably reach the alarm on your ceiling and deactivate it. You spent no time waiting for his possible arrival and grabbed a chair.
Lugging it over to the centre of the room, you gripped the top of it and shakily stood tall upon the chair. Reaching up high, you fiddled with the alarm, attempting to get a good grip to be able to remove it.
You huffed, making a sound of aggravation as your towel somehow remained firm around your figure, even if it was short. The water from the shower was cold on your body now and it only seemed to worsen your mood.
Finally managing to rip the damn thing from the ceiling, you removed the batteries and tossed it to the floor with a scowl. Stupid faulty alarm.
In a less than desirable mood, your hand gripped the chair to steady yourself. Before you could even put a foot on the floor, a honk sounded so close to you it had you yelping; you hadn't even sensed him let alone heard him.
Wide eyed, you stared down at the clown. His shoulder was practically brushing your outer thigh as you stood high. "Oh, Art, I didn't see you--"
A hand being thrust out to you interrupted you. He was offering his large hand to you, and although uncertain, you couldn't deny that he had a peculiar charm. Smiling, you gripped his hand with your own to steady yourself, lifting one leg to put on the floor.
Except you never did. You barely caught the malicious grin the clown gave you, eyes narrowed into slits and teeth bared as he lifted one foot backwards and kicked the chair out from under you.
The leg of the chair shattered from the force, splintering and bending as you began to topple to the floor. You screamed, eyes squeezed shut.
You thought you had whiplash at the way your hand was wrenched painfully towards his body, your figure pressed up against his as your head butted into his chest.
He had an arm around your waist, suspending your weight in the air against his body with no difficulty.
The clown remained frozen, grin still as wide and terrifying. Your feet barely brushed the floor. "Art!", you screeched, body shaking from adrenaline, hair towel fallen to the floor.
The clowns eyes snapped to yours disturbingly. Before you could berate him further, you were tossed upwards until dexterous hands rested at your shoulders and below your knees. He was holding you bridal style and it terrified you.
You cried out in shock, gripping his clown suit between white knuckles, bath towel beginning to slip ever so slightly. You felt a mixture of terror and embarrassment at being in the brutal arms of the county killer.
And the terror only increased tenfold as the clown removed his grip from supporting your shoulders for mere seconds, your body heading straight for the floor, before securing his arms around you again before you could make impact, shoulders moving in silent laughter.
You truly screamed that time, legs kicking out and arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. Your eyes squeezed shut, towel slipping even more; it mortified you.
"Oh my goodness, Art, you terrified me! And I bet it was you that set off my alarm?", you accused in a high pitched, shaky tone, grasping him incredibly tight as you felt his fingers teasingly loosen just to scare you.
Art nodded vigorously, proud and excited that he had been caught, and snapped his head down at you. His grin of sinister glee slowly morphed into a knowing, filthy smirk.
You blinked up at him vulnerably, wide and glassy eyed, rigid in his arms, before realising that oh my God, you were in a towel this entire time, a short towel that surely moved during the commotion--
He must have noticed the sudden panic in your eyes, for his lecherous smirk stretched terrifyingly, eyes narrowed.
Surprisingly pervertedly, Art glanced down at your body swiftly. Once, twice. An indication that you should probably take a look. His eyebrows wiggled, and without needing to look, your cheeks reddened, lips parted in shock.
Head snapping down at yourself, a flush spread from your neck to your cheeks. The towel had dropped so low your breasts were threatening to spill out obscenely. It didn't help that you were of ample size.
And although everything else vital was covered, the way your upper thigh was exposed had you squirming desperately to try and make some distance.
"Ah!", you cried, "my towel! Put me down!" You demanded helplessly, overcome by embarrassment as Art snickered silently at your need to protect your intimates.
Art dropped the arm holding your legs, letting them crash upon the floor painfully. The sudden downward motion had you squealing, gripping him hard. You were grateful that he supported your upper body, you supposed.
The way your body dropped had your towel falling fully for a split second before you ripped it back up to cover your modesty.
You tore yourself away from him - he let you - and stared at him with wide eyes, chest panting in fear and fluttering peculiarly.
Your hands shook as you gripped your towel, knees knocking together, withering under the intense stare of the clown as he foregone his usual dramatic, knee slapping laugh and instead almost seemed to chuckle in amusement, brows as low as they could go, head tilting in fascination at your half naked state.
He expected anger, frustration, undeniable fear at his actions towards you. What intrigued him was the way your round cheeks flared crimson and how your eyes, usually relatively confident when regarding him, fluttered everywhere but him.
Yes, he decided, head tilting left and right slowly, deciphering. You seemed incredibly flustered.
He felt lust, often. For blood, violence, but rarely sexually. Pain was sweeter than pleasure, he thought, but regarding you now, languidly staring at you from head to toe, an idea struck his mind...
An idea you couldn't decipher, but the way his eyes lit up and his eyebrows rose pleasantly sent heat flaring through you.
You didn't allow it to consume you any further as you darted up the stairs and into your room.
On the way past him, you saw his shoulders moving in a silent, mean laughter.
That had been two days ago. Since then, you continued on as normal..
Or as normal as can be.
Art remained busy in the old barn, the sounds of hammering and God knows what else permeating the quiet air at all hours of the day, and oftentimes there would be silence; He had left.
It had been a full day and a half since you last took sight of him. It was unusual how domesticated you felt, preparing enough food for two with a little extra leftover, keeping only the dark towels in the bathroom from when he no doubt came strolling in covered in blood and took a shower.
You came to notice he was meticulously clean about things he deemed worthy, such as his clown suit and himself. He loved to bathe in his victims blood, yes, but after a fun days work, you often found him spotless. Well, apart from his teeth. Bizarrely, he didn't utterly stink, and you come to the conclusion that he chose his terrifying mouth to look that way on purpose.
That was good. You appreciated that even if he didn't necessarily do it for you.
The only thing you had gently persuaded him on was allowing you to at least dry his clown suit before putting it on. With a roll of his eyes, he allowed it.
There were very few things he allowed genuinely, and you seemed to believe he had grown accustomed to your gentle naggings of 'Art, please don't touch that with blood on your hands', or 'There was no need to trail bloody footprints all over my kitchen'
You never demanded. That probably helped. Of course he had days where he'd grin mischievously and smear blood across your mirrors and door handles, knowing you'd have to touch it and clean it.
You could live with that. Thankfully, after a night of killing, he was reasonably tame, eating whatever food you kept in your cupboards with a calm expression.
That wasn't to say that he wasn't unpredictable. He could snap on times and come at you with a knife, chasing you around the kitchen as you screeched and whined for him to stop, all the while watching him laugh with glee.
And on real scary nights when he seemed bored, well..
Anything could happen then. Even still, Art remained tame as of yet in comparison to the things he is capable of. He clearly saw a need in you, and repaid your generous cooking, cleaning and fixing up his costume for him with keeping you alive and leaving you mostly unharmed.
A cut here or there, yeah, and definitely a bruise but you were alive and well.
The only real affect he had on you was terror, he did enjoy popping up randomly in the dark when you had got up for a glass of water, hand roughly pushed over your mouth as your screams muffled into his hand before realising who had caught you.
Or the times you'd check on him in the old barn, just to see if he was around for dinner, calling his name out. Venturing in, you'd freeze as the door shut behind you, darkness enveloping the entire area, only for the sound of a flame thrower igniting near you making you scream and cover your mouth in terror.
Each time you'd ramble something like 'Art, stop it! I-Im making beef for dinner and I just wanted to check that you wanted some!'
The clown would tug on your cheeks with both hands, patting your head as though to say 'how adorable are you?' before pushing you surprisingly gently towards the door and shooing you away.
You'd run back to the house with your chest beating so loudly you could hear it in your ears.
Presently, you were wearing a cute brown dress, tights covering your legs as you cleaned around the place. Loving the winter, you brought out your cosy candles and fairy lights, loving the gentle glow as the nights grew longer and the sun faded earlier. It wasn't quite time to decorate for Christmas yet, so this will do.
In fact, having a little break from the clown had allowed you to really tidy everything up, get your chores done, see to the animals and bake some brownies in the oven.
All in all you felt refreshed and well, truly in your element. It allowed you to push.. peculiar thoughts of Art from your mind.
Time carried on, and the brownies were cooling on the baking tray as you sat comfortably on your settee, a white blanket decorated in pumpkins covering you. You loved Halloween, too.
Dropping off to sleep, your mind felt at peace until a muffled sound was heard from outside. Lifting your head, you didn't react as you awaited Art to barge in at any moment, only..nothing.
Sitting up, you waited silently, hearing that muffling once again.
You frowned. Art was a master of silence, if he didn't want you to even hear the rustling of his bag, you wouldn't.
So why did you hear leaves crunching loudly, and..
Oh.
That wasn't Art.
You could hear voices mumbling now, close to your window, though unintelligible. You wondered who it could be. You had no known close relatives, and no friends, really.
Not close enough to appear unannounced on a late Friday evening, anyway.
Living in the middle of no where, you learned to be cautious of such sounds. You had no neighbours, and hardly anyone ever passed your cottage. Those that did tended to knock politely, not skirt around your perimeter sneakily.
Aside from Art; he's different.
Standing swiftly, you opened a drawer, gripping a handgun. You could never be too careful out here all alone, and you doubted it would go down easy if you stood with your shotgun aimed at them.
Handgun it is. Hiding it furtively, you stepped outside with confidence.
The sight of two men dressed head to toe in black greeted you, peeking through your curtains.
"Can I help you?", you began politely, causing them to bolt upright and spin around to face you. You couldn't see their faces.
They weren't amicable strangers, that was for certain.
"That truck yours?", the tallest indicated with a nod of his head.
"It is."
"You, uh..you live alone?"
You smiled.
"I do."
The two men sprung into action. "You do, do you? Be a good girl and chuck me the keys."
"Why would I ever do that?" You remained calm, pulse elevating, adrenaline begining to grow.
"Why?", the other repeated with a scoff, and swiftly pulled a knife out from his pocket, "because I want to see your round ass walk away like a good bitch, so go grab those fucking keys before I cut your face off."
Talk about overboard.
Nodding politely, you backstepped. "I understand. I don't want any trouble, give me one moment, please."
You backstepped further into your house, keeping the door open.
As you did, you heard one of the men hiss 'im not a fucking murderer, let's just get the truck and fucking go!'
You had a few options here.
You could run, hide, call the police.
You shook your head and steeled your nerves. Hell no. This was your damn property.
The two men looked around cautiously, impatient. "Where the fuck is she? We should've gone in with her."
"She's terrified, bitch probably can't find the keys."
They heard the sound of a gun cocking. Loudly.
Turning back to the door, you supposed they never thought to see a shotgun aiming directly at them. You could see their eyes widen behind a black robber mask.
"Woah, hey, keep the fucking keys--", one began, hands in the air, knife dropped to the floor.
You remember holding this very shotgun the night you met Art. You smartly lowered it, knowing true evil and terror when you saw it.
But these two? They had nothing on Art. Just average men, trying hard to terrify a woman. A nasty smirk broke out on your face, one of anger and satisfaction.
"I'll tell you what's going to happen. You're going to get the fuck off my property before I blow a hole in your chest. How's that sound?"
The scared one nodded vigorously, hands jittering as he backstepped, ready to bolt. The other, however..
"You wouldn't do that. You don't have it in you.", the other tried calling your bluff, taking a leap forward. It started you, but you remained strong.
"Wouldn't I? Out here in the middle of no where, who'd ever come looking for you?"
The man shrugged. "You might be right, but whose going to look for you?"
Before you could respond a hand grabbed from behind, reaching out and gripping the barrel of your shotgun and forcing it to the sky.
You instinctively pulled the trigger, sound blasting through the forest loudly causing birds to flutter away.
How the hell did he get in the house?
The assailant was stronger than you, tearing the weapon to the floor before gripping you by the hair roughly.
You grunted in pain, hands frantically searching for the handgun on your person as the man at the bottom of your steps began coming at you too.
You managed to shoot him in the thigh, hearing him cry out and collapse.
The scared one took off in a sprint, never turning back.
The aggressive one currently ripping strands of hair from the root wrestled you to the floor after shooting his friend, boot pressing firmly on the hand that held the gun and kicking it away.
He got on top of you and held you down as you struggled and fought against his hold, head reeling to the side as he back handed you, hard.
Furniture and anything close by moved and was tossed over as you fought back, unwilling to let him pin your hands to the floor, punching a fist into his groin to get him to crumple slightly so you could lug him off with all your might.
You scrambled to your feet and made a dash to the door, barely getting halfway before a strong body wrestled you back to the floor, your hands aching from the wall as he ripped your dress from the back to keep a hold on you.
You continued scrambling ahead, reaching out for anything, hands gripping the large sewing needle you had lost some time ago and turning to stab it into his cheek.
The man hissed, face turned into an ugly snarl as he staggered back in pain, holding the wound.
You up and ran, panting and panicking as you frantically made it outside.
The man didn't let up, he ruthlessly grabbed your hair causing you to cry out and slapped you so hard across the face you saw stars.
Blood dripped from your mouth as you stumbled back, held upright by the man's grip on you.
He grabbed your cheeks hard, squeezing the blood from your mouth, snarling. "Pretty thing, I'm going to put you in your fucking place--"
You cried out a sharp 'no!', kicking him between the legs and pushing him away.
You both fought tooth and nail for a while, you managing to run a short distance before being dragged back and hit even harder in the face.
This time you gasped helplessly for breath, blood spurting out of your nose and down your mouth.
What scared you the most was a hand gripping your thighs and trying to spread them.
"I'm going to fuck you before I kill you, bitch. And it's going to hurt." The man seethed the ugly promise, tearing your dress up high and grabbing your tights to rip a hole in then.
You cried out, kicking him in the jaw but to no avail. Without any weapons you had no chance in winning against his strength.
You saw an opening as he stumbled back at your kick and bolted it as fast as you could towards the trees. You knew this land well, so you knew where to hide.
Frightful and shaking, tears littered your cheeks as you heard the sound of the man getting to his feet to chase after you.
You gasped painfully, unable to breathe, and all but screamed bloody murder as you ran directly into a chest.
An arm wrapped around your struggling body, a hand smothering your scream as you fought and cried out desperately against another assailant. This one was like a brick wall, unmovable to your attempted attacks, even if he himself wasn't attacking you.
Two hands gripped your shoulders and shook you hard, causing you to look up at his face in terror only to pause, wide eyed.
That familiar, monochromatic clown tilted his head down at you in a thoughtful frown, mild confusion pooling in his irises as he studied you from head to toe, moving a gloved finger to wipe at the blood trickling down your chin.
"Art!", you cried, chest heaving up and down, "Theres--These men--attacked me and--and tried to-to--"
You could barely get your words out, watching as Art cocked a surprised eyebrow up and attempted to decipher your rambled sentences.
He didn't really need to. Upon further inspection, he could see the bruising of your face, the very blatant tear of your tights which showed a lot of skin, and how your dress had been ripped.
He knew something was off when he heard the sound of gunshots. He knew you had guns, but for you to use one meant something was amiss. Something compelled him to come and look, dropping the dead body he had been mutilating in the woods, eager and..somewhat impatient, to get to you.
That was a foreign feeling, and now having actually studied your shaking hands that gripped his costume and the amount of blood that covered your face as tears dribbled down fatly, staring up at him in utter relief, he was unused to such an expression, and truly didnt mind it coming from you.
Gazing outwards at the forest, an intense ire began to build in him. You weren't going to die today, he doubted you ever would because you were his, and only his.
Having finally made a decision, Art grinned cruelly, fingers eager and twitching excitedly to meet this so called attacker.
Letting his arms drop from you, he took a step forward to make his way to the house, stopping as you gripped his arm in fear.
"W-wait, please don't leave me--"
Art held up a hand calmly, shushing you, and went through his black bag, retrieving a hammer. He patted your head, as though telling you not to worry, and made his way towards your home. He walked excitedly with a bounce in his step.
You knew what that meant.
You were so happy to see him, as fucked up as that is, but he clearly made the decision to protect you. You felt relief and fondness, sitting against a tree with your knees up to your chest, waiting.
You wanted them dead, truth be told, but may God have mercy on them for what Art is about to do..
You remembered hearing gut wrenching screams and splatters of vomit as various tools were used to maim the trespassers.
You remember your body moving on auto pilot as you entered your home, Art briefly stopping his flaying of the man who threatened assault on you, to lift a hand and wave at you, fingers dancing playfully.
You waved back slowly, trudging up the steps and into your home where your living room was a mess from the commotion. There were patches of your blood on the floor, a lamp upturned and glass shattered messily.
Body and mind exhausted, you laid down on the settee and fell asleep dreamlessly. You didn't even awaken to the sounds of a chainsaw and guttural screaming.
You don't know how long you slept for. You were in and out of consciousness for a while, waking up to your ribs aching from the attack, or your lips burning from being split, the blood drying on them and irritating them.
You were still a mess, hair dishevelled and face bruised, dried blood flaking off your face and your clothes in almost tatters.
Your face was still puffy from crying, eyes opening slowly and slightly bloodshot. Moaning weakly, you stretched your legs out and hissed as your ripped tights dug into a deep cut in your thigh.
The TV was on. You barely registered the comforting hum of some early Christmas film that was on, volume low and tranquil.
Slowly standing, you made your way to the kitchen. Your chest fluttered at the sight of Art, sitting calmly at the table with a plate of sweet treats you had in the cupboards, including biscuits and cake, and what looked to be a cup of hot chocolate.
He was eating them very civilised, too. You were proud of that. It wasn't like he needed to eat, at least you thought, but he really did enjoy sweet food. Same as you.
Clad in a surprisingly clean clown suit, he waved at you, his hands stained red. He must have cleaned himself up for the most part, and..looking around, you sighted a mop bucket, so he must've really made a mess and cleaned up after him.
That was oddly..sweet. It made you smile.
"I must have been asleep a while." You gathered aloud, taking a seat at the table across from him.
The clown shrugged, held up a hand with 4 fingers. So you slept for about 4 hours then.
You rubbed your eyes, exhausted. The clown tilted his head at you slowly, frowning softly in thought with a finger to his chin.
"Yeah, I'm a mess. I can't believe those guys." You huffed, glaring down at yourself. Your anger spiked at the sight of your attire.
"He ruined my favourite fucking dress!" You exclaimed, arms folding frustratedly. You were a mixture of huffs and mutters as the clown cocked a calm eyebrow - how had you both switched places? - and listened to you curse and swear which he had never heard before.
It made him chuckle silently, head in hand as he watched you. Feeling eyes on you, your frown softened. "Im sorry, I'm not myself. I thought I had it all under control when I saw the two of them."
Your gaze dropped lower to the floor, reminiscing. "I didn't really notice the third. I have no idea how he got in." You almost whispered defeatedly, eyes misted and glassy as you remembered the way that man treated you and touched you.
You suddenly felt incredibly dirty. What if you hadn't managed to outrun him? He was about to violate you. And what if Art had never showed up? He'd--
Your thoughts draw to a pause as Art taps your hand gently, points to himself and does a stabbing motion, then points outside.
It made your lips quirk. "Their dead?"
Art nodded excitedly, grinning wide as his fingers tickle your hand. You begin to giggle, and grip onto his hand. "I'm glad you turned up. I mean, I managed to fight him off barely, but imagine if..."
You froze, eyes staring at your intertwined hands, and shook your head. "Assholes."
Art suddenly lit up like a lightbulb, face making one of surprise as he held a hand up to wait. Comically running out of the room, you awaited his return as he came near you with one of the robbers mask. Something was wrapped inside it.
Art got down on one knee and presented it to you with arms outstretched, wiggling his eyebrows, and you giggled again. Gripping the fabric, you found it soaked with blood. Opening it, a human heart stared back at you. It was relatively fresh.
You blinked slowly, not at all feeling usual feelings of repulsion and fear. Instead you felt..warm. The symbolic meaning of presenting you with the heart of your attacker wasn't lost on you, and as fucked up as it was, you blushed faintly.
"I.."
You smiled incredibly gently, Art thought. It made him happy to see your face finally light up after those filthy, rotten humans dared to touch what was his.
"I'm incredibly grateful for that. Thank you, Art. Who'd have thought you'd make such a great protector?" You winked playfully, laughing when he returned it dramatically with a nod.
"Oh! I almost forgot!", you rose and grabbed a nearby dish. "I made brownies!", you pouted at the fact that they weren't warm and delicious anymore, and Art thought that if you kept acting so cute he'd have to hurt you. In a good way, of course. He was still confused about that.
Art revealed one of his rare smiles, lacking it's usual slyness or sinisterness, and grabbed a brownie delightedly. It made you beam.
There you both sat, his hands bloodied and your face bruised with a heart sitting between you both as you shared the brownies.
There was an undeniable connection, and as you cuddled up in your blankets after a fresh shower, staring up at the ceiling, you thought about that.
The dynamic had shifted. Art could still be sly and mean in his ways of scaring you, but he certainly toned it down. He seemed to want to hear your laughter more, launching tickle attacks on you until you were a squealing mess on the settee, wriggling and fighting against his grip as tears of laughter wet your cheeks.
"Please!", you squealed, "no more! You win!", you'd shriek, body contorting until his fingers finally stopped and he stared down at you smugly.
For a moment, you both stared in silence, you catching your breath and him observant as ever.
With a burst of excited energy, you fled his slack grip and bolted to the other side of the living room, jumping in your spot. "Just kidding! I got away so I won!" You giggled ecstatically, watching as the clown slowly stood to his tall height.
Your laughter died down, nervous excitement replacing it. He held a glint in his eye that could only mean trouble. Art tilted his head dramatically, finger to his lips as though saying 'Oh, you've won, have you?'
You shook your head in panic, hands held up in surrender. "i-i didn't mean that! Honestly!"
Art mimiced your panicked face, holding his hands up in surrender as he jumped towards you. You jolted, stumbling back as an uncertain laughter bubbled up.
"Believe me, I know I could never outrun you..", you glanced towards the kitchen door, plotting.
Art lifted a hand to his chin, silently humming in thought, before holding up a hand with fingers spread wide.
He dropped a finger, holding up 4.
Then 3.
2.
"Wait--wait why are you counting?!"
1.
Art froze, grin held wide as he remained unmoving. You shifted nervously, about to say something before Art suddenly came to life again and darted towards you.
You screamed and bolted away, running instead to the stairs that were closer and hoping to make it to your room.
You did, and as you ran through it and turned to slam the door shut, Art was already in the doorway and wrapping his arms around you as you shrieked and cried out apologies for challenging him.
Art showed you no mercy, throwing you to the bed and holding you down with ease as he assaulted your ribs again with his fingers.
He laughed silently at your torture, gleeful and delighted at your non stop screaming and laughing.
"Art! Wait! I can't take it anymore!--" you wheezed, grabbing his wrists and pushing as hard as you could.
He didn't even budge. He was like a stone wall. Art paused, cocking his head down at your futile efforts and back up to your terrified face.
You froze, realising that you just challenged him again.
With a flash of black and white, Art jumped atop you, straddling your hips as he held your wrists down with one of his hands, watching you squirm and whine.
He chuckled evilly, silently, eyebrows low and grin spreading wide.
But there was that same look from the other day again. Peering down at you, he watched you analyse the position you were in, eyes fluttering up to his face in shock as a flush tainted your pretty skin.
Art knew that look. He was very meticulous when it came to the human body and the emotions it can feel.
You were panting, chest fluttering and warmth radiating off of you as Art smirked down at you knowingly. He raised his eyebrows, hand to mouth in shock as though to say 'Are those dirty thoughts in your head?'
Although silent, it was as though you knew that he knew what you were thinking. You felt dazed, so red and undeniably enjoying the vision of him above you, holding you down.
There was no denying the guilty thoughts you had had of him in the privacy of your bedroom at night, faceless men turning into monochromatic, super natural clowns each time you reached your peak.
You felt vile at first. But after his protection against those men the other day, your feelings definitely shifted, and since then you couldn't stop your thoughts from trailing to him..
The sexual ones, too. The private ones where you thought about pale, strong hands holding your head down against the bed as you were taken from behind.
The ones where your head was wrenched back by an iron fist in your hair, too euphoric to the point that you could only babble words.
You knew he could take you there. And his incessant flirting in real life, where he'd wiggle his eyebrows at you if you passed in a towel or if you bent over, or where he'd stand teasingly in your way of a doorway, forcing you to squeeze past him as he smirks and winks. Those things made the thoughts all the stronger, and at times you wondered if he knew what you were going to do once you got back to your room.
Sometimes, the way he smirked and waved at you with a wiggle of his fingertips just after you finished getting yourself off made you wonder. He must've known, this freakish demonic man.
The memories brought heat spreading down to your neck, your tongue tied as you struggled to break the tension. You struggled to get a word out, eyes fluttering in nervous anticipation. It was hard not to romanticise this charming clown.
"I--"
The clown leaned down close, void eyes staring into yours that were so full of emotion, raw and naked. His strong hand that was capable of such violence began tracing your jawline delicately, as though you were porcelain.
You inhaled shakily, feeling the digits drop to your neck, pressing against your fluttering, rapid pulse.
From anyone else, that would feel uncomfortable. But Art doing that felt so suffocatingly intimate you didn't know how to react, eyebrows drawn together in mild confusion at your feelings.
The way Art smirked made you realise he knew exactly what he was doing. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he gripped the glove with his teeth and tugged it off, freeing his pale, veiny hand and bringing it to your cheek, thumb tenderly rubbing the area.
You felt like your head was going to burst from how red you were. You think its because the utter shock at having Art act in a way that wholly juxtaposes him and touch you delicately made you feel so exquisitely special that you didn't know how to register it.
How can a mere innocent touch melt you so much?
His fingers traced the lines and curves of your face in fascination. There was no doubt a morbidity to his thoughts, but there was also mild, genuine adoration in his lifeless eyes.
Your pulse quickened, butterflies dancing in your belly at the thumb that now traced your plush lips. Body reacting faster than your thoughts, your tongue wet the tip of his thumb.
A glint began to shine in his eyes, ferocious and wanting. He tilted his head down at you, unsmiling but not in a scary way; he appeared quite tranquil, and something else.
His thumb dipped into your mouth slightly, experimentally, and he was pleased at the way you wholly accepted him in, swirling your tongue intimately around his digit.
Your eyelids drooped, overcome by this display of raw connection, your lips glistening as he slowly retrieved his thumb, giving your lips one final stroke before gliding his hand down your neck again, tickling the skin with gentle fingertips before moving down to your collarbone.
You held your breath, biting your lip as the usually menacing clown above you glided further down, and down, until his hand brushed the outline of your breast, barely skimming across your nipple.
You inhaled sharply, how were you this sensitive? You could feel heat pooling between your thighs already.
Art tilted his head, examining the large, soft globes that hid beneath your clothes. Eyes flickering up at you, Art smirked before gripping the front of your shirt and tearing it open with ease.
You gasped aloud, eyes wide and mouth agape as your breasts bounced free, nipples hard and begging for attention.
You flushed so deeply red that your face began resonating heat. You were so embarrassed at being half naked in front of him, and you didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the teasing way he winked appreciatively, removing the other glove from his hand swiftly before grazing your breasts barely, hands gripping handfuls of them boldly soon after.
His thumbs skimmed over your pebbled nipples, watching your head loll back against the pillow as you inhaled and exhaled shakily. Bolts of arousal were shooting to the junction of your thighs every time his calloused thumbs teased your perk nipples.
Art was entranced by your visible display of arousal, so sensitive and so wanting; he had never felt this way about a person. Even he knew he was being unnaturally kind, inducing you with pleasure that was sure to have you tingling.
Art never did things unless he wanted to. He didn't want to hurt you. No, his dominance and roughness that he could just tell you craved would come later. For now, he wanted you wet and yearning.
He was proficient in knowing how to hurt the human body, which means he's acutely aware of how to pleasure it; that simply came hand in hand.
And, glancing down at you, having been brought from his thoughts by your breathy exhale, he could tell that what he was doing was incredibly pleasurable. You squirmed, legs widening and relaxing unconsciously below him, your pretty green skirt riding up your thighs.
"Art-", you whined in a whisper, nerve endings alight and tingling, begging to be touched.
Art flashed a smile, head tilting once more as though wondering what to do with you. He could leave you here, undeniably wet and sticky and yearning, begging sweetly, or he could indulge, nudge your pretty thighs apart and fuck you like you've wanted him to for a while now.
You didn't hide it well, especially after touching yourself mere minutes before seeing him, pupils blown wide, hair tousled and sweaty, legs lightly shaking. You should probably stop leaving your wet, soft underwear on your bedroom floor too. That's a big give away, if you didn't already know.
The sarcastic thought had him grinning, and after moving his head back and forth in thought, weighing out his options, he flicked his thumbs over your nipples a few more times, watching you react immediately and arch your back towards his hands.
"Ah-", you gasped, shuddering, gnawing at your lip with hooded eyes.
Art rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, then shrugged lightly to himself. He wasn't necessarily a sexual creature, but he was still in the body of a man. Tweaking your nipples teasingly, Art nodded.
He wanted to fuck you, hard.
But he wanted to tease you first.
Arts eyes dropped to the way your legs had spread for him, dark underwear on display from the way your skirt had ridden up your thighs.
Trailing a hand down your waist and to your hips, Art studied you as his hand moved lower, teasing your inner thighs, pinching the fatty flesh there before pressing two fingers against your apex.
You reacted immediately, shuddering a breath in and out as your legs spread fully, bent at the knee.
Pale fingers traced your soft, wet lips through your underwear, tickling from where your hole would be and up towards your pulsating clit, circling the bud with light pressure.
You moaned quietly, legs squirming slightly as you yearned for a direct touch, his teasing becoming relentless. Your hands balled into fists as white hot tingling sensations barreled through your stomach and your clit, demanding to be touched but to no avail.
Art knew this, and pressed two fingers firmly against your clit, circling.
"Oh--yes--", you whined, looking fucked out with your head lolled back when Art had barely done anything. He wondered how you'd react to the plans he had for you later if this is how you were after a few strokes.
His teasing continued, trailing down to your hole and dipping in slightly, soaking your underwear, before running his finger to the edge of the useless garment and hooking two fingers in, tearing it apart.
This time, Art used both hands to grip your thighs, spreading them far. He studied your pink, exposed slit with incredible interest. The mess of wetness was excessive, coating the length of your sex, your inner thighs and gliding down to your tight rim.
You squirmed in his hands at his staring, to which he tightened his grip, making you shudder.
"Art..", you whined
His eyes snapped up to yours expectantly.
"Please, I--", you gasped at his fingers tracing maddeningly around your labia, refusing to touch you directly. "Please touch me. Please, I--..I need it so bad.", tears filled your eyes with frustration, "so fucking bad, you have no idea.."
But Art did know. He's always known, and just to prove his point he searched for something in his pockets, retreaving it and dangling it in front of your face.
You froze. It was your used underwear from yesterday, when you masturbated before a shower, throwing the garment to the floor. You thought you had imagined throwing it to the floor, because upon coming back to the bedroom, it was gone.
You looked mortified, hands covering your face. "You've known all along?" You whined, unable to face his grin. You felt humiliation creep up your chest at being caught red handed, biting your lip hard to ground yourself. Pathetic tears threatened to fall in frustration.
You gasped as two hands gripped your own and pinned them above your head, using one to keep them there while the other hand wagged it's finger back and fore, Art shaking his head and tutting silently.
You were forced to face his smug, teasing stare, your own face pouting. Art lifted two fingers, wiggled them, before bringing them to your lips.
You accepted, swirling your tongue around them, before they were retrieved swiftly. Wiggling them again, Art made a show of demonstrating just what he was about to do to you to bring that smile back.
Winking in a way that had you melting in a puddle of embarrassment, Art pressed two fingers to your wet entrance, grinning before gliding them into your wanton hole.
Your reaction was instantaneous, a keening 'oh!' torn from your throat, back arching as you squirmed beneath the hand that pinned you down.
Art began to thrust his fingers deeply, pulling out to the tip before delving back in, watching you writhe and gasp. You were desperate for more, hips lifting higher.
Art pulled his fingers out of you, showing the wet lubrication that coated them, scissoring them apart to watch the way it attached his fingers with stringy gooeyness.
You released a frustrated whine this time, fighting beneath his one hand. "No, no don't pull them out, please--" you pouted pathetically, desperately.
Art wanted to torment you more, but his desire to see you screaming in pleasure outweighed that at the moment. He wanted to break you.
Shrugging innocently as though to say 'well, you asked for it', Arts two fingers sunk into you to the knuckle, pumping in and out firmly and roughly, curling rhythmically against that spongy area he knew would have you seeing stars.
"Oh--Oh!", you cried, hips tilted up into his assault, the lewd sound of your wet hole permeating the air as his fingers went in and out, in and out, restlessly and roughly, giving you exactly what you wanted.
Art smirked darkly, increasing the pace rapidly, so fast he had to hold your kicking legs down as he brought you too much pleasure, too much torment in the sweetest way he could give.
You cried out loudly now, unable to hold your voice back, body convulsing lightly as your peak approached.
"A-Art, Oh, Ohh--" you moaned, panting and thrashing back and fore as his fingers forced an orgasm out of you, intense and sudden, squirting down his wrist and soaking your bed.
You gasped for air, legs falling slack as your mind felt like it was floating.
You didn't have any time to think as Art gripped your hips tightly, flipping you over effortlessly and pulling your ass into the air. He smoothed the skin gently, before giving it a slap, watching you jolt.
You were soaked, legs quivering as you braced yourself. Your knees knocked together, staring back at him desperately.
You had dreamed of this for some time, you thought, gnawing at your lip anxiously. Judging by the sudden, bare feel of his hard cock against your folds, you knew you were in for a ride; he felt huge.
He was definitely thick, but even more than that is that he was incredible in length. He wasn't an ordinary man, so you shouldn't be surprised, but a tingle of fear and excitement gnaws through you all the same.
"W-will that fit?", you whispered in awe, salivating, and Art merely shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows as though to say 'ill make it fit', before putting a hand on your head and pushing your face into the bed.
You felt arousal course through you at his actions, being pinned down and bared for him to use. You pushed your round ass into him as much as you could, desperate and whorish, feeling his body judder with silent laughter.
He teased you at first, pushing the tip in, then retrieving, only to push just a little bit more in, and then retrieving again.
You huffed, unable to hide your frustration, but choked on it as Art slowly pulled out, then slid all the way in to the hilt.
You cried out loudly, hands balled into fists in your blanket, head pushed into the bed hard as Art gave you no time to adjust and began fucking you.
Your insides were on fire, pain and pleasure at his large intrusion mixing together, pulling moan after moan out of you. You could barely breathe, struggling to say his name as Art now gripped both of your hips and bred you.
A hand was lifted from you before coming down hard on your jiggling flesh, one stroke after another, getting harder and harder until you were writhing and whining.
He didn't stop, testing just how far he could go, switching to the other cheek when he felt your screams were getting particularly painful.
The stinging was unbearable, but it made you so wet, so pliant for him to absolutely manhandle you into the bed, gripping a fistful of your hair before he ravaged you just the way you wanted.
You were already a babbling mess, cock drunk when Art had hardly done anything. He rolled his eyes at you, though he was definitely amused at the unintelligible song you sang for him, something about his large cock and something else about breeding you.
You filthy girl.
Arts hand tangled rougher into your locks, before he gripped it hard and wrenched your head back, spine arching.
Your whines increased, becoming incredibly high pitch and feminine for him as he forced your head back.
Your neck was burning, but you loved this feeling, having a firm hand tug your hair back and an incredible, curved dick hit your insides just right.
The way he fucked you hard made you want to pretend to be bratty in the future, just so he could put you in your place. In fact, maybe one day when you're feeling particularly moody or low, you could get him to fuck it out of you, sweeten you up. The thought of being forced to take him deep as he fucked the brattiness out of you had you sopping, thighs drenched and shaking and barely standing.
"Ahh--Art, it feels so-", you moaned brokenly, thighs collapsing as the demon above you took to forcing your face back into the bed, other hand forcing your wrists above your head.
Having your thighs together now made his cock feel utterly massive, forcing the air out of you as he glided in between your plush cheeks, invading your sodden hole.
It made you feral.
"Oh my God oh my God--", you cried weakly, sobbing. Tears rolled down your cheeks in over stimulation, and Art leaned his body over yours, pushing you into the bed as he used one hand to smother your mouth, hooking his fingers into it.
You babbled, sucking his fingers desperately as you drooled down his wrist and your chin.
His fingers stuffed your mouth, thick length now ramming into you harder. You could barely hold your head up anymore, resting weakly against his wrist as you cried and whimpered, mascara blackening your eyes and cheeks messily.
Suddenly your hips were gripped and your body was forced onto it's back. You whined at the loss of him inside you, legs wrapping obscenely around his trim waist, needing more.
"Fuck me, please fuck me-", you breathed, head lolling back as fat tears burned your eyes, soaking your cheeks. Your lips were formed into a frustrated pout, fists clenched as though you were about to have a tantrum unless his dick resumed fucking you.
Art grinned truly maniacally down at you, gleeful and amused at your cries. It was a stunning sight, seeing your usual reserved self acting like such a slut.
He pouted right back at you, holding two fists up to his eyes and rotating them back and forth to impersonate dramatic crying. He was mocking you cruelly, laughing at your fucked out expression.
Forcing his fingers into your mouth again, Art pushed them down your throat, watching your eyes widen as you gagged and choked. Saliva pooled in your mouth excessively, and he scooped it out with both fingers to smear it messily over your cheeks and down your chin, laughing silently and pointing.
"No, please stop mocking me..", you whimpered quietly, lips wobbling as you pleaded at him with your big eyes. Your hips bucked desperately, thighs sticky and warm.
Art dropped his grin and rolled his eyes at your antics. You really wanted him to fuck you? Sure.
A malicious glint lit up his eyes, tenderly wiping the black tears staining your cheeks from your makeup.
Before you could blink, a strong hand was wrapped around your throat roughly, and a moment later his hot cock was pummeling into you mercilessly.
You couldn't even scream, sounds trapped in your throat and escaping in high pitched exhales, your head falling back against the bed as he strangled you.
It terrified you, but as your breathing became less and your head became clouded, a sudden, indescribable pleasure ripped through you so powerfully your eyes rolled back into your head, drool openly gliding down your cheek.
Your body felt weak and unresponsive, unable to even grip at his wrists for some reprieve, but the pleasure..
The fucking pleasure was mind numbing.
Your eyes drooped, face turning almost purple as he fucked you so deep you felt sick.
You couldn't gasp anymore, weak breaths barely getting past the brutal grip on your throat.
You were delirious now, feeling in a dream like state, ecstasy exploding behind your eyes and lighting your nerves on such a burning fire. You felt like your soul was ripped out of your mortal shell, experiencing the biggest high of your entire life.
Art cackled madly, silently, a sick adoration twisting in his eyes at the way your consciousness began to slip. He held your neck dangerously tight, tighter than he planned but judging by the way your hot, wet pussy gripped at him, he knew you loved it.
The sounds of your joining bodies was obscene and lewd, squelching and loud as his cock forced your lubrication out of your body.
Art gritted his teeth at the morbidly stunning view of you drooling excessive saliva, tears soaking his hands and mascara clumping your eyelashes, your eyes now bloodshot and heavy.
They rolled back, and soon you become quiet.
Bringing you to the very edge, Art removed your hand and allowed air to enter your lungs.
You gasped painfully, choking and sobbing as you were given no time to inhale greedily, instead getting ravaged inhumanly fast.
You couldn't lift your head, eyes blinking dazedly up at Art, who lifted a hand to wave at you mockingly.
You tried to speak but couldn't, mouth held open in permanent ecstasy. Your hips snapped upright as fingers roughly rubbed at your engorged clitoris, abusing the greedy nub.
A cry tore from your raw throat, head thrashing side to side and legs shaking violently as your orgasm rendered you incoherent.
You screamed out, squirting almost violently down your quivering thighs and over Arts rigid, brutal cock.
You sobbed, face screwing up pathetically as genuine, uncontrollable cries wracked your form. You could barely intake breath, body and nerves unable to handle the level of soul wrenching pleasure and borderline pain that was inflicted upon you.
Art gripped your shaking thighs and lifted them above his shoulders, face devoid of his usual smirk and instead scowling down at you with smouldering eyes. He fucked you harder, faster, animalistic before his hips stuttered once, twice, and a hot, thick load of cum filled your gaping pussy.
The amount was unnatural, not human, but your body lapped it up all the same as your insides convulsed and quivered. You moaned weakly, keening in a higher pitch as your lips wobbled and your eyes remained misted and delirious.
You didn't even feel Art pull out, stuck in a dream like state as aftershocks lit your body up. Your legs were dropped from his shoulders, falling unceremoniously to the bed, wide open.
You babbled incoherently, arm covering your face. Art stared down at you serenely, gazing from your dick dumb espression to the mess of cum coating your thighs, globs of it dripping down to your asshole. Your hole gaped and twitched, greedily gulping up all that it could take, thoroughly fucked and bred.
You felt two fingers scooping up the mess and pushing it filthily back into your pussy.
You whined, dropping the arm from your eyes to finally look at the demonic clown that had surely taken grip of your soul and tore it out.
Art smirked down at you, winking playfully. He revelled in the mess he made of you.
"Art that was--I--Mmm--", you moaned, responding to the gentle caress of your clit with his fingers. You were so wet and full of cum, biting your lip.
You didn't move as you felt his form pull away from you. You were so out of it you felt drunk.
You didn't feel him tucking you into bed, only remembered being beneath the blankets as he tilted his head down at you contemplatively.
He felt something foreign, that was for certain. He felt a possessive adoration over you, wanting to break you into a crying, sobbing mess, strangle you until you stood on the precipice of death like earlier, but also..
Watching you now, eyes drooping as you gripped his hand softly, tiredly, he made the final decision that he wanted more tender moments like this.
Imagine yandere diluc, ayato, wriothesly, zhongli with an oblivious reader who wasn't aware that they're in a relationship with them like they thought they were best friends. They live together and basically do the most couple things and believe that they were best buddies
Love your writing, stay healthy no pressure from me if you don't want to write this
🩷🩷🩷
More Than Just Friends
Synopsis: You were just friends. At least, that’s what you always told yourself. Living together? Best friends do that. Sharing food? Nothing unusual. Sleeping in the same bed when it got too cold? Just something friends did for comfort! You never questioned the way they always touched you so casually—brushing your hair back, adjusting your collar, holding your wrist when you walked together. Or how they always knew everything about you—what you liked, where you were, who you spoke to. You never noticed how their eyes darkened when others got too close. Because to you, they were just your best friend. But to them, you were theirs.
Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Ayato, Wriothesley, Zhongli x Oblivious Reader
Diluc – The Overprotective 'Best Friend'
Living with Diluc Ragnvindr was like sharing a home with a protective older brother—at least, that’s how you saw it. He had always been a little overbearing, a little too invested in your well-being, but you assumed that’s just how he was.
After all, wasn’t it normal for friends to:n
Cook every meal for you to make sure you "stay healthy"?
Escort you home every day because "Mondstadt isn’t always safe"?
Casually mention that you don’t need to date anyone because "you have me"?
You figured it was just his way of looking out for you.
"Hey, Diluc," you called out one evening as he handed you a steaming cup of dandelion wine. "Have you ever thought about getting a girlfriend?"
The silence in the room was deafening.
The redhead froze, his usually composed expression unreadable.
"I don’t need one," he finally said, voice eerily calm. "I already have you."
You snorted. "Yeah, yeah, but imagine if you did. You’re kind, responsible, and—"
He set his glass down with a little too much force.
"Why would I need anyone else when we already live together?"
"Uh... because we’re best friends?" you replied, confused.
His eyes darkened. "Friends?"
"Yeah? Best friends?"
Diluc let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. "Of course," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "You’re so innocent."
You didn’t understand what he meant. But the look in his eyes sent an odd shiver down your spine.
Ayato – The Sweet but Possessive Companion
"You’re acting like my boyfriend."
The words were spoken in passing, a joke, a tease.
But Ayato froze.
His gaze locked onto yours, something dangerous flickering beneath the usual warmth.
"Am I not?"
You laughed, brushing off his words. "Of course not, silly! We’re just roommates. Best friends! Partners in crime!"
The way his jaw tensed should have been a warning.
Best friends. Roommates.
No. No.
You belonged to him.
You didn’t notice how no one ever got too close to you in the Kamisato Estate. How people avoided even looking at you when Ayato was near.
How every single letter addressed to you was intercepted before it ever reached your hands.
You were his.
And one day, he’d make sure you understood.
Even if it meant locking you away forever.
Wriothesley – The Overly Attentive ‘Roommate’
Living with Wriothesley was a mix of comfort and mild confusion.
For one, he always insisted on walking you everywhere.
"Fortress of Meropide can be dangerous," he’d say. "Better safe than sorry."
"But we’re just going to the marketplace?" you asked one day.
He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Doesn’t matter. I’d rather be with you."
And that wasn’t all.
You had noticed how he touched you—not in a way that felt inappropriate, but in a way that seemed… too familiar.
An arm around your waist when guiding you through a crowd.
A hand resting on your shoulder when he spoke to you.
And the way he pulled you into a hug just a little too often.
One evening, as you were sipping tea, you sighed dramatically. "Wrio, we should get matching rings."
The way he stilled should have clued you in.
"Matching rings?" he repeated, voice slow.
"Yeah! Friendship rings! To show we’re best buds!"
There was a long pause before he chuckled, but there was something… off about it.
"That’s not a bad idea," he said, grinning to himself.
You didn’t know that the "friendship rings" you had unknowingly suggested were actually engagement rings in Fontaine tradition.
And he wasn’t planning on correcting you.
Zhongli – The Devoted ‘Friend’
Zhongli had always been exceptionally caring, going above and beyond for you.
At first, you thought it was just how he was.
He always pulled out your chair before you sat down.
He always remembered your favourite foods, ensuring they were prepared daily.
He always gave you soft, lingering looks, as if watching over something precious.
You had assumed it was just his nature.
That was, until one day, you joked, "I can’t wait to meet my future partner!"
Zhongli’s tea cup stopped midair.
He set it down gently, too gently.
"Future partner?" he echoed, his expression unreadable.
"Yeah! You know, when I get married someday."
His amber eyes seemed to darken.
"You speak as if you do not already belong to someone."
You furrowed your brows. "I don’t?"
He sighed, a patient but warning look in his gaze.
"Y/N," he said softly, too softly.
"Has it never occurred to you why we live together? Why I dote on you so?"
"Yeah, because we’re best friends!" you chirped.
The silence that followed was so loud.
Zhongli only smiled, though something in his gaze sharpened.
"You are too naïve, my dear," he murmured, almost fondly.
But you would learn soon.
Because whether you understood it now or not, you were already his.
So like how would our yandere fatui hubbys react to a reader who is also yandere fir them but like good at hiding it and then they find out
Two Can Play A Game
Synopsis: They’ve always believed you were the calm one. The delicate one. The reason they could justify their own obsession. But when the illusion cracks—when they uncover the depth of your own possessive devotion—they don’t recoil. They lean in. Because if you're just like them… then there’s no need to pretend at all anymore.
Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Pierro, Childe x Secret Yandere Reader
Capitano – Steel Attracts Steel
Capitano always treated you like something fragile. Loved you hard, yes—but carefully. Kept his brutality away from you, like shielding fire from a flame.
Until one night, during an assassination investigation, he finds one of your knives buried in the back of the corpse. Personalised hilt. Fatui-forged.
When confronted, you don’t even deny it.
“They touched you,” you say flatly. “I told them not to.”
Capitano is silent for a long time. You brace for reprimand. But instead, he just steps closer. His gauntlet brushes your jaw.
“… You’ve been hiding this from me.”
“Would it have scared you?”
“No,” he says, voice gravel-deep. “It would’ve made me marry you faster.”
From then on, he no longer protects you from his world. You’re part of it now. Equal. Loved not in spite of your darkness—but because you match his.
Dottore – You Know Too Much
He finds your journal by accident—or maybe he planned to.
It’s clinical. Detailed. A list of people you’ve removed or ruined just for getting too close to him. Notes on which of his clones you think are too emotionally independent. A theory on how to extract loyalty through psychological dependence.
He laughs so hard he drops it.
“Darling,” he croons, spinning the journal in his hand like a prized artifact. “You manipulated one of my assistants into quitting?”
“They were getting too close. I don’t share.”
He stares at you like you’re a miracle.
Dottore thrives on brilliance, and the fact that you fooled him? That you were obsessing just as hard but under his radar?
You’ve never seen him more in love.
He lets you help with his experiments now. Not as an assistant. As an equal. As a fellow predator.
He calls you his “perfect mutation.”
Pantalone – The Lover Behind the Curtain
Pantalone always thought he was the one playing chess.
You were docile. Soft-spoken. All smiles and tea cups and passive agreement. Until he caught wind of a smear campaign against one of his economic rivals—one only you could’ve orchestrated, given the exact trade documents you had touched.
He lets you stew for three days before confronting you in his office.
You blink, feigning ignorance. But he only smiles and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
“Darling,” he says softly, “you’re better at this than half my board members. Why hide it?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was… unbalanced.”
He laughs. Long. Soft.
“My love, you balance me.”
From then on, he hands you targets with a smirk and says, “For us.”
And when he sees you quietly ruin people behind silk gloves and honeyed smiles? He watches like a man seeing a masterpiece in motion.
Pierro – The First and the Last
Pierro is slow to trust. Even slower to hope.
But when he discovers the bloody trail you left in Snezhnaya’s underbelly—former suitors, rival diplomats, jealous subordinates—he doesn’t confront you immediately. No, he watches you for weeks. Watches how effortlessly you slip between docility and ruthlessness.
And then one night, he brings you to his private study and lays a file in front of you.
“Next time,” he murmurs, “just come to me directly.”
You eye the file. “You're… not angry?”
“You want me safe. Kept. Yours.” He steps closer. “What kind of man would I be to punish loyalty that mirrors my own?”
He elevates you. You’re no longer just his partner—you become the blade in his other hand. And if you ever thought he was obsessed before?
Now he lets himself be.
Childe – Match Made in Mayhem
Childe catches you in the act—literally. Mid-threat, dagger in your sleeve, eyes hard and mouth flat as you tell a diplomat,
“Get away from my fiancé. Or I’ll decorate this floor with your guts.”
You don’t notice him at first. But when you turn and spot him? He’s grinning like a lunatic.
“You love me that much?” he says.
“I always have,” you mutter. “I’m just better at hiding it.”
Childe immediately sweeps you into a kiss. He’s absolutely unhinged from that point forward.
“New rule,” he says. “You’re coming on every mission now. Ride or die, baby.”
He brags about you constantly. Calls you his better half while holding your bloodied dagger in his belt.
When enemies beg to be taken by the Harbinger instead of his partner, that’s when you know he’s truly in love.
// GENSHIN VERSION 5.3 SPOILERS // more under the cut!
ok ok so imagine you often make the trek to visit where the captain is permanently sat when you miss him, so you can leave freshly picked flowers at his feet, or sit in his lap or beside him to vent to him, or to tell him about your day, or that new thing you tried, or to cry into his frozen form, listening to the endless, lifeless heaving of his breath.
and you do not know the night kingdom hears everything you say - that though he is still, thrain still listens. that being able to hug you back is the only thing missing now that he’s at peace from his curse.
though you are happy that he finally can rest after living for so long, with you having been the only person he’d confided in about his heart and all those souls before all this had gone down, the only person there for him when the voices were getting too much, you can’t help but resort to wishful thinking, that maybe he’ll be back someday. you wish you could get to hear his voice again.
you leave a gentle kiss to his helmet.
“i miss you, thrain.” you whisper, and you are painfully unaware that he misses you too.
Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you sit on his face. It's his favorite position. You smothering his face with your weight turns him on more. He usually gets too into it that he overstimulates you. When you try getting up, his beefy, strong arms wrap around your thighs, holding you in place as he continues to eat. You try moving but you just end up grinding on his face, his nose hitting your clit as he sucks on your hole. It causes you to squirt on his face, but he doesn't mind. That was his plan all along. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you squirt on his face. He groans into your pussy every time you do. He eagerly laps it up and continues his meal. You're usually blabbing nonsense at this time, mind breaking and tears running down your cheeks from the sweet pleasure he keeps giving you. Eventually, you cant keep your upper body up much longer and he notices. This is when he detaches his mouth from your pussy and you sigh in relief, glad to finally have a break. He helps you lay down on the bed and makes sure you're comfortable. Once he does, he opens your legs and he lays down between them, getting comfortable himself. He places his mouth back on your pussy, going back to feasting like he's a starving man enjoying his favorite meal. You are of course his favorite meal. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you close your thick, beautiful thighs around his head, almost like you're trying to crush his head, which he wouldn't mind. You comb your fingers through his hair, nails softly scratching his scalp causing him to groan into your pussy. The extra stimulation to your pussy causes you to pull his hair, making him groan more. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you can't decide whether to push his head away or pull him closer, looking for more stimulation, which he is more than happy to give. When you pull his head closer with your hands as you wrap your legs around his head, heels of your feet digging into his back, he takes this as a sign to up the pleasure. You cry out in pleasure as you once again fall over the edge, squirting on his face and tightening your beautiful thighs around his head. Your legs eventually grow weak, not being able to stay wrapped around his head anymore, making him whine in disappointment. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves to put his rough hands on the back of your thighs, pressing them against your chest, opening you wider for him. Your mind is too numb from the pleasure to care about the embarrassing position he put you in. He latches his mouth to your pussy, sucking and licking and using his tongue to explore your insides. You have no where to go as he uses his incredible strength to hold you down. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you cry and scream out as you once again squirt on his face. He shakes his head as he continues to suck and rub his nose against your clit. You squirt over and over as he doesn't stop. He finally stops and removes his mouth. He looks up at you, breathing deeply as your juices drip from his chin. Your thighs slightly shake as you try to steady your breathing. He wipes the tears from your cheeks and leaves a kiss on your forehead. He lays down, gently wraps his strong arms around you, and holds you close. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, praising you for doing so well as he rubs your back. It doesn't take you long to fall asleep. He admires your adorable, sleeping face for a while until he kisses the top of your head and closes his eyes. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley can't wait until you two can do this again later.
how would capitano, dainsleif, scara, etc. react to an (s/o) that was so ab*sed in the past that they are totally chill with having a yandere, as long as they are loved and cherished?
you don’t even really have to ever think about this request again if it’s boring
If This Is Love…
Synopsis: Some people flee from obsession. Others tolerate it. But you? You were broken so thoroughly by a past steeped in cruelty that even the most suffocating kind of love feels like warmth by comparison. These yanderes—violent, possessive, volatile—aren’t sure what to make of someone who doesn’t run. Not out of fear… but because they’ve simply given up on expecting anything else.
Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Capitano, Dainsleif, Scaramouche, Zhongli, Diluc, Ayato x Gender Neutral S/O with an Abusive Past
Capitano – The Wall That Breathes
He’s used to resistance. Struggle. Fear.
When you first accepted his protection—silent, bruised, and trembling—he thought it was shock. Then a survival tactic. And yet, weeks passed. You let him lock doors. You let him kill in your name. You let him own you in the quietest ways.
And when he finally asked—gruff and confused—“Why don’t you resist me?”
You had looked up at him with calm, empty eyes and said:
“Because at least you don’t hurt me the way the last one did. If this is control, I’ll take it. Just… don’t stop loving me.”
Capitano did not speak for a long time.
Later that night, he carved a command into the marble of his quarters: "Harm them and die." It wasn't for others—it was for himself.
He may be a monster. But for you, he becomes a gentle one. One who studies your past like a campaign he intends to conquer. If pain made you docile, then love will rebuild you. And if you ever cry again… it will only be in the safety of his arms.
Dainsleif – The Watcher Who Saw Too Much
You’re too calm when you discover his truth. The Abyss, the immortality, the centuries of blood.
You don’t ask to leave. You just nod.
“You’re not shocked,” he murmurs.
“I’ve lived through worse than monsters,” you reply.
It’s then he understands—your silence isn’t strength. It’s exhaustion.
So he stops playing the long game. No more slowly-earned trust. He claims you. Not with violence—but with relentless care. Feeding you. Watching your sleep. Guarding you from even the memory of those who carved wounds into your soul.
And when you, shaking, say, “It’s okay if you’re not good. You’re better than they were,” he grips your shoulders, pain in his eyes.
“I don’t want to be ‘better than them.’ I want to be everything they never were.”
He kisses your wrists and traces the hidden scars with reverence—not pity. He won’t let you vanish into compliance.
Dainsleif will love you like a war he refuses to lose.
Scaramouche / Wanderer – The Broken Mirror
He should be delighted.
He’s suffocating, jealous, cruel in the name of love—and you just accept it. You don't protest when he follows you, when he lies to keep others away, when he lashes out at anyone who speaks your name with affection.
Instead, you smile.
"You’re possessive," you say softly. "But at least you want me."
He snaps.
"Don’t say it like that! You’re supposed to fight me, to call me crazy, to hate how I treat you!"
But you just shake your head.
"I’ve been through worse. If you’re going to be crazy, at least let it be for me."
Scaramouche doesn't know what to do with that. It breaks him. Because in you, he sees a version of himself—discarded, unloved, crawling toward anyone who pretends they care.
So, he softens. Not entirely—he’s still obsessive, still clingy—but he becomes protective instead of destructive. The threats stop. The control shifts.
He holds your hand in bed one night and murmurs, almost broken,
“If I love you right… will you ever believe you deserved it?”
You don’t answer.
But your fingers curl around his.
And for him, that’s enough—for now.
Zhongli – The God Who Was Too Late
He treats you delicately at first, even after he’s already drawn you into the web of his affection. Zhongli doesn’t take—he offers, waits, watches. Until one night, you say it plainly while sipping tea in his private study:
"You don’t need to hold back. I’m used to worse. Just… don’t leave."
The porcelain cup stills in his hand.
He doesn’t speak for a long time. But then, with eyes full of storm-held regret, he sets the cup down and kneels in front of you.
“… That anyone made you used to such a thing is a tragedy that cannot be undone,” he murmurs. “But I am no longer a god of war. I will not shatter my enemies. I will smother them.”
He does not rage. He buries. Every trace of your past is methodically erased—names, homes, memories swallowed by the earth. The streets of Liyue curve around you now. You are not his prisoner—you are his responsibility. And that is far more binding.
You once lived like a thing no one wanted to touch. Now, you are worshipped with silence, reverence, and the touch of a dragon curled protectively around your sleep.
Diluc – The Flame That Doesn't Burn You
You see the fury behind his eyes before you ever see his smile.
Diluc doesn’t trust his own temper. When he first takes you in, he's distant—not for lack of love, but fear that his obsession could hurt you.
But then… you let him control everything. You don’t protest when he monitors your outings. You nod when he says, “You don’t need to talk to them.”
One night, you find him in the manor kitchen, hands trembling over a broken wineglass.
“I don’t get it,” he says quietly. “You don’t ask for space. You’re never angry. It’s like you… expect me to be cruel.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” you say, wrapping your arms around him from behind. “I’ve seen cruelty. You’re nothing like them.”
He breaks.
The next day, your wardrobe is full of new clothes. The manor has been remodelled. He asks you every morning what you want for breakfast and makes it himself. Every whisper of your past is erased in fire.
Diluc will never be soft to the world—but with you, he learns how. And if anyone ever tries to take you again?
He will ensure you don’t even hear the scream.
Ayato – The Silk-Covered Cuffs
Ayato is subtle. Strategic. Possessive in lace and ink and custom-bound contracts. You were an easy mark—quiet, agreeable, compliant. That should have worried him.
But instead, it made him curious.
“Why don’t you push back?” he asked one evening, fingers brushing your cheek. “You let me take everything.”
“I’ve had worse taken from me,” you reply with a smile. “At least you give me something in return.”
The wineglass stills in his hand.
Ayato’s entire demeanour shifts.
From that moment on, you are adored. Not just kept. Not just possessed. He learns your habits, your tells, your dreams. And when you struggle with feeling like you deserve that love, he gently kisses the thought away.
“You are mine now,” he murmurs against your temple, “which means your past is mine, too. And I will bury it in the quietest part of Inazuma.”
No more open skies. No more wandering. He weaves a world of tailored walls, all lined with silk and absolute devotion. You never have to ask for anything again.
Because Ayato already knew you’d never dare to ask in the first place.
A/N: I could never wear thigh highs. Not cause my thighs aren't thick, they actually are, but thigh highs aren't for me. Real pretty on other people though!
Kaeya has always had a fondness for looking at you but he seems very interested in you when you wear thigh highs. At first he was only looking, complimenting, saying they look cute on you. It wasn't long until he started running his hands up and down, feeling the soft material. Commenting on how silky smooth your legs are with and without them, but they're was a certain charm that they bring.
Itto nearly walked into the wall when he noticed what you were wearing. He'd often seen other women wear these but only you have been able to unlock this new urge within him. From the moment he saw you in them he knew what he wanted, to bite your thighs. And now just anywhere, in the exact spot where the thigh highs end so his bite mark is always visible, maybe just a tiny bit covered up.
Al-Haitham was the one who bought them for you, it was a gift he got on one of your dates. Honestly he didn't expect you to wear them right away, nor did he expect how distracted he would be when you did. As he kept staring at you he noticed he was having trouble focusing on his work. So he politely asked you to only wear these at home, that way it won't matter how distracted he is.
Scaramouche didn't want you to know he was paying attention to your new addition of attire. He did notice of course, he had perfectly working eyes and so did other people. Which was a whole other problem, he kept glaring at every other man and woman who looked at you with the same look he did. This didn't sit too well with him but he also didn't want to ask you not to wear them, he likes them a lot.
Dottore joked about you waring them during work and you took it seriously. As soon as you began noticing him looking you began to tease him by walking by him slowly, reaching up to a high shelf, smirking at him. It wasn't long before he reached his breaking point. He pinned you against the first clean table and urged you to wrap your legs around him and grind and to not take the thigh highs off.
Childe noticed as soon as you walked out and asking him to spar. Too bad he couldn't focus on anything properly, he was too busy noticing how nicely the thigh highs hug your legs, and how they're just a bit tight on you. Instead of sparing he manages to tackle you down and throw your legs over his shoulders. A smirk plays on his lips as he slowly starts kissing your thighs as you throw your head back.
Wriothesley doesn't stop looking at your legs for the entire day. He will do it very shamessly too, glaring at you with no intention of hiding what that specific clothing does to him. At the end of the day it's no surprise that you find yourself in his office, on his desk, legs spread open by his strong hands and his eyes almost feral looking. What he would do to be able to spend the whole day like this.
Dainsleif tries to be a gentleman and help you put them on and take them off every morning. Yet his hands and fingers linger more and more with each passing day. Soon he can hardly pull away from you without leaning in for a deep kiss and caressing your legs up and down as you moan his name. Eventually he does help you put them on, but not before taking them off before then.
Sethos knows it gets really hot out in the sandy desert and assumes that's why you put them on. However it soon becomes obvious to him that the real reason is to get him to look your way more often. Not that he doesn't look at you already, but now he tends to do it a lot more. Before he never thought that something so simple as thigh highs would be so captivating, it seems he was very wrong.
Zhongli appreciates all beautiful things in life, and yes, that includes the way your legs look in thigh highs. He likes to lay his head on your lap when he's feeling tired and catch even a few minutes of rest with your hands running through his care. The only downside to those moments is that sometimes his fangs catch on and rip the delicate material. Since then he's been a lot more careful.
When the stars are perched in the night sky, and the world becomes wrapped in a still blanket of darkness - there is no better action than departing to your safe space, the coziness of your bedroom, and the safety of your beloved’s body next to you. The lights are dimmed and after a warm shower and a change into comfy pajamas, your beloved is met with a tender sight of your sleepy figure. It is time for rest, and with his arms open, beckoning you to hop into his embrace - you join him in bed at last.
✧ A single glance from Pierro and his eyes would instantly soften upon seeing your sleepy expression. The Director of the Fatui doesn’t require any questions or even verbal communication to know that something is troubling you. Your solemn gaze and slumped shoulders tell him more than enough - and his heart aches in response. Silently but gently, he pulls you closer, his star-shaped pupils seeking answers from your own.
“My divine one... A long day?” - he whispers, his hand lifting your chin to make you look at him. You don’t directly respond, but nod and press your lips into a thin line. Pierro sighs, yearning to vanquish all your worries and pain. But sometimes, words are superfluous.
“Do not fret your little heart. No harm shall come, for I am here, my divine. Shall I take you to bed, instead?”
With a small nod and a timid glance from you, Pierro spoke no further. He knew what you required on such solemn nights as these, and instead, allowed his arms to pick you up, carrying your fatigued figure in his bigger embrace. He pulled you closer, his cheek gently grazing your face as he whispered soothing words and brought you to bed.
He tucked you in, the king-sized bed bringing the familiar sensation of silky sheets and warm covers. He kisses your forehead with careful and slow deliberation before accompanying you to sleep.
When Pierro sleeps beside you, he is often silent, but his gaze never leaves your figure. He’d lay on his side, gazing at your face as if it were the stars and the moon itself. Even within the dimness of the room, he has memorized the outline of your face, the soothing rhythm of your breathing, the contour of your figure. With one hand around you, you two slept peacefully, the troubles of the world left behind. Even the Fatui’s Director required solace, and this solace he would locate only in your tender arms; his sanctuary.
✧ Il Capitano has memorized your routine. Take a shower, get ready for bed, and most importantly, sleep on top of him as if his body were a sturdy mattress. It’s not your fault your cherished is so much taller and bigger, right? Well luckily for you, he absolutely adores it when you climb on top of him, resting your head on top of his chest and legs around his hips. Your smaller figure clad tight around him like a loving weighted blanket while he slept on his back. His hands would gladly squeeze you, loving your softness against his toned physique.
“You don’t mind my weight on top of you, Cappy?” - you’d often ask every night before bed, peeking at him with that tender worry that made the Harbinger melt in an instant. Capitano would continue to hold you, his sharp fingers tracing circles gently on your hips or your back.
“Dearest, I have carried heavier weights that quadruple you in size. If you were to bother me, would I be pulling you back to my arms whenever you toss and turn?”
And thus, with the seal of approval from the honorable Captain, you’d smile triumphantly and sleep on him. That’s just how the two of you were: Capitano was a beast in size, slept still, and barely moved when on his back. Conversely, you were smaller in size, slept very lightly, and often turned or wrestled with the covers. Even when you had the spacious bed to your leisure, you always chose to sleep tightly clinging to him. And Capitano revered every second of it as if it was the biggest honor in his duty as your protector. Truly, an honorable knight protecting your dreams.
✧ Sharing a bed with Il Dottore is a toil. If you managed to miraculously drag him out of his lab, he’d groan and argue that he has important research to do, that your concern for his sleep schedule is ‘childish’. Yet the moment he settles in bed, he becomes a menace to your sanity:
“Are you coming to bed or not?”
“Come here, closer.”
“No, you are pushing around.”
And the cherry on top of it all? He’d stare at you during the entire night, maskless. You know he doesn’t easily fall asleep, even on days when he overexhausted himself in his experiments. So naturally, his method to relax is to press the side of his head tightly against your chest and just remain glued to you with the sound of your heartbeat being his salvation. You’d assume it is an adorable sight… until you’d open your eyes in the middle of the night, only to notice a piercing, red lens just gawking at you. Motionless and still, he just wore that neutral expression while being pressed to your chest.
“...Uh, are you going to just stare at me in the dark?” - you whispered in the dark, to which he won’t even move or change his expression.
“43 beats per minute.”
You blinked sleepily - “... wha-”
“Your heart beats approximately 43 to 50 beats per minute when you sleep. That’s anywhere between 20640 to 24000 beats for 8 hours of sleep.”
It was your turn to gawk at him, albeit in confusion. His nonchalant yet stoic reply told you that he was, indeed, very focused on counting each and every beat of your heart while you slept. He remained pressing his ear to the middle of your chest, arms wrapped around your waist tightly.
“Dottore, have you not slept this entire time…?”
“Shush, stop speaking,” - he whispered more gently, pressing his face into you in a rather touchy manner as if you wouldn’t notice. “I am still counting. Your heart rate is increasing to 81 bpm.”
“If you won’t go to sleep this instance I won’t make any Ajilenakh Cake tomorrow.”
As such, silence dominated the dark bedroom once more. The doctor said no more and settled on hiding his face against your body, not daring to admit that he loved your desserts. And even more, not daring to acknowledge that your heartbeat lulled him to sleep. To deny his infatuation with every beat of your pulse would be a lie, and to deny his longing to physically hold you close would be ignorance. So he settled to silently counting your heartbeat until succumbing to dreamless slumber.
✧ Scaramouche didn’t require sleep. Everyone knew that. Regardless, your persuasion with the 6th knew no bounds as you begged and nagged at him relentlessly to remain beside your bedding. He would audibly scoff and cross his arms at your ridiculous request.
“My body does not need rest for 8-something hours. Why should I even waste such precious time with you while you’re the one unconscious?”
However, no matter how much Scaramouche put up the cold front and rolled his eyes, he wasn’t immune to your ingratiating puppy eyes or gentle tugging whenever you asked something of him. You’d always embrace him from the side, asking him softly to stay a little longer as you depart for the night. He, of course, would refuse and cut your answers short, but his actions told a different story. He was already tucking you in; making sure the futon was neatly laid and the covers warmly wrapped around you while he sat kneeling beside you. He just had to make a fuss first:
“To even insinuate such foolish proposition… You must be truly bored out of your mind.”
You’d only chuckle in response, smiling whenever he made sure your room was tidy and secure for your nightly rest. But even then, you’d reach for his hand, and whisper:
“... Just stay for a while longer. At least until I fall asleep, okay?”
Same scoff. Same attitude. But The Puppeteer never left. He always stayed beside you, despite his arrogant rebuttals that you quickly learned were nothing about. He’d either sit leaning beside you, keeping a silent company, or telling you obscure stories he heard from Inazuma or the Abyss. And at times, Scaramouche would remain kneeling by your futon even after you had fallen asleep.
Your breathing was slow and steady, but he was almost afraid to lean any closer. All bickerings he displayed before were gone, and like a porcelain puppet, Scaramouche would find himself frozen in place, hypnotized by your soothing breathing. He just gazed at you, as if you were a distant star within the dark sky, the palliative breaths emitting from you told him that you were safe. You are here.
And it was from you he learned how gentle breaths are emitted by those deemed “alive”. How your breathing fluctuates in different moments of your life: energetic when happy, hitched when disturbed, and peaceful when asleep. Strangely, this mundane motion of your chest falling and rising worked like a lullaby to Scaramouche.
Alas, he now condemns himself for not caressing your face all these times he watched you sleep. A lonesome Wanderer sat alone, an empty futon beside him. Your familiar presence lacking, and he won’t hear your tranquil breaths. You are not here.
✧ Your dear Pantalone had a fundamental habit before bed. He’d set his glasses aside, hair tied up, and go through his skincare routine right before bed. His hands diligently yet delicately wash all the apprehension and professionalism from his face. But the most important part? Trash talk with you about what happened at his work, while he focused on his reflection in the mirror.
“Could you believe that dear?” - the 9th called out to you from the bathroom, his brows frowning in displeasure. The man continued to cleanse his face. “Those insolent aristocrats offered another bribe under the table, thinking that would change my final statement.”
You responded with a faint “Mhm,” back at him.
“And then! The tasteless bastard dared to ask that some of their reports be delayed because he will pay twice, as long as no one checks for quality control. I mean, the audacity of some of those high-society morons!”
“Right, right” - you murmured faintly from the bedroom.
Pantalone massaged his cheekbones, making sure his face was as affluent as his taste and status. He adjusted his robe, still rambling with the same frustrated passion. “They think that just because they’re doing business with me, negotiating with a high sum of bribes would lead to a guaranteed deal with the Fatui. Ugh.”
This time, there was no response from you. The bedroom was awfully silent, despite the night lamp still shining.
“Honey?” - Pantalone called gently.
Silence. The Regrator stepped out of the bathroom, a curious look on his face, until his eyes spotted you in bed, asleep. His expression immediately softens, all quarrels and gossip forgotten. It seems that his late-night rambles about work have thrilled you so much that you, obviously, dozed off. You didn’t even turn off the lights or get under the covers yet.
Pantalone couldn’t help but smile softly. You two had a long day, anyway. He quietly finished his preparations for bed, changed into comfortable nightwear, and stepped closer to your side. With a delicate touch, he made sure you were tucked in properly, giving you the usual good night kiss on the forehead and tucking your hair away from your face. The man dimmed the lights before he two took his rightful place in bed beside you.
Whatever quarrels troubled his mind now - didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had your comforting presence beside him in bed. As he slowly spooned your sleeping figure, Pantalone let out a sigh of relief, letting his head rest by the crook of your nape. Only then, did the Regrator feel his body go into ease, feeling the tranquil silence settle upon the room. Thus, the two of you slept warmly; Something that Pantalone would never trade for any riches or gold.
✧ Ah yes, Tartaglia, his sweetheart, and their 50,000 Mora five-foot tall Morax plushie. Childe remained lying on his back, his expression far from pleased. Ever since he returned from his mission in Liyue, he gifted you this massive dragon plushie. A plushie that became his mortal enemy. His tormentor. His replacer.
The 11th frequently brought souvenirs back home in Snezhnaya. Liyuan tea sets, Inazuman dresses, or Fontainian gadgets. All for your spoiling, and the joyous smiles from his siblings. One of such missions, he returned home with several cute toys and plushies, just for you and Teucer. He is not beating the “Greatest Toy Seller” allegation anytime soon, but he was certain that the gigantic Morax would be a lovely choice for you.
How naive he was.
The plushie was almost your entire height, yet you held onto it with utter delight when he gave it to you. You hugged and squeezed it with love, finding the fluffy geo archon the cutest thing ever. And thus, here you were. In bed, not hugging your boyfriend, but hugging the massive Morax plushie.
It became a common occurrence. At first, Childe chuckled at your adorable antics whenever you brought his gift with you in bed. But then it became more apparent that you would rather turn your back to him, and just fall asleep while embracing the plushie. Childe swallowed his pride. It’s just a plushie, he bargained with himself. But then he would stare daggers that that innocent, fluffy-looking Morax. How dare it be the one receiving your love, while you adorably squeezed or fell asleep on it.
It should’ve been him!
Therefore, one night, he took matters into his own hands. Tartaglia sat up silently in bed, and by mustering all his skills in stealth, he sneakily pulled the Morax plushie away from your grasp while you slept soundly. He was slow, and careful so as not to wake you up; and boy, tugging that five-foot plush was no easy task. Once it was away from your arms, Childe grinned in triumph… and threw the toy aside. The enemy has been neutralized.
Next step - carefully pulling you closer to him. You were already in deep sleep, so of course, you didn’t feel when your beloved naturally embraced you in bed. Shh, no one will know he was jealous of a silly toy. He was just a concerned boyfriend, who needed to bury his face onto the crown of your head and relish your warmth.
The next morning, you woke up feeling warm and pressed to your dear Ajax, who was particularly cuddly that morning.
“Oh no, how did my Morax plushie fall to the floor?”
“Hm? Oh, you must’ve accidentally tossed it away while you slept, dear.”
SYNOPSIS: Neuvillette finds himself itching to break the sacred rule of No Nut November after naïvely indulging in aphrodisiac-laced chocolates gifted by Sigewinne—a popular craze among young Fontanian adults.
CONTENT WARNING: explicit smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, porn w/o plot, p in v, use of aphrodisiacs (m), neuvillette has two cocks, neuvillette uses his cane as a makeshift leg spreader bar, pet names, wriothesley cameo, sigewinne mention, not beta read
WORD COUNT: 5.4k
NOTES: this is a repost from my old blog and was from my nnn event last year :3
For Neuvillette, the month of November was nothing significant to say the least—his job continued, overseeing trials, sorting out documents, meeting with important people, and more workload now that Lady Furina had stepped down from archon hood; so, when you had come into his office one day, talking about how a certain trend spread like fire across Teyvat, Neuvillette was rather intrigued.
It had a weird name—No Nut November—and couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea based on the name alone.
He remembered how you explained to him Fontanians, and people of other nations were to engage in No Nut November which was to participate in sexual abstinence.
Naturally, the idea was all bizarre to him—not because he thought he couldn’t do it but more so the fact that it was natural for humans to engage in intercourse, same goes for his kind as well.
Neuvillette couldn’t see the significance of such a trend, and why humans were participating but who was he to deny your proposal of a challenge?
After all, there was no harm involved, he figured it would help him understand human customs a little better despite the it’s strangeness in nature.
Situated behind his desk, Neuvillette let out a deep sigh, letting the papers in his hand fall onto the wooden desk beneath before rubbing his temples.
“Stressed, Monsieur?”
A familiar, teasing voice sliced through the suffocating silence of the Iudex’s office.
Neuvillette looked up from his desk, greeted by a friendly figure.
The former was too focused on the case materials before him that he hadn’t realised the presence of another,
“Wriothesley. I’m rather surprised to see you.”
The raven-haired male was clad in his usual attire, heavy obsidian boots sounding with each step taken against the carpeted floors.
“Ah, you’re not the only one.” Wriothesley chuckled, recalling his encounter with Sedene just mere seconds ago, who looked like she had just seen a ghost.
Before Neuvillette could inquire about the sudden visit, the former beat him to it,
“Don’t worry, I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here because Sigewinne had given me an errand to run. She got these for you.”
Taking a couple steps closer to Neuvillette’s desk, Wriothesley placed a small box atop the case papers.
Carefully wrapped in an ivory satin ribbon, the azure container was adorned with intricate designs in gold that shone beneath the afternoon sun, neatly decorated chocolates peeked from the plastic window of the lid.
The Chief Justice subtly raised his brows in amusement, he wasn’t one to indulge in chocolate nor was he a sweet tooth but nonetheless, he appreciated Sigewinne’s thoughtful gesture.
“That is very kind, please thank her for me.”
Watching the way Neuvillette’s expression morphed into a naïve smile, Wriothesley crossed his arms over his chest,
“Say, Monsieur, have you heard of the craze among young Fontanian adults right now?”
He most likely already knew the Iudex’s answer to the question but what was life without a little teasing?
With how the popular sweet has been making rounds across Fontaine, it would be near impossible for anyone to be clueless about it but at the end of the day, Neuvillette was Neuvillette, probably the busiest man in all of Fontaine which is why Sigewinne had to intervene with the chocolates.
The head nurse didn’t have to physically see the Iudex to tell how much he’s been overworking himself nor was a simple order from her was going to stop him.
So, what better way to disguise a remedy with something simple? Basically akin to administering medication to a pet concealed as a tasty treat
Sexual intercourse was the fastest—and best—way to relieve him of his stress.
Sigewinne hoped for the Iudex to pardon her complete brazenness but he was as stubborn as a rock, and took her orders about resting rather lightly.
Naturally, Neuvillette shook his head with a light chuckle, a tinge of interest seeping its way into his skin,
“I believe I’ve heard her talk about it but the details must have slipped my mind.”
A subtle blush blanketed the Chief Justice’s pale cheeks at the mention of his lover, you. Wriothesley’s lips stretched into a teasing smile—one which the former paid no attention to.
“Well, would you ever try an aphrodisiac?” At Neuvillette’s baffled expression, the younger male bit the inside of his cheeks, biting back a hearty laugh.
“An aphrodisiac, you say? Substances that—”
“That increases one’s libido, yes.”
Wriothesley cut him off, tease practically dripping from his tone.
Neuvillette was a man capable of many things, an esteemed individual once he’s in court but when it came to much simpler matters, the Chief Justice was nothing but clueless, especially regarding human customs that are a bit harder to wrap one’s head around.
“I’m afraid I have no such time for trivial things.”
The Iudex shook his head once more, this time dismissively waving a gloved hand at his friend.
He cleared his throat, the blush on his cheeks deepening into a crimson hue—Neuvillette wasn’t going to say it out loud, especially not in front of Wriothesley but he deemed himself more than capable of maintaining his sexual desires and performances, you were enough proof.
Wriothesley left it at that, his friend may just end up as red as a tomato if he prodded around the topic any further. Needless to say, amusement filled him to the brim, “Alright. It was nice chatting with you Monsieur. I believe Sigewinne also left a small note there—”
The latter looked down at the box. Indeed, there was a small piece of paper neatly folded and tucked beneath the ivory ribbon.
“—do heed her letter.” With that, Wriothesley dipped his chin, sauntering over to the double doors.
Reaching for the handle, the Duke stopped in his tracks, he looked over his shoulder, icy cerulean gaze full of mischief, “Oh, and I hope you two enjoy—the chocolates, I mean.”
With that, he left the office, leaving Neuvillette to his thoughts.
The day went by rather quickly, the azure skies turning into golden hues of oranges and yellows as the sun bid farewell to its people, disappearing below the horizon.
The chocolates from Sigewinne remained untouched on the corner of Neuvillette’s desk, it watched as stars decorated the night sky; though, as the Chief Justice retired for the evening, he grabbed the box of sweets before heading out.
Neuvillette figured he’d share them with you at home.
Greeted with silent darkness, he was suddenly reminded of your words this morning at breakfast:
‘Oh, I have work dinner later, my love; so, I won’t be eating here. We’re celebrating a company milestone.’
Conveniently enough, Neuvillette had already eaten at his office before leaving so he won’t have the pleasure of sitting across an empty seat at the dining table.
Getting ready for the chilly night ahead, Neuvillette changed into his evening attire after taking a warm bath, he donned silken azure pyjamas paired with a fluffy ivory robe.
His silver strands cascaded down the length of his spine, the cerulean bow, and golden hair clips he usually wore were neatly tucked away inside his jewellery box.
Situated on the love seat, Neuvillette casually flipped through case documents inside a brown paper folder.
The fireplace across him was ablaze with hues of oranges and reds, casting a citrine glow upon the dimly lit living room.
As flames danced atop dry wood, the dulcet sound of classical music poured from the record player, filling the space with its tunes.
After minutes of skimming and scanning the documents, he reached for the box of sweets next to his lap, taking time to read Sigewinne’s carefully written note:
Monsieur Neuvillette, I’ve acquired these sweets for you, and her! I figured these would help you loosen up a little so please do not shy away from consuming as much as you want. Make sure to share them with her as well. Enjoy!
Love, Sigewinne
A warm smile spread across Neuvillette’s face, and despite his better judgement of waiting for you to come home and indulge in the taste of chocolate together, he figured one piece wouldn’t hurt to try alone, right?
With the moon high up in the obsidian night sky, you walked down the cobblestone footpath that led closer to yours and Neuvillette’s shared space, the evening breeze gently caressing the apple of your cheeks.
Work dinner had just concluded at Hotel Debord which housed a lovely singer who put on a dazzling performance.
By now, the streets of the Court of Fontaine were more deserted as people retired to their homes for the night, shop owners here and there packed away their respective signage, their stores devoid of any customers.
With each step leading closer to home, you soon found yourself in front of your home, keys jingling between your fingers as you unlocked the front door.
From the entrance hallway, warm hues greeted you like an embrace, hinting at the ablazed fireplace in the living room.
“My love? I’m home.”
You called out to Neuvillette while skilfully removing your shoes, and neatly placed them beside his own.
Met with silence, you figured he either must be occupied with something or must have fallen asleep while waiting for your return.
You sauntered over to the end of the entrance hallway, making your way to the living room, and as you got closer, melodic sounds engulfed your senses—you recognized it, Neuvillette’s favourite classical music.
Turning the corner, you were greeted with a rather interesting sight, a wave of concern washing over you,
“Neuvi—Are you okay?”
Seated on the love seat was Neuvillette, his left elbow propped on its arm rest, face hiding behind his hand.
A deep crimson blush painted his handsome face, intensified by the reds and oranges that the fireplace emitted.
He sat there looking flustered, chest heaving up and down as he took heavy breaths.
Drinking in the view, you noticed documents sprawled across the empty space next to him but what really caught your eye was the intricately designed box resting on his right thigh.
The box had its lid intact yet the loose ivory ribbon draped over his thigh hinted he had previously opened it.
Upon closer inspection, you realised it's familiar packaging, a co-worker had shown it to you the other day, telling you how her and her boyfriend have been dying to try the popular chocolates—chocolates laced with a potent aphrodisiac.
Your gaze made its way back to Neuvillette—who was still breathing heavily on the love seat—now noticing the prominent tent beneath his silken pants, the azure fabric was flimsy and delicate which left little to your imagination.
Pushing away the impure thoughts that snaked its way into your mind, you kneeled before your lover with a concerned expression,
“My love, who gave these to you?”
Knowing Neuvillette, he most likely consumed the chocolates without knowing its true contents simply because he wasn’t aware of the trivial things that humans indulged themselves in.
He let out a pained groan, shaky and vulnerable as he shifted in his seat,
“Forgive me, ma chérie. This is improper of me.”
With trembling hands, Neuvillette covered his throbbing groin, completely embarrassed that you had to see him in such a state.
Truth be told, he didn’t know what came over him—a chocolate or two was all he had, and the next thing he knew, his skin burned like a thousand suns as blood rushed down, down, down to his cock.
The very core of Neuvillette’s body churned with desire—carnal desire—and as each second passed, each tick of the ivory wall clock, the uncomfortable yearn between his legs grew.
A light sheen of sweat coated his feverish forehead, as though he was experiencing a fever, and whatever this was, it heightened all five of his senses.
From your voice sounding like it dripped with pure honey, all the way to the saccharine scent of your body, Neuvillette was driven mad with lust.
It didn’t help how you kneeled before him, and gently caressed his thigh, a poor attempt of comfort because it brought nothing but waves of icy shudders down the length of his spine. Sensitive.
His body was completely sensitive to any external stimuli, and if you rubbed his leg any further, he might just come undone.
An embarrassing thought.
Neuvillette was pathetically needy. How preposterous, the high esteemed Iudex of Fontaine reduced to nothing but a lust-driven man eager to shove his aching cock deep in your velvety walls.
The subtle buck of his hips against the thick air; the way he swallowed breathless whimpers at your touch; the violent throbbing between his legs, he was beyond irredeemable.
With another grunt, Neuvillette panted out,
“Sigewinne gifted them. Wriothesley had delivered it to my office this afternoon.”
Truth be told, you weren’t surprised. At all.
Standing up from your spot, you walked over to the wall phone. You tried your best to ignore the dainty whimper that fell from Neuvillette’s lips as your warm touch left his thigh, you also tried to ignore how his body involuntarily sought you out—trembling hands reaching to chase your gentle hold.
With glassy eyes, Neuvillette watched as you deftly dialled on the phone, he couldn’t help but trace your breathtaking figure, from the square of your shoulders all the way to the curves and dips of your legs.
Oh, the things he’d do to spread them open, and inhale your sweet essence like a mad man. Neuvillette could practically taste your honey on his tongue, its velvety texture sliding down his throat.
Another groan escaped your lover at the thought of eating you out, his cock rubbed against the fabric of his underwear as it shamelessly twitched beneath his pants.
“Ah, I didn’t think you’d be calling given the . . . circumstances.”
Of course Wriothesley knew.
Pure tease dripped from his honeyed voice, most likely paired with a smug smile, and an icy, taunting gaze.
“Why would you give him that?!”
A chuckle from the other end of the line,
“First of all, I just delivered the present. Our head nurse here bought it. She’s helping Monsieur Neuvillette out.”
You huffed, trying to make sense of Sigewinne’s motives, “By what? Feeding him chocolates with a potent substance?”
You’ve always adored how Sigewinne cared for her loved ones, especially Neuvillette—whatever one’s deal was, she was always willing to help out in her own unique way.
But this . . giving him such a substance without any warning felt like foul play, and not only was Neuvillette receiving the short end of the stick, you were as well.
You weren’t naïve, aphrodisiacs only wore off after one has reached their satisfaction through sexual means, like quenching one’s thirst.
“You’re making it sound like we gave him drugs.”
“It is drugs, Wriothesley!”
Before you could say anything else, gentle, yearning arms wrapped around your front, caressing your stomach which ultimately caught you off guard.
Neuvillette.
Nuzzling into the junction of your neck just beneath the telephone against your ear, he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive spot, soft smacks of his lips loud enough for Wriothesley to pick up.
You bit back a moan, free hand coming up to rest on the wall to support your weight. Neuvillette’s kisses had your legs trembling, it left prominent goosebumps in its wake as he trailed further down to your shoulder blades.
“Hm. Looks like it's time for me to go. Pass on my best wishes to Monsieur Neuvillette.”
And with that, he hung up the phone.
“My apologies, ma chérie. I just—I need you.” Neuvillette sighed, hot breath ghosting over your bare skin, akin to a gentle caress coaxing you into the borders of lust, like a lone finger protruding from the darkness, beckoning you to its endless, sinful void.
“Love—mhm!” You let out a yelp, his hands finding comfort on the curve of your hips, keeping them still as he slotted his clothed cock between your ass.
Neuvillette grinded into you, unshameful and devoid of any decorum.
Placing the telephone back on the wall, your nails dug into the hearts of your palms, just the feel of his hard cock had you embarrassingly wet already.
Neuvillette was different from this, despite his sexual urges, he was never forward with you, he took his time—sensual and sincere, treating you like the finest piece of gold to ever exist.
But saying you weren’t enjoying his brazenness would be a complete lie. Seeing a different side to your lover put you in a rather sensitive state, almost like a virgin bedded for the first time.
Something primal had awoken deep inside his core, and the only way to handle it was to satiate his carnal thirst.
Nonetheless, you tried to get your point across, “Neuvi . . What you’re experiencing is the effect of an aphrodisiac from those chocolates Sigewinne gave you.”
Your words fell deaf on his pointed ears, instead, Neuvillette mumbled some of his own, “I’m sorry . . Ma belle, I promised you about that challenge but it seems I cannot fight my urges any longer.”
Another shaky sigh left his rosy lips.
Challenge? Oh.
Oh.
Even in his lust-driven state, Neuvillette was still thinking about the No Nut November challenge you had proposed earlier this month.
“I’m a man of my word but I need you, my love. Let me break the rules just this once, please?”
Pure desperation coated every word that came out of his mouth. It was thick like honey, and melted on your skin like snow.
God, at this point the stupid challenge wasn’t even on your mind anymore, not when he desperately humped your ass like an animal in heat—quick, little ruts of his hips that soothed the ache a bit better.
Who were you to deny your lover?
The transition from the living room to the shared bedroom was a blur—everything was hasty; desperate hands exploring each other’s bodies; lips sealed together in a rough, passionate kiss; a trail of clothes messily discarded on the floor leading up to the room.
Everything Neuvillette did had you on your toes, completely breathless while trying to mirror his hurried actions.
Normally, Neuvillette would bask in your serene glory, peeling clothes off from your body layer by layer, and decorating your exposed skin with butterfly kisses.
He’d gently stroke your hair, slender fingers weaving through the strands as he takes in your bare beauty.
Now, his tongue swiftly explored your mouth—lengthy and thick—something he has never done before. It dizzied you.
You landed on the foot of the plush mattress with a soft gasp as Neuvillette pulled away. Breathless and flustered, you stared up at him through your lashes, soft pants escaping your kissed lips.
The sight before him made his cock twitch.
How your hair was splayed around your head, mimicking a soft halo, a divine being greater than he.
Neuvillette discarded the last two pieces of clothing—pants and underwear—in one fell swoop, and what came into view undoubtedly had you clenching around nothing.
Standing proud and heavy at the base of his abdomen were his cocks, both painted in a deep vermillion hue, and generously leaking pre-cum.
The sticky pearlescent substance coated his bulbous tips, it glistened beneath the moonlight, beckoning you to wrap your lips around them, and have a feast.
This wasn’t the first time you saw Neuvillette naked nor were you not aware of his kind but it always brought you shock every time, not to mention the faint cerulean scales the underside of his cocks boasted, it was also his sensitive spot.
Stepping out from the puddle of fabric around his ankles, Neuvillette did the same to your undergarments, mindlessly tossing them elsewhere in the room.
A low growl sounded from his chest as he pried your legs apart, his deft hands guided them to bend at the knees while resting the soles of your feet on the edge of the mattress, putting your glistening cunt on full display.
In less than a heartbeat, Neuvillette was on his knees, his eager tongue lapping along the length of your slit, your arousal pooled at the tip of his tongue like sinful honey, the divine taste of your cunt prompting another shameless growl from your lover.
He repeated the movement a couple of times, each lick reaching closer and closer to your sensitive clit, and when he finally reached it with his hardened tongue, you let out a surprised gasp.
“Neuvillette!”
Shocks of electrifying pleasure kissed its way up your spine as Neuvillette tongued at your swollen bud—tight, fast circles, up and down, side to side, he toyed with you like it was the only thing he knew how to do.
Your hands immediately flew to his ivory tresses due to his ministrations, it was almost like playing a game of tug of war, indecisively pushing and pulling his, unsure if you wanted more or if you wanted him to stop and slow down.
Lewd, wet smacks of Neuvillette’s tongue mixed with his low growls filled the room, allowing you to bask in the sounds of pleasure your lover unabashedly made. Almost akin to a vicious beast swallowing down its prey.
As your back arched off the mattress, and the grip on Neuvillette’s hair tightening, he pulled away, earning a rather disappointed whine to fall from your lips.
Sweet arousal abundantly coated his lips and chin, bringing warmth to your cheeks.
No one in the room dared to say it but this was the first time your cunt got embarrassingly wet, not that Neuvillette was inadequate in bed per se but you were wetter than usual, and you were confident that he had also noticed.
The glow of his lilac eyes and cerulean feelers were proof enough.
Standing up to his feet, Neuvillette languidly stroked the cock that sat beneath the other one, an immodest gaze raking over your sopping cunt, and how it shamelessly dripped with sticky arousal enough to soil the ivory sheets beneath.
“Are you ready, ma chérie?”
Neuvillette’s lilac stare captured you in a haze, absentmindedly nodding at his words as though you were rendered speechless.
He slowly rubbed the tip of his bottom cock before pushing it past your soaked folds, it eagerly swallowed him in—a loud, shameless squelch filling your ears as he stretched you open further.
Your toes curled at the sensation, hips immediately bucking into him as you moaned his name. The stretch was a pleasurable burn, one that had you rolling your eyes back, and digging your nails onto the sheets a little harder.
Neuvillette was able to easily slip into you, courtesy of the plentiful slick that coated your velvety walls.
Neuvillette stilled as he bottomed out, quick, short pants falling from his rosy lips.
God, you always took him so, so well, he could never get enough of the feeling of warmth wrapped around his cock. You took this time to get used to the stretch, your muscles relaxing to lessen the resistance he felt.
Neuvillette filled you up so well you could almost feel him in your stomach—a thought that had you clenching around him.
One, two, three seconds later, Neuvillette slowly pulled back, letting out a shaky breath at the pleasurable sensation. And with only his cock head inside you, he took no time to slam all the way inside.
You moaned, hands flying to his bare shoulders, immediately marking his pale skin with crimson stripes. Neuvillette unabashedly keened at the clench of your cunt around him, knees buckling as you gripped his cock like a vice, making it harder for him to move in and out.
“Haah! Mhm! Neuvi—right there, my love!”
Colourful moans and whimpers urged Neuvillette on, dragging him further and further to the state of insanity.
“You feel divine, ma belle . .”
The words came out as a choked sob—pathetic and dainty. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead paired with a deep crimson blush that painted his cheeks, if anything, Neuvillette looked absolutely ethereal in this state despite how out of it the aphrodisiacs made him.
Not only were his cocks extra sensitive to touch but he could also perfectly smell the scent of your sex that lingered in the air.
That sweet, sinful aroma he knew oh so well.
It made his head spin.
He tried holding back, he really did but your dulcet moans stroked his growing ego, and the feel of your sopping cunt deliciously sliding against him, the last thread of sanity that held him snapped.
Violently.
As if he saw nothing but bright hues of ruby, Neuvillette picked up his pace, long thrusts quickly turning into short ones as he mercilessly pistoned his hips over and over again, allowing his cock head to reach your sweet spot.
Your fingers raked down the length of his spine—leaving violent ribbons of red in its wake—stopping right at the dimples of his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks as you dug onto the pale skin there.
Neuvillette wasn’t the only one on the brink of insanity with how the underside of his other cock furiously rubbed at your swollen clit with each thrust, it rested at the hood of your cunt, thick and heavy.
“S-so good! It feels so good—ngh!”
The thrust of his hips felt amazing, too amazing to the point where your body started to reject them. Your body entered fight or flight mode, parted knees instinctively closing together which only allowed an inconvenient amount of room for Neuvillette to move with.
Upon noticing the change, he slowed down, sweaty palms resting on either knee, “My love—haah . . Open up for me, would you?”
Winded and weak, Neuvillette attempted to pry your knees apart to no avail considering his mushy state.
“Too much, mon chérie . . I—I can’t.”
Neuvillette shook his head at your words before pulling out, leaving you confused and empty.
From the mattress, you watched as he sauntered over to his side of the bed, grabbing a lengthy, obsidian object that rested against his nightstand.
Before a question could even formulate in your mind, he returned to his spot in the blink of an eye; though, this time, with something in his hand.
A cane—his cane.
The same one he used during court proceedings, in that context, it was deemed a sacred symbolism of his authority as the Iudex of Fontaine.
To use it in such a setting would be borderline blasphemy.
Hovering over your trembling body, Neuvillette placed chaste kisses on each knee,
“Do you trust me, my dear?”
Was that even a question? Of course you did. He wouldn’t harm you and you believed that completely.
With a soft touch, Neuvillette was able to easily pry your knees apart, the scent of your cunt once again filling his senses.
He wordlessly slotted the obsidian cane beneath your knees, its surface cool against your feverish skin, you shuddered at the contrast in temperature.
Neuvillette pushed down on the shaft of the cane, bringing your knees closer to your chest—you also noticed how it kept your legs still, meaning you had no option to close them.
You whimpered at the slight burn the position invited, especially with the cane pressing down on your soft skin.
And once again, Neuvillette sheathed his cock inside your cunt before setting the same merciless pace. Only this time, you wouldn’t be able to deny him.
“Neuvi! Neuvi! Neuvi—aah! Fuck—mhm!”
You held on to the ivory sheets above your head for your dear life as Neuvillette roughly pistoned his hips.
With each relentless thrust given, your body jolted further up the mattress, breasts bouncing in full display for your lover to drink in.
Oh, how he adored the way your naked body moved and reacted to him, so plush and pliant.
Sharp hisses from the bed frame interlaced with the pornographic sounds of your moans, creating a lewd melody for the moon to witness, a sinful song only for the darkness of the night to hear—full of heat and passion.
“Does—ngh! Does it feel good, my love? Will you give in to the—haah! To the pleasure I’m giving you?”
Neuvillette curled over himself, tresses of ivory cascading down to cage your face as he leaned closer to you.
Despite the blur of your vision, you noticed the faint azure scales that decorated the side of his neck along with his pupils becoming more animalistic.
Neuvillette’s draconic features only ever made itself known during his heat; so, this came as a genuine surprise to you. Not that you were really complaining.
His hand remained on his cane while the other found comfort on your hip, subtly guiding your body onto him to meet each thrust.
Neuvillette met your gaze through a glossy stare, you watched as beads of crystalline-like tears formed on the corners of his eyes, eventually rolling down his reddened cheeks.
The sight before you was beyond divine, it wasn’t every day one would see the Chief Justice in such a poor state, his usual expressionless face painted with a colourful expression.
One that unmistakably screamed how lost he was in pleasure: rosy lips parted to let out soft whimpers, brows tightly knitted together, creating a deep crease between his brows.
“Are you close ma chérie? Mhm—aah! Come with me?” Neuvillette breathed out.
It took all of his will power to hold himself up, and keep his hips moving due to immense pleasure weighing on his body like a great burden.
The feeling had him trembling to his very bones, like a yellow autumn leaf braving the evening winds, and no matter how much his brain screamed at him to stop, he didn’t.
The pleasure would be too great of a loss if Neuvillette stopped now; so, he kept going—pounding, rutting, and grinding into you as he chased both your impending orgasms.
You nodded vigorously, throat too dry from all that panting to choke out any coherent words.
The burn of the position you maintained mixed with Neuvillette’s cocks stimulating your cunt sent you into a painful yet pleasurable overdrive.
Without a second thought, you hastily placed your hands between your bodies, blindly seeking out Neuvillette’s other cock, and wrapping your fingers around it. To the best of your ability, you vigorously pumped his shaft, matching your strokes with his thrusts.
Neuvillette shuddered, releasing a loud moan into the damp air.
After a few more quick thrusts, he stilled deep inside you, sealing his lips with yours as you both reached your climax, eagerly swallowing one another’s lewd moans.
Your back arched off the mattress, toes curling, and fingers digging into Neuvillette’s skin as you violently came, the feel of his thick, hot cum painting your plush walls white had your hips bucking into him, begging for more.
Embarrassingly enough, Neuvillette came a lot.
Not only inside you—to the point where it spilled out of your cunt and onto the sheets below—but also on you.
The cock you’ve been stroking spurted thick ribbons of cum on your abdomen, abundantly covering your skin in his essence. He looked at the filthy art that decorated your skin, colourful curses enough to make Fontainians gasp in shock filled his mind.
How beautiful you were marked by him.
“Did I hurt you in any way?” He asked, slowly peeling himself away from you.
Neuvillette made sure to quickly remove his cane from under your knees, placing it flat on the floor before tending to you.
He kissed your sweaty forehead, and pulled your bodies up the mattress with your head atop the fluffy pillows.
“Not at all but I have to say, I was reaaally looking forward to completing the challenge, mon chérie.” You joked, letting out a breathless laugh.
Neuvillette blushed, suddenly remembering how he readily accepted the proposal of your challenge . . What was it again? No Nut November?
“Another year is to be expected, I am determined we will overcome the challenge.”
And you were looking forward to that. Very much so.
You just hoped he wouldn’t consume another aphrodisiac-laced sweet in the coming year so the both of you could actually complete the challenge.
Well, at least you concluded that Neuvillette and aphrodisiacs weren’t such a bad match, right?
It's beautiful, I just adore this story so much!! It's so sweet with the slow build up and the way Neuvillette's written just adds to it perfectly. I'm definitely going to be rereading this in the future!!
Your special day (+18) - Caleb (Love and Deepspace)
You're tired of Caleb putting your needs above his own. So, on his birthday, you decide to give him a very special gift.
masterlist | rules
rating: +18, MDNI
word count: 2,777
tags: caleb (lads) x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader
content warnings: shameless smut, oral sex (male receiving), PnV sex, unprotected sex, creampie, praise kink, sensory deprivation, blindfolds, dom/sub undertones, use of petnames (baby, babygirl, princess)
notes: I know his birthday is in a few days, but oh well, early present. This oneshot doesn't follow the storyline of the new card. It's also written with the MC in mind, but it's ambigous enough to be interpreted as anything. I wanted to try something new, but I don't know how it turnt out, so tell me what do you think! (English is not my first languages, the work is neither proofread nor betaread, sorry for any mistakes).
You enter your apartment first. There's a flash of desperation in your step; the day hasn’t gone quite as you planned. The click of the door behind you barely registers until you hear the faint hunk of Caleb closing it, and then it hits you all at once -
“You’re always taking care of me,” you abruptly turn around to face him. You fold your arms, trying to sound stern but landing somewhere between exasperated and pouty. “Caleb, it’s your birthday, and I’m still the center of everything. You’re more worried about what I want than enjoying your day.”
His expression changes when he sees you. That quiet softness creeps into his face - the way his eyes narrow like you’re the most precious thing in his world, and the way his mouth tilts like he can’t decide whether to smile or apologize. It’s not condescension, you’re well aware of it. It’s just fondness. He opens his mouth to speak, and you already know what’s coming. Some lame cheesy line about you being his joy, his light, and the only gift he needs.
So you cross the room and shut him up with a finger to his lips.
“Don’t say it!” You cut him with a frown. “I don’t wanna hear it!”
Caleb laughs (or as much as he can with your finger still pressed firmly to his lips). His lips curl into a wide smile beneath your touch, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, like he’s watching you throw a tantrum instead of being genuinely annoyed. He’s not taking you seriously!
You blow out a harsh, dramatic sigh and let your hand drop from his face with a light little slap against your leg. Your shoulders sag as if he’s worn you down by doing absolutely nothing, which, somehow, he has.
“Look,” you start, voice pitched somewhere between a sigh and a command, “since you’re clearly incapable of thinking about yourself for even one second of your entire life -” you shoot him a look, “ - just let me have this moment to give you something. To show you how much I love you.”
That brings his attention, but he still doesn’t say anything.
“So just this once… let me be the one who takes care of you,” you continue as you turn and cross the room toward a nearby drawer. You open it up and slip something out. Caleb’s been observing, but it’s impossible to identify what it is from his angle. Next, you hide it behind your back and turn to face him again with wide eyes and faux innocence. “Okay?”
Caleb tilts his head, that grin never fading. His gaze flickers down, trying to sneak a look at the hand you’ve tucked behind your back. He leans just slightly to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse, but you shift with him, stubborn in your effort to keep it hidden. After another couple of futile attempts, he gives up. “Okay.”
You step closer, letting your fingers brush the fabric behind your back. “Good,” you murmur. “Now, turn around.”
His brows lift in amusement. But again, no questions. He turns.
You close the distance between you in a few more steps. Then, with the same care he always shows you, you lift the soft black fabric and raise your hands. You pause for a second, your voice quiet behind him. “Do you trust me?”
He nods.
And so, you tie the blindfold in place, snug and careful, over his eyes. He seems confused at first, lashes fluttering against the blindfold while he gets used to the sudden absence of light. However, the hesitation fades the moment your hand brushes gently down the center of his back.
He exhales, muscles relaxing beneath your touch.
“You good?” you ask, voice low beside his ear, your fingers tracing the line of his spine with just enough pressure to be reassuring.
“Yeah,” he’s calm even without seeing you. He knows he can trust you. “I’m good.”
You smile at the answer, then reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. “If at any moment you feel uncomfortable,” you whisper, guiding him carefully through the hallway, “you tell me. Okay?”
He squeezes your hand. “Yes, okay.”
You reach the bedroom in silence, the only sound the soft creak of the floorboards under your feet and the occasional brush of your shoulder against his arm. You lead him with care, fingers still laced with his, until his knees make contact with the edge of the bed.
“Sit.”
He lowers himself onto the mattress with the same composed ease he carries everywhere, not nervous at all. He hears your feet padding away from the bed. The blindfold doesn’t let him follow your movements, but he waits eagerly. And then, just when he starts to lean forward to say something, you’re back. You approach from behind, and he feels the bed dip with your weight. Before he can register what you’re doing, he feels your lips graze the sensitive skin just below his ear. You press feather-light kisses along the curve of his neck, following the slope down to the place where it meets his shoulder. You take your time. Let him feel the heat of your breath and the press of your mouth. He inhales sharply, shoulders twitching as he tilts his head to grant you better access.
You linger behind him for a few moments longer, pressing one last kiss before your hands begin to move. Your fingers slide over his chest, and you find the hem of his shirt, slipping your hands beneath it as your palms meet warm, smooth skin. He lets out a soft breath as your touch glides upward. His arms lift, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head and off in one clean motion.
The shirt falls to the floor, forgotten.
Now, with his torso bare and waiting, you shift your position on the bed, circling to his side so you can have a better view. From this angle, it’s impossible not to stare: his chest rises and falls in slow beats, the last golden light of sunset casting soft shadows over him. It traces the lines of his body - his broad shoulders, the strength in his arms, the defined cut of his abs, and the faint flush spreading across his pale skin. You reach up and cradle his jaw with a gentle hand, bringing his face towards yours. The blindfold is still on his eyes, but his body has a lightning-fast response. Your lips meet in a soft kiss. It starts simple and sweet, but it doesn’t last much. He leans into it almost immediately, kissing you back with the kind of hunger that makes your heart beat too fast. His hands find your waist, grounding himself in the naked curves of your body, while the other reaches up the back of your neck, urging you closer.
You smile into the kiss and bite.
Just the lightest pressure on his lower lip, to remind him who’s in control today. You feel the moment his composure starts to slip, and before he can catch it, you deepen the kiss. You slip your tongue inside his mouth, moving with flexible, rough strokes.
He groans against your mouth, low-pitched and full of lust. His hand tightens on your hip.
You shift your weight and climb into his lap. His breath hitches, and his hands instinctively move to grab a handful of your ass, but you catch them before they reach their goal.
Your fingers wrap around both of his wrists and lift his hands over his head.
“Ah-ah,” you murmur between kisses, “let me be in charge tonight.”
He exhales a laugh, biting down. “Or what?” He asks, grinning.
You lean in close, brushing your nose against his, your voice just above a whisper. “ Don’t make me tie you up too. ”
He relaxes completely beneath you, hands still in your grasp, head tilted back with a smile that makes your pulse thrum a little faster. You take your time. Let your lips find his cheek, then the curve of his jaw. From there, you trail kisses down his throat until he exhales a shaky breath that catches halfway through. You keep going. Down across his chest, the space between his ribs, his abdomen… He can’t see you, but every soft press of your lips feels magnified in the dark.
As you slide off the bed and sink to your knees before him, you hear a gasp.
Your hands move to his belt, and you feel the way he shifts under your touch, muscles flexing in anticipation. You make him wait, slowly undoing the buckle and sliding the fabric free. As you begin to lower the rest of his clothes, your gaze lifts briefly to his face. He looks wrecked already - lips parted, chest rising, and a single drop of sweat sliding down the column of his neck.
When you finally pull back to take him in fully, you lick your lips, heat building low in your belly.
Oh, he is hard. And you’ve barely done anything.
Your fingers curl around his cock, making some experimental strokes. His hips twitch in response, and his chest starts to rise harder with each passing second. You lean in, close enough that he can feel your breath ghosting over him. His hands spasm wherever they rest, retrained only by the weight of your earlier words (although you know he has the strength to take your face and fuck it if he wanted to).
“Fuuuuuck, baby - you’re gonna be the death of me.”
Your lips graze over the sensitive skin of the tip at last, dick pulsing and impossibly hard in your hand. You start to give him kitten licks as your hand continues stroking, pulling more hard breaths out of his lungs.
You take your time, but eventually, you wrap your lips around him.
Caleb’s jaw clenches, a soft, choked sound escaping him as your mouth closes over the bulbous head. His whole body tightens, and the hand that had been hovering by his side finds the back of your head, but he doesn’t push.
For the first time, he is the one melting beneath you.
“God, princess,” he praises. “You’re so good for me.”
You hum in response, and the vibration alone has him cursing under his breath. You continue sucking audibly, dipping your head a few times with a fist around the base to help you. You pump and lick, feeding him deeper, inch by inch, down your throat and moaning every time his cock twitchs inside you.
Time stretches. His soft praises turn to loud moans, his voice broken and low. He’s not restraining his sounds anymore, hand gently caressing your hair as you suck heartily.
After some more time, you feel his body tense, his grip more rigid on your scalp, and that’s when you pull away.
You let his cock slip from your mouth with a pop , your breath unsteady as you wipe the slick from your lips with the back of your hand. Caleb groans and collapses fully onto the bed, one arm flung above his head, the other clutching at the sheets. You climb onto the bed and straddle his hips, your bare cunt brushing agasint his hard in a way that makes you both gasp. You shift forward just enough to let your clit graze his length, teasing him. You move slowly, rolling your hips in tight circles, dragging soft moans from your own throat. His hands reach for you on instinct, fingers grazing your thighs, finding your waist -
“What did I tell you?” You lean down so your mouth brushes his ear, guiding his wrists back above his head and pinning them with a grin.
His fingers flex under your grip, testing the invisible boundary you’ve set - it’d be so easy to just snap and have his way with you. “You’re really not gonna let me touch you, huh?”
You shake your head, smiling against his skin. “Not tonight.”
He lets out an incredulous laugh. “You’re evil,” he says, not even trying to hide the lust in his voice. “Beautiful and evil.”
You decide to put on a show. Since he can’t see you, every movement becomes even more electric. You roll your hips again, this time with more purpose, letting the friction soak his dick with your fluids. Your lips stay close to his ear as you begin to whisper dirty promises of what you’re going to do to him.
He lets his head fall back to the mattress, a soft curse slipping from his lips. He’s enjoying the little contact he has with you, even if his cock is eager to fill you up.
“You feel so good and big,” you whimper, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “And you’re not even inside me yet.”
That draws a shudder from him. His jaw tenses, and he tilts his head toward the sound of your voice. You lean back, your hands dragging down his chest, nails leaving red lines over his milky skin. And then, you reach between your bodies, lining him up your entrance.
His whole body stills.
“Please,” he begs.
And what kind of person are you to deny him?
Without further preamble, you sink onto him with a tremulous cry.
You pause, taking in the pleasure. He feels just so good inside you, with a cock thick enough to split you open, and long enough to fill you up to the brim. He reaches the deepest parts of you, and though your gulping little hole aches and stretches to accommodate him, you snuggle with your head in the space between his neck and shoulder and shower him with kisses.
Once you’re used to his size, you start to rock your hips exactly how you like it, letting your clit grind against his pelvis with every thrust.
Caleb’s hands curl into fists. He’s doing everything he can to let you have control. But the way your pussy squeezes around him and your moans fall, it’s a miracle he’s still managing not to fuck you stupid.
You pick up your pace, making his cock hit that spot inside you perfectly every single time. Your walls tighten around him. Every shift sends a jolt through you, pleasure sparking brighter and sharper each time. You're getting close, oh so close, and your strength is beginning to falter.
Caleb must have felt it, because without a word, his hands find your hips. In one swift motion, you’re beneath him. The mattress dips under your bodies, and a surprised gasp escapes you as he takes over completely. Even blindfolded, he knows exactly how to move - he knows every inch of your body and what you like. He sets a rougher rhythm, and his cock reaches deeper from this position. Your moans come quicker now, rising in pitch as the pressure builds. His fingers slide down the length of your body until they find your aching spot. He rubs circles on your clit matching the speed of his thrusts. All coherent thoughts leave your head, and you can only think of his hard length impaling you.
“Are you gonna come, babygirl?” he pants agaisnt your neck. “C’mon, baby, come for me.”
Your body starts to tremble as you fall apart, eyes rolling to the back of your skull and mouth gaping in a silent scream.
“That’s it, baby. Good girl,” he praises as he continues to rub slow circles in your clit to help you come down of your orgasm.
After you finish, he pauses. You start to get up to complain, thinking he might stop, putting your pleasure first, like he always does. But then, without a warning, he tightens his grip on your hips and thrusts back into you with sudden intensity, dragging a gasp from your lips.
“Not done,” he grits, voice thick with need.
The rhythm he finds is harder now, more desperate. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, panting against your skin, the squelches of your cunt and his moans filling the room. Your legs cling to him, letting him chase his release, your name falling from his lips between gasps. His pace grows uneven and then - he stills, thrusting as deep as he can.
You feel his cum spilling deep inside you.
He collapses above you, trying not to squeeze you with his weight. You reach up and brush his damp hair from his forehead. Neither of you says a word for a long moment, just holding each other, hearts pounding in sync.
Wrapped in his arms, you press a kiss to his temple.
summary: how on earth were you supposed to write a good sex scene with almost zero experience? good thing your best friend was always willing to lend you a helping hand.
themes: childhood best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits, college! au, slowburn, humour, fluff, angst, petnames, profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, explicit sexual content (oral fem receiving, fingering, nipple play, protected + unprotected sex, clothed sex), porn with so much plot, they're both down bad asf
word count: 25k
lyns notes: its been so long since i've written a full length fic like this, and it ended up being so much longer than I anticipated but please don't get scared by the wc 😭 its so self indulgent because i love caleb and I had way too much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy! <3
This was utterly insane, even for you.
The idea started small, though you supposed you couldn’t ever classify it as innocent. At the time, it had been just a flicker, a fleeting thought that slipped through the cracks of your composure. You were in your best friend's dorm, lounging on his bed like it was your own as you complained.
“I’ve been stuck for weeks now. It’s like I’ve lost the ability to write.”
Caleb glanced over at you from his desk, leaning back in his plush chair as the movement of his fingers over the laptop keyboard stilled for a moment. The expression you received was familiar, you had been on the receiving end of it for years now. One of his lips quirked up, deep lavender eyes alight with amusement, and one eyebrow raised as he took in your anguished state.
“You haven’t lost the ability to write, Pipsqueak, it's just writer's block. You’ve had writer's block before.”
“Not like this.” You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. “I usually manage to overcome it in a week or so. It’s been like, three months.” Your annoyance with yourself was obvious to him, so clear in the slight pout on your mouth paired with that indignant expression.
It was true, you had been writing ever since you were little. Your imagination ran wild as a child, even before you could physically write, you would spin tales and make up stories to entertain yourself with, frequently getting lost in your own little world. You prided yourself on this talent of yours that helped you breeze through English essays and writing assignments, even going so far as to major in English at university. Writing was your bread and butter. It was more than just being good at it, it was the passion and fulfilment you felt when you did it.
Passion and fulfillment your ass, you couldn’t feel any of that right now.
You were writing a book, your very first one that you started penning in the summer before your sophomore year. The idea had come to you out of nowhere, and once you spent hours outlining all the details, you were certain it was something you wanted to bring to life. The need to finish it burned through you as you spent most of that break stuck at your desk, hunched over your laptop. Caleb had to quite literally drag you out of your room most days, muttering some nonsense about vitamin D and too much screen time.
He had always been like that ever since you were kids – protective, caring, attentive. It was built into his very being, you supposed, ever since he saw you cry outside the first-grade classrooms as a seven-year-old and promised to help you find your way to the correct one. Even now, as he hummed in thought, offering silent support for your frustration.
“You’ve gotten through a large chunk of it, right?”
“Yep.”
A slow, bargaining smile stretched out on his face. “Hey, you know, maybe if you let me read it–”
“Hell no.” You shook your head stubbornly. “I told you, I’m only letting you read it once it's finished, and I think it’s good enough.”
Caleb snorted, “So you mean never?”
You promptly threw one of the plushies on his bed at him. He deftly caught it, laughter slipping from him as he threw it back. The plushy was a grumpy apple one that he had won you back home at the arcade, but the pile of plushies on your bed was so huge that you graciously suggested that he keep it for you. Partial custody, you had joked, I have visitation rights.
“You’ll be the first to read it. I just….need to get through this one bit.”
Ah yes, the bit. The part that you seemed to be cursed to never finish. Everything before it had gone so smoothly, the words flowing and pouring out of you so perfectly. A fun romance novel full of twists and humour was what you aimed to achieve, and it seemed like you were succeeding.
That was, until you reached a part of the story that you truly had no idea how to write. The technicalities of it were.…..unknown at best, to you, who had almost no experience in the matter.
“You know, maybe you could tell me about it. Maybe I could help.” You knew the offer was genuine. Caleb had always been someone you could fall back upon for any assistance. Being two years older than you, in your eyes, he always knew what to do when you were in a pickle. He was the type of friend who placed bandages on your scrapes and offered you candy so you’d stop crying. He carried a hair tie around for when you wanted to tie your hair and helped you study for tests, and explained the concepts that you didn’t understand. Every time you had a problem, he never hesitated to help you in any way he possibly could.
But this….this was something you’d rather die than ask him about.
Immediately, you shook your head a little too quickly, shooting him a tight smile. “Nope, it's fine. Just something I gotta figure out myself.
He stared at you skeptically but shrugged. “Alright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”
You wouldn’t.
Would you?
Absolutely not. Even thinking about it felt like a betrayal. It was like opening a can of worms that held snakes. Deadly venomous ones.
And yet here you were, your teeth digging into the plush of your lower lip as he turned back to his laptop screen, continuing to work on whatever assignment he had due. He was in his final year and was infinitely busy, though he somehow still managed to make time for you.
Shamelessly, your eyes studied him. His arms, so well defined and firm-looking, were basically on display for you when he wore that white, sleeveless tee. Dark hair, unruly and messy, no matter how many times you ran your fingers through it in an attempt to fix it. A defined jawline that could probably cut you if you dared touch it. He had grown up unfairly well, no longer the lanky young boy you once knew, now a man. A hot man you had incredible chemistry with.
A very hot man who was completely off-limits.
Still. You supposed that his help couldn’t be the worst thing in the world–
A sex scene. That was what you were struggling to right. In terms of the story, it was a very natural next move for your characters, and it made sense, and while you could simply artistically describe the ordeal and fade to black, you felt it was a necessary addition. You wanted to showcase the desperation the two characters felt for each other, just how deep their feelings ran through something more primal. You wanted it to feel right, to feel magical.
The issue? You hadn’t the faintest idea of how to go about it. In all your nineteen years of life, you had only had sex once, and it had been far from magical. It had been uncomfortable and rushed, the result of a very stupid, drunken one-night stand in your first year. The guy very evidently didn’t know how a woman's body worked, and even thinking back on it made you cringe and fold in on yourself. If it were possible to manually pluck the memory out and destroy it, you would have done it in a heartbeat.
So how on earth were you supposed to write the perfect sex scene when your one sole experience in the matter had been so terrible?
And you couldn’t ask Caleb for help. Even considering doing so made you feel as if you would spontaneously combust. He was your best friend, for crying out loud, and this crossed so many lines. You knew very well that he wasn’t a virgin by any means, having caught glimpses of the occasional hickey on his neck despite his best efforts to hide it from you. He was twenty-one, experienced and could probably talk you through it–
Nope. Not going here.
The idea of Caleb explaining sex to you was mortifying. You didn’t want to hear about any of his conquests, even just the thought of him talking about it made you want to throw up. The notion of him having sex only made your cheeks warm and your throat go uncomfortably dry.
Against your will, the thought festered. It burrowed its way into your mind and settled there as if it belonged, despite its having no business being there. This was completely unethical, but before you could stop yourself, your gaze zeroed in on his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking his lips in concentration as he typed out something. For a second, you wondered how it would feel if he dragged that tongue across the skin of your neck.
Oh my god. What if he simply showed you?
The moment that depraved idea popped into your head, you shot up, getting to your feet with urgency. Startled, he looked over at you, frowning at the alarmed look on your face.
“Are you good?”
“I’m great!” Your voice sounded funny, like you were trying to digest a rock. “I just– er– remembered I have some homework to finish for tomorrow. So I should get back to my room.” You padded over to his door, slipping into your shoes and waving at him. “See ya.”
“....Bye.” He watched your awkward, rushed movements with a puzzled look on his (very nice) face.. You nodded curtly before opening the door and escaping the confines of his dorm, out of his scrutinising gaze that could read you annoyingly well. Another minute in there and you knew he would be grilling you for your odd behaviour.
Jesus Christ. You were so screwed.
“Y/n? Girl, you gotta get your head in the game.”
Tara’s voice cut through your reverie, causing you to snap out of it. One glance up at her would reveal an unimpressed look directed at you, her hands on her hips. “Our darling editor wants to know why your article isn’t on her desk yet.”
Tara was your closest friend after Caleb, and you had met her when you joined the university paper as a student journalist. She was smart, pretty and always had your back no matter what. Blinking rapidly, you sighed, waving your hand.
“Tell Jenna I’ll have it there by the end of the day.”
“You better. You know how she is about deadlines.” Tara pulled one of the chairs from the desk beside yours closer and sat on it, resting her elbows on the armrests. “Seriously, though, why are you spaced out today?”
Well, there was no way you could tell her the truth about that. So you resorted to using a half-truth as an answer. “Writer's block.”
“Ah.”
You turned back to the screen of your computer, staring at the article you had been writing. It was almost finished, thank god. At least here, you had the facts to write around, having done your research. Very different to the situation you found yourself in regarding your stupid book.
Ugh.
“By the way, your boyfriend’s here.”
Your head snapped up at her words, already ready to argue, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Walking into the newsroom holding two coffees was Caleb, wearing that blue-orange jacket that you had bought him for one of his birthdays. He did this pretty often, sauntering in like he owned the place even though he was technically not allowed to be there. Jenna had repeatedly reminded him of this, but he brushed it off, and after a while, she simply stopped bothering. Thus, despite not being on the paper, he spent a lot of time in the newsroom.
This was another problem you faced daily: people mistaking him for your boyfriend. The number of times you had to rehash the fact that he was simply your best friend was astounding, and back when you were a freshman, the constant whistles about you dating an upperclassman– and none other than Caleb Xia– drove you mad. You chalked it down to none of them being fortunate enough to experience a friendship as fulfilling and real as the one you had with him.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” You dropped your voice, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear your rebuttal that held a hint of venom, plastering a smile on your face as he closed in. Tara snickered.
“Sure, and I’m the queen of England.”
“Hey,” Caleb grinned down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your friend. “And what?”
“Nothing,” you said brightly, shooting her a murderous look that silently told her to zip it. She smiled innocently and shook her head, slipping back to her desk without another word.
“She’s an odd one,” he quipped, handing you one of the coffees and then shrugging off the jacket, dumping it on the free space on your desk. You already knew it was your regular order, something he had memorised years ago. You sipped the drink, letting the hot liquid calm you down, grateful for the caffeine. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, spending it tossing and turning in your bed.
And why was that?
Caleb leaned against your desk. “Are you free later today?”
A dejected sigh escaped you. “Unfortunately, no. I need to finish this article by the end of the day, and it seems like my writer's block has infected every aspect of my life.” It was ironic, just how true that statement ran.
“Damn.” You could hear the tinge of disappointment in his voice. “I was hoping we would have movie night. I stocked up on your favourite candy.” He reached over, his fingers brushing against the skin of your forehead as he pushed some of your hair that fell in front of your eyes away from your face, neatly tucking it behind your ear like it was second nature. It was, you supposed, considering he had done so about a hundred times.
But something was different this time, or perhaps you were paying far too much attention to every little thing. To how he pulled back and the way the muscles in his forearm shifted subtly, making you wish he had kept the jacket on. The brief touch lingered on your skin, burned into it.
Fucking hell, you were a mess. A tragic, down-atrocious mess.
Your eyes lingered on his fingers for a moment. Heat crept up your neck, and you coughed, rubbing it absent-mindedly, hoping to push down the flush you felt taking over your body. It had been like this ever since the day in his dorm when your brain had decided to work against you and infect you with the thought of sex with your best friend.
What better way was there to describe your state than calling it an infection? It certainly felt like some sort of sickness with the way it plagued you against your will. Somehow, it was worse than the doomed crush you had harboured for him back when you were in high school, because at least that had been innocent. That was born out of pure admiration, and you were sixteen. A lot of things done at sixteen could be brushed off under the excuse of being young and naive. You had quickly gotten over it.
You were evidently no longer so naive. In fact, you knew too much.
“Maybe next time.” You managed to choke out finally after a silence that had stretched a beat too long. Part of you hoped he’d leave you alone now so that you could calm down and refocus your attention to the article.
But of course, he didn’t. Instead, he occupied the chair Tara previously had, complaining about one of his classes as you nodded along, sipping your coffee and glancing between him and your screen. The smooth cadence of his voice usually soothed you and calmed you down, but now it only put you on edge, flowing over scrambled thoughts like honey. Had his arms always been this nice?
You were going to hell.
All things considered, you held yourself to certain standards. You were a woman with morals and integrity, and you were not in the habit of staring at shirtless men.
Except when it was Caleb, apparently.
“Why are you half-naked?” You blurted out gracelessly, heat viciously curling up your body as your eyes dropped down to his torso. You gripped the Chinese takeout you had gotten on your way back from your evening class a little tighter as you took in his figure. A silver chain with a tag and apple pendant (something you had given him before he left for university while you were still struggling in high school) on his bare chest and perfect sculpted abs, running shorts hanging low on his hips.
“I was working out.” He said casually, taking the bag of takeout from your hands and walking back into his dorm, leaving you to follow him. You bit down on your tongue hard, almost hoping you’d draw blood.
This was ridiculous. You had seen him shirtless several times before and had never reacted like this. The other times hadn’t caused you to flush and definitely didn’t cause your heart rate to spike. It didn’t have you furiously fighting off thoughts that had threatened to consume you for over a week now, pushing them back into the furthest parts of your mind and locking them there.
“I’m almost done, could you grab sodas from the fridge?” Caleb placed the food on the table beside his bed. You wordlessly complied, picking the apple-flavoured sodas that both of you liked. Turning back to the main area of his dorm, you walked over, only to stop dead in your tracks.
Caleb was on the floor. Doing push-ups.
There was nothing inherently sexual about it in the slightest. You knew he liked to stay in shape, hitting the gym at least thrice a week to maintain his physique– a very nice physique that seemed to be your current undoing. His hair fell across his forehead, a little matted from sweat. You watched as he pressed down and back up, and in a moment of weakness, you wondered how it would be if you were under him instead of standing to the side and ogling like an idiot. Would his necklace dangle above you, swinging back and forth in your face?
Dear god. You needed to be sedated. Put down, even.
Finally, he seemed to be done, lowering himself down and then rolling onto his back. He sucked in a breath of hair, running his hands through his hair and messing it up even further. Finally, he sat up and looked up at you, a singular eyebrow raised.
“Why are you just standing there?”
Brilliant question. If only you could answer it.
Choosing to skillfully evade instead, you tossed him his soda can and grabbed his laptop from his desk, settling down next to him on the floor. Tonight, the two of you had decided to have dinner together and catch up on an anime you had started together a couple of weeks ago. It had been a while since you had properly hung out, and you knew damn well that it was all your fault.
You were avoiding him. Mentally and physically, especially physically. Caleb, however, being the understanding, saint of a man that he was, chalked it up to you being busy. He made sure to check in on you, shooting you texts or sending you funny videos he knew you’d like.
“We should try and finish all the episodes up until the latest one,” You said, opening up his laptop and logging into the anime site. “They released a new one on Wednesday.”
Caleb hummed, stretching his arms as he shuffled closer. Immediately, you froze, the close contact inciting pure panic within you. Jerking away from him, you glared, holding a hand out to keep an arm's distance between the two of you, much to his confusion.
“Put on a shirt.”
He frowned. “Why? It’s really hot.”
Indeed, it was. “Exactly. You’re all sweaty and gross.”
You really shouldn’t have said that. The moment the words left your mouth, his mouth curled into a smirk– one so disgustingly attractive that you were sure your knees would have probably buckled if you weren’t already sitting down– and his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint that told you he was up to no good. Carefully, he wrapped a hand around your wrist, and the contact has your brain short-circuiting and going into overdrive.
“I think that means you want a hug.”
“Wait– don’t you dare– Caleb!” You yelped as he tugged you harshly, forcing you to fall into his lap, his laughter resounding through the small dorm room. Awkwardly, you shoot your other hand out to steady yourself, placing it on his shoulder as you tumble into him, knee slotting in between his legs and body so dangerously close to his that you wanted to scream. Smoothly, he wrapped his other arm around your waist, circling it and somehow tugging you even closer, until you were flush against him.
“What are you gonna do now, Pips?” He taunted, voice just above a whisper right against your ear.
Unicorns, you bleakly thought to yourself. Puppies. Cupcakes. Sprinkles.
“You’re so annoying,” You hissed, throwing as much irritation into your voice as you possibly could in the hopes that it would drown out the shakiness you felt. His skin under your fingertips was warm, and you could feel that warmth through the fabric of your tank top. “Go fuck yourself.”
He laughed harder, the sound so contagious it broke you out of your downright sinful thoughts. You gripped his shoulder a little harder, mentally chastising yourself for the situation you found yourself in, knowing that there was no good reason for you to be this riled up. Playfighting with him was something you were used to; it was natural. It should not have had your blood pressure rising and heart slamming in your chest so violently.
Swallowing thickly, you barely processed how he let go of your wrist, his other arm also coming to rest around your waist as he pulled you further into his lap so that you were now sitting on top of him. Before you even had the chance to react to that, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled.
“Missed you this week,” He mumbled softly against your rapidly heating skin. You froze for a split second at the contact, hopelessly blaming the flush spread over your cheeks on the humid weather.
And then you softened.
Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him back. “I missed you too,” You whispered, following up with a lie to keep him off your trail. “Just had a lot of work.”
“I know,” he said so patiently that you instantly felt guilty. He lifted his face from your neck so that he could stare at you, and it hit you just how intimate the position the two of you were in was. Although reserved with others, Caleb had always been pretty openly affectionate with you. His hand on the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours, a light kiss to your temple in encouragement– he had been doing stuff like that to you since you were ten.
So why did it suddenly affect you so much? Why did something so normal for you make you feel so different now?
“Just….tell me about it,” he continued, those mesmerising purple eyes of his locked onto yours. “Shoot me a text. Let me know what's up with you. Don’t you remember the last time you shut everyone out because you were stressed?”
You did remember. It was during your finals last year, when the workload you had overwhelmed you so badly that you simply pushed everyone away until they were over. Caleb had to practically storm his way back into your life and demand that you take a break and slow down before you worked yourself to the bone. The fact that he remembered this only made your guilt worse because your distance this time had nothing to do with your classwork.
It had everything to do with him, though.
“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, slowly slipping out of his embrace and settling down next to him once again. You had to remind yourself of what he was to you, and all this thirsting for him was neither healthy nor something a good best friend would do. “I’m not gonna do that again.”
“I’m just saying. And what the hell am I supposed to do with my free time if you’re not here to bother me?” He flashed you that shit-eating grin of his that you were starting to think was more devastating than mischievous.
You had to resist strangling him.
There was only one possible conclusion: something was deeply wrong with you.
How else were you supposed to explain your borderline insane behaviour? It had gotten even worse lately, causing you to daydream at the most inconvenient times, like when you were trying to get an assignment done or even in the middle of class. It was a wonder your professors hadn’t called you out for it yet.
Some level of restraint seemed to remain, though, with you stopping your thoughts from crossing any lines. The moment you caught your mind straying into dangerous territory, you forced yourself to stop, desperately searching for another distraction.
But there was only so much you could do. Thinking was proving to be a dangerous activity.
You pressed your palms into your eyes, hard. It was almost three in the morning, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Earlier, you had tried to write around the damned scene, but emerged fruitless. It was like an obstacle you had to clear before you could get to the next level of a game, taunting you with its incompletion.
Something else taunted you, simmering underneath the expanse of your skin. Things that hadn’t even happened yet, but you had already dreamed of them– his mouth on yours, his hands tracing your body with a feather touch.
You were even wearing one of his shirts right now, the oversized tee reaching down to your mid-thighs. Several, just like the one you currently wore, sat neatly in your closet, having been stolen from him over the years. You could faintly smell his cologne; cidery and comforting, enveloping you in what felt like it could be his embrace. Turning onto your side, you pulled the blanket over your body and stared at the wall blankly.
Caleb had been your safe space for so long, and perhaps that was why you gravitated so easily to thinking about him like this. If there was anyone you trusted in such an intimate sense, it was him.
Even if it shouldn’t have been.
God knows you needed to get laid. Unfortunately, you didn’t want just anyone.
You swore you had never been this horny before, least of all for your best friend. Thinking about him in such a salacious way was strictly a new development that was quickly ruining your life, haunting you day and night. Even now, lying in your bed, heat that was impossible to ignore bloomed between your legs.
Maybe if you just indulged once, this madness would stop. Maybe you just needed an orgasm, and then you’d stop going insane over every single interaction you had with Caleb. It didn’t even have to be about him, and this was normal; everyone needed a release now and then.
Your fingers slipped between your legs, pushing the fabric of his shirt up, tracing the outline of your cotton underwear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let your fingertips gently graze against where you needed them most, letting your legs fall apart just a little bit–
Deep purple eyes flashed behind your closed eyes.
Gasping, you retracted your hand like you had been burned. There was no way in hell you could touch yourself with him in mind; that was everything you had been avoiding for the past three weeks, ever since the notion had first sprouted. Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow.
This had to have been the stupidest cause of insomnia ever.
Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : i better see u at the party tonight :D
Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : will pick u up at 9
Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : no buts.
Caleb supposed that this was technically his fault.
Mentally, he had already prepared for this outcome. It was why he had barely drunk the entire night, barely finishing two drinks and opting out of playing beer pong with the rest of his friends, despite Gideon's need for another member on his team.
“Come on, Pipsqueak.” He had an arm around your waist to help steady you, ensuring you wouldn’t fall flat on your face. You stumbled into the elevator, and he jammed the number of your dorm floor as you wrapped your arms around his torso weakly, leaning into him. Right now, he was the only thing keeping you upright.
You were drunk, slurring your words and unable to walk in a straight line without any assistance type of drunk. And yes, this was his fault.
Probably. Definitely.
One of the frat houses had thrown a party, and he had insisted that you come with him. He had always been great at reading you, and for the last couple of weeks, you had seemed tense over something, though you hadn’t told him what exactly it was yet. That was fine, he knew that eventually you’d spill, but for now, all he wanted to do was help you let loose.
That was exactly what he told you to do when both of you arrived at the party, even pouring you your first drink. Halfway through the party, you seemed more relaxed than you had in the last couple of days, swaying along to the music by his side. He made sure not to drink too much, wanting to be sober enough to safely get you back to your dorm just in case you overdid it.
His intuition always ended up being right when it came to you.
You whined as the elevator dinged, the doors opening. “Everything is spinning.”
“I know, honey, we’re almost there.” He helped you walk into the hallway, smoothly taking your handbag from you and extracting your keys. Holding you tighter, he opened the door and pulled you through, carefully seating you down on your bed and taking your boots off.
Like clockwork, he grabbed a bottle of water from your bedside table, unscrewed it and held it to your cherry-tinted lips. You only used that specific lip-tint when you were going out, and each time you did, he found himself wondering if it tasted like cherry as well. Even now, as he gently propped his index finger under your chin and tilted your face upwards, he entertained the idea of tasting it for himself.
But he wouldn’t.
“Drink up,” He said softly, “You’re gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow.”
Obediently, you parted your lips, drinking with his help. Your cheeks were flushed due to the alcohol, hair a little frizzy from the heat, but still maintaining the styling you had done before the party. To him, you looked stunning at all times, but he could see the effort you had put in to look nice tonight, from your outfit (a black halter top and jeans) to your makeup, which he knew he’d have to help you take off now.
Once he deemed the amount of water you had drunk enough, he put the bottle back and went into your bathroom, knowing exactly where to find your makeup wipes. He had taken care of you like this once before, so his body moved like clockwork. There was no point in trying to get you to the bathroom– you’d probably just sit down on the floor and stay there for the rest of the night– so he took the wipes with him and crouched down in front of where you sat on your bed.
Smiling, he held your face again, this time a little firmer. “You’d hate yourself if you went to sleep before you took your makeup off,” he whispered, pulling one of the wipes out and dragging it over the apples of your face. Then, he glanced up and into your eyes, noting how you stared at him so keenly, even through a half-lidded gaze, lips slightly parted.
If Caleb could’ve kept your attention on him like this for the rest of his life, he would have.
“What's going through that head of yours?” He cocked his head to the side, studying your intent expression. Immediately, you looked away, but he wasn’t going to back down. Something had been troubling you, and he was determined to find out what. If you wouldn’t tell him outright, he would simply have to guess. “Is it your book, again?”
Your inebriated state made it hard for you to hide things from him. You stiffened in his touch, and he chuckled. “Bingo. You know, if you just told me what you were struggling with, I’d help.” He pressed your chin lightly, angling your face downwards. “Close your eyes.” He gently wiped over your eye makeup, making sure it was all off before continuing. “I know I’m not a writer, but I’m sure I'll be of some value.”
Finally done, he neatly folded the dirty wipe and placed it to the side. “Want some more water? Alcohol is dehydrating.”
And then, out of nowhere, you spoke.
“Sex.”
Well, blurting would probably be a better way to describe how you said the word. Caleb blinked rapidly, wondering if he had heard you correctly as his face snapped back to yours, eyes wide.
“What?”
“Sex.” You slurred a little bit as you leaned closer to him, jutting your lower lip out in a pout and repeating it once more for good measure. “Sex.”
“I heard you the first time,” Caleb could hear how strangled his voice was, unable to think straight at your sudden declaration. Oblivious to his mental distress, you thrust out your hand and pointed at the laptop that sat on your desk with drunken animosity.
“I can’t write a stupid sex scene.”
You sounded so crestfallen, and he would have totally started sympathising with you if not for the reason. A sex scene? What on earth were you writing?
“I–” He swallowed, “Well–”
“I mean, how am I supposed to write a good sex scene if I don’t know what good sex feels like? Or what even like, happens?” Alcohol had certainly loosened you up, and perhaps a bit too much, having erased any filter that you had. This resulted in you rambling on about everything you would have usually kept to yourself, and for good reason. “The sex I’ve had has been shitty.”
The sex you’ve had? Caleb almost bit his tongue off in shock, staring at you incredulously at the information you had dumped on him. He hadn’t even known you had been having sex, and thank every god for that, because he would have probably jumped off a cliff if you ever talked about your sex life with him. Surely, this was some sort of twisted fever dream he had found himself in. This could not have been real life.
“Christ,” He choked out, “I–okay, maybe I can’t help you–”
“Yeah, you can.” Your eyes cut to his, a little too intense for his sanity. “If you fucked me, I’d probably be able to write the scene.”
He gaped at you, about a dozen inappropriate thoughts running through his head before he could stop it. “What did you just say?”
Teenage Caleb would have died if he had heard you say that. Adult Caleb nearly did.
You sighed heavily, and it only succeeded in causing him to spiral even more. “I thought about it. I’m sure it would be good, y’know. You’d know what you were doing, you even look like you’re good at it.”
“You’re so drunk.” He tried to reason with himself out loud, but could hardly recognise his voice with how strained he sounded. Looked like he was good at it? What alternate dimension had he just fallen into?
“Oh, come on, Caleb. I need some hands-on learning, and you–” you slurred the words as you leaned close and wrapped your hands around his bicep, peering up at him through your lashes. “–have very nice hands. They’re hot.”
You, his best friend, his pipsqueak, had thought about sleeping with him. You thought his hands were hot. The news nearly killed him, and he had to force himself to look away from you, his mind running at a mile a minute. Heat prickled at his face and neck, impossible to ignore as he cleared his throat and stood to his feet, pulling away from your touch.
“You should sleep.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stepping away from you. “I–I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was as if he were going through puberty all over again, with the way his voice cracked embarrassingly as he spoke. He left your room hurriedly, barely getting his shoes back on as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
Caleb exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the back of his head hit your door. All these years of barely keeping it together around you, carefully tiptoeing between right and wrong, only for you to come and crash into whatever self-restraint he had left.
Right and wrong.
All of a sudden, he wasn’t sure if he was going to choose correctly anymore.
Death had to have been more merciful than the pounding in your head. Grabbing the covers, you pulled them over yourself like a cocoon, trying your hardest to block out all noises and sink even further into your mattress.
Unfortunately, your hangover-induced headache made it nearly impossible for you to go back to sleep. Cursing, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up and change out of your clothes and into something more comfortable. Naturally, you gravitated towards an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, pulling them on after a quick shower.
Then, you went right back to your bed, not wanting to face the day in the slightest. You had managed to resist throwing up so far, and even the thought of having to function like a normal human being made you recoil into your blanket and stay there for the rest of the week. Just as you began to genuinely entertain that notion, a sharp knock at your door caught your attention.
You would have ignored it if you didn’t know the pattern of this knock by heart. No one but Caleb knocked twice in sequence.
Cursing under your breath, you scrambled to the door and opened it, squinting as the bright light of the hallway outside nearly blinded you. There he stood, grinning down at you as he held up a paper bag.
“Aspirin.”
“Thank god,” you immediately let him in, taking the medicine from him and pouring yourself a glass of water. He stood right behind you as you took the pill, ruffling your already messy hair and staring for just a second too long.
“Bad morning, huh?”
“You have no idea.” You winced at the whiny nature of your voice. “It feels like my head is trying to stab itself.”
Caleb chuckled dryly, sitting down on your bed and watching as you settled at your desk and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to smooth out the knots. Something was different about the way he was looking at you, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
“You’ll be fine,” He muttered, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. You frowned, taking in the way his jaw ticked, and placed your glass of water down.
“Are you okay?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” He said it a little too brightly, glancing down at your desk. Something flickered in his eyes. “Made any progress on that book of yours?”
A frustrated sound left you buried your face in your hands, elbows on your desk. The reminder of your stagnant writing somehow worsened your headache, as if that was even possible. Of course he’d bring that up. “As usual, no.”
For a while, you had hoped that inspiration would strike you eventually, but it seemed like you were well and truly stuck. It had only taken a turn for the worse, with you suddenly despising everything you had already written, unable to even skim any of it without cringing and wanting to hit delete. Your inability to write had morphed into impostor syndrome, which was a development you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.
“It’s okay,” he said, and you would have mistaken his tone for reassuring if not for the way his lips twitched slightly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to write eventually. After you fuck me, apparently.”
Silence.
Razor-sharp silence.
Slowly, you turned your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers. “What….did you just say?”
“Only what you said last night. You said you were sure it would be good, which I beg to differ. It would be amazing, thank you very much.” He dared to smile oh-so innocently, as if he hadn’t just upgraded the superlative of what sex with him would potentially be like.
If you thought you were going to throw up before, you were sure you were going to now. You almost choked on your spit, waves of unadulterated shock crashing through your system as you gawked at your best friend, who appeared much too pleased with himself at the moment. If you weren’t so utterly horrified, you would have tried to slap the smug expression right off of his face.
“No.” The singular word comes out breathless, much to your mortification, your gut churning at the implications of that statement. “No, no, no–”
“Oh yes,” He grinned wickedly, leaning back on the palms of his hands.
“What–what the fuck did I drink last night.” You tried your levity, but your embarrassment ran too deep. Reaching up, you covered your face with your hands in a pathetic attempt to hide away from him. Never, in a million years, had you ever accounted for having this conversation with him, of all people, and you were almost certain there was something in your drinks that had made you say what you did.
His velvety laugh echoed through your dorm, and you wanted nothing more than to fold in on yourself. This had to have been the worst moment of your life.
“I guess you don’t remember, huh?” There was an amused lilt to his tone that made you want to jump out of the window. “I can refresh you, if you’d like.”
“NO!”
The shriek that left you was nothing short of abashed. He leaned forward now, smirking at you conspiratorially. “What's wrong? I thought you needed,” he paused, as if recollecting the exact words you had said to humiliate you even further. “Hands-on learning?”
You pointed to the door, biting back a scream. “Get out.”
The smirk only grew. “Aw, but if sleeping with me is gonna help you write again–”
“OUT!” You glared, cheeks flaming. Your anxiety had prepared you for at least a hundred outright ridiculous situations that had no chance of ever occurring, but none of them accounted for the possibility of your best friend talking about sleeping with you. You couldn’t fathom how he seemed so unaffected by it, as if he were speaking about something as mundane as the damn weather.
Caleb tongued his cheek, evidently fighting off another bout of laughter. He raised his hands to his sides in a placating gesture, but it did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves. If anything, it only distracted you further, your eyes betraying you and straying to glance at his hands. A suppressed memory from last night resurfaced in your mind's eye, much to your displeasure.
You have very nice hands. They’re hot.
That was it. You were never going to touch alcohol again. Sobriety was your way of life now, seeing that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut when under the influence. The next time you need to let off some steam, you’d have an iced coffee.
“Alright, alright, I’ll go.” He moved towards your door, hiding his teasing smile behind his fist, disguising his chuckle with an exaggerated cough. “But Y/n?”
He didn’t use his beloved pet name. You straightened slightly, momentarily pushing away your embarrassment at the sudden serious shift of his voice. He opened the door and paused, hesitating for a single second. Then, he looked back at you, all-consuming, violent eyes locking onto yours.
“I would do it if you asked.”
You sighed heavily as you walked out of your last class of the day, rubbing the back of your neck and peering up into the darkening sky. Thursdays were the one day of the week when you had longer classes one after the other, which always resulted in you feeling exhausted by the end of it. You barely had the energy to even think about putting together dinner, which your best friend knew, always swinging by once your class ended with enough take-out for both of you and to walk you back to your dorm.
Which meant…
“I hope you’re in the mood for Thai food.”
Caleb slid into your view with that easy-going smile of his, though lately and much to your annoyance, there seemed to be a knowing glint in his gaze every time it settled on you.
“I’m in the mood for anything edible.” You sighed as you began walking back to your dorm. He easily fell into step beside you, as always, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You supposed it was, considering how long your friendship had lasted. It would be almost twelve years soon, and honestly, you could hardly remember a time when he wasn’t around.
He hummed, knowing how cranky you got when you were hangry. “So easy to please.” It was the way he said it, knowing and with a tone so low that it almost resembled a purr. It had goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin. A little outraged at the way you reacted, you glanced over at him, only to find him already looking at you.
It was how he always looked at you, with conviction and every ounce of his attention. Yet, it felt different, more intense. Or maybe that was just your brain playing tricks on itself.
I would do it if you asked.
Those seven words had haunted you from the moment he had spoken them. The serious expression on his face mixed with the quiet way he had said it– it had undoubtedly fucked you up a little more than you would have liked to admit. You were beyond infuriated and in complete disbelief over how he had simply offered to sleep with you. Like it wasn’t a big deal or a very major, clear boundary that existed in friendships. In your friendship.
If you asked. Like it was that fucking simple. He left your dorm since you demanded it of him, but left you to deal with the aftermath of that absolutely criminal statement of his.
And then there was the teasing.
Relentless and unsteadying. Caleb would say something a little too suggestive or downright sexual before retreating and pretending like nothing had happened. He’d hold your gaze a little longer, or let his touch linger, before looking away with a satisfied smirk. He knew damn well what he was doing, and although you did too, it didn’t stop you from flushing or freezing up. It certainly didn’t stop scenarios from writing themselves in your head.
He was torturing you for your little slip-up. He found it hilarious, and now you were the punchline for every joke that blossomed from it.
He cocked his head to the side now, a small, tilted smile on his lips as he spoke. “What's going on in at head of yours?”
You realised you had stopped walking, and so had he, instead standing right in front of you and occupying every part of your vision. “Nothing.”
Caleb quirked an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “You sure about that? You’re obviously thinking about something.” The cadence of his voice had always been nice, but now the velvety smoothness of it put you on edge in more ways than one. “Are you maybe thinking about–”
“I am not thinking about that.” The statement tumbled out of you before you could bite your tongue. His eyes lit up mischievously.
“Oh, so you’re thinking about something after all, are you?”
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to findd to find a comeback to that. Somehow, he was even closer now.
“Mind telling me what exactly that is?”
“Stop it,” You almost snarled, shooting him a withering look as you pushed him away in order to reclaim your personal space. This teasing streak of his was getting unbearable, especially since it was anything but innocent and was driving you up the wall. “Or I’m gonna take the Thai food and leave you with nothing.”
An offended gasp. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
He laughed at your threat and finally let up on you, going back to being the Caleb you knew. He spoke of his classes and the group project he had due at the end of the week, for which he had terrible teammates to work with. It was jarring, how easily he could shift back into acting like he hadn’t just insinuated something so….
Maybe it was just your dirty mind.
Unbeknownst to you, it definitely wasn’t just your dirty mind. Caleb was mentally punching himself.
Caleb had had years of practising self-control when it came to you. Years of holding back and hiding the feelings he had for his best friend, shying away from every opportunity to divulge them. He knew how to keep his hands to himself, his mind from straying and his tongue from running into dangerous territory. He hadn’t meant to do it, but your drunken confession had flipped a switch inside of him. The lines had gotten a little blurry, but he would never, in a million years, ever actually cross them.
So what the hell was wrong with him?
You still hadn’t written a word. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t even complain about it in peace anymore. Not if you wanted to maintain even a modicum of your sanity.
The reason for said dwindling sanity was sitting beside you right now on his bed, his arm slung around your shoulder, fingers tracing abstract patterns on the top of your shoulder. Usually, this would have calmed you down and even made you sleepy, but it achieved the complete opposite right then. You were painfully awake, his feathery touch like electricity against your skin.
God, you were so fucked. You had hoped that Caleb’s incessant teasing would have put a damper on your sudden, strong attraction towards him, but nothing of the sort had happened. It seemed to have only gotten worse, with you ending up being jumpy whenever he was around, and considering the amount you hung out with him, you were starting to resemble a kangaroo.
Around him, you were constantly tense and always on the precipice of being turned on. To say it was hellish would be an understatement.
“You’re distracted,” he murmured as the credits of the movie you were watching played. Finally, the two of you had managed to find the time to have that movie night you had passed on weeks ago. You shook your head, glancing up at the clock that hung on his wall. It was a little past midnight.
“Just frustrated,” you said finally, because it was the truth in more ways than one. Your frustration with your writing, or lack of, ran deep, but now it was intertwined with another very persistent reason. Being sexually frustrated wasn’t something you were used to dealing with.
He seemed to have caught on, though, his hand falling from your shoulder to your waist, curling around it. “Why are you frustrated, Pipsqueak?” He drawled, turning his head so that he faced you now. Of course, he’d pick this moment to torment you, when you were already frazzled.
“No reason,” you said quickly, voice clipped. A slow, languid smile stretched out on his lips.
“No?” He asked, the side of his mouth tilting. “Could it be….”
“Stop talking.” You despised how hoarse your voice sounded. You wanted– no, needed him to stop doing this before it became unbearable. He was your best friend, for fucks sake. The smile on his annoyingly perfect face melted into a smirk that would have had your knees weak if you weren’t already sitting down.
“I don’t think I will.” He whispered, pulling you even closer as he dipped his head down until his lips brushed against your ear. It was like he wanted you to break, and god, you were so close to doing so. His hand slid up your waist just a little bit. A shiver ran through you, one you couldn’t have suppressed if you tried.
“Tell me,” He mumbled, the words sounding much too loud even though he was still whispering. “Do your frustrations have anything to do with a certain sex scene you’re trying to write?”
You inhaled sharply.
Rationality was a funny thing. Every bit of it seemed to disappear whenever you truly needed it. Things you had no business thinking rushed through your head, courtesy of your bright imagination that chose the most inconvenient moments to work. Thoughts you had suppressed and pushed aside every time they had the nerve to pop up swirled around.
The spark that you had been trying so hard to put out crackled to life in your core, its flames spreading all across your body like wildfire. You were painfully aware of every part of you that was in contact with him, his hand just above your waist, sitting there so possessively, his breath fanning across your neck– fuck. It was too much, but somehow not enough all at once, and immediately you knew what you wanted.
More.
You snapped.
Something possessed you as you turned to look at him, a surge of confidence appearing out of nowhere as you drew closer to him. “Yeah.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Right then and there, three things became very clear to you. One: You wanted to write. Desperately and preferably sometime soon, because you did want to finish the first draft before you could go in and edit. Two: For some reason, you needed to have sex in order to get over the mental block you had when it came to writing it. Lastly, three: You only wanted to have sex with one person, and it was the man right beside you.
“My frustration has everything to do with the sex scene.” You said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice was. “But you can help with that, right?”
Without waiting for his response, you got to your knees, swinging a leg over him and settling down on top. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second as your hands found his shoulders to maintain your balance, before he spoke again.
“Pipsqueak,” he started, voice low and careful, attempting to keep the teasing lilt in his voice but royally failing. “What– exactly– are you doing?”
“You told me to ask.” You muttered, dropping your gaze to his lips for a moment before letting it travel back up. “You said you’d do it if I asked. I’m asking right now.”
Caleb couldn’t respond, still staring up at you, eyes wide and ears a little redder than they normally were. Good. It was about time he had a taste of his own medicine. His hands found your waist again, and he blinked twice, slowly, and you prayed he wasn’t all bark and no bite.
You wanted him to bite.
“Y/n,” he muttered, “I….I know what I said.”
You raised an eyebrow, your hands slipping up his shoulders simultaneously until they were cradling his neck, playing with his hair at the nape of it. Was he shy? Now? After everything he had said and insinuated, he had the audacity to be all bashful? “So then you know what I’m asking for.”
“Well–”
“Caleb,” You cut him off, shifting so that you were closer. “I’m asking.”
Conviction laced those words. You could tell he was reasoning with himself, god knows you could read him well enough to know when he was conflicted, when he bit the inside of his cheek before exhaling shakily.
“Pips,” He rasped out your nickname. “You– you’re sure?”
You didn’t recognise the look in his eyes right then as he looked up at you, but it had you unravelling all the same. You leaned in subconsciously, but he quickly moved one of his hands from your waist to your mouth, covering it as his jaw clenched, still studying you. “I need you to tell me you’re sure, Y/n.”
Oh, so this was actually happening. You could feel the heat of your breath recoil against your face because of his hand. The ticking of the clock in his room filled the charged silence between him and you, his fingers brushing against your chapped lips. You swallowed.
“I’m sure.”
Whatever had shifted in you five minutes ago seemed to shift in him as well now. He let his hand drop from your mouth, shamelessly staring at it. “We shouldn’t.” But he pulled you closer, his arms circling your waist and palms splayed out on the small of your back.
“It’s for research purposes,” You breathed out, doing your best to justify how badly you needed him. “Please, Caleb, I need–”
He didn’t let you finish.
You gasped as he crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. The pressure of his lips against your own was dizzying, especially with the way they moved; slowly and precisely, as if he was committing the feel of your lips to his memory. You were hyperaware of his touch on your back, the warmth from his hands permeating through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you were wearing.
Pulling him closer, you tilted your head so you could kiss him better. For the number of times you had mentally chided yourself for even thinking about this, it felt remarkably natural to kiss him, your instincts taking over. Your fingers slipped into his hair, entangling in the dark strands and tugging lightly.
Caleb groaned, and you were on fire.
“God, Y/n.” There was nothing playful about the way he mumbled your name into the kiss, and the unfamiliarity of it sent a shiver down your spine. His lips, soft and just a little hesitant, moved in tandem against your own, slotting in between them perfectly like you were pieces of the same puzzle, meant to be pushed together like so. He nipped at your lower lip before swiping his tongue over it to soothe the sting, and the intoxicating sensation drew out a needy whimper from you.
The second that sound escaped you, all indecision disappeared from his end, and the temperature in the room seemed to increase, growing hotter with every smack of his lips against yours. Kissing him was addictive, it felt as if neither of you could bear to pull away from each other.
Without warning, Caleb lifted you off of him and pressed you into the mattress, swiftly climbing on top of you. For a moment, he hovered, looking down at you, taking in the flush on your cheeks and heavy breathing, proud to have been the cause of your breathlessness despite barely doing a thing. Going in once again, he brushed his lips against yours teasingly, before giving you what you truly wanted, the intensity of the kiss taking a turn for feverish.
A hand of his slid up your side until he cupped your jaw oh-so gently, turning your face to the side to give him better access to your neck, upon which he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that had heat rush right to your core. The ache between your legs grew, slowly becoming unbearable, and you rubbed your thighs together with a whine, chasing any sliver of friction.
“Shit,” he muttered against you, his other hand slipping underneath your shirt and coming into contact with your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise on the skin. Spreading his fingers and pressing lightly, he kept you from squirming. “Pips, you gotta tell me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare,” you almost snapped at him, impatient and so painfully aroused it was embarrassing. He couldn’t hold back the breathless chuckle that escaped him as he moved lower, teeth grazing your collarbone.
“If, at any point, you want to stop, tell me,” he gritted out, trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control he still possessed. “I don’t wanna do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
You nodded quickly. “I trust you.”
That was all he needed. Lifting his head slightly, he fumbled with the buttons of your shorts as he leaned back, all his weight on his knees. Once he managed to undo them, you lifted your hips slightly to help him tug them off your body. He settled between your legs, spreading them until the pretty cotton panties you wore were exposed.
Caleb swallowed, his breathing growing erratic and heavy. The wet patch on your panties was his undoing; everything about this situation was bound to be the death of him, but he was too far gone now. He let his hand trace up to your hips, hooking his finger through the waistband of your panties, toying with it.
“Is this ok?” The column of his throat bobbed as he stared up at you from between your legs. When you whispered a needy yes, he pulled the panties down your legs, his eyes darkening the moment they settled back on your core.
“Y/n,” He said your name like he was drunk, a certain sense of reverence infused in his tone that had your cheeks kissed rouge. “You’re even prettier than I thought.”
Than he thought? You would have to take the time to dissect that statement later, much too distracted to do so at the moment when he began peppering kisses along your inner thigh, starting from your knee and working his way upwards. The sensation of his mouth tantalisingly close to where you wanted it so badly was almost too much. Just the sight of him there was so erotic that it had your head swimming. You had never felt more vulnerable than you did right then, exposed and willing.
And then finally– finally– his breath fanned out over your soaked cunt, driving you insane. Liquid fire thrummed in your veins beneath the surface of your skin as your anticipation spilled over. He pressed a light, teasing kiss against your clit.
Caleb dragged his tongue over your slit, licking up it all the way to your clit, which he wrapped his lips around and sucked, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You gasped, bucking your hips up against him, and he chuckled, the sound sending vibrations up your body, from your toes to the top of your head.
“Impatient,” he chided. “Let me take my time with you, princess.”
The new pet name sounded so natural coming from him, and immediately, you knew you wanted to hear him call you that again. He flicked his tongue against the throbbing bud that had been aching for his attention this entire time, positioning your legs to rest over his shoulders. The sounds that left you were shamefully loud, and you had never been more grateful that he lived in a single dorm.
“Cal- oh fuck,” You mewled when he swiped two of his fingers through your wetness, rubbing your folds.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he all but groaned against you, and you could feel more slick gush out of you at that. “Is this all for me?”
Your back arched off the bed when he pressed a finger to your dripping entrance, nodding with a sense of desperation you had never experienced before. “Yes,” you exhaled the word as he pushed his finger inside your pussy slowly, your jaw falling open at the pleasurable intrusion.
Slowly, he began pumping it in and out of you as he continued to give your clit the sweet attention it deserved, basking in the noises that you made. The pads of the fingers of his other hand dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping you nice and spread out despite all your attempts to shut your legs around him.
When he introduced a second finger to your cunt, your hands found purchace in his hair, gripping and tugging as you panted, unable to focus on anything else. Your eyes fluttered shut as the tips of his fingers brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars, crooking inside you so perfectly. It was as if he knew exactly how to push you to the edge.
Your best friend was eating you out like a starved man and you were enjoying every fucking second of it. He could feel your legs begin to tremble, your impending orgasm building. Shamelessly, you bucked your hips against his face, and the moment he realised what you were doing, he increased the pace of his fingers.
“Come on baby,” he encouraged you, flattening his tongue against your clit and pulling you closer, spurring you on even further. You ground against his mouth desperately, feeling the coil in your core draw tight, so, so close.
“Caleb,” you stuttered his name helplessly, but he somehow understood, knowing just what you needed. “I–I’m gonna–”
He scissored his fingers inside of you, hooking them just right as he gave your clit little kitten licks, determined to have you fall apart on his tongue. Your sweet gasps sent blood rushing straight to his cock, which was already painfully hard, confined in his jeans. Taking your mound into his mouth, he sucked harshly, thrusting his fingers knuckle deep in your sex.
A broken moan escaped you when your climax hit you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your legs shook, but he didn’t let up, grinning proudly against you as he drove his fingers back into your gushing entrance, helping you ride out your high and prolonging it. Once he was satisfied, he lapped at you, refusing to waste even a single drop of your essence.
Caleb pulled away, and the sight of you nearly did him in. Eyes screwed shut in ecstacy and hair fanned out on his pillow, undoubtedly tangled from all your writhing. You looked like the picture of sin, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He climbed back, hovering over you again as he licked his lips.
Your eyes fluttered open, pupils blown out and dark due to the sheer level of desire that coursed through you. You were stunning, and he was destroyed, knowing that he’d never be able to forget the way you were looking at him right then. The way you tasted.
When he kissed you again, it was different. It was a heady mix of heat and tongue and want, messier than the kisses he gave you earlier, the control he had before nowhere to be seen anymore. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned, reaching out to touch him.
You started at his collar, dragging your hands down, down, down until you reached the hem of his shirt, whining against his mouth as you tugged at it.
“Take it off.”
Who was he to deny you? He stopped kissing you, sitting up so that he could pull the shirt off, exposing his torso for you. The way your eyes raked over him hungrily was more than gratifying, especially when they caught on the silver chain that hung from his neck, the pendant sitting on his chest. Tossing his shirt to the side, he pushed your own up your body, exposing the skin of your stomach.
“Your turn.”
You let him take off your shirt, tossing it to the side and slipping his hands slip behind your back. He silently asked for your permission, which you gave to him in the form of an impatient nod to which he smirked, unhooking your bra and peeling it off of you, letting the discarded garment join the rest of them on the floor.
One look at you and he was a goner.
“Fuck,” he could feel himself straining his jeans as he took in the sight of your breasts, so perfect and plush. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate you in all your naked glory, before leaning back down, his mouth back on your overheated skin. He dragged his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting like there was no tomorrow.
His lips trailed downwards, kissing the swell of your breast before wrapping around your already hard nipple, stroking his tongue against the aching peak. He palmed the other breast, giving that nipple equal amounts of attention and rolling it under his thumb. You hissed in pleasure, breathless as you arched into his addictive touch.
You could barely think straight; everything he was doing to you sent you into complete overdrive. Every touch was criminally good, the simplest of them causing your arousal to increase tenfold. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you had last had sex, but you had never before felt so frenzied.
Hooking your legs around his waist, you could feel the outline of him pressing against your thighs. Angling your hips, you pressed your bare pussy against his bulge, the roughness of the denim rubbing you just right. He looked up at you from your chest through hooded eyes, earning another whimper as he pinched your nipple.
“You sound so good.” His words went straight to your head. “Tell me what you want.”
He said it like it was a command, and who were you to disobey, especially when you knew exactly what you wanted?
“I want you inside me,” you whimpered, voice heated with lust.
How could he ever refuse you? Caleb gave you one last kiss before reaching over to his bedside table, grabbing something from the drawer and sitting up and unzipping his pants. You couldn’t help but stare as he impatiently kicked off his jeans and boxers, eyes widening when you finally saw his cock.
Fuck, it was big. Long and painfully hard, you could hardly believe he was hard because of you, but the proof was in front of your very eyes. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you drank in the sight of him, hyperaware of the wetness that coated your thighs.
He tore open the condom packet, smoothly sliding it onto himself before settling between your legs once.
“W-will it even fit?” You squeaked, a spike of fear cutting through the lust-filled haze of your mind. He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his lips and pressing your fingers to them, kissing your knuckles soothingly as he bit back a smile.
“It’ll fit.”
“But– there's no way,” You spluttered, “It’s gonna hurt.” Not that the prospect of being in a little pain deterred you by any means, you were way too horny to stop now. Complaining was probably the least sexy thing you could have done in the moment, but he seemed unbothered, the dark, hungry glint in his eyes never fading. The amused look on his face, however, was not lost on you, nor was the way he bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile. You glared weakly.
“Are you laughing at me?” You asked, incredulous. “I swear to god, Caleb, you’re going to split me in half, and you’re laughing?”
“Baby,” He breathed, “You’ll be fine.”
“Easy for you to say!”
You wouldn’t even blame him if he decided he was done with you and pulled his pants back on, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he gripped your hips, grounding you to the moment.
Both of you were completely nude, and despite this, you had never felt more comfortable. Not when he looked at you like that, like you were something sacred.
“Relax, Pips, I’ve got you,” He whispered, sensing your apprehension. You exhaled shakily as he pressed his hard-on against your folds, groaning at just how wet you were. “Eyes on me.”
The way he took control so naturally was alarmingly attractive. You looked up, locking your eyes with his, unable to stay silent when the head of his cock rubbed against your swollen clit. “O-oh.”
He shuddered at the feeling, dropping a little so that he was keeping himself up on his elbows. His necklace swung above you just like you had imagined as he ground against you, but it still wasn’t enough. “Ready?”
You didn’t think you’d ever be ready, but you wanted it so badly you didn’t even care. Nodding eagerly, you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him press the back of your hands into the mattress. When his tip caught at your entrance, you whined. “Please.”
Having you beg him like that was dangerous. He squeezed your hands, and then slowly, carefully, sank into your wet heat, inch by devastating inch. Your jaw slackened, loudly moaning his name as he filled you up and stretched you out so pleasurably. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pushed into you until he bottomed out, going breathless himself. One glance down to where the two of you were connected had him actively having to fight off coming right then and there.
Caleb was in heaven, and he was fucking delirious. He forced himself to stay still, moaning lowly when he felt your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. “You’re doing so well, princess.” He praised, lowering his head to your neck and burying his face in the crook of it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself down.
There was so much wrong with this, so why did it feel so right? You felt so perfect, like you were made for him.
“Caleb,” You whimpered once the sting faded, letting go of his hands and looping your arms around his neck, “Move. I need you to move.”
He pulled out until only his tip remained inside of you, before sheathing himself again, causing you to curve off the bed, nails digging into his skin. He did it again and again, nearly growling when he felt you grow even wetter, coating the length of his cock in your slick. Wet sounds that had your cheeks burning filled the room repeatedly.
“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” He practically growled, contrasting the tender pace he set, telling you he was holding back for your sake. You could feel every inch of him as he dragged against your walls, reminding you how big he was with every thrust.
Your friendship was potentially ruined, but it felt too good for you to care. With your legs locked behind his back, you gripped his biceps, a wanton moan escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure overriding every other sensation.
“So good,” words were hard to put together, and he understood and nodded, holding your hips so tight you were sure there would be marks, just like the marks that blossomed all over your neck and chest from his earlier ministrations. Right now, though, you didn’t care about that, consumed by the waves of euphoria rushing through you.
Slowly, the frequency of his thrusts increased, rendering you completely winded and unable to do anything but gasp for air. You felt another orgasm steadily build up inside you.
Then he tipped his hips a certain way, the tip of his cock brushing against a spot that made you cry out his name, throwing your head back into his pillows. The look on your face was something he wanted to imprint in his memory; the desire lacing your voice was beyond exhilarating.
Caleb could feel his own impending high, so tightly wound because of just how long he had waited for something like this. When you clenched around him, he knew you were close as well, but the act nearly did him in.
“Don’t do that.” his voice was all scratchy and strained, but you promptly did it once again, high off the notion that you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. His hips stuttered against yours as his violet eyes flashed. “Fucking hell.”
“Oh my god,” you moaned, “I can’t–”
“Look at me,” he demanded, “I want you to look at me when you come all over my cock.”
Never in a million years would you have thought your best friend would be so good at dirty talk, but the shock quickly melted into obedience as you managed to hold his heated gaze. Reaching between the two of you, his index finger found your engorged clit and rubbed circles against it.
You squealed, overly sensitive. “Shit–I’m gonna– Cal-!”
“Come for me.”
Caleb would never forget how you looked: at his mercy, crying out his name over and over like it was a prayer as you came, spilling over his cock with a euphoric sob. He snapped his hips to yours with renewed urgency, drawing out your second climax and prolonging the feeling. When he saw the fucked out look on your face, it hit him at once.
With one final thrust, he buried himself inside you, coming with a moan, burying his face in your neck once again. His body was damp against yours, his hair tickling you as you breathed heavily. He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, recovering from the intensity of what had just happened.
Wordlessly, he pulled out of you gently, the sudden emptiness you felt having you whimper softly. Peeling the condom off, he tossed it in the bin next to his bed before climbing off of you, muttering something about being back. Seconds later, you felt a warm, wet cloth drag over your core. He cleaned you up, pressing little kisses to the inner side of your thighs.
Once he was done, he gathered you in his arms and pulled you close, kissing your temple.
“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling away just enough so he could try and gauge how you felt, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone as he cupped your face tenderly. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”
You shook your head and leaned into his touch, completely spent. “No, it was perfect.”
He sighed in relief. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “You did so well,” he murmured into your hair, massaging your scalp gently. “You were amazing, actually.” Another kiss to your forehead made you simper as your eyes closed, exhaustion settling into you now that the adrenaline had faded. “Tired?”
“Yeah,” You mumbled. Your legs entangled with his, and he stopped talking, tracing shapes on your back while you drifted off to sleep. He watched you for a bit, savouring the skin-on-skin contact, his mind reeling from what had just happened.
This was strangely normal, no awkwardness or post-nut clarity hitting either of you. Your body lay against his with all of you pressed up against him like that was exactly where you belonged. He could feel the beating of your heart, strong and steady in your slumber, whereas his remained erratic and fast. This was more than just a taste that he had had of you; it was the entire deal, and the knowledge of it all had his morals scattered and all over the place, because now that he knew what he knew, well.
Caleb wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
At the time, you had justified sleeping with Caleb as research, something you needed to do in order to get it out of your system. You had assumed, albeit foolishly, that once it was over, you’d be able to go back to normal and continue with your life.
But research was an activity that required constant revisiting. Most of it had to be repeated over and over, especially if it included gathering data from an experiment. There was always a control, and then variations of the experiment would be conducted to record the differences in the outcomes.
At least, that was what you were telling yourself right now as you straddled him, his cock buried inside you.
Truthfully, you didn’t know how this had happened. After that day, everything seemed to be normal, until he showed up at your dorm to help you study for a class he had also taken when he was in his sophomore year. One thing led to another, or rather, one heated touch later, you found yourself under him once again.
And then it happened again, and kept happening. Whispers of it being just for research mixed in with both of your moans became a melody you were more than used to. This was all for your book, after all. For the sake of accuracy and your integrity as a writer.
Definitely not because of how mindblowing sex with Caleb was.
And it absolutely was.
He had made you completely insatiable for him, and almost every time the two of you hung out in one of your dorms, it ended up with both of you in bed. Every other aspect of your friendship remained exactly the same, though, which left you considerably confused. He didn’t look at or treat you any differently, poking fun and driving you up the wall, staying his usual reliable self.
Caleb’s hand cradled the back of your head as he kissed you now, fingers entangled in your hair and pulling slightly. You moaned softly against his lips, grinding on him.
You were in one of his shirts, panties tugged to the side since he hadn’t had the patience to take them off, needing to be inside of you as quickly as possible. Despite his earlier hurriedness, the pace the two of you settled on now was almost teasing, slowly rocking against him as you lazily chased the delicious high that you had gotten so used to experiencing these past two weeks.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he muttered, more to himself than you, hand slipping under your shirt and cupping your breast, squeezing. When he caught you biting your lip, he tutted, letting go of your hair and using his thumb to release it from your teeth. “Ah, ah, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself, pretty girl.”
“Too good,” you complained in that whiney, desperate tone he had gotten so addicted to. Pinching your nipple for good measure, he smirked up at you when you squealed.
Caleb quickly learned that he loved having you on top of him. Getting you all to himself like this was a privilege in itself, but fucking you while you wore his shirt? He was on cloud nine. He could feel himself throb in your sweet pussy that welcomed him so eagerly, in turn pulsing around him.
He cursed under his breath when you started to bounce, eager to get to the finish line with him. He sounded so good when he swore, you’d never understand it, just like how you wouldn’t get how he looked so pretty with a flush decorating his face and sex-mussed hair.
Gripping his shoulders, you tipped your head back, giving him access to your neck. He had taken to marking you up as and when he pleased, new hickeys surprising you every time you glanced in the mirror. Despite his tendency to leave them in places everyone could very easily spot them, you didn’t tell him to stop simply it just felt so good.
Everything with Caleb felt good, and not only did it feel good, but you felt completely safe. He was so attentive, doing the most to make sure you were never in any pain, often times focusing more on getting you off rather than himself.
He thrust up into you suddenly, his earlier impatience returning, and you cried out, falling into his chest. He held you, working you through it and dragging you closer and closer to release. One of your hands fell to his torso, tracing the hard lines of his abs and trailing downwards before your fingers found your clit and rubbed.
Shit. If having you ride him was good, being able to watch you touch yourself as you did was unbelievable. When you came, you came hard, and the feeling of it tipped him over the edge.
You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from.
You didn’t bother moving, clinging to him even tighter like you couldn’t bear to not be touching him in some way as you came down from your high. He smelled like sex, sweat, and that cologne of his that you loved. It was the reason you stole his clothes so much and why you were wearing his shirt even now.
Your first time with Caleb was the getaway drug, and now you were addicted to him, to having his hands caressing you all over and him whispering praises in your ear.
“Hey there,” He chuckled, rubbing your back. “All good?”
“Great even,” You mumbled, sitting up properly before finally lifting yourself off of him. You failed to register how jelly-like your legs felt, promptly losing your balance. He caught you before you fell, grinning.
“Can’t walk?” You could hear how smug he was without even having to look at him. It was then that you registered the burn in your thighs and huffed.
“Don’t sound so proud about it.”
“You’re no fun,” he pouted, leaving you to scoff as he helped you to your feet, following suit. “I’ll help you clean up. Do you wanna watch the new episode after?”
Ah yes. Of course, he’d start talking about anime after taking away your ability to stand. That had been the reason he had shown up at your dorm in the first place, but the moment he saw you wearing his shirt, it had quickly become an afterthought.
The whiplash you felt was indescribable, and you could only nod, letting him pick you up and carry you to the bathroom. After a quick shower and change of clothes, the two of you settled down with your laptop like nothing had happened, your head resting on his shoulder as you focused on the show.
Neither of you bothered to talk about your redefined friendship despite having sex regularly. It was just….a new addition. A benefit that you were both taking advantage of, nothing more and nothing less.
But even as you reminded yourself of that now, you found yourself doubting it.
There was something to be said about formal events.
You enjoyed getting dolled up as much as the next girl, but that was where the fun ended. Having to sit through the event was boring and not the way you liked to spend your Friday evenings. You would have much preferred staying in and catching up on some much-needed sleep.
The editor of your university’s paper, Jenna, had organised an affair that was being held in one of the college halls. She had worked very hard on it, inviting several alumni who were all successful in the fields of journalism and writing back so that the current batch of students had the chance to make connections. It was open to the entire student body, but she had made it clear that everyone on the paper was obligated to attend.
Connections were what helped people get further in life. You were grateful for the opportunity to interact with industry professionals, but didn’t understand why she had insisted on keeping it a black tie affair. That probably had something to do with keeping up appearances.
You stood off to the side, sipping on your cranberry juice from a cup that was made for something much more refined. So far, you had spoken to a couple of the guests, but seeing that you had been here for over an hour already, your social battery was slowly dying out. The dress you wore was a black number, floor length, form-fitting and plain except for the slit that reached up to a little above your knee. Perfect for an event like this, not too much and on power with what everyone else was wearing.
Still, it was a little overstimulating. You guzzled down the rest of your juice and placed the empty glass down on one of the tables.
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
You spun on your heels immediately at that voice, eyes widening and settling on the culprit who stood two, maybe three steps away from you.
“Caleb?” You asked in disbelief, taking in his presence. He was wearing a suit.
“The one and only,” he grinned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Here to rescue you from your boredom.”
“What are you even doing here?” To say this wasn’t his scene would be an understatement. He didn’t like wearing the whole suit getup, much preferring casual clothing. Hell, Caleb hadn’t even attended his high school prom (though when you asked why, he would never give you a straight answer), opting to spend the night in with you instead.
He looked unfairly good. The collar of his shirt hid those lovely collarbones of his and reminded you of how you had bit down on them the other day, the bottom of it tucked into black slacks. He had even worn dress shoes, instead of the sneakers he so loved and a tie around his neck. The entire getup.
“I literally just told you why. To get you out of here. Are you hard of hearing now?”
You returned his jibe with an exasperated sound. “I meant here, at this thing.”
“Oh. Well, you did mention it was open to anyone yesterday,” he shrugged, grabbing a glass of juice and sipping on it. “So that editor of yours technically can’t complain about me being here.”
That was true. Still, you found yourself bewildered as you stared at him. He was here. For some reason, even though he was allowed to be here, it didn’t make sense to you. You pressed your lips together and cocked your head to the side, studying him.
“So you dressed up and came here.…only to convince me to leave?” The notion sounded strange even to you. Why on earth would he do that? He finished up his drink and put it down next to your empty glass, taking a step closer to you. The simple movement had butterflies erupt in the pits of your stomach.
What the hell?
“Stop thinking so much. Do you want to stay?”
You considered it. “Not really, no.”
“Do you enjoy arguing with me for no reason, woman?” he muttered dryly under his breath, his eyes catching on something over your head. “On second thought, I think you should stay a little longer.”
Now you were just plain confused. One moment he was talking about saving you from boredom, and the next he was insisting you stay? Before you could undoubtedly start another argument just to spite him, he took you by your shoulders and spun you around, pointing in a certain direction. When you figured out what, or rather, who he was gesturing to, you couldn’t hide your gasp.
“Isn’t that the author you like?”
You could only nod dumbly. “Raymond.” Last year, you had a phase where you only read his books day in and day out, absorbing the stories he spun like a sponge. His books were the reason you had decided to start writing your own in the first place, inspired by his storytelling skills.
Caleb nudged your side gently, “Go.”
“How–” you cut yourself off, looking up at him. “How do you even remember that?” You weren’t sure why this entire interaction with him was throwing you off so much, but you felt completely unbalanced. You hadn’t spoken about Raymond or his work in a long time, so how did he know? He shrugged noncommittally.
“I know you.” He said it so plainly, like it was something trivial and basic, but his eyes bored into yours.
Had Caleb always looked at you with such quiet intensity?
He nudged your side gently, reminding you to move. Forcing yourself out of your stupor, you promised him you wouldn’t take too much time and walked over, buzzing with excitement.
The conversation itself wasn’t long, but it was insightful. He answered all your questions about the industry, and you even had the chance to share for appreciation for Raymond's work as well as ask him questions that you had about his novels. You gave him your utmost attention when he gave you advice, but when he started talking about his characters, your eyes and mind wandered.
Back to your best friend, who was waiting for you on the other end of the hall, leaning against one of the walls and scrolling through his phone. He didn’t give a flying fuck about this event, but had still come here for your sake, even when you hadn’t asked him to. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and flashing you a small smile.
Oh.
You looked away and back at Raymond, nodding politely and tuning yourself back into the conversation. Internally, however, you were freaking out. Something was very wrong; that was the only reason you could conjure up at the moment for what was happening to you. How else could you explain the sudden sweatiness of your palms, or the odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach? Maybe it was the excitement you felt from meeting the author you loved so much, but even as you considered this possibility, you knew it wasn’t the answer you were looking for.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
This could not be happening. You plastered a smile on your face as you tried to pay attention to whatever Raymond was talking about, but the damage was done. Your brain had never been one to let go of a single thought you had, especially ones that had to do with Caleb. He had a hold on you that no one else did, and why was that?
Because you liked Caleb.
The horrifying realisation hit you, startling you out of your rapidly spiralling thought process. Blinking, you realised Raymond was done speaking.
“Thank you so much for your time,” You said, trying not to sound as troubled as you felt. The author smiled at you before turning to another student.
Swallowing the newfound lump in your throat, you turned around and walked back to Caleb. This was bad. Having sex with him was already vaguely immoral and probably something that shouldn’t have happened– and shouldn’t keep happening like it did– but having feelings for him? That was out of the question.
“Good talk?” He asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. The genuine interest he had in your excitement made the entire situation worse. Why were you noticing all this now, of all times? It wasn’t like he had suddenly turned into someone considerate. He had always been this way; it was written into his DNA.
You realised he had even tried to tame his hair for today. “It was great.”
“I’m glad. Now I can steal you away from this place.” His eyes were lit up with mischief, just like they did when the two of you were younger and he did something he wasn’t supposed to. Ever the rebel, this one.
You felt a little guilty. All this effort for you? It seemed completely useless. “Okay, but Caleb, seriously, you didn’t have to do this.”
He frowned. “Didn’t have to do what?”
“This!” You waved in his general direction and then gestured around. “I mean, you don’t even like wearing a suit, but here you are. It’s not like it's compulsory for you like it is for me. You could be doing anything else.” You were rambling, you knew, but it was hard to stop. He rolled his eyes.
“Has that stopped me before?”
You paused. “What do you mean?”
“I show up to your newsroom even though I’m sure Jenna wants to castrate me for breaking the rules so much.” He raised an eyebrow. “I attended that lecture of yours when you had a presentation. You know I’m here because I want to be.” You knew he said stuff like this all the time, you always were the recipient of his support. This was normal.
But it didn’t feel normal. For fucks sake, this was the boy you had grown up with. He had seen you fall off your bike, fail tests and puke your guts out when drunk. In each of those situations, he had also been the one to pick you up and bandage your wounds, help you study and hold your hair back for you.
Did he think it was an obligation now?
“You….you shouldn’t feel like you have to do that.” You said slowly, but he didn’t let you continue.
“Oh, please. Everyone knows that where you go, I go too.” He flicked your forehead, immediately receiving a glare in return. “We’re like…….” He stopped for a moment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing like they always did when he was thinking hard about something. Then he snapped his fingers. “We’re like those yoghurt-granola snack packs!”
You stared at him blankly. “What?”
“You know.” He decided to explain his stupid analogy, as if your head wasn’t muddled enough. “Those things you can buy at the grocery store. The small yoghurt tubs that have a container filled with granola on top of them? Like, they’re both okay separately, but much better when together. People buy those packs for a reason.” He slipped his phone back into his pockets and beamed at you. “We’re like that.”
Oh my god. That barely made any sense. You weren’t sure if you were mortified because of that terrible explanation or because it hadn’t put a damper on your newfound feelings for him. “You’re such a fucking dork.”
He feigned offence, holding his hand over his heart. “Excuse me? You mean cute, right?”
Right. Wait, no, you didn’t. Ugh. “I thinkx ridiculous.”
“Are you coming with me or not, Pips?”
“But Jenna insisted-”
He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance before fixing you with a droll look. “Would you rather be here or be with me?”
Be with you.
You ignored the way your stomach flipped. You didn’t have the time or the mental stability to process everything that was happening to you right now. The logical part of your brain swooped in, telling you that you were just confused because of the sex. Yes, that was it. You did not have feelings for Caleb Xia.
Sighing, you relented. “You.” Saying that didn’t mean anything, after all. Nothing about the two of you meant anything, so there was no reason for you to be freaking out, even if it sounded like you had just confessed. A wide grin made a show on his face when he realised he had won, and he tilted his head towards the exit.
“Finally. Wanna get out of here?”
“Just to be clear, this is not what I meant when I asked if you wanted to get out of there.”
You huffed out a soft laugh, fingers curling around his tie as you tugged him closer. “No? Could have sworn you planned for us to end up in a janitor's closet.”
Caleb bit back a laugh of his own, knowing that making too much noise would get both of you in trouble. After leaving the event, somehow, his guiding hand on your hip had turned into the two of you making out in the hallway. You blamed the mess that your head was in for not realising what a bad idea that was immediately, but once you did, you did the most responsible thing you could think of.
And dragged him into the janitor's closet that was close by.
Naturally.
He braced a hand over your head on the cabinet that you were leaning against, essentially caging you in as he dipped his head to kiss you again. “Pretty sure that was you’re doing.”
“Excuse me? You’re the one who kissed me first!” You protested against his mouth, but could hardly complain when he kissed you like it was a relief to do so. Honestly, he was probably the best kisser you had ever experienced.
That must have been the reason for your spiralling thoughts. That and the amazing sex that you were so weak to.
Yep. That’s all. Anyone could be susceptible to such things.
“Can you blame me? Have you seen yourself in this dress?” His free hand slipped into the slit at your knee, slowly dragging the rest of the dress up until it was bunched up around your waist. “You’re stunning.”
He couldn’t stop kissing you. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed you out there like he had the right to, because he was well aware of the unspoken rules of this arrangement, but he couldn’t help it. If getting too comfortable with whatever you had going on with him was a crime, a sin, then he was a criminal of the highest order. The worst part? He didn’t feel a shred of guilt.
But you were wearing that fucking cherry lip gloss, and god knnows he had waited long enough to taste it.
Warmth spread over your chest first before it rushed to the apex between your legs. The control he seemed to have over your body was truly astounding. In his hands, you were putty.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” You whispered back, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it off completely, dropping it to the side. “This suits you.”
His lips twitched. “The suit suits me?”
“Shut up and kiss me, loser.”
He complied, grinning against your mouth as he pulled you into another earth-shattering kiss that did positively nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Stubbornly, you pushed down the feelings bubbling around the confines of your heart, refusing to give them any attention if you could help it.
You gripped the front of his suit jacket, helping him peel it off his shoulders and letting it join his tie on the floor. Without warning, he pressed a knee in between your legs, and you nearly melted against him.
Sex was great. Sex with him was phenomenal. This was just the lust getting to you.
Caleb gripped the leg that your slit now exposed and lifted it, propping it up against his waist. He trailed his fingers against your inner thigh, his touch feather-light yet scorching at the same time. When his index and middle finger pressed against your clothed cunt, you were glad for the hot he had on you, pressed up against the cabinet, because you would have surely buckled if not.
“Wow,” he mumbled amusedly, pushing your panties to the side and teasing your wetness. “You really like the suit, huh?”
The fact that this type of interaction was now commonplace should have been the first sign that things had gone too far.
Usually, you couldn’t think straight when he touched you like this, but today it was all a mix of feeling way too much and dangerous, fleeting thoughts that made you want to tear your hair out.
“Maybe,” You peppered kisses along the column of his throat, determined to get out of your head and focus only on how good he could make you feel. Pleasure and person were entirely separate entities, and you would make sure it stayed that way.
“Suit kink.”
“Never say that again.”
He only smirked, plunging his fingers into you. All you could do was cry out as you gripped the front of his shirt, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be quiet. Quickly, his palm covered your mouth, muffling any further sounds you could make. “Can’t have you being loud here, princess. What if someone catches us?”
The way you practically gushed the moment he suggested someone catch you in such a compromising position was downright embarrassing. Raising an eyebrow, he leaned even lower and whispered. “Oh? You like that?”
You whined against his hand, cheeks flushing furiously. You began fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt, and he chuckled lowly.
“For someone who likes my suit so much, you sure are trying to get rid of it quickly.”
“For someone who was dying to kiss me two minutes ago, you talk too much.” You rocked your hips against his hand even as you sassed him back. He moved his hand from your mouth into your hair, carding it through gently, tugging slightly to tilt your head back for him so he could kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made.
No one could sue you for being attracted to a hot man. That was just biology.
You could feel the familiar tightening of your core, signalling your impending crash. You broke away from the kiss, licked your lips and palmed him over his pants, earning a hiss of pleasure in return.
“Don’t– don’t do that,” He choked out, and you smirked triumphantly, refusing to relent on your movements. Batting your eyelashes, you stared up at him through them in faux innocence, unaware that it affected him so much more than you thought.
“Just fuck me already.” You whined, half out of desperation for him and party because now you needed him to fuck you to prove to yourself that this was just sex. To be able to brush away all the compliments he dropped that seemed to go straight to your head, to get the intoxicaing fucking way he kissed you out of your head and away from further dissection. To stop the slow-burning feeling of yearning that was growing inside of you for the boy you had grown up with.
Because you couldn’t possibly have feelings for him. You shouldn’t.
“Fuck, okay,” He slipped his fingers out of you and unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock. You would never get used to the sight of it, precum already leaking out of the tip; the image itself sending shivers down your spine in anticipation of him.
He pressed back against you, grinding it against your fluttering pussy, going right back to making out with you. It was like he was devouring you whole, claiming every part of you like it had always belonged to him. You could feel yourself get carried away again, forgetting that this was just something he and you did now.
And then he froze.
“Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t have a condom.”
You were too far gone to even care anymore. Cupping his face, you pulled him into another messy kiss, beyond delighted when he moaned, still rubbing his length through your slick folds with a want that rivalled your own. “Put it in.”
Caleb gritted his teeth. “Pips, thats–”
“I’m on birth control,” you kissed his jaw. “And I trust you. I’ve always trusted you.”
That was undeniably the truth. He was the one person in the world that you didn’t have to think twice about when it came to anything, no matter what the situation. He blinked down at you, pupils blown wide with desire but somehow still so focused on you, holding your sides so gently as he hesitated, silently dealing with the conflict in his head.
“I…..are you sure?”
Oh, this sweet, considerate boy. How could you not love him? The thought was instantly forced to be a passing one as you push it away, refusing to acknowledge it.
“Caleb, if you don’t stick your dick inside of me right now, I will cut it off.” The threat earned you a winded chuckle from his end, the strain in his face from holding back so painfully evident. Realising he needed another push, you looked into his eyes, bucking your hips against him and licking your lips as you purred. “Now, fuck me.”
There was a reason you phrased it like that. Crude and so filthy, the words set out a challenge for him. If there was one thing you knew about Caleb, it was that he could never back down from a challenge. His eyes darkened as he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them together above your head with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance.
Without another warning, he slammed into you, once again covering your mouth to soften the obscenely loud broken moan that left you. He pressed his fingers against your lips, smirking mischievously.
“This is what you wanted, hmm?” He groaned in your ear as he fucked you hard, making it increasingly difficult for you to stay silent. You knew he was doing it on purpose, remembering how he had briefly confessed that he liked it when you were vocal, but here? Here it was risky and stupid, and you couldn’t believe how into it you were.
“Yes,” You gasped, biting his hand at a particularly hard thrust, doing your utmost best to keep all your noises to a minimum. He was just so good, and the feeling of him bare inside of you was almost too much for you.
“God baby, you feel incredible,” he panted, never relenting on his pace for even a second. His breathing was heavy in your ear, almost pained, along with soft grunts that only succeeded in making you even wetter.
“So b-big,” you could only whimper, too caught up in it all to speak properly.
He had well and truly ruined you for anyone else. Your heart and mind were at war with each other, but your body was perfectly content with how he held you like this. With nothing between you, he fucked you raw, and it felt so much more intimate than you thought it would have. You could feel everything, hyperaware of every touch and kiss and overwhelming drag of his cock in your sobbing cunt.
For a moment, you almost wished it wasn’t this good. If only you had never succumbed to your desires that day, maybe you wouldn’t have found yourself in this position, fighting so desperately against feelings that felt so wrong and right at the same time. All this was supposed to have been a temporary fix, a means to an end. Not the start of something you could never see through.
When both of you came, it was intense and devastating, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. You could feel him fill you up with his cum and as you went limp, one last terrifying realisation making itself known to you.
It wasn’t just sex.
A shattered breath escaped you at the revelation, and you shut your eyes, trying to reason with yourself one last time, but to no avail. Caleb surrounded you completely, holding you up upright with so much care, so deliberately, that it made total sense why you felt this way. With unending affection, he pulled you against him and kissed the crown of your head.
“Thats my girl.”
Except you weren’t. And it would be better for everyone if you remembered that.
You were writing.
It had been so long since you had been able to write like this, but the ability had come rushing back to you all of a sudden. Your fingers flew across your keyboard as you steadily typed, focused and satisfied at the work you were producing for the first time in months.
It was two in the morning when you finally snapped out of your concentrated state, yawning as you shut your laptop. Stretching, you quietly padded to your bathroom to get ready for the night and go to bed. You couldn’t believe you had written almost half of the sex scene when even the prospect of starting it had sounded so unachievable not too long ago.
Courtesy of Caleb, you had plenty of material to pull from.
You splashed water on your face, hoping the cool temperature of it would help you stop thinking about him. To say you were frustrated with your feelings was an understatement; you outright despised them.
This was your fault, you knew damn well it was. If you were going to get a fuckbuddy, it should have been someone who you weren’t so close to, someone you had no personal connections with. Anyone but the best friend you've had since you were seven years old, who you knew like the back of your hand, who knew you like it was second nature to do so.
Gripping the sides of the sink, you shut your eyes, grounding yourself to the moment. Part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How on earth did you let yourself get in such a predicament?
You needed it to stop. For these confusing feelings to leave before things got even more complicated than they already were. Somehow, you needed to forget about them.
But how could you possibly do that? How were you supposed to forget the deliberate way he kissed you, or how good he made you feel when he looked at you that way? How were you supposed to get the scent of his cologne out of your sheets and closet, or pretend like you didn’t know what it was like to be touched by him?
How on earth were you supposed to get over being in love with him?
You didn’t even notice him walking in.
Writing for your book again meant that you had fallen behind quite a bit when it came to the work you had due for the paper. As a result, you had to stay behind and work late on the articles you had to present to Jenna, stuck at your desk in the newsroom when it was almost nine-thirty at night.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Your eyes flickered up to find Caleb standing in front of your desk, one hand stuffed in his pockets and the other holding a bag of takeout from a diner that both of you liked. He gave you a soft, knowing smile that made your mouth go dry.
“Hey,” you straightened up in your seat, knowing that your posture tended to get worse the longer you wrote for. “You were looking for me?”
“Not exactly.” He grabbed a chair and parked it next to yours, sitting down. “I just figured you’d be working and forget to have dinner.”
“Oh.”
He was right, and you would have been embarrassed if this hadn’t happened before. Wordlessly, he began unpacking the takeout he had gotten. “Take a break for ten minutes and eat, okay?”
This was just like him. Knowing exactly when you needed to be taken care of while being well aware you could do just fine by yourself. You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him, apprehensively nodding slowly.
“Okay.”
You grabbed a fry and began to chew, turning to face him and away from the computer. He looked the same as always, unkempt hair and all. It was like he knew you were tired and a little out of it today without you even having to tell him, falling into a comfortable silence as he ate with you.
There wasn’t another soul in this world that knew you so intimately. In the past, this wouldn’t have scared you, because you were so used to him and the ways he fit into your life so perfectly. Now, it frightened you to no end, reminding you of how much you had to lose when it came to Caleb. He was the most precious person in your life, which made it so much easier to fear losing him.
If there were rules when it came to having a best friend, you were certain you had broken all of them. Number one: Don’t sleep with your best friend. Already off to a rough start with that one, it seemed, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore. Number two: Don’t fall for your best friend. You doubted you even needed to go over the rest of the rules. Breaking those two had caused you enough damage.
Finishing up his food, he took a sip of his soda, noticing you were watching him intently. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t quite decipher the look in your eyes. It almost felt as if you were hiding it from him on purpose.
He tilted the soda cup to you, silently asking if you wanted some of his. You leaned closer and took the straw in your mouth, taking a couple of sips before looking away.
Something was off. “Is everything okay?”
You pressed your lips together and gave him a half smile. “Yeah, everything's fine.”
Caleb narrowed his eyes at you, reaching out and propping a finger under your chin, lifting your face so you were forced to look at him.
“Pipsqueak,” He mumbled, dropping his gaze to your mouth for a split second, but it was enough to make you feel like you were set on fire. Like you were made of porcelain, he swiped his thumb next to your lower lip, rubbing away a stray crumb that had stuck there from your food. Then he looked at your mouth again, subconsciously leaning towards you as if he was about to kiss you.
Immediately, you jerked out of his touch. Guilt ate away at you when you noticed how he reacted to this, the flash of hurt that passed over his face as he frowned. As much as you hated being the cause of it, the way he was looking at you has started to inexplicably hurt. You were unable to stop the tenderness that unfolded in your chest anymore. It was potent, too real to fight against.
“We should stop.”
The words were out of your mouth before you could think about them any further, inciting confusion. He retracted his hand, the corners of his furrowed eyebrows tilting upwards. “Dinner? Because we’re pretty much done with that anyway.”
You could have taken advantage of his confusion and put this conversation off for a while, but you knew that letting this go on any longer would end up being torturous.
“No, Caleb,” You looked away, trying to ignore the way your throat seemed to close in on itself. “I’m not talking about dinner.”
“Then what are you talking about?” His voice took on that impossibly soft tone it did when he was trying to understand how you were feeling to properly help or sympathise with you. It was something he did when you were younger and got hurt, and he wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t dealing with it alone.
Sucking in a breath of air, you looked down at your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. “I think we should stop having sex.”
A beat passed. You could feel the weight of his stare on you. “Okay.”
You weren’t sure where to go from there, your heart pounding within your ribcage like it was trying to escape. The light from your computer felt too harsh and the ticking of the clock hands was unnaturally loud in the stiff silence that settled over the two of you. Clearing his throat, he spoke again.
“Did…Did I do something?”
“No,” the caution yet dejected way he said it made you blurt that out quickly, refusing to let him think something was completely wrong. “You didn’t. At all. It’s just…..” You trailed off, biting your tongue and regretting bringing this up already. “I….I wrote the scene.”
“The scene?”
“The sex scene. In my book.” The awkwardness in your cadence is foreign to your ears and his. You had never been so apprehensive around him because you had never had a reason to. This was a first you despised vehemently, scorning the way you had to phrase everything so delicately, as if you didn’t, the damage caused would be irreparable.
“Right.” Now he had an unreadable look in his eyes too, matching yours.
“Right,” you echoed softly. “So there's no reason for anymore…...research.” Because research had spiralled into forgetting your regular roles when it came to each other. Research had made you aware of feelings that had been dormant your entire life and should have stayed that way.
In an ironic twist of fate, you had literally fucked around and found out.
“I see.”
You didn’t know what possessed you to keep talking when it was so obvious that both him and you wanted nothing more than to move on from this conversation. You risked a glance at him to find him aimlessly tracing the edge of his soda cup, eyes trained on the straw. “So we can go back to being just friends. Regular friends.”
The clarification made you wince. When his eyes met yours again, you were surprised to find something different in the way he looked at you– those dark purple depths swirling with an intensity that superseded their usual levels, startling you.
“We’ll always be friends, Y/n.”
Caleb didn’t call you pipsqueak. A minute detail that shouldn’t have shaken you at all, and yet here you were stuck on it in spite of the fact that he had just agreed to being friends again. Or rather, the normal definition of friends, because you weren’t ever anything more than that. You swallowed, turning back to your computer.
“Okay. I should get back to working on this article.”
Your dismissal of him was quiet but obvious. The air had started to get suffocating and you needed as much space from him as you could get until you sorted out the mess in your head, one that was your cross to bear. Your fault.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and get to his feet, turning to leave, but hesitating for just a moment.
It was only when he exited the newsroom that you realised it wasn’t any easier to breathe without him there. It felt even harder now, like someone had their foot over your chest and was putting all their weight on it, letting gravity do the rest of the work. You pushed yourself away from your desk, the wheels under your chair smoothly rolling away until the back of it hit the wall behind you.
Even the impact of that wasn’t enough to shock you out of your misery. Surely, love wasn’t supposed to feel as cruel as it did right now, like claws sinking into your skin and making you bleed. It shouldn’t have felt wrong, but you knew that it was. Perhaps this was retribution for allowing yourself to indulge in something that was so clearly off-limits to you.
A familiar pressure built up behind your eyes as you turned resentful. The sting of your sorrow manifested as tears welled up and caught in your lower lashes. You shut your eyes, but not before those tears slid down your face, cementing the bitter, indisputable reality of your heartbreak.
Caleb stayed away.
He had known damn well that whatever was between the two of you wasn’t forever. It wasn’t even real, solely for the sake of your writing and the book you were so proud of. It was his fault for getting caught up in it all and expecting you to never call it off, to stay in that limbo with him forever.
Saying no to you was something he wasn't capable of. Not when he was ten and you were eight, and you wanted the last piece of cake even though it was his favourite flavour. Not when he was fifteen and you used to beg him to let you wear his shirts because you liked how oversized they were on you. Not when you would give him puppy eyes and sweetly ask him to cook those braised chicken wings you loved so much.
And not when you needed help with writing about sex.
Even if it went against all his morals and everything he had forced himself to believe for the past twelve years he had known you. He had held himself together around you for as long as he could remember, hands to himself and thoughts strictly friendly. Caleb was used to the best friend role. He was good at playing it, even when the script pained him to recite, he did so anyway with a smile on his face.
Because smiling back at him was you. It was always you, with your bright eyes and angelic laughter.
Caleb had accepted this role when he was only nine years old and had stuck to it ever since. He let it consume him, living in ignorant bliss as he silenced the pleas of his heart and what it wanted, no, begged for.
How was he supposed to know where to go from here? The script had deviated too much for him to return to its safety. He knew how your lip gloss tasted, sweet and inviting and maddening, just like everything else about you.
So he stayed away from you and your cherry lip gloss, hoping the marks it had left all over him would fade.
It had been almost two weeks since Caleb last set foot in the newsroom.
Jenna was overjoyed and Tara was suspicious. The latter asked you where your ‘boyfriend’ was, to which you refused to look at her as you muttered the reminder: he’s not my boyfriend. It felt like you were reminding yourself more than her, lacking any of your usual annoyance.
You supposed this was your fault as well. It wasn’t like you had made any effort to reach out either, stuck in your pathetic little cycle of self-pity and fear. You felt his absence, though, cutting deep into you and leaving you with a Caleb-sized hole in your life. The last time you experienced something like this was when he left for university for the first time and you were finishing up your senior year, suddenly having to deal with not having him around for months on end.
At least he was calling you back then, and when you joined him at university, it never happened again. You hadn’t realised what a big part of your life he was until he was missing from it.
God, you missed him.
You missed that stupid, smug chuckle of his when he knew you were getting riled up because of something he said, and his terrible sense of humour. The smirk on his face when you were losing an argument, and how he’d stick his tongue out when he was concentrating on something. Hell, you missed the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought you.
After you finished your work for the day, you walked out of the newsroom and down the hallways of the university building. The cool evening air swept around you, making you think of one of Caleb's jackets that was still in your dorm from the last time he had been, draped over your desk chair. You almost wished you had it with you right now.
Your feet carried you to the dining hall, reminding you of your need to eat through the wall of your troubled thoughts. It was not so much hunger as it was a necessity. Your appetite had been less than robust these past few days, your emotions weighing you down in more ways than one. You didn’t have him to remind you to eat or sleep, or run like a normal human being.
Grabbing an apple to appease your stomach, you bit into it and looked around, mentally going over everything else you had to do that day. Start an essay you had due the next week, beg the members of your group to do their parts of the presentation that was worth a whopping thirty percent of your grade and polish the last scene you had written for your book.
It turned out that your turbulent emotional state had translated into you being more productive than ever, throwing yourself into your studies and writing like you had never before. Anything to avoid thinking about him and what you felt. An unhealthy coping mechanism for sure, but it worked for you.
Kind of.
Unable to stomach anything else, you tossed the core of the apple into a nearby dustbin and left the dining hall, eager to make it back to your room. You hadn’t slept very well lately, and you wanted to get all your work out of the way before crashing. Sleeping, you discovered, was another excellent course of action to take when you wanted to avoid facing something, and at least it wasn’t downright unhealthy. The dark circles under your eyes would certainly thank you.
When you turned the corner, he was there.
Caleb stood there, just a few paces away from you in all his six-two glory. His back was turned to you, but you knew it was him, deep in conversation with his friend, Gideon. You were unable to do anything but stare, your pulse picking up in speed at the sight of him. You wondered if the chasm he had created between the two of you had affected him as much as it had you.
When he bid farewell to Gideon and turned, you panicked. When he saw you, you remained rooted to the spot, watching as his steps faltered and came to a stop. He looked almost as tired as you felt, dawdling briefly before speaking.
“Hey.”
Hey. Hey? Was that all he could say after refusing to look your way for over a week? Your apprehension flared up into anger, and you took three furious steps towards him, your docile stare melting into a glare.
“You sure talk a lot of shit about keeping you informed for someone who has been avoiding me.”
He winced. “I wasn’t….avoiding you.”
“Oh really? Could have fooled me.” You scowled at him as you took another step forward. You were pissed, and rightly so, but it stemmed more from how hurt you felt rather than any genuine anger.
Caleb didn’t bother to meet your eyes, opting to look off to the side instead. That stung a little more than you cared to admit. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Have you eaten yet?’ Barely five minutes around you, and he had already jumped into trying to take care of you. It was so infuriatingly like him.
Every time he didn’t want to face something, he would deflect and redirect the conversation. Your years together had taught you well, making it impossible for him to sidestep you even if he tried. You could tell he was avoiding you even when you were right in front of him.
“Stop changing the subject.”
You watched as his jaw tightened and relaxed, something he did when he was conflicted. All his tells were so laughably obvious to you, and yet you couldn’t make heads or tails of how he was acting right now, so forcibly distant and detached, like being close to you was painful. Your eyes burned.
“Do you hate me?” You asked, hating how your voice suddenly sounded so feeble. His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and defiant.
“I could never hate you.” The finality in the way he said it told you he was telling the truth, and yet, you couldn’t help but fall victim to the doubt creeping into your mind. He was looking right at you now– except he wasn’t really. It was more like he was looking through you.
“Then…then why?” You whispered, taking another tentative step forward. The space that both of you created, consciously or not, was unbearable. You just wanted things to go back to normal, was that so much to ask for?
“I don’t hate you. You just don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand!” You threw your hands up in the air in exasperation, wondering what the hell you had to do to make this conversation go somewhere, because right now it just felt like you were running in circles. “Caleb, please, just tell me why you’re avoiding me, because you are.”
He knew he was and hadn’t a single excuse, other than the reason he swore you never burdened you with. You were looking at him so pleadingly, grasping at straws to figure him out, but for the first time in his life, he found himself unable to give you an answer. Instead, his throat constricted, his anxiety keeping him silent.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Your face crumbled, and upon witnessing it, so did his heart. Your lower lip trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and you bit down on it to stop it from doing so, doing your best to stay composed. Running a hand through your hair, you let out a shaky sigh. “I knew it, I should have never– we shouldn’t have slept together. That should have never happened and now everything is fucked up, and its all because of me.”
Yes. No. The answer wasn’t as straightforward as he needed it to be, and it paralysed him. The anguish you felt was on display for him and anyone who happened to walk by you to see, plain as day, as it twisted your features. It felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut when you backed away from him.
Turning away, you walked off. You had ruined things, you were sure of it, and it killed you. Once again, you let the rift between him and you grow with every step you took to escape the crash you had been responsible for.
A hand on your wrist. You gasped as he caught you, spinning you around and forcing you to face him once again.
Caleb had followed you into the gardens.
“Do you regret it?”
The question cut through you, and you gaped at him. The fervour you were so used to seeing in him suddenly returned, burning brightly in his eyes as he pinned you in place with them, his grip on your wrist never letting up. Question for question, with neither of you getting the answers you wanted.
You scoffed, rapidly blinking away the tears that you felt coming on. “If it's the reason things are weird between us, then yes! I do regret it. I need my best friend, Caleb. I need you.”
How could you not need him? He was your constant, the one person who had been by your side through thick and thin. You needed him in your life, by your side, in whatever way you were allowed to, even if it wasn’t what you truly wanted anymore.
He let go of your wrist. “I can’t do it.”
Your biggest fear was coming true right in front of your very eyes, and you hadn’t the faintest idea of how to stop it. It was taking form, bleeding into existence. You were losing him.
“You can’t do what?”
“I can’t be your friend. I just can’t.” He shook his head, shutting his eyes like he couldn’t bear to look at you.
Your voice comes out weak. Small. “But you said we’ll always be friends.”
“Well, I lied, okay! I can’t be your friend, not when–” He sucked in a breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in, stopping his outburst before it could happen. It wasn’t fair to you, none of this was, but he was at his breaking point. “I could do it before, but not anymore.”
“Why?” You whispered, those tears you had so valiantly fought off surging back. Once again, you felt like you had been trampled on, pinned down by a merciless gravity that had no regard for your need to breathe. You weren’t sure there was a reason to fight against it anymore.
He looked up at the darkening sky, deflating. Staying away from you hadn’t made it any better– if anything, it had only made it worse, his yearning to be beside you bubbling to an all-time high. There wasn’t a point in hiding anymore, not when it was turning out to be detrimental rather than soothing.
“Because,” he paused, peering up at the cloudy sky. He couldn’t see the stars. “I can’t go back to being your friend when I’ve tasted you. How am I supposed to act like I’ve never kissed you when I’ve had you in my bed? To pretend like I don’t know how it feels to have you like that? God, Y/n, I can’t do it.
Caleb, whom you had viewed as strong and untouchable all your life. Caleb, whom you had endlessly looked up to, sounded almost tortured, like it pained him to even have to tell you this.
“What are you saying?”
You hoped you didn’t look as terrified as you sounded. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from beneath you, but the ground underneath it was falling apart too, leaving you to stumble around and try to find your footing amidst the cracks that remained. If you fell now, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to get up.
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You had already fallen, and hard.
Caleb was stripped of his usual self-assuredness and confident smile. He was laid bare there in front of you, fixing you with a look that was so pained it tore through you.
“I’m in love with you.”
The confession ripped through you, although you didn’t register it at first. Those five words felt so improbable to have been said by him to you of all people that the only thing you could feel was disbelief. It just didn’t make sense. Why would something you longed to hear so badly be said with such sadness?
He mistook your stunned silence for aversion. He should have stopped there, given up and walked away, but now that he had finally, finally let it out, it was hard to stop. It was like a dam had broken within him; everything he had ever kept to himself when it came to you rushed out all at once.
“I’m in love with you, Y/n,” he said again, scoffing slightly at himself. No nicknames, just your name spoken in that reverent tone, like you were a divine being he was a devout follower of. “And it kills me because I know you’ll never see me as anything more than a best friend. You’ve made that very clear, and I never want to overstep, so I stayed away from you.”
“Caleb–”
He didn’t let you cut in. “I could do it when I didn’t know what it felt like to have you as something more than friends. The moment we crossed that line, it was all over for me. I would be your friend until I died if I didn’t know.” His hands were shaking, but they stayed by his sides, fingers curled into frustrated fists as he rambled.
“I–”
“But I can’t, Pips. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be your best friend when I’ve loved you my entire life.” And you’re falling all over again, gravity pulling you down, down, down as something unfurled in your chest. “So please just–”
“Goddamnit Caleb, would you just shut up for one fucking minute!?”
You hadn’t meant to snap, but he was seriously to piss you off, going on and on without giving you the chance to speak your mind. Immediately, he clamped his mouth shut, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection he had imagined too many times to count in his head. You, on the other hand, thought you were going to faint, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. It was everything you had convinced yourself was impossible.
And yet…
You kept your eyes locked onto his as you closed the distance between the two of you, so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, combating the chill in the evening air. Swallowing, you asked.
“You’re in love with me?”
He clenched his jaw and nodded. He knew what the consequences were, he was ready for them. It was about time he faced the truth anyway.
What he didn’t expect was for you to start laughing.
You clamped a hand over your mouth as incredulous laughter left you, eyes practically sparkling. Oddly enough, it sounded a little watery, like you were crying at the same time.
And then he realised you were, in fact, crying, tears streaming down your face. Alarmed, he stepped forward and cupped your face, instinctively wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. This did nothing to dampen your hysterical laughter as you leaned into his touch.
“What the fuck?” He muttered, concern overtaking his previous, heartsick expression. “Are you dying or something?”
“Or something,” you managed to get out, gripping his arms, “We’re so stupid.”
“That…..okay, I’m officially confused. And a little scared.”
“Caleb,” you whispered once you stopped giggling, lethally soft. You looked up at him adoringly, eyes shining and tinged slightly red from your tears. “I’m in love with you, too.”
He froze, mouth falling open. He didn’t have to say anything, though, because honestly, he had said enough. It was your turn now.
You leaned further into his touch, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I only realised after….after everything that happened between us.” You flushed, trying to word it as delicately as possible. “And I drove myself crazy because I thought you’d never see me that way–”
“I’ve always seen you that way.” He breathed out, those captivating eyes of his trained on you in wonder. Butterflies came to life in your stomach.
“– So I called it off. I said we needed to stop because I was so scared I’d lose you.”
By the time you finished, you were both staring at each other wide-eyed. His grip on you tightened, one hand falling to your waist as he tugged you closer.
“You love me?”
“I love you,” you nodded. “It just took me a while to figure it out.”
“Pipsqueak.” You had never been more grateful than you were right then to hear that stupid petname. “Oh my god, we are stupid.”
Without another word, Caleb pulled you into a kiss. You reciprocated instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you smiled against his lips, unable to contain yourself anymore. He kissed you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, holding you like you were precious, which to him, you undoubtedly were. It was your first proper kiss with him without any pretence or excuse surrounding it, and you couldn’t have asked for more.
Chuckling when you dissolved into more giddy giggles, he wiped away any stray tears from your face and rested his forehead against yours. After all these years waiting and hoping that you’d feel the same way, he knew he’d never let you go now.
“I love you, too.” It was a relief to say out loud and to your face, coming out of hiding and letting the truth of his feelings sit out in the light. You pecked his lips again and hugged him, revelling in his warmth and the delight of your feelings being returned. Your best friend loved you back, and everything in the world made sense again.
“Don’t be my best friend,” You mumbled fondly, cheek against his shoulder as you laid out your final request. “Just be mine.”
He smiled, an expression so dazzling you’d never forget it. “I’ll always be yours.”
When Caleb looked back at the sky, he could see the stars.
“Are you done?”
“Shh.”
You rolled your eyes, flopping onto the pile of plushes on your bed as you pulled out your phone and went through your messages. To be fair, it had barely been two minutes since you handed him your laptop, but you were impatient, wanting to know what he thought as soon as possible.
Caleb’s eyes were focused on the screen as he read, humming occasionally as he scrolled through the scene. If anyone had told you a year ago that you’d be letting him read a part of your writing, let alone a sex scene of all things, you would have either laughed in their face or had a mental breakdown.
Yet here you were. Life sure had a sense of humour.
Finally, after an agonising ten minutes, he spoke. “Wow.”
“Is it good?”
He shut your laptop and put it back on your desk carefully, before walking over to where you were. Then, he dropped himself onto the bed as well, purposely caging you in his arms and making sure you were trapped under his weight. Squealing, you hit his arm playfully.
“Caleb!”
Your boyfriend laughed mischievously, lifting his head so you could see the smirk that curled on his lips. “It was good. Very good.”
You sighed in relief. “Thank god.”
“So I must be really good in bed, huh?”
There it was. You groaned as you tried to push him off of you, even though you knew it was a futile task. “Don’t even try, you smug asshole.”
“What?” He asked, dripping in faux innocence. “I mean, you did use me for research purposes. Is it not a fair assumption to make?” He was so proud of it, and knew damn well that the entire sex scene he had just read had been falicitated because of him. Every part of it had been pulled from things the two of you had done, the thought of which made your skin heat up and your cheeks burn.
“You’re so annoying,” you huffed, giving up on trying to get him to stop squashing you. Instead, you adjusted, curling into him. Accepting this, he switched your positions, pulling you on top of him and resting his chin on your shoulder.
“You like it.”
“Unfortunately.”
You yelped when he pinched your side, but it dissolved into giggles when he began peppering kisses all over your face. Slipping his arm around your waist, he held you close, grining against your skin. If you had to stay like this forever, in his arms and under the glow of his radiant smile, you would be content.
“You’re an amazing writer, Pipsqueak,” he cradled your face in his hands, his love for you so achingly obvious in the way he looked at you that you wondered how you had never noticed it before. Rubbing his fingers against your cheek, he kissed your nose. “It would be just as great even if I hadn’t– uh– assisted.”
Though you snickered at him, you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming at his praise for your work. “I’m glad you did though,” you let him pull you closer, arm looping around your waist as you propped a leg over his. “Otherwise we might have never figured our shit out.”
He snorted. “Thank god for research. You would have kept me in the friendzone forever.”
“Hey!”
He silenced any further protests that you could have made, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. All possible complaints fled your mind the moment he did, eagerly kissing him back. You didn’t think you’d ever get enough of this and you had no idea how you had survived for so long while denying yourself of it.
Caleb had loved you for twelve years, steadily standing by your side and holding your hand even when you couldn’t see it. He had walked beside you through it all, the highest of highs and lowest of lows, lifting you up high over his shoulders with a grin on his face. He would never leave you behind, because he was your home. The one you had grown up with and wanted to wake up to everyday for the rest of your life.
He had taught you love without imposing it on you, silently showing it to you with every little thing he did. Your best friend. Your love. It had taken you a long time to catch up, but when you finally made it to the finish line, you found him waiting there for you patiently, holding out his hand for you to take.
The next time Tara called him your boyfriend, you didn’t correct her.