"Ugh, quit blinking, you keep making me mess up, Kuni!" You snap, yanking your boyfriend by the jaw closer to you.

He opens his right eye, the one you already applied eyeliner on, and glares, his eye rolling before closing back again. "I'm not blinking, and I'm staying perfectly still. It's your fault if you mess up, not mine. Don't get mad at me that you're shitty at this."

You take a deep breath, repressing the urge to slap him hard in the face, because you know it's useless. Your boyfriend lives to ragebait the shit out of you. You don't say anything in response; you scoot closer to his standing frame, your feet dangling off the bathroom counter as you continue working on his left eye.

"Do you want the wing straight up or straight out?" You ask, pausing with one hand on his jaw, and the other on his cheek, with the eyeliner hovering right above his lashline.

Kuni opens both of his eyes this time, stares straight at you, and rolls his eyes at your question like it should be obvious, "Neither? Obviously." He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms as he adds, "When have you ever seen me with that? You're my girlfriend, you're supposed to know that it goes out slanted. Not up, not straight. Slanted."

You narrow your eyes back at him, tightening your grip on his jaw in retaliation, "How am I supposed to know when you're ultra specific about everything and change your answer every time I ask? Two days ago, you told me to make it straight."

He flicks his eyes to the side like he's side-eyeing some invisible camera, and his eyes look annoyingly perfect when he does it. With the base shadow on his lids and the dark smudge along his lower lash line, and the contacts he doesn't need to wear.

His natural eyes are blue, but he insists on wearing indigo colored contacts because it's "more accurate", and you've learned not to argue with him about Scaramouche lore because you will lose. Every single time.

He glances back at you, his tone dry, "I told you that because last time was Xiao, not Scaramouche like today. Obviously. How many times do I need to say it for you to understand?"

You glance at him, copying his dry tone, "Just one more time, and I'll poke this pen through your eyelid. You wouldn't need someone to do your eyeliner by then."

He gives you a challenging smirk in response, "Do it, then. You wouldn't get that far to do any actual damage. I'll sue you and use the settlement money to hire someone who can actually do eyeliner."

You don't dignify that with a response. You tilt his head back with your grip on his jaw, angling it so you can drag the liner across his lash line in one smooth stroke.

You smile involuntarily when it comes out clean and matches the other side perfectly. It always comes out good when he stops being a little bitch about it… which is never, but today sufficed that never.

"The other side matches," you say, leaning back to check your work, watching as his eyes open slowly like he's unsure if you're done or not. "Perfect, like always, because I did it. Not you."

He scoffs, stepping back and moving toward the bathroom mirror, examining just what you're calling 'perfection'. You watch as he tilts his face to the left, then right, and as he leans in, he narrows his eyes.

The eyeliner is actually the last step of a much longer process. This part, the eyeliner, takes ten minutes tops. The puppet joints took an hour.

Every time he cosplays Scaramouche, Kuni sits in front of his vanity mirror with a palette of dark shadow and a thin, angled brush that he uses to paint puppet joints onto his own skin.

Knuckles first, every finger, dark, then his wrists, then his belows. He does his shoulders himself too, twisting in the mirror to get the angle right on the backs of them, and the concentration on his face while he does it is almost scary.

He's already head-to-toe in cosplay, minus the hat. As cringeworthy as it is to say, your boyfriend does look like Scaramouche reborn, and it's not just because of how accurate the clothes look on him, or how invested he is in cosplaying him. He looks exactly like Scaramouche would if he were real and not 3D.

The height… the weight… even his fingers match Scara perfectly. Skinny and long, the puppet joints make him look more biblically accurate.

He hates wigs, absolutely despises them, and as any person who finds their 'celebrity lookalike', or any 'lookalike' in general, he dyed and cut his real hair to match Scaramouches.

His hair is naturally black, and after an abnormally long hair appointment, the hairdresser was able to cut and style Kuni's hair to match Scaramouches without looking like some botched bowlcut.

"It's not a bowlcut," Kunikuzushi told the hairdresser, probably 4 times, just to get his point clear, "It's a mullet, mixed with a hime-cut in the front, and don't you dare forget the lighter colored streak in the back."

You remember being told that day to stick around, not in the waiting room, but in a chair beside the table your boyfriend was getting his hair done at. You had to get up at least 9 times to reassure Kuni that the hairdresser was getting the back right.

And after that day, after every time he put on his cosplay for this character that he's so obsessed with… he didn't look like your boyfriend anymore.

But you don't really complain.

"It's… acceptable," Kuni says to his reflection, the tiniest praise for the war you just went through, while doing his eyeliner.

You hop off the counter, tossing your hair back, while holding eye contact with his gaze in the mirror, "It's perfect, actually. You're welcome." You poke his arm from behind, giggling at the way he makes a disgusted face in response. "I love you too, you ungrateful man."

He doesn't respond to that; he just walks out of the bathroom and into his room.

He's already in the corner when you step in, adjusting his tripod and ring light, and you know the drill by now. Stay out of frame, stay quiet during takes, and entertain yourself until he's done being internet famous.

You grab your phone off his nightstand and settle onto his bed on your stomach, feet up, pulling up Genshin Impact. It feels like a chore to open this game up now, but you have to, for that stupid free constellation event where you have to complete your commissions and spend 120 resin.

You spawn in Nod-Krai, already moving your joystick to run towards the crafting bench, planning to craft your resin into condensed resin, but to your dismay, you already have 5 crafted resin from the previous days you tried this trick.

Domains it is.

You can hear your boyfriend in the background recording the same TikTok, over and over, trying to get the perfect take while you're teleporting to a random domain. It's annoying, and all you can focus on while you wait for people to join your world.

Once people join your world, and you start the domain, you move on autopilot. You don't really pay attention, probably fighting air every now and then, until a notification pops up from the top of your screen.

Even though you're in a co-up domain, your thumb his the notification before you can even finish reading.

The video loads, and it's what seems to be some sort of POV shot. It's like you're some enemy Lohen just knocked flat, because the view is from below, on the ground. His hand reaches down and grabs you, or the camera's face, dragging you to his height, and you spot his other hand raising a weapon, but you aren't even focused on the weapon… you're focused on the face he makes.

A grin with manic eyes, the expression of someone who doesn't just enjoy violence… someone who's aroused by it.

It happens so quickly that you watch it again, on loop. You watch the jaw grab again, the way he yanks whoever it is upward, the way his grin widens before the hit. You screenshot the maniac grin on the 4th loop… then watch it play through again.

Your thighs press together.

You scroll to the comments after the 7th rewatch, needing to see if everyone's losing their minds as hard as you are.

@scaramouchewho okay so we're all in agreement that lohen is what scaramouche COULD have been if hoyo let him be unhinged, right?

@kuniscaraworshiper everyone in the lohen tag better remember who paved the way. Scaramouche is the ORIGINAL unhinged short king… y'all are so disrespectful

@touchinggrassfearsme i just want lohen and scara to kiss… then me at the same time next… then they can kiss each other again after THEN THE SAME THING AGAIN

@mpreglover6769angie GET PREGNANT GET PREGNANT

You laugh seeing this comment, and when you tap on it, you're left with…

(This comment has been deleted.)

@lohennation BREED ME LOHEN. BREED ME. TEASE ME. USE ME. DEGRADE ME. oh and scara can watch ig… (yes i changed my user because of this video)

@wanderermybeIoved, you people don't know one thing about Scaramouche, and I don't want people talking about him when you clearly don't care about his character development or lore. He's more than just a "hot angry guy." Lohen fans (who just became fans of him less than an hour ago, mind you) wouldn't survive 5 minutes of scara's actual story because their reading comprehension is lower than a 4th grader's due to their goon-rotted brains.

@fatuiworshipper the way Lohen is just Scaramouche if he wasn't busy being sad all the time. he's happy to be evil… that's so hot

You scroll back up and watch the burst animation again. Your thighs squeeze together, and your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. You've watched this video at least 20 times now, and around the 10th time, your underwear became a wet, sticky mess.

"Hey."

You don't hear him, you don't even flinch.

"… Hello??"

Nothing.

"Did you actually die? Should I call someone or check your pulse first?"

You don't hear your boyfriend because you're still on that Lohen video, grinning at some dumb comment of yet another person leaving scaranation for lohennation.

"You've been ignoring me for like ten minutes," Kuni says from across the room, and you can hear the shift in his tone, the way it goes from casual annoyance to genuine irritation, "what is so interesting about your phone that you can't look up for even a second?"

You look up from your phone before he can accuse you of cheating, which technically, in some tiny way… You kinda were.

He's standing by his setup, ring light off, his phone in his hand with his arms crossed. His expression looks like he's in between choosing to be mean about it, or letting it slide. He looks annoyed enough that he won't let it slide, and 10 minutes is a long time, unless he was just exaggerating.

"…Hi." You say, sweet and innocent, still lying on your stomach, still with the phone in your hand as you glance at it just once, like a random comment, before looking back at him, not fully engaged.

His gaze drops to your phone in your hand, then lifts back up to your face. The corner of his mouth lifts with slow, unbelieving amusement, like your delayed little “hi” is almost too stupid to be real. "Welcome the fuck back. Where did you go?"

"Remember Lohen from that one quest in Mondstadt?" You don't wait for a response, voice breathier than intended because your brain is still stuck on that video, "His burst animation just got leaked…"

You watch as your boyfriend's face changes into reluctant curiosity that fights with the irritation of being ignored. He walks over to his bed and drops down next to you. "Really? Show me."

You sit up, holding your phone out, and he just takes it, angling the screen toward himself. You watch his face as the animation plays, how his jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly, and his gaze cuts back to you once it's over. "It's okay." He says, tone devoid of any emotion you can pick up on.

"Just… okay? Kuni. Did you see the grab, the way… the way that the angle is like a POV, like that's you, he's grabbing… the way he just, his hand goes like-" You mimic the way Lohen's hand, holding the weapon, goes from behind and towards who he's about to stab.

Kuni glances at your hand, then back at your face, your phone still in his hand. "Mhm. I saw the exact same video as you." His tone feigns nonchalance.

You drop your hand, continuing to yap while not reading the room, "And the grin… Kuni, the grin? It looks like he's about to-"

"I said I saw it." He hands your phone back, using his own to open TikTok, scrolling through his feed with such focused intensity that it doesn't do a good job of hiding how little he cares about this. "People are going to lose it over this."

"They already are, have you seen the comments?" You're already scrolling through them on your phone, looking for one that doesn't say anything about Scaramouche, but it's practically impossible. "Everyone's saying-"

"I know what they're saying, I don't need to see the comments to know." His thumb flicks through posts, and you can see his jaw working, yet again. "Same shit that infected my feed when Lohen was in that quest, and people barely had info on him. 'Scara's done.' 'We're switching.' Like their loyalty has a shelf life of milk."

He keeps scrolling through his TikTok feed, and annoyingly enough, every video that comes up is about Lohen. He's talking, ranting about character depth versus surface-level hype, something about Scara's arc having actual emotional complexity while Lohen is, "just a boy with a violence kink." He is making good points, but you aren't fully paying attention.

You're still scrolling through Twitter, lying back against the pillows, reposting mindlessly on fan art that already exists of Lohen, and trying not to laugh at the posts comparing Lohen to Scaramouche.

He turns his head to you, and he stops talking, because he notices your attention is elsewhere. You don't notice the sudden silence because your brain is so far inside your phone that the real world doesn't exist right now.

His lips touch your neck, a soft, tiny kiss with the warm press of his mouth against the spot below your ear, and he shifts closer. His hand lands on your thigh, his thumb drawing a slow line along the inside where the hem of your sleep shorts sits.

You tilt your head up slightly, giving him access without giving him your attention, as your gaze is still on your phone. Your body just responds to him on autopilot because of months of this exact pattern, him kissing your neck while you doomscroll, except this time you're scrolling through posts and posts of his… replacement.

His tongue touches the skin at your neck, a quick and wet drag followed by his teeth grazing that same area. His fingers itch higher under your shorts, pushing the fabric up your thigh.

"Kuni, not right now, I'm looking at something-"

He cuts you off with a "Mmhmm," not stopping at all because just a second after, he's sucking on your neck. His fingertips graze the edge of your underwear, tracing the elastic back and forth, back and forth. It's light enough that it could be an accident, but what he's doing to you is clearly intentional.

You're still scrolling even as your boyfriend, in cosplay, is practically making love to your neck, and his fingers… they slide down from the hem of your underwear, to where your slit is, through the fabric.

You let out a soft, quiet, "Mm…" moan, still not looking up. The only reply he gets is the little sound you make and the wetness between your legs.

His middle finger traces your clothed slit in a lazy back-and-forth, that's designed for teasing and nothing else. His mouth is still at your neck, and he bites softly at it while that Lohen video coincidentally pops up on your feed again. Involuntarily, your hips shift up against his hand while your eyes are still glued to the screen.

His fingers slide up from your slit, back up to your waistband. You let out the tiniest whine, but that whine turns into your breath catching when his fingers dip beneath your underwear and make direct contact through your folds.

"You're so soaked," he says against your neck. His tone makes your thumb pause just as you're about to click on the comment section. His cadence shifted into something that sounds less like your boyfriend and more like the boy he's currently cosplaying as. "And it's not because of me. It's hard to believe a pixel on a screen could make you this turned on… but I guess anything's possible with someone like you."

You feel his middle finger circling your clit, slow and teasing, not giving you anything that you want while you watch that video on loop, again. The pattern of it doesn't stop, but the desperation and need to have him stroke you properly makes your hips twitch, and your focus shifts from your phone to his hand, and only his hand, at an alarming rate.

"It must be embarrassing," he starts, the same condescending drawl Scaramouche's voice has, and it fits in his mouth uncannily well, "getting this worked up over a character animation. Over something that can never," the same index that was teasing at your clit pushes inside you, knuckle deep, and you clench around it, "touch you."

He's quick to add a second finger, his ring finger, because one isn't ever enough for you. He curls them upward, finding that spot he mapped ages ago. Your phone screen goes dark from inactivity.

He doesn't leave any achy part of your cunt unoccupied, especially if his thumb is currently being useless. His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs in circles while his fingers curl inside you. The dual stimulation makes your mouth fall open, and your phone falls out of your hand. Your phone hits the side of your stomach and falls down face-first beside you.

"There it is," he says against your skin, pressing a kiss to the mark he left on your neck. "Phone's finally down. Took you long enough."

He pulls his fingers out, and before you can even whine about it, he shifts on top of you, sliding down between your legs. You look down at him, and the visual of Scaramouche slipping under the covers and pulling at the waistband of your shorts is doing something to you that ten replays of Lohen's burst animation could never replicate. Because this is actually real.

He's sliding your shorts down when you mistakenly whimper out, "Kuni…"

He stops, hands pausing on the fabric at your knees. "Mm… no. That's not my name tonight." He pulls the shorts off completely, tossing them wherever without looking in his room, and his fingers hook into your underwear next.

"It's Scaramouche. That's who you're looking at… That's who's touching you. And, that's the only name I want to hear coming out of your mouth. Not Kuni, and definitely not Lohen. If you even try saying his name, I'm cutting your tongue out." He drags your underwear down your thighs, his eyes never leaving your face. "Scaramouche. Understood?"

You nod, too distracted by what he was saying to even realize you're bare from below, and you realize that the moment his mouth is on you.

His tongue drags flat across your clit, and you let out an involuntary, unfiltered moan at the contact. You'd care about his neighbors hearing if his mouth wasn't making you forget that other people exist.

It feels like he's reformatting your brain as he eats you out. Like every lick is deleting thoughts about Lohen and replacing them all with himself. His tongue works on your clit in patterns that make you let out dumb, uncontrollable moans. Two fingers slip inside you without warning, curling against your spot, and you can't help but grab onto his hair, that perfectly styled, dyed Scaramouche hair, and hold on.

Your hips twitch up, grinding into his face while your head tips back. "H-aah… f-fuck… Sca-"

He pulls back from your clit, fingers still working inside you, but at an even faster rhythm, "Louder than that."

You listen, brainless, doing whatever he says, "Scara… Scaramouche, I'm… hah… s-so close…"

He dives back onto your clit, mouth sealed on it, making you cum embarrassingly fast with his fingers curling inside your spongy walls. Your thighs shake around his head, and your grip on his hair tightens as you grind onto his face, clenching around his fingers. He goes slower once the aftershocks are over, and when you finally let go of his hair, completely out of breath, he pulls his mouth off your clit with a wet pop.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, the cosplay sleeve dragging across his face from his cosplay. The sight of that is so absurd and so hot that you almost cum again from that visual alone. The puppet joints look slightly faded on the two fingers he was fucking you with, and somehow that makes it worse.

He grabs one of the detached sleeves and slips it off his outfit. You watch him, brain still sluggish from the orgasm, fold it into a thick band, and you furrow your brows, confused. "What are you…"

"Scaramouche wouldn't let you see him lose composure." He slides up from between your legs, wrapping the fabric around your eyes, tying it behind your head before you can even protest. You can't see anything now, just darkness, and the sound of his breathing close to your face. "So you don't get to either."

You feel him move back and settle between your thighs, sliding them apart. You're still so sensitive from your orgasm that feeling his cock suddenly press against you makes an involuntary whimper slip out. He wastes no time slipping in, but he does it slow, stretching you open inch by inch, and you grab fistfuls of his sheets because the fact that you're missing one of your senses is making everything amplified.

"Oh my god…"

"Say my name," he says, and he feels deep enough inside of you that you can't tell how much more of him there is. You only know the stretch, the pressure, and how full you already feel.

A faint moan slips out of you before you manage, breathless, "Scara…"

"Yeah?" He says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, he knows you can barely think. "Too full to say it properly?"

Your fingers curl helplessly in the sheets. "Sc… Scaramouche…"

He starts moving, and because of the blindfold, every thrust feels amplified tenfold, so much deeper. His hands are gripping at your hips hard enough to bruise. You feel him closer, by your ear, voice still in character, "You think some new character is going to replace me?" He puncuates the end with a hard thrust, and your mouth hangs open with a gasp.

"Some battle maniac with a grin? Pathetic. I've been your favorite since 1.1," another thrust, and it hits you deep, he grinds into that same spot, "and no amount of leaked animations is going to change that."

"I know… hah… I know-"

He pulls back just enough that you feel the loss of him even though he's still inside. Your hips chase him up, a needy whimper spilling out because you don't feel him moving anymore, and you wonder why. You feel his hand leaving your hip to pull the blindfold off your eyes.

Light hits your pupils, and you squint, disoriented, and the first thing you see isn't him. It's your phone, held inches from your face, bright and open on the password screen. In a flash, your phone's unlocked from just your face, and just as fast as that happens, he turns your phone back to him.

"Wha… what are you doing?" You're still catching up, blinking through your vision that's trying to adjust, even more now that a phone was shoved up in your face. He's swiping through your apps with one hand while the other pins your hip to the mattress. His cock is still inside you, not moving at all, and it almost feels painful with how much you're craving him to.

He pulls up Twitter, looking at your feed first before checking your reposts, because of course, the first thing that comes up is someone reposting that Lohen burst animation for the millionth time, like people haven't seen it already. He scoffs, tapping on your profile picture on the side, and looking through your reposts.

"This one says," he starts, scrolling with his thumb, his tone almost bored as he reads your reposts out loud, while he finally starts grinding into you, but it's slow, painfully slow. "I would let Lohen degrade, breed me, use me, and rearrange my insides until I pass out… You liked that one, reposted it from the same account that has your face on it. How dense can you be?"

You face heats up realizing just how embarrassing that is, only after doing it a while ago, "That's… that was just a joke-"

"Let's go to your replies tab and see if you did anything other than mindlessly repost whatever you saw," you watch as his thumb moves across your phone, he shifts his hips forward in a slow grind that makes your breath hitch, "Oh, so you did comment on something… that's it? Three fire emojis and a fucking… crying emoji? That's your contribution to the discourse? Really? Was your brain rotting that badly that you couldn't even type words?"

You don't even try to come up with a coherent response for that, and he doesn't wait for one. He throws your phone somewhere on his bed and leans down, propping himself up on his forearms on either side of your head, and the closeness of him in full cosplay makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You know what's funny to me?" His eyes never leave your face as he rolls his hips, still a slow grind that drags his cock against your walls in such a way that keeps you in between being able to think and not. "You have a cosplayer. An actual, real person who dresses up as your favorite character and fucks you in it. And instead of appreciating that… you're reposting about a character that doesn't even have a release date yet."

A weak protest slips out before you can stop it. "I do appreciate-"

"Do you?" He thrusts hard this time, and it makes your back arch, your hands flying up to grab his shoulders as he continues at the same deep pace, watching your face change with every thrust. "Because I'm literally inside of you in a Scaramouche cosplay right now, and 20 minutes ago you were eye-fucking a burst animation while I was standing 12 feet away."

Your face burns, "That's not…" You swallow, trying to gather a thought that doesn't sound pathetic, "That's not fair, he's just a character, you're-"

"I'm right here." Another deep thrust, his hand slides up to cup the side of your face, tilting it so you're looking directly at him. At the eyeliner you did for him, the contacts, and the hair you even helped style. "And I'm the closest thing to a fictional character you're ever going to get. So maybe," he grinds into your spot, and your eyes roll, "act like it."

Humiliation and want feel like they're tangling so tightly that you can't separate them anymore. You can't even form a proper response for that, only being able to muster out a, "F-fuck… Scara…." as your fingers curl harder into the sheets.

"Mm." He keeps the angle, keeps rolling into that same spot, watching as it makes you go stupider quicker while his thumb traces your cheekbone. "You know what you should repost? A video of this. Me, in cosplay, between your legs. See how many likes that gets compared to a leaked animation."

Your brain decides this is the moment to let something slip. Completely irrational. "A lohen cosplay would probably get more likes because he's… trending." You don't even mean it as a dig; you say it in the normal, supportive tone you always give when he talks about content, while getting dicked down.

And the second those words leave your mouth, everything goes silent. He stops, completely. Cock buried inside you, and his hand on your face tightens. His thumb presses harder into your cheekbone. His expression doesn't change, but his eyes do. It's this flat, cold look you can see even with the contacts, and the silence stretches long enough that you realize what you just did.

You scramble to backtrack, "I didn't mean-"

"No, don't backtrack now," he cuts in, voice eerily calm, tilting his head like he's studying any new reaction you'd make, "You sounded very sure of yourself a second ago. I want the same answer you gave before you realize I didn't like it."

You sink back into the pillows, head shaking, "Scara, you know that's not what I meant…" but you stop at the end when you see the look in his eyes darken.

He lets go of your face and pulls almost all the way out to slam back in, both of his hands gripping on the backs of your thighs, pushing them apart. He's fucking into you at a new pace that's faster and rougher than anything before this, every thrust feeling like a point he's making without words.

"He's an animation," he says between trusts, his voice strained, but he's still in character. "He doesn't feel like this…" A thrust so deep it pushes you closer to the headboard. "He doesn't sound like this." Another one, harder, and the sound that comes out of you is almost unrecognizable.

"And he doesn't know that if he hits this angle," he shifts his hips and nails your spot dead-on, and your vision whites out at the edges completely, "you make that exact face."

Your legs are shaking around his grip, your hands grasping at anything, his shoulders, his arm, the sheets, the only thought in your mind is him, the body between your legs trying to prove a point with his entire being.

Then, your phone lights up next to your head. It's a Twitter notification, something about Lohen, and the timing is so cosmically cruel. He sees it, and before you can even squint to see what it's about, he scoots back, letting your head fall off the pillow. You look at him, confused, completely innocent to the change of position that's about to happen.

His hands leave your thighs to grab at your hips, and in one inhuman motion, he lifts you off the bed almost entirely. Your back leaves the mattress, the entire room feels like it's tilting as he hauls your legs over his shoulders, your full weight being suspended against his body. His hands grip the front of your thighs, your arms scrambling for anything, and they end up gripping at the backs of his thighs. Your head is still on the mattress, and your arms, but everything else is up in the air.

He's about to fuck you upside down.

You yell out of panic, "Wha… SCARA-"

"You were about to check your phone." He says, voice unbothered like he isn't holding you in the air with his dick buried inside of you. "While I'm inside of you… While Scaramouche is inside of you." He adjusts his grip, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, and slides his hips back before slamming into you hard, forcing himself so deep that you see white. "Do I not have your full attention?"

Even as full, and thought empty as you are, you still try to defend yourself, "You do… hah… You do, I wasn't-"

"You were reaching for it," another hard slam, and you cry out, your nails digging into the backs of his thighs. "Your hand almost moved. Almost. You were going to look at a notification while im fucking you."

He fucks into you, over and over, your legs dangling on his shoulders, the angle hitting something so deep inside of you that your body doesn't know how to process it apart from going completely boneless.

You're limp, even being fucked upside down. Your muscles gave up, and now you're just a body he's holding in the air and fucking into.

Your weight being nothing to him, your pleasure being everything.

"Scara… Scara, oh my god, I can't… f-fuck… I can't-"

"Can't what?" His voice is annoyingly steady, controlled, even though he's holding you up and thrusting into you with a force that should effect both of you, but it seems like you're the only effected one. Moaning sounds that aren't even words anymore, just vowels and air. "Can't think? Good. You shouldn't be thinking. The only thing in your head right now should be my name, and the fact that no pixel on a screen," he thrusts up, sharp, and the sound you make is practically a scream, "has ever made you feel like this."

Even with your mind blank, you can process his words enough to know that he's right. Because he's here, and real, and holding you in the air and fucking the coherence out of your skull. "SCARAMOUCHE- fuck, please… please don't stop-"

His pace only grows faster, his grip on your thighs tightening in such a way that you know it will end in bruises when you wake up tomorrow. You cum with the lower half of your body, suspended in the air. Your body locks up, ankles rolling, feet clenching around his shoulders as the orgasm rips through you in waves so intense that you can't even keep your eyes open, can't even suppress or care for how dumb you sound.

You can do anything except convulse around him while he holds you through it like you weigh nothing.

He cums exactly five seconds after, the way your walls clench around his cock not letting him pull himself back any longer. He buries himself deep with one final thrust up that pins you against his hips. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, filling you up as his fingers flex on your thighs.

There's so much that your body can't contain it, even in this position, you can feel some of his cum leak around where he's still inside you, dripping down between your ass cheeks.

He holds you there for a moment, catching his breath and you still catching yours, and then he finally sets you down. He moves back, lowering you, and you bounce back on the sheets, still out of breath, gasping, legs shaking, cum pooling more properly between your thighs now that you aren't in the air.

He's already pulling at the cosplay before his breathing even levels out.

"Finally," he mutters, yanking at the chest piece with the urgency of someone escaping a straitjacket, "I can take this stupid fucking thing off."

The outer layer comes off first, and he gets out of bed to toss it onto his desk chair without looking. Then the arm pieces, what's left of them, since one sleeve is still tied in a crumpled blindfold shape somewhere in the sheets. He pulls the one he's wearing off and throws it on top of the outer layers on the chair.

He's left in the sleeveless undershirt, the tight black one that sits flush against his chest and shows the puppet joints he spent way too long on at his shoulders. The shadow has smudged from the sweat, the edges bleeding where the lines used to be clean.

"I was literally cooking alive in that," he says, working at the fabric that sits on his hips next, "do you know how many layers this cosplay has? About four. Four fucking layers in a room with one fan and a broken AC because Ei cares more about being at work all the time than actually caring about a home she's barely at."

You don't respond because you are, at this moment, a puddle of a human being with no functioning brain cells and shaking legs. You're lying exactly where he put you down, staring up at the ceiling, legs still open because closing them feels like an exercise right now.

He glances at you once the majority of the cosplay is off, just the undershirt and shorts, and he gets quieter. He disappears into the bathroom that's connected to his bedroom and comes back with a warm, damp towel.

He sits on the edge of the bed and pushes your thigh to the side, wiping between your legs without saying anything. His movements are careful, clinical, almost, like the same precision he gives his cosplay goes into this too.

He cleans the cum off your inner thighs, the crease where your thigh meets your hip, folds the towel to the clean side, and gets the rest.

You flinch at the contact, still sensitive, and his other hand presses flat against your lower stomach to keep you still. "Stop squirming."

"But… It's sensitive," you say, finally, voice weak.

"I know it's sensitive. I'm the one who made it sensitive. Stay still."

He tosses the towel onto the bathroom floor when he's done, then goes to his dresser, pulling out a sleep set and underwear that are yours. A cropped top and matching shorts that somehow migrated into his drawer because you're here more than your actual house.

He comes back and slides the underwear up first, lifting your hips with one hand to pull them over your ass. Then, the shorts come next, doing the same motion he did for the underwear. He grabs the top next, and this part requires sitting you up, and you're not cooperative.

You're practically dead weight.

He pulls you up by the arms like a ragdoll, gets the shirt over your head, and guides each of your arms through the sleeves. You keep going limp on purpose, and it's irritating him. "You're not helping," he says, which isn't a helpful remark on his part.

You can't do anything but let out a tired, annoyed sigh, voice moving slowly as you say, "I can't feel my legs, Kuni."

He pauses as he's trying to pull the top down, giving you a sideways look, "That's a you-ca n't-help problem, that's a you-won't-help problem. Your arms should work fine."

You give him a fake, straight smile, shrugging at a languid speed, "They don't, actually. You broke those too when you held me upside down, and I had to hold onto your thighs for dear life."

He scoffs, dropping you back against the pillows, and you sink into them, boneless, dressed, clean, happy that you've trained him well enough to do this much after sex, because it pays off every time.

He pulls the covers out from under you, and this time you actually scoot to give him space to tuck them over your body. He grabs both of your phones and plugs them in, then walks to his closet to take the top off and replace it with a plain black t-shirt, and tugs on a pair of grey sweats. When he's done, he always backs toward the bed to get into the covers beside you, but you stop him.

"Kuni, can you please get me water?" You ask, with a tiny pout.

The exhale he lets out is so deep it could qualify as a controlled breathing exercise. He stands there for a full three seconds, covers still bunched in his hand, staring at you with the expression of a man who wants to only pass out in bed and rot.

"You couldn't have said that before I walked toward the bed?"

You look up, pretending to think, mouth curling up when you glance back at him, "I wasn't thirsty before you walked toward the bed."

He rolls his eyes, his hand coming up to rub his fingers at his temple in annoyance at all of this, "That doesn't even make sense."

You clasp your hands together, pouting, again, putting on a sweet expression just to mess with him further, "Please?"

He drops the covers and leaves the room. You hear his footsteps down the hallway, and they're loud enough that you know he's being loud on purpose.

Because Kuni doesn't make noise when he walks unless he wants you to know he's annoyed.

His house is massive; you spend 99 percent of your time in his room, so you actually get jumpscared every time you leave it. The hallways are long, or probably longer than an apartment floor in general, with marble flooring and clear walls with art on them that his mother picked out and he's never looked at once.

The kitchen is insane. Countertops that stretch for what feels like miles, a center island bigger than your own bed, and appliances that look like they belong in a once luxurious restaurant. Every surface is spotless because the housekeeper comes three times a week, and Kuni is already a clean freak on his own, so the combination creates a kitchen that looks perpetually unlived in.

He opens the cabinet, grabs a glass, fills it from the filtered tap, and when he turns around, his mother is sitting at the island.

She's been there the whole time, apparently.

Ei is on a barstool at the center island, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of red wine in her right hand and her phone in her left. Her hair is long and ink-black, pin-straight, falling over one shoulder, and in the dim kitchen light, she looks less like a person and more like a portrait someone painted and forgot to hang.

She looks up from her phone at the sound of the glass filling.

Her eyes move over him, at the messed-up hair, the contacts he forgot to take out, and the faded puppet joints still visible on his knuckles.

And also the fact that he's getting a glass of water at one in the morning in a post-sex haze that he thinks isn't obvious but is extremely obvious.

"You're still awake," she says, her voice carrying that same low, unbothered tone that makes everything she says sound like an observation.

"You're home," he replies, matching her energy beat for beat, turning off the tap without looking at her. "When did your flight land?"

"Three hours ago." She takes a sip of wine. "I didn't want to interrupt."

The silence that follows is loud. He knows what that means, she knows that he knows, and neither of them will say it directly because everyone in this family treats emotional honesty like it's some disease.

"Right." He grabs the glass and turns to leave as fast as possible.

"Kunikuzushi."

He stops, but he doesn't turn around, his grip on the glass tightening.

"Eat something tomorrow. The fridge is stocked." She pauses to take a sip before continuing, "And take your contacts out before you sleep. They'll irritate your eyes."

He stands there for a second, then another, then another, then walks away without responding. And his footsteps down the hallway are quieter this time. Not on purpose.

He gets back to his room and shuts the door behind him with his foot. He walks up towards the bed and reaches over to hand you the glass. You take it, sitting up slightly, drinking half of it in one go while he stands there watching you like you just made him walk a marathon for a cup of water.

"Happy?" He asks, pulling the covers back.

You roll your eyes and hand him back the glass. He sets it on the nightstand and gets into bed, lying flat on his back. You immediately roll onto his chest like a magnet, your cheek pressing against the cotton of his t-shirt, and you can hear his heartbeat, still a little fast, coming down.

His hand finds your hair, starts that absent, repetitive thing he does, threading his fingers through the strands over and over. You press closer to him, tangling your legs with his under the covers, and his arm tightens around your back.

You close your eyes, and his fingers never stop moving through your hair.

He doesn't tell you he loves you; he never does first. But his thumb traces a slow circle against your scalp, and his breathing evens out underneath you, and he doesn't move even when your weight goes fully dead against his chest.

That's how you know.

You're in your room today, not at your boyfriend's house like you usually are. You do like being in his room and hanging out with him constantly, but it's also constantly exhausting. Some days, you'd just prefer to be… alone.

Your room is the complete opposite of Kunikuzushi's aesthetic. Light beige walls so you can hang up cute pink miscellaneous things on your wall without them clashing. A fluffy, soft, pink bed that used to be a canopy until you woke up to a fat spider next to your face, as if it was their bed too. Plushies… lots of them, on your bed, some kept on a large shelf you bought to store the expensive anime figures Kuni always buys you. Long story short, the general vibe of your room makes you seem like someone whose entire personality is soft and sweet.

You're lying on your stomach on the bed, phone in hand, scrolling through the fallout of the Lohen leak from 3 days ago. The internet has still not calmed down… if anything, it's worse.

@scaranation4LIFE scaranation we STAND. Every character had their tiny moment of fame… our show lasted four years. FOUR. We were even on the news… lohen's gonna last one patch and you're all going to be crawling back

@lohenxscarabeliever i don't want lohen OR scara… i want them BOTH to ruin my life SIMULTANEOUSLY. Why is this so hard to understand

@wanderersfavoritebuttplug scara… I’d never replace you for that sadistic twink (maybe) (we’ll see)

The comments are always talking about the same thing, at least every comment section under a Lohen Twitter post, as the diehard simp, the one who wants Lohen and Scara to fuck each other, the one who wants to cuck Scara in front of Lohen, and the very few actual loyal Scara fans.

… You feel like you're a bit of both.

You're deep in the comments, simultaneously looking at edits of Lohen on TikTok, then taking a Twitter break, then TikTok, when at some strange point, your bedroom door opens.

You don't look up, you assume it's Kuni because your parents aren't home, and you gave him the key ages ago. "Hey, Kuni," you say, still scrolling, legs swinging behind you, "if you're here to yell at me about using your newest Flower Knows palette before you did, it's not that big of a deal-"

You stop because when you look up, what you see is something you'd never, ever expect from a surprise visit from your boyfriend.

Kunikuzushi is standing in your doorway in full-on, perfectly accurate, as always, cosplay. But it's not Scaramouche, or some other male in the game… It's Lohen.

Your phone hits the mattress.

The character you've been losing your mind over for 3 days, the one you've seen on your phone screen a genuinely convincing number of times, is here, in real life, standing in your pink bedroom doorway.

"When did you-" your voice comes out strangled, your mouth feeling dry, and your throat feeling so tight that you cut yourself off. Your eyes scan the cosplay, again and again, confused at why he didn't tell you about this. Especially ordering a unique cosplay of a character that hasn't even fully come out. "When… when did you order this??"

He grins, a toothy, sharp-eyed grin that looks nothing like Scara's smirk. It's so strangely accurate to the expression Lohen would make, and you wonder if he's spent the last 3 days practicing for this.

"I've been tracking you all day," he says, and his voice is different than normal, more confident, louder, less… restrained on what's deemed as good. "You've been hard to pin down."

He crosses the room, and your body does something it doesn't do with Kuni. It tenses out of something close to fear, but closer to not knowing what's coming next. His hand grabs the front of your tank top and yanks you off the bed. You yelp in a way that's higher, more startled, more genuinely caught off guard than anything Scara has gotten out of you in months.

"Nervous?" He questions, his grin widening, and his fists twist in your shirt, pulling you closer, until your chest is against his. He can feel your heartbeat… at least you assume he can, because you can hear it going haywire through your ears to the point that you'd believe it's audible even if he wasn't this close.

You deny because you hate admitting things to him when he's acting smug, even though anything you could say would be utterly pointless, as your face and the way you're barely moving prove his point way too well. "I'm not nervous…" You try a distraction, any, "Are you really wearing a wig, Kun-" but it gets cut off quicker than you can even finish the last word.

"Your heart feels like it's about to explode out of your chest." He leans in, his mouth next to your ear, and his voice drops, but he still keeps the edge of it in character, "What's different? You let Scaramouche do whatever he wants to you. But Lohen shows up and suddenly… You can't even talk?"

You knit your eyebrows, staggering to say anything that sounds like you're not any less dumb, "That's… it's different, you're usually-"

"Usually what? Predictable?" He pulls back to look at you, and you glance up and down at his cosplay once more, and it's even more annoyingly perfect up close. You seriously don't know how he does it; he even looks good in a wig, even though he hates them. "You know every move Scaramouche makes before he makes it. You're comfortable with that, and that's boring." He says it like an insult, and his grin drops suddenly, his eyes not leaving you once as he says, "I'm not comfortable. Are you scared of me?"

You answer a simple, "No." But the way you still haven't moved on your own since he appeared at your door proves without words otherwise.

"Liar." He shoves you, and you fall back before you can catch yourself on the bed, bouncing on the pink sheets, your tank top riding up slightly in the process. "Your voice had the tiniest crack in it."

He's on top of you before you can sit up, his knee between your thighs, his hand going to your jaw… and he does it.

The burst animation.

His fingers close around your jaw as he lifts your face toward his, slow, and the grin is right there, a perfect replica of the video you've watched on your screen more than 100 times.

"There's my favorite prey," he says, holding the pose for three seconds, and instead of reaching his arm back and stabbing you, he leans in to kiss you.

It's violent, that's the only word to describe it. Non ceremonial, just teeth, tongue, and a lot of force by him. His hand is still gripping your jaw, controlling the angle, and also making sure you don't pull away so soon. You make a sound into his mouth that's between a moan and a whimper, that's even more vulnerable than anything you've made during sex when he cosplays as Scaramouche.

He pulls back, unbuckling one of the belts on the cosplay, a strap that's a part of Lohen's design, and he wraps it around your wrists, binding them above your head against the bed.

"Every battle maniac needs a sparring partner," he says, tying the knot with one hand while the other shoves your tank top up above your breasts. "And you looked at me like you volunteered."

He strips your shorts, then your underwear, and he doesn't bother about being sweet with it. He yanks them down your legs and throws them somewhere behind him, and then his hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes them up toward your chest.

Mating press, that's what he's doing.

Your knees are at your shoulders, your hips are tilted up, and he's on the bed, kneeling over you. His weight is driving your thighs down, folding you in half. Your wrists are bound above your head; you're just completely open and trapped.

"L.. Lohen…" You whimper out in the voice of both someone in awe, and in the tiniest fear of what's coming next.

"Hmm." He unzips his pants, frees his hard cock from his underwear, which he slides down just enough, and positions himself at your entrance, and he pushes in.

The first thrust is the full length of him burying himself deep inside you in one stroke; the angel of the mating press makes it feel deeper than it should. His cock presses against your cervix, and the sound that leaks out of you is closer to a sob than a moan.

"AH- oh fuck oh fuck oh-"

"Too much?" He asks, and his grin, that fucking grin, is right there, his face inches from yours because the mating press puts him on top of you… over you, covering you entirely.

"N-no, just- hah-" You get cut off with the way he pulls back and slams back in, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, before just fully closing.

"Not convincing." He pulls back, again, slamming into you harder than the last one, like he's powering up his thrusts, and your back tries to arch off the bed, but his weight is pressing you flat, and you have nowhere to go. You feel his hands at your face. "Your eyes are watering."

You open your eyes back up to look at him, head shaking, even though you do feel something hot and wet sliding softly down your cheeks. "You're lying, they're n-not-" You're studdering from the way he's repeditely fucking into you, especially hitting your deeper spots on purpose when you try speaking, but he cuts you off anyway.

"They are." He leans down and licks a tear off your cheekbone. The act is so different from the way he's currently fucking into you, brutally, and you're turning incoherent faster than ever, moans spilling out uncontrollably as the sound of his hips plaping against your ass fills the room.

"You cry for Scaramouche because it feels good. You're crying for me because you don't know what I'm going to do next." Both of his hands leave your face; one goes back onto your thigh, the other finds your throat. "And that scares you… Doesn't it?"

His fingers close around your neck, and he doesn't choke you the same way Kuni does during normal sex. This version is different, new, something you've never felt before. Lohen's choke. His fingers press into the sides of your throat, squeezing the muscles, not your windpipe, but the tissue around it. The difference, the way this feels new, is because it feels like it's designed to hurt, not to just cut off air. The pain is sharp, and you can still breathe, technically, but every inhale aches, and the compression makes the blood rush to your head in a way that amplifies every sensation that a blindfold never could.

You can't move your hands, even as they itch to grab or instinctively hold at his wrists, you're reminded that they're bound together by his belt. Your moans just get more amplified thrust after thrust after squeeze, "Nghh- Lohen… hah…"

"You can barely even say my name." He squeezes harder, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat, and the pressure pushes you right to the edge of too much. "Scaramouche gets full sentences out of you… Full moans… Full 'please'. But me?" He thrusts deep, grinding, holding himself inside you while his hand tightens on your throat. "I get syllables… Half-words… or just plain denial over anything I say. You're so nervous you can't even beg for anything properly."

He fucks you into the mating press until your thighs are shaking against his hands, and your voice is hoarse from the sounds he's pulling out of you. His hand stays on your throat. The pressure of his squeeze fluctuates a lot, from him tightening when he thrusts hard, loosening when he grinds slowly, a cycle of both pain and relief that keeps you permanently on the edge of too much without ever crossing into too much.

Because Kuni knows your body, he knows how much it can take. He pushes you close enough to passing out that your vision darkens at the edges, your mouth falls open, your eyes lose focus, and then he loosens his grip and lets the blood rush back.

And the gasp you take is almost an orgasm on its own. "Please- hah… please, I can't… too much-"

"You can handle it, you just don't know it yet." He squeezes your throat and fucks into you hard enough that a plushie falls off the bed. The grin on his face is still, still beautifully intact, and it's the most terrifyingly perfect thing you've ever seen from this close.

"You know what's funny? You were scared when I walked in. Nervous. Couldn't even talk to me." He leans down until his lips brush yours, his hand still on your throat. "But you're not trying to stop me, are you? Your hands are tied, your legs are pinned, and we have a safeword you could've used at any point, and you won't, because you and I both know this is exactly the type of 'too much' that you crave."

You cum with his hand on your throat and his cock buried so deep you can feel him in your stomach. The orgasm hits different in a mating press, so much more intense. Your walls clench around him in rhythmic pulses that you feel in your entire pelvic floor, and he fucks you through it, his pace not slowing, his hand not loosening.

And by the time the aftershock fades, you're boneless, twitching, and making sounds that are barely human.

He cums inside you, you feel the heat of it, thick, pulsating, his hips pressing flush against yours and staying there while his cock throbs. His hand finally loosens on your throat, and his forehead drops against yours.

His breathing is ragged, and it's the first time you've ever heard him lose the composure of the character, and for one second, between the last pulse and first exhale, it's just Kuni.

Then the Lohen grin slides back. He stays inside you for a moment more, his cock still twitching with the last of it, before pulling out in one motion that makes your body clench around nothing.

You feel the immediate emptiness, the warmth of his cum already starting to leak, but you don't get to process that because his hands are on your hips and he's flipping you.

Your stomach hits the mattress, your face presses into your pillow, and the shift of his cock inside you during the rotation makes a wet, obscene sound that you both pretend not to hear. Your wrists are still bound with the belt, and they're now pinned beneath you. You feel him reach under you, fingers finding the leather, working the buckle loose with one hand, while the other grips your hip to keep you from sliding forward.

The belt falls away from your wrists, you roll them instinctively, flexing your fingers, and before you can even appreciate the freedom, you feel the belt loop around your neck instead.

He pulls it taut from behind. He doesn't choke you with it just yet; he just lets it sit snug against your throat with his fist gripping the trailing end like it's some sort of handle.

"Ass up," he says, and you barely get your knees under you before he gives up on waiting and pulls your hips back toward him.

He slams in at a rough, fast, punishing pace. The sound of his hips against your ass is echoing off your room in a rhythm that makes your plushies at the edge of the bed vibrate, causing a couple of them to fall.

He uses the belt as a way to anchor his thrusts while he rails into you with a force that has your fingers twisting in your sheets, and your neck being forced to arch back.

"Fu- oh my g-god, Loh-" You can't even finish his name, it just dissolves into a broken moan as he hits your spot from this angle. The deepness of the backshots makes your toes curl against the bedsheets.

He keeps going, his pace not slowing down at all, and you're too far gone that you barely register it when his rhythm stutters for a second, especially when you hear him mutter something under his breath that doesn't sound like Lohen.

"This stupid fucking…"

Your brain is somewhere between your legs; the only sound that's audible and coherent to you is the sound of his hips against your ass, and your endless moans.

He thrusts hard, and you let out a whimper, your fingers flexing on the sheets, and your feet coming up, clenching, then dropping again. But between the next few thrusts, you catch pieces of something that doesn't match the character he's trying to play.

His voice sounds like it's shifting, not into Scara like it's some muscle memory he has, but into Kuni, your boyfriend, sounding genuinely irritated about something that has nothing to do with sex.

"I swear to god, it keeps sliding," he mutters, and his grip on the belt loosens for a second as his other hand does something behind you that you can't see. He does another hard thrust, and your face falls against the pillow now that he isn't yanking on your neck. But he doesn't pull you back, choke you, or do whatever you expect him to do.

He complains.

"This is the last time I'll wear a wig. The last fucking time. I told you I hate these things and you always ignore it and tell me to suck it up when it's a character that isn't him-" a thrust that makes your spine arch, "and now I have gross, synthetic hair scratching at my face, and I'm going to lose my mind."

You're barely processing any of this, still, it all sounds like fragments to you that don't make sense because of the thick haze of being fucked into your mattress.

He grunts, clear frustration, and you hear something that sounds like a clip, or whatever mechanism that's keeping his wig attached to his actual hair, and his pace slows down enough that curiosity overtakes the pleasure for one stupid second.

You turn your head.

And it's Kuni behind you, one hand still on the belt at your neck, and the other holding the Lohen wig that he just pulled off his head. His real hair is back, dark indigo, messy, slightly matted from the wig cap he also tore off. He hasn't noticed you looking yet; he's too busy glaring at the wig with genuine contempt.

He's out of character, fully, completely, for once mid-fuck. He never breaks character, and something comes over you… Maybe it's the absurdity of the visual, maybe it's because you're fucked stupid enough that impulse control is just completely gone.

Maybe it's because the opportunity is just too perfect to pass, and you've seen that TikTok audio one too many times.

You gasp, loud, dramatic, your voice coming out in that exaggerated, scandalized tone that you know he's going to hate, "he's BALD. He's bald, and he's torturing people who have HAIR!"

The silence that follows lasts exactly one and a half seconds.

His eyes snap to you, and you're looking at him over your shoulder, half of your face pressed into the pillow, and you're grinning. That kind of stupid, shit-eating grin that you know is about to have severe consequences.

His expression goes through several stages in rapid succession. Disbelief comes first, processing it comes second, then recognition of the reference, and on the last and final stage, something dark and focused appears that makes your grin falter just slightly.

He throws the wig, and it hits your vanity mirror, sliding off somewhere that you don't care to watch, and his now-free hand shoves your head back down into the pillow. It's not gentle. His palm is flat against the back of your skull, pressing your face into the fabric, and your giggle gets muffled by cotton.

"You think that's funny?" His voice drops back into Lohen's, but it's rougher now, meaner, the edge of genuine irritation soaking through the character because you made a dumb joke while he was inside of you. "You think you're clever?"

You're trying to respond, but your face is pressed into a pillow, and his hand is keeping it there. What comes out next is a muffled, "Mm srrhyy-" that dissolves into a yelp when he slams into you so hard your knees slide forward on the sheets.

"Every prey animal thinks it's funny right before the teeth close." He fucks into you at a pace that's brutal, and way faster than anything before. Each thrust is showing you further into the mattress while his hand keeps your head pinned, and the belt around your neck pulls tight from the motion. "You want to make jokes? I'll give you something to scream about instead."

His other hand leaves the belt to grab at your hip, yanking you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the force of being pushed down and pulled back simultaneously has you making sounds into the pillow that are just broken, raw sounds. Your hands claw at the sheets above your head, your back arching down, while your ass stays up, and you can feel his fingers digging bruises into your hip while the belt drags against your throat.

"Mmph- wait, f-fuck, I'm sorryyy, I was k-kidding-" you manage between thrusts, your words slurring against the pillow, saliva starting to collect at the corner of your mouth because your jaw won't close properly. "Loh-hen, please, 'm sorry, I didn't m-mean-"

"You have a funny way of apologizing," he grinds out, and his hand on the back of your head shifts, his fingers curling into your hair and pulling your face just barely off the pillow, enough that your moans aren't muffled anymore. "Usually, people apologize without laughing. You're still smiling about it, I can hear it in your voice."

He's not wrong. You are still smiling, with tears in your eyes, getting absolutely destroyed because the image of your boyfriend ripping off a wig mid-sex with that look on his face will live in your brain rent-free forever. "Liar… 'M not smiling-"

"You are." A thrust so deep your smile actually drops because your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open around a moan that's more of a wail. "There… fixed it."

His other hand releases your hair and goes to his own head. You can feel the shift in his movements, slightly distracted, one-handed thrusts that are still devastating but less focused as he runs his fingers through his real hair, fixing it through the vanity mirror on the far side of your room.

Because even while he's railing at you, Kunikuzushi will not be caught dead with bad hair.

He's multitasking, fucking you into the mattress with one hand on the belt, and styling his hair with the other… the worst part is, he doesn't even slow down.

He pulls the belt back just enough that you're forced to arch your spine, the pressure on your throat lifting your chest slightly off the mattress, and the angle change makes his cock hit differently, shallower but dragging against your front wall with every stroke, and the sound that comes out of you is embarrassingly close to a squeal.

"Ah ah AH, oh m-my god, oh my god, right there, don't- nghhh don't move from that, please plea-hease..." Your words are tumbling out in a slurred mess, your brain is completely out of your control, and your hips are pushing back against his on their own because the angle is too good.

He cums with a groan, pressing into the back of your shoulder, biting down on your skin through a moan he clearly didn't want to let out. You feel his cock pulse inside you, the heat spreading, and his hips grind forward in small, lazy rolls as he empties everything. His hand goes slack on the belt, and his forehead drops against the space between your shoulder blades.

He stays there for a second, breathing, then he pulls back, letting go completely of the belt, and you fall forward because he was the one pulling your practically limp body against him. Your ass is up in the air, and you feel him slide out, and the gush of cum that follows is immediate. It's thick, warm, spilling out of you and down between your thighs.

He sits back and watches it, you know, because you hear the sheets shift, and you can tell by the way he doesn't move or speak, just watches the mess he made ooze out of you.

His thumb presses against your entrance at the rim, and more cum leaks out around the pressure, sliding down in a slow trail toward your clit. "Look at that," he murmurs, his voice back in character for Lohen, in an amused, fascinated tone. "You can't keep any of it in."

His other hand comes up and spreads you open with his thumb and forefinger, holding your folds apart, and you can feel the cool air hit the mess inside you. You feel more of his cum spill out from being exposed. You bury your face deeper into the pillow because the visual you can't even see is somehow still the most embarrassing part of this entire night.

"Lohen, don't just… stare at it-" You mumble into the pillow, voice a bit pitchy as your thighs try to close, but his knee is in between your legs before you can even try to hide.

"Why not?" His thumb traces through the cum leaking down your folds, collecting it, spreading it in a slow circle around your clit, and your hips jerk at the contact because you're so overstimulated. "It's mine, I put it there, and I'll stare at it for as long as I want."

He leans down, and you feel his breath warm against your swollen, sensitive skin. Then you feel his tongue, a single slow lick from your clit up to your folds that collects everything in its path. You let out a sound that's halfway between a moan and a sob, your fingers crushing at the sheets. His mouth seals around your clit and sucks one, hard, before pulling off with a wet pop that's so loud it echoes.

"Ahh- hhah, that's... you c-can't just do that and stop..." You whine, your hips chasing his mouth, but he's already sitting up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"I can do whatever I want." He says, like it's a fact, and his thumb pushes inside you lazily, scooping cum out and watching it drip off his finger before sliding it back in. "And right now I want to watch you try to keep it together while I play with the mess I made."

He does this for longer than is reasonable. Sliding his finger in, pulling it out with cum on it, pressing his thumb against your clit, watching you flinch and twitch and moan into the pillow while your body can't decide if it wants more or if it wants him to stop.

When you finally lift your head enough to look back at him, your vision is blurry, and your cheeks are wet, and your hair… let's not talk about that. But his hair, however…

It's perfect.

His actual hair, styled in Scaramouche's cut, falls over his forehead in a way that makes him look like a character rendered by someone who accidentally released him into the real world. He fixed it while he was fucking you, which means at some point of the most brutal backshots of your life, your boyfriend was simultaneously running his fingers through his hair to make sure it looked good.

And it does, it looks like Scaramouche wearing Lohen's clothes, the dark blue and silver of the cosplay framing his face differently than Scara's outfit does, and the combination of his real hair with Lohen's costume is somehow hotter than either one on its own.

"Your hair…" You start, breathless, head tilting, staring at him.

"I know." He doesn't elaborate, and for a second you did forget just where his fingers still are, but then you get instantly reminded when his thumb circles your clit again. His expression is annoyingly smug for someone who was complaining about a wig 4 minutes ago.

He slides back into you without warning, and you gasp, your head dropping back down, because you're still so unbelievably sensitive. Even though he did slurp some of it out, you still have his cum inside of you, and the re-entry just pushed every bit of the leftovers deeper. He does exactly two, slow thrusts from behind, enough to hear the wet sound of it, and enough to feel you clench around him involuntarily, and then he moves.

His hand wraps the belt tighter around your neck and pulls backward toward him. Your upper body lifts off the mattress as the leather digs into your throat. And at the same time, as if he's some pro multitasker, his other hand hooks under your thigh, and hauls you up.

The room tilts as he rearranges your body like you're a doll getting repositioned on a shelf.

He sits back on his heels, then further, his legs extending toward the foot of the bed, and he pulls you down onto his lap with your back against his chest. His cock is still inside you, and the angle of his cock in your folds shifts as gravity does the work of seating you fully onto him. Your weight pushes him impossibly deep.

"Oh my- f-fuck..." Your head falls back against his shoulder, your mouth open, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. You can feel him everywhere. The depth of this position, your full weight on his lap, is the kind of full that makes your brain actually go blank.

The belt is still around your neck. He grips the loose end in one fist, his other hand settling on your hip, and he snaps his hips up.

It's different from behind, and the mating press, and just any position he's ever tried with you. Every thrust pushes up into you while your own weight pushes down. The collision of both forces means he's hitting your cervix with almost every stroke. The belt pulls at your throat in time with his rhythm, and it's like a constant tug that keeps you slightly alert. He's using it as a leash while he fucks up into you.

"Lohen… Lohen, oh my g-god, that's so… hhh…" Your hands grip his thighs behind you for leverage, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin through the dark fabric of the cosplay pants. Every thrust forces a sound out of you that you didn't choose. The sound ranges from breathy moans to hiccuped whimpers to full, unfiltered whines that bounce off your bedroom walls.

"Mm, good girl… Keep saying my name just like that." He says against the shell of your ear, his grin pressing into your hair, and his hips don't slow down at all while his free hand leaves your hip to cup your breast, squeezing it through your bunched-up tank top.

Then, suddenly, the pace changes. It slows like someone pressing on the brakes. The frantic upward thrusts melt into something grinding, deliberate, circular. His hips roll instead of slamming. His hand on the belt adjusts, and you can feel the leather pulling higher on your throat, the pressure shifting from the side of your neck to the front, directly on your windpipe, cutting your air down. It makes the room tilt and your head go light.

"Lohen is fun. I'll give him that."

Your walls clench around him so hard that you feel his breath catch, a tiny fracture in his composure that he covers immediately. The shift from Lohen's energy to Scara's is like someone swapped an entire soundtrack mid-song, same instruments but a completely different vibe.

"But fun is temporary." His hips roll in that slow, calculated grind that's purely Scaramouche. The one that doesn't just find your spot but sits on it, presses into it, with the exact amount of pressure needed to make your eyes cross. "Chaos without control is just noise."

He thrusts so deep that your vision goes white at the edges and your mouth opens around a shameless sound you can't hold back. "I'm not noise." He pulls the belt tighter, your air growing thinner as your head feels floaty and warm. "I'm the only voice in your head that stays."

"Scara…" It comes out of your mouth before he can ask for it, before he can demand it, your body just defaulting to the name it knows and has moaned out more times than you can count. Just the same as muscle memory.

"There she is." His voice sounds satisfied in a way that Lohen's never was. It's settled, fully sure, like something just got confirmed that he already knew. His thumb traces the edge of the belt for exactly one second.

Then his pace goes feral, the leash yanks tight, and you can feel the grin return against the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin. The whiplash of Scara's controlled grind slamming into Lohen's chaos makes your entire body jerk against his chest.

Then he goes back to Scara, slow, precise, the belt adjusting to hit your windpipe just like before, and your vision goes soft and dreamy.

Then Lohen, again, fast and reckless, the belt pulling to the sides, sharp and painful. Your vision snaps back, too clear… too much.

Then Scara.

Then Lohen.

The switches accelerate, and you're caught between two different rhythms that you don't even have time to get used to either one before it switches back and forth, and you're left shaking, trembling, your thighs quivering helplessly on either side of his.

"You feel so fucking good-" you can hear Lohen's signature grin in his tone, his hips snapping up hard enough that you bounce on his lap, "You think you can handle more?"

And then, like a light to a switch, Scara's back, his thrusts slowing into a grind that feels torturous. "Of course you can't… You never could. You just pretend."

"Mm… mmnhh, I c-cant, it's too much," you're babbling, the words coming out in disconnected fragments that don't form a single coherent thought, "both of you at the s-same time… I can't… my brain… can't…"

Your body is trying to process two characters and one cock, and one belt on your throat that keeps changing how tight and how rough it's being pulled, and the gravity pinning you down, and his hands on you everywhere. "Please jus- hha, pick one, p-please, I can't think when you keep switching, I-"

"No." It doesn't sound like either character he's playing as he says that, almost himself. "You don't get to pick, you get both."

You cum on the fault line. On the exact millisecond where Lohen's chaos collides with Scara's control. The two rhythms are crashing together inside your body like a wave hitting a wall. The orgasm rips through you so hard that your vision actually blacks out for a second.

Your walls seize around him in rhythmic, violent clenches, your back arching against his chest, the belt pulling taut as your body contorts, and the sound you make is raw, unformed, the kind of noise a person makes when their brain short-circuits.

He cums with you, his groan is buried in the crook of your neck as his teeth bite down on your shoulder. The belt goes slack in his hand, and his hips stutter up as he fills you again. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, and his hands grip your hips hard.

His breathing is ragged against your neck, not in character, just Kuni, just like before, catching a breath he doesn't need to catch because the adrenaline is still making his body do human things.

He lets go of the belt and unloops it from your neck. The leather slides off your skin, leaving a warm, raw line that you'll see in the mirror tomorrow. His hands settle on your hips, gentle, all the urgency gone.

He turns you around, rotating you by your hips without pulling out. Your legs swing around until you're facing him, straddling his hips. When your eyes meet his, it's your boyfriend looking at you, Kuni, with his makeup smudged, his real hair messy and falling into his eyes, wearing another character's clothes with his own face underneath.

He grinds up into you, slow, not thrusting, just rolling his hips with his cock still inside you, his cum still inside, and the wet sound fills the quiet room.

He kisses you, a slow kiss where his hand cups the back of your neck. His tongue slides against yours, and your hands find his face, holding his jaw the same way you hold it when you do his eyeliner. Your fingers on his cheekbones, your thumbs at the corners of his mouth… the grip is so familiar that your chest aches with it.

He pulls out, the gush of everything between you spills onto his thighs, and you whimper at the loss, your hips chasing him involuntarily, still kissing him, before settling.

He leans back, lies flat, and looks up at you. "Sit on my face." He instructs, his hands already going for his bottoms, shoving the waistband down with both hands, lifting his hips, and kicking the pants and underwear off in one motion that sends them somewhere on the bed. He settles back onto the mattress with his cock resting against his stomach and the rest of Lohen's cosplay still on his upper half.

You're still on top of him, and you start to move toward his face, swinging your leg over to straddle his chest, and just as you're about to lower yourself down facing the wall, he stops you.

"Other way." His hands catch your hips, holding you in place before you can settle. "Face my cock, not the headboard."

You turn, shifting on your knees so you're facing his legs instead, and the second your thighs are on either side of his face, his hands pull you down. He doesn't ease you into it, his fingers dig into your hips and yank you flat on him. His mouth meets your cunt like he's been starving for it. His tongue is on you immediately, flat and broad, licking through the mess of his cum and yours that's still leaking, and the groan he lets out against your folds vibrates through your entire lower half.

"Ah- oh my god, Loh-" Your hands brace against his stomach, fingers splaying across his chest, your body jerking at the contact because you're still so overstimulated that even his breath against you would be too much, let alone his entire mouth sealed to your cunt like he's trying to milk you dry.

He doesn't let up; his tongue pushes between your folds, lapping at the cum he left inside you, alternating between long drags up your clit, and pointed flicks that make your thighs clamp around his head. His hands keep your hips pinned to his face, and every time you try to lift yourself even slightly because it's too much, he pulls you back down harder.

You look down past his stomach, past his lips, and his cock is right there. Hard again, flushed at the tip, twitching every time you moan. It looks helpless, which is a stupid word to use for a dick, but that's what it looks like.

Just lying there… hard… neglected, pulsing at nothing while his mouth does all the work on you. The visual of that all, combined with the way his tongue just circles your clit makes your mouth water and your body move on its own.

You lean down, lips pressing against the tip, soft, barely any contact, and you feel his hips twitch upward at even that little touch. You open your mouth wider, about to take him in, settling your weight forward onto your forearms on either side of his hips, and then his hands move.

They leave your hips, and you feel them slide down your back, his arms wrapping around your torso, his palms pressing flat against your shoulder blades from behind, and before you can even register the shift in grip, he lifts you.

Your knees leave the mattress, your thighs slide up his shoulders until they're hooked over them, his arms anchored around your back. You aren't straddling his face anymore; you're suspended above him, upside down, your entire lower body held up by his arms, and your upper body hangs between his legs with his cock directly in front of your face.

"KUNI- what the HELL-" Your hands scramble for something to hold, and the only thing available is his back, his sides, your fingers digging into whatever part of him you can reach. "Stop putting me upside down!! How are you even this strong??"

He ignores you, his mouth is still on your cunt like the position change was nothing, like rearranging your entire body didn't interrupt the rhythm of his tongue.

Your thighs are wrapped around his shoulders, your calves pressed against the sides of his head, and his arms are locked around your lower back and hips, creating a cage of muscle that keeps you from falling. Your stomach is pressed against his chest, your breasts squished between your body and his, and your face is hovering directly over his cock with your hair hanging down.

He doesn't pause to let you adjust; his tongue pushes inside you from below, curling, and the moan that rips out of you vibrates against his inner thigh because your mouth is right there, inches from his cock, and you can't even hold back the sound.

You take him in your mouth because his cock is right there, hard, flushed, leaking from the tip, and this is the only logical response you can think of.

Your lips close around the head, and you can hear, feel, his groan vibrate against your clit from below. The sensation travels through you, making your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and you take him deeper in response, your jaw stretching as you slide down his shaft.

His hips start moving, and he's fucking up into your mouth with thrusts that push his cock past your tongue and into the back of your throat. The angle of being upside down makes your gag reflex hit differently, sharper, your throat constricting around him with every push.

"Mmph-" You gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth and running up toward your nose because gravity is working against you, and your eyes water as he pushes in deep enough that your lips press flush against his base.

He pulls your hips down against his face at the same time, grinding your cunt onto his mouth, and the dual sensation of his tongue on your clit and his cock in your throat creates a never-ending loop.

Every sound you make around him vibrates through his cock and makes his groan against you, and every groan he makes against you vibrates through your clit and makes you moan louder, and the cycle just keeps building on itself until neither of you is making sounds that qualify as human.

Your hands grip the backs of his thighs, nails biting into his skin, your only anchor while the rest of you is suspended in the air, getting destroyed from both ends. His arms tighten around your back whenever your body jerks too hard, keeping you steady, and the strength required to hold you like this while simultaneously eating you out and thrusting into your mouth is something you'll think about later, when you have brain cells to think with.

His tongue circles your clit and then seals over it, sucking hard, and your entire body arches in his grip. Your moan around his cock is muffled and obscene, a wet, gargled sound that would be embarrassing if you had any shame left, and the vibration of it makes his hips stutter up so hard you choke.

"Mmngh-" Spit drips down your chin, or up your chin technically because you're upside down, and his cock slides out of your mouth for a second while you cough and gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft.

He doesn't give you a break. His mouth doesn't leave your cunt, his tongue pressing harder, faster, relentless, and your mouth finds his cock again through the haze, taking him back in because even choking on him feels better than the alternative of not having him in your mouth.

His hips roll up in longer strokes now, less frantic but deeper, and you can feel the tension building in his thighs, the muscles tightening under your fingers. His arms squeeze around your back, pulling your hips down harder against his mouth, and his tongue works your clit in tight, focused circles that are designed to break you.

Everything builds at the same time. His cock pulsing heavier against your tongue, your walls clenching against his mouth, the pressure in your core climbing toward something massive, and his breathing getting faster against your cunt, his groans getting louder, less controlled, desperate in a way he only gets when he's close.

You cum first, barely, by maybe a second.

Your walls seize, and your thighs clamp around his shoulders, and the orgasm crashes through you in a wave so intense your jaw locks around his cock. The constriction of your throat, squeezing around him, plus the vibration of your moan, plus the way your entire body shakes in his grip, is what sends him over.

He cums in your mouth with a groan so deep you feel it in your spine. His hips push up one final time, his cock pulsing thick against your tongue, and you swallow around him because there's nothing else to do in this position, the cum sliding down your throat (or up, gravity is still confusing) while his tongue works you through the last aftershocks.

His arms loosen, not all at once, because if he did, you'd drop violently onto the bed. He eases the tension gradually, lowering your hips back toward the mattress, and you let his cock slip from your mouth with a wet sound that you're too brain dead to be embarrassed about.

"Put me down," you mumble against his thigh, your voice wrecked, your arms shaking. "Please, Kuni, put me down before I die in this position, and you have to explain it to my parents."

He lowers you down carefully, his hands guiding your hips and legs until your back is flat on the mattress beside him. Your head is at the foot of the bed, and your feet are near the pillows, but you don't really care because you're horizontal and alive, and that's enough.

He sits up, looks at you sideways on the bed, completely destroyed, and he doesn't say anything. He just moves you, his hands sliding under your back and your knees as he repositions you properly to put your head up against the pillows where it belongs.

He's quiet when he cleans you up this time, zero commentary about you squirming, no dry remarks about sensitivity, just the warm cloth from the bathroom, careful movements between your legs while his other hand stays on your hip to keep you still when you flinch.

He brings new clothes from your dresser, a pair of underwear, which goes on you first, slides up your legs, then shorts, then a top he pulls over your head and feeds through your arms without asking for your cooperation because he's already learned you won't give it.

He doesn't talk the whole time, which is unusual, because Kuni always has something to say, always has a complaint or a remark or a correction. But right now he's just doing it quietly, focused, tucking the hem of your top down with his fingers before standing up and walking toward your closet.

He changes into the pajama pants and black shirt he keeps in your drawer, and he pulls the Lohen cosplay off in pieces as he does it, dropping each part onto the chair by your desk.

"I'm never wearing that thing again," he says, pulling the top layer of Lohen's outfit off his shoulders with a grimace, his tone flat and final. "Whoever designed this character hates the human body. It feels like it's over 6 layers, especially with the long-sleeve, the cape thing… everything." He drops the last piece and kicks it under the chair. "Scara's cosplay isn't even that heavy because Scara was designed by someone with common sense."

You watch him from the bed, half-lidded, sinking into the pillows, your body so heavy that you feel like you're melting into your own mattress.

He walks back and pulls the covers up, sliding in beside you without ceremony. The second he's horizontal, you're already moving toward him, pressing your face into his chest, your hand curling into the front of his shirt, and his arm wraps about your back.

He kisses your forehead, soft, and then the bridge of your nose when you lift your face up enough, then the corner of your mouth. It's small, quiet presses of his lips against your skin that feel nothing like Scaramouche or Lohen. These are Kuni kisses, the ones he gives when no character is being performed.

The ones he probably doesn't even realize he's giving because they come out of him the same way breathing does.

He tips your chin up with his finger, and his eyes are just blue. Not indigo contacts, not the ones he wore for the Lohen cosplay, just his natural, stupid, annoyingly pretty blue that you fell for before you even knew that you cosplayed.

"Who do you want?" He asks, his voice low, and it's the softest you've heard it all night.

You look at him, at the messy hair, at the body who dyes his hair for a fictional character and hates wigs and complains about having to style his hair everyday and who buys you an abmormal amount of primogems, and probably would get you c6 r5 Lohen the minute he drops because he does that for every character, even when he gets jealous when you simp for a character that you don't just ask him to cosplay like any other logical person dating a cosplayer.

"Kuni," you say, and your voice is small and sure. "Just Kuni."

His mouth twitches, and you can see the shape of a smile trying to form before he catches it and pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin and pressing his lips to your hair.

"Good answer," he murmurs into your scalp, so quiet that you almost miss it.

You close your eyes, your face against the fabric of his shirt, and you're asleep before you can respond. He stays awake for a minute more, his hand moving through your hair in slow repetitive movements. He stares at the ceiling fan, and he doesn't say anything.

He doesn't need to.

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The thing about Caelus was that he seemed simple.

That was his whole deal. Simple creature. Simple needs. Food, warmth, proximity to you. He didn't ask for much, just whatever you were willing to give, and even then, he took it like a man receiving communion.

Example:

You gave him your old phone. He held it with both hands and pressed it to his chest. His eyes got wet.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you. I'll– I'll take such good care of it, I promise!"

"It's a phone, Caelus. Not a puppy." You sighed, rubbing your eyes sleepily, but when you opened them–

God, the way he looked at you.

Like you'd hung the moon. Like you'd personally reached into the sky and threaded it there on a string just for him. 

You gulped, cheeks suddenly feeling too hot.

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You thought he was asleep.

He was so still at night, so quiet, curled on the couch in your tiny living room like a contented animal. His breathing evened out within minutes of lying down. His tail stopped twitching. His ears went soft and relaxed.

You'd checked. Multiple times. Just to be sure.

So when you slipped into your bedroom on Saturday night and closed the door behind you, you didn't think twice. That day, you were wound tight. Work had been hell all week – deadlines and passive-aggressive emails and colleagues who seemed to exist solely to make your life difficult. So it’s only natural you needed some kind of ✨release✨ .

You'd bought the toy online three months ago, in a moment of lonely frustration after you broke up with that last dick of a boyfriend. It was silicone, curved just right, a deep purple that made you think of bruises and pleasure in equal measure. You stripped quickly and lay back on your bed with the toy in one hand and your phone in the other. 

The dildo slid in easily because you were already wet, had been wet since you started thinking about it on the walk home. You gasped at the stretch, the fullness, the way it pressed against that spot inside you that made your vision go blurry.

You thought about nothing and everything. You thought about golden eyes and warm hands and a voice that said please like a prayer.

An orgasm came fast, making your theeth sunk into your pillow, muffling a cry that wanted to be a name…

…not noticing the wet shlick shlick shlick sound behind your bedroom door.

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The cafe job was an accident. You'd mentioned it offhand, and Caelus'd latched onto it like a lifeline.

"I can work?" He scrambled closer, nearly tripping over his own tail. "And earn money?"

"It's not that exciting, trust me." You lowered your cup of coffee on the table.

The owners were a woman with hair the color of fire and a man with silver streaks at his temples and eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Himeko and Welt. They ran the place together, and they took one look at a newsboy cap that you gave him to hide his ears. Then exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Can you carry heavy things?" Himeko asked smoothly.

"Yes," Caelus answered immediately.

"Can you carry them without breaking them?"

A pause. "...Probably."

He got hired.

You promised yourself that the thing you felt when he beamed at the customers wasn't jealousy. 

Nononono! 

Why would you even feel something like that?

It was a concern. 

Caelus was naive and gullible, not used to human ways. You just wanted to make sure he was adjusting well to workplace dynamics, and that was why you came to pick him up.

The cafe was busy when you arrived. Students, remote workers, and couples were hunched over tables. You spotted Caelus immediately, weaving between chairs with a tray balanced precariously on one hand.

You found a spot near the counter and waited.

Caelus chose that moment to round the corner, tray empty, face flushed with exertion. He spotted you and his whole body changed – shoulders relaxing, smile widening, his whole frame tilting forward with an eagerness that made your chest do something complicated.

"You came," he said. "You came to see me."

"I came to–" You stopped and sighed, tired as usual. "Yeah. Okay. I came to see you."

You could see the movement of his tail wagging in one of his pants legs. The couple at the table glanced over, puzzled.

"You can sit," he said. "I have ten more minutes. Then we can walk home together."

He was gone before you could respond, weaving back into the crowd with that strange grace he had.

You watched him go.

"He's quite something." A man had appeared beside you. He was tall, silver-haired, sharp-boned, with eyes that seemed to see straight through skin. He was wearing a barista apron over an immaculate shirt, and his smile was polite, in fact, too polite for your liking.

"Sunday," he introduced himself. "I work here part-time. I don't think we've met."

"Nope, we haven't."

Sunday's smile didn't waver. He leaned close enough that you could smell his cologne, something too heavy and nothing like Caelus's warm musk.

"He's very attached to you," Sunday observed. "I've never seen anyone so... focused."

"He's just friendly."

"Is that what we're calling it?" A pause. His eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a second. "I understand. Hybrids can be... intense. We feel things deeply. Especially when we find someone worth feeling deeply about."

You blinked. "You're a hybrid?"

He inclined his head. A pair of wings unfurled at his nape, not fully though, just enough to catch the light. Feathers in shades of pearly white were beautiful and strange.

"Doves," he said. "My sister and I. We're rare in these parts."

"I–" You stared at the wings. They were stunning, honestly, delicate and charming.

"Want to touch them?" His smile deepened. "Go ahead. Most people want to."

You reached out. The feathers were impossibly soft, warm from his body, shifting slightly under your fingers. Sunday made a small sound and leaned into the touch just slightly. 

You pulled your hand back as if his wings burned you. Sunday's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. 

"I should, um…" You gestured vaguely toward the door.

"Of course." He straightened. "It was nice meeting you. I hope I'll see you again."

You nodded. Turned. Walked toward the door.

And suddenly, found Caelus blocking your path.

He was standing rigid, tray clutched in both hands, his face drained of color. His ears were flat, pressed against his skull like he was bracing for a blow. His pupils had thinned into oinpricks, making his eyes ominously gold.

His gaze was fixed on Sunday.

"Caelus–"

"We can go home now." His voice was unnaturally rough. "My shift is over."

His fingers wrapped around your pulse point and held on like you were the only thing keeping him upright. 

"Caelus, what?"

"Home." He tugged you toward the door. "Please. I need to– please."

Then you were outside, and he was walking so fast you had to half-run to keep up.

That evening, he didn't wish you a usual goodnight.

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You came home exhausted. Not normal exhausted, but fucking soul-deep level of exhausted. Your manager had screamed at you for an hour over a report that wasn't even yours. Your coworker had "accidentally" deleted your files. Someone had spilled coffee on your only clean shirt, and you'd spent the last three hours of your shift smelling like a burnt Starbucks.

You opened the door, wanting to just dive into your bed.

Dozens of candlelights were jammed onto plates, saucers, and a cereal bowl. Rose petals– wait… actually… Torn-up paper napkins dyed red with something were scattered across the floor. Something sultry, breathless, saxophone-heavy, and completely inappropriate for 7pm on a Tuesday was playing from your Bluetooth speaker.

And in the center of it all stood Caelus.

"Welcome home," he practically moaned, “honey~” 

You stared.

He was wearing… what the fuck was he wearing? 

Red lace. So much red lace. A see-through bra that did absolutely nothing to contain his chest, the underwire digging into his pectorals, the cups gaping where they were supposed to hold the fat. A garter belt attached to thigh-high stockings that had absolutely no business looking that scrumptious on his muscled legs. Panties that were catastrophically failing to contain the very obvious bulge straining against the red lace. On his neck, a collar of a slightly different red undertone glimmered. The leash attached to it swayed when he put his hand on his hip like a posing runway model. 

"Would you like dinner?" 

Caelus took a step closer. 

“A bath?” 

Another step. 

“Or–” 

“What in the Bad TikTok thirst traps is that?” You stopped him, thinning your lips into a narrow line.

“I dressed for you…” his voice wavered slightly, "like in those movies. Where the wife wears something pretty for her husband, and they are very happy to see each other." Caelus stepped forward again, and your traitorous gaze flew to the apex of his thighs. His cock slipped out from the side of those flimsy lace panties and bobbed against his thigh, flushed and leaking, the tip shiny with a bead of precum. He didn’t notice that. Or maybe he did, but was too far gone to care because his breathing had already gone shallow and needy, like even standing there in front of you was winding him up beyond reason.

"I could be your wife," he whispered, and his small fangs flashed when his lower lip caught between his teeth, "If you wanted. I could cook for you. I mean, badly at first, but with devotion. I could fold your laundry. I could sit in your lap while you complained about work..."

Your brain short-circuited.

"I could be good," his thighs flexed, red stockings catching the candlelight, making your mouth water. "I could be so good for you. I'd do anything–"

He was standing in front of you, wearing lingerie that was actively failing to contain him, trembling like a leaf, begging you with every fiber of his being.

And God help you, you wanted to fold immediately and take everything he was offering, gift-wrapped and presented like the tastiest dish. But sadly, at birth, you had been afflicted with the debilitating disease known as rational thinking, so...

"Caelus," you managed instead, "s-stop." 

His face crumpled. "Why? You hate it?"

"I– no, I don't– that's not– why are you wearing–" You pressed both hands to your face and counted to ten while breathing deeply. When you looked up, he hadn't moved, still standing there, still half-hard, still trembling, his tail wrapped tight around his ankle.

"Caelus."

"Yes?" Instantly. Like he'd been waiting for his name in your mouth all evening.

"Why are you wearing… this?"

“It’s lingerie,” he muttered, with the confidence of a man presenting Exhibit One in a court case he thought he was absolutely winning. “I looked it up. Humans wear it to attract mates. To show they want to be taken.”

"You're not trying to– you don't need to attract anything!"

"But I want you to want me!" His voice broke on the last word, leaving something raw and bleeding underneath. "I want you to look at me the way you look at– at your laptop, when you think I'm not watching. I want you to touch me. I want you to–"

His cock twitched, a fresh bead of precum sliding down the shaft, and you watched it like you were hypnotised.

"I want you to want me," he finished. "The way I want you."

The silence stretched. Somewhere behind him, your Bluetooth speaker crackled and changed tracks with all the gravitas of a cheap porno trying to become a religious experience.

"Caelus," you said, "I don't know what you saw on my laptop, but–"

"It was the story about the girl in red and a werewolf..."

You choked. 

Oh nonononono– 

“And the one about the photographer and the lion guy…” 

Shit–

"And the one about the fisher girl and the merman…”

Fuck, he’d found that as well?!

“And the one with two bulls and–"

"Okay!" you yelled, face burning. "Okay, I get it, you went through my Mumblr notes!"

"I just wanted to understand." His voice was earnest. "I wanted to know what you liked. What made you breathe like that..." His expression turned painfully needy. "What made you touch yourself when you thought I was asleep." His cheeks were red enough to light the room, but he kept going with suicidal courage. "You always think I'm asleep," he said quietly. "But I'm not. I'm always listening. I always know when you cum on that silicone fucking thing–"

"C-caelus–"

"What did I do wrong?" he whispered. "I looked up everything. I wanted it to be perfect for you. I wanted you to come home and see me and feel happy!" 

You looked at him. At this ridiculous, pathetic, endearing creature standing in front of you, wearing lingerie too small, his cock hanging out, his eyes full of tears and desperate hope. Caelus stared back like you'd reached into his chest and squeezed his heart in your fist. His hands lifted, then stopped in midair, hovering a few inches from your waist as if even touching you without permission would be too much. That hesitation hurt more than anything else had.

You dropped your gaze to the floor because guilt rose so fast it made you nauseous.

“You don’t have to pay me with your body, Caelus,” you said quietly. The words came out wrong from the moment they left your mouth, but you couldn’t stop them. They kept coming, clumsy and awful and born from every ugly fear you had. “I’m not that kind of human.” You tried to gulp down the bile in your throat, while he froze, awestruck.

“...What?...”

“You don’t need to repay me for staying here,” you went on, hating yourself more with every syllable. “Not with money, not with your body, not with any of this. You don’t owe me anything. So please, just go change, and we can forget–”

“Forget?”

He said it so faintly you almost didn’t hear him. When you looked up, his face had changed.

“How,” Caelus said, and his voice shook so hard he had to stop and try again, “how are you managing to be that stupid while being that smart?” His brows were pulled tight, his mouth trembling in a hard line he couldn’t hold. “I’m not doing this because I think I have to! I’m not doing this because you fed me, or let me stay, or because I think I owe you some kind of price for your kindness.” His chest rose sharply. “Is that really what you think of me? That I would come to you like this because I thought that was what you were owed?”

The embarrassment in his voice was gone. So was the breathless hope. In their place was hurt so profound it had curdled into anger just to survive being felt.

“I did this because I want you,” he said, and now there was no performance left in him at all. “I want you so badly it makes me feel sick sometimes. I want you when you’re half-asleep on the couch, and your head keeps falling to one side. I want you when you come home tired. I want you when you’re making coffee. I want you when you’re reading. I want you when you are grumpy in the morning. I want you when you don’t even know I’m looking.”

His throat moved around a swallow that didn’t seem to help.

“So I thought maybe if I made it easy for you,” he said, softer now, ashamed of the softness but unable to hide it, “if I made it obvious, if I made myself into something you could want without having to think too hard about it. Then maybe...”

Your hands came up before you could think better of it.

His cheeks were warm under your touch, and the second you cuppedthem, something in his expression gave way. The anger vanished. The hurt remained, but now it was joined by something frightened and fragile and disbelieving, as though he had been preparing himself to be pushed away and did not know what to do with gentleness instead.

In a second, your lips crashed into his. It was desperate, but it was the only possible answer to all that pain in his voice.  

Caeius made a sound against your mouth that you felt more than heard, something high and broken and disbelieving. For one heartbeat, he didn’t move at all, like he genuinely couldn’t believe this was happening, like if he did anything too quickly you might disappear. But when you parted your lips against his, letting him kiss you back fully, he broke. One hand slid up your back as if to reassure himself you were still there. His fangs scraped your lower lip. His breath shuddered hot into your mouth. His tail wound around your thigh so tightly it was possessive. He kissed like someone who had spent too long being careful, too long being patient, too long trying to survive on scraps of affection and accidental touches. 

"I don't want to mess this up," he gasped against your mouth. "I don't want to– if you don't actually want– I can stop, I can always stop, just tell me and I'll–"

"I don't want you to stop."

He went very still.

"Say it again," he whispered. "Please. Say it again." His forehead knocked against yours, dazed. “Please...”

"I don't want you to stop, Caelus."

His lips found yours again, this time softer. His thumb traced your cheekbone. His tail tightened around your thigh. His hips rocked forward once before he caught himself, flushing violently when he realized what he'd done.

"The bed." You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Or the floor. I don't– I can't think straight when you're looking at me like that."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like I'm the only thing in the world worth looking at."

"That's because you are," he whispered. "The only thing. The only thing worth anything. The only thing I want to look at for the rest of my life."

Scooping you into his arms with startling ease, he carried you toward the bedroom, all restless urgency and careful hands. The moment he tossed you onto the mattress, the soft sheets dipped beneath your weight, warm lamplight catching on the buttons of your shirt. Your fingers went to them automatically. Even with your pulse sprinting and every reckless instinct in you begging to just rip the thing apart, you worked each button loose with care.

Because desire was one thing, and buying new clothes in this economy was another.

Caelus, meanwhile, landed near you with a breathless oof, rolling to his back immediately, making himself comfortable on your sheets. You swung a leg over his thighs and settled there, pinning him in place with a look that made him go still.

"If you want sex," you said, saddling his thighs, "we do it my pace."

He nodded so hard that those stupidly soft raccoon ears flopped as if they might fly right off his head. "Yes. Yes. Anything!"

You slid one hand down his chest, over the fucking ridiculous muscles he'd somehow packed onto that lanky frame, to wrap around the base of his cock.

Caelus shuddered and made a sound like you'd punched the air out of him. His whole body went rigid, then desperate shakes traveled from his ears all the way down to the tip of his twitching tail.

The thing was heavy in your palm. Thick and veined and already leaking like a broken faucet, the head flushed an angry red. His slit was gaping slightly, practically drooling precome onto your fingers, sticky and warm. The musky, salt-tinged scent of him intensified, flooding your senses and making your mouth water. You could see it pulse against your fingers, and something hungry curled in your stomach at the sight of him so undone by just your touch.

"Good boy."

The words barely left your mouth before his cock jerked violently in your grip. The first spurt landed on your wrist, thick and warm. The second painted your fingers, and the third shot clean over your hand to land on his own stomach. It kept coming, wave after wave of pearly white come. You felt the veins beneath your fingers throbbing in time with each spasm. 

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck–" His hips bucked helplessly into your grip, riding it out, more come splashing against your fingers, dripping down your wrist, absolutely coating your hand in thick strands. It was so much, and still his cock pulsed, still he spilled, like his body had been saving up for this moment for weeks. It pooled in the dips of his muscles, slid down the ridges of his abs, absolutely ruining the sheets beneath him. A final pulse pushed out a last drop that clung to his slit like a pearl, and you watched it tremble there, connected by the thinnest thread to the mess on his stomach.

"I think, uh…" he gasped, voice cracking, "I think I saw God."

You lifted your hand to your mouthslowly, mesmerised by the pretty shimmer, and licked a stripe up the side of your palm. The taste exploded on your tongue – bitter salt with an undertone of something musky and uniquely him. Not good exactly, but intoxicating because it was his. You deliberately dragged your tongue between your fingers, cleaning the mess, watching his eyes track every movement with glassy fascination. 

"You came."

His ears flattened. His cheeks flushed darker, red spreading down his neck, across his chest, almost matching the red bra he wore. His tail was trapped between his legs, the tip curling inward like he was trying to make himself smaller. Lacy bra had shifted during his scramble, one nipple peeking out from beneath the fabric, hard and begging for attention.

"I– yes."

"From me grabbing your ears and saying 'Good boy'?"

His cock, still half-hard despite everything, gave a pathetic little twitch against his thigh, leaking a fresh bead of precome onto the ruined lace.

"‘M sorry.."

He looked up at you with those big golden eyes, ears perked forward, tail giving an uncertain little wag against the sheets. Like a dog hoping for a treat. 

"You're just so pretty," he breathed, "r-really pretty. Like unfairly pretty. Like if ‘pretty’ was a person, it would be embarrassed because you're prettier than it."

Your panties came out in a second with a desperate rkkkk that signaled them turning into a useless piece of fabric. The crotch was absolutely soaked through – a dark patch in the center that had spread to the seams, and when you tossed them aside, they landed on the floor with a wet slap. 

You crawled up him, and his eyes tracked your every movement with hopeful hunger. When you positioned yourself over his face, he whimpered eagerly, his hands coming up immediately to grip your thighs.

"Three taps on my thigh when you need to breeaa–," you didn't manage to finish because Caelus pulled you down onto his mouth with no hesitation. His nose pressed flush against your clit, pushing up the hood to reveal the throbbing bundle of nerves as he licked and sucked and devoured, his breath coming in desperate pants against your wetness. 

You were so wet you could hear the obscene wet sounds of his tongue sliding through your folds. His nose bumped your clit with every movement, and you rocked against him, grinding down, using his face like the best fucktoy there was while he moaned in approval, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises.

"You taste like–" he gasped against you, pulling back just long enough to speak, his face absolutely drenched, your wetness dripping from his chin, "–like if heaven had a flavor it would be your cunt. Like–"

"Less talking, more licking."

"Yes, ma'am." Caelus dove back in with renewed enthusiasm, his tongue curling, dipping inside you, and you felt your thighs start to shake. He speared his tongue into your entrance as deep as it would go, curling up to stroke your front wall, and you saw stars. 

"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back, the ceiling swimming above you.

His hands traveled up and wrapped around your waist, urging you to press more weight on his face, fingers digging into flesh like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go– 

Then you glanced back.

His cock was pulsing against his stomach, untouched, but spilling again. Thick ropes of come painted his abs, his chest, the stupid lace bra still stretched over his peaked nipples. This time it was slower. Almost lazy pulses that oozed rather than shot, spreading in thick puddles across his skin. His hips bucked mindlessly, fucking the air, and he didn't even seem to notice, too focused on eating you out, too desperate to make you feel good, too lost in your taste to realize he was coming.

"Jesus Christ," you breathed, the orgasm receding slightly as shock took its place.

"Mmfff–" he moaned against your cunt, not stopping, not even pausing, his tongue still working you like his life depended on it.

"You came again," you cooed, lifting up to look down at him, "before me."

Caelus froze. Pulled back just enough to look up at you with panicked eyes. His face was flushed red, soaked with your wetness and his own drool, tears already gathering at the corners of his eyes. His lips were swollen, shiny with you, and there was a strand of your wetness connecting his lower lip to your swollen clit, stretching thin before breaking.

"I– I'm sorry– I couldn't control it when you– and you're just so you and my body doesn't know how to handle it–"

"Pervert."

His face crumpled. His ears flattened so hard they almost disappeared into his hair.

"I thought you wanted to make me feel good," you continued. "But you're just using me to get off, aren't you? Coming untouched while I'm aching– "

"No!" He sat up so fast you nearly fell off. His hands grabbed your hips, steadying you on his hips, his eyes frantic and wet. "No, I want to make you feel good! I want it more than anything! I've been thinking about it for days since I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself,” your eyes opened wide at that last sentence because what the fuck? But Caelus continued.

“I watched you use this false cock– watched you bite your lip to stay quiet, watched your back arch, watched your thighs shake, and I wanted to be the one making you do that so bad it hurt– "

Maybe there was something wrong with you, but upon hearing this creepy confession, more wetness gushed out of you. A fresh wave of slick coated your inner thighs, warm and abundant, and you felt it dripping onto his lap where he held you. His cock, still half-hard and messy, twitched against your skin, smearing his come against your thigh. His tongue darted out, licking his lips, chasing your taste.

"You stalked me?" you asked slowly.

"I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. You're so beautiful when you come… The way your back arches, the way your mouth opens, the way you bite your lip to stay quiet. The way your thighs clamp together. I've jerked off to you so many times I lost count. I know the exact sound you make when you're close. I know how long it takes you. I know you like to use that pink vibrating toy first and then switch to the purple cock…"

"Stop," you breathed, but it came out wanting, your cunt clenching rhythmically around nothing at his words.

"But you're literally dripping onto my lap right now. You like that I watched you. You like that I'm obsessed with you."

"You broke into my kitchen."

"I broke into your kitchen because that night you cried and curled into a small ball after you came. You were lonely, and my heart hurt so bad for you. I watched you sob into your pillow, watched you hug yourself, watched you fall asleep still sniffling, and I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand that you were sad and alone, and I wasn't there to hold you.”

You stared at him.

Caelus stared back, that stupid smug smile still on his face, come drying on his stomach, lace stretched over his muscles, ears perked forward like he'd won something.

"Y-you're insane," you said.

"Maybe…" He leaned in, nosed at your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "If you want me to leave, I'll leave. I'll crawl back out that window and go back to the woods and jerk off thinking about you for the rest of my life. But you don't want me to leave, aren’t you?" His tongue darted out, licking a stripe up your neck, lips close to your  "You want me to stay."

"I want you to–"

"To what?" Another lick. His hands slid down your back, stroking your waist. "Tell me. Say it. I need to hear you say it."

"I want you to fuck me, okay?" Your voice broke. "I want you inside me. I've been thinking about it since you showed up in my kitchen with those big pathetic eyes and that stupid tail and– and those ears, and that face– "

His lips slammed into yours, tongue immediately forcing its way in. He tasted like your cunt, like desperation and need and everything you'd been craving. And when Caelus finally pulled back, the only thing you managed was…

"Fuck me."

You could see how his eyes went blank, his mouth dropped open, his ears perked forward so hard they quivered.

"...What?"

"You heard me." You rolled off his lap onto your back, and spread your legs, fingers finding your own clit, spreading your lips to show him exactly what he was getting, glistening and ready. 

Caelus moved so fast you barely saw it happen. One second he was staring at your face, looking confused. The next he was leaning over you with his cock pressing against your entrance, the tip nudging through your wet folds, already sliding in the slickness there.

"Wait," you warned, suddenly remembering one important thing.

He froze. "What? Why?"

"Condom. Nighstand, top drawer."

"Oh!" He scrambled for the nightstand, yanked open the drawer, grabbed a condom, and then paused, looking at you awkwardly. "Um…"

"What?"

"I, uh." He held up the wrapper like some kind of complex puzzle. "I don't... know how to put these on. I've never– I mean, I've watched videos, but.."

You stared at him. "You don't know how to put on a condom?"

"In my defense," he said, his cheeks flushing, "the videos I watched skipped that part. And I fucked but without–"

"Give it here!"

You yoinked the wrapper from his hand, tore it open with your teeth, and reached for his cock. He was thick and heavy in your hand, hot and pulsing, the skin velvety soft over the rigid hardness. Precum beaded at the tip, and you swiped your thumb through it, spreading the slickness, making him whimper.

"Hold still," you commanded, your voice leaving no room for argument.

Caelus barely did. His whole body was shaking with the effort of not moving, muscles trembling, thighs quivering, as you rolled the condom down his length, smoothing it over every ridge, every vein. By the time you finished, there were tears in his eyes.

You rolled onto your stomach and grabbed the pillow, hugging it while perching your ass up, presenting your wet pussy to his hungry gaze. You could feel yourself gaping slightly, your folds spread, your entrance clenching around nothing, begging to be filled. 

"If you come as soon as you get inside me," you said, turning your head to look at him "I will never let you live it down."

"I won't," he promised, already hovering over you, his tip grazing your wet slit, "I'll be good."

He pushed in.

And god.

Caelus was thick, so much thicker than your toys, than your fingers, than anything you'd ever taken. The initial penetration made your eyes water from the sheer intensity of being so completely filled. Your inner walls clamped down on him instinctively, trying to accommodate the intrusion, and you felt every vein, every pulse, every twitch of his cock as he seated himself fully inside you. 

When his pelvis finally pressed against your ass, he was buried to the hilt, and you could feel him in your throat, in your chest, in the very core of your being. The stretch burned, but it was the good kind of burn, the kind that made your eyes roll back, and your toes curl. 

Caelus stared at you. At your tears. At the way your body was clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper. At the way your cunt was weeping around his cock, soaked and welcoming, creaming around his base.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice cracking. "Fuckfuckfuck– You're s-so tight. So wet. So perfect. Like your cunt was made for me." 

"S-shit," you gasped, your fingers gripping the pillow so hard your knuckles went white. "Caelus–"

He froze immediately. "Did I hurt you? Should I stop? I can stop, I'll stop, just tell me– "

"If you stop, I will fucking kill you."

A change came over his face. Something feral. Something hungry. Something that made the animal in him take over. That made your stomach flip with want.

"...You like it," he breathed.

"L-love it…"

Caelus moved a little, regaining that little dominance he had. Just a rock of his hips, grinding deeper, and you screamed into the pillow. Your toes curled. Your back arched. You could feel him in your throat, in your teeth, in your bones, like every nerve ending in your body was focused on the place where he filled you.

"There it is," he moaned. "That's– that's the sound you make when you're close. I know that sound. I've been dreaming of that sound."

His hips fell into the rhythm, pounding into you with single-minded focus, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. 

The bed creaked beneath you. The headboard banged against the wall. You didn't care, not when he was filling you like this, owning you like this, fucking you like you were made for him.

"You feel so good," he gasped. "A-ah fuckfuckfuck I can’t–"

"Yes you can!" You reached back, grabbing his hip, pulling him deeper, your nails digging into his skin. "You will! You're going to fuck me until I come, and then you're going to keep fucking me until I come again and again!"

Something in him snapped completely.

Gone was the shy version of him that fumbled with the condom wrapper. All pretense of control, all gentleness, all restraint – gone. His hips pounded into you, relentless and desperate, driving into you like a man possessed, and you screamed into the pillow, your voice raw and wrecked. Your cunt clamped down on him like a vice, rippling and spasming around his cock. Colors bloomed behind your eyelids, bright and overwhelming. Your toes curled so hard they cramped, your feet locking up. Your entire body shook with the force of your orgasm, tremors wracking you from head to toe.

And Caelus kept going.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, yes, fuck– you're coming on my cock, you're– I can feel you clenching, it's so good, you're so good– you're perfect, you're everything, you're– "

He fucked you through it, pounding into your oversensitive cunt with animalistic need. You sobbed as he destroyed you, tears and drool soaking the pillow, your body no longer your own.

"I love you," he gasped. "I love you so much. I've loved you since the moment i saw you singing in the kitchen! Since you swung that pink bat at me. Since you told me I could stay– "

Caelus pounded into you harder, faster, deeper. His cock hit that spot with every thrust, and you felt yourself climbing again, felt that pressure building, felt your cunt clenching around him in desperate anticipation.

"I'm gonna come again," you gasped.

"Come," he growled. "Come on my cock. Come for me. Let me feel it. Let me–"

You came with a scream that ripped your throat raw, that probably woke the neighbors, that you'd be embarrassed about tomorrow, but tonight was pure abandon. 

You felt him pulsing inside you, felt the condom fill with his release, felt him spill in hot pulses, felt him collapsing on top of you. You could see his face in your peripheral vision – eyes rolled back, mouth opened, and tongue lolled out in ecstasy, drool sliding down his chin. Some of it landed on your shoulder, and you smiled, broken and perfect, as he kept rutting mindlessly into your cunt, chasing the last spasms of his own pleasure.

For a moment, there was only breathing. Only the sound of two hearts racing, two bodies trembling, two souls connecting in a way you hadn't expected.

Then Caelus moved.

"Okay," he mumbled against your neck. "Round two."

"W-what?!” You lifted your head, glaring back at Caelus. “You just came!"

"And?" He pulled out, already reaching for the nightstand. "I’m part raccoon, so I have animal stamina." He grabbed another condom. Tore it open with his teeth while you watched, his eyes never leaving your face, golden and hungry. Rolled it down his length clumsily, fumbling in his haste. Then he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your back. His hands found your legs, and positioned them around his ribcage, folding you in half. You leglocked him immediately, heels digging into his back.

There was no resistance this time. Caelus slid in easily, too easily, and the feeling of being filled again so soon made your eyes roll back. He was still wearing that stupid, beautiful lingerie, lace stretched taut over his muscles, and you reached up to grab his pecs, fingers finding his nipples over the bralette.

Caelus yowled, and his hips slammed into you so hard you stopped breathing for a second. 

"Yes! M-more! I like everything you do. I like the way you breathe. I like the way you move. I like the way you frown–"

To that, you decided that he talked too much. Also, in your defence, the leash was right there, in your face, tickling your cheek like an invitation, practically begging to be used. So you grabbed it and pulled.

Caelus followed instantly, collapsing onto you, his chest pressing against yours. The lace of his bra rubbed against your nipples, making your back arch in a chase of that roughness. You could feel his heart pounding against your ribs, feel his breath hot on your neck, feel his cock driving into you deeper now, reaching places you didn't know existed. He was everywhere, in you, on you, around you, owning you. His hands found the back of your head, tangled in your hair. His eyes devoured you, memorizing the pattern of pure bliss on your face. His mouth found your neck, sucking hard, marking you, and you felt yourself cumming already, spasming around him helplessly.

"Mine," he growled against your skin. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"I'm–" Your voice broke on a moan, "yours!"

"And I'm yours," he breathed, his voice softening even as his hips kept moving. "Forever. Always. Completely. You're stuck with me. You can't get rid of me now. I'll never leave. I'll never stop wanting you. I'll never–" Caelus came with a broken shout, groaning right into your ears, his whole body shuddering, spilling into the condom, and you thought that might be it.

Ha, well…

The moment he finished, he was hard again, ready again, needing again. He pulled out, disposed of the condom, and was holding a new silver square. 

"No," you whimpered, pussy gaping needily.

"Yes," he murmured, already tearing it open with his teeth.

When you woke up what felt like minutes later, Caelus was already hard again, already pressing against your thigh, already nosing between your legs with sleepy need, kissing on your well-used pussy. Your sore hole was twitching painfully whenever he pressed a kiss.

"Mmm," he mumbled against your clit. "Need you."

"D-did you even sleep?" You didn’t recognise your voice.

"Slept a little. Dreamed of you. Woke up hard. Standard operating procedure at this point."

"You're insatiable," you muttered.

"Raccoons," he said, like that explained everything, and buried his face between your thighs. His tongue was gentler now. He licked through your folds like he was savouring you, memorizing you, learning every inch of you by heart. His nose pressed against your clit, and you whimpered, oversensitive and desperate.

"Shh," he murmured against you. "I've got you. I'll take care of you. I'll spend the rest of my life taking care of you. "

"Caelus, I need–" You grabbed his hair, made him look at you. His eyes were soft, worshipful, full of so much love it made your chest ache. "I need sleep and water. I need to be able to walk to the bathroom without crying."

"Oh." His ears drooped. "Okay, I'm sorry." He gestured vaguely at you, at himself, at the absolute disaster of the bed. "You're just–”

The melody of your phone rang, cutting him off in the middle of his endless banter.

You groaned and rolled onto your belly, reaching for it blindly. The movement made more fluids leak out of you, dripping down your thigh, and you heard Caelus moan behind you. To your own mental anguish, you saw your boss's name on the screen.

"Oh god," you whispered.

Caelus, crawling up your body and pressing his weight into you, raised an eyebrow, looking at the screen. "Who is Mr. Dumbfuck?"

"My boss."

His eyes narrowed, and he pressed his face to the side of yours, staring hatefully at the screen. "The one who emails you late? The one who 'needs to see you in his office' for 'private discussion'?" He made air quotes with one hand, his voice dripping with jealousy. "That boss? The one who definitely has a thing for you?"

"Caelus–"

"Answer it." His voice turned sharp. 

"That's– that's so fucked up–"

"But your pussy’s twitching." His voice was smug as he rubbed his cock between your ass cheeks, the head catching on your slick folds, sliding through the mess there. "I can feel it. You're literally dripping."

You hit accept.

“Ah, good morning, dear!” The voice of your boss was uncharacteristically sad, and Caelus growled at the pet name.

"H-hello!" you managed, your voice wrecked.

"Um… I was calling you to ask why you are late, but now I hear that you sound–"

"Sick!" you yelped quickly. "Real sick! Fever! Can't– can't make it in!"

While you tried to form coherent sentences about being too sick to come in, Caelus pushed forward just an inch, just the tip, and you felt your walls flutter around him, trying to pull him deeper. You shook your head frantically, but he seemed to ignore it, keeping pushing inside you slowly, stretching you open while you tried to keep your voice steady on the phone. Your cunt gripped him like it never wanted to let go, clenching down on every ridge, every thick inch, trying to milk him deeper. You could feel every vein, every ridge, every inch of him as he filled you, could feel your inner walls parting to accommodate his girth, could feel the slight burn of the stretch that made tears prick at your eyes. You had to bite your lip to keep from moaning. He paused, waiting, his breath hot against your neck.

"Yeah, I think I caught something," you said into the phone, pussy full of fat cock. "Probably gonna be down for–"

Caelus chose that exact moment to thrust deep enough to make you gasp. The wet plap resonated through the bedroom, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the moan.

"You okay?" your boss asked.

"F-fine!" Your voice cracked. "Just– cough. Bad cough. It's– it's really aggressive. The cough. Very aggressive. Keeps– keeps coming back."

Caelus's tail was wagging against your leg. With your peripheral vision, you could see that the bastard was grinning, his pupils blown wide, his face flushed with pleasure and possession. One of his hands slid down your stomach, between your legs, fingers finding your clit and circling with vicious precision. The other hand gripped your breast, nipple trapped between his pointer and middle finger, holding you in place as he pulled out almost fully before sinking back in, each thrust deep, designed to make you fall apart.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

"So um… are you gonna need tomorrow to rest or…" The speaker went silent, and you breathed in some air to form an answer.

"Yeah, tomorrow as well," you whimpered, voice comically high. "Definitely tomorrow. Just need to rest! Lots of rest. Fluids. You know. Bed rest. Strict bed rest. Can't even–ah–can't even sit up."

Caelus mouthed at your neck, sucking sloppily, adding to the canvas of marks that adorned your body. His fingers kept circling your clit, keeping you right on the edge while he rocked his hips into your poor cunt. Each thrust pushed a broken little sound past your lips that you desperately tried to morph into coughs.

"Actually," your boss said, "if you're that sick, I could stop by. Bring you some soup. Check on you. Make sure you're… comfortable and taken care of."

The moment those words left the speaker, Caelus froze on top of you. You glanced at his face and felt your stomach drop. His eyes had gone completely golden, pupils narrowing into pinpricks. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a scowl. A low, rumbling growl started in his chest, vibrating through his body into yours, and his grip on your breast tightened hard enough to bruise.

"No!" you said, too quickly. "No, that's– that's not necessary. Really. I'm fine. I mean, I'm not fine, I'm sick, but I'm– I'm taken care of! M-my roommate is here!"

"Your roommate?" Your boss's voice sharpened. "I didn't know you had a roommate."

"Recent development! I'm in good hands!"

Caelus chose that moment to whisper right into the fucking speaker, "In the best hands." His hips snapped forward harder, punctuating the words, driving his cock so deep you saw pearly gates.

Your boss went silent, while you wanted to die.

"Was that–" your boss started.

"That was– uhh… that was–" You scrambled. "The TV! I’m watching a nature documentary. About– about raccoons. They're very territorial. Very possessive–"

Caelus pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, the head of his cock hitting your cervix, and your fingers spasmed, forcing you to drop the phone onto the sheets.

"You still there?" your boss asked, while you were drooling into the mattress, absolutely not there at all. Your eyes were rolled back. Your tongue was hanging out. You were pretty sure you'd stopped breathing. Caelus leaned over you, pressing flush against your backside, and reached for your phone.

"Hello?" he said, his voice bright and cheerful, even as his hips kept moving, hungrily pressing his cock closer to your cervix. You wheezled, praying to all gods, trying to take the phone from his hands weakly. Caelus just shoved your hands away. "Yeah, she's really sick. Can't talk right now. She's, uh– she's throwing up..."

You could hear your boss sputtering on the other end.

"Anyway!" Caelus continued cheerfully, grinning down at your nape as you were very busy holding onto the sheets for dear life. "I've got her. She's in good hands." He pounded deep, making the bed slam against the wall. "So if you could just– not come over? Thanks! Bye!"

He ended the call and dropped the phone, and the moment it hit the mattress, he lost it.

"Nature documentary?" He was laughing too, even as he kept thrusting into you, his bare cock sliding against your bare walls with no barrier, no protection, just raw, devastating friction.

"And you told my boss I was throwing up!"

"But you were making sounds! Also, my brain is not exactly functioning at full capacity– "

"I was making sex sounds!"

"Well, Mr. Dumbfuck doesn't know that!" Another thrust, deeper this time. His balls slapped against your clit again, and you screamed into the pillow.

"Oh god," you gasped into the pillow as your pussy spasmed painfully. You could feel your orgasm building, coiling in your gut like a spring about to snap. Your toes curled. Your fingers gripped the sheets so hard your knuckles went white.

"Not god," he murmured against your ear, his chest pressing against your back, his tail thrashing. "Just Caelus."

"You’re insatiable!"

"Yeah." He kissed your shoulder. "But you like it. I can feel how much you like it. Your pussy's gripping me so tight, like it never wants me to leave."

"M-maybe it doesn't."

You felt him go completely still inside you with his cock buried to the hilt, his breath caught in his throat, his entire body rigid with tension.

"...What?" he whispered.

You turned your head and looked back at him over your shoulder. His eyes were huge, golden, vulnerable in a way you'd never seen before. His ears were perked forward, desperate and hopeful. His tail had stopped moving entirely, frozen mid-wag.

"I said," you repeated slowly, "maybe it doesn't want you to leave. Maybe I don't want you to leave. Maybe I want you here, in my bed, every night."

"But I'm a stalker," he said, his voice small. "I broke into your kitchen! I’m half raccoon! I’m a freak!"

"You're just mine." You reached back, grabbed his hip, pulled him closer, and Caelus snuggled his front to your back, hands flying to put his palms over yours. "And I'm yours, if you can handle the anger and the sarcasm and the way I'll probably threaten you with that pink bat at least once a week." Your hips pressed back into his, and he nuzzled into your hair blissfully.

"Once a week?" His smile came back, slow and beautiful. "I was hoping for daily."

"Don't push it."

"Never." He kissed you again, soft and reverent, even as his hips started moving once more, now gently, rubbing against your sweet spot so good your body went liquid.

"I love you. I love you so much it scares me."

"I love you too." And with that, you thumbed over the edge, weakly clenching and relaxing under him. Your orgasm rolled through you like a wave, starting in your core and spreading outward until your whole body was shaking with it. Your cunt clamped down on his cock weakly, milking him, pulling him deeper, and you felt him swell inside you, felt his hips stutter, felt his control snap. Your heavy lids closed, and you just let him chase his own orgasm, completely blissed out.

Caelus laughed, bright and joyful, his tail wagging against your leg as he spilled inside, painting your walls with white. It was a smaller amount than before, but you felt the first hot pulse of his release flooding your insides–

Wait, what? 

"Condom," you gasped. "Caelus, the condom-!"

"...Ran out," he mumbled, his voice dazed, drunk on you. "We used them all, but I couldn't stop. Please don't be mad… "

You couldn't even respond. Your brain was absolutely fried, reduced to nothing. Your eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. Every thought you'd ever had had been fucked out of you hours ago. 

And then, finally, beautifully, you felt yourself slipping with the last thought, which was:

I am so fucked.

Heh, literally and figuratively, babe~

.

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Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

Prev. part: Pride Rock (Hard) (LionHybrid!JingYuan x fem!reader)

Next part: WIP

Fun fact: I had to delete a lot from the part before the smut because it was getting too long. So yeah, sorry if the plot feels a little dry :c

Also, I know I haven’t been posting much lately, but I have a lot of deadlines, including my diploma... Yeah, I’m fucked cuz I haven’t even started yet, and I’m writing this instead. Eehhh, pray for me, yall

My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @fayebyte, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @damarezen, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai, @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, @neuvilletteclearwater, @msmumufufu, @solarrandom, @strawberrybunnyjolie @helloweebsofgenshin @katzline, @kellyyn02 @aymands @whatasillyguy ...

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"... Somethin' strong." The man answered after a moment of thinking about it, his eyes never leaving your figure.

You raise an eyebrow at his almost exhausted tone, not only that but the way he looked at you in return. I weren't sure if you label him as another pervert or a drunk fuck just yet. Nevertheless, you turned to fix him a drink. "It ain't even noon, and you're already having a bad day?" You shot back,

"Eh, something like that."

The Saloon fell quiet once more, with the exception of the sound of alcohol hitting the glass. You took the moment to glance at him once more, assessing; his long dark wavy hair, his equally dark eyes that were shadowed by the rim of his hat. If you were better off, you'd probably send him away just with how suspicious he looked, but then again you were confident in your ability to handle yourself. You've made it this far afterall, and more importantly, money is money.

You skillfully slid the drink over to him, and hummed your usual two cents, "Well, chin up, no point in sulking all day."

You watch him raise the glass to his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing with the few large gulps he took. After, he set the drink back down and let out a sigh, almost as if that drink was exactly what he needed, before he smirks, his voice low, "Yeah? Well, ain't you a sweet thing? Worrying about me."

You ruffled at the comment. You couldn't even tell if he was being sarcastic or making a sorry attempt to flirt with you.

You were about to shoot back with a comment of your own when you heard shouting from outside. It sounded like faint arguing; something along the lines of, "I haven't seen anything!" "Don't lie!"

Your body tenses up at the commotion; something wasn't right.

As troublesome this small town was to you, you've never dealt with anything too serious, aside from dealing with romantic advances from old drunks. But looking out the window it looked like the local sheriff and other town folk were outside, and that was bad news to me.

"Shit." You hear the man grumble, kissing his teeth in annoyance rather than urgency. Paying no mind to the chaos outside, he looks at you rather calmly, "You got somewhere I can lay low for a bit?"

Your head whips back to the cowboy, confusion written all over your face. You couldn't comprehend how he could be so calm, and more importantly how he could ask something like that right now. Your thoughts were running a mile a minute, and before you could even think whether or not you should even answer, he was already moving.

"Hey! Y-you hold on-" Your voice was swiftly cut short, his hand grabs a whole of your wrist, (as if you BOTH had somewhere to be) his gaze fixed on his goal: the closest right behind the Saloon's bar table. To him it was the perfect place to hide out until the authorities gave up their search. To you, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Next thing you knew your chest was pressed against his, as you were pulled onto his lap in the dimly lit storage closet, far too small for both of you to get some space from each other. You could smell the sharp scent of alcohol clinging onto him along with a faint smell of dirt and grass.

You open your mouth, only to get cut off once again, with him squeezing your thigh, his expression focused on the closet door ahead, listening carefully. If you strained your ears enough you could hear the continuation of shouts from outside over the sound of your own combined heart beats and breathing.

The close proximity you found yourself in was unlike anything you've ever experienced. You have been able to de-escalate bar fights and subtly protect others in your own way, but this... this finally answered what you should be labeling him as,

He finally had enough of listening for the source of this predicament and glazed back down at you, with a lazy smirk, "So, I guess we're stuck here for a while."

Yeah he was definitely a pervert.

Your eyes narrowed onto him, clearly he wasn't as stressed about the situation at hand more than he probably should. Even worse was that you got roped into this, "Now who's fault is that?" You huffed quietly, trying to find anywhere else to look. "Are you always this impulsive?"

The cowboy only snorted softly, his large hand resting on the small of your back, bringing you impossibly closer, whispering in your ear, "Heh, sorry, darlin. Didn't think they'd keep chasing me." His warm breath tickled the shell of your ear, and sent a shiver down your body. You couldn't help but squirm involuntarily, grinding down on his lap.

His hands tightened their hold around you as he let out a muffled groan against the crook of your neck, "Mhm... let me make it up to ya." He mumbles in that low southern draw, before his hips buck upwards, just once, a silent offer. He claims it's for you but, the proximity reminded him just how deprived of physical touch he was.

Always on the road, wild and free, yet no one to satisfy that insatiable hunger, that natural human desire.

The small space suddenly felt unbearably hot with tension and need. You were starting to feel affected too, especially with his stiff bulge rubbing against you.

Common sense tells you to simply leave him and report him to the authorities for whatever crime has him being hunted down.

But you were in a similar position, with work at the Saloon all the time, and that stubborn refusal to take a break, you were just as pent up as he was.

Your hands grip on to his clothes tightly, your throat feeling like sandpaper from anticipation. Common sense suddenly flew out the window. The deliberate roll of your hips, desperately searching for the friction your clothed pussy needed, and you just managed to choke out a reply, "I-I... Please..."

The dark haired man lets out a satisfied moan, as he kisses your neck feverishly as his hands roam around your waist. Your hands grip onto his shoulders for support, as you tilt your head to the side, allowing him to go further.

His hands trail down to the waistband of your flared jeans, slowly tugging them down like the tease he is. His slowness only edges you on, your panties probably soaked beyond belief while you undo the buckle of his belt.

Like a game of tug or war, clothing was thorn off of each other's bodies; the tension that lingered in the air, sharply rose as your lower halves were increasingly growing more bare.

Just as you were about to sink onto that man's hard throbbing cock, the world had its own plans, as the voices that seemed so far away suddenly grew closer.

Your body froze. You had practically forgotten all about the sheriff who was looking for the man you've gotten yourself involved with. You were internally panicking, and yet when you looked back at him he seemed so calm it was almost annoying.

With a confident look, he leaned closer, his hands gripping your hips, "What? You scared, darlin? He whispered, his voice dripping condescendingly.

"You can take it can't you? Just gotta be quiet 's all."

The way he spoke as if it was some challenge, definitely made you more competitive.

Voices muffled in the distance, made the fact that law enforcement could find the two of you in here, in this position, more obvious. However, if only made your body heat up with need, your pussy aching; begging to be filled.

Finally, you braced yourself, as your slick hole slowly took the length of dick.

Your warm insides were already fluttering around him, trying to accommodate to the size. You had to bite your lip hard enough to stop the filthy noises that would have escaped otherwise.

"Yeahh, atta girl.." he groans softly, letting you adjust. He wasn't bothered by the risks this posed but rather, more excited by this fact.

His thumb rubs the plush of your thigh, almost conforming before whispering in your ear, "Come on, fuck me." He leaned back afterwards, giving a clear expectation; he wasn't going to give you what you wanted, you had to earn it.

"B-bastard... Mmm Fuck-" You whimper and complain, and yet you wasted no time lifting your hips before nesting right onto his cock again.

You keep up your pace, a pattern of feeling empty before being filled so deep, again and again, driving you insane. The sound of slapping skin and wetness starting to be your focus rather than the search going on outside the closet.

The cowboy, watching you riding on his cock so desperately lets out rough grunts, feeling your tight warm walls around him, squeezing on every time you manage to take it deeper, "Look at you... taking me like this..."

"Maybe I should come back again... and ngh- fuck ya over that bar table.. Bet you'd like that." He muttered.

You cunt clenches around him, starving for more stimulation. After what he managed to whisper into your ear, staying quiet was nearly impossible. The voices were still oblivious to what was occurring behind closed doors as they spoke.

Your thighs burn and tremble as you bounce up and down on his cock, the smell of sweat and sex filling the closet. You felt his tip press against that sweet spot that was enough to extract a sharp gasp from you, "Ah! Nghh..."

The gasp echoes through the closest, and you immediately halt your movements.

Your folds flutter around his dick in protest of your pause, yet you were holding your breath, hoping that no one heard that.

The dark haired man watches you tense up and listen to see if they would get caught, but the stillness made him restless.

After a beat of silence, his hands grab a firm hold on your hips and lift you up and back down, watching his cock disappear into your cunt, feeling your ass smack against his pelvis.

"Wh- Mmm...! what if they hear-"

"Don't care. Just- let me give this pretty pussy what she wants..."

Your breath is nearly stolen from you, with every time he pushes your body onto it. Your heart stutters in your chest as you feel a swirling knot in your stomach. Your brain feels like it's becoming mush as your pussy squelches with every deep thrust.

As he feels you tightening around him, he grits his teeth, desperately trying to hold back. Bouncing you off of his length, he looks up at your cock-drunk expression.

He knew you were getting close, and he wanted it all, to witness you fall apart because of him.

"C-cumming...! Don't stop... please!" You were already seeing stars, your eyes rolling back as the sound of your moans, and the plaps of skin smacking against skin fill the room. With one last thrust, you were coming apart, your walls tightening around him as you rode out your orgasm.

"That's it... cum for me sweetheart." He groaned, but the dark haired man didn't let off. Instead, he started bucking his hips into you, causing that pleasure he was seeking as you came down on him. Despite the overwhelming pleasure, you hold on to him as he finally spills his warm cum into your hole, gritting through his own orgasm, "S-shit... so so tight..."

The closet fell quiet, once filled with the sounds of intimacy now filled with heavy breathing as you try to catch your breath and come down from your high.

You found yourself clinging on to his body, refusing to let go after a vulnerable experience, as you buried your face into his shoulder, "S-so full..." you whined, more to yourself than anything.

Your voice coming out muffled, but he didn't seem to mind, as he held you close just as tight. Despite his exhaustion he still had the energy to comment, "Yeah..? Guess I did a good job then."

You huffed, but didn't say anything in return, letting the quiet moment play on. Almost too quiet now that you think about it. As if you were forgetting about something.

The closet door finally cracks open.

Your heart stops. That's what slipped your mind.

You didn't truly think anyone would find you, and in definitely not while you had an outlaw's dick still balls deep inside you. This was a harsh punishment practically waiting to happen.

You slowly turn your head to meet your awaiting doom.

Your eyes locked on to the sheriff: his eyes wide, drops of sweat falling down his forehead as he swallowed. Hard.

And as your gaze flickers down, you were met with a sight you certainly wasn't expecting either:

A huge tent in his pants, the tip drenched in precum. He was also hard.

Behind you, the outlaw simply smirks at the sight as his length swells inside you. Great, now he was hard again too.

It was clear that your day was far from over.

➜ oc , choso kamo , levi ackerman , geto suguru , shota aizawa , hitoshi shinsou , giyu tomioka , l lawliet , and your favs!

Varka was far away in another country because of his job, working with the ministry of affairs for Mondstadt. They needed to achieve an alliance with Nod-Krai, an independent state of Snezhnaya with a large time difference. He hated it. He. Hated. It. Hated on being so far away from his one and only lover, which was you. It’s only been two weeks, both of you haven’t found the time to call, only through texts that were replied between different hours. 

This particular day, he was so stressed that he ended up spam calling you on his phone. The third call that buzzed in.. you finally picked up. Varka chuckles hearing your small yawn, “Varka..? Mmm.. you woke me up, honey..” He heard the sound you let out, probably stretching out on the bed. His heartbeat paced up, his blood pumping down. . He coughed at that. “Hi baby, sorry for waking you up.” Immediately, you quickly shut his apologies down.

“No.. no it's okay.. you can always call me, hehe..” He sighs, already sitting near the hotel desk. He’d been staying in this small abode for all of these two weeks, giving only a sliver of privacy for him. “I just got out of another diplomatic meeting.” You looked at the alarm clock in the large shared bed you both always sleep in. It’s 4 a.m, the red coloured numbers reflect just how early it is for you and yet it's only 8 p.m. for Varka. “Awe, nice.. Do you want to talk—” “No, please.. babe..”

You shut your mouth quickly then chuckled, “Of course, no work talk?” He hummed at that, huddling up inside the blankets of the bed, you got even more comfortable. “Baby.” He called you out over the phone, “Yes?” He tilted his head as he looked out at the view in his room. “Tell me about your week.” And that's how you ended up chatting for a while, you spoke about what you’ve been doing, then talking about the people in Mondstadt and how they’re doing. Though, he stopped responding a long halfway.. now that makes you suspicious.

Thoughts raced through your mind, then you called out. “Honey?” No answer on the other line, then you called out again, “Varka.” He replied back with a grunt, “Yes, urghh.. babyy..” This was a dead giveaway to you, it didn’t take long to put the pieces together. “Are you seriously jerking off?” A moment of silence, as he let out a small groan. “Couldn’t help myself, just m..missed you so much.” Finally, you could hear the squelching sound in the other line, it really sounded like he was enjoying himself. “You horndog..” Another grunt, “Yeah but I’m your horndog.”

This is how he had tempted you now, you were rubbing your hand against your slit, “Aaah.. Varka..” Feeling the slick all familiar texture between your legs. “You’re just rubbing yourself aren’t you?” He knew you too well, even by the way you touch yourself, so you slipped your index finger inside. Your folds were already slippery from the slick wetness, you let out a small gasp. “Awe, cmon, you know you can take larger than one finger..” How the FUCK did he know..

“Well you aren’t here—” “Doesn’t matter, put two fingers inside, baby.” You could hear him spit on his hand on the other line, you whined again slipping your middle finger. He could hear your fingers easily pushing in and out of your walls, as he groaned. Varka’s dick was throbbing, all that pent up stress and horniness kicking off. He used his imagination to think what you even look like, sprawled up in their bed. “Baby, why don't you pick up the pace?” Your fingers started doing a pistoning motion. “I ngh.. am!” “Yeah, but you’re not screaming my name yet, so pick up the pace.”

You clutched your phone by the shoulder really close to your ear, as one hand was prodigy inside your gummy walls and the other one held a small mini toy that vibrated on your small bud with such vigor. “Varka.. I'm so close soclose…!” “Nuh uh, not yet.. Just a bit more, yeah?” His breathy voice caught you off guard as you cried out, “nono fair..” 

“I know you can hold off once more baby, urgh— cmon, I’m right there..”

Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins such a bizarre and long name for someone to have. That someone is your lover, but how did this happen? Travelling from nation to nation, you stumbled upon Nod-Krai. Their hospitality completely swooned you over to say an extra few days— to which you had met a Ratnik, which meant you stayed for another few months with him. Flins was unique, he was such a gentleman to you and his way of speaking was very polished. You had gotten a phone call from one of your family members back from where you came from.

One day, you sat down on your shared bed. “Flins” You called out to him as he adjusted his uniform.. Finally finishing his shifts of the night he had, he raised an eyebrow. “Yes, my love?” Breaking the news to him was a shocker, one of your family members, to be more specific was your father had fallen ill. You need to catch a plane back as quick as you can, Flins being the most caring lover urged you to just book a flight as quickly as possible.

He stayed up that night, considering he doesn’t usually sleep, he secretly bought you a ticket for tomorrow night. He looked down on your sleeping figure beside him, snoring softly. He raises his palm to hold your cheek, then softly strokes your back, “Sleep well, love.” He whispered in your ear, even in your sleep you reacted scooting closer to his body. 

The next day, Flins showed you the flight ticket as soon as you woke up. “You did all of this while I was asleep?” He nodded, easily offering you your favorite meal for breakfast. You huffed, “Man I lucked out for such an amazing boyfriend.” Already scooping up a bite and chewing the meal, He let out a small laugh. “It’s just breakfast, that's standard..” You grinned at his obliviousness. “Okay stop trying to woo me now..” He let out a small chuckle, “I am not.” “You so are..!”

Flins just smiled, “I’ll miss you.” He held onto you, his palm already resting on your back, rubbing the soft sliver of skin. “I’ll miss you too..!” You whined beside him as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “I’ll be back before you know it..” You placed the spoon, eagerly toying with his chin. “Don’t miss me too much, mkay..!”

He couldn’t help himself, it was lewd, too dirty but you were so far away.. All the way at Liyue or was it Inazuma, he forgot how you smelled, how you felt. So here he was, phone in one hand, the other hand pulling down at his sweats. It wasn’t fair, the time difference, it was 12 pm at Nodkrai and it was probably early morning at your place. Flins always had a folder with just your pictures, what you didn’t know was— he kept another one, locked inside a passcode which was your birthday.

What was inside, well.. suggestive photos and videos you’ve either sent or taken in his phone. He looked down, it was a picture of you cladded in just a zipped up hoodie, his hoodie. That little sliver of cleavage made him throb in under a few seconds which was definitely record time. “My love.. forgive me—” He let the spit roll in his mouth before the sound was made in the dim room. His feverous tip was so swollen as he let out a small breath. 

Even cupping his balls, gripping the base, it wasn’t enough for him, never enough when he just needed you. Flins must’ve reached a new low, cause he had to pull up a video of you just yapping his ear off at one of the dates they’ve gone. “Mmm..ngh.. Feels too good” It was so pathetic, his hand moved quickly trying to chase the thrill, even tightening his grip. He imagined it was your sloppy pussy around him, didn’t feel the same— not as warm and snug but it’s the next best thing.

“Ugh.. I miss you.. m-miss that pussy s’much..”

Nefer, she wasn’t the type to be hung up over such trivial matters, and yet here she is texting you even if she had work. Such a busy woman, the CEO for Curatorium of Secrets and also the only operator for the Northern Intelligence Network, was head over heels for you. You guys weren’t long distance.. It was surprising how you guys started dating online, haven’t met at all.

You were a well versed hacker and she needed information— of course she needed your expertise. The sound of the notification dinged in her work laptop. ‘Nefer..!! What’s my next course of action, honey (˶˃⤙˂˶)..!’ Your text is as enthusiastic as your personality, blatantly shown in the text.

Nefer was already swamped with her other work, her poor lover didn’t have work to do, no orders. Truth be told, Nefer was never a texter kind of person. Another notification popped again. ‘Are you ignoring me..?!! (  •̀ ᴖ •́  )’ Then a dozen notifs later, she finally groaned. Already dialing the number, “Quit it, you brat.” 

You sank onto your lavish gaming chair, Nefer had bought out for you. “You weren’t replying, Nefer.” Your sweet voice finally replied to her back. She could hear you mindlessly typing away at that keyboard of yours, she also bought for you. “Can’t you see I’m busy, work has swamped me.” A sound of a chuckle could be heard at the other line. “Then take a break, who’s stopping you—” “I have another meeting set up in five minutes.” Then another notification dinged in her work laptop. 

“Open my messages, honey..~” You cooed at the other line, and she could only sigh. “I swear if it’s another absurd tiktok of—” She could only swallow as the photo loaded up. It was clearly a picture of you, clad in that babydoll lingerie she had bought for you. Man, she spoiled you with gifts everyday. “Goodluck for your meeting, honey!” You teased once more, before ending the call. Such a tease you were, she couldn’t help but scoff as she gingerly got up to join the meeting.

Nefer couldn’t focus during the head-board meeting, so she hid her phone under the table. Eagerly replying to each text message you gave. 

Nefer had a remote controlled vibrator, that only she could control just for you. She bumped it to just a level 3 as the ringtone came in. There you were, in all your glory, pushing the small thing right against your clit. “F-fuck.. Ne..fer!!” Your whines could be heard to the monitor, Thank god for the soundproof walls installed for her office. “You really had to tease me, during a corporal meeting, darling?” Her voice poised with such authority you couldn’t help but moan again. 

“I missed you..” You hummed, eagerly shoving it inside as your fingers got to work, swirling your puffy clit. “P..plus you love the view no?” You eagerly looked at the camera of your phone. She could see you just lounge on that gaming chair as your desktop highlighted your figure. Nefer placed a hand under her chin as she watched. “Can’t even get off on your own huh? Such a slut.” “Your slut though—!”

“Cmon, aren’t you at least a bit wet watching me..?” Your voice cooed as your eyes met through the screen. She cranked up the level to a five as you choked on your voice, visibly jittering. “Shitshitshit.. So close..!!” Then she stopped the buzzing, you whined. “Ah.. you’re such a freak.. Edging me already..?” “Think of it as a lesson to be taught for sending nudes in broad daylight.” You could only giggle, “Hey.. atleast accompany me finger myself..” You brought out your fingers to your mouth, eagerly licking giving her a show.

“Oh I will, until I get you drenched over that poor monitor of yours.”

Disclaimers:

♤ COMPLETED

♤ Available on AO3.

♤ This is a mix of fluff, smut and angst, so minors/ageless blogs do not interact.

♤ Any comments hating on the reader in this story will be deleted and the user will be blocked. The story plays on the mean girl trope so you will see mean girl behaviour. Just know this is all intentional. If you are sensitive to a flawed female character, do not read. I know what some of you are like. I have played these games before.

♤ This is a college au separate from my EdenU au. Different Gojo and university setting altogether. Any semblance is coincidental.

♤ Every part of this is of my own work. No AI or external inspiration was used. Please do not repost this on Tumblr or on any other platform without credits. I do not give permission for this to be translated. And please do not feed my work into AI.