You were not about to have a repeat of that tonight, so you made them. Still, that didn’t mean you were safe from her shenanigans, because about eight rounds into truth or dare, you already had a cocktail and three shots into your system, enough alcohol to make your vision blurry at the edges and put a filter over the rational part of your brain.

Three shots turned into five, and another cocktail was half-emptied when you dragged your skirt up your legs, wobbling a little in front of the mirror where your reflection was staring back at you, hair messy and cheeks pink from all the laughing. As you struggled to change into some clothes worthy of being into a club full of drunk college students, Simone was already calling for a cab while the other girls were still rolling on the floor, giggling and drinking from their plastic cups.

You didn’t have half a mind to refuse going out, even if you knew there was a possibility for things to take a turn for the worst tonight, knowing Tara and Simone and the version of themselves clouded by so much alcohol. You took your purse from the couch in a hurry and followed them to the cab, stumbling a little on your poor choice of shoes. Just because you were tipsy, that didn’t mean you weren’t gonna dress for the occasion.

You stop in front of the bar now, Simone already leaning over the counter with a smile on her face, boobs peeking out from the cut of her blouse, chest pressing into the wood with the movement. She says something to the bartender, which you guess must be something flirty because he gives her a small laugh and turns to pour some transparent liquid into five small glasses.

The music is super loud, especially near the bar, but you still hear them clearly as they chant “Shots! Shots! Shots!”, so you all take your glass and clink them together before your head dips back and the strong liquid swirls down your neck, burning. You wince, coughing a little as you set the glass down on the counter, giggling at Simone and Tara’s faces, which aren’t that different from yours.

“Woo! That was much better than whatever we had at the dorm!” Tara grins, sliding her arm around your neck.

“Yeah, and a lot more expensive, too!” you huff, smiling at her because it is indeed better.

You spend the next half an hour or so by the bar, sharing a few more drinks, and you settle for a cocktail this time, something easier that takes longer to finish. Your mind is already fuzzy, everything funnier than it should be, so you know you’re not just tipsy anymore. You got to do some damage control, so you avoid any more shots, even when Tara pouts at you to try to convince you to have one more round with her.

The other two girls found their way to the other side of the pub where it is a lot more crowded, bodies clinging to one another while dancing, and Simone is deep in conversation with the bartender, which you suspect is nothing casual because his eyes keep drifting down to Simone’s chest every now and again, and she doesn’t seem to mind.

You laugh to yourself and turn your attention to Tara, then scan the rest of the pub. Since this is close to campus, you wonder if you’ll find any familiar faces here tonight. You frequent the pubs around campus often, especially when you’ve gotten all your focus on your studies and feel burned out. Being in a place with loud music and full of students such as yourself, who chase the same feeling of letting go of anxieties and stress, even if just for a few hours, makes you feel like there’s more out there than just your studies.

Tara is leaning against the counter beside you, her chin propped lazily in her palm as she scrolls through something on her phone, the screen casting a faint blue glow across her cheekbones. You take the opening to slip a hand into your purse and fish out the soft pack of cigarettes you’d shoved in there earlier, the cardboard a little crumpled from being pressed up against your lipstick and your keys. You nudge her shoulder with yours, leaning in close so you don’t have to shout over the music that’s still thrumming through the floor and up into the soles of your feet, the bass making your chest vibrate in a way that almost feels pleasant by now, almost familiar after this long.

“Smoke break?” you angle the pack so she can see it, drawing her gaze up from her phone. “I’m dying.”

She gives a small hum of agreement, slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans before sliding off the stool with a slight wobble that mirrors your own. You loop your arm through hers because you can already feel the buzz pooling warm and heavy in the bowl of your stomach, that liquid sort of heaviness that makes your steps feel a fraction too long, a fraction too generous with how much space they take. Tara is just steady enough to anchor you while you weave back through the crush of bodies, and you keep your free hand splayed out a little for balance as you slip between people, your shoulder catching now and again on someone’s arm, someone’s drink.

This place is one of those underground spots that doesn’t quite have rules, or doesn’t quite bother enforcing the ones it has, and there’s a stretch of corridor just off the main floor where people pour out from the different bars that share the space, leaning along the bricked wall with cigarettes pinched lazily between their fingers, the air heavy with smoke and the scent of perfume that bleeds into sweat and spilled liquor and turns into something almost intoxicating in its own right.

The music drops to a muffled pulse the second you step out from the doorway, and the relief of it hits you somewhere behind the ribs, your shoulders coming down a fraction as you tap the pack against your palm and slide a cigarette between your lips, the filter catching slightly on the tackiness of your gloss.

Tara is already drifting a few steps off, shouting at a girl she barely knows from her psych elective, so you let her go and lean your shoulder blades against the cool stretch of brick while you cup your hand around the flame of your lighter. It flickers twice before catching, and the first drag is warm and grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed tonight, your eyes slipping half-closed as you tilt your head back and let the smoke curl slow up past your lashes.

You picked up smoking as a bad habit, second year in Uni. The pressure was too much, combined with the emotional wreckage your ex put you through, so you turned to something unhealthy instead of crying yourself to sleep every night. You tried to quit, but bad habits die hard, so you give yourself some grace on nights like this, blaming it on letting lose, telling yourself it’s just for tonight, just as a social thing and not something you still need to ease off the heaviness in your chest you still occasionally get.

You drag your eyes to the left, and it takes you a full minute to realize who is standing at the far end of the corridor. Caleb. Of course he would be here tonight, it doesn’t even come as a surprise to you that he’s out partying with his friends. You met Caleb your second year, too, in this exact same spot. You were a mess back then, makeup smudged and eyes puffy from crying, because you were really going through it at the time, and the loud music, the alcohol and seeing everyone around you have fun while you were still not over your ex—everything made you fall down the rabbit hole even faster. You were down to your last two cigarettes which you were desperate to inhale and just try to shut off your brain, but luck wasn’t on your side.

You lost your lighter somewhere in the crowd that night, and this stranger saw you were about to have a full mental breakdown as you desperately rummaged through your purse, huffing and puffing, annoyed. Caleb offered you his lighter with a casual smile, easy and charming enough to erase some of the frown between your eyebrows, and you took it from his fingers, giving a small smile.

You spent the rest of that miserable night talking and smoking in a corner, and the miserable night turned out not to be that miserable after all. He shared his own pack of cigarettes, shared some funny stories of himself, all in an attempt to make you laugh, which you did. The satisfaction swam from his face in waves, grinning at you like he won a prize, which only made you roll your eyes at him. But you were grateful, more than you wanted to voice, because his presence made it easier, stopped your from spiraling like you did many night before, in that same spot, doing the exact same thing, only being much more dejected and alone.

Caleb is the kind of person who occupies the air around him whether he means to or not, all loose shoulders and that easy slouch he does against any available surface, head thrown back laughing at something with the line of his throat catching under the cheap yellow string lights running along the corridor. He’s in that worn navy crew-neck he wears half the week, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hair looking like someone (probably him) has been pulling at it for hours.

And right beside him, half a step back with a beer bottle dangling loose between his fingers and his other hand shoved deep into the pocket of his black jeans, is Zayne.

That makes your fingers go still around the cigarette, the smoke curling thin and untouched past your face as you take a beat to actually process what you’re looking at, because Zayne is not the kind of person you expect to find in an underground pub on a Friday night, leaning against a brick wall and listening with that faint half-smile he gets when he’s tolerating something more than enjoying it.

You’ve never quite been able to figure him out, in the loosely overlapping way that you know him, mostly through Caleb, mostly across the table in that one shared seminar where he sits two rows up and answers questions in that low, even way that always sounds like he’s already considered three counterarguments before opening his mouth. You’ve been on group projects with him a couple of times too, polite and easy to work with every single time. He’s a mistery to you, and you would lie to yourself if you didn’t admit he is quite an interesting person.

He’s brilliant, of course. Everyone on campus knows just how smart Zayne Li is, never one to be underestimated, never one to pass his study sessions in favor of hanging out or going out to have fun or just do things that don’t require a textbook and a laptop. He’s soon-to-be doctor, of course he is the type of person prioritizing his studies. Paired with the way he looks, you have to admit to yourself, he would make quite a handsome doctor.

Knowing all this about Zayne, it does take you by surprise actually seeing him here tonight. With a bottle of beer in his hand, no less. It makes your eyes squint despite yourself, a small smirk of curiosity more than anything pulling at the corner of your lips. Him and Caleb are as much opposites as people with different life ideals and future plans are, yet you couldn’t help but notice of how well they fit together as friends in the time you got to meet them and interact with them. Even so, from getting along well to this… well, it’s safe to say it’s got you all curious how Caleb even managed to drag Zayne out here, and even more so, how he convinced the guy to drink beer with him.

He looks different out here. Or maybe he just looks like himself in a setting where you weren’t expecting to see him. The contrast is what’s catching you off guard, because the dim corridor light cuts shadows down the line of his jaw in a way that makes you swallow before you’ve decided to. He’s even dressed so differently than he usually is on campus, with fitted black jeans and a black tee under his leather jacket. You would blame it on the amount of alcohol you had tonight and the thick layer of smoke haunting the corridor, but fuck it if he doesn’t look sexy as hell dressed in that. You bite your lip, eyes dragging up and down his body, quietly glad he doesn’t seem to notice he’s being checked out.

Caleb spots you first, his face splitting into the grin that’s probably gotten him out of more parking tickets than he’ll ever admit to.

“No fucking way!” He’s already pushing off the wall, crossing the corridor in a few easy strides. “Tell me you guys didn’t actually come here on purpose.”

“Sorry for barging on your domain, Xia.” You smirk at him when he’s close enough to see it. Tara is abandoning her psych girl and their conversation to throw her arms around his neck because Tara has known Caleb almost as long as you have, and the two of them dissolve into the loud, hugging, half-shouting reunion that they always seem to do whenever they collide somewhere unplanned.

Which leaves Zayne leaning against the wall with the bottle hanging loose in his hand, watching the spectacle with that mild expression that doesn’t quite commit to anything.

Watching, you realise after another second, you.

The cigarette burns down a millimeter while you hold his gaze, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the bass still thumping faintly through the wall behind you or the fact that you weren’t expecting him here, but you can feel the heat climbing in a slow crawl up the side of your neck that you can’t quite reason away. You lift the cigarette in a small salute across the gap between you, then bring it back to your lips and pull a deliberate drag with your eyes still on him.

“Didn’t have you pegged for the underground type, Zayne.” you finally call, loud enough to carry over the loudness around you, soft enough that it isn’t really for anyone but him.

His head tilts a fraction, and he pushes off the wall to come closer. “Didn’t have you pegged for a smoker.”

He takes his time crossing to you, the bottle still loose in his hand, and you catch the way his eyes flick down the length of your dress and back up in the kind of split-second pass that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. You were looking for it, which is why it is hard to bite back the small smirk painting your lips.

“I guess I’m just full of surprises,” you say, shrugging one shoulder against the brick, unbothered.

“So I’m gathering.”

He stops in front of you, closer than acquaintances usually stand. The corridor is loud but not loud enough that you wouldn’t hear him if he wasn’t staying so close. He doesn’t really need to stand in your personal space, but it still feels like a decision, one he made somewhere around three strides back. You tilt your chin up to keep his gaze, and the brick is cool through the thin fabric of your dress where your shoulder blades are pressing into it.

“Caleb dragged you out, didn’t he?” you smile at him, eyes flicking back over his shoulder where Caleb is laughing with Tara and another girl a few steps back, and then flick back at him.

You’re aiming for casual, but it comes out a little lower than you meant it to, smoke-slow almost. His mouth does a small twitch at the corner, the not-quite-smirk that you’ve watched from across a seminar table more times than you’d like to admit to yourself in this exact moment. It makes heat crawl up your spine, grip your cigarette a little tighter.

“Something like that,” he hums, tilting his head.

“He’s persuasive.”

“He’s something.”

The laugh that comes out of you is real and surprised, the alcohol warming it from the inside, and Zayne watches you laugh with an expression you can’t entirely place, except for the part of it that you can. You hold the cigarette up between you, the smoke curling thin and pale through the space between his face and yours.

“You smoke, Zayne?” You already know the answer to that, like you knew the answer to him drinking, yet here he is in an underground pub with a bottle of cheap beer in his hand. So really, do you know the answer?

“Not usually, I don’t.” There’s a small pause, the corner of his mouth twitching again. “I do on special occasions, though.”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing in surprise. “Social smoker?”

“Something like that.” Your eyes follow as he lifts the bottle to his lips, head tilting slightly as he takes a sip of the beer. It’s probably gotten too warm, judging by the smallest narrowing of his eyes at the taste.

You drag another smoke into your lungs, even if only to distract yourself from staring without any regards at him. His throat bobs slowly with it, and you can’t help but trace it with your eyes.

You’re not as subtle as you usually would be. Granted, you’ve got a little too much alcohol in your system to care for subtlety, but you’re at least aware of Zayne watching you closely too. That alone makes you shiver slightly, a small tremor up your spine, which you could always blame on the coldness of the wall behind you. It would be a lie, anyway.

“Sorry if I’m having a hard time believing that, Zayne—you? A social smoker?” you puff out the smoke, letting it curl in the space between you that has gotten an inch smaller since you’ve started talking, “What, you’re a social drinker, too? And here I thought you lost a bet to Caleb or something.” You gesture to the bottle in his hand with a cheeky smile.

Zayne only hums, something you can’t actually hear because of all the noise, but you do inch a tad bit closer to him.

“There’s quite a lot you don’t know about me.” He tilts his head down, hazel eyes focused on you, and the subtle move has your heart picking up the pace a little. He only lingers on your face for a few seconds before looking around casually. “Is it that hard to believe I’m here out of my own free will?”

You puff a small laugh, because yeah, it is quite hard to believe Zayne Li would choose this as his preferred Friday night activity. He doesn’t seem that out of place as you would have thought he would, if someone were to come up to you and say they saw Zayne Li in an underground pub, surrounded by smokers and loud college students, drinking beer in a leather jacket and tight jeans.

“I feel like answering that would not make your impression of me improve.” You inhale again, pursing your lips around the cigarette. A small curve of his lips has your stomach doing a flip, because of many reasons, really. One would be that you never expected Zayne to be so easy to talk to, and another one would be how good that smirk looks on his lips.

You lick your own unconsciously.

He shuffles closer to you, and you shift on your heels to make some space for him. Leaning with his shoulder on the wall, he brings the bottle to his lips again, so you break eye contact to rummage through your purse again, looking for another cigarette since the one you had in your hand burned all the way through.

From the corner of your eye, you see Tara and Caleb laugh at something, then Tara looks your way and silently gestures toward the bar at the end of the corridor. You immediately get what she’s saying, the two of them already making their way there, Caleb’s hand around her shoulders to stabilize her. You roll your eyes and smile, turning back to Zayne who’s silent beside you, eyes looking in the same direction.

You’re almost out of cigarettes, which would be just your luck, but at least you’ve got enough to stay out here for a while longer. Not that you really need an excuse to hang out here, but hanging out with Zayne in this enviorment which is far from academic, makes you feel a new type of nervousness.

You light your cigarette with a flick of the lighter, the small flame catching the corner of your mouth for half a second before it disappears, and you tilt your body in Zayne’s direction, hip cocked against the brick, smoke curling slow up between you.

“Fair enough. Then you won’t mind me asking why you’ve picked up smoking?”

He lifts a brow at you, something curious in his expression, something almost probing, like he’s already three steps ahead of whatever answer you’re about to give him. He waits patiently for your response, head tilted a fraction, and you find yourself shrugging a shoulder before the silence has the chance to stretch into something heavier than you want it to.

“Bad habit,” you offer, mouth curving in a playful gesture, something someone who hasn’t fully decided how much to share would do, tapping a little ash off the end of your cigarette. “Seems like I stumble into bad decisions lately.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, the smallest thing, but enough that you catch it and feel the warmth of it settle somewhere low and pleased under your sternum. You like that. You like that you can pull that out of him without seeming to try very hard at all. He brings the bottle back up to his mouth then and tips the rest of the beer into his throat in one slow swallow, the line of it working under the dim corridor light. When he’s done he leans sideways and sets the empty bottle on the narrow ledge running off the brick, where someone has already left two crushed caps and a folded matchbook.

“Do you mind?” His chin lifts slightly toward the cigarette between your fingers, brows arched, easy with it.

You blink at him for half a second, an eyebrow flicking up in something that’s mostly confused and a little curious, and the smile that pulls at your mouth has a touch of cheekiness in it that you don’t quite bother smoothing over.

“By all means.”

You pass it to him slowly, the brush of your fingers landing in the handoff, and you watch with quiet curiosity as he lifts it to his mouth, the filter catching the light where your gloss has left a faint pink print along it. He pauses just before he draws, gaze flicking up over the line of his fingers to lock with yours, holding it there long enough that the air between you tightens around your ribs.

You lean in then, mouth drifting close to his ear because you tell yourself the corridor is loud, even though neither of you have been struggling to hear each other.

“Is this one of your special occasions, then?”

You linger only a breath longer than you need to before easing back, and the small smirk that curves slow over his mouth has your stomach turning once in a lazy roll.

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t mind if it was, would you?”

His voice is low, casual enough on the surface that it would be easy to miss what’s underneath it if you weren’t already listening for it. He drags a slow inhale from the cigarette, the ember flaring orange in the dim light, and tilts it back toward you between two fingers while exhaling the smoke off to the side of you, lips half-parted, gaze still settled steady on yours.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

He raises one back.

“Come closer, then.”

You take half a step in and tip your face up, but he doesn’t pass the cigarette to your fingers this time. He holds it for you, knuckles brushing the corner of your mouth as you wrap your lips around the filter and draw. Your free hand drifts up the front of his jacket, fingers walking slow over the leather, finding the lapel and curling there a beat before sliding higher to the collar. You tug him down without hurry, just enough that his head dips and his lips part on a quiet exhale that you can feel along your top lip.

You let the smoke leave your mouth in a slow, unhurried push, and he takes it from the gap between your lips in a soft inhale, his chest rising shallow with it, the line of his mouth coming so close to yours that you can feel the heat of him without quite touching. Inches between you. Neither one of you moving to close them.

His free hand finds your hip then, settles there with a quiet weight that’s deliberate in a way that makes your breath catch under your ribs. His eyes search yours for half a beat, something unspoken passing through them, a question low enough that he doesn’t need to voice it for you to feel it land. You tilt your head a fraction in answer, nose brushing slow against his, and the corner of his mouth twitches against the small drag of it.

You slip the cigarette from between his slender fingers, holding it up between you with a small, playful curl of your mouth, and bring it to his lips while trying to not be too aware of how close you’re standing. He smirks, eyes still on yours, and parts his lips around the filter as you hold it for him, the ember catching as he draws. His hand slides from your hip up along the line of your waist in the same breath, fingers spreading wide over your ribs through the thin material of your dress. The sudden firm grasp of it pulls a small gasp out of you before you’ve decided to make a sound, your back arching against the brick on instinct.

He uses it. He bends his face down into the small space your gasp has carved between you and exhales the smoke between your parted lips in a slow, deliberate stream, and you breathe him in without thinking, the heat of his breath, the bitter trace of the cigarette, all of it dragging down into your lungs while his thumb sweeps a slow circle against the side of your ribcage.

You hold the smoke a beat longer than you need to before letting it spill back out, curling pale up between your mouths. You see his gaze drop and stay this time, settling on your parted lips, a look so intense it has your tongue peek out to wet your lower lip.

“You’ve made a real mess of it, by the way.”

His voice has gone quieter, more of a low vibration in his chest than a proper sentence, and his thumb keeps up its slow tracing against the side of your waist, the easy patience of it almost worse than the kiss he isn’t giving you yet. You’re pretty sure that’s where this is going, and you don’t know what made you dizzier. The fact that his hand is on your waist, burning through the fabric, or that you’re close enough to smell his cologne mixed with the cigarette smoke.

You don’t quite follow at first, head still hazed from the smoke and the alcohol and the warmth of him pressed close.

He did it so casually, too. You knew Zayne to be confident in his academics, but didn’t quite expect him to flirt so smoothly. When you offered your cigarette to him, you thought he would either pass or just awkardly draw from it, aiming to indulge you. What you didn’t expect but are currently pleasantly surprised by was his little cocky act of doing shotguns with you.

“Of what?” You breathe against his lips, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Your lipstick.”

Your tongue traces the inside of your lower lip on instinct, and his gaze drops with the movement and snaps back up as if it hadn’t quite given itself permission to wander.

“Have I?”

“Half of it. Pretty thoroughly.”

The way he sets it down has a careful weight to it, an observation laid between you that he’s clearly waiting for you to do something with, and it takes you a beat longer than it should to catch the implication underneath. Smudged. Like someone else has already been at your mouth tonight before him. The slow grin tugs at the corner of yours before you bother to school it.

“And you’ve just been thinking about that this whole time, is that what you’re saying?”

His thumb hasn’t paused along your ribs, the slow circle of it almost distracted in its patience, grounding and indecent at once.

“Hard not to, when it’s right there.”

“Got a theory?” You stare right into his hazel gaze, voice a little defiant in its provocation.

His hand drifts slowly, sliding up the line of your side until his warm palm finds the curve of your throat and settles there, fingers spreading along the side of your jaw with a tenderness that doesn’t quite match the heat behind his eyes.

“A few.” His eyes trace a slow path from your eyes to your mouth and back up.

“Care to share?” you whisper, finger dragging slowly down his chest.

The pad of his thumb drags slow along the corner of your mouth, no accident in the angle, smearing the gloss further across the seam of your lips, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the small curl of satisfaction it pulls into one side of his own.

“Not particularly.”

You let him. You let him work the soft pad of his thumb across the ruined line of your mouth, eyes still tipped up to his, your own smirk tugging slow at the smudge he’s just made worse, and you can feel your heartbeat picking up under your collarbones in a way that’s almost ridiculous, given how little it takes to set it off. You laugh lowly, more of a hum in your chest than a proper sound, and his thumb pauses at the corner of your mouth at the feel of it before resuming, slower now, almost thoughtful.

“It was a shot glass,” you tell him, smiling sweet up at him through your lashes in a way you know is performative and a little unfair. “Disappointing answer, I know.”

His mouth twitches, the not-quite-smirk pulling at the corner.

“Hm. Less interesting than I had it.”

“And what did you have in mind?”

“Someone less careful than I would be.”

That lands low and warm in your stomach in a way the alcohol can’t take credit for, and the air between you thins by another fraction, your chest brushing his with the next breath you take in.

“You think you’d be careful with my mouth, then?” You raise your eyebrows at him, while he only tilts his head to the side.

“When I wanted to be.”

“And when you didn’t?”

His gaze drops to your mouth again and holds there, the smallest curl pulling slow at the corner of his, his thumb still warm at the smudge he made.

“You’d find out.”

You let the silence stretch a beat longer than it needs to, fingers still curled loose at the collar of his jacket, the cigarette burning quietly down between your knuckles, his palm still cradling the side of your face.

“Hm. Then perhaps I can just...”

You don’t wait on him this time. You tilt your face slow out of his hand, the drag of his palm trailing along your jaw as you go, and bring your mouth to the line of his instead, lips parting against the faint catch of stubble as you press a soft kiss just below the corner of his jaw. His exhale stutters audibly through his nose, and you feel the small tightening of his fingers along your jaw before they slip down to settle warm at the side of your throat.

You drag your mouth lower, unhurried, brushing along the line of his jaw and dipping into the soft warm hollow under it, where his pulse is hammering a good deal faster than the rest of his face has bothered to let on.

“Looks like I’m finding a way to smudge it on my own,” you murmur against his skin, the words landing in soft drags of your mouth as you say them. “Hope you don’t mind.”

You feel his hand slip from your throat, his arm winding loose around your waist as it goes, palm trailing the line of your spine in one long, slow stroke before it dips lower still and finds the curve of your ass. There’s no hesitation in the way his hand settles there. He cups you with the same easy certainty he used to find your hip earlier, except this time he uses it to pull you flush against the front of his body in one quiet, deliberate haul. It takes you off guard, the gasp that comes out of you is small and entirely involuntary, breaking soft against the side of his neck where your mouth had been working a kiss in.

You let it land. You let yourself breathe through the sudden warm press of his body against the line of your hips, the heat of him through denim, before you tilt your face up to drag your lips along the shell of his ear.

“Keep that hand right there, Zayne,” your voice has gone smoke-low, almost lazy with it, the dirty curl in it sliding under the playfulness, “and you’re going to ruin a lot more than my lipstick tonight.”

You could care less that you’re surrounded by people, and Zayne doesn’t seem to mind either, so you resume your kisses down his neck. There’s nothing to see, anyway. If anyone glances your way they would only see two drunk college students making out against a wall, in a dirty underground corridor connecting multiple pubs.

He huffs a soft sound through his nose, something close to a laugh but not quite committing, the warm gust of it stirring the hair at your temple. His hand tightens a fraction at the curve of your ass before easing back into a more measured grip, like he’s reminding himself of the line he’s already crossed. His other hand has come up to your face at some point you can’t pinpoint, and you find his palm warm along the side of your throat with his thumb resting at the line of your jaw.

“Is that the alcohol talking?”

The words land close to your temple in that low tone you remember from across a seminar table, except they’re pressed up against the side of your face now and carrying a heat behind them you’ve never heard him use in a classroom. Your hand has its own ideas about the silence, sliding slow up from the lapel of his jacket along the line of his throat, fingertips dragging through the soft warmth at the side of his neck before settling there. You watch the way his throat works in response, the small swallow he doesn’t quite manage to hide.

“Are you blaming my advances on how much I had to drink?” you pull back from his neck, lashes fluttering.

“Shouldn’t I?” His thumb traces your jaw, gaze flicking over the color sitting high in your cheeks like he wants you to know he’s noticed. “You’re flushed all over and clinging to me.”

Your fingers curl at the back of his neck where the hair tapers short as you laugh softly at his words, giving a small tug at the strands there, just enough to angle his face down a fraction lower toward yours. The flicker of surprise that crosses his eyes is gone almost as fast as it shows.

“Don’t girls cling to you without being tipsy, Zayne?” Your gaze drifts lazy up at him through your lashes, slurring your words just enough. “I doubt it.”

You watch as his gaze drops slow over your face, considering what you’re implying. His hand at your throat slides a fraction higher, his palm now cupping the underside of your jaw, and that has your pulse picking up under his fingers. The silence stretches loaded enough that you shift your hips an inch against the front of him just for the warmth of him through your dress, and the corner of his mouth twitches, catching it.

It’s not that you really think girls just throw themselves at Zayne on a daily basis. He is smart, funny, and considerate, yet he doesn’t strike you as the type to just have women at his side. That would be Caleb, with all his positive energy and charisma, a true heartbreaker with women hanging around him all day in hopes of keeping his attention on them.

Zayne is the opposite. Or at least, the Zayne you knew before tonight. Quiet Zayne, who girls occasionally gather enough courage to go up to and ask to hang out under the pretense of studying together. But this Zayne is different. Or maybe it’s just another side of him you didn’t know existed, yet somehow managed to capture your attention and keep it.

You’re intrigued, that’s what this is. Intrigued of just how he’ll behave if you push him just a bit more.

He plucks the cigarette from where it’s burned down between your knuckles between two of his own fingers, gentle about the handoff, and lifts it back up between your faces.

“Finish your cigarette.”

You arch a brow at him, the smile pulling slow at one side of your mouth and a little defiant.

“Finish it for me.”

His mouth twitches deeper this time. He lifts the cigarette to your lips without ceremony, holding it for you the way he did before, and you let him, drawing slow with your eyes still up on his while the ember flares. When you pull back, he brings the filter to his own mouth and pulls the last of it down to almost nothing in one long, easy inhale, the line of his jaw working under the dim corridor light in a way that has heat curling low in your stomach for what feels like the tenth time tonight. He drops the spent end to the floor and grinds it out under the heel of his boot.

You don’t wait for him to take the lead this time. Your right hand that has been rsting on his chest simply moves, fitting along the line of his jaw with a grip that’s firmer than is strictly polite, thumb sliding under his chin to tilt his face down toward yours. The small flicker of surprise that flares behind his eyes is barely a breath long before it folds back into the half-lidded heat that’s been settling there for the last several minutes.

“Won’t you kiss me?” the words curl between your mouths like smoke, soft and tempting.

You don’t bother making it sound like anything other than what it is, just a soft, easy question, your mouth already drifting up toward his on instinct. As you move to close the distance, his hand moves to your face, thumb pressing firm against the soft underside of your chin to keep you a careful half-inch shy of getting there.

It catches you off guard. You’d half-expected him to dip into it the second you angled up. You feel the wall of him before you feel the resistance, but he doesn’t move into your hand and doesn’t move out of it either. He just stays like that, with his head tilted slightly, the little smile playing slow at the corner of his tempting mouth.

“Is that all it takes?”

Your brain runs a beat slower than it should, the smoke and the alcohol and the warm pressure of his palm cupping your ass adding up to something you can’t quite manage at speed, so you blink up at him in something soft and confused before the question lands properly.

“Hm?”

“Batting your eyelashes at a guy and sweet-talking him in order to kiss you breathless?”

The word breathless lands somewhere behind your sternum in a way that doesn’t help the current situation where you can only think about how much you want to close that inch between you. Your lashes do a small, slow drag down his face, entirely accidental this time, and you watch his gaze flick down to catch it. Your fingers shift along his jaw, thumb pressing a little harder under the line of his chin like you’re trying to hold him in place by sheer reminder of who started this.

“They usually fold at that.” you smirk up at him, looking as confident as you can be.

He mirrors your smirk, hazel eyes sparkling in what you guess is amusement and wonder.

“I’m sure they do.” His thumb leaves your chin to trace a slow line along the seam of your bottom lip, dragging the smudge of lipstick a fraction further across your mouth. “But you don’t have to do all that with me.”

You blink up at him properly this time, something almost wary threading through the heat, because that wasn’t quite the response you’d braced for. The hand still cupped firm around your ass tells you he isn’t pulling away. The hand at your face tells you the same. So what he’s actually saying takes a moment to settle.

“All what?”

He leans in, close enough that the warmth of his breath skims along your top lip, close enough that for one suspended second you think you’ve actually won, but his voice when it comes is barely more than a vibration in his chest.

“Beg.”

Your breath stops in your throat. The breathy tone he used, dancing across your mouth while his eyes stare you down, it all makes your thighs tense.

“As much as I’d love to get you begging, I tend to reserve that for activities a little more befitting than kissing.”

That one sentence does something to you that you weren’t prepared for, and your whole body responds before your brain has a chance to catch up. The heat climbs hot up the column of your throat, your thighs press together on instinct against the wall and the front of him, and the laugh that tries to come up at the back of your throat dies somewhere before it makes it to your mouth, because you suddenly have no idea what to say back to that.

You decide, somewhere fast and unspoken, that you don’t necessarily enjoy not knowing what to say.

So you do something with your hands instead.

The fingers curled at the back of his neck tighten down hard, the hand at his jaw drops to fist in the front of his jacket, and you push off the wall behind you with one decisive step that brings him with you, his weight following your pull in a way that suggests he had maybe half a second to brace and chose not to. You spin your bodies slowly until you are the one with facing the wall now, and his back finds the brick where yours had been pressed up against it a heartbeat ago.

He goes easily. He goes so easy you don’t entirely trust it, because the corner of his mouth lifts in something that isn’t a smile so much as an acknowledgement, like he’s noting the move down somewhere for later reference.

You take it anyway. You pin him there with the flat of your palm pressed against the front of his jacket, your other hand sliding from his jaw down to grip the side of his throat with a hold that’s firm and just slightly bossy, your thumb resting against the soft hollow under his ear. His hands settle at your waist, both of them now, his cool palms warm again through your dress. His grip is still rather loose, casual even, no attempt to flip you back, just standing pinned with his hands at your sides like he’s letting you have this and intends to enjoy every second of it.

You let go of his jacket to slide your hand down and curl your fingers along the dip of his waist, gripping there. You pull his hips snug against yours in one slow controlled drag, while you slide your hand back up from his throat to cup the side of his jaw, fingers fitting along the line of bone there with a hold that is firm and unmistakably for-keeping, tilting his face down toward yours another small fraction.

He lets the silence sit for a few beats. Lets it work on you. His thumb has started a slow, lazy drag along the dip of your waist again, like he is in no particular hurry about anything despite the position he’s currently in.

“Besides,” he tilts his head a fraction lower, mouth grazing along the line of your cheekbone now, the brush of his stubble pulling another small involuntary shiver through you, “you’re beautiful even when you’re sexually frustrated.”

Your breath catches audibly. You can’t help it. The grip you have along his jaw tightens, your fingertips pressing into the soft skin at the side of his face hard enough to leave a faint imprint, the other hand sliding up his waist to fist loose at the side of his jacket and drag him in another small fraction.

You hold his gaze. You don’t bat your lashes like before, you only lift your lashes very slowly from his mouth to his piercing eyes, licking your lips. Every sensual second of it pointed straight up at him with no question left about what it’s asking for.

“Kiss me, Zayne.”

He leans down to kiss your cheek instead, the brush of his mouth too soft to count, the smirk you can feel against your skin doing the rest of the work. You catch the faint warmth of his breath before he pulls back just enough to watch you suffer through it.

“You’re just teasing me at this point!” The huff comes out half laugh, half complaint, and your body betrays you anyway, leaning harder into the line of him, hips finding the firm shape of his thigh through his jeans. You grind once, slow, mostly to see what he does with it.

What he does is press his thigh up a fraction to meet you, casual as anything, like he hasn’t just made your dress ride higher up the back of your leg. His free hand settles on your waist, thumb pushing under the hem to find bare skin, and you forget, for a second, that you’re standing in a corridor at all.

“You asked me to kiss you,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to tilt your face up to catch it, and there’s a quiet laugh threaded through it that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You blink up at him, lashes heavy, mouth parted around the obvious answer he’s pretending he didn’t hear. The little crease at the corner of his eye gives him away. He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying you, scrambling.

“Obviously I meant my lips.” You jab a finger lightly into his chest, the gesture losing all its bite when your palm just stays there, flat against the warmth of his shirt, feeling the slow steady thump of his heart under it.

He glances down at your hand. Then back up at you. The smirk pulls a fraction higher on one side, like he’s clocked the way your fingers have curled into the fabric without permission, and he is going to make you live with the evidence of it.

“Should have been more specific.” It comes out almost lazy, dropped right against the bridge of your nose, and you have approximately half a second to register the unfairness of it before he moves.

He smirks and leans down, rotating you so your back is against the wall again, brick cool through the thin fabric of your dress. His mouth brushes yours, a graze, barely a promise, and his hands come up to cup your face, tilting it the way he wants it with that easy confidence that should not be legal on a college campus.

You close your eyes. You wait for it. You actually part your lips for it. And then his mouth slides down past yours, jaw to throat, lips closing soft and sucking against the skin under your ear.

“Why don’t you—oh fuck…mmm.” Your voice flatlines mid-sentence, the rest of whatever clever thing you were going to say abandoned somewhere you don’t care about. The frustration that had been building under your skin tips, slides, becomes something heavier and lower and a lot less articulate. Your fingers, still flat against his chest, curl until you’re holding fistfuls of his shirt.

That has your arms wrapping around his neck, palm sliding up into the back of his hair where it’s soft and a little damp from the heat of the place. One of his hands leaves your jaw and finds your ass through your dress, gripping firm enough that you feel it in your teeth, pulling you flush against him. He moves slow over your throat, mouth open, sucking kisses in a careful line like he’s mapping for something specific. When he finds it, just under the angle of your jaw, you make a sound straight into his ear that you would not have made sober. He hums against your skin, satisfied, and stays there to suck more marks.

The corridor is loud. There’s music thumping muffled through the wall behind you, somebody shouting somebody else’s name from the bar end, the wet smack of a bottle going over and a chorus of laughter rolling after it. You hear all of it from somewhere far away. The actual noise in your head is the rush behind your ears and the soft, obscene sounds his mouth is making at your throat, and the way your body keeps trying to climb him by half-inches.

You’re thinking about his dorm. You don’t even know if his dorm is empty right now, or if another one of his roommates is there right now. You’re thinking about it anyway, in the vague, drunk way of somewhere with a door that closes, and you’re imagining how fast you could get there if he picked you up off this wall right now and asked.

“Babe?”

Simone’s voice cuts through it like somebody pulling a needle off a record. You feel Zayne smile against your throat before he lifts his head slowly, taking his sweet time about it. His thumb strokes once over the line of your jaw before his hand drops.

You turn your head against the brick. Simone is two steps out of the pub door, one hand braced on the frame to keep herself vertical, the other holding what looks like somebody else’s drink, because she’s not the type to drink that questionable-looking liquid. Her eyes have done the math on Zayne’s mouth and your throat and the gap that is approximately nonexistent between your bodies, and instead of saying anything about it she just goes wide-eyed and breaks into a slow, delighted giggle behind her hand.

“Oh my god,” she shouts-whispers, which is louder than her speaking voice, “okay, okay, I didn’t see anything! I’m looking for Tara. Have you seen Tara? Hi, Zayne.”

“Hi, Simone,” Zayne says, perfectly even, like his hand isn’t still resting on the back of your thigh.

You open your mouth to answer her and don’t get the chance, because that’s when Tara rounds the corner from the bar with Caleb half-draped across her shoulders and a small herd of people you only half-recognise from someone’s seminar trailing in their wake. Tara takes one look at you against the wall, one look at Zayne, one look at Simone giggling into her own wrist, and her face does something complicated and triumphant that you’re going to have to answer for tomorrow.

“Round two!” Caleb announces to the entire corridor, lifting an arm. “Music’s fucking unreal in there, we’re going back in. Li. Bring your girl.”

Your girl. You feel that one land somewhere under your ribs. Zayne’s thumb does a small, deliberate stroke against the back of your thigh where nobody can see it, and you don’t trust your face at all.

“We’re good,” Zayne says easily, already pushing off the wall enough to give you space without giving you up. “You guys go.”

“Booo. Boring.” Caleb grins at him with no real heat. “Suit yourself, man. Text me.”

Tara’s eyes flick from Zayne to you and back, and she doesn’t say a single thing, which from Tara is loud. She just hooks her arm tighter around Caleb’s waist and lets the herd pull them toward the door, Simone falling in beside her with one last giggly look thrown over her shoulder.

The door swallows them. The bass kicks back up muffled. You’re aware, suddenly and very clearly, that you are still flushed from your collarbones up, that your dress is twisted slightly at the hip, that you can feel the wet print of his mouth cooling under your jaw, and that your head has started doing the slow soft pitch that means another drink would absolutely be a bad idea.

You should go in with them. The smarter version of you, the one who isn’t several drinks deep with her thighs still pressed together against a brick wall, knows that. The version of you currently operating is mostly running on the question of whether Zayne is going to put his hand back on your face or not.

He doesn’t. He steps in close again, but only to lean down to your ear, one hand braced on the wall above your shoulder, and his mouth ghosts over the same spot under your jaw that he claimed two minutes ago.

“If I kiss you properly right now,” his voice has gone quiet enough to be just for you, “you’re not making it home alone. So.” he pauses slightly, the barest scrape of his teeth against your skin. “Be specific next time, hm?”

He kisses your cheek. The same chaste, smirking press as before, in exactly the same place, and you feel it like a verdict.

When he pulls back his eyes are doing that mild thing again, the one that doesn’t commit to anything, except now you know better. He pushes off the wall, fishes his phone out of his back pocket, fires off something quick that you assume is the promised text to Caleb, and tilts his head toward the stairs at the corridor’s end.

You follow him with your throat still buzzing and your head full of all the versions of tonight that just got taken off the table, and you are absolutely going to think about the one where you’d been more specific the entire way home.

(credits for the Art go to Raoni - @/raonnni on X)

© zaynessbeloved 2026. please don’t copy, repost or translate my works. thank you!

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Fuck, this is what I get for applying for this position, you curse internally, gritting your teeth. Some shady military op that’s apparently trying to conquer an alien planet and put scientists like you, who were just trying to understand alien life, in danger.

Oxygen leaks out of your mask with a steady hiss. Your breaths grow shallower, chest tightening. You need that mask. Even if it risks giving up your hiding spot.

Slowly, you crawl out into the open, tufts of plush grass tickling your palms. You keep glancing surreptitiously towards the base, half expecting a screeching Na’vi to pounce at you at any second.

The mask is ten feet away. Now five. You’re about to make the final stretch. But first, you feel it: a little tingle on your skin, a dark inkling that something is wrong.

Then, you see it.

Two dark eyes are pinned on you, peeking through the thick foliage. A zap of terror shoots through you. Instead of recoiling back, you freeze, chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with your lack of oxygen.

Time stands still.

Move, you snap at yourself internally, but you can only stay petrified, mouth agape, on your hands and knees, arm still reaching for the mask like an idiot.

Would moving even make a difference? The other part of your brain laments. It’s not like I could compete with a Na’vi’s speed.

Then, the branches part. The being reveals himself, all long, blue limbs toned with muscle. A male, you realize, unable to do much but stare right back at him. A bow is slung over his back.

Your heart pounds, fully anticipating him to just whip out an arrow and shoot you right there. But his gaze isn’t predatory or malicious, no— it’s sharp with curiosity, almost wide with surprise at seeing a human in these forests. He’s not one of those hostiles, then?

Even through his messy, brown hair, you can see that he dawns markings that don’t correlate with any tribes you’ve seen. With your experience in studying the Na’vi, you quickly catalogue potential identities. A lone hunter? A nomad?

He steps closer, and closer yet, until he’s just a foot away. Brilliant bright eyes— violet, you realize— drop from you, to the sought-after mask, before shooting back up to you.

Then, with all the grace and elegance of a cat, he crouches down and plucks the mask from the ground.

Desperation rising, you blurt, “No!”

He was merely turning the object in his large palms, inspecting it, but at your outburst he pauses, head slowly raising to stare at you. You resist the urge to clasp a hand over your mouth.

What were you thinking, yelling at this lethal alien? But he hasn’t killed me yet, when Na’vi are known for ending their victims relatively quickly, you ration. So maybe I have a chance?

Your oxygen mask beeps in warning, drawing his endlessly fascinated gaze. You need that mask.

“I mean,” you try again, this time in the basic Na’vi you picked up while studying, “that’s mine.”

The Na’vi tilts his head. Then his lips twitch, sharp eyebrows lowering, as if pleased by hearing you speak to him.

The one-sided conversation is interrupted by a loud crash from the base.

Both of your heads snap in the direction of the base. There’s another crash, accompanied by the screeching of approaching Na’vi that gets louder by the second. The takeover hasn’t stopped. It’d been just moving throughout the base, and now it’s moving towards you.

Finally, you scramble up, forget about that stupid mask, and run.

You don’t know where exactly you’re going. You just push through thick branches and foliage, hoping the vegetation will shield you from the hostiles’ eyes. But then you realize there’s a second set of footsteps behind you.

You shriek as a long arm binds around your waist, tugging you flush against a firm chest. A large blue hand grabs both of your flailing arms easily, and you’re hauled over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

At first, you want to kick and fight some more, but when you look back at the wrecked base, distance from it growing with each of the Na’vi’s long strides, you see the building shake with a low boom, and arrows whiz past the interior. He’s saving you. And though you have no idea where you’re going, as long as it’s away from the mass slaughter taking place in there—

You can only tuck your face against the Na’vi’s neck and pray.

You feel him mount you on something, and you peek just a bit and see that he’s ushered you on an screeching ikran. “Wait,” you panic, squirming to look up at him, but he only glances down airily, before shoving your face into his broad chest with a large palm.

You suppose you should be grateful for the way your view is hindered as the ikran rocks and takes off shakily, as you’re positive you would’ve vomited everywhere if you were forced to see the treetops far below. You still squeal though, clutching at the Na’vi’s torso like it’s a lifeline, eyes squeezed shut. You swear you feel his chest rumbling with laughter against your cheek.

It’s been minutes when world tilts again, air rushing past your ears. You can feel yourself soaring up, steeper, before suddenly the ikran lands with surprising grace, and you’re on stable ground again.

The Na’vi wastes no time in dismounting and taking you up in his arms again. Finally, you open your eyes. The area is lush with vegetation, but it’s clearly distinct from where the base was. Jagged rocks jut out against hills, creating interconnected networks of caves that extend outwards in different openings.

He takes you to one of them. You assume it’s his longtime home, as it’s entrance is veiled by a net woven with beads and wooden vines. He lifts the veil, revealing a spacious interior that glows with bioluminescent fauna that glows dimly even midday. As he sets you down, you can only marvel at the space, curiously taking in a Na’vi den you’ve only studied on computer screens— yet this one seemed decisively different. Most Na’vi homes were villages, clusters of netting and treehouses that were interconnected, built alongside nature, but never the nature itself, like this cave you’re in. There were some similarities, such as the woven net covering the cave that extends slightly to create a hammock-like structure, before dipping to cover the cold stony floor, that suggested he’d settled here for long enough. He must not be a nomad then. But there’s no village in sight— so what is he?

Your thoughts are cut off when you’re lightly shoved onto the hammock without any warning.

You twist, only to see the Na’vi kneeling over you. “What— hey!”

Your words are in English, but he still seems to sense your distress. “Calm down,” his voice is surprisingly soothing even when he’s speaking an alien language. “I just need to fix you up.”

He gestures to a shallow gash on your shin that you didn’t even know was there. Huh.

“But first…” he delicately hands you the oxygen mask. You take it eagerly, discarding your old one. The Na’vi watches, fascinated by the sight of your face without a barrier, but you’re quick to clasp on the new mask, eyes averted.

You sigh in relief, the tightness in your lungs fading with just a few breaths of the recycled air. Yet, you tense up again when lithe fingers grip your shin.

Now it’s your turn to watch in fascination as the Na’vi brings out what looks like a giant pestle bowl and grind up some sort of herbs, the plants bleeding an alarmingly neon green color that honestly looks poisonous— but it’s not like you’re in any position to complain, so you just let him work. You shift your feet a little, feeling ridiculously out of place. He’s quiet, probably concentrated on his work, but your human mannerisms and curiosity urge you to fill the silence with conversation.

“So…” you clear your throat, straining your tongue to wrap around the foreign vowels of Na’vi to tell him your name, before adding, “what’s your name?”

“Ca’leb,” he answers simply.

“Caleb…” you probably mess up an accent or two, but that’s the least of your worries. Mindfully, as not to be rude to your host, you ask, “why did you save me?”

“Well, you were in danger,” Caleb hums simply, and you jerk when his long fingers apply the cool herbal salve along the stinging cut. As his grip shifts to unnecessarily cup your calf in a gentle caress, his violet gaze shimmers in the glowing fauna, intense yet almost shy. “Besides, I’ve never seen a human up close before. I just had to take you.”

Ooookay, you flush, refusing to meet his insistent gaze, I might be stuck with this weird loner Na’vi for a while. At least he’s healing me?

“Alright,” you clear your throat, “thank you. It was…awful back there.”

Caleb shifts closer, slender tail flicking behind him excitedly as he practically lounges on the hammock with you, sturdy netting barely dipping under his weight. “You’re welcome. In fact, I’m surprised you even got away. Humans seem very fragile…can I?”

You don’t even have a chance to reply before he’s practically feeling you up, large hands lifting and turning over your smaller limbs, eyes wide with intrigue. He pokes and prods at your ribs and thighs, drawing quiet noises of shock from you. His hands go up, pushing up the fabric of your shirt, exposing your stomach and almost—

You shove his hands away urgently, letting out a snap. “Don’t you even try going there! Please,” you add quickly, anxious about angering him.

Instead, Caleb looks sad, eyes widening and lip jutting, tail curling backwards dejectedly.

Huh. Strange equating this lethal creature to a puppy, but here we are.

To his credit, he gets over it relatively quick, a pleasant expression making its way back on his face. He tugs his hands away, as if just now realizing that personal space would be nice, especially after the frightful event you just experienced.

More alert now, he stands to his towering height and tucks some furs around you. “Get some rest,” he orders, heading towards the entrance of the cave, where he perches, bow by his side. “I’ll keep watch and make sure no hostile tribes followed us here.” You blink, watching him leave rather abruptly.

You’d think falling asleep in such an unfamiliar place is hard, especially when said place is the wilderness of an alien planet. Yet, with the soft elastic material beneath you and a hide pulled up to your chin, it’s not long before you’re in a land of dreams.

When you wake, the sun hangs low in the sky. Sitting up, you notice Caleb’s steady form is gone from the opening. Apprehensive mingles through you: you didn’t exactly want your only source of protection gone when you were out here in the wilderness.

Meekly, you stand— ignoring your stinging shin— and creep out of the shelter, lifting the netting to step out onto the grass. Glancing around doesn’t give you any more insight on where you are as you’d hoped. Well, it’s another forest, you think dryly, blinking up at the towering trees around you.

“What are you doing outside?”

You turn at the sound of his voice. Gone is the innocent exterior he held; Caleb’s glaring, sharp brows lowered and jaw clenched. Slung over his shoulder is a bloody carcass of some sort of creature, and despite his softness earlier, you find the violence comes eerily natural to him. You swallow thickly.

“I woke up and was just wondering where you went,” you stammer, and his expression slowly relaxes. He really can switch up, huh? You wonder. Are all Na’vi like this?

“Alright,” with a hand on the small of your back, you’re ushered back inside. “Right on time for dinner. Just don’t walk on your injury, yeah?”

You nod, perching back on the hammock. You watch him bring the animal just outside the cave, where he sparks up a small flame. You choose to look away as he hacks at the meat with a knife into tiny cuts— you’ve been on this planet for a while, but as a scientist, your exposure to the wilderness and camping has been limited to cooking smores back on Earth. Eventually, though, Caleb returns with a steaming plate of roasted meat, with a side of what looks like grain and herbs. It’s not any human food, but just the smell of it is enough to make you salivate.

“Thank you,” you eagerly reach for the bowl, but Caleb merely pulls it back an inch, shaking his head with a smile.

“Let me feed you. You should save your energy,” and he’s perching right next to you on the hammock, scooping some food onto a spoon.

“Oh, no, I’m alright—”

He’s already holding out a spoonful. “Say ahh!”

Reluctant, you lift your oxygen mask, leaning forward to take a bite. Caleb watches your expression, enraptured, as you chew and swallow. You give him a strained smile— the food is amazing, but having him be so attentive is a bit embarrassing.

“Delicious,” you comment as you slip the mask on for a second to steal some breaths of oxygen. Caleb lights up at the praise, lips splitting with a smile, big eyes glimmering.

“Good. Eat it all, then. You need strength, yawntutsyìp,” you have no idea what that nickname means, but you continue letting him feed you.

“You should eat too.”

“I will, later.”

“Alright,” eating and rushing a few breaths of oxygen doesn’t exactly leave any room for speaking, but your curiosity really knows no bounds. “What animal is this?”

“It’s a syìl*,”*** Caleb seems eager to hold a conversation, so he doesn’t mind when you eat slower to rush out some questions. “Herds of them are plentiful around these forests, especially less than a mile north.”

“Oh,” you’ve heard of those deer-like creatures in your research. Knowing that you’re tasting one makes you feel an absurd amount of giddiness. “You seem very knowledgeable about these parts.”

“I am. I’ve lived here for quite a while.”

“But I don’t think there are any tribes or villages nearby,” you are careful to tread lightly. As familial bonds are deeply sacred to the Na’vi, and his isolation is not only deeply baffling and rare, the subject may be a sensitive one. “Do you live here alone?”

But Caleb looks unfettered and merely nods. “Yes.”

You press your lips together in thought, but you have to quickly part them again to take the spoon in your mouth again when he insistently waves it around. It seems like this is all you’re getting out of him today, because by the time your bowl is empty, he’s pushing you to lie back into the hammock.

“Sìltsan,” he coos, brushing a palm over your head as you lay down, “good, good job. Now just go to sleep, yeah? You’ve had a long day.”

You’re too tired to even bristle at his doting— does he seriously think humans are a kind of pet or something?— dozing off under his persistent, gentle pats. You sleep deep enough that you don’t stir when he curls up beside you later.

You learn a few things about Caleb in the next days that pass.

One, being that he’s alarmingly attentive.

You’ve woken up at least 3 times with Caleb’s bright eyes pinned on you in the dark of the night. You at first wondered if he was irritated— did you take too much of the pelt, leaving him chilly? Or were you hogging too much space? You attempted to resolve this by shifting away from him one night, ensuring you don’t brush against him. He didn’t take too much of a liking to that, tugging you close again with his long limbs and nuzzling into your hair. You had squeaked, offput, but said nothing. Perhaps you should’ve, because now these nightly cuddles have become a habit. But you don’t want to complain to your ever-accommodating and considerate host. Maybe he’s just lonely, you think, wide awake in the dark cave as Caleb’s breath brushes your hair, arms heavy around you. And really does see you as some sort of pet. Or comfort object.

And that’s another thing: he’s very much completely alone.

Sure, Na’vi travelling alone for some time isn’t absolutely unheard of, but they always return back to their villages. From what you’ve heard from Caleb, he’s never spoken of any relatives or past tribes. And he speaks a lot.

Not that you’re complaining. Most of it is about any fauna or wildlife he brings back to the cave. You’re always quick to stop him before he can cook everything, inquiring about each thing incessantly. He mirrors your enthusiasm, happily rambling out information like they’re not the greatest gems of knowledge for a scientist like yourself. Sometimes, he loves talking about his flying practices in particular, how he maneuvers his ikran and soars over the clouds. You wish you had a notebook to write these stories down sometimes, so you can show them to…

To who? You huff at yourself. The corpses of those scientists back at the base?

You grimace at your own gruesome thoughts. There’s no telling if anyone survived back there, but there had to be more human bases around, right? Though being a cuddle-buddy to an alien out in the wilderness isn’t the worst fate, you have every intention of exploring the possibility of reuniting with other humans later.

You two manage to develop some semblance of a normal routine over the next few days. By the time you wake, Caleb is back with some early-morning catch, and you sometimes help cook it into breakfast, before loitering around all day trying to chase boredom, through the various efforts Caleb endorses. Escaping from civilization for a bit is fun at first.

The first few days you’re taken with the idea of weaving, spending hours trying to loop some vine around a stick. “It’s kinda like crochet,” you realize, slowly going through the motions that Caleb had previously guided you through— “Upwards, then around, then through,” he had instructed, larger hands cradling yours with a delicacy that made you flush.

Caleb just tilts his head. “What is crochet?”

You tell him, and he listens with endless fascination. That’s another thing about Caleb; he loves listening to you speak, however basic your Na’vi, about human life. You tell him about the plants on Earth, the things you used to eat, hobbies, even the boring stuff like jobs and work and traffic. But he just listens, head propped up in his hand, staring so intently you wonder if he’s even listening or if he’s just staring because he wants to.

But eventually, talking about civilization makes you miss it with each word you blurt. And by the— tenth? or eleventh—day, you’re completely over this little vacation.

“Caleb,” you say, in the middle of him braiding back your hair for bed— you’ve long since given up trying to protest this. “Do you think it’s about time I went back out and explore for other humans? I’ve been here a while.”

His fingers pause against your scalp. “Why?”

You blink. “Well, because…I can’t exactly stay here forever. I’m human.”

His fingers continue their strokes, and his tone is more playful than curt this time. “And why not, huh?”

You’re surprised how much the question catches you off guard. Caleb is harmless, that much is sure, even if the large creatures he drags back after each successful hunt is a bit alarming. And it’s not like you have anyone you’re missing back on base or even on Earth— that’s why you signed up for this job, anyways.

“Because,” you huff stubbornly, ducking your head. “That’s just how it is.”

He finishes your braid without another response. But you still haven’t gotten a clear answer from him.

“So, I’ll probably go back out and search tomorrow.”

“No.”

You frown, twisting back to glance at him over your shoulder. “…no?”

His brows are furrowed, azure cheekbones taut with barely-concealed irritation. “No. There’s no telling how many hostiles are still out there. You could be attacked immediately.”

“But how much longer am I supposed to wait? Have you seen any signs of danger nearby?”

Caleb’s eyes widen, before he quickly averts them, almost guiltily. “Signs, yeah. Footprints and such.”

“Right,” you sigh, disbelieving. “So I should just sit here forever then.”

His face softens, and he reaches out to pinch at your cheek. “Don’t be upset,” he croons. “You’re a fragile human*.* There are many creatures waiting in the wilderness to catch you. I wouldn’t want my yawntutsyìp to be in danger, would I?”

“No,” you respond leniently, and he beams, pleased, tail swishing behind him. “No, you wouldn’t.”

But when Caleb curls up beside you that night, steady pats bewitching you into slumber, you form a plan.

You know his schedule by now; every morning, right before the sun has risen, Caleb gets up to hunt.

You remember it because you stir awake every time you feel the hammock shift beneath you, the loss of his body heat. You usually end up turning over and get right back to dozing off.

But today, you don’t let yourself drift off when you feel Caleb sit up. To fake being asleep, you continue inhaling and exhaling deeply, breaths hissing out of your oxygen mask.

A palm brushes over your head, and then a quiet sniff against your hair. Woah, is this part of his normal morning routine too? It takes everything in you to not flush and turn away. Finally, after a bit more nuzzling than needed, you feel his presence depart.

You wait a few more minutes to just make sure he’s really gone, breath held, body tense, before your eyes slide open. Sure enough, the cave is empty, the dim fluorescent fauna illuminating all crevices and corners and confirming that you’re alone.

As you rise and exit the cave, looking over the darkened forest, you rethink your decisions just a little bit. What exactly was the plan after this? You suppose you should at least get to a high place and see if you can spot any structures down below, or even if some humans can spot you and extract you. You’d explore for a few hours, you decide, until the sun rises. And if you don’t return before Caleb gets back, then you’ll just apologize.

I don’t owe him anything anyways, you think as you weave past trees., trying to feel less guilty. Sure, he saved me and all, but I’ve only known him for a week. It’s not like I’m obligated to stay with him.

The actual outcome is not as easy as you hoped.

Sure, finding and traversing an inclined hill was easy enough— aside from how you end up with raw marks on your skin from sharp thorns, leaves and branches in your hair. Your struggles are for nothing.

Because when you look over the edge, you don’t see any buildings or structures amidst the treetops. No, you only see mist, tinged pink from the sunrise.

It takes you a moment to realize that it’s not mist. It’s clouds. He took you to one of those floating sky islands.

Your stomach tilts with unease. Just how far up are you? How far away did he take you from any other living, sapient being?

You’ll never be able to get back down to civilization without his willingness to help, will you?

Your revelation is broken off by a crack of a branch below you. You whip your head down so fast you’re surprised you don’t roll over.

His chiseled torso is smeared with blood. You know better than to think it’s his own. A carcass is already hiked up over his back.

Caleb. He’s standing there, meters below you, looming on the forest floor, gleaming eyes pinned on you even from this distance. And he looks livid.

Long dark hair frames the sharp edge of his tense jaw, falls just over his furrowed brow. It’s a look you’ve never seen on him. Unhinged, feral.

He just stares. You stare back. You don’t know why you feel the urge to run. This is Caleb. He’s cared for you, saved you. Logically, there’s nowhere you can go. But a more primitive part screams at you to get away.

But this is Caleb. He’d never hurt you.

You run.

There’s nowhere run except down, so you make a mad dash down the hill, the swoop of gravity boosting your speed and sparking a rush of exhilaration in your chest. Those branches are clawing at you, tugging at your clothes as if the planet itself was against you, but you push through, breaking into a clearing. You pause for a moment, turning and looking at all possible directions. Before you can decide where to go, you hear the padding of large footsteps on the muddy ground.

It seems you may have become his next hunt.

You panic, turning just in time to try and spring the other direction. But, like the skilled hunter he is, he’s already directly behind you. A hand clasps around your arm, tugging you so that you’re flush against his large body. You wail in discomfort as the glass of your mask is forced against his blood-stained abs, before he’s hauling you off the ground. You shriek, limbs thrashing until he traps them between your bodies, subduing your struggles entirely, and easily begins walking.

“C-Caleb,” you cry, his arms crushed too tight around you, like a deadly snake. “Caleb!”

He shushes you sharply, arms tightening possessively around you. You let out a strained sound in protest.

His feet stop abruptly, and you startle at the sound of another voice.

“What do we have here?”

Caleb physically tenses against you. You wish you could twist around, see who has appeared behind you, but the apprehensiveness radiating off Caleb keeps you obediently still.

Maybe Caleb was just using a very basic dialect of Na’vi with you, because when he speaks to this unknown stranger, you find you can barely understand a full sentence. As they exchange words, you only understand a few phrases; “live nearby” and “friendly” and “mate.”

Mate?

The stranger’s tone darkens, deepening into one that almost seems like he’s lecturing or berating Caleb for something. You make a quiet sound of fear, half expecting to hear the sound of a bow being drawn in your direction— the clamor of the attack on your base still wracks in your head like warning bells.

The conversation quiets at your noise, as if both Na’vi are observing you. Then the stranger barks out a final order, “get going then.”

You feel Caleb continue walking, this time with more urgency.

You’re silent on the way back. When he sets you down on that damn hammock again, you want nothing more than to bury your face somewhere, stomach in knots.

He’s silent, too, uncharacteristically so, as he sets his bow and hunt away and kneels down in front of you. He keeps his gaze fixed stubbornly to your scraped knees, rubbing salve on every tiny nick.

You don’t think you can take the carefully neutral look on his face, the way his eyes avoid yours. “Caleb,” your voice cracks on the syllables. He doesn’t regard you, staying intent on his work.

You tear off the oxygen mask with a hiss, freeing your sight of the murky glass, and swallow painfully. “Caleb. I-I’m sorry, okay? I just thought I’d be able to get rescued by some humans— Caleb,” you cry when he dips his lead lower, brown strands shielding his face. His incredibly tall body, now shriveled up, hunched over till he’s short enough to avoid your eye.

“You know what that Na’vi wanted back there?” he grits out, and you freeze at the sound of his voice. You’ve never heard it this dark; it’s worrying. “He saw you and questioned your presence. He wasn’t part of those hostiles, but the Na’vi know. They all know the intent of most humans who come here, so they assume the worst of every one of them. If he found you before I did…”

His cadence dips. His back shudders as he heaves a shaky breath, blue skin rippling with muscle. Your body reacts before your brain can think, and you’re brushing his hair away from his face, reaching down to cup his face.

“I know, I’m sorry, okay?”

He melts. Violet hues finally raise, wide and shiny. When they flit around and land on yours, his pupils slowly expand, swallowing the irises like a black hole.

“Why did you leave?”

“Because…I have to go back to civilization. It’s not like I can live in the wilderness forever.”

“Why do you want to go back?” Caleb shakes his head, lips trembling. “You’re not like those humans, who just want to conquer and destroy. You can’t truly be happy there. It’s selfish of me, but…” a large palm cups your cheek, stroking your bare skin reverently. “I want you by my side.”

Your lips part in surprise at his declaration. Your heart squeezes— because you know it’s the truth. Just coming to terms on what the company you had worked for was doing, and witnessing the sheer massacre they were willing to provoke from the natives, the countless employees they sacrificed for a greedy and entitled cause was hard enough, but Caleb laid it all out for you. Living with a Na’vi in just this short amount of time showed you what could have been lost because of a human conquest— the tradition and livelihood, sure, but the smaller things, like breakfasts, homemade salves, woven hammocks. What are your options if you return to civilization? It’s either on an overpopulated, dying Earth, or supporting a cause that will destroy the things you’ll come to love.

You feel lightheaded, not just from the heavy, foreign air, but from your heavy thoughts as well. But you don’t slip on the mask if it means it’ll ruin how his skin brushes yours.

Thankfully, Caleb doesn’t seem to expect a response right away just yet, standing to perch beside you. You steal some breaths of oxygen but ultimately keep the mask off, refusing to put any barriers between you two again. He stays close, tail flicking anxiously behind him.

“Did I…scare you back there? Why’d you run?”

“A little, I mean, I guess the sight of you angry and covered in blood was a bit off-putting.” You admit sheepishly.

Caleb laughs, hanging his head, pretty smile softening his features. You can’t help but laugh with him.

“I’m sorry. I just sensed another Na’vi nearby and knew I had to get to you. You’re not hurt anywhere else, right?”

You shake your head, but he frowns, leaning in closer. “But wait, your face…”

“Oh,” you realize, reaching up to feel a few small nicks. “Just some branches scratched me up a bit. No big deal.”

But he leans even closer, until you’re gasping, quickly leaning back so your noses don’t brush. “You need to be more careful,” he breathes, brows still drawn together. He cups your face with both hands, an expression of fretfulness flashing across his features that was so intense it was almost comical— though you held your laugh, not wanting to make fun of his concern.

“Poor thing, your face is all cut up,” Caleb practically whines, thumbs darting to brush every mark. Your cheeks heat under his touch.

“Please, it’s not that bad—”

“Shh,” his nose brushes yours, and he simply caresses your face for a few moments, as if his touch alone could heal you.

“Caleb,” you murmur, muffled by the way he smushes your cheeks slightly.

“Hmm?”

“What all did that man say back there?”

“Oh,” his eyes lowered, a purplish hue staining his cheekbones— is he blushing? “Like I said, he’s a head of a tribe nearby and was just patrolling around their territory. When he saw me with a human…well, he was naturally just appalled. But it’s okay! I just let him know that you were friendly to Na’vi, harmless, and my mate.”

“What?’

“Not that you are,” Caleb blurts, backtracking. “Or that you aren’t. Well, I mean, I had to defend you somehow. But he was obviously taken aback, saying how it’s against Eywa. But…I’ve never been too firm of a believer in that, have I?”

His tone dips to a more sultry one that makes your heart pound. “He says it’s against nature. That something interspecies wouldn’t benefit Awaang. But…” his hand slides down your arm sensually, sending goosebumps in his wake, “I haven’t been much for following the norm, or what’s seen as right.”

Caleb’s lips are a breath away. Your heart pounds. “I’ve never desired anything as much as I’ve desired you,” he pants raggedly, before crushing his lips to yours.

You melt immediately, hands tangling in his long locks and tugging, and he whines against your lips, suckling and biting. Caleb’s kisses aren’t gentle or perfect; they’re eager and sloppy. He licks into your mouth and pushes you onto your back, hulking body enveloping you entirely, shielding your arching and squirming body from the world.

“I’ve never asked for anything, except for you,” he rasps, before sealing the words with a rough kiss,“Eywa couldn’t possibly deny my only request, right?

You squeak against his mouth as he ravages your lips, struggling to keep up with his hunger with your own meek kisses. He finally breaks away with a last wet smooch, glossy lips parting, drool smudged down the corner of them.

“Caleb,” you wheeze quietly, and he’s scrambling to press the oxygen mask to your face, concern bleeding past his arousal.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, can you breath?” Caleb rushes, biting his swollen lip as you take deep, hissing breaths. “I’m so sorry, I did it for too long, I’m sorry,” he gasps again, leaning back off of you to give you some space. You’re not having any of that.

Once you’ve taken a few deep breaths, you’re tossing the mask aside and kissing him again.

Caleb whimpers like he’s in heaven, sagging back over you, pecking and licking at the seam of your lips. He’s gentle at first, as if still concerned about your respiration, but he quickly loses himself, his hunger growing by the second. It seems like he’s taken advantage of the opportunity to pick up exploring your anatomy again from that first day he met you, hands eagerly bunching up your shirt just past your ribs, slipping under to squeeze your tits until you arch and mewl. His other hand wastes no time in sliding down, slipping under your pants to caress your bare thigh, claws tantalizingly close to nicking your soft skin.

When he takes your bottom lips between his sharp teeth and sucks, you can’t repress a quiet moan. The sound makes him harden against you—you can feel the press of it from where it presses against your thigh, and it feels huge.

When Caleb breaks apart again, a string of saliva pulls taught until it snaps, and he wipes it away with a swipe of his thumb. Gently, he rubs the glass of the oxygen mask clean, before securing it back over your face.

His calm actions are at odds with the pained look on his face; you twitch needily at the expression of longing, in his furrowed brow and parted lips.

“Fuck, yawne,” he pants, sitting up to reach for the loincloth around his waist. “Please, need you so bad, please please—”

“Yes,” you gasp, pushing off your already-strewn clothes—first, you kick off your pants and panties, before lifting your shirt and bra off and tossing it aside. Caleb watches the unfamiliar clothing with enrapturement, glowing eyes particularly caught on your discarded panties. His long fingers grasp the cloth, brushing it reverently.

He’s shoving off his loincloth with the other hand, and you are not prepared for the sight of his cock; it bobs up immediately, smacking against his blue abdomen, and it is large. The size of your forearm, almost? Your thighs clench with arousal at the thought.

Caleb groans, brushing the head of his leaky tip with his thumb, before beginning to jerk himself off right in front of you. His bright eyes are pinned to you, raving over your human anatomy, and his abs clench deliciously as he tries not to cum immediately.

Your face heats, and you squirm underneath his heady stare, pussy clenching around nothing. “Please, pretty,” he begs sweetly, scooting a bit closer. “Just need to get myself ready for you, I’m so hard. Need your spit.”

You stare blankly, quietly shocked at his lewd words. “Your spit, hahh,” he clarifies, head rolling back in pleasure, till he’s staring through half-lidded eyes. “Please spit on me.”

You snap out of your daze, leaning your face forward towards his cock. It twitches, a zap of pleasure shooting through it just from your attention alone. You purse your lips and let a wad of pearly saliva land right on his leaky tip and slide down his shaft, highlighting every thick vein in it’s wake.

“Nghh, fuck,” he almost sobs, quiet schlicks from his cock as he begins to pump it with your spit as lube. “Thank you, thank you.”

You’ve never been more soaked in your life. “Caleb,” you wail, shifting your thighs apart eagerly to reveal your swollen pussy, throbbing with need. He gapes at the sight of it, awe and thirst settling on his face now. “Please just put it in. Need you.”

You know he can’t resist. He melts almost immediately, throbbing cock forgotten, settling his massive form between your thighs. He presses his face between them, hesitantly kissing the glossy folds like he’s worshipping at an altar.

You twitch, letting out a keening sound. “I know,” he cooes, brow scrunched as he nuzzles his nose against your thigh. “I just don’t know if I’ll fit, yawntutsyìp. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Just put it in, fuck, need it—”

Caleb is nothing if not attentive to you.

Pulling back, he lines himself up, tip just nestled against your hole. He pushes in slowly, making your pussy squelch, walls fluttering so hard immediately it almost pushes him back out. Caleb’s jaw tenses as he tries to go slow, hips twitching eagerly and making his tip slipping in with a pop.

“Ngh, ohmygod,” you squeak, tight ring of muscle burning deliciously at the stretch. You buck your hips for more involuntarily, to which Caleb pins them down firmly with a single hand to your stomach—which only serves to press down against his tip bulging inside you, the pressure making your feet kick out in pleasure.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb rushes, but he doesn’t move his hand, ears pinned back and flushed. He only pushes his hips forward, feeding you inches and inches of his long cock until it presses deep past your gooey walls, poking directly into a bundle of nerves in you. His palm can feel his hard dick in you through your stomach, and just the thought has him spurting precum in you.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you pant before he can start apologizing again, chest heaving as you try to accommodate his size. Caleb’s eyes drop from your face to your alluring tits at that, and he’s dazedly leaning down before he even knows what he’s doing, taking a bud into his mouth eagerly.

“Cay,” you mewl, hands pushing and smacking at his abs, begging him to start moving and relieve you of the pressure. Finally, he blinks away the fog of arousal, maw unhinged against your breast, drooling on your tit as he begins thrusting.

He pumps slow and deep, tip ramming steadily against your g-spot. “You feel so good, can’t believe you can take me so well—” he rambles against your chest, ragged breathes brushing your hardening nipples.

Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clicking with each thrust and leaking all the way down his shaft, until it’s slathered in a creamy mess. Caleb finally lifts his head to look down at the sight, where blue meets brown, Na’vi meets human, where two worlds collide into lewd, forbidden pleasure.

His hips quicken at the sight, until he’s pounding into you, desperately chasing that pleasure again and again. You mewl with every thrust, cunt spasming around his shaft, wringing a pained groan out of him. Your thighs quiver, jerking every time his pelvis smacks against them wetly, the skin pinkened and raw.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m yours, don’t ever leave me,” Caleb blurts, and he feels your stomach spasm underneath his palm in pleasure. You nod drunkenly, lips parted.

“Hahh, yes Caleb, need you so bad!” You hiccup, not exactly aware of what you’re affirming, but his tail swings happily behind him all the same at the agreement.

“Ah, nghh,” his jaw drops again when you clench around his shaft; you swear he’s sheathed in so deep that he’s pressing up against your guts. It’s so full, combined with how his large palm presses your tummy down firmly. “That’s it, my perfect mate,” he grits out, eyes feral and wide with the need to fill you up.

You whine out when he shoves himself a fraction deeper, his leaky tip kissing into your cervix, brute size bruising your walls up. His cock presses up against every nerve ending, making you tense up with pleasure, thighs locked and toes curled.

“I’m gonna cum,” you squeal out, fists curling against his large pecs. “Please—please!”

Caleb doesn’t stop, hips pumping with an exactness that has you seeing starts. “Yeahh, cum all over my cock,” he begs, expression crumbling prettily as he nears his own release. “Let Ca’leb fill you up, please—”

You gush around his shaft with a squeal, pussy clenching down hard when you cum, your smaller feet kicking and curling against the hammock as shocks of pleasure rack through you. Caleb cums immediately at the sensation, and like the rest of him, his load is huge— it doesn’t all fit in your tiny stomach, leaking steadily out of your messy cunt.

Caleb doesn’t even pull out when he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush your body. You don’t complain, heartbeat pounding in your ears as the rush fades, leaving you satiated and sleepy.

You both lay there exhausted for who knows how long, before Caleb suddenly lifts his head from your chest, blinking at you.

“I forgot to make and feed you breakfast. You must be hungry.”

“Mmm, no, Caleb. Not hungry.”

“But you can’t sleep if I haven’t braided your hair,” he complains quietly, frowning. “Then I won’t be taking care of you properly.”

“Trust me, you’ve taken care of enough,” you huff, turning over to nestle your face into his chest.

Anxiety settles between his ribs, trying to gnaw its way out. His throat going dry—it was just a kiss. A kiss with another man. Not just another man, but Caleb. The look on his mother’s face, perplexed with a hint of revulsion. Mrs. Li is going to tell dad. Dad’s going to—

How melodramatic this is, Caleb thinks. You’re spending time writing this? Caleb lets out a snort in disbelief. Well, it’s better than Pips getting in trouble and Caleb having to bail them out.

Any other person would be creeped out by their girlfriend writing stories about them and a close friend. Not Caleb. Pipsqueak is thinking about him. You see appeal in putting Caleb in fictional scenarios for your pleasure. Gosh, you probably rub your pussy to the thought of him and Zayne fucking.

A thought that goes straight to Caleb’s dick and thus Caleb’s grand plan was forming in his brain. Caleb flips a few pages ahead, curious to see how this story ends. An action that ends up being worthwhile.

Caleb’s fingers dig into Zayne’s hip, the bed creaking underneath the rough and quick snaps of his hips. Caleb’s free hand is wrapped around Zayne’s dick, feeling him throb in his hand.

Caleb’s eyes widen as he reads the explicit words before a slow exhale leaves him. He knew you were a freak. An apple that fell far from the tree but still inherited Caleb’s freakiness—you wouldn’t be his baby sister if you were normal.

—

“I’m not the one who said you were a bottom, it’s what her story implies,” Caleb says, trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He leans back on the couch, stretching out his long legs, arms tucked behind his head. “It’s not my fault I’m an alpha, Zayne. I’m born this way.”

Zayne’s right brow quirks up, nimble fingers coming up to loosen the knot of his tie. “I’m not sure I’ve come to the same conclusion. Just because that Zayne was on the bottom once doesn’t make him a bottom.”

Your mouth parts then closes, what does one even say in this situation? Caleb and Zayne were never supposed to know about your little stories. When had an ad gone out for personal beta readers? You’re sat on the couch between Caleb and Zayne. They’ve been discussing your writing for the past fifteen minutes.

Caleb shrugs, “yeah but you have nice birthing hips.”

“I have what?”

“Nice birthing hips. So, you’d be the omega.” Caleb clarifies, leaning closer to you. Violet eyes meeting yours, “did I use the right term, honey?” Caleb’s looking at you like a dog waiting for praise but all you can do is gawk at him. This is not a conversation you could have predicted. Ever.

“I don’t have birthing hips! My hips are perfectly proportionate to my body. You have bigger tits than I do, Caleb.”

“And a bigger dick. That’s why I was designated the alpha.”

This argument is so ridiculous but it does earn a laugh from you. “Dick size doesn’t designate you as the alpha,” you finally speak up, the initial embarrassment has faded. Still, this isn’t an ideal situation. You’d rather Zayne and Caleb remain blissfully unaware about that slow burn fanfiction that ended with Zayne’s face being forced into the pillow as Caleb took him from behind.

“Yeah, Caleb.” Zayne agrees, his leg crosses over the other leg. “Besides, my dick is bigger. We measured it before, remember?” An amused hum leaves him, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose before he pushes it back up.

“That was like years ago. You hit puberty before I did!” Caleb retorts.

Wait what? Caleb and Zayne measured their dicks before? Teenage boys are so strange… Then again, measuring themselves is the most normal thing they could’ve done.

“There couldn’t possibly be a drastic difference from then to now.”

“Wanna bet? Let’s measure our dicks now. Pips, go get the measuring tape.”

Should’ve seen this coming from miles away—Caleb and Zayne have always been competitive. Rising from the comfortable couch, your arms raised above your head to get the most needed stretch. You head to the bedroom, straight to Caleb’s desk.

Organized. You didn’t even have to search, it was right there, waiting for this important moment. This was the night that the measuring tape settled a debate: who has a bigger dick?

From the bedroom, you can hear Caleb shout Zayne’s name in awe. What’s going on now, you wonder as you make your way back to the living room. Both men have stripped. Their clothes neatly folded and placed on the couch.

Caleb’s on his knees, his attention all on Zayne until he hears your footsteps behind him. He turns his head, “look at what Zayne has,” surprise coloring his tone. “Zayne, dude, show her.”

Zayne’s clears his throat, his ears glowing as bright as Rudolph’s nose. “I don’t know why he’s making such a big deal of it.”

One would assume that Caleb’s teasing Zayne about his size, oh no. Although, first glance at Zayne’s dick—impressive for being flaccid. However, it’s the shiny metal pierced into his skin that has all of the attention.

“A Prince Albert piercing!?”

Your eyes are wide, without much though you tug the ring, checking for authenticity. Dr. Li has a fucking dick piercing!

Zayne lets out a quick exhale through his nose at the gentle touch—sensitive one, isn’t he? “Is it that surprising?” he questions. “Everyone gets piercings.”

“But not everyone gets a genital piercing.” Caleb points out, his eyes drifting over to you. “Who knew Dr. Li could be so… hardcore, huh?”

A dick piercing isn’t that strange when it comes to Zayne. Zayne, who used to wear his fringe over his left eye (attempted to, his glasses would get in the way), and wore black eyeliner (that he stole from mama), and the skinniest jeans imaginable—he would definitely get a dick piercing.

Dr. Li who lectures you on eating healthier and going to bed at a decent hour, not so much.

“It’s so cool, Zayne! Maybe I should get a clit piercing…” Just an off-handed comment, is it something you would follow through on? Probably not. Your suggestion makes Zayne’s dick twitch in interest.

Movement that catches Caleb’s attention and his amusement. “Don’t those piercings heighten sensitivity? You’re already so sensitive, it’ll probably take a few rubs and you’ll finish before we even start.”

You roll your eyes at Caleb’s comment, “says the one who finished in his jeans just because my ass brushed against his crotch.”

Caleb sputters and then looks at Zayne, "that has never happened. She’s lying. A true alpha doesn’t finish before his girl.”

“Baby, you’re the omega in our relationship. You even said if we were seahorses, you’d gladly carry our babies and—“ Caleb’s hand covers your mouth. Caleb’s cheeks grow rosy; your boyfriend is not an easy guy to fluster. Usually he’s the one trying to embarrass you.

“Anyway! As the alpha, I say we should measure our dicks now before Pips tries to ruin my credibility.”

Clearing his throat, unsure hazel eyes dart from you to Caleb. “I suppose… if this is to be fair, we’d both need to be aroused.”

Caleb nods in agreement, “right, because some people are growers, not show-ers.”

Caleb’s hand caresses the back of your head, “honey, since you like Zayne’s piercing so much, why don’t you help him out?”

What? You were only going to be the unbiased dick measurer. Now, Caleb’s telling you to help another man get hard?

“Pfft, Zayne doesn’t need help. He can just think of someone hot or something.”

“He could,” Caleb agrees. “But I think you’d love the opportunity to play with his piercing.” Caleb has a point. He always has a point.

When your weary gaze catches Caleb’s, he only gives you a self-assured nod. Well, if your boyfriend wants you to help out a friend, how could you turn down the suggestion?

“You don’t mind, do you, Zayne?”

“Of course not.”

And what started out as Caleb and Zayne critiquing your writing has ended up with your tongue teasing Zayne’s tip. Warm metal slides over your tongue; kitten licks over his sensitive head that causes Zayne to grow embarrassingly fast, much like Caleb.

What an ego-boosting reaction.

Now that the surprise of Zayne’s piercing has waned, you’ve noticed how neatly groomed he is. Pubes trimmed down, the clean scent that clings to his skin, mixed with a hint of musk.

Caleb spits in the palm of his hand, “that’s right, Pips. Get him nice and hard. He’ll need all those inches to beat me.” He taunts. Caleb strokes himself lazily, his attention captured by his girlfriend sucking his friend off; arousal outweighs any potential jealousy.

Your lips stretch over Zayne’s girth, the additional weight of his piercing is an odd sensation. The metal clinks against your bottom teeth a few times as you bob your head up and down; sending a shiver down your spine.

Zayne lets out a heavy exhale through his nostrils, muscles tense from your oral ministration. His hand rests on the crown of your head, hips bucking forward to drive more of himself down your throat. You gag as his tip bumps the back of your throat.

“C’mon Pips, you’ve taken a bigger dick than his and you’re still gagging?” Caleb scoffs, giving himself a rough tug. “Is this just to boost Zayne’s confidence?”

You pull off Zayne’s dick, saliva strings from your mouth and his flared head. Zayne’s dick pulsates with need, slick with the mixture of saliva and precum. Instead of responding to Caleb’s tease, you grab the measuring tape.

The measuring tape stretches from Zayne’s tip to the base. “Seven and a half. Impressive, Dr. Li.”

Albeit a dull compliment, Zayne’s chest still inflates from praise.

“Seven and a half! I’m sure if you had a partner, they’d be thoroughly satisfied, dude.” Caleb says, clapping Zayne on the back.

“Regardless of size, I’m still very proficient with my hands.”

Caleb chuckles, “now that, I can’t refute.”

Caleb pushes forward, standing right in front of you. “Pips, I’m ready for my measurements to be taken.”

You repeat the measuring process with Caleb, tip to base, although it’s harder to accurately measure since Caleb’s dick curves upward. “Mm, it looks like eight and three-fourths.”

Caleb’s dick is bigger. The tape measurer does not lie. Even when they stand side by side, the size difference is obvious.

“See Zayne, it just makes sense for me to be the alpha in our relationship. You know bottoms have the smaller dick,” Caleb explains, smugness oozing from his words.

When did Caleb did a Ph.D in Omegaverse? He read the Omegaverse wiki and called it a day, apparently. “Caleb, dick size doesn’t determine status,” you remind him. Caleb only shrugs your reminder off. “Still, he has birthing hips. He’s submissive. And you wrote him as the bottom in your little fic,” Caleb points out with a hint of a smile on his lips.

After a moment, you rise from the floor. “Well,” you begin, your arms wrap around Caleb’s midsection, fingers trailing over the ridges of his spine. “This is reality.” Nails graze his skin, causing goosebumps to flourish on his skin. “And you’ve been acting more like a brat than anything else.”

“C’mon,” Caleb protests, dipping his head so that he could nuzzle into your neck. Uh oh! Caleb has equipped the puppy tactics, must stay strong. “I was teasing Zayne. You know, I have no clue about the alpha and omega stuff.”

“I know.”

Running your fingers through his dark brown hair, lips pressed against his ear before you speak, the warmth of your breath causes Caleb to shudder slightly. “That doesn’t free you from the consequences though, honey…” Honey, so patronizingly cooed in his ear.

“Down on your knees.”

Up and down goes Caleb’s Adam’s apple, skin prickling with the sudden desire to obey. Lovesickness is incurable—Caleb would never want to be cured anyway.

Your boyfriend sinks to his knees.

“Since Zayne doesn’t get laid often, why don’t you help our gege out?”

Zayne sputters, his hands going through the motions to tug at a tie that’s no longer around his neck. Laughter bubbles up from your chest at his reaction—it’s rare to see Zayne so flustered.

“Did I say something wrong?” You question with your head tilted, feigning innocence.

“N-no, it’s just…” Zayne stammers, pushing his glasses up. His words die off as Caleb’s tongue darts out to lick at Zayne’s tip—already mourning the loss of your saliva, all he can taste is the bitterness of Zayne’s precum. “You’re lucky she’s in charge, Zayne. You know the roles should be reversed,” Caleb huffs, his cheeks puffed out as if he was wronged.

Zayne lets out a breathy laugh. “Then you should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

Caleb’s eyes narrow, he doesn’t respond verbally. Instead Caleb’s cheeks hollow as he bobs his head back and forth. His hand stroking what he can’t fit into his mouth. He attempts to swallow Zayne down to the hilt, only to let out a wet and muffled gag once Zayne’s tip hit the back of his throat.

“You can do better than that, Caleb.”

Already, your body is sprawled out along the length of the couch. Your bottoms and panties discarded on the floor. “Honey, didn’t you train me to take your dick without gagging? Why don’t you use those skills on Zayne?” Your taunt makes Caleb’s dick throb and arousal spurt from his slit.

Your legs part, your hand finding their way between your thighs. Collecting your arousal on your middle finger, you spread it around your swollen clit. The sigh that escapes your lips is of pure relief.

Caleb’s tongue plays with Zayne’s piercing, causing Zayne’s hips to flex. Violet eyes meeting hazel ones; competitive but both share a common goal, and that’s making sure that you enjoy the show.

Zayne’s fingers thread in Caleb’s short strands, guiding Caleb’s movements. Caleb relaxes his jaw, his tongue swirling against the sensitive underside of Zayne’s length. Zayne’s head is thrown back; heavy pants and moans that can’t be contained, not with the way Caleb is working his cock.

Best seat in the house. Watching your boyfriend suck off his friend—the best gift ever. Even if it came at the cost of your mortification of Caleb and Zayne reading those stupid fics you wrote about them.

“Good boy,” you praise, shooting an encouraging smile in their direction.

“Zayne, make sure you encourage him too. He is the one servicing you.”

For a moment, Zayne looks dumbfounded.

Strong angular brows pull together in thought before he speaks up, “an alpha that’s good at sucking omega dick, how rare…” His ears and cheeks are crimson—the only time you’ve seen Zayne this red is after being out in the snow for hours.

You bite your lower lip to stifle the laugh but it comes out anyway. “Zayne, you can just encourage him like normal.”

Zayne clears his throat and nods. “Your mouth is immensely pleasurable.”

That does sound more like Zayne. You’ll help him work on his dirty talking later. Your finger prods at your entrance, slowly stretching out the muscle. Your finger pumps in and out, slick coating your skin.

Caleb pulls back, needing to fill his lungs with more oxygen. “Zayne, what the hell was that?” He questions, his free hand kneads Zayne’s balls. “Good looks, occupation, and dick size carried you through your first time, huh?”

Just as you’re about to open your mouth to reprimand Caleb, Zayne’s pushing back into his mouth. Caleb’s nose presses against Zayne’s pelvis, causing Caleb to choke from the girth forced down his throat again, eyes welling up with tears.

Zayne’s dirty talking may need work but not his taming skills.

“He’s so mouthy sometimes.” More than mouthy. What shuts Caleb up? You sitting on his face. Caleb look gorgeous when he’s on his knees. Long lashes with tears clinging to them, his lips slightly swollen and covered in a his saliva. Zayne’s not making it easy for him, fingers curled in Caleb’s hair, his hips pumping forward, and forcing Caleb to take every inch.

This is so much hotter than anything you could’ve written about.

Warmth begins to build in your lower tummy. Every deep thrust of your fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Caleb’s dick is drooling, throbbing from neglect. He’s cute this way. It’s the best payback for snooping and that ego of his. “Nn, fuck. Caleb’s learning fast, isn’t he?”

Zayne doesn’t answer. All of his attention is on Caleb.

You can see the moment Caleb’s jaw goes slack and he allows Zayne to drive into his throat. Rough pumps of Zayne’s hips that draw out strangled gasps, balls slapping against Caleb’s chin.

Flushed skin that sheens with sweat, fringes that are glued to their forehead, and spit bubbling from the corners of Caleb’s mouth—an ethereal scene that would be studied in art history 101 if Michelangelo had painted it.

Zayne’s glasses hang low on his nose, his pants heavy. Caleb’s looking up at Zayne through dark damp lashes; with his free hand, Zayne caresses Caleb’s cheek, thumb rubbing over his soft skin. “You’re going to be a good boy and swallow, right?” Zayne asks, voice strained before fading into breathlessness. His balls draw up towards his body, muscles tensing.

Caleb nods.

Zayne’s lips lift upward in a small smile, “that’s right. Good boy.” All it takes is a few more shallow thrusts into Caleb’s fluttering throat.

Knowing that Zayne is close makes your fingers speed up their pumps. Just have to time it right and you can come with Zayne. You have to remind yourself to keep your head up and eyes open, even with your orgasm creeping up your spine.

Missing the moment when Zayne spills in Caleb’s mouth would be devastating.

Zayne buries himself one last time in Caleb’s throat, his body momentarily stiff. Zayne’s release comes out in heavy spurts, filling Caleb’s mouth. “Fuh-fuck,” Zayne groans. Caleb gags, his eyes closing as Zayne’s creamy load coats his tongue. Just one taste and Caleb knows he still prefers your come on his tongue.

“Go ahead and swallow it, honey.” You encourage Caleb but he only pulls away from Zayne. His cheeks slightly puffed out, some spillage dripping down his chin. Caleb crawls towards your resting body on the couch.

“Open,” Caleb demands, angling his mouth to avoid spilling Zayne’s come.

Your brows shoot up at the request and you pause. Then your mouth opens. Caleb spits Zayne’s load into your mouth and you swallow. Just a slight tang—Dr. Li has a decent diet. Desperate lips connect with yours, his fingers immediately replacing yours, he collects your arousal on his index and middle finger.

Caleb has to touch you. Needs to touch you. Repent for being a terrible alpha—whatever that means. Caleb’s fingers press forward, velvety walls tense at the sudden intrusion. Caleb’s fingers are longer than yours, stretching you out. “Did I do a good job?” He asks in between kisses.

“Of course,” your back arches as Caleb hits a sensitive spot. “I could tell Zayne loved it. His ass clenches a certain way—“

“I’m sorry?” Zayne interrupts. He’s sitting in the armchair, catching his breath.

A soft laugh leaves you. “Don’t worry about it, nobody will notice unless they’re looking at your ass.”

Caleb’s thumb circles around your swollen nub. His tongue delves into your mouth, tangling with yours, trying to savor the combination of saliva and Zayne’s come that lingers behind.

Caleb moans into the kiss, fingers curling upward, rubbing that magic spot that always has you seeing stars. He breaks the kiss just to hear you cry out in ecstasy, body trembling in as your orgasm washes over you, gushing all over his fingers like you were made to do.

“Cute,” Caleb mumbles against your jawline, pressing open-mouthed kisses on heated skin. His fingers stop moving, allowing you to compose yourself.

Today, your first destination is the bakery.

Here in this faraway town sitting in between the great mountains and the ocean, it will always be the bakery that stirs you awake with the scent of bread and brewed coffee. It will then be followed by the sound of the clocktower’s left hand striking five with its rusty, old bells and chimes tolling, a signal for the rest of those who can hear to make their way back to the waking world.

As always, the only daughter of the family who runs the bakery welcomes you from the counter, her older brother hard at work in the ovens and her parents taking orders from townsfolk slowly filling the tables.

“Foraging day, miss witch?”

“The herbs aren’t going to pick themselves.”

Her eyes lit up when she read your reply written on the chalkboard you always hang around your neck, a tool that has become common in every establishment in this town ever since your stay here.

Standing on top of a stool, the young girl uses your visit as an opportunity to work on her penmanship. A goal that might take her awhile as her excitement takes over, her letters turning to scribbles with your every answer about her questions regarding the capital, the glyphs and sigils you use in your spells, until finally, her older brother notices her slacking off from punching the orders in the register.

Her family’s reprimand always comes in the form of a soft flick in the forehead and your lip reading isn’t the best but you can pick up from their conversation that aside from her penmanship, she also needs to practice her math.

(Perhaps that explains why her family had decided to assign her to man the counter first.)

“Sorry, miss. Just the usual?”, her older brother wrote on the chalkboard and you nodded, pointing at every pastry and getting one of each.

This is the moment where you also take a closer look at the warming spells you place at the sides of the display cabinets, checking if they need to be traced over and if they do, you will immediately bring out your pen and special ink to do so.

(Everyone in the family always insists on paying you for the spell maintenance but you only shake your head, telling them that it is your sign of gratitude towards the first people in town to approach you and ask for your help.)

“You sure do eat a lot, miss witch!”, the young girl smiled, showing you her hastily written words on the chalkboard, leading her brother to give her another flick in the forehead.

Pies, breads, and tarts. 

You do have more than usual today but that’s good, given a certain someone has acquired a certain taste with the food you are bringing along with you recently but for now, someone has to take the blame and that is-

“Mephisto eats most of it.”

Your crow familiar turned to look at you with an indignant gaze after reading your reply, knowing full well who actually eats the most of the pastries these days but chose not to puff his feathers (which is also usually accompanied by a screech that hearing people claim to be quite loud) to show his offense, opting to go to the floor to pick up random pennies he finds to add to the bakery’s tip jar instead.

“Oh, is that why Mister Crow is a little fluffier recently?”

This time, the young girl not only received her third flick in the forehead for  today but a soft peck as well from your not-so-happy familiar.

After the bakery, you made your way to the tailor’s.

It was through a good recommendation from the baker’s family that the old couple who ran the shop called for your help when their special fabrics infused with mana attracted an assortment of fabric insects with shells that resembled buttons and thimbles.

You had never seen Mephisto so eager to feast on the bugs who were in the middle of their buffet when the elderly husband first led you to their storage room containing fabrics and sewing supplies that almost reached the ceiling.

(“Tasty,” your crow familiar told you after you have cleared the infestation. Yet, a bad case of stomachache later the same day led you to conclude that through the haze of his excitement, he was unable to discern between the mana-infused shells of the buffet attendees and actual buttons.)

“What do you think, dear?”

“It’s perfect!”

With the cold season approaching, you thought it would be best to have a separate cloak with a simple spell of warmth to make you comfortable during your prolonged stay up the mountains. Of course, Mephisto gets one as well and he is all too happy showing it off to the family in the waiting area nearby, their children clapping at his antics.

“Our customers love it when he comes over,” the kindly old lady wrote on the chalkboard and you covered your mouth as you chuckled softly at the sight of your familiar who enjoyed being the center of attention. You believe he loves this place in particular because of the shiny buttons and colorful accessories scattered on every surface, all of it waiting to be picked by him.

(It may also be because the old couple also lets him keep them, leading to his nest by your bedside overflowing with his own trinkets at this point.)

“The tailors at the capital love him too.”

“We will miss you both once you return there.”

A brief look of surprise crossed your face at her words followed by a polite smile and before you could even reply, you saw the elderly tailor turn towards the waiting area.

Of course, your familiar has a peculiar way of saving you from this type of conversation and that is by doing one of his famous dance routines that always captured the attention of everyone in the room.

Your return to the capital is inevitable but you wouldn’t deny how much you grew to love this town with an ocean view.

The visit ends with Mephisto taking a bow to his audience who are too sad to see him go, watching him return to his perch on your shoulder after you have traced over the old sigils you placed on the walls of the elderly tailors’ storeroom with fresh ink so it can continue to ward off the fabric insects.

Your last destination is the jeweler’s.

A lone artisan residing at the only rundown building of the town, the area used to house multiple businesses until all of them went bankrupt one by one except for his which continues to thrive.

When you were new, you didn’t even know someone lived there until you received a request from the jeweller himself to help get rid of a mimic late at night, the man almost destroying the charm you have drawn on your door to know if someone is knocking with how many times he has pounded his fist against the wood.

(You still remember his frantic scribblings on a piece of paper, telling you he never owned this particular chest gilded with gold before while pointing at it repeatedly, the reason behind your interrupted sleep.)

Of course, you didn’t hold a grudge against him on that fateful night but Mephisto certainly did because every time you go into the doomed commercial area, your familiar always pulls on the rope connected to the bell in the jeweller’s studio too many times until he opens the front door.

The visit used to start with him having a shouting match with your crow friend until it finally weathered down to glaring at each other.

You can only hope this quiet tolerance will finally lead to friendship.

“Going up again?”

“The mana stones aren’t going to mine themselves.”

Your usual response always earn a look of suspicion from him but he decides  not to push you further anymore because last time he attempted to press you for answers (Perhaps interrogation is  a better term, since he shoved multiple papers with questions he prepared in advance right in your face), Mephisto was not having it leading to strands of his hair being pulled out of his head that day.

“You ask me to make so many of these but you never wear them,” the jeweller pouted, handing you his latest work in exchange for his usual stack of mimic repellant spells, and you can’t help but smile as you read his hastily written remark followed with a drawing of a sad face and a question of, “Do you even use them?”

“My friend does.”

“Someone lives on the mountain?”

“You live here.”

The jeweller rolled his eyes at your answer, and right on cue, a plank of wood fell from the ceiling behind him, not the first time it happened during mid-conversation and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

This building is most likely still standing because of his hopes and dreams and you told Mephisto once that it will only turn to dust if he receives a commission from the duke running this region. A commission that will finally let him move to a better studio within the city.

After your quick chat with him ending with a wave of goodbye from you, it is finally time for you to make your way to the mountains.

If only the town knew, they would know that your visit to mountains every last day of the week is more than foraging.

If only this humble town filled with good people knew, they would know that everything inside your basket and pockets wasn’t for yourself but for someone else and that someone else’s friends.

If only this idyllic town of less than a hundred knew, they would know there is still one resident they haven’t really accounted for.

An unlikely resident they had mistaken for a ferocious monster once.

────────────────────

The unlikely resident of the mountain calls himself Sylus.

At least, that’s what you have gathered when he taught you his name, his hand guiding your fingers towards his throat while he pointed to himself, repeating the same two syllables again and again until he simply nodded.

Yet, when you asked Mephisto if you got the name of the grumpy dragon right, your familiar simply shook his head. As much as he wanted to help you, he was also unable to determine the correct characters to spell it out.

Sylus, the great mountain king.

Sylus, the demon that manifests when people call its name.

Sylus, the omen of catastrophe.

All the forest creatures within the mountain either love or fear him but the consensus is the same-

-They all quietly pity him, the terribly lonely dragon, the last of his kind to walk the peninsula and it is during when his back is turned that they relay their thoughts to you through your familiar.

“He flies away every night, friend, yes, yes, he is off looking for his kind again.”

Perhaps you’ll ask him soon about his search but for now, all that matters to you is he isn’t plagued by the horrible pictures that come in his head anymore every time he sleeps under the stars.

Never too early.

Never too late.

Just right on time.

There he is, the ruler of these mountain ranges, sitting in the middle of the field of the red datura flowers with last week’s flower crown still on his head, slightly withered. Perhaps there is truth to it, that dragons are indeed sentimental creatures for he refused to take off the first wreath you have made for him until you showed him he can preserve them by pressing the petals in between the palm quire you always carry with you.

Perhaps you can also say he is also the only resident in this town who is too eager to see you.

The moment your eyes meet his, you find yourself rolling against the field of flowers, the grumpy dragon’s greeting coming in the form of wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Late.”

At least, that’s what you gathered from his quick hand gestures but his annoyed expression is enough to tell you that his royal highness isn’t too happy when you arrive with the sun at its highest point in the sky today, his displeasure also clearly communicated by nipping your cheek. 

Yet, you already know how to placate him at this point.

First, seasonal flowers woven into a crown, a replacement for his old one.

He grumbled against your skin before letting you wriggle out of his grasp, watching you as you brought out your first gift to him. You will never forget his gaze of subtle fascination the first time he saw you wearing one, a present from the village children after making their paper cranes fly, so you assumed he wanted one as well. Ever since then, you find yourself making one every week before leaving your lone hut.

(You always weave two more as well, for his ‘entourage’ made up of two wolf cubs that have been making an appearance beside him every now and then.)

Second, a trinket from one of the mana stones he brings to you.

The petals of his newest crown in his head fluttered against the wind as he studied the jewelry you handed to him, his sharp claws delicately handling it as he raised it towards the sun. 

Shiny.

Colorful.

Interesting. 

As long as the trinket is one of those or all three, you notice how your grumpy dragon will always have a faint smile on his face, quietly appreciating how the shape of the mana stone he gave you took a new form.

(“Oh, don’t you know? The great witch’s gifts go to his special pile. Yes, yes, he is very much protective of it,” one of the forest creatures, a great horned owl, whispered to your familiar once. Until it added how Sylus almost ripped a human thief to shreds who managed to find his way inside the mountain ruins once if it wasn’t for the other forest creatures reminding him that you wouldn’t be too pleased if he separated the head from the body of another human. Again.)

Lastly, an assortment of pastries just for him. 

Meatbuns, slices of lemon tarts and sweet breads. Sylus knows that you always bring them out for last, and you are unsure if your reflexes are getting better but you were quick to swat his claws away, hiding the basket behind your back.

You pointed at his claws.

He narrowed his eyes at you, his tail thumping in annoyance but made no move.

You pointed again.

This time, he raised his right hand.

It is only when you believe you let out a huff of your own that he also raised his other hand as well, spreading his fingers as if telling you, “Here you go. Here, there, and everything in between, are you happy now?”

This time, you smiled and with a flask of water, you made sure to clean up the grime on his claws. Yet, before you can even rinse everything and dry them properly, he already decided that this is enough for today as he pulled both of his hands back, always the impatient dragon that he is.

So much for trying to teach him human etiquette.

His table manners still needs work and you should have been a better teacher but you always find yourself laughing when you watch him bury his face deep inside your basket, eating everything in less than ten bites even when you tell him to savor his meal.

After he makes sure not even crumbs are left, he’ll then glare at you, most likely looking for more.

Yet, you find it difficult to take him seriously especially when the basket is stuck between his horns.

“No more,” that is what you want to tell him, your arms forming a cross as you slowly shake your head and he huffs, making his own gestures for you to decode.

“Get more.”

“You eat too much.”

“You bring little.”

Back at the libraries of the Conservatory, dragons are described to be gluttonous beasts, an ominous moniker, but all of your interactions with Sylus made you think that maybe the writers meant it quite literally for it would take an entire village to feed one dragon alone.

His royal highness narrowed his eyes at you once again, suspicious, before lunging at you to check your pockets, your bag, your entire being for food, his nose tickling your skin and when he noticed you have extra you gave him a flick on the forehead.

“For your friends,” you signed, then gesturing at the animals peeking from beyond the treeline and he didn’t press you any further, which earned him a pat on the head from you for his good behavior.

For the entire day, Sylus will follow you around under the shade of the towering trees of his forest, his tail swishing lazily as he carries your basket on your behalf.

You can say he is the best companion when foraging.

For every herb you pick, he will pick three of the same kind and put it inside your basket even though you tell him you don’t need that much. It also did not help that he has taken upon himself to copy you, flicking your head gently with his claws every time you try to protest.

For every mana stone you find, he manages to lead you to a cluster of them and he won’t budge until you get a considerable amount despite your complaints that you already have baskets full of them inside your hut. Hidden, because you remember that the Society of Pointed Hats are trying to regulate mana stone mining.

For every berry you harvest, he will insist you take more and you do so because if you don’t, you will find his entourage of two wolf cubs who shouldn’t be seen by the villagers waiting patiently on your doorstep, grinning with a woven basket of leaves full of berries.

You always like to think this is his way of expressing his gratitude to you, the human who managed to drive away the terrible images that haunt him at night.

It is during his mid-day naps in the field of wildflowers after you have concluded the foraging that you find yourself asking about his well-being, letting him lie his head on your lap.

“No bad dreams?”, you signed.

He shook his head, burying his face on the fabric of your clothes and making himself comfortable.

“I sleep best when you are here,” he replies, at least, that is what you gather since your secret language and this is still slowly taking shape.

“The spells make you sleep well.”

“Yes but the good pictures only come when you are here.”

Do dragons dream of glittering gold?

Do dragons dream of castles made of stones so cold?

Do dragons dream of all of his favorite trinkets multiplied tenfold?

Perhaps you should ask, but you never find the courage to see if he is indeed going to leave these mountains someday just as how you are also meant to return to the capital because you couldn’t bring to do so.

Not when he had already fallen asleep and you would hate to disturb his peaceful slumber.

Instead, you gently pet his hair, finding yourself drowsy as the cool wind of the mountain together with the warmth from the  spell on your cloak and Sylus made the surroundings feel as if you were back in one of your favorite places inside the libraries of the Conservatory, the one with a hearth you tend to yourself.

Here in between the last town where the northern part of the peninsula ends and where the southern tip of its neighboring continent almost touches,  a village is no longer disturbed from the sounds of a lonely dragon yearning for his kind.

Here in between the great mountain ranges and the endless seas, stays an unaccounted resident of a peaceful village you grew fond of together with the rest.

Here in between the place where the winds and waves meet, a certain dragon is still yet to find the right gestures to ask a certain witch if it is true that she is indeed going to leave the town with an ocean view.

────────────────────

Sylus always counts how many moons have passed by before your next visit.

Seven moons.

It always takes you seven moons before he can see you again.

The day always ends with you retracing the spells you have written on top of flat stones you left scattered on the field of wildflowers he always slept on and then on the trunks of the trees that circled this hidden grove.

Glyphs, sigils, and signs.

Sylus has only witnessed witches that speak spells, each sentence bringing upon immediate effect but he has yet to meet a witch that writes them until now.

These symbols of yours you seemed to know by heart are undoubtedly powerful, its effects lingering for days unlike those casted by your peers. He wouldn’t deny it is one of the reasons he has taken on following you around when you are here, to see your ink stained fingers hold your pen and watch the ink formed from magical herbs and crushed mana stones bleed from the nib.

If he is a greedy dragon that people have made him to be, he would have kept you here, to watch you closely everyday but why would he do that?

You are a very special witch, afterall, and he read from one of the books left behind in one of the ruins of where his kind used to inhabit that anyone, anything special must be looked after, to hold onto them, but not too tight for them to be shattered.

It seemed that his kind are indeed peaceful creatures, but if a higher being had created them, then Sylus would never understand why they have been gifted claws so sharp that a light scratch is enough to tear through the shield of a knight.

“I’ll be going now.”

You tapped his shoulder, and you did this same set of gesture for Sylus to know this meant that you are leaving now, finally finished with retracing the spells that managed to make the colors of the wildflowers growing in this small field vibrant even if autumn is coming and grant him a good night’s sleep.

He frowned but he knows the whiny villagers at the foot of his mountains need you as well and he isn’t a greedy dragon, he is a good dragon because he knows so, because you told him so.

At least, that’s what he believes your gestures meant.

He stooped to your height, letting you give him one last pat on his head and he watched you pick the two wolf cubs, the same ones that interrupted his mid-day nap with you when they caught a whiff of your scent earlier, so you can give each of them a hug before you make your way back home.

Sylus knew he is supposed to waved back at you, that’s what humans do when they part ways but what if he do so and you never come back? 

He wouldn’t want that.

Instead, he watches from the treeline as the sun sets, until your form is but a dot in his gaze.

There are occasions that he is tempted to follow you, to visit your lone hut, when the loneliness is rather unbearable or the forest creatures who began to call themselves his subjects have injuries only you can mend but even then he makes his surprise visits sparse.

Afterall, Sylus did learn from you that one must have an ‘invitation’ first before making their appearance at someone's home and he finds himself nodding along at your lesson, knowing he also doesn't like sudden visitors in his home.

Instead, he curbs this longing by flying under the cover of the night, to go to the ruins where his kind used to live scattered across the peninsula or to gaze at the distant lights of the cities the humans have built, to listen to the sounds the humans dance along to in their plazas and observe as their fingers play their musical instruments.

He had always asked himself if there was a moment in time his kind also has such colorful celebrations.

“My lord, are you going for another flight tonight?”

One of the wolf cubs asked, the one you named Luke, wagging his tail because Sylus knew these two will attempt to make him take them along. Again.

“What if you bring us along this time?”

“What a wonderful idea, Kieran! I also do think his grace should also let us tag along!”

“Right, my lord?”, they both asked at the same time, their small bodies vibrating in excitement at the thought of being high up in the air.

Instead, Sylus just huffed, collapsing on the spot among the field of red datura flowers where he took his mid-day nap with you.

“Oh, no flying tonight?”, Kieran asked, his tail drooping as he plopped down on his side, his brother taking the other.

“We get it, my lord! Flying is indeed outdated, so out of style! The birds told us so-”, Luke piped in, earning a flick on his forehead by Sylus.

“No, not tonight,” he sighed, and he closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, seven moons had already passed and you are now back here again.

Your scent still lingers, comforting and it is lulling him to sleep again together with the effects of your spell slowly taking effect.

It is such a unique blend but you are a special witch, afterall.

The most prominent one is ink.

Then, of your familiar, the insolent crow that always stares him down.

Finally-

Sylus frowned, suddenly sitting up as the soft symphony of your scent is suddenly interrupted with a surge of new odors.

Smoke. 

Petrichor. 

Ozone.

It didn’t take Sylus a moment to know that he had uninvited guests in his home, people he is sure are none of the whiny townsfolk you look after and the two wolf cubs seemed to notice as well, following him closely as they growled softly at the direction of the unwelcomed visitors.

During the day, the doors of the great mountain ranges are open, only for a few, but no one would deny its allure when the rays of the sun spill in between the leaves of the tall trees.

Yet when night comes, not even one villager would dare set foot in here once the moon is up except for the select few.

All of the forest creatures  and their king knew what type of people flocked in this place when it was the shadows’ turn to frolic in the sprawling forest.

Two humans, dressed in dark fabric and their faces covered with the hoods of their cloak. They almost blended so well among the shadows but not even those who hid well went past Sylus.

It is clear to him and the wolf cubs what they are.

Criminals.

“Are you sure we can leave it here?”

“Positive. No one would find it here until we found a boat willing to take us.”

It.

Of course, give it to those with suspicious intentions to use his territory to hide stolen goods.

Gone were the playful wolf cubs who demanded his attention, the two growling softly with their hackles raised but they did not make any movements just yet.

Not when the stolen goods in question don’t smell like gold, silver, copper or anything the humans deemed precious.

No, it is certainly, certainly something different.

A scent all too familiar, a scent missed dearly.

“We need to leave before he sends them to look for it,” the first human whispered harshly at his companion who let out a huff.

“Do you really believe the king keeps abominations in his basement?”

“I am telling you they are real!”

“Then if they are, we better find a boat fast-”

Thieves.

There are thieves in his forest that defile the path you take and it would have been easy, really then-

“Scare only. No kill!”

At least, that’s what Sylus gathered based on the gestures you threw at him after you let out a garbled shriek when he presented to you the head of a wanted man lurking around the outskirts of your town harassing the smaller and more fragile humans. It also did not help that the imbecile of a crow is also yapping to him about laws and something about the so-called king of this peninsula and his so-called pursuers.

Right, he wouldn’t want to be the cause of your distress again and had his hair pulled again by your familiar.

Scare them away it is.

(If they have the unfortunate luck of passing away on where they stand, then Sylus believes that’s on them.)

“Are you sure we should just leave it here, though? Didn’t the locals say there is a beast living here? What if it eats it?”

“Didn’t you hear the news? They said the deaf witch slayed it.”

“Slayed?  What kind of witches the Conservatory is churning out these days?”

“The best kind,” Sylus spoke and the two men looked up as he made his presence known, his face half-lit by the glow of the lanterns they shone towards his direction.

This is one of the few moments Sylus relished at the fact how easily he can drive humans away as the two froze, slowly looking at his direction with Luke and Kieran following closely behind.

One step.

The two looked at each other then back at them closing in. A few more strides and it will be so easy for him to reach out and take hold of their necks.

Two steps.

The two looked back at him, and the scent of fear became thick. If they were to run, they only have a few seconds to do so.

Three steps.

The first one immediately bolted, his companion following closely behind as the two wolf cubs give chase, howling.

Sylus knew he should follow, to make sure the thieves are out of his mountain ranges but before he can do so, he picked up the same scent once again.

Smoke.

Petrichor.

Ozone.

There, left by those two imbeciles who dared cross his territory is-

Something he had only seen once.

Something he had seen when he was younger, when there were more of his kind.

Something he thought he will never see again.

Round.

Smooth.

Fragile.

It is roughly the same size too, medium, but how could it be? What are the odds?

Just at the edge of the grove of red datura flowers where the great witch meets him without fail, nestled in between the roots of one of the tall trees, was no other than-

-An egg.

────────────────────

Author's Note: I have been writing snippets of these two ever since November then I kept rewriting the first chapter because I want Reader to be represented well. I put so much research into this, if I am being honest. To those who were waiting for this fic to drop, thank you for your patience~!

Also, sorry for the delay! I am in the middle of organizing an important event on top of I am still adjusting to a career shift in line to what I actually want to pursue. I am progressively losing hair as I write this or maybe I just need to switch shampoos again.

See you next update!

AO3

Ch .1 / Ch. 2

Taglist (If you want to be added or removed, do let me know!):

And thank fuck you actually accept him. You want Caleb. periodtttt

To me, that’s why roles, honorifics, and labels feel too simple to describe the bond they have.

Caleb is emotionally constipated, childish in some ways, and carrying a ridiculous amount of trauma. Because of that, he falls back into patterns he’s familiar with. And more importantly, patterns you’re familiar with.

She likes it when I’m gege.

Alright. Then I’ll be gege.

That look… she’s scared.

Alright. Too much. Dial it back.Soften it. Ease up.

She listens when I tell her to sit.

Interesting. Maybe the uniform helps.

She smiles when I cook.

Good. I’ll cook again.

Umbrella. Shoelaces. Small things.

Those work. Keep those.

She liked our home.

I’ll rebuild our home.

But… She’s still looking at me like that.

Careful. Don’t push too far.

But… just a little further.

If she runs…

No.

Don’t let that happen.

Whatever she needs me to be…

Gege Caleb.

Colonel Caleb.

Something in between.

It doesn’t matter.

As long as she stays.

In the main story he basically acknowledges that if he shows his truest self, he might scare the living shit out of you, saying something like:

“What if I was always like this?”

And you see the same thing across multiple cards. He constantly asks: “Scared?”

Even in the myth pv, he repeats the “scared?” aka checking in to see if the MC is comfortable.

My take is that it genuinely doesn’t matter to Caleb what you call him, as long as he gets to be with you. That need goes beyond reason, logic or labels. And because of that, he defaults to what he knows has always been safe and familiar for you: the comfort role of gege.

But… in Lucid Dreams, when he breaks down and says:

“I don’t know how to take care of you anymore.”

That’s it. That’s Caleb trying to navigate the gap between who he used to be for you and what he’s become, desperately trying not to lose you in the process. I think he solved it quite beautifully in Wayward Wonderland after the MC has wished him a happy birthday just as “Caleb”

Personally, I also want to add one small disclaimer.

I have zero tolerance for sloppy localization (because I’ve played so many games probably lmao). Like the situation with Imperial Thronesong, where Infold honestly kind of… shat the bed by suddenly stating Caleb is our brother by blood. It just felt a bit off to me. But that’s my opinion. From what I’ve seen, the Japanese text uses kizuna/絆 which usually refers to a bond or sworn connection rather than literal blood relation (hello my Japanese lessons are still useful)

And for the record: I’ve played otome games that fully lean into the incest trope. It’s just not my thing. Personally.

But I also don’t think that’s what Caleb’s story has actually established so far. Outside of that one questionable localization choice, nothing in the narrative clearly points to them being blood siblings. What the story repeatedly emphasizes instead is this strange, fictional shared origin and bond between them. Shared trauma. Shared home. Shared lab.

for me, the issue isn’t the trope itself. It’s sloppy storytelling that suddenly tries to force “blood sibling” where the narrative has been leaning toward something more like an eerie sworn bond with sprinkles of being from the same source. Whatever that means. Point is: blood doesn’t fit. It’s too simple.

At the end of the day, tho… I’m here to play a game with fictional characters and escape adulthood for a bit. And I’ve always lived by the golden otome rule:

Don’t yuck someone else’s yum.

Otome games have always played with messy dynamics and complicated tropes. That’s part of the genre. If a character or route stops scratching your itch, the healthiest thing to do is simply move on

Honestly, it's more of an inside joke at this point. When someone asks if you're seeing one of them and you shake your head, suppressing a little smile that's threatening to pull at your lips. Or sometimes one of the guys, usually Satoru, will make a comment when they think you're out of earshot, asking if your roommates have 'got on that, yet,' and the two of them just sigh and tell him 'no.'

Their friends never seem to notice the little look that Toji and Sukuna share, the acknowledgement of your circle's secret.

Because another truth is that none of you guys have actually addressed the situation. No one's talked about where your relationships stand, what kinds of feelings may or may not be involved— so while it's fun to keep that knowledge private, there's also a part of you that knows deep down you're not even certain how to answer some of the questions that get thrown your way.

Sukuna and Toji seem to be quite content with the way things are— though partially because Sukuna will never admit to you how it's nearly killing him that he hasn't so much as kissed you yet, and neither him nor Toji are ready to admit why that is.

When you stumble into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, Sukuna flashes you a grin that only widens as your tired gaze rolls over the bare expanse of his torso.

You turn, fiddling with the coffee machine, working under the guise of needing a latte instead of hiding the blush on your cheeks, despite the fact that you know he's already made one for you. He's been sweet— as sweet as someone like Sukuna can be— and lately he's always got your coffee ready by the time you make it into the kitchen.

But it's just because you do this every time.

Your back to him, skin always soft under a thin spaghetti-strap tank-top, ass threatening to spill out of your favorite sleep shorts. Practically a silent invitation for him to slot himself behind you, a firm hand on your waist as the other reaches around, mug in his grasp.

"Already made yours," Sukuna's voice rings low in your ear, raspy from sleep and going straight to your core. His chest is nearly flush against you as he towers behind you, and he wonders if you're even aware of it— the way you're nudging your hips backwards, ass pressing oh, so slightly against his crotch.

"Thanks, Kuna," you mumble in reply, gracing him with a quick smile over your shoulder before grabbing the cup from him. The ceramic is warm in the palm of your hand, a heat rivaling the furnace that is your pink-haired roommate, though it's admittedly less comforting.

Your eyes do a quick scan around the room, no doubt looking for the third roommate. You do that a lot when Sukuna's around you. Like you're going to get caught doing something you shouldn't.

It seems like you haven't realized that they didn't actually mind sharing. Whether that was sharing you with each other or sharing each other with you— they were more than happy to do either, on their own terms of course.

You raise the mug to your lips, trying to ignore the way your bodies are flush against one another, the way his hand has dipped under the hem of your shirt, calloused thumb rubbing gently along your skin.

It's robust, bold in the way espresso should be, and the milk is perfectly foamy, the syrup not too sweet. He really has memorized the way you like your coffee, and the contented sigh that falls from your lips tells Sukuna as much.

"'s it good, princess?"

"It's perfect, you should be a barista."

Sukuna hums like you bring up a good point, demeanor playful, casual like his chest isn't swelling with pride at the praise. "Nah, don't really care to make coffee for people."

You finally turn around, twisting in Sukuna's grip as he runs his other hand through his hair. "You make mine all the time," you point out.

"And?"

"Why bother making mine if you don't care to?"

"That's different," Sukuna sighs, watching the way your brows furrow.

"How?"

"Because I want to make yours."

"Why?"

You want him to admit that he's into you, but each time you try to pry it out of him he somehow manages to give you nothing.

Sure, he's always flirting and teasing, Sukuna's never one to shy away from that. He's quick to be the first one touching you— smacking your ass when you bend over in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist as he reaches above you to grab the pan you need, pulling you onto his lap when it's just the two of you on the couch together.

He'll get you worked up to the point where you're dripping through the gusset of your panties, poor neglected pussy just desperate to be filled, and it's always that exact moment when he decides to pull away. He leaves you high and dry, wondering what the fuck just happened as you slip back into your room and open your nightstand to pull out your vibrator.

In all the weeks that have passed, you still don't have any real confirmation of his interest in you, and each day that goes by leave you feeling more unsure. You find yourself wondering if Sukuna just doesn't want you in the way Toji does.

But in Sukuna's mind, it should be obvious, regardless if he's actually fucked you or confessed his feelings. Because there's no way you're standing mere inches away from him with his hand on your hip, your eyes locked on his, and you're asking him why he'll make a latte for you.

"You can't be fuckin' serious," Sukuna's face is flat, lips starting to pull into a disappointed frown.

"You act like that's not a valid question," you start, voice beginning to raise in the way it always does when you're feeling defensive, "you just said you don't care to make coffee for people, so I asked why you make mine everyday. I feel like that's—"

"Yeah but that's a stupid fuckin' question, cause—"

Your jaw falls open as you set your coffee down behind you, arms coming up to cross over your chest. "It's not stupid, Kuna. And don't interrupt me, it's rude."

His eyes flutter shut, chest rising as he inhales deeply, fighting to keep his frustration at bay. How could you be one of the only people he enjoys spending time with and simultaneously the biggest pain in his ass? "Okay, my bad— even though you just interrupted me too—"

"It's not even 9:30, how the fuck are you two going at it already?" Toji's voice cuts through your silly argument, stealing both your attention away as he shuts the front door behind him.

You suck in a breath at the sound of his voice, turning slightly to look at him though Sukuna keeps you in your place within his hold.

"Morning, Toji," you greet, mustering up the courage to look him in the eyes.

A quick scan of his expression reveals little, leaving you both apprehensive and curious. Toji always seemed relatively indifferent about your relationship with Sukuna, offering nothing but a chuckle whenever he'd spot the two of you much too close together.

He flashes you a crooked grin, dropping the his gym bag to the floor. "Mornin' dollface, this guy bothering you?"

Sukuna rolls his eyes, suppressing a sigh because he can't believe that actually pulled a giggle from you. "She's the one bothering me, don't be fooled."

You spin around to swat at his arm, "am not!"

"Oh yeah?" Toji smirks, standing across the room, shoulder resting on the wall and jade eyes locked on the scene before him. Your hips against Sukuna's, his hand on your waist, not to mention the little pink tint that's dusted across his cheeks as he scowls down at you. Your pretty tits are sitting inside that flimsy top, nearly pushed up against Sukuna's chest as he leans over you, keeping you locked between him and the counter. "Should've known— she's a handful."

"Tell me about it," Sukuna drawls, the words lazy, rolling off his tongue at the same speed of his hand as it slides lower, drifting over the swell of your ass and squeezing gently.

The men lock eyes in a second, mirrored smirks reflected back to each other as you rack your brain for something to say in response to that, but in all honesty the entire situation has you feeling flustered. And nothing gets any better when Toji moves again, long strides carrying him the rest of the way over to you and Sukuna.

He's still sweaty from the gym, raven locks slicked against his forehead and compression shirt glued to his skin. You can smell the musk radiating from him, the smell harmonizing with the lingering scent of Sukuna's cologne and body wash.

Toji slips an arm around Sukuna's shoulder, their bodies pressed close. And with both men peering down their noses at you now, you can't help but feel quite small before them. Your knees shift, instinctually moving closer together as you feel that familiar heat pooling low in your belly— a subtle movement, but one that's caught by everyone in the room, two sets of eyes flickering down to your thighs before meeting your gaze again. "Gotta go easy on him, he doesn't know how to handle you like I do."

Toji's touch feels like it's burning into Sukuna's flesh, the weight of his arm resting heavy around his neck.

"And how's that?" Sukuna asks, ignoring the way he can feel Toji. There's a growing bulge in the apex of Toji's sweatpants that's nudging against Sukuna's leg each time he shifts, and you haven't even noticed.

You're too distracted by the feeling of Sukuna's own cock prodding at your pelvis through his shorts.

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, radiating off of your two roommates as they cage you in against the counter. Breath coming in ragged, your eyes flit from one man to the other, like you can't decide where to give your attention because they're both too captivating.

The tension that's settling thick in the room makes your chest feel tight and the space between your thighs ache with a glaring need.

And then, with a loud smack to Sukuna's ass, Toji breaks through the silence between you three, causing your gaze to snap up to his. "Well, I gotta shower."

"Yeah, you stink," Sukuna grumbles, doing his best to ignore the way he can feel his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink.

Toji just grins, sly and knowing as he pulls away from your group to get a better look at Sukuna, "you stink too now, so… you coming?"

And just like that, when you think you're finally going to get what you want— what you've wanted for the last several weeks— you're left alone in the kitchen, frustrated and confused.

You're sure there's something going on between the two of them. It's not like they're doing a good job at hiding it considering all the touches, the glances, the constant showering together. But you never thought that would be something that got in your way considering how forward both men still were with you, not to mention the fact that you and Toji have continued hooking up.

With an exasperated groan you turn back around, staring glumly at your coffee that's now gone cold. Through the quiet you can hear the sound of the water turning on down the hall, the scowl on your face only pulling deeper as your thighs press closer together.

You can imagine the way the room must be filling with steam, a thick blanket of warmth covering the two men as a shiver runs down your spine.

"Fuckin' cockblock." Sukuna's grumbling as he strips down to join Toji who's already naked and standing under the water.

Sukuna tells himself he's not sure why he even follows Toji's lead— why he listens to him each time he intervenes between you and him, whether in person or as a little voice in his head. He tries to convince himself that he's irritated, that he's tired of missing such easy chances with you because of your other roommate but if that was really the case then he wouldn't be so hard.

"Just get in here," Toji mutters, rolling his eyes.

With a single stride Sukuna closes the gap, stepping over the lip of the tub and into the shower, and Toji wastes no time slipping an arm around his waist. One large hand splaying across Sukuna's lower back, Toji tugs him closer and the heat of his breath just inches from his face feels more stifling than the steaming water cascading over the two of them.

Rough fingertips trail along Sukuna's skin, drifting to his hips, his pelvis, before dropping lower. He sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling of Toji's hand finally wrapping around the base of his cock.

"You just hard all the time?" Toji teases, giving the base a light squeeze. "I mean I get it, living with her…"

Sukuna averts his eyes, gaze slipping down in time to see Toji's tongue darting out, swiping along the scar on his lips. And Toji doesn't miss it, nor does he miss the way Sukuna's length twitches in his grasp.

"Or maybe it's not her—"

"Shut up," Sukuna snaps, his own hand flying down to grasp between Toji's thighs.

Toji's heavy in Sukuna's palm, his cock already half-hard and getting stiffer with the tighter that Sukuna grips it. And Sukuna's fucking throbbing. Precum leaking just to get washed away by the shower, but the water can't hide the way his tip is all swollen and red. Toji swipes a thumb over the slit causing Sukuna to shudder, his head lolling back and eyes fluttering shut. Toji always knew exactly what he needed— how he needed to be touched.

It was infuriating.

Especially when Toji would dish out those stupid commands at the same time—

"Don't fuck her yet," he rasps, tone curt and voice low as Sukuna groans, a sound of pleasure and frustration.

Sukuna's hand works slowly, gliding up and down Toji's length with a practiced rhythm as he grits out his question, "how much longer you gonna make me wait?"

And Toji just chuckles at that. An easy sound that doesn't betray the tightness in his abdomen, his muscles tensing with each rub of Sukuna's palm along his shaft. "Dunno. Til I get bored of this."

It wasn't even jealousy that Toji was feeling, he wasn't protective over you, he was secure enough to not care about that. He just loved the power. Loved being in control of Sukuna, in control of your relationship with him, without you even knowing.

A scowl spreads across Sukuna's face, his fist moving faster. "Y'know I could just fuck her anyways—"

"You won't." Toji loosens his own grip, his touch featherlight as he twists his wrist, pumping Sukuna's cock languidly. A grin splits across his lips at the sight of Sukuna's frown tugging down further in response to his lightening grasp. "You always listen, don't ya?"

Bottom lip tugged between his teeth, Sukuna rolls his hips, chasing the feeling he was getting before but to no avail. Toji doesn't move, doesn't wrap his fingers snug around his length and twist and pull like Sukuna needs him to.

"Admit it," Toji grunts, his own hips stuttering in Sukuna's hold which hasn't relented because, despite Toji's actions, he's still pumping his cock like he has something to prove.

Sukuna's just hoping that the closer Toji gets to his release, the more lenient he'll be. He's gambling on the chance that just maybe Toji will take pity on him and finally give him what he wants.

But he should have known Toji would never give in that easy.

"You're gonna be a good boy aren't ya? Just like you have been."

The smile on his face, the tone of his voice is cruel. He's getting pure amusement from the knowledge that Sukuna's trying so hard to please him just because he'd do anything but defy him.

"F-fuck off," Sukuna rasps, breath catching in his throat at an unexpected squeeze of Toji's fingers just under his swollen tip.

Toji's thumb presses against Sukuna's frenulum before gliding down with his hand, trailing along the winding veins towards the base and back up again. "You're gonna let me keep stuffin' her with my cock instead, yeah? Just cause I told you to."

Picking up the pace, Toji works faster to match Sukuna's rhythm, drawing a low groan from him. Pink tresses matted to his forehead, they contrast with the black ink as his head hangs forwards now, red eyes narrowed at Toji. His jaw is tight, his teeth clenched together to bite back whatever retort he had because he wouldn't dare say that Toji's wrong— not when he's finally able to feel his climax building.

"Fuck— you love it though," Toji grunts, "y'love it when I'm fuckin' her. Know you're listening every time, probably jackin' off."

If Sukuna's cheeks weren't already flushed from the steam they would be now. Memories coursing through his mind of all the times he's done that very thing over the past few weeks. All the nights where Toji follows you into your room, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Sukuna before shutting the door, leaving the pink haired man to tend to himself.

Which he did every time.

Snaking a hand into his pants to fist his already-stiff cock, the other clasped onto his mouth to try and muffle the sound of your names falling from his lips.

And he doesn't even feel that guilty about it anymore. Not since the first time he heard you calling their names.

No, he doesn't feel bad now that he knows you're also imagining him, imagining Toji, imagining him and Toji together whenever you're stuffing two little fingers into your cunt.

It's exactly what you're doing right now— out in the living room because you couldn't even wait to make it to your bedroom. Legs spread wide as you writhe on the couch that smells like your two roommates, a sticky mess coating your hand as you rub sloppy circles on your clit.

You know what they're doing every time they go in the bathroom with one another.

It used to piss you off— it still kind of does— the fact that you haven't been invited. But you can't find it in yourself to stay mad when your mind starts conjuring up vivid images of the two of them. You imagine what they might be saying to one another, what they might be saying about you. You imagine the way their sweat must be rolling over their chests and down their backs, mixing in with the rivulets of bath water as they pant, their breaths mingling.

"Course I'm jackin' off. Y'won't let me fuckin'— fuck— do anything else," Sukuna groans, irritation seeping back into his emotions.

Toji hums, eyes glinting with something that makes Sukuna's stomach flip and his cock jump. "I'll let ya fuck her if you give me somethin' else."

Sukuna's eyebrow raises at that, an indication of his intrigue, urging Toji to continue.

"Suck me off. Then you can."

"Fuck no, that's gay."

A sharp laugh escapes Toji, he'd really thought that Sukuna was past that part but apparently he's still coming to terms with some things. "You think this isn't?

"'m not— sh-shit— suckin' your cock," Sukuna grits out between broken moans.

It's taking every ounce of Sukuna's brainpower to keep responding to Toji as his orgasm looms overhead. It's rising embarrassingly fast, threatening to crash over him with every drag of Toji's thumb over his cockhead and every filthy word that spills from his roommate's mouth.

And it's only worse now that Toji's planted the idea in his head.

Sukuna can feel his composure slipping even faster as images flash through his mind. He can imagine what it would be like— Toji's dick gliding along his tongue, his jaw aching from being stretched wide open to accommodate the girth. His knees pressed hard into the porcelain tub and a rough grip in his hair, guiding him however Toji wants. Faster, deeper, until the back of his throat is bruised and being painted white.

A sound much too close to a whimper bubbles up from Sukuna's throat as he feels his cock start twitching.

"Then y'cant fuck her." There's a smirk playing at Toji's lips because he knows that Sukuna's about to cum.

No matter how much the tattooed man grumbles with feigned disgust towards Toji's desires, the truth is that each time he suggests they try something else, just a minute later he'll have Sukuna grunting out his name, leaving his hand is a gooey mess.

"God 'm gonna bust—" Sukuna groans, a guttural sound that echoes off the tile walls around them.

The two men are practically fucking themselves into each other's fists now, hips rolling as they stand inches apart. Foreheads pressed together, they're both staring straight down, entranced by the view of their arms crossed, their hands wrapped snug around the other's cocks. Each thrust pushes their flushed tips further out of their grasps until they're rubbing up against one another. Shower water and precum smearing between the undersides of their shafts as they glide together.

"Mmm, y'like that?" Toji drawls, tongue licking at the corner of his watering mouth. He spits down, a fat glob landing on their heads, rolling down between them. "Fuckin' nasty. Never gotten this close have we, pretty boy? You like watchin' our dicks rub together?"

"Fuck, yeah," Sukuna pants. He can feel the sweat forming on his forehead just to get washed away, the back of his neck burning as he brings his other hand down to tug at his balls.

"Know you're close— c'mon, want ya to cum all over both our cocks. Lemme feel the mess you're gonna make." Toji's voice is addictive. Each word easily coaxing Sukuna's orgasm to the surface leaving his hips stuttering and his fingers squeezing tighter as he feels his balls and Toji's cock both twitching in his palms.

And Sukuna cums hard. A whole body reaction as his muscles tense and his body shakes, he can't stop the shout of Toji's name that tumbles out as seemingly endless spurts white spill onto his cock, Toji's cock, their hands, the shower floor before getting washed down the drain.

"Holy shit." The sight alone sends Toji falling off of his peak right after, his hand gripping Sukuna's nape. Toji ruts into Sukuna's fist faster, craving a rougher friction until his spend is seeping between his fingers like glue. Whatever hasn't been washed away clings to their skin, forming translucent webs of their seed as they finally pull their hands back from one another.

Toji's chest is heaving when he leans away, lips slightly parted as he and Sukuna look on at one another silently. That is, until Toji starts to laugh.

"The fuck is so funny?" Sukuna's scowling again already, a result of his post-nut clarity being amplified from Toji's outburst.

"Nothin', you just really did make a mess."

Sukuna's jaw drops at that. No matter how often the two of them get off together, he's still warming up to the idea of actually talking about it afterwards. He'd much prefer if they just finished up the shower normally and continued to go about their days.

"Half of that shit was you!" Sukuna shouts, eyes squinting as water splashes on them. "Just shut the fuck up and wash your greasy hair."

Things continue the way they are for the rest of the month. Which means weeks of endless teasing, endless flirting from both Toji and Sukuna, and still Toji is the only one that ever gives you more. He's the only one that follows you back to your room when you whisper in his ear about what you need him to do to you.

He's always happy to indulge. Cock already stiff by the time he slides your panties down your thighs and slots himself between them. Tip already leaking even before he presses inside your heat, stretching you open, watching your back arch off the mattress with a saccharine moan of his name.

But no matter how many times you sit yourself on Sukuna's lap with your arms slung around his neck and lips brushing the curve of his ear— he never breaks. Even when you can feel the bulge in his pants pressing hard against your ass and you can hear how his breath catches in his throat.

He'll just chuckle, deep and strained as he plants two hands on your hips and lifts you off of him before standing and retreating to the bathroom or his bedroom.

You know he's taking care of himself in there. Or Toji is. So why the fuck won't he let you?

You're certain that they can tell that you're fraying at the edges.

You catch some of the shared glances they cast each other whenever you snap at one of them for crowding your personal space— something you never minded before. You notice the slight waver in Sukuna's hand before he places it around your shoulder during movie night, and the way Toji's eyes constantly flit down to his own hand on your thigh like he's making sure you didn't cut it off when he wasn't looking.

It's making you feel like you're crazy.

Never in your life have you seen someone so clearly attracted to you who also acts like it would be a crime to actually have sex with you. So you decide that you're done putting yourself out there and playing into their games.

Next movie night, you sit on the end of the couch instead of the middle, where you usually are sandwiched between them. When they walk in it's clear they're not expecting it. Both men pause in their tracks for a brief moment, beers in hand as they look at you quietly before finally sitting down awkwardly.

Sukuna's in the middle now, and Toji's in his usual spot on the other end of the couch.

"Here," Sukuna turns, holding a beer out for you to take.

You barely look at him when you grab it, muttering a flat 'thanks,' under your breath. His gaze lingers, mouth slightly agape like he's considering saying something else before it closes and he shifts to give his attention to Toji.

Toji always gets his attention.

Taking a swig of your drink, cold and carbonated, it's as bitter on your tongue as the jealousy twisting in your chest.

"What movie were you thinking about?" Sukuna asks, nursing his own beer.

Toji just shrugs, reaching for the remote with a grunt before reclining into the couch, "don't care, up to you guys." Legs spread wide, his thigh is pressed flat against the side of Sukuna's, his free arm slung around the back of his seat as he turns on the TV.

Sukuna looks at you once more, eyes met with the side of your face as you continue to stare straight ahead. "What do you wanna watch, princess?"

You fight against the twitch pulling at a corner of your lips, stubbornly determined to keep your mouth set into a straight line. "I don't care, something good."

A soft chuckle comes from the other end of the couch. It's obvious you're pissed off, and Toji should probably feel bad for finding it to be amusing but he can't. Not with the way you're cutely pouting, avoiding their eyes as you grumble whenever they talk to you. Maybe he'd be more worried if he wasn't so sure that there was no way you'd be able to stay mad at them.

There was always a way to make you forgive them.

Sukuna didn't look so sure. His eyebrows pulling together as he looks on at you barely acknowledging him.

"Go on, Sukuna," Toji muses, "put on 'something good'."

You flash Toji a glare, annoyed at his mocking tone which made it obvious that he wasn't taking your ire seriously. You're going to make this movie night as difficult as possible for them.

Every movie that Sukuna suggested, you said no to.

"This one? It's a thriller, I heard it's good."

"No, don't feel like a thriller tonight."

"Okay… horror? Could watch a slasher."

"Ew. Too much gore, I don't want to see that right now."

Sukuna sighs, clearly frustrated but trying not to piss you off further by expressing it. "Fine, want to watch one of those girly movies you like? 'Chick flick' or some shit."

That pulls a small glance from you out of the corner of your eye, when he continues, "Mean girls? Legally blonde? You love those."

"Not in the mood." That one hurt to say no to.

And finally, Sukuna reached his limit. You were being impossible. "Alright," he sets his beer down, arms crossing in front of his chest as he leans back to get a better look at you. "The fuck is wrong?"

Your eyes narrow into slits, mouth tugging into a frown. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. Trying to make you feel better by lettin' you pick the movie and you're bein' difficult, so what's wrong?"

"I don't care what stupid movie we watch," you snap, causing Toji's eyes to widen slightly.

Sukuna swears there's got to be a vein bulging in his forehead by now, his voice raising slightly, "then what the fuck do you want from me?"

If only there was some popcorn for Toji, this beats any movie.

"Nothing! I just—" you pause, hesitant to continue your sentence. If you tell him what's really bothering you and he turns you down, that could potentially lead to some tension between all the roommates, and you don't want to ruin your living situation.

"You just…?" Sukuna's eyebrows raise as he looks at you expectantly. Each beat of silence that passes causes the pit in your stomach to grow as you wage an internal battle over how to respond. "Spit it out, princess."

Your eye twitches at the pet name. One you secretly adore, though it makes your chest hurt now, serving as a reminder of what you don't have. You used to be so certain that he used it because he meant it— and now you don't know. The word rolling off his tongue with sincerity, by the time it reaches your ears your own emotions have twisted it into mockery.

"Don't call me that," you mutter, eyes downcast as you grip your beer in both hands, the aluminum crinkling slightly. "Not unless you mean it."

Toji's eyebrows fly up now, looking on with intrigue at the scene unfolding in front of him. He's already caught on to the true issue, but given the confusion written all over Sukuna's face, it's clear that he still hasn't.

"What are you talking about?" Sukuna near shouts, more frustrated by his own lack of understanding than the fact that you're giving him attitude.

He hates this.

He hates the way you won't look at him, and the way your voice is small when you're normally overflowing with confidence. He hates that he doesn't know what's bothering you, because you won't just tell him what the issue is. And he hates that Toji is behind him snickering throughout this whole conversation, clearly picking up on something that he hasn't.

"You've been a brat for almost a week now," Sukuna starts, voice low but sharp, finally pulling your gaze up to his, "and I feel like I'm the only one who doesn't know what the hell the problem is, so just fuckin' tell me."

"You're my problem!"

"Um—"

"You want Sukuna, ain't that right, baby?" Toji coos.

A flush of embarrassment sears under your skin from Toji calling you out so bluntly, but Sukuna speaks before it can fester for too long.

"You seriously think I wouldn't want you?" His gaze is heavy, trailing over your body. Your neck, your lips, your bare legs exposed by the little shorts you love to wear around the house, and your chest in your favorite cotton tank top.

"Well, I don't know—"

Toji stands up from the couch and stretches, flashing Sukuna a look in silent communication with the other man following suit after.

You watch them with curiosity as you sit silently, the rest of your sentence long forgotten.

Emerald eyes hold your gaze as Toji cocks his head to the side, motioning toward the hallway, "you lead the way."

Your insecurity slowly starts to dwindle, being replaced with a burning anticipation as you push past both men on a path back to your bedroom. They trail closely behind you, watching intently, the weight of their stares bringing goosebumps to your skin.

Once inside your room, the sight of your bed makes you pause. You're no stranger to sex, but a threesome was one of the things you'd never tried before.

And as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Toji's arms wrap around you from behind, his lips brushing by your ear as his fingertips grasp the hem of your shirt.

"Strip."

Sukuna watches, his pupils blown wide and breathing heavy as you lift your arms, letting Toji slide your flimsy top over your head.

"Fuck." Sukuna's already hard, the view of your tits alone sending all the blood in his body straight to his dick.

"Perfect, huh?" Toji hums, thumbs dipping into the waistband of your shorts and tugging gently.

Sukuna can only nod, mouth dry and tongue heavy as he watches your shorts fall over your thighs, down your calves, and onto the floor where you step out of them.

"No panties?" Toji's voice rumbles in your ear, the space between your thighs that was already wet getting slicker at the sound of it. His eyes glide up, staring into Sukuna's as his hands drift along your stomach, "your turn."

Already shirtless, Sukuna wastes no time before hooking his fingers inside his shorts and briefs, pulling them both down together. Your eyes are transfixed on the scene in front of you as you watch the garments slide down his muscled legs, your breath hitching when his freed cock slaps up against his stomach before hanging down from its own weight.

They're both huge.

And that's not all. Your eyelids widen when you notice them— the two black lines tattooed around his shaft, just under the flushed head. So he did have more tattoos after all.

"God, look at you two," Toji groans, his own cock twitching with life. You're both naked now, so perfectly on display for him. It's not like it's something very new— he's already seen the two of you but this? Both of you before him at the same time?

His hands roam, moving to cup your tits, playing with them. Pinching at your nipples and tugging gently, Toji forces Sukuna to just watch as you let out a sigh, your head falling back onto his shoulder. It's obvious that Sukuna wants to move closer, wants to touch you himself and feel your skin on his but he can't yet. He hasn't earned it.

"Y'want him to fuck you?" Toji purrs behind you, rolling his hips, making sure you can feel the bulge in his sweats against your ass.

Your eyes cut up to Sukuna, his broad chest heaving as he wraps a hand around his dick, squeezing and pulling gently, working up to a lazy rhythm. You can't help but watch, saliva pooling in your mouth at the sight as you nod.

"You know what you have to do." He's not addressing you that time. Sukuna's jaw clenches as he weighs his reply, mind thinking back to their last shower together— what Toji had asked of him. "C'mon… look at her. So needy, she's already wet for you. Don't you wanna feel that?"

He's dangling you in front of Sukuna, teasing him with the reminder of how close he is to getting what he wants. A hand slides lower, over your hips before slipping between your thighs. It's intentional, the soft brush of his fingertips over your clit, just light enough to make your hips buck and pull a moan from your sweet lips— the final push Toji needed for Sukuna to finally break.

"Fuck, okay. Fine."

"Attaboy."

You look between the men for an answer as to what exactly they're talking about but they give you nothing, both just focused on one another as Sukuna steps towards you.

"You go sit on the bed— you're gonna watch for now, baby." Toji sends you off with a pat on your ass, grinning at the sight of you pouting at him over your shoulder while you move to kneel on the mattress. You probably would have put up more of an argument if you weren't so intrigued by whatever was going on between your other roommates.

"So you just want me to…" Sukuna trails off, his nerves setting in now that he's standing before Toji.

"On your knees, pretty boy." So that's what Toji wanted.

Sukuna hesitates, still fighting internally with himself over the situation. It's embarrassing. Being forced to his knees by Toji all while you're watching him, but he'd be lying if he said that wasn't actually turning him on more. One glance down and he can already see the way he's starting to leak pre from his flushed tip.

And he can tell you're just as into this as him and Toji are, which reassures him as he sinks to the floor, knees pressing into the rug. He moves slowly, hands gingerly reaching for Toji's waistband before starting to drag his sweatpants down over his hips. The tent in his pants is evident, the head of his cock catching on the fabric as Sukuna slides them off.

He's seen Toji plenty of times and still, Sukuna can't stop his jaw from hanging slack when he sees him again this time. His cock hangs heavy, all girth and veins, the angry red tip just inches away from Sukuna's face. Fuck, it looks so much bigger like this.

A feeling of respect flashes through him when he thinks about how many times you've probably done this already.

Pride swells inside Toji at the view of Sukuna at his feet, eyes wide and tongue darting out to lick his lips as he stares at Toji's length. That was easier than he expected it to be, but he has to give the credit to you. If it wasn't for you, all soft skin and sweet sounds in front of Sukuna, there's no way he would have folded that quickly.

But now, here Sukuna is, reaching out, a large hand gripping the base of Toji's cock.

"Eager now, huh?" Toji chuckles, earning him a glare from the other man.

"Shut up, don't fuckin' drag this out." The minute the words leave his mouth and he sees the smirk on Toji's lips, Sukuna knows he should have kept quiet.

"Y'know what?" Fingers furrow in Sukuna's hair, wrapping tight around the pink tresses and tugging harshly until he's forced to look up at Toji. "Beg."

The answer is immediate— "No."

"No? Guess you don't wanna fuck our pretty little roommate then." A sound akin to a growl gets stuck in Sukuna's throat. He's really going to pull that shit. "Poor thing, got all excited at the idea and now you're not gonna give her what she wants," Toji tuts, shaking his head with feigned disappointment.

"All ya had to do is say a few words, can't even do that?"

"Fucking fine," Sukuna snaps. He inhales deeply, exhaling with a long sigh before the words come out, small and shy and so not-Sukuna. "Please, Toji."

"You can do better than that. Beg to suck daddy's cock, c'mon."

Even your mouth falls open at that. You of all people know that Toji has a daddy kink— you found that out the first time you ever fucked him— but the last thing you expected was for him to rope Sukuna into it too.

Still, there's a smile playing at your lips.

You remember the teasing you had to endure from Sukuna after he'd heard you and Toji, you remember the frustration you felt for the last week because of him, the confusion and anger.

"Do it, Kuna," you whine, voice desperate in the way you make it whenever you need him to do something for you, "thought you wanted to fuck me."

The look on Toji's face could only be described as feral. You were fucking perfect. Jumping in like that, there's no way Sukuna would say no to you now, you knew that as well as anyone and you were taking full advantage of it.

Eyes shut, Sukuna's breathing deeply in a way that looks as though he's trying to swallow his pride, when in reality it's because his cock is throbbing. Blood pumping through it, he's pulsing in a way that leaves him aching for any sort of relief.

"Please—" Sukuna swallows loudly, tongue sitting heavy in his mouth, "please, daddy, let me suck your dick."

"Good boy," Toji unfurls his hand, patting Sukuna on the head a few times before letting it rest there, "now do it."

Your eyes are glued on the men in front of you, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you sit, entranced by their dynamic. It makes sense now. It's not that Sukuna didn't want to fuck you, he did, and that was the whole point. Toji loved keeping that from him knowing how much he craved you, because every day that went by where Sukuna wanted to give in to you but still chose not to— that was all because Toji said so.

And Sukuna was getting off on that too. He had no idea how much he was missing that kind of dominance until he was given it for the first time, and after that he was done for. So yeah, Sukuna wanted to fuck you, but more than that, he wanted Toji to tell him when.

Toji's cock twitches when Sukuna's breath hits it, hot and humid, a preview to what awaits him when his jaw falls slack, tongue lolling out. Still gripping the base with one hand, the other comes to rest on the back of Toji's thigh as Sukuna finally leans forward, tongue flat as he licks a slow, experimental stripe up the underside of Toji's shaft. He traces the vein that runs along the length before licking at the tip, lapping up the bead of precum that was sitting there.

Mildly salty, musky, the taste fills his mouth when he swirls his tongue around the head, eliciting a groan from the man above him.

"Quit teasin'." Toji's hand presses harder, urging Sukuna to give him more.

His jaw open as wide as it can go, Sukuna finally takes Toji into his warm mouth, tongue gliding along his cock as Sukuna takes him deeper. Inch by inch, he's breathing heavy through his nose until he gags when Toji hits the back of his throat. Toji's fingers tug on his hair, a natural instinct to the feeling of Sukuna's throat constricting around his length.

Spit is pooling in Sukuna's mouth each time he pulls off and sinks back down again, determined to take Toji further each time. He's consistent, his pace steady as he focuses on just trying to throat all of Toji's length. And by the time he does, saliva is dribbling out the corners of his sputtering lips, an obscene suction sound coming from him each time he slides up Toji's cock with his cheeks hollowed. But he can't even care to think about that when he finally feels the tip of his nose buried in the hair at Toji's base.

"That's it— takin' me so well. Showin' our pretty baby exactly how much you want her," Toji grunts, hand holding Sukuna down, practically choking him. He relishes in the way Sukuna's struggling to fit all of him in his mouth, and still, he does. He makes it fit so he won't disappoint.

Your thighs are slick with your arousal, glistening nearly as much as your sopping cunt when you slip a hand between them. You have imagined the two of them together a million times before but it was nothing compared to what you're seeing now.

A quiet moan falls from your bitten lips when your fingers reach your clit, rubbing little circles on it. It's so sensitive already and you've barely even been touched. Each brush of your fingertips leaves your thighs tensing and your brows furrowing until Toji's voice rings out again.

"What're you doin'?"

His eyes are dark, an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at you now, distracted for a moment from Sukuna.

"Uhm, touching myself…" you reply hesitantly. That makes Sukuna's cock throb.

"Don't remember sayin' you could do that," Toji drawls, his hand still guiding Sukuna's head as it bobs. "Get over here."

He gives you a hum of approval when you're finally kneeling next to Sukuna, a sound that makes your stomach turn. "Help him out, doll, put that slutty mouth to good use."

You shift slightly, adjusting your position until you're able to slot yourself in next to Sukuna. Spitting into your hands you reach one out toward Sukuna and the other toward Toji, but not without glancing up at him first, silently checking if it's okay.

When he doesn't say anything you wrap your manicured fingers around Sukuna's cock, the others reaching for Toji's balls. It's hard to find a rhythm. One hand trying to glide up and down, pumping along Sukuna's length, squeezing and twisting as you go, all while the other is cupping gently, tugging and rolling without squeezing too hard.

But each sound you're able to pull from the men is motivation for you to keep going, fumbling around until you're able to get the hang of it. Only then do you lean closer, tentatively sticking your tongue out until it meets your hand on Toji. You're lapping at his balls, spit smearing around the skin before opening your mouth wide and sucking. You divide your attention between each side, your hand focusing wherever your mouth isn't.

It's obscene. The squelching sound of saliva and tongues as you and Sukuna nearly devour the man towering over you, your cheeks hollowed and tongues flicking, swirling, moving in whatever way makes Toji groan the loudest or grip your hair the hardest.

"God damn, you guys are nasty," Toji grunts, hips rolling as he starts to fuck himself into Sukuna's mouth. "Didn't expect you to be so sloppy but you're— shit- quit gaggin'— you're fuckin' drooling all over my cock." His eyes slide to you, panning over your flushed face and watery eyes that are looking up at him with pure reverence. "You too, doll. Greedy mouth s'gonna suck me dry. Y'just love havin' my balls in your face, huh?"

Toji's abdomen hurts from how hard it's tensed, fighting to keep a semblance of composure so he doesn't find himself spilling down Sukuna's throat too early in the night. But neither of you is making it easy, each one leaving a glimmering trail of spit in your wake as you let him stuff your mouths until you can hardly breathe. You're both going to fucking ruin him.

"Fuuuck," Toji growls, his fists tightening in your hair as he lets his head fall forward. Black locks drip sweat onto your faces as you stare up at him, the first few salty tears starting to fall from your eyes. You look so pretty like this, sharing him so desperately, just content to be given any part of him.

It almost pains him to know that he won't be giving you much more of himself tonight.

"Thaaat's right, get it nice and wet jus' like that— 's all the lube you're gonna get, pretty boy."

Both your eyes and Sukuna's fly wide open at that, pulling a breathy laugh from Toji that's quickly cut off when Sukuna speeds up. The hand that was gripping the base is now moving in sync with Sukuna's mouth, sliding up and down Toji's shaft, spreading his spit around while his free hand grips the back of his thigh for stability.

He lets the spit that he used to swallow down pool in his mouth now, leaking out of his lips until everything is just that much wetter, messier. But that's when Toji reaches his limit. The unexpected change in pace left him reeling, his cock twitching against Sukuna's tongue until he finally yanks him off with one harsh tug on his hair.

You get the message, pulling off of Toji with a soft pop! and taking your hand off Sukuna, leaving the three of you panting.

"Shit, you two are gonna kill me."

A small smile graces your lips at the sight of Toji struggling to keep it together. It's welcome knowledge that you're having that much of an effect on him, and if the smirk on Sukuna's lips is any indication, he's definitely feeling the same way.

Your knees are rubbing together as you wriggle in place again, trying to get some friction and Toji notices, an eyebrow cocking as he looks down at you and grins.

"Poor thing," Toji coos with feigned sympathy, "so needy. That pussy just wants some attention, yeah?"

You nod, uttering a small 'please' that isn't missed by either of the men. That earns you a soft pat on the top of your head before Toji steps away from you and Sukuna. "Take care of our girl, pretty boy."

Sukuna's on you in a second. Hands gripping your waist as he practically throws you onto the bed, making you yelp. Calloused fingers trail up the insides of your thighs, pressing them apart as Sukuna slots himself between them. You're already dripping. Puffy cunt all shiny and wet, just waiting for someone to ravage it.

Inhaling deeply, a low groan rumbles in Sukuna's throat— he's been wanting this, wanting you, for so long.

Two fingers run between your folds, gathering your arousal before he brings them back to his lips. Slipping the digits into his mouth, Sukuna licks them clean, tongue swirling around them so he doesn't miss a single drop of you. And you taste so fucking sweet.

"So perfect," Sukuna breathes. He needs to taste you again, not just on his fingers, he wants purest form of you.

Tongue lolling out he licks a long stripe up between your lips, the muscle flicking at your clit at the top. Your hips jerk instinctively, trying to chase the feeling, and he's not holding anything back from you. His mouth closes around the sensitive bud, tongue swirling as he sucks gently.

"She's so responsive," Toji muses, Sukuna humming in agreement.

"Aah! Oh god—" you gasp, the vibrations in Sukuna's mouth making your legs tremble, thighs coming together around his head.

Toji wants to be the one eating you out so badly, but he can't because if Sukuna's going to take him later then he needs to be prepared, especially since it's his first time.

So now it's his turn to watch.

He watches as Sukuna uses the same two fingers to press inside your entrance, agonizingly slow as you try to roll your hips down onto them. He watches the way your face scrunches up, eyes shut and mouth falling open as the most addictive sounds fall from it.

His eyes are still locked on you when he kneels behind Sukuna, both hands coming down to his hips. Sukuna twitches, a tiny reaction of hesitation at the feeling of Toji's hands on him but he quickly relaxes into the touch. Toji's fingers dance along Sukuna's tanned skin, trailing over the swell of his ass before splaying out across both cheeks.

Still focused on you, Sukuna's eating you out like a man starved, lapping at your juices, sucking on your clit all while pumping you full of his fingers. The digits curl with each thrust, searching for that spongy spot inside you that leaves you seeing stars.

He knows what Toji is doing. He knows why Toji's doing it too— but still that doesn't quell any of his shock when he finally feels the man's thumb trailing along the rim of his asshole. His whole body jolts as Toji keeps his ass spread open, teasing the hole with featherlight touches that make Sukuna's cock twitch against the mattress.

You want to watch but you're too lost in the feeling of Sukuna's tongue, his fingers, your own impending orgasm.

"Better be makin' her feel good," Toji murmurs, thumb pressing harder now against Sukuna's asshole. The tiniest whine falls from Sukuna's lips, muffled against your cunt as his face stays buried between your thighs, but Toji still hears it.

Letting the saliva collect in his mouth first, Toji spits a thick glob of it straight down onto his thumb. It's warm, wet as Toji smears it around, letting it work like lube when he finally pushes the digit in. That part's easy. Just one little finger, pumping slowly in and out, just trying to get everything loosened up.

Sukuna sucks in a sharp breath when he feels Toji pull out all the way, only to feel two fingers teasing him now. He does his best to relax, to breathe through it and just focus on you but he falters, a whine spilling from your lips in complaint. He was pushing you so steadily towards your climax, each movement made with deliberate rhythm, and now it's inconsistent, the man bumbling around between your thighs.

"Wait, don't stop— please I'm so close, Kuna." You're rolling your hips again, trying to grind down against his face, your slick coating his nose and lips.

Toji tuts at Sukuna, shaking his head lightly before pressing both fingers in to the last knuckle. "Can't make her cum?" He's mocking, relishing in the fact that the words die on Sukuna's tongue the minute he starts scissoring his fingers, spreading them apart and stretching Sukuna open around them.

"I can, swear," Sukuna rasps, lips moving against your cunt.

"Really? Or do I need t' show you how to eat pussy? Make you watch while I have her cummin' all over my face like she should've already."

"Don't care who it is," you mewl, "jus' wanna cum, wanna cum so bad."

"Might not let you taste her again if ya don't give her what she wants."

That threat lingers in Sukuna's head, playing on repeat when he dives back in. Every ounce of his energy is poured into you. Even when Toji's pushing his fingers in faster, harder than before, Sukuna still keeps up his pace. Sukuna still curls his own fingers in the way that makes his name tumble from your lips, still wraps his mouth around your clit in the way that makes your back arch off the bed and your toes curl.

Your mind is hazy, void of thoughts except those about your impending release. All you can think about is the feeling of Sukuna's face buried in your crying cunt, his fingers stretching you out while Toji watches. 

And when you cum, it’s overwhelming— your entire body convulsing on the bed as Sukuna’s arm pins your hips down, holding you in place as you gush, your arousal leaking onto his face while he ruts into the mattress. 

He’s painfully hard, blood pumping through his cock from the taste of you and the feeling of Toji. But the minute you’re panting, chest rising and falling deeply as your body trembles with the aftershock of your orgasm, Sukuna’s left empty. 

Toji pulls out slowly, carefully, admiring the way Sukuna’s body responds to every little touch. 

“Good girl, look so pretty when you cum. Did he make you feel good?”

Your eyelashes flutter as you nod tiredly, “felt so good.”

“Told you I could,” Sukuna points out, his ego needing to prove a point to the man who was teasing him.

“You want me to praise you?” Toji’s grinning, moving beside the two of you to lay down on the bed. He knows the answer is yes, but whatever is left of Sukuna’s pride won’t let him say that out loud. 

"C'mere," Toji nods, chin pointing at the space between his spread thighs. He's stroking his cock languidly, laid out like a king as he waits for Sukuna to crawl over to him. "Uh-uh, turn around— like that, yeah."

Sukuna is clearly out of his element as he shifts his hulking figure until he's straddling Toji with his back to him, both feet planted on the outside of Toji's legs. The older man wraps an arm around Sukuna's abdomen, fingers splayed out as he guides him to lean backwards into his chest.

You're watching in awe at the way they're fitting together, while wondering at the same time where you're supposed to be joining them.

Toji's hand stills around his base when his eyes find you. Gaze trailing over you as you fidget on the bed in front of them, obviously feeling unsure what to do with yourself. "Dollface," he pulls your attention back to him, "gonna need those little hands."

Smacking his length against the inside of Sukuna's thighs a few times, Toji waits for you to slip your fingers around him before he lets go, both hands moving to grip the backs of Sukuna's knees. Toji holds them up, keeping his legs spread wide and putting the tattooed man on full display for you.

One arm slung over his face, Sukna's trying to hide the deep red shade spreading across his cheeks. He can feel the weight of your stare as you pump Toji's cock a few times. This experience is completely new to him, apprehension swirling in his stomach, and still he swears he's never been more hard. It's honestly a bit ridiculous considering he's barely even been touched the entire night.

"Go on, put me where he needs me," Toji coos, his breath fanning against the side of Sukuna's neck as they both lean forward now to watch you.

Sukuna waits with bated breath, silently until he sucks in a gasp of air when he feels the tip of Toji's spit-soaked cock prodding at his asshole. Your lips agape, you're completely concentrated on the view before you.

You almost feel worried for Sukuna— you know how big Toji is, and you know how much bigger he feels when he's inside you. But you don't stop. You just keep angling his girth so when Toji rolls his hips you can witness the way the tip starts pressing past that tight ring of resistance.

"Shit," Sukuna grunts, body tensing in a way that makes Toji let out a hiss.

"Fuckin' relax or this is gonna take forever." He rolls his hips again, jaw clenched and teeth grinding.

Even with all the time Toji spent stretching Sukuna out it feels like there was no prep at all with the way he's practically strangling his cock. Tight walls clamping down like they can't decide if they're trying to suck him in or push him back out until finally Toji feels the head slip inside.

"Oh fuck, that feels—" Sukuna's own words are interrupted by a strained groan when Toji lifts his hips up off the bed, forcing himself deeper, "aah shit."

"Doin' so well," Toji groans, still working himself inside Sukuna inch by inch. He knows it's never easy your first time, he knows he isn't small either, and still it doesn't take long until he's over halfway buried inside Sukuna's ass. "Takin' this cock like a pro, such a good boy isn't he?"

You're nodding fervently, your hands now at your sides as you watch. "He is," you answer honestly. "Kuna, you're doing so good. You guys are so hot," you whine, hips wiggling on the bed. The praise makes Sukuna's stomach flip, a newfound sense of determination taking over when he rolls his own hips downward eliciting a sharp grunt from Toji when he bottoms out.

Sukuna's never felt so full.

Is this what you feel like every time you're getting fucked?

No wonder you're constantly acting like you're in heat whenever you're around them— poor cunt just craving the feeling of being stuffed to the brim. He can understand why you're so desperate now.

"Look at that— wasn't so hard now, was it?" Toji teases, earning an incoherent grumble from Sukuna.

"Please," you squeak, that exact feeling of desperation starting to overtake you. You're aching. You already came once and now you're just being left alone, all sticky and sensitive while they're both laid out in front of you. "What about me?"

Toji tuts, his hands sliding up Sukuna's thighs until they rest on his hips. "Our pretty girl thinks we forgot about her."

Sukuna lets out a choked laugh, trying to hide the fact that he is not sure what Toji has planned for you either.

"Climb on, dollface—" you start crawling immediately, moving on your hands and knees until you're now straddling both of them. "Just like that, you wanna ride him?"

You're already nodding your head again when Sukuna cuts in, "w-wait, you gonna support the both of us?"

"Course I am," Toji answers easily, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Honestly, you hadn't even considered he might not be able to. I mean, the man was in the gym every single day, there wasn't much he couldn't do.

You don't give Sukuna any more time to worry about the logistics, choosing instead to grind your hips against him. Looking him in the eyes while you glide your slick folds along the length of his cock, once, twice, three times until the entire thing is coated in your arousal.

"Fuckin' tease," Sukuna grunts, a hand coming up to land a harsh smack! on your ass, sending you falling forward. Your hands plant beside their heads, the softest whimper escaping you when Sukuna slaps the same place again. "Such a goddamn brat. Been waiting for this shit for weeks."

His tone carries a dangerous edge that makes your core burn. Rough fingertips dig into the fat of your ass, and using his grip, Sukuna lifts you up and slams you back down onto him in one fluid motion.

"Fuck! Kuna—" you gasp. Fully sheathed in one thrust, he's stretching out your gummy walls so nicely, your thighs quivering and pussy throbbing.

"Squeezin' me so tight, fuckin' pussy was made f'me." His voice is low in your ear, crimson irises locked on you as you let out a shaky breath.

"That pussy's perfect, ain't it?" Toji grunts, giving the two of you just a moment to adjust before moving.

"S-so perfect— ah shit! Chill—"

With his hands on Sukuna's hips and his feet flat on the mattress, Toji lifted his hips off the bed in one brutal thrust. Cock sliding halfway out of Sukuna before slamming back in, the force of it making your hips move. It was overwhelming the way Toji set such a mean pace right off the bat.

His hips slapping up against Sukuna's ass, over and over, making sure he was burying himself to the base each time. Sukuna had never felt anything like it. His tight hole being filled up while your sopping pussy is clenching down around his cock at the same time. Stuck between you two there was nothing he could do but sit there and take it.

But it's not like you were much better. You tried to grind down on Sukuna, tried to plant your feet and bounce your hips up and down just for Toji's pace to take over and leave you helpless. Hands on Sukuna's chest as your head lolls back, you're arched so perfectly, ass jiggling and tits bouncing every time Sukuna's cock is forced back inside you.

"Ohmygod, f-fuck— Toji, Kuna-aah!" You're whining, brows knit together as you look down at Sukuna now. His hands are digging painfully into your hips as he tries not to lose every thought in his head.

You look so fucking perfect like this though. Face showing nothing but need, eyes all glossy as you pant above him, babbling whatever unfinished sentences make it out.

"Feels so good," Sukuna moans, and you give a pathetic mhmm in agreement that makes Toji chuckle.

"Yeah, feels good? Gonna cum and make a mess?" He's not even addressing anyone in particular, just talking to the room because he knows that both you and Sukuna can barely even give him much of a reply.

But still, you try. "Y-yeah, gonna mmfuck—" you mewl, eyes clamping shut when your puffy clit rubs against Sukuna's stomach. The stimulation makes you jolt, legs twitching as your arousal seeps down around Sukuna's base forming a creamy white ring.

Teetering on the edge of his climax, Sukuna's trying to hold it back as much as he can but he knows he won't last much longer. Fucking embarrassing. It's only been a few minutes with him inside you and he's already about to cum.

Except that you're even closer. You're moaning a slew of curses followed by their names, mouth parted in a perfect "o" as your back arches further, cunt pressing down harder against Sukuna's abs as you chase the feeling of his rough skin rubbing against your clit.

The sounds filling the room are lewd. The squelching wet sound of your pussy sucking in Sukuna's cock, the sound of skin slapping against skin and heavy panting filling any silences.

"Shit 'm cumming, where—"

"Inside," you rasp, voice tired already, "Please, Kuna, need it— need you so bad."

"Fuuuck, yeah, gonna cum inside you, you want that?"

"Yes! yesyesyes," that word is stuck on repeat when you hear Sukuna let out a guttural groan. His cock twitches, balls constricting before shooting sticky, white ropes of his cum inside your poor pussy, velvety walls coated with his spend before it starts to leak out.

"Such a good slut, bet she's takin' every last drop— god— bet you will too, huh?" Toji's rhythm doesn't slow, it only gets faster the closer he gets to his own release. The pace turning cruel as it pushes Sukuna into the realm of overstimulation.

"H-hold on," Sukuna grunts before a whimper falls from his lips when you keen, crying out a mix of both men's names as your cunt clamps down around Sukuna's softening cock, milking him for all he's worth when you cum.

It's too much. Your sloppy pussy gushing around Sukuna, pushing even more of his seed out until it's dripping down onto his balls, down onto Toji's balls, all while his asshole is still getting stretched open.

"I can't, hold up—"

"'s too much! Tojiii," you fill in what Sukuna was scared he was going to have to say.

"You'll take it, you both will. I know two sluts like you aren't fuckin' complaining already." Toji's tone was gruff but in all honesty, he was close, and the shit spilling from both of your mouths was only driving him further to the edge. The neediness in your voice and the way Sukuna's was tense, Toji loved knowing he was the one causing it all.

"S-so sensitive," you mewl, sweat beading on your forehead as little salty tears form in your waterline with each press of your clit against Sukuna's stomach. "Daddy, please— I c-can't, need you to cum."

You don't even care how humiliating it is, or how pathetic you sound at this point. You know what Toji likes to hear, and you're determined to get what you want.

"Fuck, doll— sound so pretty when you beg like that," Toji groans, a low sound deep in his chest. "Don't worry, gonna fill this tight little hole, fuck my cum back into it—"

Sukuna can't stop the moan that tumbles out, his cock jumping again at Toji's words, the feeling making you jolt. He isn't sure how he's able to get hard again already, but it hurts the way he's getting stiff inside you now, needing to spread you open around him just to make it fit again.

"Kuna! Sh-shit."

"'m sorry, baby, can't help it."

"You hard again?" Toji breathes, sweaty hands adjusting their grips on Sukuna's hips. He doesn't last another minute.

The feeling of Sukuna's ass tightening around him with each thrust, the feeling of your cum mixed with Sukuna's dripping down onto him, the sounds of your whimpers and the knowledge that through everything Sukuna's already stretching you out again— no one can blame him when he finally breaks.

Letting out the loudest grunt, Toji's fingers dig into Sukuna's skin, his hips stuttering before stilling as his cum spills out. Hot and messy, he fills Sukuna with his seed, hips still rolling to push it back in even though it's already starting to leak out around the base.

With that he finally collapses back onto the bed, limbs limp and heavy with exhaustion, his body is covered in a sheen of sweat. You're the first to move, urging your weak knees to work as you slide off of Sukuna with whimper, the man letting out a long sigh at the sight of more cum seeping out of your cunt, webs of white connecting you to him.

"You guys are insane," Toji pants, "I'm exhausted."

"Us? That was all your idea," you remind him as you flop down on the bed.

Sukuna doesn't say much, just moving cautiously as he shifts to sit up. Wincing, he finally tries to move off of Toji, who just lays there, hands behind his head as he watches with mild interest.

"Fuck, I'm gonna be so damn sore tomorrow," Sukuna complains.

You're giggling tiredly into your pillow, even though you and Toji will probably be in the exact same boat. But you can't even find it in yourself to care about that right now.

Your eyelids are heavy, sleep threatening to take over when the bed dips next to you. Sukuna fills the spot on the other side of you, kneeling beside your body before two large arms snake underneath you. Picking you up like you weigh nothing, he moves to carry you to the bathroom, Toji following closely behind.

Sukuna tries to ignore the feeling of something warm dripping down his thigh but Toji snickering behind him is making it hard, causing him to roll his eyes— but you haven't noticed.

"Let's get you cleaned up, princess." His voice is uncharacteristically soft, his hands gentle as they set you down on your wobbly legs, feet landing on the cold bathroom tile.

"You should hop in there too, you both need cleaned up," Toji says pointedly, gaze flitting between Sukuna's legs and the scowl on his face.

"You're not much better," Sukuna snaps, his own gaze lingering on Toji's half hard and cum-coated dick.

It's true, you were all a mess.

"Quit arguing, I'm tired," you sigh, turning on the shower.

"Sorry, princess."

"Sorry, doll."

The night ends with the three of you squished together under your sheets, legs tangled in a mess and Sukuna snoring much too loud. It took little convincing for you to get them to stay with you. Just a few bats of your lashes with your bottom lip jutted out in a pout and they were folding, tucking themselves in next to you. 

In the morning, you still felt the weight of an arm draped over your waist, the sheets warm from body heat as you twist, hands coming up to rub the sleep from your eyes. 

Things remain the same for the most part. 

None of you mention dating other people, choosing instead to stay ‘single’ and pour your energy into your own relationships with each other. 

Movie nights become a little more frequent, though actually watching the movies is much less common. 

And in the mornings, on the days when Sukuna's too lazy to make a latte, Toji makes his way to the cafe down the street, returning with three coffee cups and a brown paper bag full of pastries. He leaves you and Sukuna to your own devices, knowing that each time he opens the door again upon his arrival the two of you will be bickering in the kitchen.

likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡

a/n this actually took me months to finish so i appreciate the patience and all the love on the first part of new girl. this fic is my baby, i birthed it so i hope you all enjoyed pt 2 as well (˃͈ ˂͈ )

It's a cruel thing, seeing everyone else's destiny but being blind to your own. He doesn't even know if he has a soulmate at all. As a teen, he convinced himself it was a test—maybe he just needed to work harder to find his soulmate. He spent far too much time researching old mythology about destiny and fated lovers.

Growing into young adulthood, he spent even more time watching people, searching for someone else who might be missing their own thread. With Caleb's good looks and charming personality, he's always been spoiled for choice when it comes to a potential partner. Many people throw themselves at him, not realizing their threads tug them back toward someone else entirely.

It's not like he needs to reject his admirers. He knows he could just be another passing tangle or knot in someone's connection with a true soulmate. But that doesn't appeal to him. He wants to feel that undeniable pull, that intimate connection that comes with finding the person who was made for him. So he continues waiting—and watching for patterns he can study.

He soon learns how to guess people's whole life stories just from the way their threads are woven. It becomes second nature to figure out someone is having an affair or if they've lost a loved one or are desperately trying to escape fate altogether.

When he bumps into you at a café, he initially thinks nothing of it. He plasters on his usual suave smile while reaching down to grab your fallen bag. And when he hands it back to you, he freezes in place.

Caleb has never believed in sparks flying or love at first sight. Especially not when he's witnessed firsthand how every connection is planned by some higher power. But when he sees your face—your apologetic smile and the way you look at him with genuine kindness—he thinks fate becomes inconsequential.

His eyes land on the red thread tied around your left wrist like a shackle, and his heart drops. For a fleeting moment, he hoped you'd have no thread like him. He almost turns away, until he notices the wrongness of it.

Your thread is…ugly. A weak, dull color as it yanks at your wrist like an incessant child, trying to tug you toward something you don't seem to have any interest in.

The moment you turn your back on Caleb to resume your order, his eyes never leave you. You become an obsession—half because of that immediate flicker of something he felt when he saw you, and the other half because he has to find out why fate feels different around you.

His feet carry him mindlessly behind you when you leave the café. Careful not to arouse suspicion, he follows you all the way to your apartment. And imagine his surprise when he realizes you live right down the hall from his own apartment.

Caleb doesn't believe in coincidence. So he takes it upon himself to learn even more about you.

Clearly, the universe is sending him a sign. Maybe it messed up when writing your destiny. Maybe some cosmic being needs his help in fixing the mistake. Either way, he's the only one who can correct that dreadful thing holding you back from having a true soulmate. He's the only one who could be your soulmate.

He watches you for weeks, taking his time to collect as much information about you as he can before he makes his next move. People, normal people, are hilariously predictable. Not only are they beholden to fate, but they also desperately cling to routine. Just another pattern that Caleb picks up on with far too much ease.

It barely takes him a month to have your entire schedule mapped out and memorized. Even on the rare occasion when you do something spontaneous, he's able to intuit where you might go, who you might be with, and what time you'll decide to head back home.

He takes advantage of one of the moments you're not home, picking the lock on your front door with ease. Knowing exactly how much time he has before you return, he's planned the perfect opportunity to plant hidden cameras in each of the rooms of your apartment.

He's so well-prepared that he even has a few extra minutes afterward to go through your most precious belongings. It's hard not to steal a caress of your soft bed, rifle through the diary hidden underneath it, or gingerly smell one of your hoodies hanging on the couch.

If you were here now, you would freak out. Caleb's not insane enough not to know that. But he also believes if you gave him a chance to explain—you're meant to be with him, duh—maybe you wouldn't be too mad. That's why he does something completely unplanned and leaves with your hoodie after double-checking that all the cameras work.

Luckily, you don't notice the missing item or the added tiny red dots peeking out from strategically placed spots. One of the things Caleb loves about you is how sweet and trusting you are. It's something anyone else could easily take advantage of, though. And he doesn't like the thought of that.

Being a guardian angel isn't enough for him. Watching from afar won't mean much if someone gets too close to you when he's unprepared or turns his back for a moment. He needs to make sure no one else slides into your life. Especially if that someone could be whoever is on the other end of that counterfeit bond wrapped too tightly around your wrist.

So Caleb manufactures more accidental meetings with you. You're neighbors, after all. When you take out your trash, Caleb times his exit perfectly, turning a corner just fast enough to bump into you. His charming apology makes you a bit flustered, and he thinks you're even cuter when you're within arm's reach.

The second meeting happens at a bookstore three blocks down. The one you frequent every Saturday around lunchtime to read a new book while snacking on something salty. He’s already browsing the shelves when you walk in, glancing at you with feigned surprise when you notice your neighbor likes one of the books you read last week.

After that, it becomes easier. He embeds himself into your routine until he's impossible to ignore.

First, he's a simple stranger who you notice every once in a while. Then, an acquaintance who happens—coincidentally—to love the same cafés, the same obscure novels, the same quiet walking paths you prefer at dusk. He laughs at the right moments. Listens when you speak. Remembers little details you share that you think anyone else wouldn't bother paying attention to.

Finally, he becomes a friend. A staple in your daily routine. A shoulder you cry on when days are hard and you need someone to rely on.

In those moments, Caleb wants nothing more than to confess his feelings for you. Everything is going so well, and he can sense that you'd reciprocate his confession.

With every cozy hangout, conversation that stretches past midnight, and shared meal where your knees brush his under the table, Caleb watches the subtle shift in your body language. The way you lean closer and your voice softens. You're falling for him.

But that grotesque thing around your wrist begins to thrash in protest whenever he gets too close. His teeth grit every time he sees its blatant disapproval.

Why is the universe resisting him now? You are his other half. He's never been so sure of anything else in his life. Is this the real test he mistakenly thought he'd been put through as a child?

At night, he lies awake and dissects every possible next step. No matter the scenario, he arrives at the same conclusion. There is only ever one outcome with fate.

He's seen it before in past observations: no matter how much fate veers off course, it always finds a way to correct itself. But perhaps that's only because no one with Caleb's gift has ever tried to intervene.

People believe fate does not bend for desire, or that it doesn't reward patience and effort. They believe it simply is. But when you grow up seeing its physical manifestation and the way people fight against it, it's hard not to come to the conclusion that even something preordained can be manipulated by someone strong enough.

If Caleb's been given such a gift…then it would be a shame not to use it.

He'll make sure there is no possible way the universe could pull you into someone else's orbit. Which means he needs to find the parasite at the other end of your tether. He needs to measure their worth. Even though deep down, he already knows what answer lies at the end of his calculations.

And he's proven right when he finally does find your dead weight. Your so-called soulmate doesn't seem to treasure true love or fate at all. Even worse, the man doesn't even add up to a quarter of the exceptional person you are.

Your destined counterpart spends his days slouched at a bar that smells like stale beer and desperation. Caleb watches from across the street first. Then from inside. Then a day later, from a camera discreetly installed in the man's messy home.

He scowls as he watches your fated half drown in cheap booze and women that barely stay the night before being kicked out onto the street like trash. One could barely call this a routine when it's more like a never-ending rut for a loser who thinks he's the shit when he actually just smells like it.

This is what pulls at your wrist every night? This is what dares to fight when Caleb leans into you with a look full of yearning?

The knowledge taunts him for three days. That's all it takes before he ponders something brand new about the universe while watching a belligerent idiot snore facedown on a stained mattress.

Can fate defend itself?

Caleb makes sure what he's about to do will look like a freak accident. It's just something that happens to a drunkard who no one will miss anyway.

It turns out it's easy to sever the very thread of fate that he always admired as a kid. In fact, he's a little disappointed by the lack of ceremony. There's no bolt of lightning striking him down, no divine intervention or a voice booming from above in anger of what Caleb has taken into his own hands.

Fate is weak and pathetic as it tries to resist its new order from a power more determined than a fickle thing like the universe. It bleeds and whimpers before the last rush of air leaves its lungs.

Caleb stares down at the broken thread, now unattached from the man you were never meant to meet.

It feels like a stupid thought now, but he knows he has to attach it to himself. He doesn't believe in its power anymore, but you might. You might feel its loss if it decays, the same way he's seen remnants of other people's bonds that ended when their lovers passed away too soon. Besides, he wants there to be no question that there is an unshakeable bond between you two—even if you can't see it for yourself.

Caleb works quickly, tying a knot around his left wrist a bit too tightly, like he's scared it might come undone if he isn't meticulous enough. Some strange bit of life still left in the thread resists him at first, stubbornly recoiling from the wrongness of what just transpired. But familiarity is a powerful thing. He has already watched you, memorized you, and diligently shaped his life around the edges of yours. He makes fate recognize effort now.

It stings for a few minutes, feeling like forcing a shape into the wrong space. Fortunately, his lack of a thread becomes an advantage. There is nothing to conflict, nothing to reject the intrusion other than your own thread trying to hold onto something irrelevant.

And after a few heart-pounding moments, the knot finally holds—and your thread stills. Caleb exhales for the first time in minutes. He leaves the unmoving body on the dirty mattress, smiling when he thinks of the next time he'll see you with a strengthened bond.

Your neighbor—and new best friend—is the sweetest man you've ever had the pleasure of meeting. You never thought you'd find someone like him in this day and age. A true gentleman, he makes you feel seen in a way that feels inevitable. Like he was always waiting for you to run into him on a busy day at your favorite café.

Lately, you've been unable to stop yourself from flirting with danger. And it really is a dangerous thing to fall in love with a neighbor. If things don't work out, then you'll have to bump into an ex every day just to go in and out of your apartment.

But if the only dangerous thing about wanting a man like Caleb is the possibility of a constant heartache, then you'll take your chances. Besides, your chest already tightens painfully every time he smiles at you. Your heart really does skip a beat when he laughs at your jokes, or hugs you when you're sad, or when his hands wander just a bit while he cuddles up beside you on your couch.

Caleb is different than any men you've ever met. He's better. Maybe he's the best you might ever get. And you're not going to let someone else snatch him up.

That's precisely why you've already put so much faith in him. Someone as gentle as Caleb could never hurt a fly, so you happily gave him a key to your apartment for emergencies. You let him come over even when you're looking like a mess after tiring days at work. You even fall asleep on him sometimes, so trusting that he would always protect you even in your most vulnerable states.

His easygoing charm and innocent puppy-like eyes make your heart beat only for him. But you're also a bit annoyed; no matter how much his touch might wander at times, he always holds himself back.

You've tried baiting him with shorts that "accidentally" ride up a bit between your thighs when you bend down in front of him. You've even let your hands trail his chest and abs while watching movies beside him.

It takes all your willpower not to jump him right then and there the moment your fingertips trace the quivering lines of his lower stomach. His breathing always turns heavier with cute little gasps of air when you touch him. But still, he doesn't take things further.

It's for this reason that you decide to take a leap of faith and ask him on a date. You're not usually this bold with your crushes, but something about Caleb makes you want to be brave. When the two of you meet up at your usual café for lunch, you take advantage of a quiet moment.

"Caleb?" you say, trying to keep your voice steady as he looks up at you over the rim of his coffee mug.

He sets the cup down, giving you his full attention like he always does. You stammer for a second, and he smirks, as if he can guess what you're about to say. That cockiness is what makes you turn a nervous question into a headstrong declaration.

"I want to go out on a date with you."

Immediately, you feel a bit stupid for the phrasing and the way you looked at him like he had no say in the matter. But Caleb—always the type to play along with your every whim—smiles, his dimples making you swoon a bit. You notice a flicker of something strange in his expression, but it's too fast to put to words.

"You do?" he asks with a chuckle, far too calm when you're over here sweating buckets and waiting for a proper response. "Well, I could never say no to you."

The warmth that spreads through you is immediate and dizzying. You laugh in relief, feeling ridiculous for ever doubting yourself or his feelings for you. Caleb wipes away any residual doubt the second he gets up from his chair and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

He promises to plan everything for your date, even though you were the one who asked him out. The next weekend, he meets you at your apartment promptly on time, with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a small box of treats from that dessert place you love visiting.

Everything is perfect and effortless. Even more so than how it usually feels being by his side. He picks a restaurant you mentioned wanting to try weeks ago—one you hadn't expected him to remember. He holds doors open for you, rests his hand lightly at your back while leading you to the table, and looks at you like you're the only person in the room.

As always, conversation with Caleb flows easily. Since you've known him, he's always been able to guess what's on your mind, what might be bothering you or making you nervous. It's uncanny just how much he can stay in sync with you, as easily as breathing.

But this time, there's something just a bit different about your dynamic. Something charged with a heightened tension.

When your fingers reach across the table to brush against his hand, he doesn't pull away or avoid eye contact. He looks at you like what you've just done has sealed something he's been waiting to finalize for a long time.

It should scare you, that dark look in his eyes. Because for a second, he looks a bit unrecognizable. But all you feel is a sensation like something clicking into place.

You intertwine your fingers with his and ask, "Do you believe in soulmates?"

For the first time since you've met him, Caleb looks surprised. Nothing ever catches him off guard. Yet somehow, this simple question does the trick.

Wondering if maybe your question was a bit embarrassing, you backtrack. "I know it sounds silly. But—"

"Yes," he interrupts with a whisper. "I mean…I'm not sure if I did before meetin' you." His thumb rubs your knuckles back and forth as he holds your hand just a bit tighter. "But now I know."

If it was anyone else, you might have been amused by how cheesy his words are. But when Caleb is the one saying them—so earnestly, too—all you feel is a rush of heat through your body.

The rest of the date happens in a bit of a blur. Both of you can't seem to keep your hands off each other, even opting to skip dessert if it means getting back home quicker.

You really aren't the type to invite a first date inside your home, no matter how well the night goes. This time it's different because it's Caleb, the man you've already shared so much with. He's been inside your home before. He's seen you in every way but one. And you're desperate to show him that missing piece now.

As soon as you unlock your door, you push him inside, all pretense forgotten the moment your shoes and coats come off. You crash into him, feverish kisses stealing his breath away as he chuckles between them. You don't care how eager you seem, you just want his lips on yours.

Using his tie as a leash, you tug him backwards with you, blindly stumbling to your bedroom. But even when you think you might bump into a wall, Caleb redirects you with his eyes closed, like he's memorized the route you need to take without so much as parting from your lips. If you weren't getting drunk off his kisses, maybe alarm bells would ring in your mind—you've never taken him to your bedroom before now.

Nothing matters anyway. Nothing except getting him out of these stupid clothes and showing him just how much you've wanted him all night. When Caleb gently pulls you down onto your bed, you move with more roughness, your frenzied kisses pausing so you can shove him to sit back against the headboard and straddle his lap.

His eyes sparkle with mirth, but he lets you manhandle him. The realization makes your stomach flutter. Testing the waters further, you use his shoulders as leverage before grinding down on him. Caleb's hands fly to your hips with a gasp, but he doesn't control your movements. He just lets you rock at your own pace, basking in the weight of your core rubbing against his clothed erection.

His compliance encourages you, making you needy for leaving more kisses along his Adam's apple and neck. He moans for you while his hips buck instinctively beneath yours, and it makes another flood of arousal pool between your thighs.

"Mm, is this okay?" you mumble against his skin while grinding with more pressure, desperately chasing friction.

His fingers tighten on your waist, but he still doesn't stop you. "Y-you can use me however you want, baby," he replies through another breathy moan. "I'm yours. All yours."

How did you get so lucky, you wonder before biting down on his neck. You make sure to suck a mark worthy of being on someone who gives himself to you so eagerly. It's the least you can do for how sweetly he whimpers and claws at your hips while you hump him until you're nearly coming on his lap.

In the midst of your greed, you've undone his tie and ripped a few of the buttons on his shirt, making room for more licks and bites. When you lean back to look at your handiwork, both of you are panting, not nearly satisfied yet but needing a moment to catch your breath. And your sweet friend, no, boyfriend now, looks at you like he's ready to worship you.

He slides one hand up your body, taking his time to feel every curve until his fingers gently wrap around your left wrist. He holds his breath and glances at you with hesitation, like touching your arm is a sin.

It's cute how even after your frenzied touches and kisses, he acts like he still needs permission to reciprocate them. You nod, and then he carefully lifts your hand to his trembling lips before kissing the inside of your wrist.

The gesture seems deeper than you can understand, especially with the way he keeps glancing at you as if you know its hidden meaning. But you're lost for words, only feeling that aching throb between your legs and needing him to soothe it. He notices your confused expression but presses another kiss to your hammering pulse before smiling up at you.

"Let me take care of you now," he says, tugging you by the wrist to reposition you beneath him.

It's your turn to be maneuvered, and you let him. He kisses down your body, fingers still tickling that wrist he seems fixated on before he pins it to the mattress.

The two of you pull at each other's disheveled clothes until you're both bare. Until the tip of his cock nudges against your lower belly as Caleb continues showering you in love. But before you can feel it inside you, he seems to have other plans.

His kisses travel across your chest, against stiffened nipples, along the softness of your tummy, then finally between your thighs. When he pushes your legs apart, you shudder, feeling the cool air kiss your soaked folds a second before his warm breath does. Then he drags the flat of his tongue in one long, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

The sound you make is obscene. Your hips jerk up before you can stop them, accidentally shoving your cunt harder against his mouth. But Caleb's only response is a needy moan, like he’s the one being pleasured, the vibration humming straight through your core.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he mumbles, lips brushing your swollen clit as he speaks. “Let me hear you, baby. You're mine now—those sounds are mine.”

You barely have time to let the certainty of his words sink into your fluttering stomach before he dives in like a man starved. No teasing anymore. Just hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses to your pussy.

It's like he knows exactly what pace to set and how much pressure his tongue should apply to make you wail for him. Could it be possible this man was sent from Heaven to satisfy all your cravings? You swear you might become religious after this.

His tongue nudges against your clit before his lips suction around it, and your back arches off the bed while you moan for him. One hand flies to his hair while your other fists the sheets, and still he doesn’t let up. If anything, the way you yank his hair only makes him moan louder against you.

There's a faint rustle of movement, and you glance down to see Caleb gently rocking against your mattress, so lost in the taste of you that he needs to hump your bed.

"Oh my god, I think I'm gonna come," you cry, feeling overwhelmed by how quickly he's able to pull this much pleasure from you. You fuck his face with more fervor now, shamelessly bucking your hips and pulling on his hair with a tightness you'll only regret after you come down from this high. "Caleb, please…need your fingers. Wanna come around them," you whine with each buck.

You peek down at him, and he's watching you with dark eyes, a scary determination in them while his hand snakes in between your legs. His fingers slide inside you with ease, curling in a rhythm that matches how he laps up your slick.

The soft smacks of his lips against your skin and the squelch of your wet pussy fill the room, mingled with your growing screams. And then you gush around his thick digits—coating his lips, chin, and palm with your orgasm. Caleb takes it all with a look of reverence on his flushed face, licking every drop you give him and gasping for air when he finally parts from your twitching body.

When he slides up your body to look at you with a satisfied grin, your pussy clenches again at the sight of his glistening mouth and pupils blown wide. He looks dazed, proud. His cock slides against your still-twitching pussy, smearing precum against the mess you already have between your legs—but he doesn’t rush you. Instead he kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips when he pulls back just enough to breathe. “More, I need more. Need you inside me.”

He exhales a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you wrap your legs around his waist. “Yeah…yeah, baby. I’ve got you, don't worry.”

Reaching down, he nestles the head of his cock between your folds and then finally pushes in. It's slow, so fucking slow, but you revel in the jolt of pleasure that shoots down your body as he stretches you out cautiously. He's bigger than any man you've had before, but every thick inch slides inside easily, filling you all the way until his hips are flush with yours.

Caleb curses beneath his breath, head falling to rest against yours while he pants and gasps at the feeling of you wrapped so tight around him. His eyes meet yours, locked and unable to tear away when he starts to move.

You both groan from the feeling, gripping each other tighter and starting to build up a faster rhythm. It's easy to get lost in this feeling, and you lose track of what you mumble and chant while Caleb picks up the pace. But while you struggle to keep your eyes on him, he can't stop staring.

He also can't keep his hands off you while fucking you nice and deep. His fingers toy with your nipples, rolling and pinching them to get more sounds out of you. And then they caress your stomach, pushing down slightly right above your mound to elevate the feeling of how he fills you up. You stutter and shake, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a breathless kiss.

His lips find yours again and again between thrusts, sharing his breath with you before he whispers, "Fuck, I love you."

That sentence sends your thoughts to a screeching halt, but your pussy clenches even harder around him. You should be appalled that he's saying such a thing so soon. You should reconsider this whole relationship and how quickly you've allowed it to escalate.

You should, but you don't want to. In fact, you think you love him too.

Feeling your second orgasm barreling toward you too fast, you crash your lips against his again, nails digging into his shoulders and leaving little red crescents.

“Hm, I…love you too,” you babble, after breaking the kiss. Your brain practically short-circuits with how close you are to coming. You can't stop the words spilling out of your mouth. “Love you so much. Don’t stop, oh, don’t stop—”

The second those words leave your lips, a switch seems to flip in Caleb's brain. His whole body locks up for one heartbeat, buried deep inside you, cock throbbing hard enough that you feel it pulse against your walls. Then he exhales a ragged sound against your mouth, and the slower, careful rhythm he’d been holding onto shatters. His hips snap harder, punching the air from your lungs and making your eyes roll back.

“You can't take that back now,” he growls, his voice alarmingly different from the sweet, hesitant Caleb who kissed your wrist like it was sacred.

He’s moving faster, rougher, but still so deep it feels like he’s trying to carve himself into you permanently. Your foreheads stay pressed together, making it impossible to look away from the wild, glassy look in his eyes.

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he groans, like it's a fact and not a hypothetical. “I'll put a ring on this finger"—he snatches the same hand he’s been obsessed with all night and brings it to his lips to kiss the bare spot where a ring would sit—“and make sure everyone knows you belong to me.”

This is so wrong, god this is so wrong. Everything is moving so fast. You shouldn't like this. You can't tell if this is just dirty talk or something more serious, but that look in Caleb's eyes is a little terrifying.

And yet? Your cunt flutters hard around him at the words, more of your arousal gushing down and soaking the sheets beneath you.

“Oh, fuuuck, that's it," he says with a manic laugh, folding your legs higher until your knees are pressed up against your sweaty chest. "I can feel how much you like this, baby. It's okay if you do," he coos. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to hear you moan like this. You’re mine—only ever gonna be mine. Say it again for me, sweetheart." His voice cracks, and it's the only thing making you refocus on his words while your ears ring from the pleasure. "Say you love me while I fill you with my cum.”

You’re beyond proper speech now, just broken whimpers and gasps, but you manage to choke out, “Love you—I love you, Caleb.”

He slams in one last time, hips grinding flush against yours, cock pulsing as he comes with a choked sob that makes your toes curl. Your pussy spasms and clamps around him, milking him dry as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

Turns out you're just as crazy in love as he is. And you don't have it in you to be ashamed right now.

Caleb's counting his lucky stars that he spent all those nights watching you touch yourself through the flickering camera feeds he set up. It's what helped him learn all the ways you like to be caressed, the speed you prefer when you have a silicone cock deep inside you, and the fantasies you'd whisper to yourself when you imagined someone above you.

You won't need fantasy anymore, though. He knows everything about you. That's why he's able to make you cream on his cock over and over again, while his hips move at a speed even he didn't know he was capable of.

The gravity of this moment—of finally claiming the person he's going to keep for the rest of his life—is heady. It makes Caleb insatiable and greedy for more. More of your addicting sounds, more of your shaking orgasms, more of his cum spilling deep inside you.

More, more, more. Caleb can't stop chanting it each time you melt and rake your nails against his back and allow him to take everything from you.

You're so pretty, so perfect, all his. It goes straight to his head, and his cock, when you beg for all that he's giving you even when your body is so weak that it can't hold itself up.

You like being pushed to your limit, it seems. Right when you become too exhausted to keep your eyes open, you sleepily tell him he can keep going if he wants to. He can't help but come inside you again just from hearing your whispered permission to use you while you fall asleep.

The fact that you trust him so readily…god, he knew you were made for him. He doesn't keep you awake too long, even though his cock already throbs insistently for more of your warmth after he pulls out with a groan.

Caleb is no stranger to patience. He's glad he waited to find you. Because now he'll never let you go—and there will be many more days to spend reminding you of that if you ever forget.

No matter what happens now, you're bound to him forever. Fate made sure of it.

a/n: thank you all for the 2k celebration votes 💕 I hope I made good on our wish for more scaryleb teehee

and none of this would be possible without my ride or die @heartyluv, who constantly inspires me with her takes on scaryleb and toxic!caleb. everyone say a big thank you to her bc she let me yap about this fic to her and she beta read it for meeee, ilysm Jay 😘

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Prologue

8 years ago, before the fall.

The day had started like any other in the bright, always magical, Linkon City. It was a typical Tuesday. Meaning, you were on baby sitting duty for your sister. Not that you minded. Luke and Kieran, your twin gremlin nephews were always a delight to look after. Especially since you would hype them up on sugar and preservatives before handing them back to your sister.

Like usual you picked them up from school and took them to the mall for the arcade and ice cream. The afternoon heat always brought in a large crowd into the centre. Children and teens running around unsupervised, families and other citizens of Linkon gathered to seek out the cool indoors.

“Hey, line of sight!” You call out to Luke and Kieran as they run off ahead, straight to the claw machines, pushing each other over who gets to go first. They just give you a garbled response as an acknowledgment.

You sit at a near by table, coffee black, resting in one hand. The other you’re scrolling your phone. A commotion near by grabs your attention. A customer is getting upset at the cafe cashier because their card wasn’t working. You contemplate going over there, after all it’s not the poor cashiers fault. But you stop yourself, that sort of confrontation seems unnecessary at the moment.

You take a sip of coffee before returning your gaze back to your phone. Letting the lukewarm bitter liquid slide down your tongue. But now your social media feed isn’t loading. Your brows pinch together as you swipe down to refresh. Nothing. Just a gray rotating circle.

“Hmm.” You grumble to yourself. Going into other apps. And it’s the same thing. Just grey circles and white pages. That’s when you see it. SOS at the corner of your phone screen. No reception, great.

It seems you’re not the only one. More and more people complaining amongst themselves. More cards declining.

“What’s going on?”

“This never happens in Linkon.”

Various voices fill your ears. You gut twists, is there something wrong right now? You look around the food court, everyone’s shoulders are tense. People are starting to pack up their things and getting ready to leave. Maybe we should leave too..

You stand up.

BOOM.

The entire mall is plunged into darkness, and for what feels like an eternity, silence. Not even the sound of feet shuffling. Just a stunned eerie quiet.

Another loud electronic whirring noise as the emergency lighting flicks on one by one. Before you can react Luke and Kieran appear at your side, they’ve always been good at sneaking up on you. Their big eyes staring up at you. The same concern you feel reflected on their innocent faces.

“What’s going on, Auntie?” Luke asks. His tiny hand grabs yours. Kieran doesn’t say anything. He just holds onto his brother.

You kneel down to be eye level with them. “I don’t know yet but I’m sure everything is okay. This is Linkon. Nothing bad ever happens here.”

The speakers crackle to life.

“Attention staff and customers. This is centre management. We’ve just been informed by emergency officials that a major accident has happened on all main roads outside.”

People murmur amongst themselves. That gut feeling you have gets worse, you can feel it in your throat now.

“We’ve been advised to keep everyone inside until emergency services clear the area. The centre will provide complimentary refreshments while we await this unprecedented time together. Thank you for your cooperation.”

You squeeze Luke’s hand and pull the twins closer to you.

“It’ll be okay. It’s just for an hour or two.” You reassure them.

But something deep down makes you feel like it’s a lie.

Chapter 1

Present time.

The sound of footsteps jolts you awake, you stare up at the darkened, sagging material above you as the sleep fades away from your vision. It was time for your assigned morning patrol. You bite your lip to stifle a groan as you sit up. A dull persistent ache throbs in your lower back. 8 years of sleeping on hard floors and you’re still not used to it. You stretch your arms over your head before quietly and quickly getting dressed. You holster your assigned gun then make your way to the twins.

Kieran is awake while Luke still sleeps. You still can’t believe they’re 16 now. Everyday they remind you of your sister. And it makes your chest ache. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her. You wonder if she’s still even alive. Kieran’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Going now?” He asks.

You nod as you crouch down, to be closer to him. “Yeah. Hold down the fort for me?”

Kieran, half smiles as he nods. He’s always been the quieter, calmer twin. You ruffle his hair before standing up. “See you in a couple of hours.”

You make your way out of your tent. Rows and rows of tents line where stock shelves used to be. The tiled floors are all cracked and scuffed from years of movement and rearranging the structures inside the mall.

That’s right. You’re still here. The same Linkon mall. Only now it’s been turned into a makeshift military compound. You walk past the lineup for breakfast. Not feeling hungry yet. And make your way to your post.

8 years ago, or The Fall, as people call it. The entire mall went into lockdown for unknown reasons. Nobody was allowed to leave. After the 6th hour of waiting for the lockdown to end. A riot broke out. People were breaking stuff desperate to leave and reconnect with their loved ones outside.

That’s when the military came through. Not police or other emergency services. No. The army. They detained all the rioters, some unfortunately died. But no one was allowed to grieve. No one was allowed to question what the general had said.

They told you Linkon was under attack. That the attack had poisoned the air outside. They distributed gas masks, tactical gear and weapons to you and the other civilians. They told you that everyone had to pull their weight if you were to survive. That night they had started training everyone. Eventually it became routine. It became normal. And the years flew by. You’ve never had to use your gun. And you hope you never have to.

A nudge to your shoulder brings you out of your reverie.

“You’re zoning out again, Pipsqueak.” An all too familiar voice says.

You lift your gaze, one brow raised, the corner of your mouth turned up in a smirk. “I’m in my thirties, I’m not a pipsqueak.” You retort.

The man chuckles and pats the top of your head. “You’re tiny. Therefore, you are Pipsqueak.” He says playfully.

You swat his hand away, a slight blush spreading on your cheeks. “Shut up.”

Caleb chuckles as he walks in step with you. Caleb has been on the same squad as you since the beginning. He’s tall, around 6’2 and muscular, very cute and he honestly looks like he’s already been through military training but he’s too much of a golden retriever boy to be a soldier. He’s always been there for you. Always made you feel safe. And If you want anyone on your squad. It’s Caleb. He’s got brown hair and purple eyes. Yep. Purple.

A lot of people have had their features change over the years. The military say it’s a side effect from the attack.

Caleb nudges your shoulder again. “How are the twins?”

You smile slightly as you look ahead of the path you’re walking. “Still trouble makers. I’m pretty sure they’re self proclaimed gang leaders to the other kids here.”

Caleb chuckles softly before abruptly stopping. His shoulders squaring. “Heads up. Bootlickers.” He whispers. You glance from him to where he’s looking. Four soldiers walking towards you.

Your heart races as you make eye contact with the leader in front. He’s taller than Caleb, which you didn’t think was possible. Silver windswept hair, wolf cut and crimson eyes. And devastatingly handsome. You heard along the grapevine that his name is Sylus. Of course it is. You see Sylus all the time throughout the compound. You’ve heard the other women and some men, whisper that if they were gonna fuck a soldier it’d be Sylus. And that totally didn’t make you jealous.

Sylus looks from Caleb to you, an infuriating smirk as he quirks an eyebrow. “Lucky you. We’re accompanying you today.” His deep voice resonates with your heart as Sylus and the other soldiers stop in front of you. Their guns already drawn, resting in their hands casually.

Caleb remained tense, and so did you. Nobody likes it when soldiers join the civilian squads on patrol. It usually means there’s something to worry about.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you look up at Sylus. “Yeah. Lucky us.” Caleb nudges you again, as if to say ‘shut up.’ Sylus’ eyebrow quirks again, as he looks down at you.

“Talking back are we?” He smirks as he takes a step closer. “Kitten.” The condescending nickname should make you angry. But you’re more angry that Sylus’ close proximity makes a heat build in your core against your will.

Caleb steps slightly in front of you. Shielding you, protecting you, like always. “She didn’t mean it. So let’s just get this patrol done.”

Sylus’ gaze finally shifts to Caleb’s. Acknowledging his presence. The air shifts around you. You swear you can taste the toxic masculinity with every gulp of air. Sylus chuckles, it’s low and deep and makes your core vibrate. “You don’t give the orders around here, Soft-skin.”

Caleb’s jaw feathers at the insult. His hands clenching into fists. The other soldiers snicker in the background.

Civilians and soldiers have always hated each other. Even after all these years working together. The soldiers still look down on the civilians. And they said calamity brings people together… hah..

The sound of Sylus’ radio going off breaks the intense stand off between him and Caleb. It’s too crackly for you to understand what was said. Sylus’ smirk disappears. Every trace of amusement gone from his expression and replaced with nothing. It’s unsettling how quickly the light in his eyes dull.

He looks back at you. His gaze lingering on you just enough for your heart to skip a beat.

“Masks on.” He says gruffly. “We’re walking outside today.”

Fuck.

You’ve always hated outside patrols. They took twice as long and you hated wearing the masks. You also hated how Linkon looks now.

A dusty red haze had settled in the atmosphere. It was like Linkon was in a permanent sunset. If the sunset was covered in blood and dust.

The earth was dry, and crunched underneath your boots. Most of the plants and trees decayed and wilted away. Some rare ones thriving in the new environment.

And the heat. God, it was like standing in the middle of a wood fire pizza oven. Sweat dripped down your brow and the side of your face. You’re breathing heavy behind the mask. Caleb touches your shoulder. “You good?”

You simply nod, you’re not gonna give any of the men here, especially Sylus, the satisfaction of appearing weaker than you already do. Kitten. That nickname really does piss you off. Your eyes remain on Sylus’ back. You watch his shoulder muscles tense and move with every heavy step he takes. His shoulders are really broad. No stop. Stop thinking about his body.

Sylus suddenly stops and holds his hand up. Signalling all of you to pause. Everyone is quiet, holding onto their guns. Your grip tightens around yours. Your heart rate spiking ever so slightly.

Sylus looks ahead to his left where there are dilapidated buildings. He gives another signal and everyone readies their guns. You can feel a tremble in your hands. Not today. Please not today. You dread the idea of pulling your trigger. All because of the riots that happened all those years ago. Because you watched as the military gunned down the protestors and told you they had no other choice.

Tears sting your eyes, and it’s getting harder for you to breathe. Caleb gently brushes his arm up against you. In an attempt to ground you. “Breathe Pips. It’s okay.” His voice, usually soothing but right now. It doesn’t help.

Sylus turns around fast. Notices the tremble in your frame. You prepare yourself for another insult to be flung your way but he doesn’t say anything. His red gaze just burns into you before he looks away again.

“Quiet.” He orders in a hushed tone.

You stay in formation with everyone else and try to focus on the building you’re heading towards.

Suddenly a loud screech pierced the air. You nearly drop your gun from the reflex of wanting to cover your ears. You look up and your whole body stiffens, horror roots you to the spot. What the fuck is that? Is that a fucking dragon?

“Ignis Wyrm!” One of the soldiers shout.

The flying creature starts plummeting towards the ground.

“Keep your distance, spread out. And fire!” Sylus barks, as he and the other soldiers aim their guns at the impossible flying creature.

Your body is still frozen. How is this possible?! What the fuck IS that thing? You barely register the sound of the gunfire and the screaming. Your eyes glued to the creature. It looks like molten lava moves beneath its skin. It lands on the ground with a heavy earth moving thud, almost seeming impervious to the wall of bullets it’s getting pelted with.

“Move! Move! Move!”

You watch as it rears its head. It’s body seeming like it’s glowing bright orange, especially its neck.

“Y/N!”

“Take cover!”

You don’t even register Caleb grabbing you. He shakes you. To try and pull you out of your trance.

“We need to move. Now!” But you barely hear him.

The creature snarls, its jaw opening.

“Fuck. Don’t hate me for this.” Caleb grabs you, throws you over his shoulder and starts running.

Three giant fireballs shoot out of the Ignis Wyrms mouth separating in different directions. How?! Your eyes never leaving the creature, even as Caleb has you slung over his shoulder and running. He finds a crumbled wall still tall enough to hide behind and sets you down. You stare out into nothing. Eyes still wide. Limbs still trembling.

The earth shakes beneath you as the fireballs land, destroying whatever surface they hit. The heat increases around you.

“Hey Pips.” Caleb’s large hands gently cradle your face but you still don’t respond. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

The only thing you can hear properly is the blood rushing in your ears and the sound of your own heart beating. Your body feels numb. You’ve never been paralysed by fear before. Then again, you’ve never seen a monster before. Up until now, humans were the only monsters you’ve believed in. Caleb’s thumb slowly caresses just under your eye before he pulls back. Standing up and firing his gun at the Ignis Wyrm.

You stay slumped against the wall. And everything slows around you. The gunshots, the fire, smoke, and the overall chaos. The sound of heavy steps echo in your ears as you look up. Sylus stands above you, looking down at you. But you can’t register his expression before your vision starts to go dark. Shit. You see his beautiful crimson eyes before fully losing consciousness.

You wake up with a jolt, sitting up right and taking a large gasp of air. A hand immediately coming down to settle your thrashing body.

“It’s okay. You’re in the infirmary.” A soft voice speaks.

You look around, panting. You’re back in the compound now. How? The man grabbing you manages to soothe you. You finally look at him. He’s a tall man with dark hair and golden green eyes. You’ve never seen him before. He’s wearing a white lab coat, over the top of tactical gear. A gun rests on his hip. Soldier.

“I’m going to check your vitals now.” He informs before moving to check your heartbeat with his stethoscope.

You stare out into the open space around you. No one else is here. Is Caleb okay? Did the other soldiers make it out?

“How’s she doing doc?” A deep voice asks. You follow it with your gaze.

Sylus stands near the entrance to the infirmary, leaning back against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest. His uniform is clean. As if he was never outside. How long were you unconscious for? You can feel his eyes on yours and your heart rate spikes again. The doctor blocks your view of Sylus, he holds up a light in front of your eyes. Moving from one eye to the next.

“She’s fine. Physically speaking.” You look at the doctor. His coat has Dr Zayne Li embroidered over the breast pocket. Zayne does some final checks before stepping back, writing stuff down.

“Nothing a cold shower won’t fix.” Zayne says as he places his clipboard down.

Sylus moves off the wall toward you. You look from Zayne to Sylus. He stops right in front of you. His eyes piercing. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. Was he going to yell at you for being a liability out there? Was he going to report you to the general? Were you going to die after this?

Those thoughts raced through your head as you stared up at Sylus.

“I’ll take her back then.” Sylus speaks to Zayne even though he remains looking at you.

Zayne nods, “Use the back.” He says quieter.

Sylus reaches out to grab you but you flinch back, his eyes soften at your reaction before he leans down to be at eye level with you.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” You’ve never heard him speak so softly before. His hand was out stretched in front of you now.

You stare at him for a long time before finally accepting the unspoken question. You place your hand in his. It’s obscene how large his hand feels against yours. Sylus helps you off the medical bed. Your legs wobble, nothing too concerning but Sylus holds you against him, to steady you. Your eyes go wide, your heart beating faster now. He was so warm. And large. Feels good.

Sylus guides you out of the infirmary, out the back like Zayne suggested. His arm around you. Acting like a shield. You walk in silence for a bit.

“Is Caleb okay?” You finally ask, voice rough.

You feel Sylus’ arm tense around you for a moment. “Yeah, everyone’s okay.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. He’s okay, thank god.

“What… was that thing?” You ask after a few more minutes of silence.

Sylus quickly guides you to an alcove and backs you up against the wall. His body shielding you completely. One arm above your head, the other by your side. His face is close. Close enough you can feel his steady breaths. He doesn’t say anything. Just holds a finger up to his lips, signalling you to be quiet.

You hold your breath again. The sounds of soldiers walking by fills you ears. There’s a whole squad of them. Sylus moves closer. His large body now pressed against yours. You bite your lip to suppress the noise building in your throat. Heat pools between your legs. God, why does he affect you like this?

Sylus’ breath ghosts your cheek. You can feel his gaze on your face again, you don’t even notice that all the soldiers are gone now. But Sylus remains pressed against you. Holding you tighter to his body. He moves so his lips are just barely grazing your ear. You swear you might pass out again. You can feel your cheeks burning.

“What you saw, was the truth. The real reason we’re here.” He whispers against the shell of your ear. “There was never an enemy attack.”

Despite the heaviness of what he’s saying all you can focus on is the heat blooming in your body. Sylus chuckles softly. His arm tightening around you. His lips now barely grazing along your jaw.

“You have a one track mind, Kitten.”

That fucking nickname. You turn your face to look him in the eye. Ready to say something back but the expression on his face gags you. His eyes hooded, his cheeks slightly flushed. A smirk slowly spreads across his lips.

“I have one too.” He whispers again. And rolls his hips against yours. That’s when you feel it. His hardness. And fuck. It feels big. Of course he’s fucking big there too.

You bite your lip. To stifle a groan but Sylus’ hand comes up to caress your jaw, his thumb rubs your bottom lip. Gently coaxing you to release it from your teeth. “Don’t bite your lip.”

His thumb stays on your lips as you look up at him. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. And it makes your knees weak. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, Kitten.” He breathes out. His thumb massaging your lip again.

It’s been so, fucking long, since you’ve been intimate with someone. Your body craves his touch and moves on instinct. You keep eye contact with him as you kiss his thumb and taste it with your tongue.

“Fuck…” He groans softly. His other hand comes down from above your head. And he wraps it around your throat. Feeling your rapid pulse in your neck, it matches his own. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me over these last years kitten.” He murmurs.

In a bold move you cup him. Really feeling his bulge. He smirks at you.

“I think I have an idea.” You whisper back to him. Kissing his thumb one final time, giving him a look through hooded eyes.

Sylus releases your throat, his hand moving to the back of your head, gripping your hair gently as he tugs your head back. “What do you want kitten? Use your words.”

You rub and squeeze his bulge. You feel his hips stutter, wanting to grind against you.

“Isn’t it obvious, sir.”

Sylus laughs softly under his breath, leaning closer, placing soft kisses along your jaw.

“Sylus.” He murmurs against your skin. “Call me Sylus.”

“Okay. Sylus.” You hook your fingers into his belt. Tugging him even closer to you. “Kiss me.”

Sylus smiles against your lips before claiming them. God his lips were soft. Warm. He moved like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Soft whimpers escape both of you as the kiss deepens. God what was wrong with you right now? You saw a monster and almost died, now here you are kissing a soldier. Not just any soldier, Sylus. Everyone’s least favourite and yet most desired. The one you swore you hated.

Sylus gently bit down on your lower lip. Tugging on it. Making you whimper into the kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, and you respond, your tongue rubbings against his. Slick and wet.

You feel dizzy again. He tastes so good. Sylus groans and starts grinding against you where you need it most. The friction feels incredible. Your hands find his shirt, gripping him tightly. Moving your hips with his. The wet ache between your legs becoming unbearable.

Sylus breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. You’re both panting and he rests his forehead against yours. “Not here.” His voice was rough, and thick with need.

You let out a small whimper, and Sylus curses under his breath. He kisses you again. Harder this time. His hands moving down your body, appreciating your curves, smoothing over your ass and giving it a squeeze. Your fingers slide through his silver locks. Tugging on his impossibly soft hair. You swallow each other’s moans. You’re so fucking wet and turned on right now that if Sylus turned you around and pressed you up against this wall to fuck you… you’d let him.

Instead he pulls back again. Breathing heavily, still palming your ass, grinding you against his clothed erection. He chuckles, and gently nibbles your ear lobe. “You’re insatiable, Kitten.”

You tilt your head back, offering your throat to him. Your submission. But he doesn’t take it. He presses one last kiss to your temple before reluctantly letting you go. Stepping back and discreetly adjusting himself. “Like I said. Not here.”

You look at him, flushed. Chest rising and falling rapidly. He smirks at your confused look and holds his hand out to you again. “Come on. If I don’t take you back then they’ll really get suspicious.”

You take his hand again and let him guide you back towards the civilian camp. As you walk through the dark parts of the compound his thumb strokes your wrist gently. You know he’s enjoying feeling your pulse.

“If anyone asks, you had a shoulder injury during an armed assault.” He whispers.

You look at him suspicion gnawing in your mind. Sylus schools his expression and looks ahead. “Your… buddy.” He scowls as he mentions Caleb. “Has already been debriefed. He’ll back up the armed assault story.”

“Why?” You ask as you pull your hand out of Sylus’ grasp. Sylus briefly looks down at the loss before looking upfront again.

“Did you forget what happened with the riots?” You flinch at his words. No. You definitely did not forget that. “If mass panic happens again, we’re under direct orders to shoot first. So you understand right? No one can know about those… things out there.”

You falter in your steps. Your heart feels like it’s fallen out of your ass. The soldiers have orders to execute the civilians?

Sylus turns to face you. His expression serious.“Kitten. Do you understand? The soldiers will not hesitate.” His eyes narrow before looking away. Breaking eye contact with you. “We can’t.”

You watch Sylus’ jaw clench. His muscles tense. Maybe you’ve misunderstood him all these years. Because right now. He doesn’t look like a soldier who gets off on being an asshole to civilians.

You swallow the bile rising up your throat. “I understand.” You whisper. Barely audible. You stare at each other for a moment before he nods.

“Good.”

The rest of the walk back to the camp was silent. Your hands occasionally twitching at your sides. You want nothing more than to hold Sylus’ hand again but you know you can’t. Too many eyes now. Sylus’ expression has returned back to that of the obedient soldier. Any ounce of arousal and human expression he held mere minutes ago was gone.

“Auntie, you’re okay! How’s your shoulder?” Luke’s voice snaps your attention. He’s standing in front of you and Sylus. And he’s got that mischievous look that you know all too well. His gaze shifts up to Sylus and he smirks. Sylus just stares down at your nephew. This isn’t the first time they’ve interacted. Luke and Kieran know all too well the rumours about the biggest, baddest soldier in the compound. They’ve spoken aloud many times how much they’d like to take him down.

You look around trying to pin point where Kieran is. This is their routine. Luke distracts, Kieran stalks from the shadows. “Thank you for bringing auntie back to us safely. Mr.” Luke smirks up at Sylus.

Sylus remains nonchalant, as if he’s bored of the interaction already.

“Come on, let’s go get some dinner.” You suggest already stepping to get to Luke’s side.

Suddenly Sylus spins around and a choked gasp stuns you and the other civilians. Sylus had grabbed Kieran by the scruff before he could fully sneak up on him. This made Sylus smirk. He looks between Luke and Kieran. “If you were out in the field you’d be dead already.”

That’s when you see it. The look in Luke and Kieran’s eyes. They like Sylus. You don’t know if that worries you or makes you feel proud. And you certainly don’t know what Sylus is thinking right now.

Sylus chuckles before shoving Kieran back. No one dares interrupt. The civilians can’t. Soldiers get free rein to be assholes whenever they want. And if anyone does anything about it, they get punished. But you’re not worried if Kieran is hurt. Not after what you just experienced with Sylus. And Kieran doesn’t look hurt. No, he looks impressed. You pull Kieran towards you and put both the twins behind you as you stare down Sylus.

Sylus smirks at you, giving you a knowing look. Before turning away. “Enjoy your day off tomorrow. Kitten.” He says in that infuriating smug tone before walking out of the camp.

You bite your lip as you watch him walk away. The pain a welcome distraction from the growing wetness in your cunt.

THE ACCUSED

It seems a Marquis may lose his honor in the dusk and gain a fiancée by the dawn.

Sylus Qin Charge: Duelist Indescretion

Marquis of Contested Honor

Observations: Interrupted at gunpoint and rewarded with a hand in marriage by morning. Expectations: 'enemies' to lovers, violence adjacent to sex, rapid betrothal, explicit encounters.

Status: Evidence Inconclusive

Art, it seems, is never impartial when beauty and grief share the same room.

Rafayel Qi Charge: Muse Misconduct

Portraitist to the Ton

Observations: Commissioned to paint a widow’s virtue. Documented her undoing instead. Expectations: artist/muse dynamics, grief-tinged desire, virginity loss, explicit sexual content.

Status: Under Observation

Garden paths are for promenades– unless one is instructed otherwise after dusk.

Xavier Shen Charge: Honor Transgression

Knight of the Queen's Gaurd

Observations: Trains nightly beneath moonlit hedges. Claims discipline. Delivers ruin. Expectations: rivalry to boners, swordplay, secret trysts, explicit sexual content.

Status: Matters Escalating

Some men require but one night beneath the stars to decide a lifetime’s worth of certainty.

Zayne Li Charge: Terrace Debauchery

Duke of Immaculate Control

Observations: Rescued a lady from social disgrace and promptly committed several of his own. Expectations: cold demeanor, power imbalance, public scandal, terrace intimacy, explicit sexual content.

Status: Currently Ongoing

One hopes the crown is sturdy– such a household appears prone to collapse under the weight of its secrets.

Caleb Xia Charge: Royal Impropriety

Stepbrother to the Crown

Observations: Elevated by marriage, emboldened by proximity, and entirely unconcerned with restraint. Expectations: step-sibling dynamics, taboo intimacy, possessive devotion, explicit sexual content.

Status: Reputation Unsalvagable

Author's Notes: These entries remain unfinished. As further indiscretions surface, this record shall be amended accordingly. Readers are advised that patience has never once preserved a reputation.

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© All work by @strwbrrymoonwrites . Please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, adapt, or use for AI bots/training.