Yeah

Your living room was empty now. The throw blanket sat balled up at one end of the couch, still warm, still carrying that earthy scent that clung to him. You figured he'd finally given up trying to get comfortable and left for home.

Things had been tight between you two for weeks — not bad tight, just like the kind that builds when you're close to someone in every way but one. Curling up next to him on that couch last night, close enough to feel him breathing, had taken more out of you than you wanted to admit. You'd gone to your own bed after and tossed for hours, finally giving up and finishing yourself off against your pillow just to get some sleep.

You grabbed the folder off the counter, shoved it in your bag, turned toward the door already dreading the way back to work.

Your foot stopped.

Through the crack in your bedroom door came a sound — low, cut off at the edges like it hadn't meant to get out. A hitch of breath, rough with something needy.

You don't move. For a few long seconds you just stand there, blood rushing in your ears, telling yourself you imagined it. Then it comes again—louder, unmistakable. A deep, broken whine bleeding through the door, underneath it the slow, rhythmic creak of your mattress.

Something hot drops straight to your navel.

Your feet move before you decide to let them, carrying you to the gap where the door hinges open. You don't need to push it. You can see everything

Valko is on your bed, completely stripped of the restraint he usually carries around you.

On all fours, every muscle in his back straining with each roll of his hips. Both your pillows are underneath him. One is pinned between his thick, heavy thighs. The other is crushed against his chest like he's holding onto it for dear life.

The fat tip of his cock is already leaking clear precum, smearing wetly against the fabric with every thrust. The muscles of his ass bunch and flex rhythmically, his tail swishing low and frantic from side to side, brushing against his calves like he can't control it.

His nose is buried deep into one specific corner of the pillow, taking big lunges of air—sniffing the hell out of it. Strands of saliva string from his parted lips, his eyes are squeezed shut so tight his eyelashes tremble. He looks like he's desperately trying to engrave that scent into the deepest part of his memory.

The heat that floods your face is scorching and mortifying.

That's where you'd been last night. Grinding against that exact spot, face buried in your own sheets with his name stuck in your throat, thinking thoughts you'd never planned on anyone knowing about. He has his nose pressed right there. Breathing you in like it's the first clean air he's found in days.

The hallway feels like it's closing in. You can't move. The folder is shaking in your hand and you can't make yourself look away.

Valko moves his hips down again and the groan that tears out of him is nothing like his usual voice. It's scraped raw, stripped of every careful thing he usually puts between himself and the world.

"Fuck—" The word drags out of him slow and broken. His face presses deeper into the pillow, lips parting against the fabric, inhaling so hard it pulls into his mouth. "Smells so good. So fucking sweet"

Your stomach drops.

When he pulls back to thrust again you get an unobstructed view of him, and your mouth goes dry. He's huge, veins mapping his cock in thick ridges, the head flushed a deep red and slick with everything he's been leaking onto your pillow.

"There you go," he breathes, eyes still squeezed shut, hips rolling down in a slow, grinding push. He's talking to the pillow. He's talking to you—or the idea of you, the ghost of you he's got his hands on. "Take it just like that. Let me get all the way inside that pretty cunt, puppy."

He makes that sound again—a high, needy whine that has no business coming out of something so big—and his ears flatten tight against his skull. His rhythm stutters, slow grinds breaking into something harder and more desperate, the whole bed frame groaning with it.

"Such a good pup," he mutters, tail thrashing wild against the mattress, fingers curling into your pillow. His voice is getting rougher, darker, words spilling out like he can't stop them. "Gonna stretch you out so nice. Fill you up with everything I've been—" A sharp, punched out groan. "You'd take it, wouldn't you? Every single bit of it."

His thighs grip the pillow tightly, his whole body going rigid as he grinds down and holds it there. His knuckles are stark white, fingers curled past the point of grip, something closer to desperation made physical. You can see the effort it's taking him to hold back. Every thick vein along the back of his hands stands out in rigid relief, branching up his wrists, mapping the strain all the way to where his forearms flex with each movement.

With every snap of his hips the tension climbs higher. Up his biceps and across his broad shoulders, the whole architecture of him pulled tight. He is holding the pillow like letting go for even a second would mean losing the last thread of you he has access to.

Like if his grip slips, your scent goes with it.

His hands have never looked like this. You've seen them steady holding a weapon, calm giving an order, certain in every situation that called for certainty. Right now they're shaking slightly. Not from weakness.

But from the effort of not having the real thing.

The ache between your thighs is unbearable and the urge hits you like something physical, pressing into your sternum until your body stops listening to your brain entirely. You want to tell him yes. You want to walk into that room and pull those pillows out from under him and put yourself there instead.

Your foot moves forward one step.

That's all it takes. The tiny shift in air carries your scent right through the gap in the door—laced now with the edge of your arousal—and delivers it straight to him.

Valko goes completely still.

His ears snap upright, swiveling toward the door, and his head follows a half second later. Through the narrow crack his eyes find yours instantly, pupils blown so wide the gold of his irises is almost gone. The room sits heavy with the smell of sex and the sound of both of you breathing.

He doesn't cover himself and your eyes drop without your permission.

The sight of you watching him—your scent hitting him fresh and full—is what does it. You watch it happen. His cock swells further, skin pulled tight, a low growl tearing out of his chest and his hips give one last involuntary roll forward.

He cums with his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

He stares straight through the gap in the door, unblinking, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes your legs feel unreliable, as the first thick streak of white paints your pillow. Another spasm rolls through him, another rope of cum landing heavy over the exact spot your scent had soaked into the fabric last night. Over and over until the last bead clings to the tip and stretches thin before finally dropping.

His chest heaves and his tongue drags slowly across his lower lip and then his canines like he's tasting the air. His tail gives one long, heavy thump against the mattress.

He's still staring a hole right through you.

​You are completely fucked.

And while we're here @ekay-i .... PLEASE🙏🏻. Valko deserves a spot in the pillow humpers art. i am begging on my knees 🧎🏻‍♀️🫣

Your sobs turn to sniffles, trying to brave through the sting. Caleb lightly blows on your wound in case any debris from the ground gets stuck. Well, that's the most he could do for now before he brings you back to grandma to treat the abrasions. No deep cuts, thankfully. But he knows it still hurts.

Caleb pats your head to soothe you further, at least until your crying fully stops. His touch is warm and comforting, and the throbbing sting from your knees slowly grows numb.

“Let's go back to grandma, okay?” Caleb assures. He turns around, and kneels, gesturing a piggyback. You gingerly climb, braving through the soreness and you feel Caleb’s small palms grab hold of your legs as he slowly stands up and makes the trip back to the house.

“Don't cry. Be a good girl.”

His voice rings in your ears, but you're barely registering it.

Another thrust from below, and your voice is stuck at the back of your throat. Tears stream down your cheeks helplessly from the sheer pleasure.

It feels so fucking good.

Caleb’s fingers are tight on your hips, lifting your ass up and forcing you to take all of his cock again and again.

“That's it. You're taking me so well”, Caleb’s thick words of praise tickles your ears and fresh slick leaks out of your pussy, adding onto the mess below.

Bite and scratch marks are littered all over Caleb’s shoulders and chest. His eyes are glassy, red flushed across his cheeks and the rest of his skin from the heat shared between the both of you.

He bites down his bottom lip when he feels your pussy fluttering against his thick cock again. It's pushing him way too close to the edge. The pleasure is rippling through him so dangerously good, he doesn't know how much of his mind he has left before he completely loses it. The only thing that's staying intact is probably the dog tag that he always wears, absorbing the heat from Caleb's body.

He looks down at the bites he's given you in return on your chest, then the way your tits bounce when you get desperate at fucking him, and finally at the way his cock completely disappears in and out of you, drenched in the sticky mess.

“Don't stop. You feel so good, Caleb”, your voice comes out slightly hoarse from all the crying and moaning. You don't even know what feels real and what isn't–only the delicious sensations of being fucked completely dumb by Caleb.

You hear him scoff in between sharp inhales.

“Looks cozy.” You remarked staring into the cramped room.

“This isn't even the smallest room I've been assigned since I've been here. I'm just glad I'm not sharing it with anyone else this time. We swap around a lot so there's not a lot of room for comfortable touches, I keep all my personal stuff in a box.”

He tapped a metal footlocker with his knuckle and it caught your eye. Above it sat a bulletin board with his schedule pinned to it, and a handful of personal photos. Most of them were the two of you, jokey selfies you had taken on your phone. You traced your fingers over one of them, one of your favorite memories. The last bonfire party of the summer, your friends all stacked on top of each other to play volleyball on the beach. In the photo you were sitting up on Caleb's shoulders, your free hand tousled in his hair, his hands gripping your bare thighs. You were arm and arm with another girl, some older girl you didn't know, as she sat on one of Caleb's friend’s shoulders. This was the day you knew it was the beginning of the end. Caleb would be leaving for Academy soon and every touch from him felt so intoxicating and final. Climbing on him to play volleyball felt like an excuse to feel his skin against yours. His hands were so warm and strong on your thighs, you spent the whole match distracted by his touch, wishing you could feel his hands on you again for any reason at all. It was the day you realized that missing him felt like more than just missing him.

You cleared your throat to hopefully try and clear the thought from your head. Not helpful when you've just arrived for a three day stay in this cramped glorified studio apartment.

“That was such a fun day.” He remarked over your shoulder.

“We lost.” You laughed back.

“It's not about winning or losing, Pipsqueak. It's about the journey.”

“The journey to the bottom bracket in beach volleyball?”

He eased your backpack off his shoulder and set it next to the bed, a small twin in the alcove off to the left. You wondered absently what the sleeping arrangement would look like, a flutter in your stomach at the idea of close quarters.

“Something like that. Hungry? There's a bunch of food trucks set up down on the other side of the docks.”

Skyhaven was beautiful, you knew it would be. He showed you around the parts of the campus he was allowed before he headed down towards what was clearly the gathering spot for locals. Food trucks and pop up stands lined the edge of the pier, bustling with people and activity. Some people wore military uniforms, or class uniforms, or even just fatigues.

You felt his hand on the small of your back as you walked, not unwelcome but surprising again.

The entire place was like a dream in the clouds, it's own mechanical ecosystem up here. There were fewer birds, a welcome departure not to have seagulls begging at the pier. He guided you to a food truck where they seemed to recognize him and you let him order for you. Caleb knew what you wanted more often than you did, it seemed. You ate outside, enjoying each other's company and the beautiful sunlight. Caleb picked up a forkfull of noodles and made a funny face and you snapped a picture of him, making a little heart with your fingers in the foreground. You both laughed and ate, remembering how much you missed each other's company.

The sunset in Skyhaven was beautiful. You saw it from above, stunning reds and pinks melted into the horizon and set a warm tone to both of your cheeks. You snapped a picture of that, too. This was the sort of thing you wanted to remember again when you missed Caleb back on solid ground. He happily obliged your photos, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and burying his nose in your hair.

You lingered until dark, and dark came swiftly. Heavy pendulous clouds rolled in from the east, blanketing the last reaches of soft warm light the second it was extinguished. Thunder rumbled distantly and you wondered how bad it could get.

“Are storms better or worse up this high?” You asked.

The face he made wasn't a reassuring reply.

Rain started to fall, fat wet drops that hit the pavement with a thud and were easy enough to avoid. People around you ducked under awnings as it picked up. Caleb gripped onto your hand, guiding you back to the dorms as it picked up.

You ducked inside fast, laughing like maniacs and shaking the water out of your hair at each other.

“Caleb!” A voice called out behind you.

He turned and couple of people you didn't recognize were waving him down. The hand at the small of your back became a hand at your waist, pulling you closer. It felt indulgent to lean in, but he was protective and full of surprises this weekend.

“I thought you were usually off campus for holidays?” This perfect stranger in a sleeveless T-shirt asked. You wondered idly if all of them have the same level of impulse control and cut all the sleeves off their clothes the second they get up here.

“Usually, yeah.” Caleb replied with a tight smile.

“This must be your girl from back home you're always talking about. Hey, I'm Gideon.”

He stuck his hand out for you to shake, a typical flyboy overly firm handshake.

“Oh, so Caleb's talked about me?” You asked, sneaking a look at Caleb, who was more interested in looking anywhere else.

“Of course I do, y/n.” He replied, more sheepish than you had seen him in a long time.

“He never shuts up!” Gideon laughed. “At first we thought he was just inventing some fake girlfriend back home to get the other girls to leave him alone. But you really look like all the photos he keeps.”

You smiled, ready to make fun of him the second you were alone again, catching the blush at the tips of his ears.

“We gotta head inside, you guys should get moving before the rain gets any worse.” Caleb deflected, gesturing out the windows behind them. He was scrambling to get control of the conversation again.

The storm clouds outside were emptying into the streets, it had gotten darker much faster than you thought. Lightning cracked somewhere in the distance and thunder rattled the building. You winced at it, and felt his arm tighten around you. Always your protector.

“It was nice to meet you!” Gideon called out, opening his umbrella and ducking into the rainstorm.

Caleb let out a heavy sigh.

“Not a word out of you.”

You laughed and mimed zipping your lips.

The walk up the stairs was quiet, he held your hand and walked ahead of you, keeping his expression hidden.

The door shut quietly behind you before you burst out laughing again.

“I said not a word!” He warned with a finger pointed at you.

“None of that was a word.” You laughed back. “Sorry, I'll be normal now.”

“Come on, Pipsqueak.”

“Your friends seem nice.”

“They're not.” He sighed again, his hand rubbing his brow.

He shucked off his coat, tossing it over the back of a chair to dry and kicked both of your wet shoes over to the door.

“Beds all yours.” He said gesturing across the room to the lone neatly made bed.

“What? No.” You were quick to reply. “It's your bed, I'm not gonna kick you out of it like that. I can sleep on the couch.”

“What kind of host would I be if I dragged you out in the rain and then made you sleep on that lumpy old thing? No, it's fine. I've slept in worse places.”

“I'm the one intruding on your space. It's fine I'll just-”

“It's not a discussion.” He cut you off. “You're sleeping in the bed.”

“Okay, Colonel Bossy.” You rolled your eyes.

The bed did look comfortable. You ruffled up the pillows, fluffing them and untucking the sheets. It was unmistakable the way it smelled like him, not just his body wash or his deodorant, but the way they commingled with his natural scent and smelled like warm comfortable sunlight, filtered through summer memories and warmed skin. The idea of sleeping here, completely enveloped in the smell of him, gave your stomach a little flip.

Lightning cracked nearby, rattling the window above the bed. You took a deep steadying breath, hoping the storm didn't get worse. Stealing a look over at Caleb, he was unfolding a blanket onto the couch, pretending not to be looking over at you. You wrung the blanket in your hands, nervous for some reason now.

“What if I don't wanna sleep alone?” You asked quietly, knowing this bed wasn't big enough for two.

“That's okay.” He replied almost immediately, abandoning the half folded blanket mess he was making. “I can keep you company.”

You tried not to smile about it, as if the eagerness in his voice was imaginary. He rifled through his drawers for clothes that weren't rain damp, soft pants and a T-shirt you could swear used to have sleeves. You sat at the end of the bed facing away from him, going through your own backpack for just the same. Slipping off your skirt and sweater for sleep shorts and a tank top. You snuck a look over your shoulder, watching him wrestle out of his damp shirt, trying to commit to memory the way his muscles flexed under his skin. You turned back around before him, pretending not to be looking.

The two of you had shared a bed before, much younger, before puberty, on family trips. You slept backside to backside, curled away from each other, a feat much easier when you're smaller and the bed is bigger. This bed was not that.

“One of us has to be the little spoon or one of us has to be the pillow, I think.” He said, eyeing his own bed down.

“Be my pillow?” You asked sweetly, hooking your pinky with his in a way you knew he'd never refuse.

He clamboured into bed, leaning against the headboard, leaving room for you to crawl between his bowed legs and lean on him.

Both of you enjoyed your moment to unwind in contented silence, scrolling through your phones with tangled legs. You scrolled back through the photos you took, smiling at the photos of you together. You looked so natural, tucked under his arm where you belonged.

“I could start my own memories corkboard and I could put this one on there.” You said, showing him your favorite of the bunch.

“I bet there's a bunch of old Polaroids of us in the attic, too.” He said with a smile.

You posted the photo of him holding his noodles up tapping out a quick caption “dinner with my fave”

His phone buzzed somewhere behind you, where you heard a warm chuckle and the buzz of his fingertips on his phone.

“woah whos that guy, he looks handsome” the reply read. A giggle managed to escape your lips as you tossed your phone into your backpack for the night.

You gave a dramatic yawn and used it as an excuse to lean all the way flush against him until you could snoop on him, watching scroll on his own social media.

“Whatcha looking at?” You asked, but you didn't need to. It was your account still. He was scrolling back through your posts and heart reacting them.

“Just seeing what you've been up to since I saw you last. Whose hand is this?” He asked, pointing to the tiniest sliver of a man’s hand in the corner of a photo of a dessert in a cafe.

“Zayne.”

“Zayne.” He said with a tone. “Should have guessed.”

“Don't be like that.” You scoffed back, watching his thumb click on Zayne’s name and scroll over his profile now.

“It's fine,” he lied. “He's a successful doctor or whatever, I'm not surprised he finally mustered up the guts to ask you out.”

“He didn't ask me out, we ended up at the same cafe at the same time so we sat together.”

“What a fumble.” He snorted, scrolling through and liking some innocuous post on Zayne's feed.

You rolled over onto your stomach, pillowing your head on your hands across his chest and watching the reflection of his phone across his violet eyes.

“Why do you care so much?”

“I don't,” he lied again.

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance again.

He clicked his phone shut and set it off to the side table, finally giving you the unwavering attention you seemed to be asking for. He tucked a stray strand behind your ear and let his hands rest on your shoulderblades. He met your gaze, always with intense ease, and you cocked your head to watch him.

“So you're telling people I'm your girlfriend?” You asked with a smile.

“No, I just stopped correcting people. It was easier than explaining.”

“Explaining what?”

He didn't answer, just swept your bangs out of your eyes again.

Thunder rumbled behind you gently and a crack of lightning hit somewhere nearby. You jolted and his arms tightened around you, tucking your head in closer under his chin.

He leaned over to the bedside table and clicked the light off.

“Let's get to sleep, huh pipsqueak?” He whispered into your hair.

There in the dark, could have sworn he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You leaned up and looked up at him, lips a breath away from his.

“Thank you for inviting me and being my tour guide.”

“Of course, you know I'd do anything for you.”

“Next time you'll have to come stay with me for vacation and then I can do the same.”

“Is that so?” He teased.

“Yeah. And not to brag or anything but my apartment is much bigger than this. Bigger bed too.”

“Oh? You planning to make me share your bed too?”

“No I just-” you sputtered out nervously, a slip of the tongue.

“I'm teasing. I'd love to stay with you. I'll share whatever you want.”

He curled around you, pulling the blanket up to tuck you both in. He was warm and it felt almost like being cocooned. You slipped your arms around his back, holding him tight and letting your head rest on his chest, listening to the rise and fall of his breathing, the swell of his heartbeat. It was the kind of comfort that felt indulgent, how many nights had you wished for this exact comfort? How long had you spent afraid to ask? His breathing evened out as sleep washed over you.

Crack

Crack

The sound of wanderers hitting the ground around you

Thick acrid smoke pooled around you, pouring from the wreckage of your home. It poured out of every shattered window, filling the house and choking you out and you waded to the door. The whole house rumbled and threatened to shake apart.

Crack

Your handle fumbled with the doorknob, turning and turning and turning, shaking the door and try and force it open

Rumble

Shouting from somewhere, muffled by the ringing in your ears, upstairs maybe? There was no upstairs, smoke poured down the stairs like hot blood. Outside.

Crack

You fumbled again trying to look out the window to see if it was blocked. The house rumbled and shook free the broken panes of glass.

Caleb.

Caleb on the other side trying to pry it open. Always Caleb watching out for you. You cried out his name but he didn't react, he couldn't hear you. You fumbled with the knob again, trying to rip the door open, hearing his shoulder crash into it from the other side.

Crack

He was throwing his weight against the door and it shook the whole house. You didn't care if he took the whole thing to pieces as long as he got to you. Beams fell around you as the smoke got higher, sour and hot in your mouth. Walls started to crumble, but not the one that mattered, not the way keeping him away from you. You grabbed the knob and one last time and yanked hard

Crack

“Caleb!” You gasped with a sob, jolting awake against him.

You could hear him shushing you, tamping down your fear as you scrambled closer to him, into his lap, into his arms. He was solid. He was here. You pressed your face into his neck, trying to dig your way closer to him. His arms tightened around you, a hand coming to hold the back of your head almost as shaky as your own.

“You were so far away and the smoke-”

“Just a bad dream mei mei, I'm right here, I'm never leaving you.”

Thunder rumbled around you, shaking the windows in their frames. You winced, unconsciously, as if the house was threatening to shake apart again. But he was here. There was no black smoke. Just Caleb.

“I'm sorry.” You choked out, trying to gain a shred of composure. You leaned away, his arms still bracketing you in and keeping you from drawing too far from him. “That's really embarrassing. I haven't had a nightmare like that in a while.”

“You don't have to apologize to me. Storms were always hard on you, that's what I'm here for.” He wiped a tear from your cheek, you hadn't even realized you had been crying. His hands were so warm and soft and it was easy to lean your face into his palm.

He was so warm and solid and here. Caleb. Your Caleb.

It would be so easy to stop dancing around this thing the two of you had become. His eyes looked pleading almost, begging to ask if you were alright, begging you to know you were safe. Always safe with him. It used to bother you, the way he was so overprotective, the first to jump up to defend you whether or not you ever needed it. Maybe you never needed it. Maybe you always wanted it. You had weathered so much together, clinging to only each other, and now here you were crying in his lap. And here he was, trying to soothe away your nightmares.

Caleb.

Your Caleb.

Closing the gap was easy. His mouth was warm and yielding to yours immediately. Clinging to him felt like clinging to the skin of the earth, threatening to fly away at a moment's notice. He drew in a sharp breath, his hands firm on your shoulders.

“Wait.” He started, pulling away.

“I'm sorry I shouldn't have-”

“I said wait.” He interrupted

“If you don't want me to-”

He cut you off with another kiss, this one hungrier, bruising almost.

“That's not what I said.” He was softer this time, his hands cradled your face.

Your eyes felt heavy, drunk on one long awaited kiss.

“This is a line I promised myself I wouldn't cross a long time ago. And if we do now, I don't think it's a line I can go back on once I find myself on the other side of it. So I need you to be certain that this is what you want.”

You wanted to kiss the words out of his mouth. But it was Caleb. So you settled for teasing.

You ran your thumb across his bottom lip, still wet, still wanting. He gave a gentle kiss on the pad of your thumb, staring down at you with wild desperation. You steadied yourself on his shoulders, straddling his lap, wondering which one of you was more nervous.

“You always had more self control than me.” You whispered into his space, pushing his hair out of his face and pulling yourself closer to him.

“You have no idea.”

“You don't have to hold yourself back.”

“If you knew how badly I wanted you, you wouldn't be saying that.” He said it with almost a chuckle.

“I don't want to go back to how it was before, I just want you.”

His kiss was desperate, devouring. His hands gripped you tighter, roaming under your shirt, rucking it up under your chest. His mouth found its way to the hollow of your throat, sloppy and claiming as it sucked a mark. You held onto the headboard behind his head, trying to gain some semblance of control for just a second.

“Promise you mean that?” He begged between heated kisses, voice thick with something you just couldn't put a finger on.

“I promise.”

“Tell me again. Say my name.”

Like a string held taught for so many years, you could hear something had snapped in him. There was a twinkle in his eyes you didn't recognize, and it was hungry for you.

“I only want you, Caleb.”

He stifled a groan against your skin, hands searing where they touched you. He was almost achingly gentle as he touched you, feeling up your back to unclasp your bra, and then back down to pull you further into his lap with reverent hands. You rolled your hips against him and watched a measure of restraint melt away as he bucked up against you. His fingers dipped below your waistband and you gasped as they journeyed further, into your soaked panties.

“All this for me?” He whispered again, and you could hear the wild smile in his voice. “I can't wait to taste.”

His fingers circled your clit, as deft as you could imagine a fighter pilot could be, and you gripped the headboard like it was the only thing grounding you.

He sucked another bruise into your skin, pulling you closer so he could hear your little moans in his ear. His fingers rubbed tight circles, taking your sounds as encouragement and instruction.

A familiar feeling pooled in your belly and you rocked your hips into his hand, chasing your own release with his body.

“Caa-leb!” You whimpered and gasped against him.

“Not yet, sweet girl. I have more I wanna do to you.”

His hand withdrew and you missed it immediately, before you felt your shirt pulled up. You let go of the headboard and helped, pulling off your shirt and bra together and tossing them off to the side. Just as soon as your eyes were covered the gravity shifted, and you were on your back, feeling your shorts and underwear tugged off and discarded as well. Caleb stood on his knees above you, his chest heaving as his eyes studied every inch of skin he could see.

“I've had dreams like this.”

“Me too.” You replied.

He took off his T-shirt, tossing it off somewhere and crawling over you. He started with a few chaste kisses before he quickly moved downward. He sucked another mark into the hollow of your hips, taking a moment after to pause and press his face into your skin and take a deep breath.

His tongue was hot and wet and you gasped when you felt it at your core. It swirled around your clit and you resisted the urge to snap your hips. As practiced as his fingers were, his tongue made no fool of him, though it quickly made a fool of you. A whimper formed in your throat, somewhere between involuntary and eager. He groaned as he heard it, reverberating through you.

You wondered idly if he was spelling your name or his with his tongue. Before you could finish the thought two fingers spread you open for him before pressing inside. You clenched around him and he groaned into your pussy again.

He was quick to find that bundle of nerves inside you, guiding you towards your crest. You knotted your fingers in his hair, crying out his name as your orgasm met its peak. His fingers pumped in and out, coaxing you through it as he left sloppy open mouthed kisses on your trembling thighs.

“So perfect.” He whispered between kisses. “Just like I always dreamed. Better.”

Your open palm found his cheek, soothing your thumb over his wet face. He stared up at you from between your thighs, still looking absolutely wrecked.

“I can do more. I'd be so good to you.”

He placed a kiss in your palm, looking at you with expectant eyes, waiting for you to join the conversation.

“More?” You asked, your post-orgasm brain still hazy and remembering how to fit back in your body.

He slid up on his knees again, and you watched him adjust himself in his pants, placing another kiss into your hand.

“Oh, you want to fuck me.” You blurted out as your brain caught up, your soft hand on his cheek turning to a grip on his face.

“Please.”

“Yes, God yes.”

He laughed as he scrambled off the bed. He fought with the legs of his pants, but eventually stripped off his pants and boxers and crawled back across the bed.

He kissed you again quick, pressing his whole naked form to yours. His cock was thick and heavy between you, beautifully hard and bobbing like it wanted to be touched. God, you wanted to be the one to touch it. He leaned up again, taking a look at you under him.

“God, you're so beautiful like this.” He mused.

You looked up at him and thought the same thing, all beautiful lean muscle and wild desperate wanting. He looked like the forbidden fruit you had waited so long to indulge in. You had spent a lot of time and energy envisioning this moment. Many nights spent with trembling fingers pressed to your lips and buried deep in yourself, searching for something you hadn't even known you could taste.

Now here he was in front of you, or rather you were in front of him like a feast.

Somehow you had both over and under prepared to be here, under Caleb for the first time.

“Hold on, wait.” You stopped for a moment, hand on his stomach as he stood on his knees and kneeled over you.

“We don't have to.” He replied, quietly, as he caged you in with his elbows, running the tip of his nose across the shell of your ear.

“No I want to.” You held your nervous pause. How can you say you spent so long thinking about this moment that you never imagined actually getting here or what it would feel like? “I just-”

“Have never done this?” He interrupted.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He stilled a moment before he babbled on. “Yeah. Good. Okay. That's fine. I can be gentle.”

“What do you mean good?”

“It means I get to be the only one who touches you. I'm terrible at sharing.”

He gripped your hips, lining himself up and waiting. He searched your face for something, you weren't sure what, so you nodded. You felt the press of him near your entrance, rubbing back and forth against your still sensitive clit before pushing in agonizingly slow.

It was both too much and not enough.

You felt the whine in your throat before you heard it, gasping out his name as he split you open.

“That's my girl.” He keened, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your skin as he moved in you.

He groaned as he bottomed out, fully sheathed in you, and you felt his fingers biting into your flesh.

You took a breath, watching him over you. He swept his hair out of his face, off his sweaty brow and held your eye contact. He still had that wild desperation in his eyes, a look you hadn't seen before tonight, but knew you'd have a hard time living without.

He started moving, torturously slow, his eyes glued to where he moved inside you. He groaned as he watched himself fucking into you, breath slow and even and rapturous. He brought a hand down, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb and earning a gasp. His free hand roamed your skin, looking for any place on your body he hadn't memorized yet to squeeze and pull closer to him.

Your shoulders felt lifted, coming up off the mattress and you scrambled for purchase against him.

“Caleb-!” You shrieked in surprise and he chuckled in response, using his evol to lift you off the bed and bring you flush to him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto him while he shifted your weight around, deciding how to move you.

“Don't drop me.” You teased.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

His mouth was hot, kissing his way down your neck, leaving a litany of marks in his wake. His teeth scraped your collarbone and you leaned back, giving him more room to explore.

His tongue swirled around a nipple and you gasped again. He smiled against your skin and did it again. You cradled his head to your chest, letting him lathe over your skin.

You were happy to let him manhandle you around, and he did with ease. His fingers dug into your thighs, sharp and biting as they held you up and you were certain you'd find bruises in their shapes for the week to come.

The same hands left bruises on your heart you'd been feeling for years, what was one more mark left by him? At least these you could press your fingers into when he was gone and remember how this felt.

He looked up at you through his eyelashes, face slick with spit and sweat, a perfect picture of desire. His mouth was so plush and pink and his half lidded eyes pierced through you as he panted against you.

“I don't think you’ve ever looked more beautiful.” He mouthed against your skin.

You wanted to say something witty or sappy or sexy but your mind was blank, an absolute jibbering mess working towards another orgasm at the hands of the only man you've ever imagined while chasing it yourself. You wanted to match his candor but that wasn't what came out.

“I love you.” was what came out instead.

For a moment you felt his focus slip, his arms wound around you again, bringing your mouth crashing to his before you felt your back hit the sheets again.

He held onto you for dear life, strokes getting sloppy and erratic. A new angle pressing him into you in a new way, feeling the peak of orgasm threaten to bloom again.

“All mine, tell me you're all mine.” He whimpered into your neck.

“All yours, Caleb. I always was.”

His speed was almost punishing now, fucking into you with desperation, babbling praise and platitudes into your skin. You cried out against him as another orgasm ripped through your body, letting it wash out your senses, filled now with only Caleb.

You pulled his face to you, catching him in a kiss he didn't expect. You swallowed down his moans, tasting like wet summer air and your own spend. He folded around you, burying himself deep into you as he met his own completion, clutching you tight to his body.

You laid there, chests heaving against each other in the dark of his bedroom for what felt like an eternity. You weren't sure when your ears had started ringing, but as they came back to clarity you remembered the rumbling storm outside.

You kissed the top of his head and felt him take a deep breath against you. He leaned up and caught you in kiss, soft and chaste after everything he had just done to you. Caleb peeled himself off of you reluctantly, padding softly to the bathroom, and returning with a soft wet washcloth.

He cleaned you up quietly, placing soft kisses where he could reach. You felt soft and tired now, letting him move you around, worshiping your body in a new way every minute. Finally he slotted in behind you, pulling you flush to him and tickling your ear with the tip of his nose.

“I love you, too.” He whispered, and you were grateful he couldn't see your blush in the dark.

You threaded your fingers with his and wrapped his arms tighter around you.

Thunder rumbled again somewhere in the distance but you were too content and tired to feel anything about it, not with Caleb wrapped around you and pressing little kisses into all the marks he left.

“If the rain stops tomorrow we should go to the pier again.” You mused, closing your eyes and letting him indulge again.

Your throat is raw, every sound breaking into sobs and moans as Caleb drives into you with ruthless precision. Your body is a trembling, overstimulated mess, every nerve singing with fire. You try to hold on, to cling to the haze of bliss and punishment he’s wrapped you in. But you're so spent, your body is beyond tired, and it’s too much for you. Your chest heaves, your throat catches, and the word slips out, soft but urgent, coated in desperation.

“Apple.”

The air shifts instantly. Caleb stills mid-thrust, buried deep inside you, but no longer moving. The sharp edge in his eyes melts away the moment he hears it, replaced with something tender, protective. His chest heaves as he wrestles back the wild hunger driving him, a master of control, his jaw flexing before he presses a gentle kiss against your damp shoulder.

“Apple,” he repeats softly, grounding both of you in the word. His tone is calm, steady, doting. “Okay, baby. I hear you. I’ve got you.”

Slowly, carefully, he eases out of you, one hand on your hip as if afraid you’ll topple over without him holding you steady. You probably would.

You collapse against the sheets with a whimper, every muscle too weak to hold you up anymore, and immediately his arms are around you. He pulls you back against his chest, cocooning you in warmth, in the safety of his strong biceps.

“Shh… that’s it, sweetheart. It’s over. No more,” he murmurs into your hair, rocking you gently as though soothing a child from a nightmare. His lips brush over your temple, your cheek, damp strands of hair clinging to your flushed face as he peppers you with kisses.

Your body trembles, the aftershocks of too many orgasms rippling through you, but Caleb strokes slow, calming circles into your sides, coaxing you back into yourself.

“You did so good for me. So fucking good. I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, each word threaded with reverence.

When your shaky breaths hitch, he tilts your chin up with the softest touch, wiping the drool and tears from your mouth and cheeks with his thumbs. His gaze is nothing but love, nothing but adoration.

“Look at me, beautiful. Breathe with me, yeah? Just like this.” He inhales slowly, deeply, holding you close so you can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back. You follow, ragged at first, but his steady rhythm guides you until your own breathing evens out.

Caleb shifts you onto your side, curling his body around yours like a shield. He reaches down for the blanket and drapes it over your shivering frame, tucking it around you with meticulous care. His hands linger, rubbing warmth back into your thighs and calves, smoothing over every quivering muscle as if to erase the ache he left behind.

“Do you need water, pips?” he asks softly, kissing the back of your neck.

“Or something sweet? I’ll get you anything you want. Just tell me. Don't hate me, I promise, I don't mean to hurt you, I'm not upset, you did so well.”

Your lips part, a broken little sound of exhaustion slipping free.

“Love you, Caleb, no hate.” His face breaks into a smile, and he doesn’t press you for any more words. He already knows.

He tightens his hold around you, murmuring, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Don’t move—I’ll take care of everything. Thank you.”

True to his promise, he slips away only long enough to grab a bottle of water and a cool, damp cloth. He returns quickly, like he can’t bear to be away from you, and coaxes you to sip while his other hand wipes the sweat from your forehead, your chest, the sticky mess between your thighs. His movements are slow and purposeful.

When you slump back against him, too tired to do more, he gathers you into his arms again, pressing your head to his chest. His heartbeat is steady, strong, a lullaby beneath your ear.

“You’re safe now. Always safe with me,” he whispers, stroking your hair until the strands untangle beneath his fingers. He hums softly, a low soothing sound, kissing your crown as you drift.

Every now and then, he reminds you in hushed tones of how much he cares.

“I love you. I’m so proud of you. Thank you for trusting me. You learn so well, you make me feel so lucky.”

Each affirmation melts into your bones, a blanket warmer than the one covering your body.

As your lashes flutter closed and exhaustion finally pulls you under, Caleb stays awake, holding you close, still murmuring his soft reassurances into the quiet of the room. Protective. Loving. Patient.

And when sleep takes you, it’s with the certainty that he will still be there, watching over you, the next time you open your eyes.

☆☆☆☆☆

Morning comes softly, sunlight spilling pale and golden across the sheets. Your body stirs, but the ache in your muscles is immediate. It's dull and deep, a reminder of just how far you’d been pushed, how much you took.

For a moment you tense, unsure, until you feel the familiar weight of Caleb’s arm draped over your waist, the warmth of his chest pressed to your back. He’s awake, you realize, the steady brush of his thumb over your hip bone proof that he’s been watching for any sign of discomfort.

“Easy, pips,” his voice is low, still rough with sleep but tender. He presses a kiss into your hair before you can even think of shifting.

“Don’t move too fast. Your body’s had a hell of a night.”

You relax back against him, your muscles too sore to do much else, and he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he teases gently, but he isn't smug or too unkind—his voice holds only total unfiltered affection. His fingers trace soothing patterns along your arm, grounding you in the slow, soft rhythm of his touch.

“Stay here,” he whispers after a moment, easing himself carefully out of the bed without disturbing you.

The absence of his warmth makes you whimper faintly, but he’s back soon enough, after fifteen or so minutes, setting a tray down on the nightstand. When he settles beside you again, he helps you sit up against the pillows, lifting you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

The tray is simple but thoughtful: a glass of water, orange juice, pain medicine, fruit, and toast cut neatly into small halves with no crusts.

“Something light,” Caleb explains, placing the water into your hands first.

“You need fluids. And sugar. Don’t argue, just sip for me.”

He watches carefully as you drink, brushing a strand of hair away from your damp forehead, then easing the glass from your fingers when you’re done. Every motion is deliberate, patient, as though you’re fragile porcelain he’s determined not to crack.

“How’s your body?” he asks, his gaze never leaving your face.

“Sore? Cramping? Tell me everything.”

You murmur a weak, “Sore. Everywhere,” and he smiles, kissing your temple, then the bridge of your nose.

“Good. That means I didn’t imagine how incredible you were last night.” His words are soft, wrapped in unbridled joy and appreciation.

With steady care, his hands are already moving, reaching into the drawer for a bottle of lotion. He rubs it between his palms to warm it, then begins to massage your thighs, your calves, slow and steady. The ache eases little by little under his careful attention.

When you wince, he immediately softens his touch, murmuring, “Shh, I’ve got you. Just tell me where it’s too much. I’ll be gentle.”

The care stretches throughout the morning. He insists you stay in bed, fetching you ibuprofen when he notices the strain around your eyes, drawing the curtains to keep the room dim and restful. He changes the sheets while you lie curled in the blankets, making sure everything feels clean and fresh, then tucks you back in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Every so often, he leans down to kiss you. Your forehead, your neck, your cheek, and your lips if you tilt your head to meet him. They’re slow kisses, grounding ones, nothing like the desperate, disciplinary claims of the night before.

“I’m proud of you,” he tells you quietly, brushing his thumb across your jaw.

“For using your word. For knowing your limit. That’s everything to me, pips. You are so good, so perfect.”

By midday, he’s coaxed you into a warm bath, carrying you when your legs shake too much to walk. He lowers you into the water as though you might break, then kneels beside the tub with a soft towel draped over his arm, content just to watch over you while the heat soothes your aching muscles. He washes your hair for you, careful fingers massaging your scalp until you hum softly in contentment.

“Ah~ You're the best, Caleb. Thank you.”

“Mm, I know, baby.”

☆☆☆☆☆

The rest of the day is spent in quiet comfort.

Caleb wrapping you in one of his shirts, carrying you back to bed, putting on a movie you barely pay attention to because you keep dozing against his chest. Each time you stir, he’s there, rubbing circles into your back, whispering reassurances you don’t even need to hear to believe.

And every moment, he treats you like something precious. To him, that trust you gave him is worth more than anything.

By nightfall, as he tucks you against his chest again and kisses the crown of your head, his voice is nothing but love.

“Sleep, pipsqueak. I’ll take care of you tomorrow, too. For as long as you need. Always.”

The night stretched too long. Your bed felt too wide, your body restless, your phone burning in your hand like it knew what you wanted before you admitted it. Loneliness and hunger made a dangerous mix. You had spent hours scrolling, replaying old pictures, rereading texts until your skin prickled with want.

And then the thought slipped in: if you wanted them, all you had to do was ask.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, nerves coiling in your chest. It was stupid, reckless, and greedy. Five men, five different shades of ruin, and you were about to invite every one of them into your night.

But you typed anyway, fingers trembling, tailoring each request to match the man on the other end. Zayne’s clipped name, Xavier’s smug banter, Caleb’s sweet devotion, Sylus’s sharp cruelty, Rafayel’s aching need. The same demand beneath each one, dressed in different words: Send me a video– with the sound on.

When the last message flew, you lay back against your pillows, heart pounding. The silence buzzed, your body strung tight with anticipation.

And then your phone buzzed. The first reply lit your screen.

doctor_forced_to_cum_with_sound_on.mp4

Zayne stared at the text glowing back at him:

Don’t send me a silent clip, Zayne.

I want the full thing. Sound included.

His jaw tightened, teeth grinding. Typical. You never asked like a supplicant, you demanded, confident he’d fold. He should ignore it, and should tell you to stop wasting both your time. A good surgeon respected his workplace, kept things clean, sterile, and controlled. That was why he was still at his desk, notes open, pen scratching through details of the VSD repair he’d closed earlier that evening.

But his pulse betrayed him. Sharp, hot, and immediate. He could picture it too easily: you with your phone clutched tight, face tilted down to the glow, waiting with parted lips. Ear bent close, listening for every crack in his control. The image cut through him like a scalpel. His throat bobbed on a swallow.

“Insufferable,” he muttered under his breath, though his thumb dragged the camera open anyway.

He set the phone on his desk, angled steady, sterile– like he was documenting a procedure. Then he rose, chair rolling back as he crossed to lock the office door. The only person allowed to see him stripped down to this was you.

When he returned, the leather creaked beneath his weight. He sat too straight, palms flat on his thighs, staring at the phone as if it might judge him. It had been too long since he’d had to do this alone. Usually, you were there, splayed out on his sheets, legs back, eyes bright, every little gasp guiding him. His cock twitched at the memory, straining hard against the confines of his trousers.

The belt came undone with a vicious snap of leather, too harsh, like he could punish the sin before committing it. He yanked it free, fingers working his fly with clipped precision. His briefs tented, his cock heavy and aching inside, already leaking from the head. He exhaled sharply, then tapped record. The red light glared back at him like an accusation.

He cleared his throat, “This is Zayne… Li. I’ll be masturba– fuck it.” His jaw flexed. His voice dropped, dark, guttural. “This is for you, y/n.”

His palm slid beneath the waistband, cupping himself. The groan that cracked out of him was low, rough, the sound of months of discipline bending under a single demand from you. He tugged his briefs down and freed himself. His cock slapped against his stomach, thick, flushed, the tip wet. He frowned at the sterile air, at the lack of heat and wetness. He wanted your mouth. With a sharp sound of irritation, he spat into his hand and slicked himself. The messiness made him groan louder, hips twitching up as he wrapped his fist around himself.

The first strokes were brutal, impatient, as if he wanted to drag himself past the shame by force. His grip was punishing, knuckles pale, dragging from base to tip with a twist of his wrist that made his cock jump. A hiss cut through his teeth, echoing in the sterile room. His rhythm steadied, long pulls, his chest rising and falling faster with each drag.

The fantasy invaded, vivid and merciless: your lips stretching around him, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, your eyes watering when he shoved deeper than expected. Your gag, your gasp. His cock twitched violently in his grip at the imagined sound.

“Christ,” he rasped, voice rougher than he meant. “You’d choke on it, wouldn’t you? Let me fuck that pretty throat until you drooled all over yourself.” The words tasted like sin, sharp but unstoppable, spilling from his mouth unfiltered.

The control cracked. His pace picked up, the slick slide louder, obscene. His hips rocked up into his fist, the chair groaning under him as he fucked his hand like it was you. His breath tore ragged out of him, his groans turning guttural, curses spilling unchecked.

Wet slaps filled the office, his spit-slick fist pounding his cock, the base hitting against his palm. The red record light blinked in rhythm with each stroke.

The orgasm hit like a knife to the gut– sudden, brutal, overwhelming. His back arched, head snapping back, a hoarse snarl ripped from his throat with your name tangled in it. Hot ropes of cum shot across his stomach, splattering his desk blotter, dripping from his fist. His hips bucked helplessly through the climax, body shuddering with each contraction.

He sagged back, chest heaving, sweat plastering dark strands to his temple. His hand was still, sticky on his stomach, the other bracing hard against the desk. He stared down at the mess, at the glowing red light. It pulsed like a warning: delete. Wipe it clean. Pretend this never happened.

His thumb hovered, discipline warring with need, shame grinding against hunger.

“Insufferable,” he muttered again, softer this time, closer to reverence than scorn. His breath shuddered out. And then he hit send.

The notification blinked. Your breath caught as you opened it.

The first thing you heard was him. The low scrape of his breath, the wet slap of his fist, a growl of your name torn out of his chest like it was breaking him in half. Zayne looked furious with himself in the video. His jaw clenched, chest flushed, his release spilling hot and messy across his stomach as though discipline had finally snapped.

You clutched your phone tighter, thighs pressing together, shocked at how loud he’d been, how unrestrained. He’d tried to stay clinical, sterile, but by the end, he was snarling your name like an animal. You couldn’t stop replaying it, couldn’t stop pressing the phone closer to your ear, chasing every ragged moan.

gymbro_screams_in_shower_real_audio.mov

Another smug gym pic sent, another quick reply from you. He smirked when he read it:

Pictures don’t prove anything. Show me the real thing.

And make sure the sound’s on.

A laugh ripped out of him, bright and arrogant. You thought you could out-dare him? Cute. He leaned back against the mirror, still damp with his workout sweat, already picturing the look on your face when your phone filled with his voice– when you realized just how loud he could get. And Xavier could get really loud.

The amenity gym on the top floor of his condo was practically deserted compared to the one downstairs, which suited him just fine. He tossed his towel over his shoulder, slid his phone into his pocket, and grabbed the spray bottle, wiping down the handles of the bike like he hadn’t already decided what he was about to do.

He strolled into the locker room, casual as sin, and swung open the stall door at the far end. The acoustics were perfect: tile, empty space, echo chamber. He could already imagine your reaction when the sounds bounced straight back at him and into the mic.

He hit record with a grin sharp enough to draw blood. He propped the phone against the soap ledge, angling it just so, catching every flattering line of his torso. One hand raked back through his sweat-tousled hair, the other flicked on the shower.

He didn’t look at the lens at first. He let you watch him go through the motions like it was casual, squeezing shampoo into his palm, lathering it through thick hair, head tipped back under the spray. Rivers of water carved down his temples, traced the sharp lines of his jaw, slid along the arch of his throat. He let it run, let you watch, a tease stretched over long minutes.

Next came the body wash. He squeezed the gel onto a cloth and began to drag it slowly over his skin. Ankles, calves, thighs. His hand skimmed high on his hip, soap bubbles catching in the grooves of his muscles. He didn’t even hide his smirk when he turned back toward the camera, chest slick, lips curved.

The cloth moved upward, over his chest, circling his nipples, down the ridges of his abs. He was tracing the same paths he knew your hands would take if you were here. He winked at the camera, a smug promise. His pace slowed as he reached lower, the cloth brushing over his hipbones, sliding across the hard line of his stomach.

The friction of terrycloth against sensitive skin made his breath catch. His grin faltered into a hiss. He adjusted, wrapped his hand around his cock with the cloth still between, and dragged it down once, rough. His head fell back.

“Fuck–” The word echoed, sharp and needy, bouncing against tile.

He stroked again, longer this time, his cock already flushed and leaking, the soap making every slide harsher, wetter. His chest heaved, shoulders rolling back as he pumped his fist faster, the cloth rubbing mercilessly. The shower spray beat down on his back, mixing water with the suds and slick, sending white froth running over his thighs.

He moaned, loud and unrestrained. The sound filled the locker room, obscene, amplified until it sounded bigger than him. His eyes flicked to the phone, locking with the lens as he groaned your name. “Ahh– fuck, y/n–” It left him half-whisper, half-plea, swallowed immediately by a ragged groan.

He didn’t quiet himself. If anything, he grew louder, every gasp, every choked grunt echoing. His hips snapped forward, hand pistoning faster, his thighs trembling with the effort. His moans turned sharp, cracking into curses.

“Y/n– fuck–” His head hit the tiles behind him with a dull thud as his orgasm ripped through, hot stripes spilling from his cock and mixing with soap and spray. His voice broke into something between a growl and a laugh, messy and triumphant, his body jerking as he stroked himself through the last pulses.

For a long second he just stood there, chest heaving, shoulders quivering with aftershocks. Then slowly, deliberately, his grin spread back over his face. Wild, victorious.

He leaned in close to the phone, dripping, water running down the hard cut of his jaw, pooling at his collarbone. His smirk was lethal, cocky enough to bruise.

“Bet you’ll watch that on repeat.”

He didn’t even bother wiping the spray off the lens before his thumb hit send.

The second video arrived before your pulse had even calmed.

This one was a performance from the first frame. Steam curling in the locker room, Xavier smirking at the lens as he soaped himself down. And then– loud, cocky, unashamed– his groans filled your speakers, echoing hard off tile, every noise amplified like he was putting on a show for the whole world. He never looked away from the camera as he came, grinning while cum splattered across his fist, water washing it down his abs in streaks.

You covered your mouth with your hand, but you couldn’t stop laughing– breathless, turned inside out, wrecked by how shameless he was. Where Zayne had fought himself every second, Xavier leaned into it, dared you to keep watching. He knew you’d hit replay until your legs shook.

softboi_cums_in_kitchen_while_cooking_sauce.mp4

The video call had been soft, domestic, the two of you catching up over the sound of his stove and his low, tuneless humming. He teased you about something, you teased back– it was easy, playful. Until it wasn’t. He heard the shift in your voice, the way your breathing slowed between words, the rustle of you squirming against your sheets. And then your plea slipped out, quiet but weighted like a stone dropped into water:

“You sound so good to me right now. But I don’t just want your voice… I need to see you. Send me a video– with the sound on. Please?”

Before he could even respond, you hung up, too shy to hear the answer. Caleb froze in his kitchen, spoon clattering uselessly to the counter. His throat went dry, a rush of heat blooming low in his belly, making him dizzy. “You really know how to undo me, don’t you?” he whispered into the empty room, hands trembling as he shut the stove off.

Your voice looped in his head, drowning out everything else. The sauce could burn. The only thing he hungered for was you– spread out, lip caught between your teeth, phone glowing in your hand as you waited to see if he’d give in.

His cock swelled, pressing hard against the fabric of his basketball shorts. He didn’t even think about setting the phone up, just yanked it open with one hand while the other pushed under the waistband.

A ragged breath tore from him as his palm wrapped around his length. Already hard, already leaking, precum smeared across his fingers as he dragged them along the shaft. He turned the phone toward his face, eyes wide and dark with hunger, teeth digging into his lip. “Look what you do to me, pipsqueak,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “This is all your fault.”

He shifted the angle, letting the frame catch glimpses of his flushed chest, the desperate pump of his fist, the way his cock gleamed wet in his grip. The slick sound of him stroking filled the kitchen, obscene against the metronomic tick of the forgotten timer.

“F-fuck–y/n–” His moan cracked, high and desperate, as his thumb rubbed over the swollen head, spreading slick down the length. His hips started to buck, chasing the pace, the head of his cock smacking against his stomach on each upward pull. The noise was loud, messy, and raw.

His mouth wouldn’t stop running. “Wish it was your hand. Wish it was your mouth– god, baby, you’d look so fucking pretty choking on me. On your knees, drool dripping down your chin, crying while I fuck your throat until you can’t breathe.” His voice shook, filthy words tumbling unplanned out of his mouth.

The phone shook with him, the lens catching half-blurred glimpses of his body, the frantic way he fucked into his fist, his abs clenching, sweat sliding down his temple. His breaths turned to broken whimpers, every sound spilling unrestrained into the quiet.

It built fast, like he’d been waiting all night for you to ask. His thighs tensed, his hips jerking hard, the wet slap of his strokes turning frantic. “Y/n–fuck, I’m–” His words cut off in a hoarse shout as his climax ripped through him. Cum shot hot and heavy across his hand and stomach, streaking messily up toward his chest. He pumped through it, shuddering, gasping out your name again, voice breaking, half-moan, half-prayer.

The kitchen smelled of tomatoes and sex, his sauce forgotten, his breath ragged. He nearly dropped the phone, fumbling it closer, his face flushed and glassy-eyed, lips trembling around the words:

“This is yours. I’m yours. Always.”

Shame and tenderness warred in his chest, his thumb hovering. Then, with a broken exhale, he hit send.

When Caleb’s name lit up your phone, you hesitated. He’d never said yes so easily before. But when you tapped play, the sight punched the air from your lungs.

The frame was shaky, unfocused, but his voice filled the kitchen– loud, desperate, filthy. His moans cracked into whimpers, curses tangled with your name, and the slick sound of his strokes carried like he had a microphone pressed to his cock. He was so unpolished, so wrecked, cum striping his chest as he whispered I’m yours with a trembling smile, still panting.

You pressed the phone to your chest, eyes burning, heat pooling low. He hadn’t just sent you proof. He’d given you every messy second, every broken sound, and confessed himself in the same breath.

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The fight had started over nothing, like most of them. You teased, he snapped, you pushed, and he shoved back harder. His last message still burned on your screen: “You’re too demanding.”

Your reply cut sharp as a knife:

If you’re so unbothered, prove it. Send me the video. And if it’s muted, don’t bother– I won’t watch it.

Sylus barked out a laugh, low and cruel, tossing his phone onto the mattress before picking it back up to reread. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he muttered, lips curling into something feral. “Fine. You want sound? I’ll give you something you’ll never get out of your head.”

He set the phone on the nightstand at an unflattering angle, deliberately unpolished, legs spread wide. His jeans were undone in seconds, his cock springing free, heavy and flushed dark. He spat into his palm, letting the camera hear the wet smack of it before he wrapped his fist around himself.

The first stroke was deliberate, slow, the slick drag echoing in the room. He stared straight into the lens, eyes sharp, daring you to look away. “There. That what you wanted? Loud enough for you?” His lip curled as he pumped harder, the sound growing wetter, obscene.

His hips started to roll into his fist, sharp jerks that made his cock slap audibly against his palm and thighs. He grunted, a guttural noise, then let it melt into a cruel laugh. “Bet you’re already touching yourself. Earphones in, listening to me fucking my fist while you get yourself off like a needy little slut.”

The noises were relentless– the slick slide of his spit-slick grip, the wet slaps of his strokes, his heavy breathing growing rougher. Every time he moaned, he did it louder than necessary, exaggerated, mocking you with the rawness of it.

“You’d be drooling if you were here. Choking on me while I held your head down, making you gag until your mascara ran. And you’d take it, wouldn’t you? All the way down. Crying for more.” His voice was rough, vicious, but his strokes betrayed his own desperation, faster now, his hips snapping up into his grip.

His thighs flexed, abs tightening, the muscles in his arm standing out as he fucked into his hand like he hated himself for needing it. His groans cracked, slipping out too raw, too honest, until he bit them down with his teeth.

But the edge crept closer, violent and inevitable. His balls drew tight, his breath stuttered. “Fuck–y/n–yeah, hear that? That’s you ruining me.” The snarl shredded into a ragged moan as his cock jerked violently, thick ropes of cum spilling over his abs, striping his stomach and dripping onto his thighs. He stroked himself through it, grunting with each spurt, milking every drop for the microphone, for you.

The last tremor shook him, chest heaving, cum smeared across his fist, sweat glistening along his throat. He leaned toward the camera, breath fogging the lens, his smirk feral even in ruin.

“You wanted sound? Now you’re stuck with it. Every filthy second.” His voice dropped into a growl. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He hit send without hesitation.

The buzz of Sylus’s reply made your stomach knot, dread and arousal twisting together.

From the first second, you knew you were in trouble. The video was cruel, unfiltered– wet smacks of spit, the slick drag of his fist, his groans sharpened into taunts. He exaggerated the noise, made it filthy, deliberate, mocking you with every guttural grunt. And when he came, it was violent, cum striping his abs as he laughed low and feral, snarling into the lens: You’ll regret turning the sound on.

You hated him for it. Hated how your hand shook as you replayed it anyway, thighs pressed together so tightly they ached. Every noise was branded into you, raw and merciless. He’d ruined you on purpose.

desperate_bf_sobs_your_name_cum_everywhere_final_cut.mp4

It had been a lonely night, one of those nights where everything reminded you of him– the way his scent clung stubbornly to your sheets, the ghost of his laugh echoing in your chest. Loneliness and want gnawed at you until your thumb hovered, trembling, before you finally typed:

I miss you. It’s not enough to imagine you. Let me hear you. Send it with the sound on. Let me drown in you.

The message flew, and almost instantly his reply lit up your screen. “You want me?” The three dots blinked frantic, frantic, before another came through: “Then you’ll have me. Every sound. Every breath. I’ll give you everything.”

The video opened too close, his flushed face filling the screen– pupils swallowing nearly all the color, lips parted around uneven breaths, sweat already dewing at his temples. He shifted back with a shuddering exhale, fumbling at the button of his jeans like his body couldn’t keep up with his need.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he rasped, voice shaking, ruined already. “Every time I hear your voice, I—fuck, I can’t—” His words cracked into a groan as his cock sprang free, thick and flushed dark, the tip glossy and wet.

He spat into his palm and wrapped it around himself, dragging slowly from base to head, the noise of it wet and obscene. His head tipped back against the headboard, throat straining, a helpless moan spilling out.

The room filled with noise, unrestrained, indulgent. The slick slide of his fist, the wet slap of his balls against his palm as his hips rocked up to meet the strokes. His voice poured out with it, broken and desperate. “Y/n—oh god—y/n—fuck, please—please, I need you—” Your name was woven into every breath, every curse, every guttural groan.

He shifted the angle lower, letting you see the thick length of him working through his hand, veins standing out, precum smeared down the shaft until it glistened. His fist pumped harder, faster, the sound wetter, louder, like he wanted to make sure you heard every filthy second.

“I need you here,” he gasped, voice raw and cracking. “Need your mouth– fuck, your perfect little cunt– want to bury myself so deep inside you you’d never forget me. God, I’d fill you until you screamed my name and begged me not to stop.” His hips bucked hard, the phone shaking in his grip, his breath breaking into little sobs of frustration and want.

Every moan climbed higher, sharp and unrestrained, body wracked with trembling as he fucked his hand like he was imagining it was your body giving way under him. He whined your name, choked it out like prayer, the sound so raw it bordered on worship.

“Y/n–y/n– I’m close– I can’t– fuck, baby, I’m gonna– ” His voice shredded into a hoarse wail as his orgasm ripped through him, violent and overwhelming. His entire body convulsed, cum spilling in hot, thick ropes across his stomach, his chest, dripping onto his thighs and pooling in the grooves of his abs. He didn’t stop– kept pumping through it, messy, frantic, milking himself for every drop, whimpering your name again and again until his voice cracked.

The camera caught everything: the sticky mess smeared across his trembling stomach, his fist still working his cock through the aftershocks, his hips jerking with each pulse. The sound was relentless– wet strokes, broken moans, the whispered please, please, please spilling out of him without thought.

Finally, his pace slowed, body shaking, sweat streaking down his flushed chest. His cock still twitched in his messy grip, cum smeared slick over his abs and hand. He fumbled the phone closer with his free hand, his face filling the frame again– eyes glassy, lips trembling, his smile shaky, reverent, worshipful even in ruin.

“This is yours, cutie,” he whispered, voice hoarse, every word quivering. “All of me. Every sound, every drop– it’s yours.”

And before shame could claw its way in, before reason could drown his devotion, his thumb hit send.

By the time Rafayel’s name lit up your phone, you were already trembling. But nothing prepared you for him.

The video filled with his face first– eyes glassy, lips parted, begging before he even touched himself. And then the sounds– louder than all the others, drowning everything else out. Wet strokes, frantic gasps, your name choked on a sob as he fucked his fist like he was praying with his whole body. His orgasm shook him apart, cum spilling in thick, heavy ropes across his chest, his voice cracking as he moaned please and yours over and over until it was all you could hear.

You sank back into your pillows, phone pressed so close it might as well have been in your skin. He hadn’t just given you a video. He’d given you worship, ruin, devotion in its rawest form.

Five men. Five videos. Five different ways to tear you open.

And you had every single one of them.

Thanks for reading <3