You spend the day before your birthday focused on being productive, fully expecting to spend it all alone again. Exhausted from maintaining focus for so long, you fall asleep by accident, earlier than usual.
You wake, half asleep and confused, to the sensation of the mattress shifting beneath you. It smells faintly of apples? And you don't remember turning the lights off. You let out a soft noise of confusion, and you hear a vaguely familiar voice gently shush you in return, leading you to turn to face the sound. You don't feel as scared as you probably should.
You look up with bleary eyes, finding your relatively new friend Caleb climbing into bed beside you. You do have a crush on him, yes, but you've only known him for a couple of months. Why is he here...?
"Caleb? What...?" You try to sit up, but a gentle flex of his Evol keeps you in place as he settles in, his purple eyes gazing into your own with a stare so intense it felt like he could see straight through to your skeleton.
"Shh, hey, no need for that. I didn't mean to wake you." He shifts a bit closer. You can feel his breath on your face as it leaves behind a faint scent of mint. He cups your face in his palm, moving slowly to give you a chance to pull away if you're frightened. You don't. His hand is warm and soft against your cheek, and you find yourself leaning into it.
"I was plannin' on surprisin' you, since you're usually up pretty late. I figured I could be the first one to wish you a happy birthday." His voice is steady and calm as he explains, almost making it seem as if what he's doing is completely normal. You've never told him your birthday. "But you're all tuckered out, huh? Y'know, I brought your favorite snacks and everything." You've never told him your favorite snacks. "I guess I still am the first one to wish you happy birthday, though, huh? It's past midnight."
Alarm bells should be going off in your head, and yet you don't pull away from his touch. He's always incredibly friendly and kind to you. What reason could you have to distrust his intentions? You find yourself nodding dumbly along with his words, earning you a chuckle from his soft lips.
"But why...?"
"You deserve to have a happy birthday, honey. Were you really gonna have one if you were all alone?" His eyes look kinder, gentler than before.
You hesitate for a few moments, but unable to come up with a rebuttal, you just shake your head no. Caleb hums, snaking his hand from your cheek around to gently caress the back of your neck. He's never touched you like this before, and it feels nice.
"Do you really want me to leave?" He whispers, leaning a bit closer. You shake your head immediately this time. He smiles a bit wider than before as he begins to lightly scratch at your scalp, testing the waters.
"Then c'mere, yeah? Let me hold you." You melt into him as he carefully pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you and guiding you to tuck your face into the crook of his neck. His body is pleasantly warm against your own, and you can hear his unhurried, calm heartbeat thumping in his chest.
He starts to rub your back in slow, steady circles, dissolving away whatever tension was left in your body as you go boneless in his grasp. You feel more content now than you have in a long, long time, maybe even years.
"If this is a dream, I don't wanna wake up," you mumble, your voice losing its coherency as you begin to drift off. But Caleb understands you nonetheless.
"You're not dreamin'. And to prove it to you, I'll still be right here when you wake up, alright?" You nod sleepily, not quite fully comprehending what he means, but still knowing he's speaking sincerely.
"G'night, 'leb," you yawn before your eyes fully droop closed, sleep following soon after.
"Good night, honey. Happy birthday. I promise you'll never spend it alone ever again."
stalkerleb! who already has a list of baby names he came up with sitting in his notes app. he’s already planned out every single second of your future together. it’s not fair that you’re so ungrateful, so unco-operative when he tries to woo you into putting his ring onto your finger and move into the home he built for you, just you, for the rest of your life and just let him be your husband and have his baby.
stalkerleb! who’s clinging onto you for dear life as you try to shut the door to your apartment. he didn’t mean to punch the living daylights out of your date. it’s not your fault you can’t recognise a bad man, caleb’s just trying to help! ‘that man was going to hurt you’, he explains, fingers desperately digging into your thighs as you semi-drag him across the carpet of the corridor, like dragging a tearful puppy on a leash, ‘that man doesn’t know you like I do! and I know everything.’
stalkerleb! who’s seething in jealousy, watching you welcome some cardiologist ‘just-a-friend’ into your home. he knows what’s going to happen. the cameras he installed (in the housewarming gift he got you) and the peephole he drilled (into the empty walls of your bathroom) also help. you’re having dinner with that guy now. and…now you’re in bed with him. caleb punches the screen of his monitor, sending shards of glass everywhere.
stalkerleb! who’s curled up outside your door when you wake up the next morning. he’s been there all night. when zayne tries to leave, the door hit something hard. zayne looks down and sees caleb hunched right outside by the threshold, his eyes bloodshot as he almost immediately starts a brawl with him right then and there. if you hadn’t intervened, there would surely be a few broken parts.
stalkerleb! who begs you for your forgiveness on his knees when you found out about the camera and the peephole and god knows what else. he really didn’t mean to invade your privacy like that (he definitely did) but you’re so hard to pin down! if you just moved out of your cheap little apartment and into his house that he specifically made and decorated just for you, you wouldn’t be having these problems.
stalkerleb! who laughs when you block him on all of your socials. who chuckles when you change your number. he’s delusional enough to believe that any little bit of attention from you is positive for him.
stalkerleb! who replaced the staff at your local police station with his men. when you go running to them to report caleb, they seem rather unbothered. they promise to send the file through though, so don’t worry! except the report only reaches caleb at the top. he promptly tears your fearful report of your ’stalker’ into pieces and keeps watching you through the feed.
stalkerleb! who has a big fat grin on his face as two real, uncorrupted policemen haul him away, the metal shackles of his handcuffs jingling with every step. his nose is bleeding (obviously he hadn’t gone down without a fight). finally, after months of unease, your stalker has been arrested. but something tells you this isn’t the last time you’ll be seeing him…
EXTRA! stalker!perses who, as a politician, influences the election results to ensure that it turns out the opposite for what you wanted. you worry it’s not safe for you to live here anymore. perses’ au is set in a dystopia, after all. and when you’re distraught, he comes over, offering his dearest condolences. ‘daww…don’t be sad, pipsqueak. you’ll be safe, as long as you’re with me.’
tw: canon-compliant after caleb's death, grief, stalking, mc is unaware of the hidden cameras, possessive caleb and possessive zayne, kind of manipulative, comfort sex but with a dark twist, implied sexual content
—
The silence in Caleb’s makeshift surveillance hub was absolute, broken only by the low hum of computer fans and the frantic, animal rhythm of his own heart. He’d been back for seventy-two hours. Seventy-two hours of watching you move through your apartment like a ghost, your eyes hollow, fingers tracing the edges of things he’d once touched. The grief he’d seen, raw and debilitating, had been a perverse kind of balm. It proved you were his. Your pain belonged to him.
Then Zayne had walked in.
Caleb’s knuckles were white around the edge of the desk. On the central monitor, split into four grainy but clear angles, Zayne stood in your living room. He was calm, an ice floe in the storm of your emotions. Caleb could read your lips, the shaky confession. “I thought he was gone. I was so alone.”
Zayne’s response was inaudible, but Caleb saw the way he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away tears. A physician’s gesture, but tainted. Caleb knew the difference. He’d installed the cameras to keep you safe, to always have a window back to his sanctuary. Now, it was a window into his own desecration.
“Don’t touch her,” Caleb growled at the screen, a useless command in an empty room.
Zayne’s movements were deliberate, slow. He guided you to the sofa, never breaking contact. Caleb watched as Zayne’s lips moved against your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.
You didn’t pull away. You leaned in, a drowning woman clinging to driftwood. Caleb’s breath hitched as Zayne’s hands, those precise, clinical hands, slid from your waist to the hem of your shirt. He didn’t rush. He peeled the fabric away with a surgeon’s patience, his eyes never leaving yours, even as Caleb saw the deliberate, almost imperceptible shift of Zayne’s gaze towards the bookshelf—towards the hidden lens in the clock.
He knows.
The realization was a bolt of lightning, crackling through Caleb’s veins. This wasn’t just comfort. This was a performance. A declaration.
On screen, Zayne laid you back against the cushions, his body covering yours. His kisses trailed down your throat, over your collarbone, each one a calculated brand. Caleb watched, paralyzed, as Zayne took his time, worshipping your body with a methodical intensity that was somehow more intimate than passion. He mapped you with his mouth, his fingers tracing patterns Caleb recognized—the path he craved to take.
A cold, furious understanding dawned on him. Zayne had studied you. Studied him.
“Look at me,” Zayne murmured, his voice a low, clear thread picked up by the room’s audio.
He tilted your chin, forcing your glazed eyes to focus on him. “You’re here with me. Only me.”
Caleb saw it then, the flicker of Zayne’s eyes towards the camera again, a flash of icy triumph in those usually impassive depths. It was a challenge.
Watch. See what I can give her that you cannot. See how she answers to me.
The act itself was a slow, exquisite torture. Zayne entered you with a controlled, deep push that made you arch off the sofa, a broken sound escaping your lips. He set a relentless, measured pace, each thrust a precise stroke designed to unravel you.
He whispered against your skin, words Caleb couldn’t hear but could imagine—lies about being there, about being present, about being real. He held your hands, pinned them gently above your head, showcasing your surrender. He angled your body, turning your face towards the camera’s hidden gaze as pleasure began to fracture your expression.
Caleb was shaking, a fine tremor of pure, undiluted rage. He saw every detail. The sheen of sweat on Zayne’s back, the way your fingers dug into his shoulders, the silent cry that contorted your face as Zayne drove you over the edge. Zayne’s own finish was eerily quiet, a sharp intake of breath, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his body tensing in a wave of release that was both genuine and theatrically displayed. He held himself there for a long moment, a possessor claiming his ground.
Then, as you lay breathless beneath him, Zayne lifted his head. He looked directly into the camera lens, his gaze sharp and knowing, cutting through the digital distance to spear Caleb where he sat. A faint, cold smile touched his lips—a smirk of absolute victory. He leaned down and placed a soft, deliberate kiss on your swollen mouth, a seal on his conquest.
The feed didn’t waver. Caleb sat in the dark, the images burned into his retinas. The scent of your apartment—vanilla and linen—was a memory in his nose, now poisoned with the phantom smell of Zayne’s cologne and sex.
He had come back from the dead to reclaim his life, his love. But Zayne, with his icy calculation and surgical cruelty, had just performed a vivisection on that dream. Caleb saw it all, framed in high definition. Not just the betrayal of your body, but the careful, pointed annihilation of his claim.
The rage curdled, settling into something colder, darker, and far more dangerous. This wasn't over. It was a chess move, and Caleb, the master strategist, had just been checkmated in his own game. But the board was still set. And Caleb played very, very dirty.
The screen glowed in the dark room, a silent testament to his absence and Zayne’s presence. Caleb finally moved, leaning forward to rewind a specific segment—the moment Zayne looked into the lens and smiled. He hit play. Rewound. Played again. Each time, the cold fury solidified, turning to a diamond-hard resolve.
Zayne had made his point. Now, Caleb would make his. And he would ensure the doctor regretted ever laying a hand on what was his.
Alright I'll take the deal and ask you for a fanfic knowing you may never write because I really love the way you write your stories 😭
What do you think of a slight yandere!caleb who has put hidden cameras all around MC's home?
I'd like to request this scenario of him setting cameras in order to """keep MC safe""" (and totally not because he's obsessed) and during one of his regular checks of the bedroom camera he finds out Zayne and MC not only have been sleeping together but also trying new stuff to spice their relationship up.
It's totally okay if you don't feel like doing this one, I'll keep supporting you either way 💝💝
tw: canon-compliant after caleb's death, grief, stalking, mc is unaware of the hidden cameras, possessive caleb and possessive zayne, kind of manipulative, comfort sex but with a dark twist, sexual content, jerking off, voyeurism, oral sex
—
The silence in Caleb’s makeshift surveillance hub was absolute, broken only by the low hum of computer fans and the frantic rhythm of his own heart. He’d been back for seventy-two hours. Seventy-two hours of watching you move through your apartment like a ghost, your eyes hollow, fingers tracing the edges of things he’d once touched. The grief he’d seen, raw and debilitating, had been a perverse kind of balm. It proved you were his. Your pain belonged to him.
Then Zayne had walked in.
Caleb’s knuckles were white around the edge of the desk. On the central monitor, split into four grainy but clear angles, Zayne stood in your living room. He was calm, an ice floe in the storm of your emotions. Caleb could read your lips, the shaky confession. “I thought he was gone. I was so alone.”
Zayne’s response was inaudible, but Caleb saw the way he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away tears. A physician’s gesture, a friend’s comfort but tainted. Caleb knew the difference. He’d installed the cameras to keep you safe, to always have a window back to his sanctuary. Now, it was a window into his own desecration.
“Don’t touch her,” Caleb growled at the screen, a useless command in an empty room.
Zayne’s movements were deliberate, slow on purpose. He guided you to the sofa, never breaking physical contact. Caleb watched as Zayne’s lips moved against your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.
You didn’t pull away. You leaned in, a drowning woman clinging to driftwood. Caleb’s breath hitched as Zayne’s hands, those precise, clinical hands, slid from your waist to the hem of your shirt. He didn’t rush. He peeled the fabric away with a surgeon’s patience, his eyes never leaving yours, even as Caleb saw the deliberate, almost imperceptible shift of Zayne’s gaze towards the bookshelf—towards the hidden lens in the clock.
He knows.
The realization was a bolt of lightning, crackling through Caleb’s veins. This wasn’t just comfort offered to a grieving friend. This was a performance. A declaration.
On screen, Zayne laid you back against the cushions, his body covering yours. His kisses trailed down your throat, over your collarbone, each one a calculated brand. Caleb watched, paralyzed, as Zayne took his time, worshipping your body with a methodical intensity that was somehow more intimate than passion. He mapped you with his mouth, his fingers tracing patterns Caleb recognized—the path he craved to take.
A cold, furious understanding dawned on him. Zayne had studied you. Studied him. And now he knew exactly how to take what he thought was his to take.
“Look at me,” Zayne murmured, his voice a low, clear thread picked up by the room’s audio.
He tilted your chin, forcing your glazed eyes to focus on him. “You’re here with me. Only me.”
Caleb saw it clear as day then, the flicker of Zayne’s eyes towards the camera again, a flash of icy triumph in those usually impassive depths. It was a challenge.
Watch. See what I can give her that you cannot. See how she answers to me.
The act itself was a slow, exquisite torture. Zayne entered you with a controlled, deep push that made you arch off the sofa, a broken sound escaping your lips. He set a relentless, measured pace, each thrust a precise stroke designed to unravel you, brand you and make you his only.
He whispered against your skin, words Caleb couldn’t hear but could imagine—lies about being there, about being present, about being real and never to leave like he did. He held your hands, pinned them gently above your head, showcasing your surrender. He angled your body, turning your face towards the camera’s hidden gaze as pleasure began to fracture your expression.
Caleb was shaking, a fine tremor of pure, undiluted rage. He saw every little detail. The sheen of sweat on Zayne’s back, the way your fingers dug into his shoulders, the silent cry that contorted your face as Zayne drove you over the edge. Zayne’s own finish was eerily quiet, a sharp intake of breath, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his body tensing in a wave of release that was both genuine and theatrically displayed. He held himself there for a long moment, a possessor claiming his ground.
Then, as you lay breathless beneath him, Zayne lifted his head. He looked directly into the camera lens, his gaze sharp and knowing, cutting through the digital distance to spear Caleb where he sat. A faint, almost cold smile touched his lips—a smirk of absolute victory. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your swollen mouth, a seal on his conquest.
The feed didn’t waver for even a second. Caleb sat in the dark, the images burned into his retinas. The scent of your apartment was a memory in his nose, now poisoned with the phantom smell of Zayne’s cologne and scent of sex.
He had come back from the dead to reclaim his life, his love. But Zayne, for all intents and purposes, had just performed a vivisection on that dream. Caleb saw it all, framed in high definition. Not just the betrayal of your body, but the careful, pointed annihilation of his claim.
The rage curdled, settling into something colder, darker, and far more dangerous. This wasn't over. It was a chess move, and Caleb, the master strategist, had just been checkmated in his own game. But the board was still set. And Caleb played very, very dirty.
The screen glowed in the dark room, a silent testament to his absence and Zayne’s presence. Caleb finally moved, leaning forward to rewind a specific segment—the moment Zayne looked into the lens and smiled. He hit play. Rewound. Played again. Each time, the fury solidified, turning to a diamond-hard resolve.
Zayne had made his point. Now, Caleb would make his. And he would ensure the doctor regretted ever laying a hand on what was his.
—
Caleb had underestimated Zayne.
Mature, calm Dr. Zayne, always the prodigy, always the rational one who made the best decisions and was unshakable. Never one to play dirty. Never one to resort to little games.
Maybe it was the fact that Zayne left for a decade that gave Caleb the impression he had the upper hand in this. He had been there for you when Zayne wasn’t. Surely, there was no question to be asked, was there? Caleb had you under lock and key, at least that’s what he told himself.
Always playing the caretaker, taking care of you, being there for you, supporting you through your struggles with the Hunter exams and training. Tried his best to play that role for you, but was it really enough for him anymore?
It all crumbled down the day Zayne came back into your life. While he was away in Skyhaven, Zayne took the opportunity to sneak back into your life under the guise of playing doctor with you. It hurt Caleb that he wasn’t the only one you could rely on. The only one to help you, keep you safe. Now there was also Zayne, and as much as Caleb hated to admit to himself, you needed him.
Zayne took too much space in your life, and that was evident even before the accident that blew your house down, alongside Caleb and Josephine. Caleb saw it with his own eyes, but lied to himself long enough to believe it, too. That no matter how close Zayne came, he will never be closer to you than him. He was almost sure you wouldn't choose that—choose Zayne over him.
But oh, what a fool he had been.
Because all it took for Zayne to claw his icy thorns into your skin, your mind and your heart was for Caleb to be gone. A perfect opportunity for Zayne to weaponize your grief and paint it as comfort, enough for him to break down all your walls and take you for himself.
Zayne was a cold-blooded strategist. Caleb had underestimated him.
And now the only thing left was hundreds upon hundreds of images, recordings and live feeds of your apartment, and all the times Zayne made it his mission to manipulate you with kind words of comfort, warm hugs that turned into kisses, then into undressing, then into what Caleb hated the most to see, yet he was replaying those over and over and over again.
The sex.
Since that first time Zayne weaponized your grief and shock over the news that Caleb was alive, since you let him have you and your grief and your body. Since Caleb watched every second of Zayne making love to you on that sofa, all the while smirking coldly at the hidden camera, as if he knew he already won the game he wasn’t aware he was playing.
Caleb almost broke the screens in front of him, almost. He knew he had to get himself under control. He wouldn’t lose to Zayne. Maybe you had a lapse in judgement and gave your body away to soothe the ache of losing and regaining Caleb as a piece in your life.
You were overcome with emotions, and Zayne was there. He wasn’t going to blame you for using Zayne in that moment. So he told himself as he replayed the videos of Zayne burying himself into you, his own mind ringing with the moans of pleasure you let out with every controlled thrust. He convinced himself it was grief. Confusion. Lust, even. And that you didn’t actually want Zayne.
But how could he lie to himself longer, when it just kept happening? Once was a mistake. It could be blamed on the fact that you weren’t thinking straight. It was easier to do that.
And yet, it happened a second time. Then a third. A fourth. Caleb saw every single one of them, knuckles bone-white gripping the desk, jaw so tight it gave him headaches. And eyes glued to the screens where his worst nightmare kept replaying in different fonts.
Zayne kissing you against the kitchen counter in the morning after you first had sex together, and you hugged him so tight it hurt him to watch. Hurt him to see you cling to Zayne for comfort, when you should have clung to him instead.
And it wasn’t just that. There were recordings upon recordings that Caleb couldn’t excuse anymore. Recordings of Zayne fucking you against the wall near the entrance door, and you kissing and clinging to him just as fiercely. Of Zayne kneeling in front of you in the kitchen, hands gripping the dress as he inched it higher and higher. And you were already guiding his head between your legs, head thrown back in pleasure as he steadied you against the counter.
He could blame Zayne all he wanted for taking advantage of you. He could lie to himself that you found a rebound in Zayne. But it was harder and harder to do than when he saw, clear as day, as you reached for him more and more every time. Draping yourself in his lap, seeking to kiss him as your hips sought out pleasure.
Your face looked so blissed out every time, so fucked out and unguarded. As if it was easy for you to bare yourself to Zayne. As if it was what you needed, to be taken apart by cold hands and icy hazel eyes and sweet nothings he must have singed into your ears as he took you to the edge and over, time and time again.
Caleb could deny it, make excuses for it. Could point the blame to Zayne. But the truth is, the blame was all his.
He should have never left you alone. Should have never let Zayne become part of your life again. Caleb was smart and resourceful, and he had connections. All he needed to do was take you far away from Linkon, far away from him. Lock you away in Skyhaven and bring you the best doctors, the best researchers. He would make damn sure he cured you and your heart and Zayne won’t be in your life anymore.
You didn’t need him. Not when Caleb was right there, ready to be anything you wanted him to be. Ready to give you everything, as long as you never sought out anyone else. As long as you never left him.
He knew what he had to do. Beg for forgiveness, make a show out of it. He knew exactly how to play his cards right in order to make you forgive him for keeping things secret from you. He would make damn sure you forgave him for ever leaving you stranded after the explosion, and for leaving you vulnerable for others to take advantage.
Of course, he would be careful not to ever imply anything about Zayne to you. No, that would only make you angrier, sadder. Would make you suspect him of keeping more secrets from you. He would be careful, he would play his cards right. Caleb was sure he can make you realize on your own you don’t need anyone beside him. Especially not Zayne.
But until then, he couldn’t do much else but watch. Eyes sharp and angry, jaw tight and hands fisted, he watched the four grainy screens as Zayne, once again, was making love to you. He couldn’t bear to see how compliant you were for him, yet he also couldn’t look away.
He had to know just how much Zayne had brainwashed you, so he could know what to do and say to turn you against him. To make you choose him over Zayne out of your own volition.
You were sprawled on your bed, hands carefully tied against the bedframe, legs parted wide open. He could see Zayne’s broad shoulders blocking the view of what was transpiring between your legs, and Caleb’s jaw ticked in anger because he knew you must be a mess for him. Your stockings were ripped along the thighs, and Zayne was kissing his way upwards.
He watched how you looked down at him, like he could give you all that you dreamed of. You were biting your lip, eyes glassy and half lidded. Almost pleading with your gaze alone for more. Caleb almost couldn’t take it as he watched you struggle softly against the bindings, obvious that you wanted to reach for Zayne once again, touch him or bring him closer.
Did you trust him that much? To let him tie you up, rip your clothes off and do what he wanted to you? Is that what you wanted, to be used and fucked and dominated in bed? He always imagined you pliant and submissive, eager to take whatever was given to you. And he had always fantasized it was him giving all to you.
However, the reality was much crueler.
You gave yourself to Zayne tonight all over again, as you did plenty of times over these past months. Eager to spread your legs and have him devour you with his mouth. Make your spine arch off whatever furniture Zayne sprawled you on, mouth hung open in pleasure. He saw it all, how your body responded to every touch. Every place Zayne’s hands and mouth branded you. Every inch of skin he never even got to touch, yet Zayne conquered all.
It was even more deranged that Caleb was hard in his pants because of it. Because he never even got the chance to see you naked, to touch your bare skin. To kiss you and confess to you. To make you understand you were his.
He could only curse himself as he watched Zayne fuck you on the screen, while his cock twitched hard in his pants. He had installed microphones with some of the cameras in the apartment, and this was one of them. Hidden behind a picture frame, he could hear your sweet moans that grew louder and louder with every little slurp sound that came from between your legs where Zayne’s mouth has been for the better part of the last ten minutes.
Caleb knew there was something fucked up with him, and he knew that despite everything happening right in front of his eyes, he was no saint. He unzipped his pants and gripped his rock-hard cock in a fist that was almost too painful, making himself hiss. Leaking all over his hand, his gaze had his target locked, so he began to stroke himself fast while he watched Zayne eat you out.
You were trembling, moaning and panting hard, body thrashing slightly under Zayne’s mouth. His jaw ticked again, body tense and boiling with rage, yet he only stroked himself faster and faster.
“Fu-uuck, shit…” his head tilted, licking his lips as his eyes trailed over your sweaty, needy body. “Say my name, pips. Fuck, you taste so fucking sweet, want you to cum for me…” his hand moved faster, the precum making everything slicker. He could almost imagine it was your own arousal slicking him.
He was close, his cock painfully hard, and all he desperately wanted was for him to be there, lapping at your needy pussy instead of Zayne. He deserved it all, deserved to make you feel good, to make you cum and soak his face in your release he desperately craved for years. And then make you beg for more, make you confess how badly you want him and only him.
And then he would give it to you, bury his cock deep inside, fill you up nice and sweet and brand you as his, forever. He stroked himself harder, eyes glued to your face, watching your eyes roll back.
“Beg me baby—shit. Moan my name, and I’ll give it to you—” Caleb almost growled, body trembling from how close he was to cumming. So close, so wrong, yet he was too far gone. Zayne must have changed something, because he watched in real time how your back arched off the mattress, hands gripping at the restraints, and then you were a babbling, trembling mess.
“Gonna—nghh ‘m gonna cum… yesyesyes, please Zayne… fu-uckkk hah…” was all Caleb heard in his own fucked out state, and then you were screaming Zayne’s name over and over again.
It was over. Spluttering all over his hand, Caleb cursed out loudly, closing his eyes for just a second as he reached his own orgasm. He couldn’t even focus on how sweet you sounded, how fuckable you looked, how needy and empty and desperate to be filled you were.
His ears and mind were ringing with the single name he hated with every fiber of his being. You were calling out to him, not Caleb. Never Caleb, not anymore. Now you were reaching out for someone else. Someone he will make sure to get rid of.
Zayne.
hiii! thank you for your little request~ hehe, someone actually sent a similar request over to my other blog a while back and i wrote the first part of this back then! buuut i felt inspired to write more on it after you left me this ask, so the second half is new~ hope you enjoyed it!🤭 p.s. not proofread
How long has it been since you last visited the down town bar or how many times did you sip your drink before you started to feel the effects of it? How many taps do you subconsciously do on the side while waiting for the community dryer located in your building do you do before deciding to finally pull out your phone to check if you have any messages or chips you bought from the vending machine near buy did you eat before finally getting up and taking out said clothes? Bites of your sandwich that you made just cause in your cozy apartment or the amount of times you passed by a certain section at your local grocery store before finally deciding to get a certain item?
You don’t recall because you’re not really thinking about it. But do you know who does? Caleb.
See, you wouldn’t even guess because he’s your childhood friend but he’s been watching you for a long time now. Especially since his return, he’s noticed that you have made some new friends and he just wishes to protect you. Even if it means hiding inside your apartment every night and watching your every move, He wants to make sure his dear friend isn’t getting into trouble. You’d forgive him later once you’re his and these other nuisances disappear due to things that have everything nothing to do with him start happening.
Every action, word, look and fidget you do he knows and records. He doesn’t miss a thing and knows what makes you tick. Your dreams, your nightmares, your fears…all of it and if he truly wanted to, he could be either the man of your dreams or the very thing that drives you to madness. Either way, he knows and he’s going to wait until he completely under how to approach and win you over. And if he fails…well, he won’t. He never does. How could he? He made it back to you so how could he fail?
He won’t. He can’t. Not if he’s planning on being with you always.
