Luna

“V-Val- hhahh- Val-ko- s'too- m'gonna- too m-much-“

Words? What were those? Your brain had turned to mush about three orgasms ago.

A whimper caught in your throat. Tears pricked at your lashes at the stretch, at being so fucking full, like he'd shoved your organs aside to make room.

“Hah-“ His voice broke, and you could feel every muscle in his body trembling, fighting something feral as his tail lashed wildly behind him. “Tryna be gentle but you-“

He fucked you like a beast anyway. Forehead pressed to yours, ears flat against his head, panting into your mouth. Your slick made the filthiest sounds every time he thrust home and when his teeth found your neck hard enough to break skin, the noise you made had his rhythm stuttering.

“Sorry- ngh- didn't mean-“ But he didn't stop. Couldn't.

His hand slid under your back, arching you up into him. The other pinned your wrist to the mattress. Blood smeared across your throat from his lips.

“That's it, that’s my good girl-“ Completely gone. Ruined.

You came screaming and do you think that made him slow down? Fuck no. He didn't slow down even a little.

“Again.” Barely a whisper. Begging. Pleading for just one more scream from those pretty lips…

“Valko- can't- no more-“

His ears drooped, this wounded little sound in his chest, “I know babe, m'sorry-“ His hips snapped forward anyway, “what’s a pup supposed to do? You just feel so good- cant- shit- can’t stop-“

Your cunt was a sloppy, ruined mess at this point- syrupy strings of your cum and arousal coating his cock, smearing creamy across your inner thighs. You could feel yourself dripping between your ass, making a puddle beneath you.

Then something big started pressing at your entrance.

the air in valko’s penthouse was thick with the scent of ozone and rain, the storm outside casting long, fractured shadows across the glass. you were sprawled across his pristine black sheets, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, wearing nothing but the thin, faded t-shirt you’d stolen from his closet.

he was standing at the foot of the bed, stripped down to a pair of low-slung charcoal slacks, his sculpted torso a worthy distraction, but your eyes weren’t on his abs. they were locked on the object dangling from his fingers.

his muzzle, a sleek piece of cold metal— a cage of sharp angles and jagged lines that perfectly framed the hard set of his jaw. when he wore it, he was a beast, a predator with those piercing, golden-amber eyes that could strip you bare with a single glance.

“you’ve been staring at this all night, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly purr that vibrated through the floorboards. he twirled the muzzle by its leather strap, the metallic clink of the latches a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “tell me what you’re thinking.”

you bit your lip, heat pooling low in your belly. you were playing a dangerous game and you both knew it. “i’m thinking… i want to know what it feels like.”

a slow, predatory smile curled the corner of his mouth, canines peeking through slightly. “do you, now?” he stalked around the bed, his movements fluid and silent, like a wolf closing in on its prey. he stopped beside you, his large, calloused hand coming up to cup your chin, tilting your face up to his. his thumb brushed over your lower lip, parting it gently.

“you want my cage around your face?” he breathed, his golden eyes darkening with a dangerous, possessive glint.

you nodded, your voice catching in your throat. “please.”

your plea seemed to ignite something feral in him and he didn’t give you a chance to second-guess it. in a single, fluid motion, he slipped behind you, his bare chest pressing flush against your back, his warm skin searing yours. he smelled of expensive cologne, rain and pure, masculine heat.

“rules, puppy,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “one: you don’t take it off. not until i say so. two: you don’t speak unless i ask you a question. and three…” he paused, sliding the cool metal of the muzzle against your cheek, letting you feel its weight. “you beg me with your eyes, and i will give you exactly what you need. understood?”

a pathetic, breathless whimper escaped you, and he chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your spine.

slowly, he brought the muzzle over your head. the leather straps felt like silk against your skin, but the metal was frigid. he positioned it over your mouth and nose, it’s metal pieces adjusting their position to make it a snug, perfect fit, as if it had been crafted for you. the cool iron pressed against the bridge of your nose, the cage covering your lips, leaving your eyes— your only tether to him— fully exposed.

the latches clicked into place with a satisfying, final clack.

it was as if your brain accommodated to the rules immediately, a jolt of electricity shot through you at the sudden inability to speak. the cold metal against your flushed skin made you nervous, your hands instinctively flew back, gripping his thick, corded thighs as he knelt behind you.

“theeere she is,” he rasped, his hands sliding down your arms, tracing the curve of your waist before gripping your hips with bruising intensity. “my perfect, obedient little thing. you have no idea what that does to me.”

he shifted, pressing a searing, open-mouthed kiss to your bare shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp, but the sound was muffled, trapped behind the cold steel. it came out as a desperate, guttural hum. that sound drove him absolutely insane.

his hands trailed lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt, his fingers splaying across your stomach. “so warm for me,” he growled, his voice breaking. “you like this, don’t you? you like being claimed.”

he leaned down, his lips teasing the slick, heated skin of your neck. he nipped at the pulse point, hard enough to sting, before dragging his tongue up to the edge of the metal mask. he kissed the cold steel right over your mouth.

he cupped your face, his thumb stroking the cold metal over your lower lip. the friction was maddening. you pressed your mouth against it, trying to kiss his thumb through the barrier, a soft, desperate whine escaping your throat.

he loved that sound. you saw it in the way his pupils dilated, in the predatory way his tongue darted out to wet his own lips. he was starving.

he pushed you down onto your stomach, the silk sheets cool against your overheated skin. he loomed over you, his massive frame casting you in shadow. with a rough tug, he yanked your shirt up, baring your back, before his hands found the curve of your ass, squeezing and kneading with raw, unrestrained lust.

he tugged down the thin fabric of your panties, tossing them aside. you could feel the heavy, thick length of his cock pressing against your thigh, hot and demanding, even through his slacks. he rocked against you, a slow, punishing grind that had your fingers twisting into the sheets. you gave him a desperate glance over your shoulder, unable to express anything through words.

“god, the way you look at me,” he groaned, his chest heaving. his hand slid between your thighs, finding you slick and ready for him. he groaned at the feel of your wetness, his fingers parting you, circling your clit with a pressure that made your spine arch. the muffled cry you let out was obscene.

“one word from you,” he whispered hoarsely, pressing his forehead against the back of your neck. “one single sound, and i’ll tear this thing off and take you right here until you scream my name. but if you stay quiet…”

his finger slid inside you, then another, stretching you, working you with a fierce, distinct rhythm. he curled them, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. your eyes rolled back, your hips bucking into his hand, the metal muzzle clinking against the pillowcase.

“if you stay quiet, puppy,” he repeated, his voice dripping with dark promise, “i’ll fuck you while you wear it. and every time you try to beg me to go faster, all you’ll taste is my steel. and i will own you.”

he withdrew his fingers abruptly, making you cry out in frustration against the cage. he sat back, his eyes blazing down at you, tracing the way the muzzle left a slight dent on your cheeks, the way your eyes were wide and pleading. he reached down, undoing his slacks with a sharp, quick motion, freeing his cock, leaking, the head slick with anticipation.

he gripped your hips, hauling you up onto your knees, and without warning, he pushed into you. the stretch was perfect— tight, hot, and deep. a strangled whimper echoed from your throat, muffled by the cage. he leaned over you, his chest plastered to your back, his pelvis grinding against your ass.

“fuck, baby,” he hissed, the word bitten out through clenched teeth. “you’re so tight. so fucking perfect.”

he pulled out to the tip, then slammed back in, his hips snapping forward with brutal, rhythmic precision. the bed groaned under the force of his thrusts. he was relentless, chasing his own blind pleasure while dragging yours out with every sharp angle of his hips.

his large hand wrapped around the front of your throat, just resting there, feeling your pulse hammer against the tips of his fingers, below the metal of the muzzle. it was terrifying and wildly arousing. “look at me,” he growled, his voice a broken, desperate rasp.

you managed to turn your head, looking over your shoulder. the sight was surreal; his face was flushed, strained with pleasure, a sheen of sweat on his brow. his golden eyes burned with a primal, unyielding lust, but beneath it, there was a fierce, staggering devotion.

“that’s it,” he breathed, watching you. “give me your eyes. give me all of it. you’re mine. say it with your eyes, baby.”

you couldn’t blink. you held his gaze, your eyes soft, glazed, and completely surrendered. a tear slipped down your cheek, sliding under the edge of the muzzle. the sight of that tear— the proof of your overpowering feeling for him, trapped inside his cage— burned his insides.

his rhythm faltered. his hips started driving into you harder, deeper, almost reverently.

“i can’t—I’m close,” he gasped, his fingers tightening on your hip, pulling you impossibly deeper onto his length. “come with me. fucking come with me.”

you tightened around him, a violent, spasming clench that stole a guttural, ragged groan from his throat. the mask muffled your scream, turning it into a desperate, high-pitched keen that seemed to echo in the metal chamber, vibrating against his face as he leaned down to kiss the crown of it again.

his free hand found your clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles as he pounded into you. the dual assault— the depth, the pressure, the cold cage, the heat of his breath on your neck— sent you hurtling over the edge. your body seized, a silent, convulsive scream caught in your throat as your walls clamped down on him like a vice.

the feeling of you pulsing around him, silent and trembling, was the final trigger. valko let out a deep, guttural roar, his hips locking against yours as he emptied himself inside you with hot, pulsing spurts. he slumped over you, his weight a comfortable, grounding anchor, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your ear.

for a long moment, there was only the sound of the rain and your mingled breathing along with the wet squelch of his hips rocking against yours, slowly, lazily, milking the aftershocks from your body. your heart was a frantic drum in your chest, your mind a fuzzy, white static.

slowly, with shaking hands, valko reached for your head. the latches clicked open. the cool metal lifted from your face, and the sudden rush of cool air against your lips felt like a baptism. he tossed the muzzle aside and immediately cupped your cheeks, turning you to face him.

his thumbs wiped away the tear that had escaped. he kissed your forehead, your nose, and then, gently, your lips— a stark contrast to the savage possession moments before.

“you did so well,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice thick with emotion. “you took it so beautifully. you are beautiful.”

you opened your mouth to speak, but your voice was cracked and raw. “val…”

he shushed you, his forehead resting against yours. “no words needed now. i know,” he breathed, his eyes searching yours, filled with a raw, unguarded vulnerability that he showed to no one else in the world. “i’ll take care of you.”

he pulled you into his arms, wrapping the sheet around both of you as the storm raged on, holding you like you were the only thing in his universe worth protecting. in the cold, metallic heart of the beast, you had found his sole, tender pulse.

the front door clicks open, the sound of clumsy footsteps making your older boyfriend’s ears prick up like a dog. he sits lazily on the couch, scar twitching as he takes in the sight of your drunken form.

“what time d’ya call this, doll? told you t’ be home by two," toji grumbles. he wasn’t angry, just worried — the thought of something bad happening to his sweet girl felt like a knife twisting in his heart.

"you waited up?" you say, padding over to him, almost tripping over your own feet before sitting on his lap comfortably. your cheeks were flushed, eyes half lidded from the excessive amount of alcohol you’d consumed.

two large hands find your waist, holding you steady as you bury your face into his neck. “course i waited. always do. someone’s gotta keep ya’ pretty ass in line."

“m’sorry i was late,” you slur, kissing toji’s cheek, salt and pepper stubble bushing your skin. the thin straps of your dress fall from your shoulders as you cling to him like a koala, the potent scent of tequila radiating from you.

he hums lowly, kissing the top of your head before standing up abruptly, carrying you over to the bathroom like you weigh nothing. "cmon, kid."

you giggle drunkenly as he carries you, hiccuping quietly as toji sets you down on the surface next to the bathroom sink. “arms up, baby," he says, peeling your dress off you, forbidding his eyes from wandering.

he takes off your dress, then your heels, chucking them carelessly onto the bathroom floor. you lean against the mirror, eyes closed, mind foggy from a mix of alcohol and fatigue.

"m’cold," you mumble, sat there completely bare before him without a care in the world. "yeah, yeah, i know. gimme a second," toji responds, stripping off his shirt and helping you into it instead.

toji was somewhat glad your eyes were shut so you couldn’t see the faint smile on his face. he always found it so damn adorable how his shirts fit you like a loose dress, stopping a couple inches above your knees.

he places two hands on your thighs, pushing his shirt up a little, then hooks his fingers under the sides of your panties. "want these off?" he asks, for once, completely innocently — your comfort being his only thought.

you nod feebly, lifting your hips just enough for him to take slide them off you.

then, he grabs a nearby glass, filling it with cold water and bringing it to your lips. "drink."

with a weak whine, you oblige, gulping down a few sips of water before pulling away, ready to have your secretly soft, big brute of of boyfriend carry you to bed.

“atta girl," he praises, setting the glass aside, then taking you back into his arms, carrying you bridal style to your shared bedroom.

you melt against his chest, body limp in his arms. when toji reaches the bedroom, he lays you down on your side, slipping in beside beside you. he hauls your back against his chest, softly, draping an arm around your waist.

“get some sleep, princess," he says, kissing the side of your cheek.

"mm, loveyou," you murmur, drifting to sleep, safe and spent in toji’s strong arms.

"love you," he responds, still wide awake and watching over you, listening to the steady beat of your heart.

A/N; HE HOLDS ME IN HIS BIG ARMS DRUNK AND I AM SEEING STARS THIS IS ALL I THINK OF !!!!

m.list

more olderbf! toji here

in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have asked a question you didn’t want the answer to.

"soo… how many women have you even slept with?" you ask, slipping it into conversation since you were on the topic. you’ve been with toji for over two years now, you know about his past, you know he’s no saint — especially when it comes to women.

but you find yourself wondering far too often how many women your boyfriend has satisfied, how many women he’s had moaning his name whilst he fucks them stupid. the past is the past, you know that.

you just didn’t want to wonder anymore.

“you ain’t gonna like the answer,” toji responds, one arm around you as you sit curled up together on the couch in front of the TV.

you feel your stomach drop, heart beating faster in your chest. the thought of him with another woman makes you sick to your stomach — never mind possibly hundreds of them.

you begin to understand the saying "curiosity killed the cat.”

"…can you just give me a number?" you ask gingerly, unknowingly holding your breath as you await his answer. “didn’t know it mattered to you," he responds gruffly, eyes glued to the TV like this was some casual conversation.

you remove his hand from your shoulder, shuffling away a few inches with a faint pout on your face. you knew this was slightly unfair to him. he can’t change his past, but why wouldn’t he just tell you the number?

you finally catch his attention, hearing him huff as he turns to look at you. "cmon, doll. y’just askin’ shit you don’t wanna know." he pulls you closer again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

you move away again, still frustrated, digging yourself into a deeper hole. "but why can’t you just tell me?"

your older boyfriend sighs again, not so much in irritation, mainly because he knew any answer he gave you would upset you in some way.

“i don’t have a number to give you. not like i counted," toji says, pausing the TV to give you his full attention. he pats his lap invitingly, "cmere."

you hesitantly climb into his lap. two large hands find your hips, securing you there like you might run away. “don’t work y’self up over it. you’re the one who matters to me. not them."

you nod, leaning in and burying your face in toji’s neck, melting into his lap. he rubs your back reassuringly, kissing your temple.

you stay like that for a moment, safe in his arms, reminding yourself that you are the woman he loves — his past was practically meaningless. "m’sorry for getting jealous," you say quietly, breaking the silence.

"you’re hot when you’re jealous," he purrs, threading his fingers through your soft hair. "s’okay. gonna remind my pretty girl how much i love her," he adds, cock hardening beneath you.

a needy whine escapes you, two hands fisting the collar of his shirt. "please…"

he’ll fuck you until your intrusive thoughts were long gone — until you had no coherent thoughts left at all.

a/n; thank u sm for 3.1k MWAHHH!

you finally understood the importance of the type of man you marry.

your whole body was weak, aching, and sore all over after giving birth. for the first couple days afterwards, you were pretty much bedridden at the hospital. but through every agonising hour, toji was by your side, refusing to leave, glued to an uncomfortable chair beside you.

after day two, you finally regained some energy and movement. the nurses suggested you try to walk and take a shower, get your body back into commission. toji refused to let anyone else help you, practically shooing the nurses away as he helps you out of bed, one strong arm around your waist as he walks you to the bathroom.

you limp a little, wincing still at the lingering pain between your legs. "can’t you just carry me like you usually do when i’m tired?" you whine, holding onto toji for dear life as you pad closer to the bathroom. "y’can do it, baby. few more steps, atta girl," he encourages, supporting you effortlessly with those strong arms.

honestly, you were dying for a hot shower. and to get out of the bulky pads you’re wearing to stop you from pissing yourself.

toji flicks the shower on, then turns back to you, carefully unfastening your maternity gown and letting it pool at your feet. he smiles gently at your still swollen belly, covered in stretch marks, rubbing it with two hands and feeling how empty and soft it was now. "gonna miss this bump."

you place your hands on his shoulders as he helps you out of your underwear, discarding the used pad with his bare hands like it wasn’t covered in all types of bodily fluid.

without an ounce of judgement, he sits you down on the toilet, holding your hand as you relieve yourself, gritting your teeth through the burning sensation. once you finish, you hold onto one of his arms as he wipes you gently, careful not to cause you any discomfort. “still sore?" he asks, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

you nod slowly, letting toji walk you to the shower, the warm droplets beginning to cascade down your skin. you look at him expectedly as the steam begins to fill the small bathroom. "yeah, i’m comin" he says, taking his own clothes off to join you.

your husband steps in with you, pressing his chest to your back, hands steady on your hips as he presses soft kisses to your neck. you sigh in relief, finally able to take a second to breathe after all the chaos.

toji takes the soap from your bag nearby, lathering you in it, then takes a soft sponge and washes you. he’s extra careful, hands unhurried as he cleans you, praising you with that low, gravelly voice. "been so strong these last few days, mama.”

he moves on to your hair, washing and conditioning it thoroughly, doing everything in his power to help you feel refreshed again. once he’s done, he holds you close once more, hands on your soft belly, chin resting on your shoulder.

it was pure bliss — serenity. you both stayed there for a while, enjoying every quiet moment you can get whilst the nurses took your baby for its checkup.

when you exit the shower, he’s already grabbing you a soft robe, helping you into it and grabbing you a fresh pad and pair of underwear. "hold onto me, there ya’ go," he says, slipping your underwear on, up to your knees and sitting you on the lid of the toilet.

he hadn’t even bothered to dry himself off yet, or grab a towel; you were his priority. always.

toji crouches in front of you, sticking your large pad to your underwear. you watch him with a smile, so careful, so focused. he then layers the pad with soothing compresses before helping you back onto your feet, pulling your underwear up and fastening your robe.

"feel ok?" he asks, tucking a stray, damp strand of hair behind your ear.

you smile and nod, too exhausted to dry or brush your hair. you limp back towards your bed, toji follows close behind you in case you fell — quickly grabbing a towel beforehand. he helps you back into bed, pulling the blanket back over you.

"need anythin’ else, baby?" he asks, perching on the end of your bed, hand over your thigh.

"a kiss before i nap for like another ten hours?" you smile, closing your eyes. without having to be asked twice, he leans over, kissing you softly — once on your cheek, once on your lips. "love you," he murmurs."

"mm, love you too."

the room grows silent as you settle in, resting your mind and body. he stays sat with you, rubbing your thigh, still shirtless and dripping wet.

"you better put a shirt on before the nurses come back," you mumble. "on it," he responds with a low chuckle, heading back towards the bathroom.

a/n; just a toji blog atp LOL

synopsis: you can come to sylus anytime you need him. also, some of his men need better training!

tags: fluff/comfort, anxious reader, onychinus guard is dismissive of reader, reader feels like a burden, sylus has none of it, vague threats against anyone who keeps him from his partner, tiny bit suggestive at the end word count: 1.4k

one, two, three…

another futile count to four. 

no matter how many times you guide the air in and out of your lungs, your heart still thrashes in your chest. 

on the nightstand, the clock reads 3:06 a.m. 

where was he right now?

in times like this, there was only one person who could soothe you. you hadn’t seen much of sylus this week, but the chances of getting through this without him were slim. you could only hope he hadn’t left for the night. 

hugging your sides, you pad through the base’s chilly halls, the echo of gruff voices growing louder with each step. above them all, one seems to soar—the one that sings you to sleep through thunderstorms, that greets you at every dawn. 

sylus.  

or 💗

how zayne comforts his love

tw: depression

You don't tell Zayne you're slipping again. Instead, you try to hide it, with forced smiles, with more shopping sprees, trying to get back into your old hobbies. It doesn't work. You've never been good at keeping secrets. Especially not from Zayne- somehow, he just notices. He always does.

He notices in the small ways- how you zone out more than usual, how you splash water on your face afterwards then just stand there, the tap running, water dripping between your fingers. He sees the way your pillowcase is soaked with tears at night and he never pushes, just pulls you closer and kisses the edge of your shoulder ever so gently. He lets you cry into his shoulder, sits on the floor with you when you're too overwhelmed, when nothing feels right. He kisses all over you when you feel like you don't deserve him, and he never pushes. When he kisses you, it's reverent, as if he's been given permission to touch something almost holy, always gentle unless you ask him not to be.

Zayne treats you like porcelain, like if he touches you too hard, you'll break. He wraps his fingers around yours softly; he kisses you just long enough to satiate you and pulls away so you don't lose your breath. He holds you and doesn't squeeze, doesn't try to drag your feelings out of you. He just lets you breath him in, pulling you closer so he can wrap his arms around you, kissing your forehead, your cheek, your nose, the corner of your mouth. He never urges. He's just there, perpetually comforting. He brings you your favourite foods, never argues when you watch the same movies over and over again, on repeat. He lets you take sleeping pills, but keeps the container locked somewhere with the key with him. He kisses the inside of your wrist with such softness it makes your heart ache.

After a particularly long day, you feel the mattress shift beside you, his hand brushing yours and taking it in his palm, his scent- pine, expensive cologne, mint, vanilla, and something that is just him- melting into the air.

"You don't have to pretend with me." he says, so low it's almost a whisper. His thumb brushes along your knuckles, and he cups your cheek with his other hand as if trying to catch the tears that are threatening to fall. "I know you're tired, my love. I know some days feel pointless, but I..."

He trails off, moving a little closer. His thumb brushes a line along your knuckles. You let him kiss your cheekbone, then your forehead. His kisses are always so soft, like he's testing the waters, like he's checking if you want to be kissed or not. The hands that cut up patients and save lives are always mild when it comes to you.

"I'm not going anywhere," he continues, voice reverent, steady. "And you don't have to be okay right now. Just lean on me. Let me take care of you, my love."

You swallow the lump in your throat, leaning your head on his shoulder. He kisses the side of your head. In the silence, all you can feel is him.

You feel his breath against your hair, slow and even, as if he's trying to guide you into the same pattern, the same rhythm. His hands slides up and down your back slowly, in steady, grounding lines.

pre-relationship, post explosion. fluff & hurt/comfort. gn, mc reader wc: 680

You sit up in bed, frustrated and disheveled from tossing and turning. It's been over an hour, and you still feel just as awake as you did when you first laid down. You don't even want to know what ungodly time of the morning it is.

Despite your sheets smelling of Caleb, bringing back a feeling of comfort you had been chasing for over a year now, nothing seemed to work. Falling asleep in a new place never gets easier, even though Caleb was kind enough to lend you the only lived-in bedroom in his apartment.

Caleb… Surely the exclusive privileges he granted you as children were still valid? And if so, he wouldn't mind if you used them again now, right?

Slipping out from underneath the covers, you pad out of your bedroom on bare feet, shivering a little at the feeling of the tile floor against your soles. You quietly sneak down the hallway, stopping once you reach Caleb's room. You take a shaky breath, gathering your courage for a few seconds, before quietly knocking.

You don't get a response, but you're not surprised. You often wouldn't get one when you were a kid, either, unless he was up late studying. You turn the door handle; it's unlocked, and you close the door behind you before quietly making your way inside the dark room.

He's sprawled out beneath his comforter, chest steadily rising and falling in slumber. You hesitate again, but tell yourself you've already come far enough, and it'd be a waste to throw in the towel now. You swallow, before gently shaking Caleb's broad shoulder, your voice soft and timid.

"Caleb? Caleb, wake up,"

His eyes crack open as he looks up at you, still half asleep. He props himself up on his elbow as he looks up at you. His voice is gravelly and slurred with sleep, and he rubs his eye as he talks.

"Pips? Whatsup…?"

"I can't fall asleep," you admit sheepishly, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment and eyes darting away from his. You're a grown adult… maybe this was a bad idea. "M'really sorry for waking you up, I've just been trying for a long time, and-"

"No, no, s'okay," he mumbles, sitting up a bit more to tug back the covers for you. "Should've come sooner, pips. C'mere,"

You climb into bed beside him. Unsure of how to lie, you hover a bit nervously until Caleb pats the bed next to him.

"I said c'mere, pips. I've got you, yeah? Like when we were kids."

You comply, lying beside him, giving him a cautious amount of distance with your head on the opposite end of his pillow. He chuckles softly, his breath brushing your nose, and shakes his head.

"Silly. You know what I meant, pipsqueak. Here,"

He pulls you forwards with his Evol, coaxing you to bury your face in his chest as he wraps his arms around you and tangles his legs with your own.

"Better?" He asks, and when you nod, you feel the vibration of his voice beneath your cheek as he lets out a soft hum of satisfaction. Your body relaxes as you breathe him in, your eyes drooping shut as you let yourself start to drift. It just feels right, being close to him like this; two halves of a whole, finally reunited after so long.

"I really missed you," you confess, your voice wobbling the slightest bit as you feel stubborn tears start to well up in your eyes. He threads a hand into your hair, gently scratching at your scalp, the way you used to beg him to when you were children.

"I know," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head, reverent. "I know. I'm not goin' anywhere, alright? Not ever again. I'm with you for good."

You nod, already feeling yourself start to drift off, enveloped in his large, solid body and surrounded by his familiar scent.

"Rest," he murmurs, kissing your temple. "I'll be right here when you wake up. Never leaving you alone again."

“Talk you into it? You’re the one who bought them, remember?” He smirks, slipping his hand in his pocket. The mere action makes you tense in anticipation.

Okay, maybe wearing vibrating panties to one of Zayne’s fancy galas hadn’t been the best idea.

He doesn’t turn them on yet. No, instead he waits for the moment you sit down, when the vibrator is flush to your clit. You jolt, pressing your lips together and desperately holding back a moan.

“We should socialize.” The cheeky bastard is the picture of a doting boyfriend, pulling you to stand. He keeps the vibrations just low enough so you can’t cum, which is almost worse.

“Well, this is a nice surprise.” Valko’s voice over your shoulder makes you want to melt into the ground. You turn to face him, as does Zayne. His grin widens when he realizes you’re here together, something that still confuses you, but you've chosen to look past it.

“Hardly a surprise. Your company is Akso's biggest donator." Zayne comments, a hint of friendliness behind it. But perhaps his amusement is due to switching the level of vibrations up, nearly making your knees buckle.

"You alright?" Valko asks you, just a little too perceptive. His heightened senses have come in handy more than once, so you're familiar with how good he is at picking up the smallest sounds and sce-

Oh fuck.

He realizes what's going on the moment your brain catches up, his grin widening as he barks out a laugh, nose twitching.

you can barely look at him without being flooded with memories of last night and getting flustered, so you silently distance yourself and offer to go buy something from the store.

asking him to pass you the car keys and you watch as he just shoves them in his own pocket. when you stare at him all confused he tells you to 'come get them yourself'…

and when you do, you can feel him watching your every move while you fumble with the keys through his jeans, because the feeling of his eyes on you and the limited distance between you two has suddenly made your hands stop working.

Happy Birthday to my bb Caleb<3 I wish I could've written a fic instead of pulling out old drafts): mdni. zayne version

Would die between your thighs. You know the trend of the boyfriends taking pictures smothered between their girlfriend's thighs? That's him. Has definitely fucked you there multiple times.

Loves seeing you in his hoodies. With nothing underneath, the hem falling to your knees, his possessive self loves to see you wrapped in his clothes. Makes it that much more satisfactory when he peels it off you or fucks you in it.

Sleeping wrapped around you. Type to cup you between the legs and adjust your ass against his hard-on if he feels you wandering even an inch away.

Mating press. Something about wanting to be close, close and even more closer drives him. He cannot breathe if he's not stealing your air.

Cocksleeve. Definitely leaves his cock inside you while you sleep.

Ass-worshipper. He swears you taunt and tease him on purpose by wearing those snug jeans that outline the peach of your ass or by wearing shorts that barely cover your cheeks whenever you're in his vicinity. Biting down on your ass, marking it, eating it out, having it planted on his face, he is down for it all.

Thigh-riding. Manspreading and watching you try to appease yourself on his trunk-sized thighs, making a mess out of yourself and begging for him is his wet dream.

Spicy pictures. Would not hesitate to send pictures of his flexed bicep or a sweaty post-workout selfie. Even some half-naked ones in bed. Knows his angles well. Doesn't just send dick pics, they could be the cover of a porn magazine. With his colonel cap on, his dog tag pendant caught between his teeth and shining in the light of the flash as he grips his erect cock and tags the picture with a 'Thinking of you', he knows your panties are soaked.

Addicted to making out. He claims he has to make up for all the years he couldn't kiss you. Sometimes you could be talking and know when he hasn't responded in a while that he's thinking of kissing you. His eyes track your lips like two laser beams, hyper focused. Any time you lick them, you can swear you hear a groan at the back of his throat.

Hate sex. Loves riling you up, having arguments with you, pissing you off and taunting you just so he can wrestle for control with you. Tearing your clothes off you, giving it to you rough and nasty and reminding you who you belong to is all part and parcel of being with him.

Slapping. I fear slapping him is the fastest way to get him hard and leaking. He'd always take it one step too far with you, waiting and anticipating the moment you'd call him out on his bullshit. The red blooming on his cheek in sync with the smile spreading on his face is never a bearer of a good sign.

Hair-pulling. Loves it when you grab his hair, pull his head back by it or try to uproot it from his skull when he's driving into you so hard that the bed is creating an indent in the wall.

Panty-stealing. Is open about it. You've watched him pull it off you and pocket them. Caught him jerking off using them. He's made you hand them over. Has had panties flung at him in your anger. He's never returned a single one.

Mouth-spitting. Nothing pleases him more than watching you on your knees, cheeks squished between his fingers, mouth open in a pout, waiting for him to spit in it and waiting till he tells you to swallow.

Submissive asf. Would surrender to your shenanigans immediately if you ever came on to him. Would cry in bed if overstimulated.

Switch. For all his dominant personality, he loves when you take charge of him. If you ever told him to put on a collar and bark for you, he'd do it. No questions asked.

Sends you nsfw voicemails. Everything from wishing you a good morning in his sexy, early morning rasp to telling you he loves you in a scandalous whisper to straight up moaning into the mic when he's jerking off to you.

Addicted to your personal space. The type to hijack your showers, put his head under your t-shirts or his hand in the back pocket of your jeans. Uses your boobs as his personal stress balls.

Loves toeing the line of public indecency. He's got you panting into his mouth while his fingers work you up with a line of people standing outside, waiting to use the loo. Got your legs on his shoulders as he eats you out in the backseat of his car in the parking lot with no shades on the windows.

Mile High Club. You're almost a veteran atp. You know the inside of a cockpit as well as your own bedroom.