cw: cannibal talk(iβm vegetarian irl, im fine i promise)
as someone who got their dad sent to prison when they were 13, i think i have a unique look on toby and my connection with him.
my influence mostly comes from the NBC Hannibal show (as I am the #1). i watched it when it was coming out and i was 10, so instantly my little mind attached to Hannibal as a father figure. Mads made him tasteful and lovable. with the addition more of Hannibal Rising, we learn that his cannibalism comes from a place of love. so basically i was raised much more casually around the subject of cannibalism and i think that affects how i see toby.
to me, his cannibalistic urges are less violent and more all-consuming love. NOW HEAR ME OUT. we know heβs the type of guy to physically cover you with his body: big sweaters draping off his arms as he holds you as close as he can, your face hidden under all the layers of him. if he could hide you away, he would. he has a small cabin that is hidden from the government, just in case you say you want him to be all you know for the rest of your life. soul-crushing obsession is a good way to describe him.
now imagine if you will a Toby who hates his urges and, oh, hates the way his mouth waters when your shirt rides up and he sees that pocket of fat that always takes his teeth marks. he tries to hide it from you, shame rising in his neck as you turn to look back at his desperate self. turning his head away because he isn't sure how long he can look and not act. he just loves you that much, loves you enough to want you in every way, but he also loves you enough to look away when it gets too much.
its pretty obvious by now what he thinks of when you tilt your neck back and he grinds his teeth and scoots farther away from you.
"do you ever think about eating me?" you finally ask when it's just you two in your room. hes laying on the floor and you're on your bed.
he shoots right up and looks at you with dread, shame, and worst of all, temptation. its like looking at a man about to relapse. he thinks to himself about how he should even respond. how would you even like him to respond? but the silence is enough of an answer. usually people would jump to their own defense in this case and say no. Toby was silent, like you knew he'd be.
you are silent like he is, just staring at the ceiling.
"you know, i don't need an appendix-"
"shut up. sh-shut up right n-now" he begs in a low voice that lets you know without even looking at him he needs you to shut up.
you finally look over to him and see him. its not a pretty sight and that's saying something considering you've seen his bone poking out before.
"β¦ what?" you whisper and flip to your stomach so you can look at him easier.
"I love you. d-dont make me thi-think about that. cause we b-both know we shouldn't pl-play those g-games." he rasped as he sat up more.
"what if I'm serious?" you ask as softly as you can, your voice barely making it past the sound of your fan, but it rang in his head like wedding bells.
"dont be." he hissed.
"but I am, toby."
"t-then I'd beg for I-it."
"thats a darling boy," you tease as he crawls up onto the bed with you.
his hands quickly sliding up your shirt, pulling it off as he got closer and throwing it onto your pillow. Once he was finally on you, his teeth ached to find a home in your skin.
"I want th-this." he mumbled and pressed a kiss on that exact spot of fat he dreams about. "I want this" he continues to kiss up your abdomen. "I w-want this"
he kisses all the way up to your throat, only biting when he just cannot hold it any longer, his fingers equally as painful and loving.
"I want you." he finally admits and presses a kiss to the corner of your lips. "as m-much as you can g-give me." he whispers and finally looks you in the eye.
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TW!! - suggestive, yan!toby, somnophilia (not really, just anticipated), GN!reader, requested by anonπ
Toby has a terrible time when it comes to emotions, we all know that
His anger is messy, his sadness and regret eats at him everyday untill he's buried himself into a self hate grave
Not to mention his hyper fixations that can last for years at a time if he remembers it, talking himself into s circles for hours at a time, whether to himself or anyone who could stand listening to the same topic for days on end
so when you become his idol of fascination, it's nothing different, if anythingβits worse.
years of abuse in a household can teach you many things, how to forge a signature of someone twice your age, how to lie, and of course, how to walk around with no one knowing you exist.
but it's kind of hard to do that when your body refuses to follow commands, considering your little trinkets breaking due to him would only make him pity himself
so he stuck to being outside , near your windows, on your patio, even on your roof if he wanted to stare at the sky for a bit
but his absolute favorite place of your house would have to be your bedroom
its a vulnerable place, where you had to after a shower, where you doomscroll on your phone, where you cry into your pillow, where you touch yourself....
but he doesn't like your bedroom because of your duvet (even though he has had his fair rimes of inhaling them for minutes at a time while you're at work)
no, he likes your bedroom because he can finally stand inside, watching you sleep
drooling and snoring , you fade off to dream land as he stands above you, ticking and almost foaming at the sight of your sleep shorts riding up as you shifted
he could graze your thighs and face as much as he wants, but despite his very detailed fantasy, he can't bury himself between your thighs.
because that would risk waking you up, and that's a whole thing he'd rather not deal with at the ripe hour of midnight
he finds your late nights adorable too
staring at you as you forced your eyelids to remain open as you stare at the college assignment, nodding of on your laptop
sometimes he breaks in, gently opening your window and stepping inside, embracing the warm aura of your cozy house
carefully sliding the laptop from under your slumped form, tucking you in and cutting off your light
β. summary αͺ You ordered a custom dildo that perfectly matches your big-brother-figure Calebβs dick. Caleb ordered a pocket pussy that perfectly matches your's. Neither of you knows the toys are synced to the real thing. Now every time one of you fucks your toy, the other feels itβlike ghost sex on steroids. Youβve both spent months thinking youβre being haunted by the supernatural while secretly fucking each other senseless through the wall. The feedback loop goes haywire. No one is surviving this vacation with their sanity intact.
β. content warnings αͺ pseudocest, og cn gege/meimei trope, heavy dubcon, masturbations, unsolved sexual tension, zero communications, guilt, denial, forbidden desires, sexual frustration, mutual yearning, usage of sex toys, magical sex toys that secretly link to other person's body, mutual fucking, semi-public/public, double penetration, extreme tightness + involuntary orgasms, excessive cumming/squirting, porn with little no plot . . .18 + β MINORS DNI !
β. wc αͺ 6k+
β. cherryβs note αͺ this is probably the weirdest scenario I've written so far... took me some real good TIME to finish...
βAnd thatβs the last box,β you huff, letting the cardboard thud against the scuffed hardwood near the doorway. You straighten up straight, rolling your shoulders, wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist. The tiny apartment looks like a warzone of luggage and flat-pack furniture Caleb swore you βabsolutely neededββhis credit card, his orders, his quiet, stubborn way of still taking care of you even when heβs hundreds of miles away.
Linkon City air tastes different. Sharper. Lonelier.
Youβve been here three weeks and it still doesnβt feel like home. Maybe it never will without him barging through the door, scolding you for leaving dishes in the sink or for forgetting to eat again.
A sigh slips out as you kick off your sneakers. Shower first, chaos later.
Clothes hit the floor in a careless pile. The bathroom is barely big enough for one person, but the water pressure is perfectβhot, punishing, exactly what your sore muscles crave. Steam fills the cramped space, fogging the mirror, swallowing every reflection that isnβt you.
You tip your head back, letting the spray pound against your throat, your collarbones, sliding down between your breasts. The heat loosens something inside your chest.
Calebβs face flashes behind your closed eyes uninvited. Always uninvited, yet always there.
Sharp jaw. Tired eyes that soften only for you. The way his pilot uniform hugs his shoulders now that heβs filling out, taller and broader every time he comes home on break. The way he still calls you βlittle pipsqueakβ even though youβre not little anymore.
You shouldnβt.
You really, really shouldnβt.
But your hand is already moving, gliding over slick skin, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your navel, lower.
βYou mustβve felt this heavy too, gegeβ¦β you whisper to the steam, voice trembling with guilt and something darker. βAll alone in Skyhavenβ¦ in that big empty house with no one toββ
Your fingers slip between your thighs, parting swollen folds, finding yourself already soaked and it has nothing to do with the shower.
A broken little sound escapes as you circle your clit, slow, teasing, the same way youβve imagined he would if he everβGodβif he ever let himself unravel like this.
βMmhβ¦ gege, are you worried about me?β The words come out filthy, breathless, wrong in the best way. βDo youβ¦ think about me when youβre alone too?β
You press two fingers inside yourself, curling, pumping, thighs shaking. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit and your hips jerk forward like youβre fucking your own hand, like youβre chasing a ghost that wears his face.
Youβve never touched each other. Not once. Not beyond lingering hugs that lasted too long, not beyond his thumb brushing your cheek when you cried after graduation, not beyond falling asleep on his shoulder during long flights home and pretending both of you didnβt notice how neither moved away.
But you know.
You both know.
βC-Calebββ His name cracks in your throat as you come undone, clenching hard around your fingers, knees nearly buckling. Water pounds over you like itβs trying to wash the sin off your skin, but it canβt reach the stain inside your chest.
You stay there until the water starts to cool, forehead pressed to the tile, panting, ashamed, and still aching for him.
Because even an entire city apart, even with new lives and new rules and the Hunter Academy waiting to swallow you whole tomorrowβCaleb is still the only home you want to go back to.
And youβre terrified he wants to come back to you too.
You step out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but steam and guilt, skin still tingling, cheeks flaming hotter than the shower ever got. Droplets race down your neck, your spine, between your ass cheeks; every trickle feels like a reprimand. You donβt even bother with clothes. You just belly-flop onto the bed, wet hair fanning across the pillow, and immediately start flailing like a dying shrimp.
βStupid, stupid, stupid!β you hiss, kicking the sheets, punching the mattress, rolling side to side until the towel finally gives up and falls open. You lie there spread-eagle, panting at the ceiling like it personally offended you.
You miss your stupid, overprotective, stupidly hot gege this much.
Itβs pathetic. Youβre pathetic.
You need to do something about it before you lose the last shred of your sanity.
With a groan you drag the laptop Caleb bought youβmatte black, way too expensive, has a little fighter-jet sticker he slapped on the lid as a jokeβ onto your stomach and flip it open. Fingers hover over the keys for half a second before shame loses the fight.
You type: βbest sex toys for beginnersβ.
The screen explodes with color and silicone and words like βthrustingβ and βsuctionβ and β10 vibration patternsβ. Your eyes go wide.
βOh WOWβ¦β
You scroll, jaw literally on the floor, until you hit the prices and wheeze. Eight hundred dollars for a rabbit vibrator? Who has that kind of money? Certainly not a broke freshman hunter living off instant noodles and Calebβs guilt-money transfers.
You slam the laptop shut, fling yourself backward again, and whine at the ceiling.
βToo broke for thatβ¦ damn, I canβt even get a proper dildo shoved up into my pussy, life is unfairββ
Ding ding.
Your phone lights up on the nightstand. Unknown number. A link.
Normally youβd ignore it. Today youβre desperate and dumb, so you squint, see β70% OFF FLASH SALE!!β in screaming red letters, and click before your brain catches up.
The site that loads is⦠questionable. Neon pink, flickering banners, probably one virus away from stealing your soul. But front and center is a product that makes your heart stop.
βUpload a photo, choose vein pattern, pick warmth settings; experience the exact cock youβve always dreamed of.β
Your mouth goes dry.
Thereβs a little heart icon that says βMost Wishlisted Item of the Yearβ.
You shouldnβt.
You really, really shouldnβt.
But your finger is already over the βCustomize Nowβ button and your thighs are already squeezing together remembering how your own fingers felt pretending they were his.
Ten minutes later youβve uploaded the clearest photo you have of Calebβhim leaning against the cockpit of his fighter, flight suit half-zipped, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. You pick the length youβve definitely never measured in your head while hugging him goodbye, the exact girth your dirty imagination has circled back to for years, the upward curve youβve caught a glimpse of once through his sweatpants and never recovered from.
Veins: raised, prominent, just like the ones on his forearms when he carries your luggage without breaking a sweat. Warmth setting: βalways hot, like he just worked outβ. Internal texture: βtight but yielding, the way you bet heβd feel if he ever snapped and pinned you down.
The total, with the sketchy discount, is suspiciously low. Delivery: 3β5 days, discreet packaging.
Your finger hovers over βPlace Orderβ. Morals scream. Pussy throbs harder. You hit the button before you can talk yourself out of it.
Order confirmed. You drop the phone like itβs on fire, roll facedown into the pillow, and muffle a scream thatβs half horror, half unbearable anticipation.
In three to five days, youβre going to fuck a perfect replica of the cock belonging to the one person youβre never, ever supposed to want.
And you already know youβre going to call it gege while you do.
Five days of checking the mailbox like a lunatic. Five days of that stupid website 404-ing every time you tried to track the order. Five days of punching training dummies with your entire soul while screaming internally about getting scammed out of your last paycheck for a ghost dick.
βFUCK, IT WAS A SCAM!β you snarl, slamming an uppercut into the dummyβs throat so hard the stuffing starts leaking, βWHAT WAS I THINKING!β. Your squadmates give you a wide berth, whispering. Whatever. Let them think youβre unhinged. You are unhinged.
Then your phone buzzes against your hip. Package delivered.
You donβt even wait for the instructor to dismiss you. You just bolt, boots pounding pavement the whole way back, lungs burning, sweat cooling on your neck in the evening air. The second the apartment door slams behind you, you spot the box.
Plain brown. No labels except your name in printed font. You drop to your knees like a woman possessed, nails clawing at tape, ripping cardboard like it owes you money. The lid flies off. And you stop breathing.
Nestled in black satin is the most obscene, perfect, terrifying cock youβve ever seen.
Itβs huge. Stupidly, ridiculously huge. Thick veins snake up the shaft, only these are flushed dark, pulsing faintly with the built-in warming tech. The head is that deep brownish-pink, flared and glistening from whatever hyper-realistic coating they used. Heavy balls hang low, weighted, shifting slightly when you nudge the box.
You donβt remember setting the length slider this high.
You donβt care. Your mouth actually waters.
βOh wowβ¦β It comes out strangled. You fall back onto your ass, legs splayed, staring at the thing like it might stand up and walk over to you itself. βOh my god.β
Your pussy clenches so hard you feel it in your throat.
You havenβt even taken your sweaty training gear off and youβre already dripping down your thighs.
You pick it up with both handsβjesus, itβs warm, heavier than expected and the second your fingers close around the shaft it pulses again, like it knows who it belongs to.
Like itβs been waiting for you just as long as youβve been waiting for him.
You press the thick head against your cheek without thinking, dragging it down to your lips, breathing in the clean, new-silicone scent mixed with whatever insane tech makes it smell faintly like his cologne.
βFuck, gegeβ¦β you whisper against the tip, voice cracking.
The toy throbs in your grip like it heard you.
You have never sprinted to lock your bedroom door faster in your life.You donβt make it to the bed.
The second the lock clicks youβre already peeling off your sweat-soaked clothes, sports bra flung somewhere, shorts kicked aside, panties dragged down your thighs and left dangling off one ankle. The toy is still in your grip, hot against your palm, veins pulsing faintly with the internal heater like it has a heartbeat.
You drop to your knees on the rug, legs spreading wide without shame, back hitting the edge of the mattress. The thick head nudges your lips and you open instantly, greedy, tongue flattening against the underside as you take the first few inches into your mouth. Itβs too big; your jaw aches immediately, drool already spilling down your chin, but you force yourself deeper, gagging softly, eyes watering.
You pull off with a wet pop and a broken moan.
βNeed you inside me, gegeβ¦ pleaseββ
You flip onto all fours, ass in the air, face buried in the sheets that still smell like the detergent he used to buy for both of you back home. One hand reaches back, guiding the fat tip through your soaked folds, coating it, teasing your clit until your thighs shake.
Then you push.
The stretch is obscene. Your pussy flutters, resists, then gives all at once. A strangled cry rips out of you as the first half sinks in, thick veins dragging against your walls, that perfect upward curve kissing spots youβve never reached with your fingers. You claw at the sheets, hips jerking back on instinct, taking more, more, until your ass meets the heavy silicone balls and youβre stuffed so full you canβt breathe.
βF-fuckβCalebββ
You pull forward until only the head remains, then slam back. The impact makes you scream into the mattress. Again. Harder. Faster. Your tits bounce with every brutal thrust, nipples dragging against the rug, thighs slapping against silicone like theyβre slapping against his hips.
You lose count of how many times you fuck yourself on it. You lose language. All that exists is the wet, filthy sound of your cunt swallowing him, the burn in your thighs, the way your clit throbs every time the base grinds against it.
You flip over, legs thrown wide, knees hooked over your elbows so you can watch. Watch the way your pussy lips stretched thin around his cock, watch it disappear inside you again and again, slick coating everything, dripping down your ass, pooling on the floor.
βLook what you do to me, gege,β you sob, voice wrecked. βLook how wet you make meβhow empty I am without youβfuck, Iβm such a slut for youββ
Your free hand flies to your clit, rubbing frantic circles, and the orgasm barrels into you like a freight train. You squirt, actually squirt, a gush that soaks the toy and your thighs and the rug beneath you. Your walls clamp down so hard the dildo almost slips out, but you shove it deeper, riding the aftershocks, grinding, crying his name like a prayer.
You donβt stop.
You canβt.
You pull it out only long enough to flip the toy around and shove the slick head against your ass, teasing, not quite brave enough yet, but the thought alone makes you come again, smaller this time, a full-body shudder that leaves you gasping.
When you finally collapse, the dildo is still buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around it in lazy pulses. Youβre trembling, sweaty, ruined. Tears and drool and cum smeared across your face and chest.
You reach down blindly, fingers brushing the base, and give it one last slow thrust just to hear yourself whimper.
ββ¦come home soon, gege,β you whisper to the empty room, voice hoarse. βI donβt think this is gonna be enough anymore.β
The toy stays inside you the rest of the night. You fall asleep clenching around it, dreaming of the real thing finally splitting you open.
β
β
Skyhaven, DAA parade grounds, 18:47 local.
Caleb is standing at parade rest, flight jacket crisp, medals gleaming, trying to look like the perfect poster boy for the Deepspace Aviation Academy while the brass drones on about honor and vigilance. The formation is dead silent except for the wind whipping the flags.
Then it starts.
A faint tingle at the base of his spine. He shifts his weight, ignores it. Probably just nerves.
Gideon elbows him from the left. βDude, you good? Youβre sweating bullets.β
Caleb forces a laugh, teeth clenched. βYeah, just hot in this jacket.β
The tingle turns into heat. A slow, syrupy, pooling right behind his balls. His cock twitches once, then again, harder, like someone just wrapped a fist around it and squeezed.
He locks his knees to keep from swaying.
The sensation climbs. Something slick and impossibly tight slides down his shaft, inch by inch, swallowing him whole. His breath stutters. The wet spot blooming at the front of his dress pants is impossible to hide now; he angles his body behind the guy in front of him, praying nobody notices.
Another squeeze. A rhythmic drag. Something soft and spongy kissing the tip over and over and over.
His vision whites out for half a second. He breaks formation without permission, muttering a choked βbathroomβ to Gideonβs startled face, and bolts.
He barely makes it to the nearest restroom, slamming the lock, back hitting the door as his trembling fingers rip his belt open. The second his cock springs free itβs flushed angry red, leaking like a faucet, veins bulging exactly the way you spent hours customizing.
He doesnβt even touch himself.
He doesnβt have to.
The feeling slams into him again: tight, wet heat clenching around him, riding him hard, fast, merciless. Invisible hips slam down, grind, pull up, slam down again. His balls draw up so tight it hurts.
βF-fuckβ!β The moan tears out of him; he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back, hips jerking into empty air like heβs fucking someone bent over the sink in front of him.
Every thrust feels real. Too real. He can feel slick walls fluttering, a cervix nudging the head on every brutal stroke, the phantom slap of skin on skin heβs never actually heard but somehow knows by heart.
His knees buckle. He grips the porcelain with white knuckles, forehead pressed to the cool mirror, panting like heβs running a marathon.
βAhβshitβstopβpleaseββ he doesnβt even know who heβs begging.
The pace only gets rougher.
He comes without warning, a broken cry muffled against his own arm, thick ropes painting the sink, the mirror, his dress shirt. His cock jerks and jerks like itβs being milked by a throat, a pussy, something greedy and possessive and familiar.
The orgasm doesnβt stop. It rolls straight into another, smaller but sharper, and his legs finally give out. He slides down the door until heβs sitting on the cold tile, cock still half-hard, twitching with aftershocks, cum dripping down his fist even though he never stroked himself once.
Chest heaving, he stares at the mess in dazed horror. βWhat the fuck was thatβ¦?β
Three hundred miles away, youβre still sprawled on your bedroom floor, impaled on the toy, whispering his name like a prayer while it throbs inside you.
Neither of you has any idea the link goes both ways. Yet.
Every night for the past ten days itβs the same ritual.
You stumble through the door still in your sweat-drenched hunter uniform, kick off your boots, and donβt even bother with the lights. The second the bedroom door shuts behind you, clothes hit the floor in a frantic trail. Youβre already soaked before you even touch the toy, thighs slick, pussy throbbing like itβs been counting the hours until you get home to it.
You keep the dildo in the top drawer now, wrapped in one of Calebβs old flight academy T-shirts like a dirty little secret. The moment your fingers close around the warm shaft it pulses, eager, like it missed you just as badly.
And three hundred miles away, Caleb starts sweating through whatever heβs doing.
Day 4
You ride it reverse on the desk chair, feet planted wide, rolling your hips slow and deep just to feel every vein drag inside you.
In Skyhaven, Caleb drops an entire tray of coffee in the cadet mess, doubles over the table with a choked gasp, thighs clamping together while his cock leaks helplessly into his boxers. Gideon has to drag him out by the elbow while Caleb stammers something about food poisoning.
Day 6
Youβre on your knees in the shower, toy suction-cupped to the tile, slamming back onto it until your ass is red and the water runs cold.
Calebβs in the middle of a night-flight simulator run. Mid-loop his whole body locks up; he yanks the stick too hard, fails the exercise, and spends ten minutes curled in the cockpit seat coming untouched while the instructor screams over the headset.
Day 8
You canβt wait anymore the second you get home. You donβt even make it to the bedroom. You drop onto the hallway floor, legs over your head, fucking yourself with both holes nowβthe replica so slick from your pussy it slides into your ass easy. You scream his name until your voice cracks.
Calebβs in the barracks laundry room folding clothes. One second heβs fine, the next heβs on the floor, biting his own forearm to stay quiet while his cock jerks and feels violated by invisible forces. He comes so hard his vision blacks out. When he can move again he finds the crotch of his pants soaked front and back and has no explanation.
Day 10
Youβre greedy. You strap the toy to a pillow, mount it like youβre riding him for real, hands braced on the headboard, hips snapping down so hard the bedframe slams the wall in rhythm.
βGegeβfuckβharderβplease, I needββ
You sob it into the dark, tears streaking your cheeks, pussy gushing all over the silicone balls.
In Skyhaven, Caleb is supposed to be asleep. Instead he jerks awake in his bunk with a wounded sound, sheets twisted around his hips, cock so hard it hurts. The sensation hits like a punch: tight, wet heat swallowing him to the root, grinding, milking. Something inside him βhis assβclenches around nothing and everything at once. He shoves his face into his pillow and comes instantly, whole body convulsing, biting down so hard he tastes blood.
When it finally fades heβs shaking, drenched in sweat, heart hammering like he just ran ten miles.
He drags a trembling hand down his stomach and finds his cock still-hard cock slick with his own release and something elseβslicker, warmer, smelling faintly smelling like you.
For the first time, real fear cuts through the haze. Because whatever is doing this to him isnβt random. And itβs getting stronger every night.
Caleb hasnβt slept properly in twelve days. Every night the βghostβ comes back. Every night it rides him harder, tighter, wetter, like itβs learning exactly how to unravel him.
Heβs stopped trying to fight it. He just locks his door, shoves his face into his pillow, and lets the phantom cunt milk him dry while his cock leaks and his ass clenches around nothing and his brain short-circuits with the same voice thatβs haunted him since puberty.
Your voice.
Heβs started jerking off to the memory of it in the showers, biting his own fist so his bunkmates donβt hear him whimpering βpipsqueakβ like a prayer.
Heβs losing his fucking mind.
So when heβs alone in the dorm common room at 0300, half delirious, cock still half-hard from another unsolicited orgasm, he does the stupidest thing heβs ever done in his life.
He googles the symptoms.
Ends up on the same neon-pink, virus-looking website you found weeks ago.
The banner screams: FEEL LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE β NOW WITH REVERSE SYNC!
He doesnβt read the fine print. Heβs too tired, too desperate, too turned on.
He uploads the clearest photo he has of youβlast summer, you in that sundress, laughing at something he said, hair sticking to your sweaty neck.
He customizes everything with shaking hands,outer lips soft and plump, exactly the way heβs imagined a thousand times when you walked around the house in tiny sleep shorts. Inner walls textured like crushed velvet, tight at the entrance, then fluttering deeper. Clit hood pronounced, sensitive node swollen βbecause heβs spent years pretending he doesnβt notice how you squirm when he hugs you too long enough. Warmth setting: βalways soaked, like sheβs been thinking about you all day.β Scent module: the exact peach-and-vanilla body wash youβve used since you were fifteen.
He pays triple for overnight shipping. The box arrives two days later while the entire barracks is out on a weekend training hike. Caleb locks himself in his room, heart hammering like a jet engine.
He tears the packaging open with his teeth. Inside, nestled in black satin, is the prettiest pocket pussy heβs ever seen.
Soft, dusky outer lips, flushed pink inside, already glistening with the self-lubricating gel. Itβs warm to the touch, pulsing faintly like itβs breathing.
He exhales a broken βfuckβ¦ so prettyβ¦β and runs two fingers down the seam, parting the lips gently. The toy quivers. A bead of lube rolls out like itβs already wet for him.
He doesnβt make it to the bed.
He drops into his desk chair, sweatpants shoved down to his hips, cock springing out thick and flushed and already dripping. He drags the head through the slick folds once, twice, coating himself, groaning at how realistic it feels.
Then he pushes in.
The sound that rips out of him is inhuman.
Tight, hot, velvet walls clamp down instantly, sucking him deeper like theyβve been waiting years. The inner texture ripples around his shaft exactly the way heβs fantasized your pussy wouldβfluttering, squeezing, dragging over every vein.
He bottoms out in one brutal thrust and his vision whites out.
βFuckβpipsqueakββ he chokes, hips jerking helplessly. βIs this how youβre supposed to feel? So goodβso fucking realββ
He starts slow, savoring it, pulling out until just the tip kisses the entrance, then sliding back in with a wet squelch that makes his balls draw up tight. The toy makes obscene soundsβsoft, wet, exactly like a real cunt taking cockβand every noise goes straight to his spine.
He loses control fast.
Hands gripping the desk, he starts pounding into it like he hates it, like he loves it, hips snapping hard enough to rattle the chair. The pocket pussy sucks him back in on every stroke, walls fluttering wildly, clit hood bumping his pelvis on the downstroke.
βTake itβjust like thatβfuck, youβre so tight for meββ
He doesnβt notice the way the toy seems to clench harder when he says your nickname. Doesnβt notice the way it gushes fresh slick every time he groans βgood girlβ under his breath.
Three hundred miles away, youβre in the middle of a lecture at the Hunter Academy when your body suddenly locks up. A phantom cockβthick, burning hot, veinyβslides into you from nowhere. Your pen clatters to the desk. You slap both hands over your mouth to stifle a scream as invisible hips slam forward and bury something huge to the hilt inside you.
Your pussy spasms around empty air. Your clit throbs like someoneβs grinding against it. Your chair creaks as your thighs snap together, trying to trap the sensation that isnβt there and is there all at once.
The βghostβ fucks you right there in the lecture hall, in front of thirty other cadets, relentless and deep and merciless.
You cum biting your own wrist so hard you leave teeth marks, tears streaming down your face, soaking through your panties and the seat beneath you while the professor drones on about wanderer migration patterns.
Back in Skyhaven, Calebβs losing his mind in a different way.
Heβs hunched over the desk now, one hand braced, the other brutally fucking the toy up and down his cock, chasing the edge.
βGonnaβfuckβgonna fill you up, pipsqueakβtake every dropββ
He comes with a guttural shout, hips stuttering, cock pulsing so hard the toy overflows. Thick ropes of cum spill out around his shaft, dripping down the silicone lips, painting his fist, the desk, his thighs.
The pocket pussy keeps milking him through it, walls fluttering like itβs trying to drain him completely.
He slumps forward, forehead pressed to the cool wood, panting like heβs run a marathon.
The toy gives one last gentle squeeze⦠almost affectionate.
And somewhere far away, youβre curled in the academy bathroom stall, legs shaking, pussy still twitching with aftershocks, a flood of cum you didnβt make leaking out of you in thick, warm pulses.
You both whisper the same thing at the exact same second, voices hoarse and wrecked and terrified,βWhat the fuck is happening to me?β
β
β
The entire summer break is a slow-motion torture.
You arrive at Bloomshore first, two hours early because the Academy let out sooner than DAA. Grandma hugs you so hard your ribs creak, pinches your cheeks, stuffs you full of peach cobbler and gossip. The childhood house smells exactly the same: sun-warmed wood, sea-salt breeze, the faint lavender sachets she still keeps in every drawer. Your old bedroom is untouched, posters curling at the corners, the same twin bed you used to share with Caleb when thunderstorms scared you.
You dump your suitcase, unzip it, and there it is: the dildo, wrapped in one of his old flight-school hoodies like contraband. Itβs been two days since you last used it and your body is already twitching, thighs pressing together every time you remember how it feels.
You shove it under the mattress and try to be normal. Then the front door opens downstairs and you hear his voice.
βGran squeals, βCaleb, my handsome boy!β
You freeze halfway down the stairs.
Heβsβ¦ bigger. Shoulders filling the doorway, hair longer and tousled from the wind, sunglasses hooked in the collar of a white T-shirt that clings to his chest. Heβs grinning at Gran, but the same crooked smile thatβs been haunting your wet dreams for months.
Then his eyes flick up and find you. βHey, pipsqueakβ¦ and Gran.β
Your stomach flips so violently you almost trip on the last step. You launch yourself at him anyway, because thatβs what youβve always done. He catches you mid-jump like you weigh nothing, arms banding around your waist, laughing low in his chest as you collide.
βYup, gegeβs here. Howβs my meimei doing in Linkon, hm?β
The second his palm settles on the back of your head, petting like when you were kids, every filthy memory slams into you at onceβthe toy stretching you open, the way you sobbed his name into your pillow, the phantom cum that leaked out of you for days afterward.
Your face ignites. You feel the heat of his body through his shirt, the flex of his biceps as he holds you, the faint cedar-and-jet-fuel scent that is just him. You jerk away like youβve been electrocuted.
Your voice cracks on every syllable. You practically sprint past him, suitcase banging against your leg, and disappear into your room so fast you almost take out the coat rack.
Caleb stands there frozen, arms still half-raised, cheeks flushed crimson for reasons he refuses to examine.
Gran raises an eyebrow. βYou two are acting mighty strange.β
He clears his throat, grabs his own duffel, and mutters something about needing a shower.
That night neither of you comes down for dinner.
You lie in your childhood bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on the ceiling together when you were ten, thighs clenched so tight they ache. You can hear him moving around in the room next door, the creak of his old mattress, the low thud of his bag hitting the floor.
You wonder if he brought it too. You wonder if heβs touching it right now. Across the wall, Caleb is wondering the exact same thing about you.
Both toys are hidden under respective mattresses, pulsing faintly like they know theyβre finally under the same roof as their match.
The air-conditioner rattles. Crickets hum outside. The house is asleep.
Neither of you sleeps a wink. And somewhere in the dark, two identical warming circuits kick on at the exact same moment, waiting for someone to break first.
The first night back home, the dam breaks at 2:17 AM.
Youβve been tossing in your childhood bed for hours, sheets tangled around your ankles, thighs slick and aching from the constant low thrum of need that started the second you heard his laugh downstairs. The house is silent except for the distant crash of waves on Bloomshoreβs cliffs and the faint creak of floorboards in the next room.
Heβs right there.
Walls so thin you can hear him breathing if you press your ear to the plaster.
And under your mattress, the toy waits, warm and heavy and calling to you like a siren.
You give in with a muffled curse, fishing it out, fingers trembling as you drag it between your legs. No prep. No teasing. Youβre already dripping, have been since that hug, so you just line up the fat head and sink down in one brutal slide.
The stretch is immediate and vicious, your pussy clenching around silicone veins like itβs starving. You bite your pillow to stifle the moan, hips rocking slow at first, savoring the drag, the way it kisses your cervix on every grind.
In the next room, Caleb jolts awake with a strangled gasp.
His cockβalready half-hard from dreams of youβsuddenly feels like itβs being strangled in velvet. Tighter than ever. Hotter. Wetter. The phantom walls clamp down so hard his vision spots, every ridge and flutter magnified tenfold, like whateverβs fucking him is twice as desperate tonight.
He scrambles for his duffel under the bed, yanking out the pocket pussy with shaking hands. No way heβs enduring this alone. He shoves his boxers down, spits into the toyβs slick entrance, and thrusts in without mercy.
The second he bottoms out, you scream into your sheets.
Itβs like a second cock slams into you alongside the firstβthicker, hotter, splitting you open from the inside. Your walls flutter wildly, stretched beyond reason, the dual sensations overlapping in a filthy symphony: the toyβs familiar curve grinding one spot while the phantom one drags against another, both pounding in perfect sync.
βF-fuckβgegeβwhatββ you whimper, confused and wrecked, hips jerking up to meet nothing and everything. Your clit throbs like itβs being sucked, your ass clenches around air that feels full. You shove the dildo deeper, faster, chasing the burn, tears leaking down your cheeks as your body tries to process being double-fucked by ghosts.
Calebβs teeth sink into his own bicep to keep from roaring loud enough to wake Grandma.
The toy is a vice. His cock feels like itβs being crushed in the best wayβwalls so tight they might snap him in half, rippling and milking with every brutal thrust. Itβs wetter than before, slick gushing out around his shaft like the thing is coming alive, and every time he pulls back it sucks him in harder, deeper, the inner texture fluttering like a heartbeat.
βPipsqueakβshitβtoo tightβgonna break meββ he growls through clenched teeth, one hand braced on the headboard, the other fucking the toy up and down his length so fast his arm burns. His balls slap against silicone with every snap, heavy and aching, the pressure building so intense heβs terrified heβll black out.
You both lose track of time, separated by one flimsy wall, fucking your toys in frantic rhythm without knowing youβre fucking each other.
For you, itβs endlessβthe dildo splitting your pussy while the invisible cock mirrors every move, stretching you to your limits, making you gush so hard the sheets are soaked beneath your ass. You come once with a muffled sob, clenching around both, but it doesnβt stopβthe sensations only amp up, phantom veins dragging inside you, a second head nudging spots that make your toes curl.
βMoreβgege, pleaseβfill me upββ you beg the dark, fingers flying to your clit, rubbing frantic circles while you slam the toy home again and again.
Caleb hears somethingβa faint, wrecked whine through the wallβand it snaps his last thread.
He flips onto his back, legs spread wide, and fucks into the pocket pussy like a man possessed. The tightness is agonizing now, walls constricting so hard around his cock he swears itβs going to cut off circulationβhot, pulsing, fluttering like itβs alive and greedy and his. Every thrust sends sparks up his spine; his free hand claws at the sheets, hips bucking off the mattress.
βTake itβfuck, just like thatβmy good girlββ he rasps, voice hoarse, imagining your face, your body, the way youβd look split open on him for real.
The orgasm hits you both at the same instant.
You arch off the bed with a silent scream, pussy spasming around double fullness, squirting in thick arcs that drench your thighs and the toy. The phantom cum floods youβhot, thick, endlessβleaking out around the dildo, pooling between your legs, making everything slicker, messier.
Caleb comes with a guttural βfuckβpipsqueakββ bitten off against his fist, cock jerking so hard the toy overflows instantly. Cum spills everywhereβhis stomach, the sheets, the silicone lips stretched thin around himβbut the walls keep milking, squeezing tighter than humanly possible, wringing every drop until his balls ache and his vision tunnels.
You both collapse in sweaty, trembling heaps, toys still buried deep, aftershocks rippling through you like shared electricity.
The wall between your rooms might as well not exist.
But neither of you moves. Neither knocks. Neither dares whisper the truth.
Instead, you pull the covers over your ruined body, the dildo still twitching faintly inside you, and pretend your heart isnβt pounding loud enough for him to hear.
Next door, Caleb does the exact same, cock softening in the vice-grip of the toy, a single thought looping in his wrecked mind,
i had one person ask for this and caved, i havenβt written long form stuff like this in awhile and iβve never written smut before so i hope this is good lmfao
Waterboy lays still in his bed. his eyes trained onto the ceiling as his mind runs laps. His room has dimmed since the sun set for the evening. A small puddle lays with him as he stews in his thoughts. Every caring thing youβve said repeats in his head. Every livestream heβs watched plays next. He felt like he knew too much, like heβd uncovered a deep dark secret. His stomach churned as he tried not to imagine your kind words in the voice you use during your lives.
A ping on his phone lights up the room. He canβt help himself. He knows exactly what that notification is for. Slowly he rises, walking over towards his desk. He carefully turns his computer on, hands dripping slightly. He gulps. Anticipation eating him alive as his browser loads. The website pops up, your name at the top of the list. βlive now!β His curser hovers over the link. He could stop right now, close his computer and forget about this. Maybe heβd still be able to face you at work. Maybe. Maybe one last time wouldnβt hurt. He had to check and make sure he was right. A simple investigation.
βW-w.. woahβ Hermanβs eyes widen as he takes you in. Your camera is angles from the neck down. Youβre on what appears to be your bed. Dressed in a baby blue lacy lingerie set. He feels a familiar warmth grow, this time he feels almost shameful about it. He should back out now. Before whatever he can feel fluttering in his chest can bloom.
βHello everyone~ itβs been such a long week, hasnβt it?β God you sounded amazing. Hermanβs hand slowly falls from the mouse. He doesnβt even notice a slight nod he does to your question. His attention fully on you.
βNeed me to help you take a load off?β Itβs the same set up, but this time it feels personal. As if itβs just you two on call. Almost like youβre talking directly to him. He watches your manicured hand run down the soft skin of your chest. Immediately he recognizes the art on your nails. How could he have missed it before? He sees it all now. Thereβs a lump in his throat as he tries his hardest to pay attention. Clues. Thatβs what he was here for. Cluesβ¦ Your hand slowly slides down, teasing the hem of your panties.
βF-fuck.. oh-β Heβs watched you do this a million times. Heβs paid for it. A loyal viewer. One of his hands slides to his crotch, trying desperately to adjust himself. He was aching. Aching for you, your voice in his ear, your hands on his body. A shudder rakes through him as he grinds into his palm. His wetsuit turning constricting quickly.
βShould we have a vote on what i should use?β The question sends a wave of heat down his body. He huffs, images of all your streams flash into him mind. His fingers shoot to the keyboard. He types at lightening speed, sending without a second thought. You pause. Reading everyoneβs eager suggestions. He can practically hear the smile in your voice.
βJust my hands?β All Hermanβs blood rushes to his groin as you read off his suggestion.
βOnly if you imagine itβs your hands on meβ God. He was. He always did when he watched you. His hands moved on their own accord. quickly finding the zipper of his wetsuit. The sound breaks through the silence of his room. A chill runs down his spine as he slips his arms out.
βShould i give you time to get ready? I know i am..β Your voice trails. Itβs disgusting how real it felt. As if you were only addressing him. His hands tremble lightly as he pushed the suit past his hips. You sigh. Your hands move to the strap of your bra. Waterboy stops, his eyes trained on your moves. He watches as your manicures finger slides the strap off. Slowly you follow suit with the other. Herman sucks in a breath as he finally grasps his hard on. Itβs so warm. Tip red and already leaking. He puts his other hand to his mouth. His poor grandma asleep in the other room shouldnβt hear him like this.
βItβs been so long since a stream like this. I missed thisβ¦ intimacyβ You admit. Your neck is flushed, heβs sure your face is too. You lean closer to the screen for a moment, unclamping your own bra. The lacy delicate fabric falls off easy. A pathetic whine leaves Waterboys mouth as he watches your breast fall. You were so perfect. Round soft skin, nipples pebbled. The rest of your lingerie set frames your body. He wish he could snapshot such a moment. Your movements are almost shy and you move your nimble fingers over your nipples. The softest sound leaves your lips. Herman fights the urge to turn up his laptop.
βThe chat is quiet tonight. Eager for me to keep going?β You tease the viewers. Your free hand fiddles with the fabric of your panties again, certainly drawing attention. Hermanβs hand finds purchase at the base of his cock. Precum leaks down to his fingers. Heβs holding himself back. Not wanting to get too worked up so quickly. Your hand on your breast continues its slow motions. You move your legs, adjusting yourself. A smallest glance of the wet spot on your panties flashes. Hermanβs tongue darts out to wet his uncharacteristically dry lips. He could almost imagine how youβd taste. How warm you probably feel. His cock twitches in his hand. Desperate for attention.
βWe might as well get this main act startedβ You bring your knees up, slipping off your panties in one full swoop. Herman couldβve came then and there. His hand holds his base tight. His eyes start to feel dry from not blinking. He doesnβt want to miss how you get into position. Your camera angle still slightly above you. The camera picks up how your wetness glistens in the dim light. You looked like sin itself. Sprawled out for pervs just like him. He couldnβt give a shit about that. About any of the hundreds watching you with him.
βFu- jesus.. christ..β Herman mutters between his fingers. He allows himself to move his hand. Slowly dragging it up to his throbbing tip. He glances down to watch his hand spread his pre cum down. A shiver runs down his spine as the wet noise that sounds. Heβs so wet. He draws his attention back onto you.
Your fingers slide between your folds. covering them in your juices. A short gasp leaves you as you meet your clit. You rub tight circles around the bud. Feeling yourself getting worked up. pussy leaking, ready for the main event. You move your other hand down to spread yourself out. Showing off to the camera.
Herman has never wanted something more. He feels almost guilty with the way he thinks of someone he works with. He imagines your hand over his, guiding him, or just telling him what to do. Fuck. His cock throbs painfully, begging for friction.
βoh- fuckβ Thereβs a slight crack in your voice as you dip your first finger inside. Youβre so warm. Pussy desperate and clenching around your digit. The wet noises sounding from his computer mix with his own. Your soft whimpers are fuel to the fire. He moves his wrist, matching your pace. He can feel the mess heβs making. His hips twitch, meeting his hand.
You slip another finger inside. Feeling your walls stretch to accommodate. Not filming for the week actually taking a toll. You were getting worked up quickly. A pornagraphic moan leave your lips as you find that special spot. Your fingers were teasing small, compared to the toys youβd frequent. Herman has to hold his mouth closed harder. Pathetic whines leave his lips as he fucks into his fist faster. Needing relief more than ever. His mind flashes images of his hands on you. His long fingers feeling you inside and out.
βhahh- are you close?β You stutter. Not forgetting the hundreds watching you come undone. Herman nods his head. Labored breaths between mewls. He runs his hand over his tip. His cock absolutely drenched. He canβt take his eyes from the screen to be concerned. A pressure was starting to build.
βiβm- iβm so close.. fuckkβ You slip a third and final finger inside. The stretch is bliss. You move your other hand to your clit, not worrying about looking good for the camera. Herman tries to match your quick pace. His hand stuttering, heβs so close. Heβs sweating, his room humid.
βcum.. with.. me.β The words come out breathlessly. As your hand in your clit flinches, and thighs tense. You arch into your fingers. Herman curses into his hand as he feels a wave crash into him. Watching you cum was the cherry on top. His cock spurts hot ropes onto his heaving chest. Rope after rope, he rubs himself slowly through it. Till heβs shaking from overstimulation. Fuck he was a mess. So were you. He watches you sit up slightly. A blissed flush on your neck and chest. Your breasts rise and fall with each deep breath. you looked so good.
βThank you all so much for watching!β You huff cheerfully. Brushing some hair behind your ear as you watch the chat flood. Tips and donations roll in with people asking for you to continue. You hum, reading them silently as you calm down. Herman takes in every peice of skin, his eyes lidded. He was spent.
βI had a rough work day, im so beat right now. Thanks to you allβ You tease the chat. A innocent giggle in your tone as if you werenβt taking to hundreds naked. Herman wishes you did more small talk. He desperately needed to know more. Behind the screen was so much easier than facing you. Looking down at the puddle heβs made he feels a gross feeling wash over him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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waterboy with a mind reader eheheheehhedhbevbehe sorry iβm high
so fun, definitely can be used for freaky purposes
β waterboy x psychic!gn!reader
β suggestive?
βyour power wasn't known well around SDN, a decision you and blazer had made to keep it a bit hush-hush as to not stress people out in an office with so many colleagues
βyou really try not to abuse it. but sometimes, it's hard to control the power, and you'll hear the voices of people in the office pop into your mind if your brain decides it's interested
βthe soaking-wet new janitor was the most interesting character who you had heard the thoughts of in that office.
βhe stutters intensely when talking to people, but his thoughts don't. you guess that's a given, seeing as a stutter is a speech problem, not a thinking problem, but it's interesting nonetheless to hear his voice without the constant word-switching and stammering
βhis thoughts have you so intrigued- you've never come across someone with such pure intentions. sure, he may think something like 'man, i hate that guy' when faced with flambae, but you've never heard actual malice in his mind's tone
βthoughts about making a paycheck for his grandmother- how sweet.
βlots of second-guessing himself, far more than the other people around you, sometimes yelling at himself a bit in his head when he's faced with yet another awkward moment in the office
βhearing how sweet he seems, you decide to finally start talking to him casually when he looks unoccupied. when he's alone in the break room, or when you're passing him in a hallway, always at least a hello is exchanged between you two
βover time, you can hear him starting to think about you. wondering if you'll sit and chat with him again on your break, wondering certain things about you and your life
βeventually, thoughts start popping up that leave even you flustered.
βthoughts about how attractive you are, ramping up over the course of a few days
βwondering what you look like under that uniform, what kind of underwear you're wearing, he's a bit of a freak!
βeventually, you decide to make it known to him that you are interested as well- he is quite handsome and sweet, despite the awkwardness. you definitely wouldn't mind letting him make those thoughts a reality for him to see
He's thinking about your underwear again. One might argue that the way he's sweating so intensely while stealing glances at you would make that fact obvious without any telepathic powers. But he never voices it, just goes back to slurping up mouthfuls of instant noodles beside you.
"Waterboy..." you finally speak up, earning his immediate and full attention, "...what are you doing Friday night?"
You can barely sift through the flurry of thoughts that runs circles around itself in his mind, mostly confusion and apprehension. In the few seconds of his incredulous staring, you can hear him wondering if this is some cruel joke like the ones played on him in grade school.
"...Waterboy?"
"Uh, yes-- I mean-- nothing! I'm doing n-nothing." He finally blurts out, his naturally pink cheeks growing darker.
"Great. Do you wanna go out with me then?"
He blinks at you, jaw slightly dropped at the proposition. You can hear his mind nearly screaming at him to say something, say yes.
"Okay, so, that's a yes," You conclude, gathering up the trash from your vending machine snacks and preparing to leave, "by the way, this is what my underwear looks like." You lift your uniform's shirt just a bit and pull the waistband of your undergarment past your dress pants before briskly exiting the break room. The best part was hearing him realize exactly what was happening.
I got the worms so let me get you to picture this. You work at the sdn and have a crush on waterboy. So you eventually go and give your number to him awkwardly, he starts going on how the paper with get destroyed from his powers. So you quietly walk away, just to come back with the paper that had your number on it in a zip lock. We need more awkward waterboy x also awkward reader
He is getting laid....after you stop being too scared to touch each other
"And you just let them walk away?"
Prism sat slack jawed as Herm recalled what had just happened to him in the hallway, looking to seek advice on what he had done wrong or if anyone had put you up to it but only finding wide eyes and shocked expressions.
"Um well...y-yes?"
He lifted up a hand to rub at the water trapped under his googles. Sonar turning to face the corner, shoulders sinking with the weight of second hand embarrassment and forehead slamming against the plaster. Malevola throwing up her hands and Punch Up downing his drink before slamming the can flat on his head. Herm gulped.
"The paper was-I would have-wet hands and...and all that"
He held out his hands, dripping down his wrists and to his feet. Trying to prove a point as Flambae walked up to him. Poking an index finger into his chest, nose tips mere hairs away from each other
"You rejected the, objectively, hottest dispatcher in the office-"
"I'm standing right here"
Robert raised his hand, Flambae shot a spark his way, igniting the napkin in his hand. Dropping and stomping on it with a glare.
"-because you might get a piece of fucking paper wet?"
All herm could do was nod. Dripping onto Flambae's feet, making him jump back with an annoyed look, steam following him as he snatched the remainder of a chocolate bar out of Golems hands.
"That wasn't your smartest move, wet wipe"
Visa patted him on the shoulder with a sympathetic smile, kicking the can Punch up threw her way back at him. Hitting him in the chest with an amused grunt.
"Sorry to interrupt. Can I...borrow Waterboy, for just a second?"
You shook your hands, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat before taking a deep breath and turning to Herm, just standing there, as awkwardly as you. You reached into your pocket.
"I wanted to give you this"
You handed over a piece of paper. Neatly laminated and wrapped in a zip lock bag.
"If it smudges, just come by my desk. I can write another one. I don't mind"
He rolled it in his hands, smiling as he could see every number clearly. Written neatly with a heart drawn next to it and your name on the back, as if he could ever forget it.
"Oh, ok. Yes I will-that is I can-I know where-...Thank you"
He couldn't stop smiling, cheeks flushed as you bounced on your feet. Pleased he took it with no issues this time around. Scared he might have just used the water thing as an excuse to get out it. You shared a moment of awkward silence, both wanting to say something but unsure of who should go first, what to say. Would you be too forward, to flirty, not flirty enough. So you waved, letting out a quite bye and running back off to your desk on a cloud of flustered energy.
Herm watched you leave, waving equally awkwardly at your retreating back. Zip lock held tightly in his hands. Water running down it in rivers, numbers still crisp.
"Bet they wont mind if you get some things wet"
Visa popped up behind him, making him shriek and jump into the air. the room erupting in chatter and advice, sex tips and first date locations. Pulling on his arms and disusing outfit ideas.
Robert quietly took his phone from his pocket, bombarded with voices, and quickly slipped your number into his contacts before he, inevitably, lost the bag.
Your plush thighs around his trembling legs. His hands hover dangerously close to you, not knowing where to place them. Heβs sweating, practically steaming as you get fully comfortable. Your touch is soft, so caring. Gently you guide his large clammy hands to rest on your hips. A shuttering laugh grabs your attention back to him. His goggles are starting to fog up.
βD-Damn things.. always.. ruining-β
Wordlessly you lean forward, hands slide his goggles back, pushing his hair back. His eyes widen, staring at you clear and so close. He can feel your breath on his face.
βThere thatβs betterβ
You say quietly, eyes never leaving his as your hands move to cup his cheek. You are so warm. So inviting. He canβt help but lean into your touch. you smile at him, he feels butterflies in his stomach. His eyes nervously dart between your lips and your unrelenting gaze. Before he can get too squirmy underneath you, you move in. Stopping inches from where your lips meet. You glance up at him once more, silently asking for a final okay.
βHerm?-β
The soft feeling of his lips meets you as he closes the distance. You kiss back immediately, his lips inexperienced, technic a little sloppy. You donβt mind taking the lead. You let your tongue slip out, grazing his bottom lip. He shudders underneath you, gasping. You use that as your opening, his mouth is warm and very wet. The fabric of your jeans is dampening slightly from his tightening grip. One of your hands slowly slides to the nape of his neck. Pulling him against you as if there was much space left between you. The hair at the ends is damp, curled into loose waves. You move with his rhythm. At the pace he sets. His hands twitch, pushing you lightly. As you pull back, your teeth catch his bottom lip. You smile as you tug slightly. Pulling back fully you look him over.
βYou okay?β Your voice comes out quieter than expected. Your eyes trail down him. His cheeks are flushed, drops of water run down his face. You watch one trail down his neck. His adamβs apple bobs as he gulps. His chest is heaving, as if heβd ran a marathon. A pathetic whine brings your eyes back to his.
βAgain.. I want to do that againβ heβs breathless, but thatβs the clearest heβs sounded
So we all know that Waterboy flusters easily, but what are some things he does that fluster the reader? What are some things he does that make the reader all blushy and has them stumbling over their words? And how does he react to the tables turning like that π
Combined with this post by @verycherrycos and this amazing art by @sasajune
You didn't mean to spy. But it was late and you forget your keys on your desk. Getting home, tired and ready for something filled with sugar and your warm bed, only to find your pockets empty. So you walked all the way back, cursing yourself under your breath. You swiped in and nodded at the receptionist, rushing to your desk only to pause in the hallway.
He was...dancing.
The janitor, the new one. All tall and wet with lanky legs and that cute smile. The one you had been staring at like a creep for week now. His trolly in front of him, picking up rubbish and mopping floors with these big headphones on.
Humming along to the guitar lines, mumbling out chords and playing his mop handle when it got to a good part.
He was...cute.
Too cute.
And dry, dryer than he had ever been.
Hair actually having some volume to it. A few curls forming around his ears as he shuffled his feet.
So you just...watched.
Tucked in the darkness as he mopped and turned, headphones slipping off and being placed back on. Humming and signing. Your heart fluttering. And it wasn't the first time he had managed to make the butterflies in your stomach awaken.
Sometime he would wave at you on your way home, this big grin on his face, congratulating you on a good job. He remembered you coffee order, reading the messy sharpie on the side of Styrofoam cups from coffee cart guy that came in on Fridays, commenting on how you got something different a few weeks ago and he hoped you liked it. But it wasn't just gestures. It was also him being...him, that got your heart racing just as fast.
The way he stretched his arms after a long day, chest pressed out and back arched. His fingers brushing against yours when you handed over empty packets, so long and slender. Huge against yours. And his suit...that dam wet suit. Clinging to his slender body, cupping him in just the right places to make your mouth water as he wandered through the office.
He was just...perfect.
That's why you couldn't bring yourself to disturb him, even as he slipped over one of his puddles, laughing awkwardly and turning around to mop it up. So, you left him dancing. Texting a friend and asking to crash on their couch instead.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Qualityβ Free Actions
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you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
You do cam work on the weekends, just for the extra money. Dabbling on the weekdays when you donβt go out on missions. Robert tell you about their newest addition to the z team, Waterboy. Heβs a nervous wreak but youβre so patient and sweet with him. A pit in his stomach forms the longer you work together, he feels like he knows you from somewhere. Heβs not one to forget faces usually.
Until one night after a particularly hard mission youβd both finished wrapping up. You huff, out of breath but still smiling widely. You make your way to waterboy quickly. Giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder, βGood job Herm, you did so great today!β
Waterboy feels like a bucket of ice water is dumped over him as his stomach drops. Fuck. He recognizes that voice. Those words. Your honeyed tone. His face goes red and he sputters out a thanks before you part ways for the weekend.
He quickly greets his grandmother, promising to feed the cats after he took care of something. His feet swiftly guide him to his room, as if on auto pilot he opens his laptop. He curses at himself at the raunchy tab heβd left open on his screen. Clicking start on the end of the video heβd left off on.
Author's Note: I've never written fanfiction before, but I figure that creative writing is my minor, and the pour of Bailey's on my nightcap was a touch strong, so I'm feeling confident! (That and also I find this concept incredibly sexy oops-) Also, I've never been high, but blah blah blah don't do drugs or whatever.
Based on this interaction
"They- Th-They were high!?"
"Yah, man. Teens get high sometimes. Didn't you?"
The trepidation normally present in Waterboy's speech was completely forgotten, replaced with complete and utter shock through the intercom. Waterboy was tasked with finding the teen daughter and friends of one of their callers daughter's, only to find them blitzed by the shores of Palm Beach.
It almost seems like a no-brainer to Robert that he would've tried some illicit substance in his teens. With Herm's levels of anxiety, it kind of makes perfect sense. That and who didn't experiment in their younger years?
"I- well- y'know, I'm n- I'm not uh... I haven't really ever been high."
Waterboy's trepidation comes back full swing with his response. In highschool, he was always a good kid. Always kept in line and away from trouble. He learned that drugs were evil, addictive, and going to ruin his life. He took the D.A.R.E. program very seriously in middleschool.
Robert would've been shocked had it not immediately made sense after about a half-second. After all, what would grandma think!? Herm's innocent and good nature aside, Robert felt it would do more good for easing his mind than anything.
"I never recommend this to anyone, but I think you specifically should TRY getting high."
Herm takes pause as he considers Robert's words. It's been about 6 years since highschool, and entering the real world has really opened his eyes. Namely joining SDN has introduced him to a whole onslaught of new experiences. Before this job, he'd never gotten drunk, he'd never won in a brawl, and he'd never found someone who made him feel quite as comfortable as you did.
He'd gone to a couple house parties thrown by his fellow Z-Team members, and recalls at one of them, you smoking on the balcony. He thinks back to your blissed out face as you had muffled conversation with Sonar and Mal, passing a joint around amongst yourselves. You'd come inside eventually, sat beside him on the couch, and leaned your head on his shoulder, uncaring of the dampness covering your cheek. He had trouble focusing on anything else as you relaxed into him, but even still, he couldn't help glancing up to see Malevola and Sonar doing... something together outside. They weren't kissing. In fact their faces weren't touching at all. Instead Mal was leaning her head up as Sonar bent down, so close, and blew a breath of smoke into her mouth. She inhaled deeply, gazing into his eyes. The intimate moment was broken when she started coughing, both of them giggling hysterically as Mal grabbed Sonar's shoulder, keeled over, and coughed raucously.
Herm had been mesmerized by the act. It was probably good natured fun between friends β or whatever they were β but it stirred something within him. Something like... desire. He'd wanted to try that. He wanted to feel someone lean their warm body over his, their hot breath on his skin, their smokey air in his lungs. And he wanted it to be you.
β
Ever since that party, the thought hadn't left his mind, and the recent conversation over coms with Robert brought it even moreso to the forefront. Herm couldn't take it anymore. He was thinking about it constantly, wanting that tension, that closeness with another person. With you.
β
The first time Herm ever saw you was shortly after he was hired at SDN as a janitor. Despite the office full of hybrids and monsters, he couldn't help but keep a watchful gaze on you. Always with that megawatt smile and sharing a laugh with everyone who visited your desk. You held yourself in a way he could only dream of. He hadn't expected to get an excuse to talk to you until you ran into him in the break room. Literally. You'd been walking into the break room, open takeout box in hand, just as he was opening the door to walk out. WHAM! You smacked right into a solid wall of superhero strength, noodles splattering all over your blue dispatcher button-up. Despite you being the one covered in lunch, he looked far worse than you did. He was absolutely mortified, ready to be shouted at and insulted for his incompetence. Instead of the sound of you cussing him out, however, you were laughing. Again with that wonderful laugh. Larger than life. After profuse apologies and helping you clean up, you'd quickly become best friends.
Fast forward to current day, and he can't help but stare in your direction. You've got your headset on, wrapping up a solid morning of dispatching. Your lunch break is coming up, Waterboy plans on joining you, as usual. As approaches your desk, his mind continues to wander. Always in that same one direction.
"Hey Herm! Ready for lunch? I was thinking we could try that new-"
"DO YOU WANNA GET HIGH WITH ME?"
Herm immediately smacked both hands over his mouth, looking around the room with panicked eyes. A couple of people fall silent and glance in his direction briefly before going back to their work.
You stare wide-eyed at Herm for a second, caught completely off guard by the exclamation.
"Like... Right now?"
"NO! N-no uh... li- l-later, I mean. At your ap-partment. I'd ra- prefer not at- uh... grandma and the cats and all..."
You haven't heard him stutter this much since you were first getting to know eachother. Sometimes he really seemed to have his own language when he stuttered. Lucky for you, you're fluent.
"Oh! Y-yeah, I'd be down for that! Have you... Gotten high before?" Your body language is calm, but your eyes are alight. You look almost as excited as he feels.
"Umm... N-not rea- at all." He hadn't felt sheepish about that fact until this very moment.
"Oh, well in that case, maybe we should try something more light, like an edible. You can get these mug cake mixes you put in the micr-"
"No! N- Sorry- I'm... I wanna smoke. It. If you don't m-mind."
'It?' God, he's so lame.
"Yeah. Yeah, sure! I can make that work! We can go straight to my place after work if you want. I've already got some of 'it' left over from a couple weeks ago." You end your sentence with a subtle wink.
Dammit, he knew 'it' was lame!
β
Herm is sitting on a plastic covered couch cushion in your living room, more nervous around you than he's been in a while. He's hoping that Robert was right, and this'll calm his nerves, but what he really needs is to calm down right now. Especially if he's gonna ask you for what he really wants.
"Hey, do you thi- suppose I cou- could uh... have a drink? Just to loosen up a bit."
He could hear your single loud 'HA' echo from your bedroom.
"No way in HELL I'm letting you get cross-faded your first time smoking." You emerge from your bedroom, glass pipe in hand and a small bag of- well, I guess that's 'it,' huh?
Well, no turning back now. Not that he really wanted to. You park yourself to the right of him on the couch, grinding a couple chunks of weed before stuffing them into the top of the pipe.
"Wha- umm... wha- why theee pipe? I thought they- you smoke cigar-rettes, no?" The pipe isn't quite like the fantasy in his head.
"Well, I figured I'd spare you from getting a joint all soggy. Moisture and all that."
Dammit, but he wanted an excuse to have you do the thing!
"W-well I was hop- thinking of you doing this- this thing that I saw once."
You tilt your head slightly. A sign for him to proceed.
"Do you remember- the other week. At Robert's a-appartment. You were smoking with Sonar and Mal-levola?"
You give a gentil nod, not entirely certain what he's getting at yet.
"After you came back- back in, they kept go- smoking and Sonar did this... thing. Where he blew- puff- breathed. Umm... into Malevola's mouth..."
Herm breaks eyecontact as he stammers through his explanation, all the while a smile slowly grows across your face.
"Ohhhh, I see. You wanna try shotgunning." Not once does your smile disappear as you turn toward the table, instead pulling out some rolling papers from a nearby junk drawer. If a joint is part of his fantasy, then a joint he shall have.
"Yeah! Y- is that right? Shot- gun..?" He lifts up a hand and starts flexing his index finger like he's pulling a trigger.
"Uh huh. I think I'm starting to understand exactly what it is you're looking for." Just as you finish rolling your joint, you go to lick the paper before stopping yourself. Instead you turn over to Herman and extend the half completed joint over to his parted lips.
"Lick, please." You stare at him expectantly as he looks down at the joint and then back to you, tongue poking lightly from his parted lips as he stares you down with a sharp blue gaze. With unbroken eyecontact, his tongue glides accross the paper. Your breath hitches. Dear Lord.
You finish rolling before finally placing the decently made joint between your lips. The joint he licked. His suit feels tighter all of a sudden. He can't take his eyes off the way you slowly bring your lighter to it, flicking the flame on as you lean back and inhale deeply. He couldn't help inhaling deeply himself.
You put the joint between two fingers and breathe back out slowly, eyes closing for a moment. That blissed out look was back on your face. The one from the party a couple weeks prior. He let out a light whimper. Slight embarrassment immediately swept across his face.
You seemed unbothered, however, a light chuckle exiting your lips as you open your eyes in his direction.
"Can't forget about you, can I? That's what this is all about, right?" In one fell swoop, you're sitting on his lap, your thighs clinging to the tight rubbery spandex of his sopping suit. Instinctively, his hands go directly to your waist. Not an ounce of weed in his system and he's already chilled out significantly. Surely he hasn't gotten a contact high already?
You wiggle your hips slightly, almost innocently, as you settle into your spot on his damp lap. You can feel his excitement as much as you hear it in his voice, this time a deep groan escaping his lips. You ignore it, however, in favor of taking another hit of your joint. Yet another inhale, sucking harshly on the hand rolled cigarette until your lungs are at capacity. You begin to lean forward, hips and torsos pressing against eachother, free hand on his chest brushing up towards his shoulder, and finally settling on his neck. He doesn't need to be told what to do. Eyes half lidded, his gaze into yours, lips parting, faces mere centimeters away from eachother as your mouth opens across from his, gentle huff of smoke entering his slack jaw, intake of breath just as intense as yours before. It was absolutely perfect. You were absolutely perfect. Until he remembered how this moment ended with Malevola and Sonar.
Almost immediately after his inhale, Herman starts coughing, wheezing almost, as he throws his head forward onto your shoulder. Your chuckle stays light as you rub your hand gently across his back, patting it occasionally.
"There you go, baby. It's okay, that's normal for your first time. You're doing really well." Your words aren't helping the tightness in his suit.
"You need help getting comfy?" Herm leans back against the plastic covered cushion, your free hand going for the zipper of his suit, silently asking for permission. He nods enthusiastically, grip on your waist tightening.
"Words, gorgeous. I need to hear you."
"P-please. Don't stop."
You chuckle again, this time a bit darker than before. Slowly you unzip the front of his suit, past his chest, just below his naval. You lean back to take in the newly exposed skin. Pale, wet, glistening in the dimmed lights. You can't help but want to indulge in him. But that's not what this is about. Not yet at least.
You go in for another hit of your joint, this time setting it down on the ashtray on your side table, smoke held in your lungs. You turn back to him, your now free hands slipping along his chest, into each side of his unzipped suit. You gently pull it open, face getting closer to his, as he eagerly opens his mouth again. This time your lips gently meet as you exhale, his breath catching before he can take in too much smoke. That's all it took for him to lean in. Grip tighter, hands traveling down to your hips and he ground you into him. It's your turn to groan as keeps your grinding at a steady pace. The entire front part of your body is completely soaked into at this point, warm wetness seeped fully into your blue top, Herm desperately trying to unbutton the front with his long, slender, and uncoordinated fingers.
"Herm. Hermie. Hey, this is about you, right? Let me take care of you." You clasp both his hands in yours, holding them tenderly against your wet chest.
"Bu- but I wan-"
"And you will! You can have me any way you want after I take care of you first." You kiss the corners of his lips before giving him a proper full-on kiss. Your hands continue their exploration of his body while your tongue continues on his warm wet mouth.
Your hands reaches his zipper once more to finish what you started. The light smattering of hair going down from his naval lead you straight to where you wanted to see most. His cock wasted no time springing upward and slapping against his body. He'd always assumed it was considered decent size, but the look on your face told him it was far more than decent. You couldn't resist wrapping a hand around his cock, stroking gently before going faster, movements facilitated by the wetness spread across his body.
"You're doing so well Hermie. I love those gorgeous sounds you make for me." You continue to ramble in his ear, emphasizing each word of praise with a gentle thumb stroke on his tip.
Herm couldn't help the choked out sobs coming from his mouth, forehead pressed against yours as you gave him your full attention, always staring from his cock all the way back to his face, gauging his reaction with each stroke. You could tell by the way his body was tensing that he wasn't going to last much longer.
"Please, I- c-close!" At this point you could see tears running down his eyes, mingling with the rest of his naturally wet face.
"Let go, Hermie. You can let go for me."
He let out one more guttural moan as he came, white coating your hand and his chest, pants leaving his mouth. Slowly, he comes down from the high of his orgasm. He's also starting to lose the high from the weed.
"Do you think... Could we do another hit, and then I do you?" He's sweaty, panting, and covered in his own cum and all he can think about is you. And weed.
"Let's get cleaned up a bit, and then we can get back to whatever it is you want."
You guys were more than ready for a long night.
β
Author's Note: I lost my buzz around the part where the smut started up, but anyway it's like 3:00 am I should sleep.
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(cw. toby watches her accidentally cut herself while making soup. he is infatuated & aroused by it.)
he loves watching her. he loves stalking her through the windows in her house. he found the perfect spot to hide and still get the perfect view.
everything about her was so enticing to him. but it got worse all of a sudden. she became more jittery. on edge. clumsy. scared.
she was chopping up vegetables to make some homemade soup on a cold autumn afternoon, and what happens? her fingers are too close to the blade. she slices hard. thankfully, her body has felt weaker lately. muscles tender. so it wasn't too hard.
she used just enough force to give herself a deep cut. a nasty one, but not bad enough to send her to the ER.
she let out a sharp gasp and then a high pitched whine, cursing under her breath.
"no no no no!! ow ow ow ow ow," she grabbed her finger, putting pressure on the wound, biting down on her lower lip.
toby felt his stomach turn watching her. in a good way. he heard her reaction, too. her kitchen windows were open.
he'd never seen her react to pain. it looked good on her. fuck, he felt envious. like he was missing out. he should've been in the room with her.
close enough so that he could grab her wrist, tugging her hand up close to his face so she wouldn't have a chance to quickly tend to the wound and dull the ache. he wished he could bite into her finger.
he had no clue what any of that pain stuff felt like, but it was arousing to him. i mean, all the sounds she made...it was the same kind of sounds you make during sex, right?
the gasping and the whimpering and whining. it must be a similar feeling...
she ran to the sink and hesitantly put her finger underneath cool running water. the cut burned. her mouth fell open, eyebrows furrowing, but no sound coming out. like the pained noises got caught in her throat.
oh, he'd never let this one go. he couldn't. no one else could do it like her, could they?
"...f-fuck..." he muttered, hands itching and fingers twitching, desperate to run in and grab her. but he couldn't. not yet.
he'd be patient. he'd collect up every little thing he knew she needed first. he'd make a nice little place to keep her. then he could turn her into his personal pincushion.