â§. â â â â âi love you a little more than you realize.
yue. 18+ blog, minors dni. caleb-centric account, but may post about other love interests in the future. anyhow, we're all horny freaks here, so i hope you enjoy the freaky content. pfp from @ispubet (twt/x).
â§. â â â â âcaleb
do you want more? [nsfw]
shh... we can't get caught. [nsfw]
you're mine. [nsfw]
anything for you.
i'll be gentle. [nsfw]
temptation.
good girl. [nsfw]
secret times: desire. [nsfw]
self-control. [nsfw]
xxx schoolgirl gets railed by her childhood friend xxx [nsfw]
caught on camera. [nsfw]
not clickbait: my sister asked me to practice kissing sex with her. [nsfw]
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NOT CLICKBAIT: MY SISTER ASKED ME TO PRACTICE KISSING SEX WITH HER.
it doesn't mean anything. it's just practice. i'll put in just the tip. caleb's usually a man of his word â until he isn't.
includes: 18+ nsfw, pseudocest (a LOT of pseudocest), making out, dryhumping, breastplay, titjob, masturbation while giving a blowjob, cum eating, cunnilingulus, fingering, "just the tip", unprotected sex, squirting, creampie, repressed virgin + repressed virgin = they be doing too much sex
Caleb normally has the patience of a saint. Hiding your feelings for a girl you see practically 24/7 would do that to you. He's learned all the ways to stop his cheeks from flaring up each time you make his heart flutter, which is saying something, because you basically give him a heart attack just by being in his presence.
But his pretense of normal older brother behavior nearly breaks when you come up next to him on the sofa, head lowered and hands fidgeting, "Caleb, do you know how to... You know..."
You're too shy to say it entirely, but Caleb would be an idiot not to know what you mean when your whole face reddens like a ripe tomato, teeth gnawing on your cherry pink lips in nervousness.
Caleb gently puts down his phone, willing his entire body to remain still. Pretend to be sane. "And pray tell," Caleb is grateful his voice doesn't give away anything he's feeling, eyes still fixated on your lips, "who gave my innocent little sister such dirty fantasies?"
Your head shoots up to face him, cheeks somehow turning even redder. "What?! Get your head out of the gutter! I'm just talking about kissing!"
Something awful fills in his mouth, but he still forces his lips to quirk into a smile, arms crossing over his chest to feign nonchalance. "Why do you want to know?"
"I... um..." You're fiddling with your fingers again, gaze flitting to anywhere that doesn't meet his burning stare. "I want to... practice."
Caleb suppresses the urge toâ well, he's not really sure. Something close to a flinch, maybe. If he were drinking tea, he probably would've choked on it from shock.
A thrill runs through him at the request, but a cold dread quickly seeps in to crush any feeling of delight. Sure, this exact situation may have been one of his dirty fantasies, but in his imagination, he never really had any solid idea why you'd want to practice kissing with him in the first place; it was just a silly thing he thought about when his carnal desires took over.
But now that you're in front of him, actually asking him to kiss you, he can't help but think of a thousand possible reasons why. Were you just curious, having watched too many romance movies? Were you practicing for a hypothetical boyfriend?
...Or were you practicing for a guy you already had eyes on, too shy to kiss him without experience?
Well, unfortunately for you, Caleb has never felt the need to kiss, so how would he know how kissing worked? Or at least, he didn't want to kiss anyone that wasn't you. Which was definitely not in his cards.
Until now, the opportunity handed to him on a silver platter.
"You want to practice with me?" Caleb inches his face closer to yours, one brow raised. You blink rapidly, flushed down to your neck.
"It's... it's not that I want to do it with you, specifically..." It's not a very convincing argument, but it sends a pang of hurt to his chest nonetheless. "It's just that I haven't- I don't have anyone else to ask-" Good, because Caleb would've probably killed him. "You know what? Forget about it. It's weird."
You try to get up from the couch and leave, but Caleb wraps a strong hand around your wrist, pulling you back. Perhaps he tugged a little too strongly to his direction, because you end up straddling his lap, hands holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself.
"What's weird?" Caleb smiles, putting on his most convincing expression of 'kissing your sibling is totally normal'. "I don't mind."
Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion and disbelief. "You... don't?"
"It's just practice. Why? You think I can't do it?" He pulls you closer by the waist, looking up into your eyes, strands of your hair brushing his cheek. "It's definitely better than letting my baby sister make out with some other loser."
You're gnawing on your lip again, and Caleb can't help but stare at the pink tongue that darts out to wet your dry lip.
"Well?" Caleb cocks his head to the side. "We don't have much time until Gran gets home."
Your grip on his shoulder tightens, cheeks an endearing shade of pink. "...Let's go to your room."
Caleb has the patience of a saint.
He chants it in his mind over and over to convince himself, because he's quickly realizing it isn't true. He'd kept his paws to himself for the better part of the time you've been in his room, even when you sat on his lap instead of beside him on the bed and stared at him expectantly.
The thing is, Caleb knows next to nothing about kissing because he's never tried it himself. But he doesn't let it show. He cups your cheek carefully, tells you to close your eyes, and hopes he's doing a good job of pretending like he knows what he's doing.
From then on, it's instinct.
Slotting your lips together at the right angle. Trying to not lose his breath as he kisses his dearest sister. Biting on your bottom lip gently to urge you to open your mouth for him, and preening when you obediently do.
Caleb doesn't really know how much tongue one should use. But he's probably doing too much.
At first, he's just testing the waters. Licking at the seam of your lips. Teasing the sensitive roof of your mouth. Gives your tongue a shy nudge.
Ten minutes later, he's sucking on it. Hands roaming your body. Eyes glazed over with sheer delight when you don't push him away, instead tangling your fingers in his hair to pull him even closer. He sucks on your tongue like it's candy, and you make noises he's never heard before, "ah, hn, gege..." straight out of a wet dream. He breaks away for a second, just for a breather, but you pull him back in and he nearly moans when you shyly give kitten licks to his tongue, soft and wet and fucking adorable.
Fuck, I'm hard, he thinks to himself, wishing you don't notice, but there's no way you don't feel his bulge pressing against you, rubbing against your thigh.
He wants to move his hips. Hump his cock against your panties beneath your skirt. Better yet, strip all the clothing altogether. Fuck you hard like in the wet dreams that plague him at night. Filthy fantasies of your pussy wrapped around his cock, wet with your juices and his cum. His fingers rubbing your engorged clit to see you cry out his name, drenching his hand with your slick. Cunt stretched to fit all of his thick girth, his base messy with frothy cum.
His hips move, just a little bit. He rolls his hips upward, directly pressing on your pussy. You squeak into his mouth, fingers curling tighter to his hair, but you don't stop him. You can feel him smile as his hands are placed on either side of your waist, moving you to rock back against him.
"C'mon, you move too..." he murmurs before he's sealing your lips again, the slide of his tongue against yours addicting. You clumsily raise your hips, rubbing at the tent in his pants, and the filthy groan he lets out goes straight to your core.
"D-do you do this when you kiss other girls?" You gasp as his lips move to your neck, sucking a visible mark beneath your ear. He makes a vague, unanswering hum, and you end up forgetting you even asked soon enough.
The friction makes you feel hotter than ever, burning at the nerves in your brain. You feel yourself getting dumbed down into a state where all you can think about is more, I need more of him, drowning in your most base desires.
The pace gets more frantic. Your clothed cunt rubs against his pants, all the while Caleb refuses to separate your pressed lips. At this point, you're not sure what you're doing qualifies as kissing, just panting against each other's mouths, tongues rubbing obscenely.
"Mm... ah... stick out your tongue more, meimei..."
"Ahn, yeah, okay... mmph..."
You're almost reaching... something you can't quite name, but it's hot, and it's near. You grind against your big brother more desperately, pursuing that high, and you swear you'll die if Caleb stopsâ
The front door opens. Gran's keys clatter on the living room table.
Caleb pulls away, and you very nearly whine in disappointment.
But Caleb's hair is in charming disarray, eyes clouded over with lust, lips swollen and shiny with your spit. It's a sight you want to burn into your eyes forever, distracting you enough to forget for a moment how you've been basically blue-balled.
"Fuck," he utters, voice raspy and ruined. His grip on your waist loosens. "We shouldâ we should probably stop here."
"Yes," you respond breathlessly, even though you want to do the exact opposite. Clearing your throat, you slowly pry yourself off from him, legs feeling like jelly.
A wave of mortification washes over you when you find a wet spot on Caleb's pants, right where you rubbed against him. Right where he's pitching a tent he can't possibly hide, somehow even larger than it felt.
You don't acknowledge it. Pretend it doesn't exist. Neither does he, covering it up with the hem of his large sweater. You rush to the door, patting down your messy hair and your even messier clothes, wrinkled and probably soaked with more than just sweat.
But before you leave, you whisper almost too quietly, "...Tomorrow."
Caleb understands immediately. Gives a crooked smile. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow" is similar as the first time. The only difference is you're in the dining room, sitting on the table with Caleb between your spread legs, still humping against each other as you desperately lock lips.
You don't make plans after that, but the next day, you find yourself knocking on his door late at night, unable to sleep. He doesn't have to ask why you're there, simply pulls you into his bed as he kisses down your neck, clothed cock rubbing against your pajama shorts.
It takes a week of shy touches and heavy makeouts before Caleb's hands find the courage to leave your waist, trailing up beneath your shirt. You shiver at the sensation of his warm, large hand sliding over your skin, fingers dipping into the slope of your back. "Anyone kissed you here before?" he whispers to your ear, fiddling with the hook of your bra. Stunned speechless, you shake your head no, and it's all he needs to hear to push up your shirt.
Caleb doesn't hide his awe. He stares intently at your chest, at the cute, lacy bra topped off with a tiny bow. It's different from the time he accidentally saw your underwear hanging to dry and you rushed to scurry them off in embarrassment â this time, you're clad in it, showing it off even, despite your burning cheeks.
He takes a sharp breath, hands roaming around your body almost in worship. Pushes up the bra to reveal your tits in full glory, nipples perky and tempting him to lick. He fondles the supple skin, teases at the peaks, and something dark curls in his eyes when he hears you let out a "Haah, wait, Caleb, that's...!"
Slowly, he presses light kisses on the valley of your breasts, licking at the expanse of soft skin. When he wraps his lips around a nipple, his hand prods at the other one, keeping eye contact while he sucks.
His touch feels like fire, your core burning hotter than ever. The sight of your big brother playing with your tits should not excite you this much, but you can feel yourself dripping, soaking your underwear into ruin. You don't dare tear your eyes away even as shame makes you want to hide â it'd be such a waste to miss even a moment of this, to see Caleb lick at your nipples, suck red marks anywhere his lips roam.
"You smell so good..." He presses his nose between your breasts, breathing in the scent of your sweat and the body soap you share. "So pretty..." His tongue trails a line downwards, eyes fixed to your gaze.
You bite down on your bottom lip, struggling to keep yourself quiet. His brow furrows, stopping for a moment to press down on your lip with his thumb. "Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself."
"The neighbors will hear," you murmur, considering the thin walls. Caleb thinks for a moment, and then he grins.
He takes the edge of your shirt, lifting it to your mouth. "Bite on this?"
Your cheeks fill with heat, but you open your mouth in assent.
The humiliation almost makes it hotter. The shirt muffles your moans, but you're also exposing yourself to Caleb, letting your brother suck on your tits as much as he wants. Swirling his tongue around the perky buds, lapping up his own spit that drips down. Squeezing your other breast and flicking the tit with his finger.
"Hey, meimei..." he mumbles while he sucks. He takes one of your hands, places it over the bulge in his pants. "What do you think of kissing gege over here too?"
Moments later, you're on your knees while Caleb stands in front of you, suckling on his tip as he fucks his cock between your tits. "Fuck..." He can't stop himself, lightheaded and on the verge of a nosebleed as he looks down on you, pushing your breasts together and licking his leaking precum. "My baby sister is sucking my cock... you look so good with your mouth full, meimei..."
You couldn't fit most of it in your mouth, not with the sheer size of it. Caleb's cock was so stupidly huge, you could barely wrap your hand around it fully. It was long and thick, and you felt dizzy at the thought of putting it inside you. Your pussy clenched, feeling more empty than ever, and you couldn't help but sneak a hand underneath your shorts to rub your clit, so wet from arousal.
"Haah, that's it, keep going..." Without noticing it himself, Caleb's thrusts have gotten rougher, his tip scraping the back of your throat. "Gege's cumming soon... take all of my cum, hm?"
Your rubbing grows more frantic as he reaches closer to orgasm, admiring his pleasured expression. Caleb runs a hand through his hair, hips still moving to fuck his dick in your mouth, muscled torso shiny with sweat. "Ugh, fuck, your tongue... yeah, that spot feels so good, pips... gege loves it when you suck me like that."
I want his cock in me I want his cock in me chants in your head, fingers still rubbing your clit. You've always masturbated to your older brother, imagined his hot body over yours, but it's different when he's using you for his own release. Having him fuck his huge dick to your throat while you're touching yourself, watching him in the throes of pleasure.
"Ah, shit, here it comes, fuckâ show me your tongue, meimeiâ"
Caleb pulls you away from his dick by your hair, and you'd be disappointed if not for the sight of him jerking off his own cock, fist hitting over his heavy balls, until he shoots his thick load, spraying cum all over your face, your stuck out tongue, and your tits.
You cum on your fingers as he groans deeply, still stripping his cock as he releases, and it takes a while for him to finish cumming. "Fuck... that felt so good..."
Caleb looks down at you, places a thumb on your cum-stained tongue, and swirls it around. "Swallow it."
You obey, gulping down his thick load. His eyes shine with satisfaction, patting your head like he usually does to praise you. "Good girl."
He helps you to your feet, pushing you back to bed. His large hands roam around your body again, running along your curves, massaging his cum on your tits. Then he leans down to lick it off, not once breaking eye contact.
"Don't worry about the mess. Gege's going to clean you up now, okay?"
Your little "kissing practice" becomes so much more. Eventually, you're sneaking around every opportunity you get â when Gran is out, or when it's late at night, or when you're about to shower and Caleb gets the bright idea to sneak in the bathroom to pin you against the wall and slide his cock between your legs. Look, my cock and your pussy are kissing.
It doesn't take a genius you've gone far, far beyond just kissing. So it doesn't surprise you anymore when on one of your "practice sessions" in your bedroom, his fingers brush on your inner thigh. "Let me kiss you here, too."
It's not surprising, but you still feel a bit shy lifting up your skirt and spreading your legs when Caleb tells you to. He looks far too pleased with himself when he finds you're absolutely wet, pure white panties almost see-through. He rubs your clothed clit with his thumb, chuckling when you unconsciously move your hips to grind against his finger.
But Caleb doesn't have the patience to tease. He slips off your underwear and marvels at the strings of arousal clinging to your soaked panties. "Naughty girl..." He clicks his tongue, gripping your thighs to spread them apart. "So wet for her big brother."
Your pretty pussy is flushed pink, dripping onto the sheets. He can see it clench around nothing in anticipation, waiting for his cock to fill it up with cum.
Caleb can't stop himself anymore. He inhales deeply into your bare cunt, groans a curse to himself, then begins to dig in.
His first lick is a broad stripe on your clit, thick tongue swiping on the sensitive nub. You jolt at the unfamiliar sensation, curling your fingers into his hair. "Ah, wait, Caleb- ohh, ahh, no...!"
"So fucking sweet," he moans at the taste, licking relentlessly now. "Fuck, I should've done this sooner."
He laps at your slit, drinking up the pussy juice that won't stop leaking. He smothers his face in it, nose rubbing on your clit and chin dripping with your slick, hands holding down your trembling legs to the mattress. He's squeezed between your thighs, and he looks like he's on heaven, utterly delighted at the moans he's pulling from you.
"Nn, mm, ahh, gege! Oh, your tongue-!" You're unable to string together a full sentence, mind a constant loop of so good fuck fuck gege's licking my pussy so good.
Caleb slurps noisily, an embarrassing noise you'll worry about later, but for now, your fried brain can only think it's so hot, you're so wet, gege please lick me more I love it right there please please.
Caleb sucks your clit like he's making out with it, rolling his tongue in circles and lapping up anything he can catch, thoroughly pussy drunk and intoxicated. He's grinding mindlessly into the mattress until he can't take it anymore, freeing his cock from his sweatpants and jerking off at the taste of your pussy.
"You're so fucking good for me, meimei," Caleb groans loudly, fucking his tongue into your hole as his dick pulsates in his hand, spurting more precum. You thrash around, riding his face and making a mess of him. "Fuck yes, just use me. Gege's just a toy to make you feel good."
And it really is as if you're treating him like a toy for your pleasure, burying his face to your pussy, uncaring if he can't breathe. Carelessly bucking up your hips to get his tongue deeper, licking the spot you want him to reach. Rubbing your swollen clit on his nose.
You've fantasized about this, of your big brother holding you down on your bed and making you cum on his tongue. Not stopping until you've squirted all over him, his fingers still fucking your pussy even when you feel overstimulated. You want it. You want it so bad.
"Caleb, more, please, I'm gonna cum!" you wail, legs trembling, bracing for the orgasm you know will ruin you.
"Go on," Caleb says, and you can feel the words form on his lips against your cunt, the vibrations driving you closer to the brink, "Cum on your big brother's face."
Your eyes roll back, liquid spraying out from your pussy and onto Caleb's mouth. "Fuck yes, keep squirting on me, pips." It keeps coming out like a leaking faucet and Caleb sits up, putting his cock on your pussy and letting the squirt drench him, using it as lube as he rubs his cock.
"Shit, you're so wet," he says in awe, staring as you keep spraying the clear liquid. He taps your clit with his tip, laughing when it makes you gush one last time. "So sensitive, too."
"Gege... ah..." you weakly utter when Caleb keeps rubbing his cock on your pussy, covering himself in your cum. The obscene squelch only gets him harder.
His cock is throbbing, so hard that it hurts. He wants to put it in. Fuck his precious little sister's pussy that's right in front of him. Take her virginity and fill her up with his hot cum. Fuck her against every surface on this house, on your bed, in the bathtub, on the floor, at the sofa you both always watched TV on growing up.
"Just the tip," he pants, just sane enough to make a compromise, prodding at your hole with the leaking head. "I want to put it inside you, meimei."
"Ah..." You stare at the cock between your legs, so huge compared to your tight pussy. We can't isnât something you can say when you've already crossed the line several times over. And you can't seem to take your eyes away from his dick, thick in girth and long, curving prettily in a way you know will hit that spot inside you.
"Please..." He leans down to whisper in your ear, hand pressing down on your stomach, measuring just how deep it'll reach. "Gege's been wanting this for so long."
There's no way that'll fit, the more reasonable voice inside your head cries out. I want all of him inside me, the whore in you says otherwise. "G... gege's cock is too big..." You don't mean it to sound so provocative, saying it as statement of fact, but he twitches against your skin, and you hope it's only in your imagination when you think Oh god, did he just get bigger...?!
"Then gege will be careful." Caleb strokes your pussy with his fingers, enjoying watching you tremble at the lightest touch. "I'll make sure it won't hurt."
And so, Caleb begins his quest to loosen your virgin pussy. A quest he seems to particularly enjoy, boredom never flicking across his features as he adds more fingers to your tight cunt. Marvels at the overflowing wetness slicking his hand, prodding everywhere in search of your g-spot. Holds down your thighs when he finds it, not allowing you to escape from the pleasure.
"Do you like this, pips? Do you like it when your big brother fingerfucks you?"
He sounds utterly sinful, words slightly muffled by the tit in his mouth, fucking in three thick fingers in your cunt, a thumb rolling on your poor, puffy clit.
"I like it so much." He makes another hickey on your chest. "I like the feeling of my sister's tight, virgin pussy squeezing around me."
Inevitably, his filthy words make you cum hard, splattering a mess on his arm.
"Cumming again?" Caleb hums as you gush around him for the nth time, fingers still moving, making your pussy squelch. "You really like this, huh?"
You groan weakly as he peppers your face with kisses, pussy twitching from the overstimulation. "Hnn... too much, Caleb... I can't..."
Caleb tuts, sucking another mark on your collarbone. "You can."
"Gegeee," you whine, holding onto his back. You feel like you've cum enough times to last a lifetime, the sheets beneath you soaked through and through.
"Please?" He nuzzles against your neck, affectionate and loving. "Just the tip. I want to feel you inside."
You glance at this monster-sized cock. And then at the puppy dog eyes that don't match it at all, sparkling innocently like he didn't just say the filthiest talk known to man.
"You don't want to try it?" He slides his heavy cock between your legs, letting you feel every vein. "I'll make it feel good. Better than my tongue."
He takes his dick in his hand, dips the head inside your pussy, just a small stretch. A fresh wave of slick wets it, spurting clear drops of arousal. When you don't push him away, just wrapping your arms around him and waiting with bated breath, he carefully pushes deeper.
It's thicker than you imagined it'd feel. Even thicker than his fingers. An overwhelming pressure that takes your breath away, your mouth forming an 'o', and you're almost annoyed when he stops sliding in.
He really just put the tip.
"Fuuuuck," he swears, using all his restraint not to slide everything in one go, a bead of sweat from his chin dropping on your chest. "Your pussy's so warm, meimei..."
"Haah, Caleb..." The thickness is nothing you've ever felt before, nothing his fingers could prep you enough for. Caleb's so big everywhere, from his height, his broad shoulders, his toned arms, his hands on your waist, and even with how massive he feels with just the tip, you can see the length of him that hasn't gone inside between your legs.
He moves slowly, fucking his tip in and out in a pace that leaves you wanting and hungry. "Mm, shit..."
He grips you tightly, gaze fixed on the way you clench around him, pretty pussy welcoming his cock. You wrap around him so deliciously, your cute twitchy clit just sitting above his cock. "God, you're so tight, my cock probably won't fit all the way."
It's a hypothetical thought. Because he really does mean to just put in the tip.
But you keep sucking him in, cunt warm and wet and hot and so good around him. Without meaning to, his cock slides further than he means to every other thrust, reaching deeper and deeper to your core, the plap plap noises of your skin slapping together echoing in your room.
When his cock is halfway in, Caleb is on the verge of cumming. "Ah, ah, wait, shit, sorry," he's panting out, apologies spilling from his lips, but his hips never stop moving. "Fuck, you just feel so good, I can't stop."
Your nails are digging scratches on his muscled back, mind turned into mush. The only thing you can think about is how big he is, how much deeper he could go if he went all the way. How much better it would feel if you could feel his cock in its entirety.
"Ge," you mindlessly whine. "Gege, please..." Are you begging him to stop? Or to fuck you hard and fast without restraint? You don't even know anymore. But your body answers for you.
You lock your legs around him, pulling him closer.
His cock slides in all the way to the hilt.
"Oh, fuck!"
Without warning, he spills inside you, load after load of cum filling up your pussy. He's cumming hard, groaning brokenly into your neck, his orgasm so mind-shattering he can't do anything other than pump his milk deep in your cunt, hot neverending pulses of semen flowing to your womb.
"Ah, shit, I'm sorry, I can't stop cumming, fuck...!"
It's not just that he can't stop cumming. He's still as hard as he was before.
It isn't long before he hoists your legs on his shoulders, looking absolutely pussy drunk. He rams his entire cock into you with rough, deep thrusts, fucking his cum deeper into your womb, some of it overflowing from your hole and coating the base of his cock in white. "I came inside my little sister's pussy," he babbles mindlessly, his groans pornographic. "My cum... deep inside your cunt... fuck..."
"Ge, your cock is so big," you moan like a slut, uncaring if the neighbors hear the debauchedy in your house at this point. "Fuck me more, please, I want more of your cum!"
"Ah, meimei, you're being so loud." Caleb brings his hand to your pussy, tormenting your clit again, making your legs kick out. "Everyone will know your big brother is fucking you so good. Getting his little sister pregnant while no one else is home."
"Yes, yes, please, I love it when my big brother cums inside me!"
"Yeah? You wanna be gege's cumdump?" He pants, flicking your clit, groping your breasts, nailing your g-spot in every thrust â everything he knows to make you moan louder, scream his name. "Go ahead. Milk your big brother's cock dry."
Time passes in a blur. It just so happens that you'll be alone at home for the next few days, your Gran going out to visit a friend from the countryside. Caleb takes this as his opportunity to fuck you without fear of getting caught.
Caleb fucks you in all sorts of positions, in different places â doggy style in the kitchen, making a mess on the floor; "Haah, meimei, how do we face Gran after this? You've squirted all over the table we use to eat together."
Reverse cowgirl on the living room couch, the show playing on the TV completely forgotten; "Ah, pips, didn't you say you liked this actor? Something about how good-looking he is. So why aren't you paying attention? Come on, hng, haah... don't just fuck yourself on gege's cock. Focus on the movie."
Laid out on your bed, 69 in your room; "Fuck, you're dripping all over me, baby... Yeah, suck on my cock, just like that. Your mouth feels fucking amazing."
And now, in his bedroom, Caleb leans back, letting his precious baby sister ride him first thing in the morning, awoken by the feeling of your wet pussy enveloping his cock. He enjoys seeing you fuck him yourself, desperate for release, tits moving as you bounce on his dick, flicking your own nipples and rubbing your clit to give him a show.
"That kissing practice," Caleb starts, unable to help himself and lazily circles your swollen clit with his finger, making you cry out, "that was just a ploy for me to train you, wasnt it? Training you to be your big brother's slut."
"Ah, ah, yes, hn, I wanted... wanted to be gege's slut!" You move your hips with more fervor now, and Caleb knows too well that's a sign you're close.
He pushes you to your back, slamming into your pussy with intense thrusts. Makes you squirt on his cock, spraying all over his abs. Smiles at the sight of your fucked-out face, tongue lolling out, eyes rolled back. "That's right. You've become my slut. All mine."
And then he thrusts again, and again, and again. Because he's raised a devil who can't be satisfied with normal sex anymore.
(And if he slips in an "I love you" or two after that, well, you're too fucked out to hear anyway.)
NOT CLICKBAIT: MY SISTER ASKED ME TO PRACTICE KISSING SEX WITH HER.
it doesn't mean anything. it's just practice. i'll put in just the tip. caleb's usually a man of his word â until he isn't.
includes: 18+ nsfw, pseudocest (a LOT of pseudocest), making out, dryhumping, breastplay, titjob, masturbation while giving a blowjob, cum eating, cunnilingulus, fingering, "just the tip", unprotected sex, squirting, creampie, repressed virgin + repressed virgin = they be doing too much sex
Caleb normally has the patience of a saint. Hiding your feelings for a girl you see practically 24/7 would do that to you. He's learned all the ways to stop his cheeks from flaring up each time you make his heart flutter, which is saying something, because you basically give him a heart attack just by being in his presence.
But his pretense of normal older brother behavior nearly breaks when you come up next to him on the sofa, head lowered and hands fidgeting, "Caleb, do you know how to... You know..."
You're too shy to say it entirely, but Caleb would be an idiot not to know what you mean when your whole face reddens like a ripe tomato, teeth gnawing on your cherry pink lips in nervousness.
Caleb gently puts down his phone, willing his entire body to remain still. Pretend to be sane. "And pray tell," Caleb is grateful his voice doesn't give away anything he's feeling, eyes still fixated on your lips, "who gave my innocent little sister such dirty fantasies?"
Your head shoots up to face him, cheeks somehow turning even redder. "What?! Get your head out of the gutter! I'm just talking about kissing!"
Something awful fills in his mouth, but he still forces his lips to quirk into a smile, arms crossing over his chest to feign nonchalance. "Why do you want to know?"
"I... um..." You're fiddling with your fingers again, gaze flitting to anywhere that doesn't meet his burning stare. "I want to... practice."
Caleb suppresses the urge toâ well, he's not really sure. Something close to a flinch, maybe. If he were drinking tea, he probably would've choked on it from shock.
A thrill runs through him at the request, but a cold dread quickly seeps in to crush any feeling of delight. Sure, this exact situation may have been one of his dirty fantasies, but in his imagination, he never really had any solid idea why you'd want to practice kissing with him in the first place; it was just a silly thing he thought about when his carnal desires took over.
But now that you're in front of him, actually asking him to kiss you, he can't help but think of a thousand possible reasons why. Were you just curious, having watched too many romance movies? Were you practicing for a hypothetical boyfriend?
...Or were you practicing for a guy you already had eyes on, too shy to kiss him without experience?
Well, unfortunately for you, Caleb has never felt the need to kiss, so how would he know how kissing worked? Or at least, he didn't want to kiss anyone that wasn't you. Which was definitely not in his cards.
Until now, the opportunity handed to him on a silver platter.
"You want to practice with me?" Caleb inches his face closer to yours, one brow raised. You blink rapidly, flushed down to your neck.
"It's... it's not that I want to do it with you, specifically..." It's not a very convincing argument, but it sends a pang of hurt to his chest nonetheless. "It's just that I haven't- I don't have anyone else to ask-" Good, because Caleb would've probably killed him. "You know what? Forget about it. It's weird."
You try to get up from the couch and leave, but Caleb wraps a strong hand around your wrist, pulling you back. Perhaps he tugged a little too strongly to his direction, because you end up straddling his lap, hands holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself.
"What's weird?" Caleb smiles, putting on his most convincing expression of 'kissing your sibling is totally normal'. "I don't mind."
Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion and disbelief. "You... don't?"
"It's just practice. Why? You think I can't do it?" He pulls you closer by the waist, looking up into your eyes, strands of your hair brushing his cheek. "It's definitely better than letting my baby sister make out with some other loser."
You're gnawing on your lip again, and Caleb can't help but stare at the pink tongue that darts out to wet your dry lip.
"Well?" Caleb cocks his head to the side. "We don't have much time until Gran gets home."
Your grip on his shoulder tightens, cheeks an endearing shade of pink. "...Let's go to your room."
Caleb has the patience of a saint.
He chants it in his mind over and over to convince himself, because he's quickly realizing it isn't true. He'd kept his paws to himself for the better part of the time you've been in his room, even when you sat on his lap instead of beside him on the bed and stared at him expectantly.
The thing is, Caleb knows next to nothing about kissing because he's never tried it himself. But he doesn't let it show. He cups your cheek carefully, tells you to close your eyes, and hopes he's doing a good job of pretending like he knows what he's doing.
From then on, it's instinct.
Slotting your lips together at the right angle. Trying to not lose his breath as he kisses his dearest sister. Biting on your bottom lip gently to urge you to open your mouth for him, and preening when you obediently do.
Caleb doesn't really know how much tongue one should use. But he's probably doing too much.
At first, he's just testing the waters. Licking at the seam of your lips. Teasing the sensitive roof of your mouth. Gives your tongue a shy nudge.
Ten minutes later, he's sucking on it. Hands roaming your body. Eyes glazed over with sheer delight when you don't push him away, instead tangling your fingers in his hair to pull him even closer. He sucks on your tongue like it's candy, and you make noises he's never heard before, "ah, hn, gege..." straight out of a wet dream. He breaks away for a second, just for a breather, but you pull him back in and he nearly moans when you shyly give kitten licks to his tongue, soft and wet and fucking adorable.
Fuck, I'm hard, he thinks to himself, wishing you don't notice, but there's no way you don't feel his bulge pressing against you, rubbing against your thigh.
He wants to move his hips. Hump his cock against your panties beneath your skirt. Better yet, strip all the clothing altogether. Fuck you hard like in the wet dreams that plague him at night. Filthy fantasies of your pussy wrapped around his cock, wet with your juices and his cum. His fingers rubbing your engorged clit to see you cry out his name, drenching his hand with your slick. Cunt stretched to fit all of his thick girth, his base messy with frothy cum.
His hips move, just a little bit. He rolls his hips upward, directly pressing on your pussy. You squeak into his mouth, fingers curling tighter to his hair, but you don't stop him. You can feel him smile as his hands are placed on either side of your waist, moving you to rock back against him.
"C'mon, you move too..." he murmurs before he's sealing your lips again, the slide of his tongue against yours addicting. You clumsily raise your hips, rubbing at the tent in his pants, and the filthy groan he lets out goes straight to your core.
"D-do you do this when you kiss other girls?" You gasp as his lips move to your neck, sucking a visible mark beneath your ear. He makes a vague, unanswering hum, and you end up forgetting you even asked soon enough.
The friction makes you feel hotter than ever, burning at the nerves in your brain. You feel yourself getting dumbed down into a state where all you can think about is more, I need more of him, drowning in your most base desires.
The pace gets more frantic. Your clothed cunt rubs against his pants, all the while Caleb refuses to separate your pressed lips. At this point, you're not sure what you're doing qualifies as kissing, just panting against each other's mouths, tongues rubbing obscenely.
"Mm... ah... stick out your tongue more, meimei..."
"Ahn, yeah, okay... mmph..."
You're almost reaching... something you can't quite name, but it's hot, and it's near. You grind against your big brother more desperately, pursuing that high, and you swear you'll die if Caleb stopsâ
The front door opens. Gran's keys clatter on the living room table.
Caleb pulls away, and you very nearly whine in disappointment.
But Caleb's hair is in charming disarray, eyes clouded over with lust, lips swollen and shiny with your spit. It's a sight you want to burn into your eyes forever, distracting you enough to forget for a moment how you've been basically blue-balled.
"Fuck," he utters, voice raspy and ruined. His grip on your waist loosens. "We shouldâ we should probably stop here."
"Yes," you respond breathlessly, even though you want to do the exact opposite. Clearing your throat, you slowly pry yourself off from him, legs feeling like jelly.
A wave of mortification washes over you when you find a wet spot on Caleb's pants, right where you rubbed against him. Right where he's pitching a tent he can't possibly hide, somehow even larger than it felt.
You don't acknowledge it. Pretend it doesn't exist. Neither does he, covering it up with the hem of his large sweater. You rush to the door, patting down your messy hair and your even messier clothes, wrinkled and probably soaked with more than just sweat.
But before you leave, you whisper almost too quietly, "...Tomorrow."
Caleb understands immediately. Gives a crooked smile. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow" is similar as the first time. The only difference is you're in the dining room, sitting on the table with Caleb between your spread legs, still humping against each other as you desperately lock lips.
You don't make plans after that, but the next day, you find yourself knocking on his door late at night, unable to sleep. He doesn't have to ask why you're there, simply pulls you into his bed as he kisses down your neck, clothed cock rubbing against your pajama shorts.
It takes a week of shy touches and heavy makeouts before Caleb's hands find the courage to leave your waist, trailing up beneath your shirt. You shiver at the sensation of his warm, large hand sliding over your skin, fingers dipping into the slope of your back. "Anyone kissed you here before?" he whispers to your ear, fiddling with the hook of your bra. Stunned speechless, you shake your head no, and it's all he needs to hear to push up your shirt.
Caleb doesn't hide his awe. He stares intently at your chest, at the cute, lacy bra topped off with a tiny bow. It's different from the time he accidentally saw your underwear hanging to dry and you rushed to scurry them off in embarrassment â this time, you're clad in it, showing it off even, despite your burning cheeks.
He takes a sharp breath, hands roaming around your body almost in worship. Pushes up the bra to reveal your tits in full glory, nipples perky and tempting him to lick. He fondles the supple skin, teases at the peaks, and something dark curls in his eyes when he hears you let out a "Haah, wait, Caleb, that's...!"
Slowly, he presses light kisses on the valley of your breasts, licking at the expanse of soft skin. When he wraps his lips around a nipple, his hand prods at the other one, keeping eye contact while he sucks.
His touch feels like fire, your core burning hotter than ever. The sight of your big brother playing with your tits should not excite you this much, but you can feel yourself dripping, soaking your underwear into ruin. You don't dare tear your eyes away even as shame makes you want to hide â it'd be such a waste to miss even a moment of this, to see Caleb lick at your nipples, suck red marks anywhere his lips roam.
"You smell so good..." He presses his nose between your breasts, breathing in the scent of your sweat and the body soap you share. "So pretty..." His tongue trails a line downwards, eyes fixed to your gaze.
You bite down on your bottom lip, struggling to keep yourself quiet. His brow furrows, stopping for a moment to press down on your lip with his thumb. "Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself."
"The neighbors will hear," you murmur, considering the thin walls. Caleb thinks for a moment, and then he grins.
He takes the edge of your shirt, lifting it to your mouth. "Bite on this?"
Your cheeks fill with heat, but you open your mouth in assent.
The humiliation almost makes it hotter. The shirt muffles your moans, but you're also exposing yourself to Caleb, letting your brother suck on your tits as much as he wants. Swirling his tongue around the perky buds, lapping up his own spit that drips down. Squeezing your other breast and flicking the tit with his finger.
"Hey, meimei..." he mumbles while he sucks. He takes one of your hands, places it over the bulge in his pants. "What do you think of kissing gege over here too?"
Moments later, you're on your knees while Caleb stands in front of you, suckling on his tip as he fucks his cock between your tits. "Fuck..." He can't stop himself, lightheaded and on the verge of a nosebleed as he looks down on you, pushing your breasts together and licking his leaking precum. "My baby sister is sucking my cock... you look so good with your mouth full, meimei..."
You couldn't fit most of it in your mouth, not with the sheer size of it. Caleb's cock was so stupidly huge, you could barely wrap your hand around it fully. It was long and thick, and you felt dizzy at the thought of putting it inside you. Your pussy clenched, feeling more empty than ever, and you couldn't help but sneak a hand underneath your shorts to rub your clit, so wet from arousal.
"Haah, that's it, keep going..." Without noticing it himself, Caleb's thrusts have gotten rougher, his tip scraping the back of your throat. "Gege's cumming soon... take all of my cum, hm?"
Your rubbing grows more frantic as he reaches closer to orgasm, admiring his pleasured expression. Caleb runs a hand through his hair, hips still moving to fuck his dick in your mouth, muscled torso shiny with sweat. "Ugh, fuck, your tongue... yeah, that spot feels so good, pips... gege loves it when you suck me like that."
I want his cock in me I want his cock in me chants in your head, fingers still rubbing your clit. You've always masturbated to your older brother, imagined his hot body over yours, but it's different when he's using you for his own release. Having him fuck his huge dick to your throat while you're touching yourself, watching him in the throes of pleasure.
"Ah, shit, here it comes, fuckâ show me your tongue, meimeiâ"
Caleb pulls you away from his dick by your hair, and you'd be disappointed if not for the sight of him jerking off his own cock, fist hitting over his heavy balls, until he shoots his thick load, spraying cum all over your face, your stuck out tongue, and your tits.
You cum on your fingers as he groans deeply, still stripping his cock as he releases, and it takes a while for him to finish cumming. "Fuck... that felt so good..."
Caleb looks down at you, places a thumb on your cum-stained tongue, and swirls it around. "Swallow it."
You obey, gulping down his thick load. His eyes shine with satisfaction, patting your head like he usually does to praise you. "Good girl."
He helps you to your feet, pushing you back to bed. His large hands roam around your body again, running along your curves, massaging his cum on your tits. Then he leans down to lick it off, not once breaking eye contact.
"Don't worry about the mess. Gege's going to clean you up now, okay?"
Your little "kissing practice" becomes so much more. Eventually, you're sneaking around every opportunity you get â when Gran is out, or when it's late at night, or when you're about to shower and Caleb gets the bright idea to sneak in the bathroom to pin you against the wall and slide his cock between your legs. Look, my cock and your pussy are kissing.
It doesn't take a genius you've gone far, far beyond just kissing. So it doesn't surprise you anymore when on one of your "practice sessions" in your bedroom, his fingers brush on your inner thigh. "Let me kiss you here, too."
It's not surprising, but you still feel a bit shy lifting up your skirt and spreading your legs when Caleb tells you to. He looks far too pleased with himself when he finds you're absolutely wet, pure white panties almost see-through. He rubs your clothed clit with his thumb, chuckling when you unconsciously move your hips to grind against his finger.
But Caleb doesn't have the patience to tease. He slips off your underwear and marvels at the strings of arousal clinging to your soaked panties. "Naughty girl..." He clicks his tongue, gripping your thighs to spread them apart. "So wet for her big brother."
Your pretty pussy is flushed pink, dripping onto the sheets. He can see it clench around nothing in anticipation, waiting for his cock to fill it up with cum.
Caleb can't stop himself anymore. He inhales deeply into your bare cunt, groans a curse to himself, then begins to dig in.
His first lick is a broad stripe on your clit, thick tongue swiping on the sensitive nub. You jolt at the unfamiliar sensation, curling your fingers into his hair. "Ah, wait, Caleb- ohh, ahh, no...!"
"So fucking sweet," he moans at the taste, licking relentlessly now. "Fuck, I should've done this sooner."
He laps at your slit, drinking up the pussy juice that won't stop leaking. He smothers his face in it, nose rubbing on your clit and chin dripping with your slick, hands holding down your trembling legs to the mattress. He's squeezed between your thighs, and he looks like he's on heaven, utterly delighted at the moans he's pulling from you.
"Nn, mm, ahh, gege! Oh, your tongue-!" You're unable to string together a full sentence, mind a constant loop of so good fuck fuck gege's licking my pussy so good.
Caleb slurps noisily, an embarrassing noise you'll worry about later, but for now, your fried brain can only think it's so hot, you're so wet, gege please lick me more I love it right there please please.
Caleb sucks your clit like he's making out with it, rolling his tongue in circles and lapping up anything he can catch, thoroughly pussy drunk and intoxicated. He's grinding mindlessly into the mattress until he can't take it anymore, freeing his cock from his sweatpants and jerking off at the taste of your pussy.
"You're so fucking good for me, meimei," Caleb groans loudly, fucking his tongue into your hole as his dick pulsates in his hand, spurting more precum. You thrash around, riding his face and making a mess of him. "Fuck yes, just use me. Gege's just a toy to make you feel good."
And it really is as if you're treating him like a toy for your pleasure, burying his face to your pussy, uncaring if he can't breathe. Carelessly bucking up your hips to get his tongue deeper, licking the spot you want him to reach. Rubbing your swollen clit on his nose.
You've fantasized about this, of your big brother holding you down on your bed and making you cum on his tongue. Not stopping until you've squirted all over him, his fingers still fucking your pussy even when you feel overstimulated. You want it. You want it so bad.
"Caleb, more, please, I'm gonna cum!" you wail, legs trembling, bracing for the orgasm you know will ruin you.
"Go on," Caleb says, and you can feel the words form on his lips against your cunt, the vibrations driving you closer to the brink, "Cum on your big brother's face."
Your eyes roll back, liquid spraying out from your pussy and onto Caleb's mouth. "Fuck yes, keep squirting on me, pips." It keeps coming out like a leaking faucet and Caleb sits up, putting his cock on your pussy and letting the squirt drench him, using it as lube as he rubs his cock.
"Shit, you're so wet," he says in awe, staring as you keep spraying the clear liquid. He taps your clit with his tip, laughing when it makes you gush one last time. "So sensitive, too."
"Gege... ah..." you weakly utter when Caleb keeps rubbing his cock on your pussy, covering himself in your cum. The obscene squelch only gets him harder.
His cock is throbbing, so hard that it hurts. He wants to put it in. Fuck his precious little sister's pussy that's right in front of him. Take her virginity and fill her up with his hot cum. Fuck her against every surface on this house, on your bed, in the bathtub, on the floor, at the sofa you both always watched TV on growing up.
"Just the tip," he pants, just sane enough to make a compromise, prodding at your hole with the leaking head. "I want to put it inside you, meimei."
"Ah..." You stare at the cock between your legs, so huge compared to your tight pussy. We can't isnât something you can say when you've already crossed the line several times over. And you can't seem to take your eyes away from his dick, thick in girth and long, curving prettily in a way you know will hit that spot inside you.
"Please..." He leans down to whisper in your ear, hand pressing down on your stomach, measuring just how deep it'll reach. "Gege's been wanting this for so long."
There's no way that'll fit, the more reasonable voice inside your head cries out. I want all of him inside me, the whore in you says otherwise. "G... gege's cock is too big..." You don't mean it to sound so provocative, saying it as statement of fact, but he twitches against your skin, and you hope it's only in your imagination when you think Oh god, did he just get bigger...?!
"Then gege will be careful." Caleb strokes your pussy with his fingers, enjoying watching you tremble at the lightest touch. "I'll make sure it won't hurt."
And so, Caleb begins his quest to loosen your virgin pussy. A quest he seems to particularly enjoy, boredom never flicking across his features as he adds more fingers to your tight cunt. Marvels at the overflowing wetness slicking his hand, prodding everywhere in search of your g-spot. Holds down your thighs when he finds it, not allowing you to escape from the pleasure.
"Do you like this, pips? Do you like it when your big brother fingerfucks you?"
He sounds utterly sinful, words slightly muffled by the tit in his mouth, fucking in three thick fingers in your cunt, a thumb rolling on your poor, puffy clit.
"I like it so much." He makes another hickey on your chest. "I like the feeling of my sister's tight, virgin pussy squeezing around me."
Inevitably, his filthy words make you cum hard, splattering a mess on his arm.
"Cumming again?" Caleb hums as you gush around him for the nth time, fingers still moving, making your pussy squelch. "You really like this, huh?"
You groan weakly as he peppers your face with kisses, pussy twitching from the overstimulation. "Hnn... too much, Caleb... I can't..."
Caleb tuts, sucking another mark on your collarbone. "You can."
"Gegeee," you whine, holding onto his back. You feel like you've cum enough times to last a lifetime, the sheets beneath you soaked through and through.
"Please?" He nuzzles against your neck, affectionate and loving. "Just the tip. I want to feel you inside."
You glance at this monster-sized cock. And then at the puppy dog eyes that don't match it at all, sparkling innocently like he didn't just say the filthiest talk known to man.
"You don't want to try it?" He slides his heavy cock between your legs, letting you feel every vein. "I'll make it feel good. Better than my tongue."
He takes his dick in his hand, dips the head inside your pussy, just a small stretch. A fresh wave of slick wets it, spurting clear drops of arousal. When you don't push him away, just wrapping your arms around him and waiting with bated breath, he carefully pushes deeper.
It's thicker than you imagined it'd feel. Even thicker than his fingers. An overwhelming pressure that takes your breath away, your mouth forming an 'o', and you're almost annoyed when he stops sliding in.
He really just put the tip.
"Fuuuuck," he swears, using all his restraint not to slide everything in one go, a bead of sweat from his chin dropping on your chest. "Your pussy's so warm, meimei..."
"Haah, Caleb..." The thickness is nothing you've ever felt before, nothing his fingers could prep you enough for. Caleb's so big everywhere, from his height, his broad shoulders, his toned arms, his hands on your waist, and even with how massive he feels with just the tip, you can see the length of him that hasn't gone inside between your legs.
He moves slowly, fucking his tip in and out in a pace that leaves you wanting and hungry. "Mm, shit..."
He grips you tightly, gaze fixed on the way you clench around him, pretty pussy welcoming his cock. You wrap around him so deliciously, your cute twitchy clit just sitting above his cock. "God, you're so tight, my cock probably won't fit all the way."
It's a hypothetical thought. Because he really does mean to just put in the tip.
But you keep sucking him in, cunt warm and wet and hot and so good around him. Without meaning to, his cock slides further than he means to every other thrust, reaching deeper and deeper to your core, the plap plap noises of your skin slapping together echoing in your room.
When his cock is halfway in, Caleb is on the verge of cumming. "Ah, ah, wait, shit, sorry," he's panting out, apologies spilling from his lips, but his hips never stop moving. "Fuck, you just feel so good, I can't stop."
Your nails are digging scratches on his muscled back, mind turned into mush. The only thing you can think about is how big he is, how much deeper he could go if he went all the way. How much better it would feel if you could feel his cock in its entirety.
"Ge," you mindlessly whine. "Gege, please..." Are you begging him to stop? Or to fuck you hard and fast without restraint? You don't even know anymore. But your body answers for you.
You lock your legs around him, pulling him closer.
His cock slides in all the way to the hilt.
"Oh, fuck!"
Without warning, he spills inside you, load after load of cum filling up your pussy. He's cumming hard, groaning brokenly into your neck, his orgasm so mind-shattering he can't do anything other than pump his milk deep in your cunt, hot neverending pulses of semen flowing to your womb.
"Ah, shit, I'm sorry, I can't stop cumming, fuck...!"
It's not just that he can't stop cumming. He's still as hard as he was before.
It isn't long before he hoists your legs on his shoulders, looking absolutely pussy drunk. He rams his entire cock into you with rough, deep thrusts, fucking his cum deeper into your womb, some of it overflowing from your hole and coating the base of his cock in white. "I came inside my little sister's pussy," he babbles mindlessly, his groans pornographic. "My cum... deep inside your cunt... fuck..."
"Ge, your cock is so big," you moan like a slut, uncaring if the neighbors hear the debauchedy in your house at this point. "Fuck me more, please, I want more of your cum!"
"Ah, meimei, you're being so loud." Caleb brings his hand to your pussy, tormenting your clit again, making your legs kick out. "Everyone will know your big brother is fucking you so good. Getting his little sister pregnant while no one else is home."
"Yes, yes, please, I love it when my big brother cums inside me!"
"Yeah? You wanna be gege's cumdump?" He pants, flicking your clit, groping your breasts, nailing your g-spot in every thrust â everything he knows to make you moan louder, scream his name. "Go ahead. Milk your big brother's cock dry."
Time passes in a blur. It just so happens that you'll be alone at home for the next few days, your Gran going out to visit a friend from the countryside. Caleb takes this as his opportunity to fuck you without fear of getting caught.
Caleb fucks you in all sorts of positions, in different places â doggy style in the kitchen, making a mess on the floor; "Haah, meimei, how do we face Gran after this? You've squirted all over the table we use to eat together."
Reverse cowgirl on the living room couch, the show playing on the TV completely forgotten; "Ah, pips, didn't you say you liked this actor? Something about how good-looking he is. So why aren't you paying attention? Come on, hng, haah... don't just fuck yourself on gege's cock. Focus on the movie."
Laid out on your bed, 69 in your room; "Fuck, you're dripping all over me, baby... Yeah, suck on my cock, just like that. Your mouth feels fucking amazing."
And now, in his bedroom, Caleb leans back, letting his precious baby sister ride him first thing in the morning, awoken by the feeling of your wet pussy enveloping his cock. He enjoys seeing you fuck him yourself, desperate for release, tits moving as you bounce on his dick, flicking your own nipples and rubbing your clit to give him a show.
"That kissing practice," Caleb starts, unable to help himself and lazily circles your swollen clit with his finger, making you cry out, "that was just a ploy for me to train you, wasnt it? Training you to be your big brother's slut."
"Ah, ah, yes, hn, I wanted... wanted to be gege's slut!" You move your hips with more fervor now, and Caleb knows too well that's a sign you're close.
He pushes you to your back, slamming into your pussy with intense thrusts. Makes you squirt on his cock, spraying all over his abs. Smiles at the sight of your fucked-out face, tongue lolling out, eyes rolled back. "That's right. You've become my slut. All mine."
And then he thrusts again, and again, and again. Because he's raised a devil who can't be satisfied with normal sex anymore.
(And if he slips in an "I love you" or two after that, well, you're too fucked out to hear anyway.)
cw: pseudocest, caleb being a pervert, aka me being a pervert. it's not just the ovulation i fear
camboy!caleb who runs a popular account of homemade videos. they're nothing professional, clearly taken on a phone with no real sense of order â no proper introduction or scripted dialogue, filmed in shitty lighting and even worse angles â but there's just something hot about how spontaneous it all feels, how he's not putting on a show and he's simply letting his viewers watch even though they feel as if they shouldn't be seeing something so intimate.
camboy!caleb who either performs by himself â his large hand stripping his even larger cock, hips fucking back into his fist, abs shining with sweat rolling as he moves â or with you constantly featured in his videos, always faceless but identifiable by the moles on your body. he's never had a different partner, even with floods of DMs asking for collabs; it's always the same girl whose pussy he's obsessed with, consistent throughout the few years he's been posting.
camboy!caleb who's known for being an eater, having quite a few videos in his collection where he's just playing with the your pussy with no regard to his cock straining against his pants. holding down your thighs as he makes you cum over and over, lips smacking wetly against your cunt, talking absolute filth to your pussy. "gonna cum for me, baby? wanna squirt your pussy juice over gege's face? come on, you don't have to hold back. cum, cum, cum... fuck, you're making a fountain out of your cunt, haha."
he's absolutely depraved when he makes you sit on his face, nose digging into your clit, dazed eyes staring at your bouncing tits. the sounds he makes are obscene, all groans and slurping noises and praise for how good you are for him. his cock remains untouched, but he's spilling precum from his angry tip, close to bursting just at the sweet taste of your slick. "ride my face, pips. fuck, look at you go... you taste fucking delicious."
camboy!caleb who can spend ages toying with your cunt, fingers pruny from how long he spent teasing your insides. he spreads your pussy lips wide, showing off how wet you are, cruelly flicking at your clit and burying his digits knuckle-deep. the squelching is especially loud when he shushes your moans, murmuring, "can't be loud today, baby. we don't want anyone else hearing you like this, yeah?"
camboy!caleb who fucks like he wants to get you pregnant. he fucks hard and deep, balls slapping against your skin, the tip of his cock distending your stomach each time he slides back in. his thrusts are rough, but precise; he always hits the spot that drives you insane, scratching lines down his back and screaming his name. "here? you like it right here? alright, baby, gege's gonna give it you. just. like. this." with each emphasized word, he slams in even deeper, eyes crinkling in delight when you gush squirt all over him again.
camboy!caleb who always creampies. when he cums, he makes sure it's inside, filling up your cunt with his hot milky loads. his semen is always thick, and he takes some time to finish cumming. "shit, princess. think i'm gonna knock you up this time? i filled you up so much, it's fucking dripping."
camboy!caleb who has a little sister kink. or at least, his viewers assume so; his video titles are more often than not some sort of porny clickbait like "fucking my stepsis when nobody's home" or "teaching my stepsis how to masturbate". he seems really committed to the bit; he films his videos in random places of the house, fucking you against the front door or pounding into you in the bathroom while trying to keep quiet. "yes, fuck, take in all of your big brother's cock... you're so fucking wet for gege, huh? hear that? all this slick is from you, baby."
"getting off from your brother's dick... who taught you to be such a slut? but it's okay. as long as you're only gege's slut."
"hng, shit, my sister's pussy is the best... so fucking tight and hot..."
"cum. cum all over your big brother's cock. yes, fuck, just like thatâ squirt as much as you want. gege's gonna clean up your mess with his tongue."
"ah, hah, gege's going to cum, okay? gege's cumming deep inside. ohh, shit, fuckâ i'm cummingâ cumming inside my little sister's pussyâ"
porn sites have plenty of step sibling roleplay. surely, camboy!caleb is just acting, right?
18+ (nsfw) thoughts about caleb living his horny teenager self's dream. contains pseudocest, usage of gege, and fantasies of underage sex (because, again, caleb was a horny teenager). if you feel uncomfortable reading this kind of content, please scroll away. (this is straight up porn lol what is plot)
during spring cleaning, you come across your old high school uniform tucked away in a little, dusty box. the uniform that caleb has very strong feelings for.
because as it so happens, high school was probably the horniest period of caleb's life. it also happens to be the most repressed period of his life because laying a finger on his precious "little sister" would be several degrees immoral.
you probably have no idea how much that goddamn skirt has tormented him in the past, but you can see an excited glimmer in his eyes. yes, that period of his life has passed. his desire, however, has not waned in the slightest.
so of course you spend the following afternoon reenacting every one of his dirty fantasies, dressed in your uniforms.
pushing you down the bed the moment you arrive home after school. sucking down your neck as he fondles your tits over your shirt, humping against your panties. rubbing his cock over your clothed pussy, soaked with how wet you are.
caleb grabs your ponytail when you give him a blowjob, because that's how you always tied up your hair back then. groans when you rub his cock between your tits, straight out of the stupid porn he used to watch, the tip peeking out your breasts drooling with precum. he binds your wrists together with his tie before he eats you out so you can't resist while he laps at your clit, plunging three fingers inside your cunt, not stopping even when his jaw gets tired until he's made you squirt on his tongue.
he makes you sit on his face, his nose rubbing against your clit, licking up all the cum and slick from your pussy. breathes in your erotic scent as he's trapped between your plump thighs and your skirt, uncaring if he suffocates. he pushes you back to his mouth with his evol each time you try to run away, begging you to squirt on his face again, pleading that he has to taste you.
and after all of that, caleb still hasn't had enough. because there's no end to his desire, bottled up since he could remember. he can't imagine a time he'll ever be satisfied.
he doesn't really take off any part of your uniform, no. he bunches up your shirt to grope at your bare tits, flips up your skirt, pulls your panties to the side so he can thrust his cock to your pussy.
caleb fucks you from behind, pulling out in time before he can cum, just so he could rub his dick and spill his thick load all over your clothed ass. he lets you ride him as you hold up your school skirt, giving him the full view of your cunt swallowing his girthy cock, streams of your wetness gliding down his veins. he watches your face twist in pleasure with unrestrained delight, giving you a little help by pounding at the spot that drives you crazy, and isn't surprised by the spray of squirt that comes out of you for the nth time that day, soaking his shirt and the sheets below.
"fuck, pips," he groans, still fucking up to your cunt as you cum messily all over him. "should i have done this before? huh? would you have enjoyed this back then if i just pushed you down and fucked you like the slut you are?"
"ahn, yes, fuck!" your tongue lolls out of your mouth, eyes rolled back. "i, haah, thought about this too, mmgh, fuuuck... being gege's little slut...!"
"yeah?" caleb pants, pinching your clit. "you wanted to be gege's cumdump? fucked everyday just to please me?"
"ah, ah, yeah, mm, yes, more..." you spread your legs wider, showing him more of your pussy overflowing with cum. "anything for gege...!"
his lips quirk into a manic smile. "then stay like this for a little longer." caleb gives your thigh a mean slap, making you whine. "show gege what you've got."
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boyfriend!caleb who fixes everything without you even needing to ask. drawer sticking? already taken care of. lamp flickering? rewired it. he doesn't tell youâhe just watches as you notice it later and coyly grins into his coffee.Â
boyfriend!caleb who claims he's not tired after a long mission, only for you to find him half-asleep on the couch, boots still on and one arm curled around a pillow. His mouth is slack, just barely drooling onto the fabric, grumbling something unintelligible as you try to take off his shoes for him.Â
boyfriend!caleb who never talks about his nightmares, but you know he has them. sometimes you wake to find him already staring at the ceiling, eyes tired and fingers quietly tracing his necklace. you don't pressâyou just reach for his hand under the covers, and he squeezes back like that's all he needed to fall back asleep again.Â
boyfriend!caleb who always insists on carrying the groceries, your bags, or even your water bottle if you're out walking together. âwhat kind of man would I be if I let you haul this on your own?â he says, smugâbut you catch him sneaking glances at your smile every time.Â
boyfriend!caleb who brushes your hair behind your ear while you're half-asleep just to get a better look at your face. when your eyes flutter open, heâs still staring, mischief in his voice as he mutters, âwould you look at thatâiâm still not dreaming. guess iâm really stuck with you after all, pips.âÂ
boyfriend!caleb who likes it when you sit on the counter while he cooks. Not because it's helpful, but because he likes having you close, swinging your legs and stealing tastes while he pretends to scold you. âthatâs for the plate, not your fingers. âŚokay, one more.â youâre lucky you're cute.Â
boyfriend!caleb who doesn't say he's jealous, but suddenly gets a lot clingier after someone else makes you laugh. an arm slung around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder, voice low and casual as he asks, ânew friend of yours?â as much as you tease, he just hums and pulls you closer. âdidn't know I needed to remind you who you belong to.âÂ
boyfriend!caleb who hates fighting with youânot because he can't argue, but because he refuses to let it wedge between you. even if he's still annoyed, he'll find you in the dark, sliding his arm around your torso, voice firm. âweâre not ending the night like this. iâm mad, you're mad, fine. but iâm not losing sleep over something we can fix. not with you.âÂ
boyfriend!caleb who pouts when you steal his jackets, but always makes sure the next one you take smells freshly laundered and has something tucked in its pocketâa wrapped candy, a scribbled note, a folded paper starâsomething small. something tender. something thatâs his.Â
boyfriend!caleb who doesn't flinch when you're angry because he wants you to feel safe expressing anything with him. he lowers his voice, softens his expression and says, âokay, hit me with it. no shields.â and he listens.Â
boyfriend!caleb who dreams of a small life away from the fleet, from Ever, from everything. a place where no one knows his name, where the two of you can be ordinary. even when you blow off the prospect, heâs already mapped it out in his head, blueprints and all.Â
boyfriend!caleb who doesn't let you see how much it kills him that he's part machine. but every time your fingers brush the metal of his arm, and you don't flinchâevery time you press your lips to the cold and say, âstill youââsomething in him stitches back together.Â
boyfriend!caleb who can't stop watching you when you're distracted. reading, cooking, tying your shoes, it doesn't matter. he stares like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. and when you catch him, he just shrugs. âwhat? can't look at my beautiful girl?âÂ
boyfriend!caleb who says âmineâ under his breath when he kisses you. itâs not about ownership, itâs about fear. like he still canât believe you chose him. like if he doesnât say it out loud, the world might steal you back.Â
boyfriend!caleb who has contingency plans for if you go missing. not because he doesn't trust you (at least, for the most part), but because the world is dangerous. he's memorized every route of town, planted caches, and learned the faces and names of potential threats. youâll never know how deep it goes.Â
boyfriend!caleb who keeps a photo of you hidden behind the inner clasp of his uniform, its surface creased and edges softened by time and touch. no one knows it's there, not even youâbut when the world turns brutal, pressures high and hands bloody, heâll press his fingers to it like a lifeline. and sometimes, when no one's looking, he unfolds itâjust for a momentâand allows his eyes to soften in a way his subordinates never see. youâre his axis. his anchor. his only constant in a world of smoke and lies. heâd crawl through fire, through blood, and through everything he hates about himself just to come home to you.Â
summary: how on earth were you supposed to write a good sex scene with almost zero experience? good thing your best friend was always willing to lend you a helping hand.
themes: childhood best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits, college! au, slowburn, humour, fluff, angst, petnames, profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, explicit sexual content (oral fem receiving, fingering, nipple play, protected + unprotected sex, clothed sex), porn with so much plot, they're both down bad asf
word count: 25k
lyns notes: its been so long since i've written a full length fic like this, and it ended up being so much longer than I anticipated but please don't get scared by the wc đ its so self indulgent because i love caleb and I had way too much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy! <3
This was utterly insane, even for you.
The idea started small, though you supposed you couldnât ever classify it as innocent. At the time, it had been just a flicker, a fleeting thought that slipped through the cracks of your composure. You were in your best friend's dorm, lounging on his bed like it was your own as you complained.Â
âIâve been stuck for weeks now. Itâs like Iâve lost the ability to write.â
Caleb glanced over at you from his desk, leaning back in his plush chair as the movement of his fingers over the laptop keyboard stilled for a moment. The expression you received was familiar, you had been on the receiving end of it for years now. One of his lips quirked up, deep lavender eyes alight with amusement, and one eyebrow raised as he took in your anguished state.Â
âYou havenât lost the ability to write, Pipsqueak, it's just writer's block. Youâve had writer's block before.â
âNot like this.â You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. âI usually manage to overcome it in a week or so. Itâs been like, three months.â Your annoyance with yourself was obvious to him, so clear in the slight pout on your mouth paired with that indignant expression.
It was true, you had been writing ever since you were little. Your imagination ran wild as a child, even before you could physically write, you would spin tales and make up stories to entertain yourself with, frequently getting lost in your own little world. You prided yourself on this talent of yours that helped you breeze through English essays and writing assignments, even going so far as to major in English at university. Writing was your bread and butter. It was more than just being good at it, it was the passion and fulfilment you felt when you did it.Â
Passion and fulfillment your ass, you couldnât feel any of that right now.
You were writing a book, your very first one that you started penning in the summer before your sophomore year. The idea had come to you out of nowhere, and once you spent hours outlining all the details, you were certain it was something you wanted to bring to life. The need to finish it burned through you as you spent most of that break stuck at your desk, hunched over your laptop. Caleb had to quite literally drag you out of your room most days, muttering some nonsense about vitamin D and too much screen time.
He had always been like that ever since you were kids â protective, caring, attentive. It was built into his very being, you supposed, ever since he saw you cry outside the first-grade classrooms as a seven-year-old and promised to help you find your way to the correct one. Even now, as he hummed in thought, offering silent support for your frustration.Â
âYouâve gotten through a large chunk of it, right?â
âYep.â
A slow, bargaining smile stretched out on his face. âHey, you know, maybe if you let me read itââ
âHell no.â You shook your head stubbornly. âI told you, Iâm only letting you read it once it's finished, and I think itâs good enough.â
Caleb snorted, âSo you mean never?â
You promptly threw one of the plushies on his bed at him. He deftly caught it, laughter slipping from him as he threw it back. The plushy was a grumpy apple one that he had won you back home at the arcade, but the pile of plushies on your bed was so huge that you graciously suggested that he keep it for you. Partial custody, you had joked, I have visitation rights.
âYouâll be the first to read it. I justâŚ.need to get through this one bit.âÂ
Ah yes, the bit. The part that you seemed to be cursed to never finish. Everything before it had gone so smoothly, the words flowing and pouring out of you so perfectly. A fun romance novel full of twists and humour was what you aimed to achieve, and it seemed like you were succeeding.
That was, until you reached a part of the story that you truly had no idea how to write. The technicalities of it were.âŚ..unknown at best, to you, who had almost no experience in the matter.Â
âYou know, maybe you could tell me about it. Maybe I could help.â You knew the offer was genuine. Caleb had always been someone you could fall back upon for any assistance. Being two years older than you, in your eyes, he always knew what to do when you were in a pickle. He was the type of friend who placed bandages on your scrapes and offered you candy so youâd stop crying. He carried a hair tie around for when you wanted to tie your hair and helped you study for tests, and explained the concepts that you didnât understand. Every time you had a problem, he never hesitated to help you in any way he possibly could.
But thisâŚ.this was something youâd rather die than ask him about.Â
Immediately, you shook your head a little too quickly, shooting him a tight smile. âNope, it's fine. Just something I gotta figure out myself.
He stared at you skeptically but shrugged. âAlright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?â
You wouldnât.
Would you?
Absolutely not. Even thinking about it felt like a betrayal. It was like opening a can of worms that held snakes. Deadly venomous ones.Â
And yet here you were, your teeth digging into the plush of your lower lip as he turned back to his laptop screen, continuing to work on whatever assignment he had due. He was in his final year and was infinitely busy, though he somehow still managed to make time for you.Â
Shamelessly, your eyes studied him. His arms, so well defined and firm-looking, were basically on display for you when he wore that white, sleeveless tee. Dark hair, unruly and messy, no matter how many times you ran your fingers through it in an attempt to fix it. A defined jawline that could probably cut you if you dared touch it. He had grown up unfairly well, no longer the lanky young boy you once knew, now a man. A hot man you had incredible chemistry with.
A very hot man who was completely off-limits.Â
Still. You supposed that his help couldnât be the worst thing in the worldâ
A sex scene. That was what you were struggling to right. In terms of the story, it was a very natural next move for your characters, and it made sense, and while you could simply artistically describe the ordeal and fade to black, you felt it was a necessary addition. You wanted to showcase the desperation the two characters felt for each other, just how deep their feelings ran through something more primal. You wanted it to feel right, to feel magical.Â
The issue? You hadnât the faintest idea of how to go about it. In all your nineteen years of life, you had only had sex once, and it had been far from magical. It had been uncomfortable and rushed, the result of a very stupid, drunken one-night stand in your first year. The guy very evidently didnât know how a woman's body worked, and even thinking back on it made you cringe and fold in on yourself. If it were possible to manually pluck the memory out and destroy it, you would have done it in a heartbeat.
So how on earth were you supposed to write the perfect sex scene when your one sole experience in the matter had been so terrible?
And you couldnât ask Caleb for help. Even considering doing so made you feel as if you would spontaneously combust. He was your best friend, for crying out loud, and this crossed so many lines. You knew very well that he wasnât a virgin by any means, having caught glimpses of the occasional hickey on his neck despite his best efforts to hide it from you. He was twenty-one, experienced and could probably talk you through itâ
Nope. Not going here.Â
The idea of Caleb explaining sex to you was mortifying. You didnât want to hear about any of his conquests, even just the thought of him talking about it made you want to throw up. The notion of him having sex only made your cheeks warm and your throat go uncomfortably dry.
Against your will, the thought festered. It burrowed its way into your mind and settled there as if it belonged, despite its having no business being there. This was completely unethical, but before you could stop yourself, your gaze zeroed in on his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking his lips in concentration as he typed out something. For a second, you wondered how it would feel if he dragged that tongue across the skin of your neck.
Oh my god. What if he simply showed you?
The moment that depraved idea popped into your head, you shot up, getting to your feet with urgency. Startled, he looked over at you, frowning at the alarmed look on your face.
âAre you good?â
âIâm great!â Your voice sounded funny, like you were trying to digest a rock. âI justâ erâ remembered I have some homework to finish for tomorrow. So I should get back to my room.â You padded over to his door, slipping into your shoes and waving at him. âSee ya.â
â....Bye.â He watched your awkward, rushed movements with a puzzled look on his (very nice) face.. You nodded curtly before opening the door and escaping the confines of his dorm, out of his scrutinising gaze that could read you annoyingly well. Another minute in there and you knew he would be grilling you for your odd behaviour.Â
Jesus Christ. You were so screwed.
âY/n? Girl, you gotta get your head in the game.â
Taraâs voice cut through your reverie, causing you to snap out of it. One glance up at her would reveal an unimpressed look directed at you, her hands on her hips. âOur darling editor wants to know why your article isnât on her desk yet.â
Tara was your closest friend after Caleb, and you had met her when you joined the university paper as a student journalist. She was smart, pretty and always had your back no matter what. Blinking rapidly, you sighed, waving your hand.Â
âTell Jenna Iâll have it there by the end of the day.â
âYou better. You know how she is about deadlines.â Tara pulled one of the chairs from the desk beside yours closer and sat on it, resting her elbows on the armrests. âSeriously, though, why are you spaced out today?â
Well, there was no way you could tell her the truth about that. So you resorted to using a half-truth as an answer. âWriter's block.â
âAh.â
You turned back to the screen of your computer, staring at the article you had been writing. It was almost finished, thank god. At least here, you had the facts to write around, having done your research. Very different to the situation you found yourself in regarding your stupid book.
Ugh.Â
âBy the way, your boyfriendâs here.â
Your head snapped up at her words, already ready to argue, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Walking into the newsroom holding two coffees was Caleb, wearing that blue-orange jacket that you had bought him for one of his birthdays. He did this pretty often, sauntering in like he owned the place even though he was technically not allowed to be there. Jenna had repeatedly reminded him of this, but he brushed it off, and after a while, she simply stopped bothering. Thus, despite not being on the paper, he spent a lot of time in the newsroom.
This was another problem you faced daily: people mistaking him for your boyfriend. The number of times you had to rehash the fact that he was simply your best friend was astounding, and back when you were a freshman, the constant whistles about you dating an upperclassmanâ and none other than Caleb Xiaâ drove you mad. You chalked it down to none of them being fortunate enough to experience a friendship as fulfilling and real as the one you had with him.
âHeâs not my boyfriend.â You dropped your voice, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear your rebuttal that held a hint of venom, plastering a smile on your face as he closed in. Tara snickered.Â
âSure, and Iâm the queen of England.â
âHey,â Caleb grinned down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your friend. âAnd what?â
âNothing,â you said brightly, shooting her a murderous look that silently told her to zip it. She smiled innocently and shook her head, slipping back to her desk without another word.
âSheâs an odd one,â he quipped, handing you one of the coffees and then shrugging off the jacket, dumping it on the free space on your desk. You already knew it was your regular order, something he had memorised years ago. You sipped the drink, letting the hot liquid calm you down, grateful for the caffeine. You hadnât gotten much sleep the night before, spending it tossing and turning in your bed.
And why was that?
Caleb leaned against your desk. âAre you free later today?âÂ
A dejected sigh escaped you. âUnfortunately, no. I need to finish this article by the end of the day, and it seems like my writer's block has infected every aspect of my life.â It was ironic, just how true that statement ran.
âDamn.â You could hear the tinge of disappointment in his voice. âI was hoping we would have movie night. I stocked up on your favourite candy.â He reached over, his fingers brushing against the skin of your forehead as he pushed some of your hair that fell in front of your eyes away from your face, neatly tucking it behind your ear like it was second nature. It was, you supposed, considering he had done so about a hundred times.
But something was different this time, or perhaps you were paying far too much attention to every little thing. To how he pulled back and the way the muscles in his forearm shifted subtly, making you wish he had kept the jacket on. The brief touch lingered on your skin, burned into it.
Fucking hell, you were a mess. A tragic, down-atrocious mess.
Your eyes lingered on his fingers for a moment. Heat crept up your neck, and you coughed, rubbing it absent-mindedly, hoping to push down the flush you felt taking over your body. It had been like this ever since the day in his dorm when your brain had decided to work against you and infect you with the thought of sex with your best friend.
What better way was there to describe your state than calling it an infection? It certainly felt like some sort of sickness with the way it plagued you against your will. Somehow, it was worse than the doomed crush you had harboured for him back when you were in high school, because at least that had been innocent. That was born out of pure admiration, and you were sixteen. A lot of things done at sixteen could be brushed off under the excuse of being young and naive. You had quickly gotten over it.Â
You were evidently no longer so naive. In fact, you knew too much.
âMaybe next time.â You managed to choke out finally after a silence that had stretched a beat too long. Part of you hoped heâd leave you alone now so that you could calm down and refocus your attention to the article.Â
But of course, he didnât. Instead, he occupied the chair Tara previously had, complaining about one of his classes as you nodded along, sipping your coffee and glancing between him and your screen. The smooth cadence of his voice usually soothed you and calmed you down, but now it only put you on edge, flowing over scrambled thoughts like honey. Had his arms always been this nice?
You were going to hell.
All things considered, you held yourself to certain standards. You were a woman with morals and integrity, and you were not in the habit of staring at shirtless men.
Except when it was Caleb, apparently.Â
âWhy are you half-naked?â You blurted out gracelessly, heat viciously curling up your body as your eyes dropped down to his torso. You gripped the Chinese takeout you had gotten on your way back from your evening class a little tighter as you took in his figure. A silver chain with a tag and apple pendant (something you had given him before he left for university while you were still struggling in high school) on his bare chest and perfect sculpted abs, running shorts hanging low on his hips.Â
âI was working out.â He said casually, taking the bag of takeout from your hands and walking back into his dorm, leaving you to follow him. You bit down on your tongue hard, almost hoping youâd draw blood.Â
This was ridiculous. You had seen him shirtless several times before and had never reacted like this. The other times hadnât caused you to flush and definitely didnât cause your heart rate to spike. It didnât have you furiously fighting off thoughts that had threatened to consume you for over a week now, pushing them back into the furthest parts of your mind and locking them there.Â
âIâm almost done, could you grab sodas from the fridge?â Caleb placed the food on the table beside his bed. You wordlessly complied, picking the apple-flavoured sodas that both of you liked. Turning back to the main area of his dorm, you walked over, only to stop dead in your tracks.
Caleb was on the floor. Doing push-ups.
There was nothing inherently sexual about it in the slightest. You knew he liked to stay in shape, hitting the gym at least thrice a week to maintain his physiqueâ a very nice physique that seemed to be your current undoing. His hair fell across his forehead, a little matted from sweat. You watched as he pressed down and back up, and in a moment of weakness, you wondered how it would be if you were under him instead of standing to the side and ogling like an idiot. Would his necklace dangle above you, swinging back and forth in your face?
Dear god. You needed to be sedated. Put down, even.
Finally, he seemed to be done, lowering himself down and then rolling onto his back. He sucked in a breath of hair, running his hands through his hair and messing it up even further. Finally, he sat up and looked up at you, a singular eyebrow raised.
âWhy are you just standing there?â
Brilliant question. If only you could answer it.Â
Choosing to skillfully evade instead, you tossed him his soda can and grabbed his laptop from his desk, settling down next to him on the floor. Tonight, the two of you had decided to have dinner together and catch up on an anime you had started together a couple of weeks ago. It had been a while since you had properly hung out, and you knew damn well that it was all your fault.Â
You were avoiding him. Mentally and physically, especially physically. Caleb, however, being the understanding, saint of a man that he was, chalked it up to you being busy. He made sure to check in on you, shooting you texts or sending you funny videos he knew youâd like.Â
âWe should try and finish all the episodes up until the latest one,â You said, opening up his laptop and logging into the anime site. âThey released a new one on Wednesday.âÂ
Caleb hummed, stretching his arms as he shuffled closer. Immediately, you froze, the close contact inciting pure panic within you. Jerking away from him, you glared, holding a hand out to keep an arm's distance between the two of you, much to his confusion.Â
âPut on a shirt.â
He frowned. âWhy? Itâs really hot.â
Indeed, it was. âExactly. Youâre all sweaty and gross.â
You really shouldnât have said that. The moment the words left your mouth, his mouth curled into a smirkâ one so disgustingly attractive that you were sure your knees would have probably buckled if you werenât already sitting downâ and his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint that told you he was up to no good. Carefully, he wrapped a hand around your wrist, and the contact has your brain short-circuiting and going into overdrive.
âI think that means you want a hug.â
âWaitâ donât you dareâ Caleb!â You yelped as he tugged you harshly, forcing you to fall into his lap, his laughter resounding through the small dorm room. Awkwardly, you shoot your other hand out to steady yourself, placing it on his shoulder as you tumble into him, knee slotting in between his legs and body so dangerously close to his that you wanted to scream. Smoothly, he wrapped his other arm around your waist, circling it and somehow tugging you even closer, until you were flush against him.
âWhat are you gonna do now, Pips?â He taunted, voice just above a whisper right against your ear.Â
Unicorns, you bleakly thought to yourself. Puppies. Cupcakes. Sprinkles.
âYouâre so annoying,â You hissed, throwing as much irritation into your voice as you possibly could in the hopes that it would drown out the shakiness you felt. His skin under your fingertips was warm, and you could feel that warmth through the fabric of your tank top. âGo fuck yourself.â
He laughed harder, the sound so contagious it broke you out of your downright sinful thoughts. You gripped his shoulder a little harder, mentally chastising yourself for the situation you found yourself in, knowing that there was no good reason for you to be this riled up. Playfighting with him was something you were used to; it was natural. It should not have had your blood pressure rising and heart slamming in your chest so violently.
Swallowing thickly, you barely processed how he let go of your wrist, his other arm also coming to rest around your waist as he pulled you further into his lap so that you were now sitting on top of him. Before you even had the chance to react to that, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled.Â
âMissed you this week,â He mumbled softly against your rapidly heating skin. You froze for a split second at the contact, hopelessly blaming the flush spread over your cheeks on the humid weather.
And then you softened.Â
Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him back. âI missed you too,â You whispered, following up with a lie to keep him off your trail. âJust had a lot of work.â
âI know,â he said so patiently that you instantly felt guilty. He lifted his face from your neck so that he could stare at you, and it hit you just how intimate the position the two of you were in was. Although reserved with others, Caleb had always been pretty openly affectionate with you. His hand on the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours, a light kiss to your temple in encouragementâ he had been doing stuff like that to you since you were ten.Â
So why did it suddenly affect you so much? Why did something so normal for you make you feel so different now?
âJustâŚ.tell me about it,â he continued, those mesmerising purple eyes of his locked onto yours. âShoot me a text. Let me know what's up with you. Donât you remember the last time you shut everyone out because you were stressed?â
You did remember. It was during your finals last year, when the workload you had overwhelmed you so badly that you simply pushed everyone away until they were over. Caleb had to practically storm his way back into your life and demand that you take a break and slow down before you worked yourself to the bone. The fact that he remembered this only made your guilt worse because your distance this time had nothing to do with your classwork.Â
It had everything to do with him, though.Â
âYeah, yeah,â you mumbled, slowly slipping out of his embrace and settling down next to him once again. You had to remind yourself of what he was to you, and all this thirsting for him was neither healthy nor something a good best friend would do. âIâm not gonna do that again.âÂ
âIâm just saying. And what the hell am I supposed to do with my free time if youâre not here to bother me?â He flashed you that shit-eating grin of his that you were starting to think was more devastating than mischievous.
You had to resist strangling him.
There was only one possible conclusion: something was deeply wrong with you.
How else were you supposed to explain your borderline insane behaviour? It had gotten even worse lately, causing you to daydream at the most inconvenient times, like when you were trying to get an assignment done or even in the middle of class. It was a wonder your professors hadnât called you out for it yet.Â
Some level of restraint seemed to remain, though, with you stopping your thoughts from crossing any lines. The moment you caught your mind straying into dangerous territory, you forced yourself to stop, desperately searching for another distraction.
But there was only so much you could do. Thinking was proving to be a dangerous activity.
You pressed your palms into your eyes, hard. It was almost three in the morning, and you hadnât gotten a wink of sleep. Earlier, you had tried to write around the damned scene, but emerged fruitless. It was like an obstacle you had to clear before you could get to the next level of a game, taunting you with its incompletion.
Something else taunted you, simmering underneath the expanse of your skin. Things that hadnât even happened yet, but you had already dreamed of themâ his mouth on yours, his hands tracing your body with a feather touch.Â
You were even wearing one of his shirts right now, the oversized tee reaching down to your mid-thighs. Several, just like the one you currently wore, sat neatly in your closet, having been stolen from him over the years. You could faintly smell his cologne; cidery and comforting, enveloping you in what felt like it could be his embrace. Turning onto your side, you pulled the blanket over your body and stared at the wall blankly.Â
Caleb had been your safe space for so long, and perhaps that was why you gravitated so easily to thinking about him like this. If there was anyone you trusted in such an intimate sense, it was him.Â
Even if it shouldnât have been.
God knows you needed to get laid. Unfortunately, you didnât want just anyone.
You swore you had never been this horny before, least of all for your best friend. Thinking about him in such a salacious way was strictly a new development that was quickly ruining your life, haunting you day and night. Even now, lying in your bed, heat that was impossible to ignore bloomed between your legs.Â
Maybe if you just indulged once, this madness would stop. Maybe you just needed an orgasm, and then youâd stop going insane over every single interaction you had with Caleb. It didnât even have to be about him, and this was normal; everyone needed a release now and then.Â
Your fingers slipped between your legs, pushing the fabric of his shirt up, tracing the outline of your cotton underwear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let your fingertips gently graze against where you needed them most, letting your legs fall apart just a little bitâ
Deep purple eyes flashed behind your closed eyes.
Gasping, you retracted your hand like you had been burned. There was no way in hell you could touch yourself with him in mind; that was everything you had been avoiding for the past three weeks, ever since the notion had first sprouted. Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow.
This had to have been the stupidest cause of insomnia ever.
Caleb đ [15:32 pm] : i better see u at the party tonight :D
Caleb đ [15:32 pm] : will pick u up at 9
Caleb đ [15:32 pm] : no buts.
Caleb supposed that this was technically his fault.
Mentally, he had already prepared for this outcome. It was why he had barely drunk the entire night, barely finishing two drinks and opting out of playing beer pong with the rest of his friends, despite Gideon's need for another member on his team.Â
âCome on, Pipsqueak.â He had an arm around your waist to help steady you, ensuring you wouldnât fall flat on your face. You stumbled into the elevator, and he jammed the number of your dorm floor as you wrapped your arms around his torso weakly, leaning into him. Right now, he was the only thing keeping you upright.
You were drunk, slurring your words and unable to walk in a straight line without any assistance type of drunk. And yes, this was his fault.Â
Probably. Definitely.
One of the frat houses had thrown a party, and he had insisted that you come with him. He had always been great at reading you, and for the last couple of weeks, you had seemed tense over something, though you hadnât told him what exactly it was yet. That was fine, he knew that eventually youâd spill, but for now, all he wanted to do was help you let loose.Â
That was exactly what he told you to do when both of you arrived at the party, even pouring you your first drink. Halfway through the party, you seemed more relaxed than you had in the last couple of days, swaying along to the music by his side. He made sure not to drink too much, wanting to be sober enough to safely get you back to your dorm just in case you overdid it.
His intuition always ended up being right when it came to you.
You whined as the elevator dinged, the doors opening. âEverything is spinning.â
âI know, honey, weâre almost there.â He helped you walk into the hallway, smoothly taking your handbag from you and extracting your keys. Holding you tighter, he opened the door and pulled you through, carefully seating you down on your bed and taking your boots off.
Like clockwork, he grabbed a bottle of water from your bedside table, unscrewed it and held it to your cherry-tinted lips. You only used that specific lip-tint when you were going out, and each time you did, he found himself wondering if it tasted like cherry as well. Even now, as he gently propped his index finger under your chin and tilted your face upwards, he entertained the idea of tasting it for himself.
But he wouldnât.Â
âDrink up,â He said softly, âYouâre gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow.â
Obediently, you parted your lips, drinking with his help. Your cheeks were flushed due to the alcohol, hair a little frizzy from the heat, but still maintaining the styling you had done before the party. To him, you looked stunning at all times, but he could see the effort you had put in to look nice tonight, from your outfit (a black halter top and jeans) to your makeup, which he knew heâd have to help you take off now.Â
Once he deemed the amount of water you had drunk enough, he put the bottle back and went into your bathroom, knowing exactly where to find your makeup wipes. He had taken care of you like this once before, so his body moved like clockwork. There was no point in trying to get you to the bathroomâ youâd probably just sit down on the floor and stay there for the rest of the nightâ so he took the wipes with him and crouched down in front of where you sat on your bed.Â
Smiling, he held your face again, this time a little firmer. âYouâd hate yourself if you went to sleep before you took your makeup off,â he whispered, pulling one of the wipes out and dragging it over the apples of your face. Then, he glanced up and into your eyes, noting how you stared at him so keenly, even through a half-lidded gaze, lips slightly parted.Â
If Caleb couldâve kept your attention on him like this for the rest of his life, he would have.Â
âWhat's going through that head of yours?â He cocked his head to the side, studying your intent expression. Immediately, you looked away, but he wasnât going to back down. Something had been troubling you, and he was determined to find out what. If you wouldnât tell him outright, he would simply have to guess. âIs it your book, again?â
Your inebriated state made it hard for you to hide things from him. You stiffened in his touch, and he chuckled. âBingo. You know, if you just told me what you were struggling with, Iâd help.â He pressed your chin lightly, angling your face downwards. âClose your eyes.â He gently wiped over your eye makeup, making sure it was all off before continuing. âI know Iâm not a writer, but Iâm sure I'll be of some value.â
Finally done, he neatly folded the dirty wipe and placed it to the side. âWant some more water? Alcohol is dehydrating.â
And then, out of nowhere, you spoke.Â
âSex.â
Well, blurting would probably be a better way to describe how you said the word. Caleb blinked rapidly, wondering if he had heard you correctly as his face snapped back to yours, eyes wide.Â
âWhat?â
âSex.â You slurred a little bit as you leaned closer to him, jutting your lower lip out in a pout and repeating it once more for good measure. âSex.â
âI heard you the first time,â Caleb could hear how strangled his voice was, unable to think straight at your sudden declaration. Oblivious to his mental distress, you thrust out your hand and pointed at the laptop that sat on your desk with drunken animosity.Â
âI canât write a stupid sex scene.âÂ
You sounded so crestfallen, and he would have totally started sympathising with you if not for the reason. A sex scene? What on earth were you writing?
âIââ He swallowed, âWellââ
âI mean, how am I supposed to write a good sex scene if I donât know what good sex feels like? Or what even like, happens?â Alcohol had certainly loosened you up, and perhaps a bit too much, having erased any filter that you had. This resulted in you rambling on about everything you would have usually kept to yourself, and for good reason. âThe sex Iâve had has been shitty.â
The sex youâve had? Caleb almost bit his tongue off in shock, staring at you incredulously at the information you had dumped on him. He hadnât even known you had been having sex, and thank every god for that, because he would have probably jumped off a cliff if you ever talked about your sex life with him. Surely, this was some sort of twisted fever dream he had found himself in. This could not have been real life.
âChrist,â He choked out, âIâokay, maybe I canât help youââ
âYeah, you can.â Your eyes cut to his, a little too intense for his sanity. âIf you fucked me, Iâd probably be able to write the scene.â
He gaped at you, about a dozen inappropriate thoughts running through his head before he could stop it. âWhat did you just say?âÂ
Teenage Caleb would have died if he had heard you say that. Adult Caleb nearly did.Â
You sighed heavily, and it only succeeded in causing him to spiral even more. âI thought about it. Iâm sure it would be good, yâknow. Youâd know what you were doing, you even look like youâre good at it.â
âYouâre so drunk.â He tried to reason with himself out loud, but could hardly recognise his voice with how strained he sounded. Looked like he was good at it? What alternate dimension had he just fallen into?Â
âOh, come on, Caleb. I need some hands-on learning, and youââ you slurred the words as you leaned close and wrapped your hands around his bicep, peering up at him through your lashes. ââhave very nice hands. Theyâre hot.â
You, his best friend, his pipsqueak, had thought about sleeping with him. You thought his hands were hot. The news nearly killed him, and he had to force himself to look away from you, his mind running at a mile a minute. Heat prickled at his face and neck, impossible to ignore as he cleared his throat and stood to his feet, pulling away from your touch.Â
âYou should sleep.â He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stepping away from you. âIâIâll see you tomorrow.â It was as if he were going through puberty all over again, with the way his voice cracked embarrassingly as he spoke. He left your room hurriedly, barely getting his shoes back on as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
Caleb exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the back of his head hit your door. All these years of barely keeping it together around you, carefully tiptoeing between right and wrong, only for you to come and crash into whatever self-restraint he had left.Â
Right and wrong.Â
All of a sudden, he wasnât sure if he was going to choose correctly anymore.Â
Death had to have been more merciful than the pounding in your head. Grabbing the covers, you pulled them over yourself like a cocoon, trying your hardest to block out all noises and sink even further into your mattress.Â
Unfortunately, your hangover-induced headache made it nearly impossible for you to go back to sleep. Cursing, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up and change out of your clothes and into something more comfortable. Naturally, you gravitated towards an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, pulling them on after a quick shower.Â
Then, you went right back to your bed, not wanting to face the day in the slightest. You had managed to resist throwing up so far, and even the thought of having to function like a normal human being made you recoil into your blanket and stay there for the rest of the week. Just as you began to genuinely entertain that notion, a sharp knock at your door caught your attention.
You would have ignored it if you didnât know the pattern of this knock by heart. No one but Caleb knocked twice in sequence.Â
Cursing under your breath, you scrambled to the door and opened it, squinting as the bright light of the hallway outside nearly blinded you. There he stood, grinning down at you as he held up a paper bag.Â
âAspirin.â
âThank god,â you immediately let him in, taking the medicine from him and pouring yourself a glass of water. He stood right behind you as you took the pill, ruffling your already messy hair and staring for just a second too long.Â
âBad morning, huh?â
âYou have no idea.â You winced at the whiny nature of your voice. âIt feels like my head is trying to stab itself.â
Caleb chuckled dryly, sitting down on your bed and watching as you settled at your desk and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to smooth out the knots. Something was different about the way he was looking at you, but you couldnât quite put your finger on it.
âYouâll be fine,â He muttered, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. You frowned, taking in the way his jaw ticked, and placed your glass of water down.
âAre you okay?â
âMe? Yeah, Iâm fine.â He said it a little too brightly, glancing down at your desk. Something flickered in his eyes. âMade any progress on that book of yours?â
A frustrated sound left you buried your face in your hands, elbows on your desk. The reminder of your stagnant writing somehow worsened your headache, as if that was even possible. Of course heâd bring that up. âAs usual, no.â
For a while, you had hoped that inspiration would strike you eventually, but it seemed like you were well and truly stuck. It had only taken a turn for the worse, with you suddenly despising everything you had already written, unable to even skim any of it without cringing and wanting to hit delete. Your inability to write had morphed into impostor syndrome, which was a development you didnât appreciate in the slightest.
âItâs okay,â he said, and you would have mistaken his tone for reassuring if not for the way his lips twitched slightly. âIâm sure youâll be able to write eventually. After you fuck me, apparently.â
Silence.Â
Razor-sharp silence.
Slowly, you turned your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers. âWhatâŚ.did you just say?â
âOnly what you said last night. You said you were sure it would be good, which I beg to differ. It would be amazing, thank you very much.â He dared to smile oh-so innocently, as if he hadnât just upgraded the superlative of what sex with him would potentially be like.
If you thought you were going to throw up before, you were sure you were going to now. You almost choked on your spit, waves of unadulterated shock crashing through your system as you gawked at your best friend, who appeared much too pleased with himself at the moment. If you werenât so utterly horrified, you would have tried to slap the smug expression right off of his face.
âNo.â The singular word comes out breathless, much to your mortification, your gut churning at the implications of that statement. âNo, no, noââ
âOh yes,â He grinned wickedly, leaning back on the palms of his hands.Â
âWhatâwhat the fuck did I drink last night.â You tried your levity, but your embarrassment ran too deep. Reaching up, you covered your face with your hands in a pathetic attempt to hide away from him. Never, in a million years, had you ever accounted for having this conversation with him, of all people, and you were almost certain there was something in your drinks that had made you say what you did.Â
His velvety laugh echoed through your dorm, and you wanted nothing more than to fold in on yourself. This had to have been the worst moment of your life.Â
âI guess you donât remember, huh?â There was an amused lilt to his tone that made you want to jump out of the window. âI can refresh you, if youâd like.â
âNO!âÂ
The shriek that left you was nothing short of abashed. He leaned forward now, smirking at you conspiratorially. âWhat's wrong? I thought you needed,â he paused, as if recollecting the exact words you had said to humiliate you even further. âHands-on learning?â
You pointed to the door, biting back a scream. âGet out.â
The smirk only grew. âAw, but if sleeping with me is gonna help you write againââ
âOUT!â You glared, cheeks flaming. Your anxiety had prepared you for at least a hundred outright ridiculous situations that had no chance of ever occurring, but none of them accounted for the possibility of your best friend talking about sleeping with you. You couldnât fathom how he seemed so unaffected by it, as if he were speaking about something as mundane as the damn weather.
Caleb tongued his cheek, evidently fighting off another bout of laughter. He raised his hands to his sides in a placating gesture, but it did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves. If anything, it only distracted you further, your eyes betraying you and straying to glance at his hands. A suppressed memory from last night resurfaced in your mind's eye, much to your displeasure.Â
You have very nice hands. Theyâre hot.
That was it. You were never going to touch alcohol again. Sobriety was your way of life now, seeing that you couldnât keep your mouth shut when under the influence. The next time you need to let off some steam, youâd have an iced coffee.
âAlright, alright, Iâll go.â He moved towards your door, hiding his teasing smile behind his fist, disguising his chuckle with an exaggerated cough. âBut Y/n?â
He didnât use his beloved pet name. You straightened slightly, momentarily pushing away your embarrassment at the sudden serious shift of his voice. He opened the door and paused, hesitating for a single second. Then, he looked back at you, all-consuming, violent eyes locking onto yours.Â
âI would do it if you asked.âÂ
You sighed heavily as you walked out of your last class of the day, rubbing the back of your neck and peering up into the darkening sky. Thursdays were the one day of the week when you had longer classes one after the other, which always resulted in you feeling exhausted by the end of it. You barely had the energy to even think about putting together dinner, which your best friend knew, always swinging by once your class ended with enough take-out for both of you and to walk you back to your dorm.Â
Which meantâŚ
âI hope youâre in the mood for Thai food.â
Caleb slid into your view with that easy-going smile of his, though lately and much to your annoyance, there seemed to be a knowing glint in his gaze every time it settled on you.Â
âIâm in the mood for anything edible.â You sighed as you began walking back to your dorm. He easily fell into step beside you, as always, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You supposed it was, considering how long your friendship had lasted. It would be almost twelve years soon, and honestly, you could hardly remember a time when he wasnât around.Â
He hummed, knowing how cranky you got when you were hangry. âSo easy to please.â It was the way he said it, knowing and with a tone so low that it almost resembled a purr. It had goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin. A little outraged at the way you reacted, you glanced over at him, only to find him already looking at you.
It was how he always looked at you, with conviction and every ounce of his attention. Yet, it felt different, more intense. Or maybe that was just your brain playing tricks on itself.Â
I would do it if you asked.
Those seven words had haunted you from the moment he had spoken them. The serious expression on his face mixed with the quiet way he had said itâ it had undoubtedly fucked you up a little more than you would have liked to admit. You were beyond infuriated and in complete disbelief over how he had simply offered to sleep with you. Like it wasnât a big deal or a very major, clear boundary that existed in friendships. In your friendship.Â
If you asked. Like it was that fucking simple. He left your dorm since you demanded it of him, but left you to deal with the aftermath of that absolutely criminal statement of his.Â
And then there was the teasing.Â
Relentless and unsteadying. Caleb would say something a little too suggestive or downright sexual before retreating and pretending like nothing had happened. Heâd hold your gaze a little longer, or let his touch linger, before looking away with a satisfied smirk. He knew damn well what he was doing, and although you did too, it didnât stop you from flushing or freezing up. It certainly didnât stop scenarios from writing themselves in your head.Â
He was torturing you for your little slip-up. He found it hilarious, and now you were the punchline for every joke that blossomed from it.Â
He cocked his head to the side now, a small, tilted smile on his lips as he spoke. âWhat's going on in at head of yours?â
You realised you had stopped walking, and so had he, instead standing right in front of you and occupying every part of your vision. âNothing.â
Caleb quirked an eyebrow, taking a step closer. âYou sure about that? Youâre obviously thinking about something.â The cadence of his voice had always been nice, but now the velvety smoothness of it put you on edge in more ways than one. âAre you maybe thinking aboutââ
âI am not thinking about that.â The statement tumbled out of you before you could bite your tongue. His eyes lit up mischievously.
âOh, so youâre thinking about something after all, are you?â
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to findd to find a comeback to that. Somehow, he was even closer now.Â
âMind telling me what exactly that is?â
âStop it,â You almost snarled, shooting him a withering look as you pushed him away in order to reclaim your personal space. This teasing streak of his was getting unbearable, especially since it was anything but innocent and was driving you up the wall. âOr Iâm gonna take the Thai food and leave you with nothing.â
An offended gasp. âYou wouldnât.â
âI would.âÂ
He laughed at your threat and finally let up on you, going back to being the Caleb you knew. He spoke of his classes and the group project he had due at the end of the week, for which he had terrible teammates to work with. It was jarring, how easily he could shift back into acting like he hadnât just insinuated something soâŚ.
Maybe it was just your dirty mind.Â
Unbeknownst to you, it definitely wasnât just your dirty mind. Caleb was mentally punching himself.Â
Caleb had had years of practising self-control when it came to you. Years of holding back and hiding the feelings he had for his best friend, shying away from every opportunity to divulge them. He knew how to keep his hands to himself, his mind from straying and his tongue from running into dangerous territory. He hadnât meant to do it, but your drunken confession had flipped a switch inside of him. The lines had gotten a little blurry, but he would never, in a million years, ever actually cross them.
So what the hell was wrong with him?Â
You still hadnât written a word. Unfortunately for you, you couldnât even complain about it in peace anymore. Not if you wanted to maintain even a modicum of your sanity.
The reason for said dwindling sanity was sitting beside you right now on his bed, his arm slung around your shoulder, fingers tracing abstract patterns on the top of your shoulder. Usually, this would have calmed you down and even made you sleepy, but it achieved the complete opposite right then. You were painfully awake, his feathery touch like electricity against your skin.Â
God, you were so fucked. You had hoped that Calebâs incessant teasing would have put a damper on your sudden, strong attraction towards him, but nothing of the sort had happened. It seemed to have only gotten worse, with you ending up being jumpy whenever he was around, and considering the amount you hung out with him, you were starting to resemble a kangaroo.
Around him, you were constantly tense and always on the precipice of being turned on. To say it was hellish would be an understatement.
âYouâre distracted,â he murmured as the credits of the movie you were watching played. Finally, the two of you had managed to find the time to have that movie night you had passed on weeks ago. You shook your head, glancing up at the clock that hung on his wall. It was a little past midnight.Â
âJust frustrated,â you said finally, because it was the truth in more ways than one. Your frustration with your writing, or lack of, ran deep, but now it was intertwined with another very persistent reason. Being sexually frustrated wasnât something you were used to dealing with.
He seemed to have caught on, though, his hand falling from your shoulder to your waist, curling around it. âWhy are you frustrated, Pipsqueak?â He drawled, turning his head so that he faced you now. Of course, heâd pick this moment to torment you, when you were already frazzled.
âNo reason,â you said quickly, voice clipped. A slow, languid smile stretched out on his lips.Â
âNo?â He asked, the side of his mouth tilting. âCould it beâŚ.â
âStop talking.â You despised how hoarse your voice sounded. You wantedâ no, needed him to stop doing this before it became unbearable. He was your best friend, for fucks sake. The smile on his annoyingly perfect face melted into a smirk that would have had your knees weak if you werenât already sitting down.Â
âI donât think I will.â He whispered, pulling you even closer as he dipped his head down until his lips brushed against your ear. It was like he wanted you to break, and god, you were so close to doing so. His hand slid up your waist just a little bit. A shiver ran through you, one you couldnât have suppressed if you tried.Â
âTell me,â He mumbled, the words sounding much too loud even though he was still whispering. âDo your frustrations have anything to do with a certain sex scene youâre trying to write?â
You inhaled sharply.
Rationality was a funny thing. Every bit of it seemed to disappear whenever you truly needed it. Things you had no business thinking rushed through your head, courtesy of your bright imagination that chose the most inconvenient moments to work. Thoughts you had suppressed and pushed aside every time they had the nerve to pop up swirled around.
The spark that you had been trying so hard to put out crackled to life in your core, its flames spreading all across your body like wildfire. You were painfully aware of every part of you that was in contact with him, his hand just above your waist, sitting there so possessively, his breath fanning across your neckâ fuck. It was too much, but somehow not enough all at once, and immediately you knew what you wanted.
More.
You snapped.Â
Something possessed you as you turned to look at him, a surge of confidence appearing out of nowhere as you drew closer to him. âYeah.â
He raised an eyebrow. âWhat?â
Right then and there, three things became very clear to you. One: You wanted to write. Desperately and preferably sometime soon, because you did want to finish the first draft before you could go in and edit. Two: For some reason, you needed to have sex in order to get over the mental block you had when it came to writing it. Lastly, three: You only wanted to have sex with one person, and it was the man right beside you.
âMy frustration has everything to do with the sex scene.â You said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice was. âBut you can help with that, right?âÂ
Without waiting for his response, you got to your knees, swinging a leg over him and settling down on top. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second as your hands found his shoulders to maintain your balance, before he spoke again.Â
âPipsqueak,â he started, voice low and careful, attempting to keep the teasing lilt in his voice but royally failing. âWhatâ exactlyâ are you doing?â
âYou told me to ask.â You muttered, dropping your gaze to his lips for a moment before letting it travel back up. âYou said youâd do it if I asked. Iâm asking right now.âÂ
Caleb couldnât respond, still staring up at you, eyes wide and ears a little redder than they normally were. Good. It was about time he had a taste of his own medicine. His hands found your waist again, and he blinked twice, slowly, and you prayed he wasnât all bark and no bite.Â
You wanted him to bite.
âY/n,â he muttered, âIâŚ.I know what I said.â
You raised an eyebrow, your hands slipping up his shoulders simultaneously until they were cradling his neck, playing with his hair at the nape of it. Was he shy? Now? After everything he had said and insinuated, he had the audacity to be all bashful? âSo then you know what Iâm asking for.â
âWellââ
âCaleb,â You cut him off, shifting so that you were closer. âIâm asking.âÂ
Conviction laced those words. You could tell he was reasoning with himself, god knows you could read him well enough to know when he was conflicted, when he bit the inside of his cheek before exhaling shakily.Â
âPips,â He rasped out your nickname. âYouâ youâre sure?â
You didnât recognise the look in his eyes right then as he looked up at you, but it had you unravelling all the same. You leaned in subconsciously, but he quickly moved one of his hands from your waist to your mouth, covering it as his jaw clenched, still studying you. âI need you to tell me youâre sure, Y/n.â
Oh, so this was actually happening. You could feel the heat of your breath recoil against your face because of his hand. The ticking of the clock in his room filled the charged silence between him and you, his fingers brushing against your chapped lips. You swallowed.
âIâm sure.â
Whatever had shifted in you five minutes ago seemed to shift in him as well now. He let his hand drop from your mouth, shamelessly staring at it. âWe shouldnât.â But he pulled you closer, his arms circling your waist and palms splayed out on the small of your back.Â
âItâs for research purposes,â You breathed out, doing your best to justify how badly you needed him. âPlease, Caleb, I needââ
He didnât let you finish.Â
You gasped as he crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. The pressure of his lips against your own was dizzying, especially with the way they moved; slowly and precisely, as if he was committing the feel of your lips to his memory. You were hyperaware of his touch on your back, the warmth from his hands permeating through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you were wearing.
Pulling him closer, you tilted your head so you could kiss him better. For the number of times you had mentally chided yourself for even thinking about this, it felt remarkably natural to kiss him, your instincts taking over. Your fingers slipped into his hair, entangling in the dark strands and tugging lightly.
Caleb groaned, and you were on fire.Â
âGod, Y/n.â There was nothing playful about the way he mumbled your name into the kiss, and the unfamiliarity of it sent a shiver down your spine. His lips, soft and just a little hesitant, moved in tandem against your own, slotting in between them perfectly like you were pieces of the same puzzle, meant to be pushed together like so. He nipped at your lower lip before swiping his tongue over it to soothe the sting, and the intoxicating sensation drew out a needy whimper from you.Â
The second that sound escaped you, all indecision disappeared from his end, and the temperature in the room seemed to increase, growing hotter with every smack of his lips against yours. Kissing him was addictive, it felt as if neither of you could bear to pull away from each other.Â
Without warning, Caleb lifted you off of him and pressed you into the mattress, swiftly climbing on top of you. For a moment, he hovered, looking down at you, taking in the flush on your cheeks and heavy breathing, proud to have been the cause of your breathlessness despite barely doing a thing. Going in once again, he brushed his lips against yours teasingly, before giving you what you truly wanted, the intensity of the kiss taking a turn for feverish.
A hand of his slid up your side until he cupped your jaw oh-so gently, turning your face to the side to give him better access to your neck, upon which he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that had heat rush right to your core. The ache between your legs grew, slowly becoming unbearable, and you rubbed your thighs together with a whine, chasing any sliver of friction.Â
âShit,â he muttered against you, his other hand slipping underneath your shirt and coming into contact with your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise on the skin. Spreading his fingers and pressing lightly, he kept you from squirming. âPips, you gotta tell me to stop.â
âDonât you dare,â you almost snapped at him, impatient and so painfully aroused it was embarrassing. He couldnât hold back the breathless chuckle that escaped him as he moved lower, teeth grazing your collarbone.Â
âIf, at any point, you want to stop, tell me,â he gritted out, trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control he still possessed. âI donât wanna do anything youâre uncomfortable with.â
You nodded quickly. âI trust you.â
That was all he needed. Lifting his head slightly, he fumbled with the buttons of your shorts as he leaned back, all his weight on his knees. Once he managed to undo them, you lifted your hips slightly to help him tug them off your body. He settled between your legs, spreading them until the pretty cotton panties you wore were exposed.Â
Caleb swallowed, his breathing growing erratic and heavy. The wet patch on your panties was his undoing; everything about this situation was bound to be the death of him, but he was too far gone now. He let his hand trace up to your hips, hooking his finger through the waistband of your panties, toying with it.
âIs this ok?â The column of his throat bobbed as he stared up at you from between your legs. When you whispered a needy yes, he pulled the panties down your legs, his eyes darkening the moment they settled back on your core.Â
âY/n,â He said your name like he was drunk, a certain sense of reverence infused in his tone that had your cheeks kissed rouge. âYouâre even prettier than I thought.â
Than he thought? You would have to take the time to dissect that statement later, much too distracted to do so at the moment when he began peppering kisses along your inner thigh, starting from your knee and working his way upwards. The sensation of his mouth tantalisingly close to where you wanted it so badly was almost too much. Just the sight of him there was so erotic that it had your head swimming. You had never felt more vulnerable than you did right then, exposed and willing.
And then finallyâ finallyâ his breath fanned out over your soaked cunt, driving you insane. Liquid fire thrummed in your veins beneath the surface of your skin as your anticipation spilled over. He pressed a light, teasing kiss against your clit.Â
Caleb dragged his tongue over your slit, licking up it all the way to your clit, which he wrapped his lips around and sucked, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You gasped, bucking your hips up against him, and he chuckled, the sound sending vibrations up your body, from your toes to the top of your head.
âImpatient,â he chided. âLet me take my time with you, princess.â
The new pet name sounded so natural coming from him, and immediately, you knew you wanted to hear him call you that again. He flicked his tongue against the throbbing bud that had been aching for his attention this entire time, positioning your legs to rest over his shoulders. The sounds that left you were shamefully loud, and you had never been more grateful that he lived in a single dorm.Â
âCal- oh fuck,â You mewled when he swiped two of his fingers through your wetness, rubbing your folds.Â
âYouâre so fucking wet,â he all but groaned against you, and you could feel more slick gush out of you at that. âIs this all for me?âÂ
Your back arched off the bed when he pressed a finger to your dripping entrance, nodding with a sense of desperation you had never experienced before. âYes,â you exhaled the word as he pushed his finger inside your pussy slowly, your jaw falling open at the pleasurable intrusion.Â
Slowly, he began pumping it in and out of you as he continued to give your clit the sweet attention it deserved, basking in the noises that you made. The pads of the fingers of his other hand dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping you nice and spread out despite all your attempts to shut your legs around him.Â
When he introduced a second finger to your cunt, your hands found purchace in his hair, gripping and tugging as you panted, unable to focus on anything else. Your eyes fluttered shut as the tips of his fingers brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars, crooking inside you so perfectly. It was as if he knew exactly how to push you to the edge.
Your best friend was eating you out like a starved man and you were enjoying every fucking second of it. He could feel your legs begin to tremble, your impending orgasm building. Shamelessly, you bucked your hips against his face, and the moment he realised what you were doing, he increased the pace of his fingers.
âCome on baby,â he encouraged you, flattening his tongue against your clit and pulling you closer, spurring you on even further. You ground against his mouth desperately, feeling the coil in your core draw tight, so, so close.
âCaleb,â you stuttered his name helplessly, but he somehow understood, knowing just what you needed. âIâIâm gonnaââ
He scissored his fingers inside of you, hooking them just right as he gave your clit little kitten licks, determined to have you fall apart on his tongue. Your sweet gasps sent blood rushing straight to his cock, which was already painfully hard, confined in his jeans. Taking your mound into his mouth, he sucked harshly, thrusting his fingers knuckle deep in your sex.Â
A broken moan escaped you when your climax hit you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your legs shook, but he didnât let up, grinning proudly against you as he drove his fingers back into your gushing entrance, helping you ride out your high and prolonging it. Once he was satisfied, he lapped at you, refusing to waste even a single drop of your essence.Â
Caleb pulled away, and the sight of you nearly did him in. Eyes screwed shut in ecstacy and hair fanned out on his pillow, undoubtedly tangled from all your writhing. You looked like the picture of sin, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He climbed back, hovering over you again as he licked his lips.
Your eyes fluttered open, pupils blown out and dark due to the sheer level of desire that coursed through you. You were stunning, and he was destroyed, knowing that heâd never be able to forget the way you were looking at him right then. The way you tasted.
When he kissed you again, it was different. It was a heady mix of heat and tongue and want, messier than the kisses he gave you earlier, the control he had before nowhere to be seen anymore. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned, reaching out to touch him.Â
You started at his collar, dragging your hands down, down, down until you reached the hem of his shirt, whining against his mouth as you tugged at it.Â
âTake it off.â
Who was he to deny you? He stopped kissing you, sitting up so that he could pull the shirt off, exposing his torso for you. The way your eyes raked over him hungrily was more than gratifying, especially when they caught on the silver chain that hung from his neck, the pendant sitting on his chest. Tossing his shirt to the side, he pushed your own up your body, exposing the skin of your stomach.Â
âYour turn.â
You let him take off your shirt, tossing it to the side and slipping his hands slip behind your back. He silently asked for your permission, which you gave to him in the form of an impatient nod to which he smirked, unhooking your bra and peeling it off of you, letting the discarded garment join the rest of them on the floor.Â
One look at you and he was a goner.Â
âFuck,â he could feel himself straining his jeans as he took in the sight of your breasts, so perfect and plush. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate you in all your naked glory, before leaning back down, his mouth back on your overheated skin. He dragged his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting like there was no tomorrow.Â
His lips trailed downwards, kissing the swell of your breast before wrapping around your already hard nipple, stroking his tongue against the aching peak. He palmed the other breast, giving that nipple equal amounts of attention and rolling it under his thumb. You hissed in pleasure, breathless as you arched into his addictive touch.
You could barely think straight; everything he was doing to you sent you into complete overdrive. Every touch was criminally good, the simplest of them causing your arousal to increase tenfold. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you had last had sex, but you had never before felt so frenzied.
Hooking your legs around his waist, you could feel the outline of him pressing against your thighs. Angling your hips, you pressed your bare pussy against his bulge, the roughness of the denim rubbing you just right. He looked up at you from your chest through hooded eyes, earning another whimper as he pinched your nipple.
âYou sound so good.â His words went straight to your head. âTell me what you want.â
He said it like it was a command, and who were you to disobey, especially when you knew exactly what you wanted?Â
âI want you inside me,â you whimpered, voice heated with lust.Â
How could he ever refuse you? Caleb gave you one last kiss before reaching over to his bedside table, grabbing something from the drawer and sitting up and unzipping his pants. You couldnât help but stare as he impatiently kicked off his jeans and boxers, eyes widening when you finally saw his cock.Â
Fuck, it was big. Long and painfully hard, you could hardly believe he was hard because of you, but the proof was in front of your very eyes. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you drank in the sight of him, hyperaware of the wetness that coated your thighs.Â
He tore open the condom packet, smoothly sliding it onto himself before settling between your legs once.Â
âW-will it even fit?â You squeaked, a spike of fear cutting through the lust-filled haze of your mind. He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his lips and pressing your fingers to them, kissing your knuckles soothingly as he bit back a smile.Â
âItâll fit.âÂ
âButâ there's no way,â You spluttered, âItâs gonna hurt.â Not that the prospect of being in a little pain deterred you by any means, you were way too horny to stop now. Complaining was probably the least sexy thing you could have done in the moment, but he seemed unbothered, the dark, hungry glint in his eyes never fading. The amused look on his face, however, was not lost on you, nor was the way he bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile. You glared weakly.Â
âAre you laughing at me?â You asked, incredulous. âI swear to god, Caleb, youâre going to split me in half, and youâre laughing?â
âBaby,â He breathed, âYouâll be fine.â
âEasy for you to say!â
You wouldnât even blame him if he decided he was done with you and pulled his pants back on, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he gripped your hips, grounding you to the moment.Â
Both of you were completely nude, and despite this, you had never felt more comfortable. Not when he looked at you like that, like you were something sacred.Â
âRelax, Pips, Iâve got you,â He whispered, sensing your apprehension. You exhaled shakily as he pressed his hard-on against your folds, groaning at just how wet you were. âEyes on me.â
The way he took control so naturally was alarmingly attractive. You looked up, locking your eyes with his, unable to stay silent when the head of his cock rubbed against your swollen clit. âO-oh.â
He shuddered at the feeling, dropping a little so that he was keeping himself up on his elbows. His necklace swung above you just like you had imagined as he ground against you, but it still wasnât enough. âReady?âÂ
You didnât think youâd ever be ready, but you wanted it so badly you didnât even care. Nodding eagerly, you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him press the back of your hands into the mattress. When his tip caught at your entrance, you whined. âPlease.âÂ
Having you beg him like that was dangerous. He squeezed your hands, and then slowly, carefully, sank into your wet heat, inch by devastating inch. Your jaw slackened, loudly moaning his name as he filled you up and stretched you out so pleasurably. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pushed into you until he bottomed out, going breathless himself. One glance down to where the two of you were connected had him actively having to fight off coming right then and there.Â
Caleb was in heaven, and he was fucking delirious. He forced himself to stay still, moaning lowly when he felt your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. âYouâre doing so well, princess.â He praised, lowering his head to your neck and burying his face in the crook of it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself down.Â
There was so much wrong with this, so why did it feel so right? You felt so perfect, like you were made for him.
âCaleb,â You whimpered once the sting faded, letting go of his hands and looping your arms around his neck, âMove. I need you to move.âÂ
He pulled out until only his tip remained inside of you, before sheathing himself again, causing you to curve off the bed, nails digging into his skin. He did it again and again, nearly growling when he felt you grow even wetter, coating the length of his cock in your slick. Wet sounds that had your cheeks burning filled the room repeatedly.
âFuck baby, youâre so tight,â He practically growled, contrasting the tender pace he set, telling you he was holding back for your sake. You could feel every inch of him as he dragged against your walls, reminding you how big he was with every thrust. Â
Your friendship was potentially ruined, but it felt too good for you to care. With your legs locked behind his back, you gripped his biceps, a wanton moan escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure overriding every other sensation. Â
âSo good,â words were hard to put together, and he understood and nodded, holding your hips so tight you were sure there would be marks, just like the marks that blossomed all over your neck and chest from his earlier ministrations. Right now, though, you didnât care about that, consumed by the waves of euphoria rushing through you.
Slowly, the frequency of his thrusts increased, rendering you completely winded and unable to do anything but gasp for air. You felt another orgasm steadily build up inside you.Â
Then he tipped his hips a certain way, the tip of his cock brushing against a spot that made you cry out his name, throwing your head back into his pillows. The look on your face was something he wanted to imprint in his memory; the desire lacing your voice was beyond exhilarating.Â
Caleb could feel his own impending high, so tightly wound because of just how long he had waited for something like this. When you clenched around him, he knew you were close as well, but the act nearly did him in.
âDonât do that.â his voice was all scratchy and strained, but you promptly did it once again, high off the notion that you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. His hips stuttered against yours as his violet eyes flashed. âFucking hell.â
âOh my god,â you moaned, âI canâtââ
âLook at me,â he demanded, âI want you to look at me when you come all over my cock.â
Never in a million years would you have thought your best friend would be so good at dirty talk, but the shock quickly melted into obedience as you managed to hold his heated gaze. Reaching between the two of you, his index finger found your engorged clit and rubbed circles against it.Â
You squealed, overly sensitive. âShitâIâm gonnaâ Cal-!â
âCome for me.âÂ
Caleb would never forget how you looked: at his mercy, crying out his name over and over like it was a prayer as you came, spilling over his cock with a euphoric sob. He snapped his hips to yours with renewed urgency, drawing out your second climax and prolonging the feeling. When he saw the fucked out look on your face, it hit him at once.Â
With one final thrust, he buried himself inside you, coming with a moan, burying his face in your neck once again. His body was damp against yours, his hair tickling you as you breathed heavily. He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, recovering from the intensity of what had just happened.
Wordlessly, he pulled out of you gently, the sudden emptiness you felt having you whimper softly. Peeling the condom off, he tossed it in the bin next to his bed before climbing off of you, muttering something about being back. Seconds later, you felt a warm, wet cloth drag over your core. He cleaned you up, pressing little kisses to the inner side of your thighs.
Once he was done, he gathered you in his arms and pulled you close, kissing your temple.Â
âAre you okay?â He asked, pulling away just enough so he could try and gauge how you felt, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone as he cupped your face tenderly. âI didnât hurt you, right?â
You shook your head and leaned into his touch, completely spent. âNo, it was perfect.â
He sighed in relief. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. âYou did so well,â he murmured into your hair, massaging your scalp gently. âYou were amazing, actually.â Another kiss to your forehead made you simper as your eyes closed, exhaustion settling into you now that the adrenaline had faded. âTired?â
âYeah,â You mumbled. Your legs entangled with his, and he stopped talking, tracing shapes on your back while you drifted off to sleep. He watched you for a bit, savouring the skin-on-skin contact, his mind reeling from what had just happened.Â
This was strangely normal, no awkwardness or post-nut clarity hitting either of you. Your body lay against his with all of you pressed up against him like that was exactly where you belonged. He could feel the beating of your heart, strong and steady in your slumber, whereas his remained erratic and fast. This was more than just a taste that he had had of you; it was the entire deal, and the knowledge of it all had his morals scattered and all over the place, because now that he knew what he knew, well.
Caleb wasnât sure heâd be able to stop.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
At the time, you had justified sleeping with Caleb as research, something you needed to do in order to get it out of your system. You had assumed, albeit foolishly, that once it was over, youâd be able to go back to normal and continue with your life.
But research was an activity that required constant revisiting. Most of it had to be repeated over and over, especially if it included gathering data from an experiment. There was always a control, and then variations of the experiment would be conducted to record the differences in the outcomes.Â
At least, that was what you were telling yourself right now as you straddled him, his cock buried inside you.
Truthfully, you didnât know how this had happened. After that day, everything seemed to be normal, until he showed up at your dorm to help you study for a class he had also taken when he was in his sophomore year. One thing led to another, or rather, one heated touch later, you found yourself under him once again.
And then it happened again, and kept happening. Whispers of it being just for research mixed in with both of your moans became a melody you were more than used to. This was all for your book, after all. For the sake of accuracy and your integrity as a writer.
Definitely not because of how mindblowing sex with Caleb was.
And it absolutely was.Â
He had made you completely insatiable for him, and almost every time the two of you hung out in one of your dorms, it ended up with both of you in bed. Every other aspect of your friendship remained exactly the same, though, which left you considerably confused. He didnât look at or treat you any differently, poking fun and driving you up the wall, staying his usual reliable self.Â
Calebâs hand cradled the back of your head as he kissed you now, fingers entangled in your hair and pulling slightly. You moaned softly against his lips, grinding on him.
You were in one of his shirts, panties tugged to the side since he hadnât had the patience to take them off, needing to be inside of you as quickly as possible. Despite his earlier hurriedness, the pace the two of you settled on now was almost teasing, slowly rocking against him as you lazily chased the delicious high that you had gotten so used to experiencing these past two weeks.Â
âYouâre so gorgeous,â he muttered, more to himself than you, hand slipping under your shirt and cupping your breast, squeezing. When he caught you biting your lip, he tutted, letting go of your hair and using his thumb to release it from your teeth. âAh, ah, donât do that, youâll hurt yourself, pretty girl.â
âToo good,â you complained in that whiney, desperate tone he had gotten so addicted to. Pinching your nipple for good measure, he smirked up at you when you squealed.Â
Caleb quickly learned that he loved having you on top of him. Getting you all to himself like this was a privilege in itself, but fucking you while you wore his shirt? He was on cloud nine. He could feel himself throb in your sweet pussy that welcomed him so eagerly, in turn pulsing around him.Â
He cursed under his breath when you started to bounce, eager to get to the finish line with him. He sounded so good when he swore, youâd never understand it, just like how you wouldnât get how he looked so pretty with a flush decorating his face and sex-mussed hair.
Gripping his shoulders, you tipped your head back, giving him access to your neck. He had taken to marking you up as and when he pleased, new hickeys surprising you every time you glanced in the mirror. Despite his tendency to leave them in places everyone could very easily spot them, you didnât tell him to stop simply it just felt so good.Â
Everything with Caleb felt good, and not only did it feel good, but you felt completely safe. He was so attentive, doing the most to make sure you were never in any pain, often times focusing more on getting you off rather than himself.Â
He thrust up into you suddenly, his earlier impatience returning, and you cried out, falling into his chest. He held you, working you through it and dragging you closer and closer to release. One of your hands fell to his torso, tracing the hard lines of his abs and trailing downwards before your fingers found your clit and rubbed.
Shit. If having you ride him was good, being able to watch you touch yourself as you did was unbelievable. When you came, you came hard, and the feeling of it tipped him over the edge.Â
You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from.
You didnât bother moving, clinging to him even tighter like you couldnât bear to not be touching him in some way as you came down from your high. He smelled like sex, sweat, and that cologne of his that you loved. It was the reason you stole his clothes so much and why you were wearing his shirt even now.
Your first time with Caleb was the getaway drug, and now you were addicted to him, to having his hands caressing you all over and him whispering praises in your ear.Â
âHey there,â He chuckled, rubbing your back. âAll good?â
âGreat even,â You mumbled, sitting up properly before finally lifting yourself off of him. You failed to register how jelly-like your legs felt, promptly losing your balance. He caught you before you fell, grinning.Â
âCanât walk?â You could hear how smug he was without even having to look at him. It was then that you registered the burn in your thighs and huffed.Â
âDonât sound so proud about it.â
âYouâre no fun,â he pouted, leaving you to scoff as he helped you to your feet, following suit. âIâll help you clean up. Do you wanna watch the new episode after?âÂ
Ah yes. Of course, heâd start talking about anime after taking away your ability to stand. That had been the reason he had shown up at your dorm in the first place, but the moment he saw you wearing his shirt, it had quickly become an afterthought. Â
The whiplash you felt was indescribable, and you could only nod, letting him pick you up and carry you to the bathroom. After a quick shower and change of clothes, the two of you settled down with your laptop like nothing had happened, your head resting on his shoulder as you focused on the show.
Neither of you bothered to talk about your redefined friendship despite having sex regularly. It was justâŚ.a new addition. A benefit that you were both taking advantage of, nothing more and nothing less.Â
But even as you reminded yourself of that now, you found yourself doubting it.
There was something to be said about formal events.Â
You enjoyed getting dolled up as much as the next girl, but that was where the fun ended. Having to sit through the event was boring and not the way you liked to spend your Friday evenings. You would have much preferred staying in and catching up on some much-needed sleep.
The editor of your universityâs paper, Jenna, had organised an affair that was being held in one of the college halls. She had worked very hard on it, inviting several alumni who were all successful in the fields of journalism and writing back so that the current batch of students had the chance to make connections. It was open to the entire student body, but she had made it clear that everyone on the paper was obligated to attend.Â
Connections were what helped people get further in life. You were grateful for the opportunity to interact with industry professionals, but didnât understand why she had insisted on keeping it a black tie affair. That probably had something to do with keeping up appearances.Â
You stood off to the side, sipping on your cranberry juice from a cup that was made for something much more refined. So far, you had spoken to a couple of the guests, but seeing that you had been here for over an hour already, your social battery was slowly dying out. The dress you wore was a black number, floor length, form-fitting and plain except for the slit that reached up to a little above your knee. Perfect for an event like this, not too much and on power with what everyone else was wearing.Â
Still, it was a little overstimulating. You guzzled down the rest of your juice and placed the empty glass down on one of the tables.Â
âYouâre welcome, by the way.â
You spun on your heels immediately at that voice, eyes widening and settling on the culprit who stood two, maybe three steps away from you.Â
âCaleb?â You asked in disbelief, taking in his presence. He was wearing a suit.
âThe one and only,â he grinned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. âHere to rescue you from your boredom.â
âWhat are you even doing here?â To say this wasnât his scene would be an understatement. He didnât like wearing the whole suit getup, much preferring casual clothing. Hell, Caleb hadnât even attended his high school prom (though when you asked why, he would never give you a straight answer), opting to spend the night in with you instead.Â
He looked unfairly good. The collar of his shirt hid those lovely collarbones of his and reminded you of how you had bit down on them the other day, the bottom of it tucked into black slacks. He had even worn dress shoes, instead of the sneakers he so loved and a tie around his neck. The entire getup.
âI literally just told you why. To get you out of here. Are you hard of hearing now?â
You returned his jibe with an exasperated sound. âI meant here, at this thing.â
âOh. Well, you did mention it was open to anyone yesterday,â he shrugged, grabbing a glass of juice and sipping on it. âSo that editor of yours technically canât complain about me being here.âÂ
That was true. Still, you found yourself bewildered as you stared at him. He was here. For some reason, even though he was allowed to be here, it didnât make sense to you. You pressed your lips together and cocked your head to the side, studying him.Â
âSo you dressed up and came here.âŚonly to convince me to leave?â The notion sounded strange even to you. Why on earth would he do that? He finished up his drink and put it down next to your empty glass, taking a step closer to you. The simple movement had butterflies erupt in the pits of your stomach.
What the hell?
âStop thinking so much. Do you want to stay?â
You considered it. âNot really, no.â
âDo you enjoy arguing with me for no reason, woman?â he muttered dryly under his breath, his eyes catching on something over your head. âOn second thought, I think you should stay a little longer.â
Now you were just plain confused. One moment he was talking about saving you from boredom, and the next he was insisting you stay? Before you could undoubtedly start another argument just to spite him, he took you by your shoulders and spun you around, pointing in a certain direction. When you figured out what, or rather, who he was gesturing to, you couldnât hide your gasp.Â
âIsnât that the author you like?â
You could only nod dumbly. âRaymond.â Last year, you had a phase where you only read his books day in and day out, absorbing the stories he spun like a sponge. His books were the reason you had decided to start writing your own in the first place, inspired by his storytelling skills.Â
Caleb nudged your side gently, âGo.â
âHowââ you cut yourself off, looking up at him. âHow do you even remember that?â You werenât sure why this entire interaction with him was throwing you off so much, but you felt completely unbalanced. You hadnât spoken about Raymond or his work in a long time, so how did he know? He shrugged noncommittally.Â
âI know you.â He said it so plainly, like it was something trivial and basic, but his eyes bored into yours.Â
Had Caleb always looked at you with such quiet intensity?
He nudged your side gently, reminding you to move. Forcing yourself out of your stupor, you promised him you wouldnât take too much time and walked over, buzzing with excitement.
The conversation itself wasnât long, but it was insightful. He answered all your questions about the industry, and you even had the chance to share for appreciation for Raymond's work as well as ask him questions that you had about his novels. You gave him your utmost attention when he gave you advice, but when he started talking about his characters, your eyes and mind wandered.
Back to your best friend, who was waiting for you on the other end of the hall, leaning against one of the walls and scrolling through his phone. He didnât give a flying fuck about this event, but had still come here for your sake, even when you hadnât asked him to. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and flashing you a small smile.
Oh.
You looked away and back at Raymond, nodding politely and tuning yourself back into the conversation. Internally, however, you were freaking out. Something was very wrong; that was the only reason you could conjure up at the moment for what was happening to you. How else could you explain the sudden sweatiness of your palms, or the odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach? Maybe it was the excitement you felt from meeting the author you loved so much, but even as you considered this possibility, you knew it wasnât the answer you were looking for.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
This could not be happening. You plastered a smile on your face as you tried to pay attention to whatever Raymond was talking about, but the damage was done. Your brain had never been one to let go of a single thought you had, especially ones that had to do with Caleb. He had a hold on you that no one else did, and why was that?
Because you liked Caleb.
The horrifying realisation hit you, startling you out of your rapidly spiralling thought process. Blinking, you realised Raymond was done speaking.Â
âThank you so much for your time,â You said, trying not to sound as troubled as you felt. The author smiled at you before turning to another student.Â
Swallowing the newfound lump in your throat, you turned around and walked back to Caleb. This was bad. Having sex with him was already vaguely immoral and probably something that shouldnât have happenedâ and shouldnât keep happening like it didâ but having feelings for him? That was out of the question.
âGood talk?â He asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. The genuine interest he had in your excitement made the entire situation worse. Why were you noticing all this now, of all times? It wasnât like he had suddenly turned into someone considerate. He had always been this way; it was written into his DNA.Â
You realised he had even tried to tame his hair for today. âIt was great.â
âIâm glad. Now I can steal you away from this place.â His eyes were lit up with mischief, just like they did when the two of you were younger and he did something he wasnât supposed to. Ever the rebel, this one.Â
You felt a little guilty. All this effort for you? It seemed completely useless. âOkay, but Caleb, seriously, you didnât have to do this.âÂ
He frowned. âDidnât have to do what?â
âThis!â You waved in his general direction and then gestured around. âI mean, you donât even like wearing a suit, but here you are. Itâs not like it's compulsory for you like it is for me. You could be doing anything else.â You were rambling, you knew, but it was hard to stop. He rolled his eyes.Â
âHas that stopped me before?â
You paused. âWhat do you mean?â
âI show up to your newsroom even though Iâm sure Jenna wants to castrate me for breaking the rules so much.â He raised an eyebrow. âI attended that lecture of yours when you had a presentation. You know Iâm here because I want to be.â You knew he said stuff like this all the time, you always were the recipient of his support. This was normal.
But it didnât feel normal. For fucks sake, this was the boy you had grown up with. He had seen you fall off your bike, fail tests and puke your guts out when drunk. In each of those situations, he had also been the one to pick you up and bandage your wounds, help you study and hold your hair back for you.Â
Did he think it was an obligation now?Â
âYouâŚ.you shouldnât feel like you have to do that.â You said slowly, but he didnât let you continue.
âOh, please. Everyone knows that where you go, I go too.â He flicked your forehead, immediately receiving a glare in return. âWeâre likeâŚâŚ.â He stopped for a moment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing like they always did when he was thinking hard about something. Then he snapped his fingers. âWeâre like those yoghurt-granola snack packs!â
You stared at him blankly. âWhat?â
âYou know.â He decided to explain his stupid analogy, as if your head wasnât muddled enough. âThose things you can buy at the grocery store. The small yoghurt tubs that have a container filled with granola on top of them? Like, theyâre both okay separately, but much better when together. People buy those packs for a reason.â He slipped his phone back into his pockets and beamed at you. âWeâre like that.â
Oh my god. That barely made any sense. You werenât sure if you were mortified because of that terrible explanation or because it hadnât put a damper on your newfound feelings for him. âYouâre such a fucking dork.â
He feigned offence, holding his hand over his heart. âExcuse me? You mean cute, right?â
Right. Wait, no, you didnât. Ugh. âI thinkx ridiculous.â
âAre you coming with me or not, Pips?â
âBut Jenna insisted-â
He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance before fixing you with a droll look. âWould you rather be here or be with me?â
Be with you.Â
You ignored the way your stomach flipped. You didnât have the time or the mental stability to process everything that was happening to you right now. The logical part of your brain swooped in, telling you that you were just confused because of the sex. Yes, that was it. You did not have feelings for Caleb Xia.
Sighing, you relented. âYou.â Saying that didnât mean anything, after all. Nothing about the two of you meant anything, so there was no reason for you to be freaking out, even if it sounded like you had just confessed. A wide grin made a show on his face when he realised he had won, and he tilted his head towards the exit.
âFinally. Wanna get out of here?â
âJust to be clear, this is not what I meant when I asked if you wanted to get out of there.â
You huffed out a soft laugh, fingers curling around his tie as you tugged him closer. âNo? Could have sworn you planned for us to end up in a janitor's closet.â
Caleb bit back a laugh of his own, knowing that making too much noise would get both of you in trouble. After leaving the event, somehow, his guiding hand on your hip had turned into the two of you making out in the hallway. You blamed the mess that your head was in for not realising what a bad idea that was immediately, but once you did, you did the most responsible thing you could think of.
And dragged him into the janitor's closet that was close by.
Naturally.
He braced a hand over your head on the cabinet that you were leaning against, essentially caging you in as he dipped his head to kiss you again. âPretty sure that was youâre doing.â
âExcuse me? Youâre the one who kissed me first!â You protested against his mouth, but could hardly complain when he kissed you like it was a relief to do so. Honestly, he was probably the best kisser you had ever experienced.
That must have been the reason for your spiralling thoughts. That and the amazing sex that you were so weak to.Â
Yep. Thatâs all. Anyone could be susceptible to such things.
âCan you blame me? Have you seen yourself in this dress?â His free hand slipped into the slit at your knee, slowly dragging the rest of the dress up until it was bunched up around your waist. âYouâre stunning.â
He couldnât stop kissing you. He knew he shouldnât have kissed you out there like he had the right to, because he was well aware of the unspoken rules of this arrangement, but he couldnât help it. If getting too comfortable with whatever you had going on with him was a crime, a sin, then he was a criminal of the highest order. The worst part? He didnât feel a shred of guilt.
But you were wearing that fucking cherry lip gloss, and god knnows he had waited long enough to taste it.
Warmth spread over your chest first before it rushed to the apex between your legs. The control he seemed to have over your body was truly astounding. In his hands, you were putty.Â
âYou donât look so bad yourself,â You whispered back, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it off completely, dropping it to the side. âThis suits you.â
His lips twitched. âThe suit suits me?â
âShut up and kiss me, loser.â
He complied, grinning against your mouth as he pulled you into another earth-shattering kiss that did positively nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Stubbornly, you pushed down the feelings bubbling around the confines of your heart, refusing to give them any attention if you could help it.Â
You gripped the front of his suit jacket, helping him peel it off his shoulders and letting it join his tie on the floor. Without warning, he pressed a knee in between your legs, and you nearly melted against him.Â
Sex was great. Sex with him was phenomenal. This was just the lust getting to you.Â
Caleb gripped the leg that your slit now exposed and lifted it, propping it up against his waist. He trailed his fingers against your inner thigh, his touch feather-light yet scorching at the same time. When his index and middle finger pressed against your clothed cunt, you were glad for the hot he had on you, pressed up against the cabinet, because you would have surely buckled if not.Â
âWow,â he mumbled amusedly, pushing your panties to the side and teasing your wetness. âYou really like the suit, huh?â
The fact that this type of interaction was now commonplace should have been the first sign that things had gone too far.Â
Usually, you couldnât think straight when he touched you like this, but today it was all a mix of feeling way too much and dangerous, fleeting thoughts that made you want to tear your hair out.Â
âMaybe,â You peppered kisses along the column of his throat, determined to get out of your head and focus only on how good he could make you feel. Pleasure and person were entirely separate entities, and you would make sure it stayed that way.
âSuit kink.â
âNever say that again.âÂ
He only smirked, plunging his fingers into you. All you could do was cry out as you gripped the front of his shirt, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be quiet. Quickly, his palm covered your mouth, muffling any further sounds you could make. âCanât have you being loud here, princess. What if someone catches us?â
The way you practically gushed the moment he suggested someone catch you in such a compromising position was downright embarrassing. Raising an eyebrow, he leaned even lower and whispered. âOh? You like that?â
You whined against his hand, cheeks flushing furiously. You began fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt, and he chuckled lowly.Â
âFor someone who likes my suit so much, you sure are trying to get rid of it quickly.âÂ
âFor someone who was dying to kiss me two minutes ago, you talk too much.â You rocked your hips against his hand even as you sassed him back. He moved his hand from your mouth into your hair, carding it through gently, tugging slightly to tilt your head back for him so he could kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made.Â
No one could sue you for being attracted to a hot man. That was just biology.
You could feel the familiar tightening of your core, signalling your impending crash. You broke away from the kiss, licked your lips and palmed him over his pants, earning a hiss of pleasure in return.Â
âDonâtâ donât do that,â He choked out, and you smirked triumphantly, refusing to relent on your movements. Batting your eyelashes, you stared up at him through them in faux innocence, unaware that it affected him so much more than you thought.Â
âJust fuck me already.â You whined, half out of desperation for him and party because now you needed him to fuck you to prove to yourself that this was just sex. To be able to brush away all the compliments he dropped that seemed to go straight to your head, to get the intoxicaing fucking way he kissed you out of your head and away from further dissection. To stop the slow-burning feeling of yearning that was growing inside of you for the boy you had grown up with.
Because you couldnât possibly have feelings for him. You shouldnât.
âFuck, okay,â He slipped his fingers out of you and unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock. You would never get used to the sight of it, precum already leaking out of the tip; the image itself sending shivers down your spine in anticipation of him.Â
He pressed back against you, grinding it against your fluttering pussy, going right back to making out with you. It was like he was devouring you whole, claiming every part of you like it had always belonged to him. You could feel yourself get carried away again, forgetting that this was just something he and you did now.Â
And then he froze.Â
âShit,â he muttered. âI donât have a condom.âÂ
You were too far gone to even care anymore. Cupping his face, you pulled him into another messy kiss, beyond delighted when he moaned, still rubbing his length through your slick folds with a want that rivalled your own. âPut it in.â
Caleb gritted his teeth. âPips, thatsââ
âIâm on birth control,â you kissed his jaw. âAnd I trust you. Iâve always trusted you.â
That was undeniably the truth. He was the one person in the world that you didnât have to think twice about when it came to anything, no matter what the situation. He blinked down at you, pupils blown wide with desire but somehow still so focused on you, holding your sides so gently as he hesitated, silently dealing with the conflict in his head.Â
âIâŚ..are you sure?â
Oh, this sweet, considerate boy. How could you not love him? The thought was instantly forced to be a passing one as you push it away, refusing to acknowledge it.Â
âCaleb, if you donât stick your dick inside of me right now, I will cut it off.â The threat earned you a winded chuckle from his end, the strain in his face from holding back so painfully evident. Realising he needed another push, you looked into his eyes, bucking your hips against him and licking your lips as you purred. âNow, fuck me.â
There was a reason you phrased it like that. Crude and so filthy, the words set out a challenge for him. If there was one thing you knew about Caleb, it was that he could never back down from a challenge. His eyes darkened as he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them together above your head with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance.
Without another warning, he slammed into you, once again covering your mouth to soften the obscenely loud broken moan that left you. He pressed his fingers against your lips, smirking mischievously.Â
âThis is what you wanted, hmm?â He groaned in your ear as he fucked you hard, making it increasingly difficult for you to stay silent. You knew he was doing it on purpose, remembering how he had briefly confessed that he liked it when you were vocal, but here? Here it was risky and stupid, and you couldnât believe how into it you were.
âYes,â You gasped, biting his hand at a particularly hard thrust, doing your utmost best to keep all your noises to a minimum. He was just so good, and the feeling of him bare inside of you was almost too much for you.Â
âGod baby, you feel incredible,â he panted, never relenting on his pace for even a second. His breathing was heavy in your ear, almost pained, along with soft grunts that only succeeded in making you even wetter.
âSo b-big,â you could only whimper, too caught up in it all to speak properly.Â
He had well and truly ruined you for anyone else. Your heart and mind were at war with each other, but your body was perfectly content with how he held you like this. With nothing between you, he fucked you raw, and it felt so much more intimate than you thought it would have. You could feel everything, hyperaware of every touch and kiss and overwhelming drag of his cock in your sobbing cunt.Â
For a moment, you almost wished it wasnât this good. If only you had never succumbed to your desires that day, maybe you wouldnât have found yourself in this position, fighting so desperately against feelings that felt so wrong and right at the same time. All this was supposed to have been a temporary fix, a means to an end. Not the start of something you could never see through.Â
When both of you came, it was intense and devastating, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. You could feel him fill you up with his cum and as you went limp, one last terrifying realisation making itself known to you.Â
It wasnât just sex.Â
A shattered breath escaped you at the revelation, and you shut your eyes, trying to reason with yourself one last time, but to no avail. Caleb surrounded you completely, holding you up upright with so much care, so deliberately, that it made total sense why you felt this way. With unending affection, he pulled you against him and kissed the crown of your head.Â
âThats my girl.â
Except you werenât. And it would be better for everyone if you remembered that.
You were writing.Â
It had been so long since you had been able to write like this, but the ability had come rushing back to you all of a sudden. Your fingers flew across your keyboard as you steadily typed, focused and satisfied at the work you were producing for the first time in months.
It was two in the morning when you finally snapped out of your concentrated state, yawning as you shut your laptop. Stretching, you quietly padded to your bathroom to get ready for the night and go to bed. You couldnât believe you had written almost half of the sex scene when even the prospect of starting it had sounded so unachievable not too long ago.Â
Courtesy of Caleb, you had plenty of material to pull from.
You splashed water on your face, hoping the cool temperature of it would help you stop thinking about him. To say you were frustrated with your feelings was an understatement; you outright despised them.Â
This was your fault, you knew damn well it was. If you were going to get a fuckbuddy, it should have been someone who you werenât so close to, someone you had no personal connections with. Anyone but the best friend you've had since you were seven years old, who you knew like the back of your hand, who knew you like it was second nature to do so.
Gripping the sides of the sink, you shut your eyes, grounding yourself to the moment. Part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How on earth did you let yourself get in such a predicament?
You needed it to stop. For these confusing feelings to leave before things got even more complicated than they already were. Somehow, you needed to forget about them.
But how could you possibly do that? How were you supposed to forget the deliberate way he kissed you, or how good he made you feel when he looked at you that way? How were you supposed to get the scent of his cologne out of your sheets and closet, or pretend like you didnât know what it was like to be touched by him?Â
How on earth were you supposed to get over being in love with him?
You didnât even notice him walking in.Â
Writing for your book again meant that you had fallen behind quite a bit when it came to the work you had due for the paper. As a result, you had to stay behind and work late on the articles you had to present to Jenna, stuck at your desk in the newsroom when it was almost nine-thirty at night.
âThought Iâd find you here.âÂ
Your eyes flickered up to find Caleb standing in front of your desk, one hand stuffed in his pockets and the other holding a bag of takeout from a diner that both of you liked. He gave you a soft, knowing smile that made your mouth go dry.Â
âHey,â you straightened up in your seat, knowing that your posture tended to get worse the longer you wrote for. âYou were looking for me?â
âNot exactly.â He grabbed a chair and parked it next to yours, sitting down. âI just figured youâd be working and forget to have dinner.â
âOh.â
He was right, and you would have been embarrassed if this hadnât happened before. Wordlessly, he began unpacking the takeout he had gotten. âTake a break for ten minutes and eat, okay?âÂ
This was just like him. Knowing exactly when you needed to be taken care of while being well aware you could do just fine by yourself. You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him, apprehensively nodding slowly.Â
âOkay.â
You grabbed a fry and began to chew, turning to face him and away from the computer. He looked the same as always, unkempt hair and all. It was like he knew you were tired and a little out of it today without you even having to tell him, falling into a comfortable silence as he ate with you.Â
There wasnât another soul in this world that knew you so intimately. In the past, this wouldnât have scared you, because you were so used to him and the ways he fit into your life so perfectly. Now, it frightened you to no end, reminding you of how much you had to lose when it came to Caleb. He was the most precious person in your life, which made it so much easier to fear losing him.Â
If there were rules when it came to having a best friend, you were certain you had broken all of them. Number one: Donât sleep with your best friend. Already off to a rough start with that one, it seemed, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore. Number two: Donât fall for your best friend. You doubted you even needed to go over the rest of the rules. Breaking those two had caused you enough damage.Â
Finishing up his food, he took a sip of his soda, noticing you were watching him intently. For the first time in a long time, he couldnât quite decipher the look in your eyes. It almost felt as if you were hiding it from him on purpose.
He tilted the soda cup to you, silently asking if you wanted some of his. You leaned closer and took the straw in your mouth, taking a couple of sips before looking away.Â
Something was off. âIs everything okay?â
You pressed your lips together and gave him a half smile. âYeah, everything's fine.â
Caleb narrowed his eyes at you, reaching out and propping a finger under your chin, lifting your face so you were forced to look at him.Â
âPipsqueak,â He mumbled, dropping his gaze to your mouth for a split second, but it was enough to make you feel like you were set on fire. Like you were made of porcelain, he swiped his thumb next to your lower lip, rubbing away a stray crumb that had stuck there from your food. Then he looked at your mouth again, subconsciously leaning towards you as if he was about to kiss you.Â
Immediately, you jerked out of his touch. Guilt ate away at you when you noticed how he reacted to this, the flash of hurt that passed over his face as he frowned. As much as you hated being the cause of it, the way he was looking at you has started to inexplicably hurt. You were unable to stop the tenderness that unfolded in your chest anymore. It was potent, too real to fight against.Â
âWe should stop.â
The words were out of your mouth before you could think about them any further, inciting confusion. He retracted his hand, the corners of his furrowed eyebrows tilting upwards. âDinner? Because weâre pretty much done with that anyway.â
You could have taken advantage of his confusion and put this conversation off for a while, but you knew that letting this go on any longer would end up being torturous.Â
âNo, Caleb,â You looked away, trying to ignore the way your throat seemed to close in on itself. âIâm not talking about dinner.â
âThen what are you talking about?â His voice took on that impossibly soft tone it did when he was trying to understand how you were feeling to properly help or sympathise with you. It was something he did when you were younger and got hurt, and he wanted to make sure you knew you werenât dealing with it alone.Â
Sucking in a breath of air, you looked down at your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. âI think we should stop having sex.â
A beat passed. You could feel the weight of his stare on you. âOkay.â
You werenât sure where to go from there, your heart pounding within your ribcage like it was trying to escape. The light from your computer felt too harsh and the ticking of the clock hands was unnaturally loud in the stiff silence that settled over the two of you. Clearing his throat, he spoke again.Â
âDidâŚDid I do something?â
âNo,â the caution yet dejected way he said it made you blurt that out quickly, refusing to let him think something was completely wrong. âYou didnât. At all. Itâs justâŚ..â You trailed off, biting your tongue and regretting bringing this up already. âIâŚ.I wrote the scene.â
âThe scene?â
âThe sex scene. In my book.â The awkwardness in your cadence is foreign to your ears and his. You had never been so apprehensive around him because you had never had a reason to. This was a first you despised vehemently, scorning the way you had to phrase everything so delicately, as if you didnât, the damage caused would be irreparable.Â
âRight.â Now he had an unreadable look in his eyes too, matching yours.Â
âRight,â you echoed softly. âSo there's no reason for anymoreâŚ...research.â Because research had spiralled into forgetting your regular roles when it came to each other. Research had made you aware of feelings that had been dormant your entire life and should have stayed that way.Â
In an ironic twist of fate, you had literally fucked around and found out.Â
âI see.âÂ
You didnât know what possessed you to keep talking when it was so obvious that both him and you wanted nothing more than to move on from this conversation. You risked a glance at him to find him aimlessly tracing the edge of his soda cup, eyes trained on the straw. âSo we can go back to being just friends. Regular friends.âÂ
The clarification made you wince. When his eyes met yours again, you were surprised to find something different in the way he looked at youâ those dark purple depths swirling with an intensity that superseded their usual levels, startling you.Â
âWeâll always be friends, Y/n.â
Caleb didnât call you pipsqueak. A minute detail that shouldnât have shaken you at all, and yet here you were stuck on it in spite of the fact that he had just agreed to being friends again. Or rather, the normal definition of friends, because you werenât ever anything more than that. You swallowed, turning back to your computer.
âOkay. I should get back to working on this article.â
Your dismissal of him was quiet but obvious. The air had started to get suffocating and you needed as much space from him as you could get until you sorted out the mess in your head, one that was your cross to bear. Your fault.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and get to his feet, turning to leave, but hesitating for just a moment.Â
It was only when he exited the newsroom that you realised it wasnât any easier to breathe without him there. It felt even harder now, like someone had their foot over your chest and was putting all their weight on it, letting gravity do the rest of the work. You pushed yourself away from your desk, the wheels under your chair smoothly rolling away until the back of it hit the wall behind you.Â
Even the impact of that wasnât enough to shock you out of your misery. Surely, love wasnât supposed to feel as cruel as it did right now, like claws sinking into your skin and making you bleed. It shouldnât have felt wrong, but you knew that it was. Perhaps this was retribution for allowing yourself to indulge in something that was so clearly off-limits to you.Â
A familiar pressure built up behind your eyes as you turned resentful. The sting of your sorrow manifested as tears welled up and caught in your lower lashes. You shut your eyes, but not before those tears slid down your face, cementing the bitter, indisputable reality of your heartbreak.
Caleb stayed away.Â
He had known damn well that whatever was between the two of you wasnât forever. It wasnât even real, solely for the sake of your writing and the book you were so proud of. It was his fault for getting caught up in it all and expecting you to never call it off, to stay in that limbo with him forever.
Saying no to you was something he wasn't capable of. Not when he was ten and you were eight, and you wanted the last piece of cake even though it was his favourite flavour. Not when he was fifteen and you used to beg him to let you wear his shirts because you liked how oversized they were on you. Not when you would give him puppy eyes and sweetly ask him to cook those braised chicken wings you loved so much.Â
And not when you needed help with writing about sex.
Even if it went against all his morals and everything he had forced himself to believe for the past twelve years he had known you. He had held himself together around you for as long as he could remember, hands to himself and thoughts strictly friendly. Caleb was used to the best friend role. He was good at playing it, even when the script pained him to recite, he did so anyway with a smile on his face.
Because smiling back at him was you. It was always you, with your bright eyes and angelic laughter.Â
Caleb had accepted this role when he was only nine years old and had stuck to it ever since. He let it consume him, living in ignorant bliss as he silenced the pleas of his heart and what it wanted, no, begged for.Â
How was he supposed to know where to go from here? The script had deviated too much for him to return to its safety. He knew how your lip gloss tasted, sweet and inviting and maddening, just like everything else about you.Â
So he stayed away from you and your cherry lip gloss, hoping the marks it had left all over him would fade.
It had been almost two weeks since Caleb last set foot in the newsroom.Â
Jenna was overjoyed and Tara was suspicious. The latter asked you where your âboyfriendâ was, to which you refused to look at her as you muttered the reminder: heâs not my boyfriend. It felt like you were reminding yourself more than her, lacking any of your usual annoyance.Â
You supposed this was your fault as well. It wasnât like you had made any effort to reach out either, stuck in your pathetic little cycle of self-pity and fear. You felt his absence, though, cutting deep into you and leaving you with a Caleb-sized hole in your life. The last time you experienced something like this was when he left for university for the first time and you were finishing up your senior year, suddenly having to deal with not having him around for months on end.Â
At least he was calling you back then, and when you joined him at university, it never happened again. You hadnât realised what a big part of your life he was until he was missing from it.Â
God, you missed him.
You missed that stupid, smug chuckle of his when he knew you were getting riled up because of something he said, and his terrible sense of humour. The smirk on his face when you were losing an argument, and how heâd stick his tongue out when he was concentrating on something. Hell, you missed the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought you.Â
After you finished your work for the day, you walked out of the newsroom and down the hallways of the university building. The cool evening air swept around you, making you think of one of Caleb's jackets that was still in your dorm from the last time he had been, draped over your desk chair. You almost wished you had it with you right now.Â
Your feet carried you to the dining hall, reminding you of your need to eat through the wall of your troubled thoughts. It was not so much hunger as it was a necessity. Your appetite had been less than robust these past few days, your emotions weighing you down in more ways than one. You didnât have him to remind you to eat or sleep, or run like a normal human being.
Grabbing an apple to appease your stomach, you bit into it and looked around, mentally going over everything else you had to do that day. Start an essay you had due the next week, beg the members of your group to do their parts of the presentation that was worth a whopping thirty percent of your grade and polish the last scene you had written for your book.Â
It turned out that your turbulent emotional state had translated into you being more productive than ever, throwing yourself into your studies and writing like you had never before. Anything to avoid thinking about him and what you felt. An unhealthy coping mechanism for sure, but it worked for you.Â
Kind of.Â
Unable to stomach anything else, you tossed the core of the apple into a nearby dustbin and left the dining hall, eager to make it back to your room. You hadnât slept very well lately, and you wanted to get all your work out of the way before crashing. Sleeping, you discovered, was another excellent course of action to take when you wanted to avoid facing something, and at least it wasnât downright unhealthy. The dark circles under your eyes would certainly thank you.Â
When you turned the corner, he was there.
Caleb stood there, just a few paces away from you in all his six-two glory. His back was turned to you, but you knew it was him, deep in conversation with his friend, Gideon. You were unable to do anything but stare, your pulse picking up in speed at the sight of him. You wondered if the chasm he had created between the two of you had affected him as much as it had you.Â
When he bid farewell to Gideon and turned, you panicked. When he saw you, you remained rooted to the spot, watching as his steps faltered and came to a stop. He looked almost as tired as you felt, dawdling briefly before speaking.
âHey.âÂ
Hey. Hey? Was that all he could say after refusing to look your way for over a week? Your apprehension flared up into anger, and you took three furious steps towards him, your docile stare melting into a glare.Â
âYou sure talk a lot of shit about keeping you informed for someone who has been avoiding me.â
He winced. âI wasnâtâŚ.avoiding you.â
âOh really? Could have fooled me.â You scowled at him as you took another step forward. You were pissed, and rightly so, but it stemmed more from how hurt you felt rather than any genuine anger.Â
Caleb didnât bother to meet your eyes, opting to look off to the side instead. That stung a little more than you cared to admit. âIâm sorry,â he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. âHave you eaten yet?â Barely five minutes around you, and he had already jumped into trying to take care of you. It was so infuriatingly like him.Â
Every time he didnât want to face something, he would deflect and redirect the conversation. Your years together had taught you well, making it impossible for him to sidestep you even if he tried. You could tell he was avoiding you even when you were right in front of him.Â
âStop changing the subject.â
You watched as his jaw tightened and relaxed, something he did when he was conflicted. All his tells were so laughably obvious to you, and yet you couldnât make heads or tails of how he was acting right now, so forcibly distant and detached, like being close to you was painful. Your eyes burned.
âDo you hate me?â You asked, hating how your voice suddenly sounded so feeble. His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and defiant.Â
âI could never hate you.â The finality in the way he said it told you he was telling the truth, and yet, you couldnât help but fall victim to the doubt creeping into your mind. He was looking right at you nowâ except he wasnât really. It was more like he was looking through you.Â
âThenâŚthen why?â You whispered, taking another tentative step forward. The space that both of you created, consciously or not, was unbearable. You just wanted things to go back to normal, was that so much to ask for?
âI donât hate you. You just donât understand.âÂ
âThen make me understand!â You threw your hands up in the air in exasperation, wondering what the hell you had to do to make this conversation go somewhere, because right now it just felt like you were running in circles. âCaleb, please, just tell me why youâre avoiding me, because you are.â
He knew he was and hadnât a single excuse, other than the reason he swore you never burdened you with. You were looking at him so pleadingly, grasping at straws to figure him out, but for the first time in his life, he found himself unable to give you an answer. Instead, his throat constricted, his anxiety keeping him silent.Â
âItâs my fault, isnât it?â Your face crumbled, and upon witnessing it, so did his heart. Your lower lip trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and you bit down on it to stop it from doing so, doing your best to stay composed. Running a hand through your hair, you let out a shaky sigh. âI knew it, I should have neverâ we shouldnât have slept together. That should have never happened and now everything is fucked up, and its all because of me.âÂ
Yes. No. The answer wasnât as straightforward as he needed it to be, and it paralysed him. The anguish you felt was on display for him and anyone who happened to walk by you to see, plain as day, as it twisted your features. It felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut when you backed away from him.
Turning away, you walked off. You had ruined things, you were sure of it, and it killed you. Once again, you let the rift between him and you grow with every step you took to escape the crash you had been responsible for.Â
A hand on your wrist. You gasped as he caught you, spinning you around and forcing you to face him once again.Â
Caleb had followed you into the gardens.Â
âDo you regret it?â
The question cut through you, and you gaped at him. The fervour you were so used to seeing in him suddenly returned, burning brightly in his eyes as he pinned you in place with them, his grip on your wrist never letting up. Question for question, with neither of you getting the answers you wanted.Â
You scoffed, rapidly blinking away the tears that you felt coming on. âIf it's the reason things are weird between us, then yes! I do regret it. I need my best friend, Caleb. I need you.âÂ
How could you not need him? He was your constant, the one person who had been by your side through thick and thin. You needed him in your life, by your side, in whatever way you were allowed to, even if it wasnât what you truly wanted anymore.Â
He let go of your wrist. âI canât do it.â
Your biggest fear was coming true right in front of your very eyes, and you hadnât the faintest idea of how to stop it. It was taking form, bleeding into existence. You were losing him.Â
âYou canât do what?â
âI canât be your friend. I just canât.â He shook his head, shutting his eyes like he couldnât bear to look at you.Â
Your voice comes out weak. Small. âBut you said weâll always be friends.â
âWell, I lied, okay! I canât be your friend, not whenââ He sucked in a breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in, stopping his outburst before it could happen. It wasnât fair to you, none of this was, but he was at his breaking point. âI could do it before, but not anymore.â
âWhy?â You whispered, those tears you had so valiantly fought off surging back. Once again, you felt like you had been trampled on, pinned down by a merciless gravity that had no regard for your need to breathe. You werenât sure there was a reason to fight against it anymore.Â
He looked up at the darkening sky, deflating. Staying away from you hadnât made it any betterâ if anything, it had only made it worse, his yearning to be beside you bubbling to an all-time high. There wasnât a point in hiding anymore, not when it was turning out to be detrimental rather than soothing.Â
âBecause,â he paused, peering up at the cloudy sky. He couldnât see the stars. âI canât go back to being your friend when Iâve tasted you. How am I supposed to act like Iâve never kissed you when Iâve had you in my bed? To pretend like I donât know how it feels to have you like that? God, Y/n, I canât do it.
Caleb, whom you had viewed as strong and untouchable all your life. Caleb, whom you had endlessly looked up to, sounded almost tortured, like it pained him to even have to tell you this.Â
âWhat are you saying?â
You hoped you didnât look as terrified as you sounded. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from beneath you, but the ground underneath it was falling apart too, leaving you to stumble around and try to find your footing amidst the cracks that remained. If you fell now, you werenât sure youâd ever be able to get up.
But that was the thing, wasnât it? You had already fallen, and hard.Â
Caleb was stripped of his usual self-assuredness and confident smile. He was laid bare there in front of you, fixing you with a look that was so pained it tore through you.Â
âIâm in love with you.â
The confession ripped through you, although you didnât register it at first. Those five words felt so improbable to have been said by him to you of all people that the only thing you could feel was disbelief. It just didnât make sense. Why would something you longed to hear so badly be said with such sadness?Â
He mistook your stunned silence for aversion. He should have stopped there, given up and walked away, but now that he had finally, finally let it out, it was hard to stop. It was like a dam had broken within him; everything he had ever kept to himself when it came to you rushed out all at once.Â
âIâm in love with you, Y/n,â he said again, scoffing slightly at himself. No nicknames, just your name spoken in that reverent tone, like you were a divine being he was a devout follower of. âAnd it kills me because I know youâll never see me as anything more than a best friend. Youâve made that very clear, and I never want to overstep, so I stayed away from you.âÂ
âCalebââ
He didnât let you cut in. âI could do it when I didnât know what it felt like to have you as something more than friends. The moment we crossed that line, it was all over for me. I would be your friend until I died if I didnât know.â His hands were shaking, but they stayed by his sides, fingers curled into frustrated fists as he rambled.Â
âIââ
âBut I canât, Pips. I canât do it anymore. I canât be your best friend when Iâve loved you my entire life.â And youâre falling all over again, gravity pulling you down, down, down as something unfurled in your chest. âSo please justââ
âGoddamnit Caleb, would you just shut up for one fucking minute!?â
You hadnât meant to snap, but he was seriously to piss you off, going on and on without giving you the chance to speak your mind. Immediately, he clamped his mouth shut, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection he had imagined too many times to count in his head. You, on the other hand, thought you were going to faint, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. It was everything you had convinced yourself was impossible.
And yetâŚ
You kept your eyes locked onto his as you closed the distance between the two of you, so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, combating the chill in the evening air. Swallowing, you asked.Â
âYouâre in love with me?â
He clenched his jaw and nodded. He knew what the consequences were, he was ready for them. It was about time he faced the truth anyway.Â
What he didnât expect was for you to start laughing.Â
You clamped a hand over your mouth as incredulous laughter left you, eyes practically sparkling. Oddly enough, it sounded a little watery, like you were crying at the same time.
And then he realised you were, in fact, crying, tears streaming down your face. Alarmed, he stepped forward and cupped your face, instinctively wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. This did nothing to dampen your hysterical laughter as you leaned into his touch.Â
âWhat the fuck?â He muttered, concern overtaking his previous, heartsick expression. âAre you dying or something?â
âOr something,â you managed to get out, gripping his arms, âWeâre so stupid.â
âThatâŚ..okay, Iâm officially confused. And a little scared.âÂ
âCaleb,â you whispered once you stopped giggling, lethally soft. You looked up at him adoringly, eyes shining and tinged slightly red from your tears. âIâm in love with you, too.â
He froze, mouth falling open. He didnât have to say anything, though, because honestly, he had said enough. It was your turn now.Â
You leaned further into his touch, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. âI think Iâve loved you for a long time, but I only realised afterâŚ.after everything that happened between us.â You flushed, trying to word it as delicately as possible. âAnd I drove myself crazy because I thought youâd never see me that wayââ
âIâve always seen you that way.â He breathed out, those captivating eyes of his trained on you in wonder. Butterflies came to life in your stomach.Â
ââ So I called it off. I said we needed to stop because I was so scared Iâd lose you.â
By the time you finished, you were both staring at each other wide-eyed. His grip on you tightened, one hand falling to your waist as he tugged you closer.Â
âYou love me?â
âI love you,â you nodded. âIt just took me a while to figure it out.âÂ
âPipsqueak.â You had never been more grateful than you were right then to hear that stupid petname. âOh my god, we are stupid.â
Without another word, Caleb pulled you into a kiss. You reciprocated instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you smiled against his lips, unable to contain yourself anymore. He kissed you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, holding you like you were precious, which to him, you undoubtedly were. It was your first proper kiss with him without any pretence or excuse surrounding it, and you couldnât have asked for more.Â
Chuckling when you dissolved into more giddy giggles, he wiped away any stray tears from your face and rested his forehead against yours. After all these years waiting and hoping that youâd feel the same way, he knew heâd never let you go now.Â
âI love you, too.â It was a relief to say out loud and to your face, coming out of hiding and letting the truth of his feelings sit out in the light. You pecked his lips again and hugged him, revelling in his warmth and the delight of your feelings being returned. Your best friend loved you back, and everything in the world made sense again.Â
âDonât be my best friend,â You mumbled fondly, cheek against his shoulder as you laid out your final request. âJust be mine.â
He smiled, an expression so dazzling youâd never forget it. âIâll always be yours.â
When Caleb looked back at the sky, he could see the stars.
âAre you done?â
âShh.â
You rolled your eyes, flopping onto the pile of plushes on your bed as you pulled out your phone and went through your messages. To be fair, it had barely been two minutes since you handed him your laptop, but you were impatient, wanting to know what he thought as soon as possible.
Calebâs eyes were focused on the screen as he read, humming occasionally as he scrolled through the scene. If anyone had told you a year ago that youâd be letting him read a part of your writing, let alone a sex scene of all things, you would have either laughed in their face or had a mental breakdown.
Yet here you were. Life sure had a sense of humour.Â
Finally, after an agonising ten minutes, he spoke. âWow.â
âIs it good?â
He shut your laptop and put it back on your desk carefully, before walking over to where you were. Then, he dropped himself onto the bed as well, purposely caging you in his arms and making sure you were trapped under his weight. Squealing, you hit his arm playfully.Â
âCaleb!â
Your boyfriend laughed mischievously, lifting his head so you could see the smirk that curled on his lips. âIt was good. Very good.â
You sighed in relief. âThank god.â
âSo I must be really good in bed, huh?âÂ
There it was. You groaned as you tried to push him off of you, even though you knew it was a futile task. âDonât even try, you smug asshole.â
âWhat?â He asked, dripping in faux innocence. âI mean, you did use me for research purposes. Is it not a fair assumption to make?â He was so proud of it, and knew damn well that the entire sex scene he had just read had been falicitated because of him. Every part of it had been pulled from things the two of you had done, the thought of which made your skin heat up and your cheeks burn.Â
âYouâre so annoying,â you huffed, giving up on trying to get him to stop squashing you. Instead, you adjusted, curling into him. Accepting this, he switched your positions, pulling you on top of him and resting his chin on your shoulder.
âYou like it.â
âUnfortunately.â
You yelped when he pinched your side, but it dissolved into giggles when he began peppering kisses all over your face. Slipping his arm around your waist, he held you close, grining against your skin. If you had to stay like this forever, in his arms and under the glow of his radiant smile, you would be content.Â
âYouâre an amazing writer, Pipsqueak,â he cradled your face in his hands, his love for you so achingly obvious in the way he looked at you that you wondered how you had never noticed it before. Rubbing his fingers against your cheek, he kissed your nose. âIt would be just as great even if I hadnâtâ uhâ assisted.â
Though you snickered at him, you couldnât stop yourself from beaming at his praise for your work. âIâm glad you did though,â you let him pull you closer, arm looping around your waist as you propped a leg over his. âOtherwise we might have never figured our shit out.â
He snorted. âThank god for research. You would have kept me in the friendzone forever.â
âHey!â
He silenced any further protests that you could have made, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. All possible complaints fled your mind the moment he did, eagerly kissing him back. You didnât think youâd ever get enough of this and you had no idea how you had survived for so long while denying yourself of it.Â
Caleb had loved you for twelve years, steadily standing by your side and holding your hand even when you couldnât see it. He had walked beside you through it all, the highest of highs and lowest of lows, lifting you up high over his shoulders with a grin on his face. He would never leave you behind, because he was your home. The one you had grown up with and wanted to wake up to everyday for the rest of your life.Â
He had taught you love without imposing it on you, silently showing it to you with every little thing he did. Your best friend. Your love. It had taken you a long time to catch up, but when you finally made it to the finish line, you found him waiting there for you patiently, holding out his hand for you to take.Â
The next time Tara called him your boyfriend, you didnât correct her.
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summary: when your top model meets with an accident that keeps him off his feet for a while, you have no choice but to take on the arrogant Qi Rafayel in his absence. dealing with a creative rut and a temperamental model who has endless amounts of audacity when you have fashion week to worry about is no easy task, and he certainly doesn't make it any better.....does he?
themes: strangers to lovers, co-workers to lovers, mild enemies/annoyances to lovers, celebrity! au, model! rafayel, fashion designer! mc, fluff, angst, slowburn, sexual tension, profanity, alcohol consumption, abadonment issues, petnames, lots of banter, explicit sexual content (fingering, nipple sucking, praise, cowgirl, protected sex), plot with porn, mc is a girlboss with a temper, rafayel is a brat and an asshole, they're both flawed and emotionally constipated lmao
word count:Â 35.7k
playlist: vogue by madonna, fashion killa by a$ap rocky, xs by rina sawayama, glamorous by fergie & ludacris, fashion! by lady gaga, disturbia by rihanna, louboutins by nesra, city of blinding lights by u2, empire state of mind (part ii) by alicia keys.
lyns notes: i rewatched 'the devil wears prada' (one of my fav movies fr) and this was born 𫡠I am a self proclaimed fashion girlie so this was a total blast to write and celebrity aus are my fav!! unfortunately I have not made it as an intern during fashion week yet, so please excuse the inevitable inaccuracies. model raf you will always be famous to me. enjoy <3
Your coffee was cold.Â
Simone stared at you nervously, her years of working as your assistant telling her all she needed to know in that moment. She watched as your fingers drummed against the dark wood of your desk, picking up on all the signs of your distress. Your lips pulled into a grimace, the slight tick in your jaw, and how you looked at the cup of coffee before you. All your employees knew that you were strictly a hot coffee drinker.Â
âHow is he?â
She scrambled to answer. âXavier isâŚ.recovering.â
You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. âElaborate.â
âHis leg is broken in two places. Some scratches, but thats the extent of his injuries. He was lucky.â
Your frustration with the situation at hand knew no bounds, and your mood soured even further with the new information. Clicking your tongue, you pressed your index finger and thumb against your temple, already feeling one of your headaches coming on. âSend a bouquet with a card to his hospital room.â
âOf course.â Simone pulled out her phone and began making the arrangements. âAnything else?â
âCoffee that isnât frigid.âÂ
Nodding quickly, she walked over and plucked up the cup from your table, giving you a final nod and stepping out of your office. Out of the dozens of assistants you had had, Simone had turned out to be the most competent and tolerable of all, and unlike her predecessors, had withstood your sky-high expectations and sharp tongue.
One word people would use to describe you is difficult. Others included delightful descriptions such as âunreasonableâ and âoverbearingâ, or perhaps the synonyms so many journalists had used in their pieces about you, including but not limited to: uptight, stubborn and ill-tempered. It was to the point where you had to applaud them for their creativity and commitment to the bit, never failing to find a new word to describe you in a bad light, even if you were the fashion world's current darling.Â
But this world you were so blessed to be a part of was cutthroat and unforgiving. Smiles and pretty manners would have never gotten you out of the tiny apartments you lived in after graduating from fashion school. Even sheer talent wasnât enough, so you steeled yourself over those arduous years, using your ambition like the sharp tool it was to overcome the hurdles that had blocked your way to the top.
You had built your brand from the bottom up, and it had been worth it. Every tear, every candle you burned late at night, and every nick on your now-perfectly manicured fingers had gotten you to where you were. Some would say you had your success handed to you, but you knew better. You remembered all the times you nearly gave up, all the years you spent running around and interning for brands that treated you like trash. One couldnât just forget their roots, even if everyone around them insisted on pretending they didnât exist.
And so here you were, at twenty-seven years old: Y/n L/n, one of the youngest successful fashion designers in the world, and the founder and CEO of luxury fashion label, Lumiere.Â
For a brand that was merely five years old, it had quickly turned into a status symbol. Owning a single piece of clothing from any one of Lumiereâs high-end collections set one apart instantly. Your designs were exquisite, and your ability to take any fabric and turn it into a work of art was truly extraordinary. Every collection you breathed life into stunned critics and fellow designers alike, cementing your position as one of the most respected creatives in the industry today.Â
Respected or not, being a woman in power was a tough act to keep up. Sitting on the throne meant you had to rule with an iron fist. You werenât allowed to slip up or make mistakes.
Especially not with Paris Fashion Week coming up.Â
The spring and summer collections would be revealed to the world at the most important fashion week. Everything had been going smoothly under your careful watch.Â
Until, of course, right now.
Yesterday, your top model met with an accident. Xavier Shen had been with you since the very start of Lumiere and was practically synonymous with its branding. Together, the two of you had taken the world's hottest runways by storm with his award-winning walk and your impeccable designs. In terms of real friendships, he might have been the only one you had.
And now, when you needed him, he was out of commission. There was no way heâd be walking for anyone any time soon.
Your black Louboutins pressed into the carpet beneath your feet as you fought off the wave of annoyance that cut through your concern for Xavier. It wasnât really aimed at him, no, it was because you couldnât have possibly predicted such a thing happening.Â
Moneyâ you had lots of it. More than you could count, and enough to never worry about making a dent in your bank balance ever again. What was most important to you now was control.Â
Simone rushed back in, placing a steaming cup of coffee on your desk with a polite smile. âAnything else?â
Picking up the cup and taking a sip, you savoured the hot, bitter flavour that coated your taste buds. âA closer for the show would be nice. And someone to model the new line.â
Xavier had always been the one to fill in those shoes, sometimes quite literally. Now, you were left to figure out how to replace him temporarily while retaining the integrity of your brand. You couldnât just take on anybody.
She didnât flinch at your cold tone. âSylus Qin?â
You shook your head, resting your elbows against the mahogany of your desk and cupping the mug of coffee, letting its warmth seep into your skin. âHeâs walking for the Dior show, which is only an hour before ours. And he doesnât particularly fit our image.â Sylus was, no doubt, an excellent model and a current favourite, but wasnât what you wanted representing your brand. âAnd donât even think of recommending Zayne Li. Heâs been Miu Miuâs poster boy for the last year, and I have no intention of riding on their coattails.â
Simone began listing models, but none seemed fitting. Yes, this was a problem that you had to solve as quickly as possible, but you refused to settle for anything but the best. As she rattled off names, you turned your attention to the floor-to-ceiling window panes that adorned the back of your office, which revealed a stunning view of the city below. The sun was setting, spilling its orange-red rays all over the buildings and buzzing streets of New York.Â
It didnât matter how many times you had been met with this view, it would never grow tiresome. New York would forever be your second love after fashion. It was unforgiving as it was generous, a contradictory quality you liked to think you shared with it.
âWhat about Qi Rafayel?â
You turned back to her at the unfamiliar name, raising a singular eyebrow. âWho?â
âRafayel,â she repeated his name, tapping the screen of her tablet and approaching you, holding it out for you to see. On it was the cover of the most recent Vogue issue, and on it was a man covered in colour, the white shirt he wore a victim of this photoshoot's concept. Hues of blue and fuchsia painted his cheekbones and neck, and his dark eyes seemed to stare right into your soul, his features somehow striking a balance between sharp and gentle all at once.Â
âTell me more.â
âHeâs probably the most talked about in modelling right now. GQ named him Model of the Year.â She droned on about everything she knew, and you were once again reminded of her competency. âHeâs under the Lemuria Modelling Agency and has achieved supermodel status with how sensational his walk is.âÂ
You hummed, intrigued now. âHow come Iâve never heard of him?â
âFrom what Iâve heard, heâs very selective about who he walks for, which makes everyone want him even more, of course. Word is that he isnât walking for any fashion week shows yet. Heâs refused all offers.âÂ
Oh? Most models jumped at any chance they got to walk for fashion week. It was the pinnacle of the modelling world as much as it was for the fashion world, with every model competing for the coveted few spots on the runway.Â
Leaning forward, you studied the magazine cover for a few more seconds. He did seem to give off the same regal air that Xavier did, at least from the shoot you were looking at, which meant it was at least worth considering taking him on. Potential was something youâd have to bet on.
âThis might do,â you muttered, waving your hand in her direction. âArrange a meeting with him and his manager and add it to my schedule.â
Rafayel adored a good party.Â
Sprawled out on the length of his couch with one arm hanging off of it, he lifted his glass with a satisfied half-smile, cocking his head as he observed the chaos that unfolded around him. The mess currently being made would undoubtedly be a problem, but it was one that a future version of himself would have to deal with. Right now, he was content with being the facilitator.Â
The bass reverberated through his body, the music so obnoxiously loud that it somehow managed to drown out the raucous laughter and chatter that travelled around the large room. He tipped back the glass, savouring the burn of the alcohol that kissed his throat so soothingly. It provided a pleasant buzz, one that he had been carefully maintaining all evening and the night so far.Â
People were dancing on his coffee table. Corners of the large room were occupied by pairs that were a little too close, but the darkness provided them with privacy. Beautiful women sauntered around, a couple hovering around him like moths to a flame. One even sat on the velvet armrest of the couch, right behind where his head lay and reached out to touch his hair, which would have annoyed him if he wasnât halfway to drunk already. The attention didnât faze him in the slightest, he was used to being at the centre of it.Â
He was the life of every party, the drug that kept it going, and everyone wanted a piece of that sweet high. His parties were all the rage, and anyone with so much as a speck of fame wanted to be in attendance at them, singers, actors and fellow models alike.Â
Sighing blissfully, he downed the rest of his drink. The delightful thing about alcohol was that once you had had enough of it, you hardly noticed the taste. He looked up at the woman who so boldly played with his hair, watching how she batted her eyelashes and flashed a coy smile at him. A smirk teased at his lips as he entertained the idea of taking his fun a little further.
Nothing could possibly ruin such a perfect night.
âRAFAYEL!â
Oh dear.Â
He didnât have to look to know who had yelled his name. There was only one person in the world who could say his name with such astronomical levels of exasperation. His manager spotted him and stormed over, setting one foot furiously in front of the other until he was right beside the couch. Rafayel lazily opened an eye, peering up at the intruder.
âLovely to see you, Thomas. Here to join in the fun?â
Thomas scowled. âI suggest throwing that expensive phone of yours out if it doesnât work.â
âIt works just fine.â
âThen why havenât you bothered to answer any of my calls?â
The model sighed and sat up, giving the women at his side an apologetic look. âExcuse me, ladies,â he said, charm oozing out of every syllable that spilled from him. âI need to talk to my friend here, and Iâll be right back.âÂ
With practised grace, he got to his feet and beckoned for Thomas to follow him into the kitchen, which was miraculously deserted. Leaning against the marble counter, he picked up a bottle of gin and poured it into a clean glass before offering it to the frazzled man. When all he received in return was a glare, he shrugged and tipped it back.Â
âIâve been trying to get hold of you all day,â Thomas said through gritted teeth, tapping his foot against the floor and folding his arms over his chest. Rafayel barely flinched at his agitation, used to it by this point.
âIâve been busy.â
His manager scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air. âBusy? You call this being busy?â He gestured to the doorway that led back to the party, making Rafayel wish he was still there, instead of here, facing the wrath of his uptight manager when he wasnât as drunk as he wished he was for it. Rolling his eyes, he prepared to give his usual excuses and get it over with so that he could go back to his fun.
âLookââ
âNo, you look,â Thomas took a step forward. âYour shoot for Vogue was three weeks ago. Since then, youâve had numerous offers to walk in fashion week. More than any model Iâve previously managed.â The way he phrased it was incredulous, as if he couldnât fathom how he had managed such a thing. âSo Iâm gonna need you to tell me why youâve turned all of them down.â
Ugh. If Rafayel had been just a little faster, he could have been in his bedroom with that woman and avoided this interaction altogether. He placed the glass back down, running a finger along the rim of it as he hummed.Â
âNone of the brands spoke to me.â
Thomas looked like he was about to implode. He shut his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh.
âYou just have to walk. Pose a little. There's no speaking involved. You should know what your job entails by now.â
Rafayel placed a hand over his heart, feeling rather attacked at the moment. âDonât patronise me.â
To that, he was met with a mirthless laugh. âPatronise you? Youâre too smart for me to even try, and yet you still insist on acting like a child.â It was always entertaining when his manager lost his patience like this, and he always turned it into a game of sorts, testing to see just how far he could push back.
âYou wound me, my friend.âÂ
âYour aunt expects you to walk for fashion week.âÂ
Of course, she did. Immediately, his easy-going persona vanished, and he clicked his tongue in an attempt to push down his irritation. âTalia wants me to do so much, doesnât she?âÂ
He couldnât keep the bitterness out of his voice, but it didnât matter. His opinion rarely ever did when it was up against his aunts, but he supposed it was his fault. He was the one who had decided working under her would be a good idea, thinking that the familial connection would help further his career. It turned out, however, that while it had certainly given him a headstart, he had become her favourite project.
Back in her prime, Talia had been an extremely successful supermodel herself. After getting married, she didnât return to the runway, but instead started her own modelling agency: Lemuria Modelling Agency. Since she knew the ins and outs of the business so intimately, she had experienced what felt like overnight success with it.
When Rafayel came along, it was as if she wanted to live vicariously through him, pushing him into shoots and brand deals for fashion houses that she had once worked for herself. It was only recently that he put his foot down and insisted on choosing his projects for himself, refusing to be a puppet for any longer. Surprisingly, she had agreed, and it had somehow worked out even better than before, with his career taking off like never before.
He had no intention of turning out to be another version of her, even if he had technically followed in her footsteps. He was well aware of his worth and heâd be damned if he allowed himself to settle for anything less than perfect.
âYou have another offer for fashion week and a contract for a couple of months.âÂ
âIâm not interested.â His answer was immediate. He disliked speaking of work during his downtime, but since he had been ignoring all of his calls, he didnât have the right to complain about that right now.
âYou havenât even heard who it's for yet.â Thomas groaned. âLumiere is a highly respected brand. Itâs short notice, but youâre lucky youâre being offered the position at all.â
âI donât care how great they are,â he muttered dryly, reaching for the bottle once again. He despised being told what to do, regarding himself as a free spirit despite his perfectionist tendencies.Â
For a moment, he thought he had won this argument, taking the other man's silence as acceptance. His presumptuous joy was short-lived.
âGet your head in the fucking game, Rafayel. This whole stuck-up artist thing you have going on might have worked out in your favour so far, but it wonât cut it in the long run.â Thomas snapped, sufficiently vexed. âYou will take on Lumiere, and you will walk for them. I donât care if I have to drag you to Paris kicking and screaming, you're coming.âÂ
Rafayel bit back his surprise at the outburst, feeling his pride take a hit at Thomasâs words. Stuck-up artist? If life had gone the way he had intended it to, then perhaps he would have been exactly that. Not that he was complaining about the life he had now, he enjoyed every second of it thoroughly, for he was nothing if not a patron of indulgence. Still, the accusation stung just a tad.Â
He was caught so off-guard that he couldnât respond with his normal unbothered quips. The man in front of him didnât let up on his glare, but finally moved out of Rafayelâs personal space, clicking his tongue in triumph like a disappointed father would at his child.Â
âWe have a meeting scheduled with them for next week. Donât be late. And for godâs sake, check your phone. Iâll send over the details.âÂ
With that final statement, Thomas walked out, as eager to leave the party as Rafayel had been to rejoin it just a few minutes ago. With nothing left to do but nurse his bruised ego, he poured himself another drink to keep him company while he sulked over how that conversation had gone so terribly.
You stepped out of the car, immediately holding a hand over your face at a distance that let you see what was in front of you while simultaneously shielding yourself from the onslaught of camera flashes and paparazzi yelling at you to spare them a glance. Forcing a neutral expression, you let your feet carry you to the entrance of the restaurant as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to escape the unwanted attention.Â
Frankly, you should have been used to the paparazzi by now after having dealt with it for five years and counting, but there was something so jarring about having cameras shoved in your face or following you while you tried to go about your daily life. When you started out, all you had wanted to do was create your clothing, but fame had come along with your accomplishments, launching you into a spotlight that was meant for your designs. You had media training and publicists working to keep your image squeaky-clean.
The ambience on the inside provided you with respite from the press, and the tension in your shoulders instantly dissipated. Warm, dim lighting and the pleasant clinking of glasses and cutlery travelled all around you, combining with the smooth jazz that played, creating a melody of its own. This was one of your favourite places to dine, which was precisely why you had chosen it for today.Â
Walking further into the restaurant, you spotted the person you were here to meet and made your way over. The woman sitting at the reserved table scanned the menu.Â
âGabriette,â You smiled pleasantly, making your presence known. She looked up at you, eyes lighting up.
âY/n!â
Gabriette got to her feet and embraced you politely, giving you a customary kiss on each cheek in greeting. You returned the gesture before removing your coat, draping it on the empty seat across from hers and sitting down.Â
âI hope I didnât make you wait too long.â You picked up your menu as a server filled your glass with some water, flipping through the pages.Â
âNot at all! Iâm so glad we could make time to meet.âÂ
Gabriette Dubois was a celebrity fashion designer, much like yourself, whom you had met years ago while in Paris for your first ever fashion week. She was a little older than you but somehow managed to not look a day over twenty-five, petite in every sense of the word. Her own fashion house, Dubois Designs, was all the rage just as yours was. This meant that while you were friendly with her, she was less of a friend and more of an acquaintance.
Competitor would have been the right word.Â
âHow have you been?â She was in New York for a few weeks and insisted on having lunch with you. She was far from your favourite person, but you knew the importance of nurturing and maintaining connections. If not for that pesky reason, you would have cut all contact with her a long time ago. Your temper made it so that you lacked patience when it came to people like her, but thankfully, she lived in Paris, which meant you only had to bite your tongue and force a smile on occasion.
âIâve been fantastic,â she beamed, her French accent curling the ends of her words. âIâve been busy the whole time I have been in this city, but you know how it is. The busier you are, the better business is, yes?â The subtle brag was not lost on you.
You suspected she was the one who had called the press. They loved tailing you around anyway, but catching two high-profile fashion designers together? That was the same thing as finding gold to them.
âI know what you mean.â You ordered a glass of red wine after agreeing with her. She opted for some rosĂŠ. âFinding time to rest is rare.âÂ
âI bet you miss the days when Lumiere was still a small little thing,â she said with the same smile on her face, but you werenât naive enough to miss the slight condescending lilt of her voice. While she treated you perfectly well, you knew that she didnât quite see you as an equal, purposely choosing to turn a blind eye to your achievements. She thought of you as beneath her, even though your success outshone even hers at times.Â
You didnât need her approval. All this was a formality anyways.Â
âSometimes,â you admitted good-naturedly, choosing not to take the bait. The drinks arrived, and you took a nice, long sip of yours, reminding yourself of why you even agreed to meet her in the first place. âSorry, I just remembered, I have something Iâd like to ask you.â
Gabriette might have had a superiority complex, but this also meant she loved to shove all her accomplishments in other people's faces. Bragging was something she viewed as her birthright, and you had mastered the art of using it to your advantage.Â
The server returned, and the two of you placed your orders before resuming conversation. âAsk away.â
âItâs about a model,â you started carefully. âMy top model is out of commission right now, and I need a replacement for a little while.âÂ
She leaned back in her seat and sipped her rosĂŠ. âOh yes, I heard about Xavier. Go on.â
No doubt she assumed you were about to ask her to help you find someone to take his place. You had no intention of doing such a thing since you were going to meet your potential temporary replacement in three days, thanks to Simone. What you wanted was a little information from someone who had directly had contact with him.Â
âYouâve worked with Rafayel before, havenât you?âÂ
You phrased it as if you didnât know this already, when in reality, you had done your research. It wasnât your job to do soâ you could have easily gotten any of your employees to do itâ but this was a big deal. You refused to have just anyone take Xavierâs place, even if it was only for a short while. Simone had already run a background check on him, and you had to admit that from all the surface-level knowledge that you had that he did fit with your brand's image quite well.
Gabriette peered at you from over her glass, raising an eyebrow as she nodded slowly. âYeah, a couple of years ago. Why?â
âI hadnât really heard of him until recently.â You placed your glass down, and at that moment, the server returned with your food. She didnât bother to hide her scoff as she picked up her fork, digging into her salad immediately.Â
âThatâs on you. Rafayel has been around for a while.â She took a bite of lettuce and croutons, taking her time with the morsel before she pounced once more, taking a concealed jab at you. âBut I guess itâs expected when you live under a rock. If you werenât so caught up with insisting on only working with Xavier for even a minute, you would have seen him around.âÂ
You refused to let her get under your skin. So what if you were picky about who you took on? Consistency was something you valued, and you had your reasons, ones that you didnât have to divulge to her and waste your breath.Â
A tired exhale left your lips. âIâm thinking of taking him on.â
âGood luck with that.âÂ
Huh. You sat up straighter. âWhat do you mean?â
âRafayel is a talented model, no one can say anything about that, but I doubt youâd be able to handle him.â
Handle him? Oddly enough, this statement of hers sounded less like a concealed insult and more genuine. Feigning indifference, you nibbled at your own food. âWhy so?â
She laughed curtly, toying with her fork. âHeâs a great way to make headlines, that's for sure. The world loves him right now, even with his scandalous behaviour, but when it comes down to itâŚâ You made a mental note to look into what she meant by scandalous behaviour later when she trailed off, silently prompting her to continue.Â
Gabriette pressed her lips together, a flash of irritation taking over her eyes for a brief moment, but it wasnât aimed at you.
âHeâs a total nightmare to work with.â
Rafayel waltzed into the meeting room ten minutes late, his head held up high like he owned the place.Â
This did not amuse you, the actual owner.
A man who you could only assume was his manager entered behind him, looking so defeated that you almost felt sorry for him. Almost, because you had no sympathy for people who wasted your time like they had. Simone had gotten you a second cup of coffee to pass the time, and you had just about finished it, ignoring the last few dregs in the cup in favour of narrowing your eyes at the two men.Â
âIâm so sorry about the delay,â he said quickly, taking a seat at the table after Rafeyel did. âThere wasâ erâ unavoidable traffic. Iâm Thomas, Rafayelâs manager. Your assistant spoke with me last week.â The excuse was pathetic, and you didnât miss the brief scathing look he sent the model when he stumbled over the words. The latter looked utterly unbothered, his elbow on the armrest of the chair, his chin resting on his palm.Â
If you werenât in such a terrible situation, you would have probably asked them to leave, but not only were you running on a tight schedule, but you were also fresh out of options.Â
âDonât worry about it. Itâs a pleasure to meet you both.âÂ
You looked at Rafayel to finally asses him in person, mild surprise running through you when you realised he was already staring right at you. Most people avoided eye contact with you because of how intense you could be, but he seemed to be having no such trouble; his eyes locked onto yours, a bored look lingering in them.Â
Now that you were looking at him in person, you had to admit that he was quite breathtaking. You had watched a couple of his most famous runway moments, but the way he looked through a screen did not compare to the real thing. He was positively gorgeous, which wasnât something you thought all that often, considering you were surrounded by beautiful people all the time. Rafayel, however, was in a league of his own, with soft, dark hair that fell over his forehead and into his mesmerising eyes. Smooth skin that surely had skincare companies begging him to be in their advertisements, lips that were the perfect pinkish hue, and elegant, high cheekbones; he was a work of art.Â
A work of art whose impudence was currently pissing you off.Â
âRafayel,â You finally directly addressed him. âI take it that youâve agreed to model for Lumiere for the next four months.âÂ
His lips twitched. âIt seems that I have.â
âWeâre thrilled to have you on board.â You gestured to Simone. âMy assistant here has drawn up the contract, which you can take to look over before signing it.â Dutifully, she placed a file before them, which he picked up, flipping through and scanning over the details and terms.
This is where the meeting would usually end. Heâd smile, nod and leave, and youâd go back to your office and hopefully review some of the recent sketches you had done. They needed some reworking as soon as possible, especially if you wanted to stay on schedule.Â
Except it didnât.Â
He tossed the contract back on the table. âThats all well and good, but I have a condition of my own.â
His manager glanced at him apprehensively. Your look on your face must have betrayed how bewildered you felt, because the edge of his mouth quirked upwards in amusement ever so slightly at your reaction.Â
âAâŚ.condition?â You echoed his words incredulously, fingers curling around the Montblanc pen you were just about to hand to him. His smile widened, and he nodded, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the edge of the table like he was about to divulge to you a secret you should have been dying to know.
âWhatever you make me wear, I have to approve of it. I have to like it, or I donât wear it.â
You werenât quite sure you had heard him right at first, blinking twice as you registered what he had just said. Honestly, even the idea was so ridiculous that you were sure you had misinterpreted, because this wasnât a condition. It was a demand, one that he expected you to meet, as if it wasnât completely audacious of him to do so.Â
âIâm sorry?â
âYou heard me. This is a dealbreaker.âÂ
Thomas looked so alarmed that it would have been funny in any other context. Clearly, he had no hand in this and was just as caught off guard as you were, but nowhere near as outraged.Â
Simone realised the meeting was going awry, and swiftly swooped in, clearing her throat before you exploded right then and there in the conference room. She was surprised that the pen you were holding hadn't snapped in two yet with how tight your grip on it was.Â
âIâm sure we can work something out,â she said smoothly, taking over for you as you glowered. âWeâre delighted to have you working with us, Mr. Qi.â
No part of you was delighted. Sure, he ticked off all the boxes: attractive, seasoned and acclaimed, but there was something about how he carried himself that didnât sit quite right with you. This had nothing to do with any of the scandals that he had found himself in, though you had looked into them to make sure it wouldnât impact your brand. Dating scandals and rumours of him being a womaniserâ stuff like that never held any weight for too long, especially not for a man. You didnât care about his personal life, no, your annoyance stemmed from his haughty attitude.Â
Rafayel grinned, not bothering to even look at her, winking at you instead for good measure. âPleasure doing business with you.âÂ
The fucking audacity.
Once they had left, you stormed into your office, your stilettos carrying the heavy weight of the pure, unadulterated rage you felt at that instant. Simone followed, bracing herself for the inevitable downpour of your wrath and clutching her tablet in the hopes it would help her calm you down. Of course, she knew there was no shot in hell of that happening; when you were like this, it would take nothing short of a miracle to placate you.Â
To say you were a proud person would be an understatement. There were not very many instances where you willingly let someone else have control in a situation, and you were well aware of what your work was worth. There was a reason you were at the top of the game.Â
It made his condition all the more absurd.
âHe has to approve of it?â You seethed, spinning around to glare at the only person around to take the brunt of your fury. âWho the hell does he think he is?âÂ
âA request? A request would be if he asked us for tea, Simone. This is an insult.â He had to have known that, too, unless he was a total idiot. You were starting to believe that because models didnât choose what they wore. The implication was that you didnât know how to dress your models, as if all the skills you had honed were worth nothing. âWho the hell does he think he is?â
Despite having just met him, the smug look he had given you was already burned into your memory. You couldnât remember the last time you had outright disliked someone this quickly.
âRafayel is eccentric, yes,â Simone said tentatively. He had sounded so confident, like it was a given that you would agree. âBut maybe he didnât mean to offend you?â
âXavier would never do this,â You groaned, mourning the absence of your darling top model. âTell me, is there a chance we can get someone else on board instead?â
Unfortunately, you knew the answer without her giving it to you. Keeping your brand's image intact was of utmost importance to you, and you were nothing if not meticulous. Xavierâs sudden unavailability had thrown a real wrench in all your careful planning, and though it wasnât his fault, it still left you extremely frustrated. Replacing him was nearly impossible, and you were lucky to have chanced upon Rafayel.
Undoubtedly, he would fit in with your curation seamlessly. Heâd look fantastic modelling your clothing, and heâd be perfect for the PFW show. The hype that currently existed around him would also help tremendously. Your publicist was about to have an absolute field day with this collaboration.Â
âHeâs our only viable option at the moment. The chances of him disapproving of your clothes are slim to none, anyway.â Your assistant said comfortingly. âItâll be fine.â
God, you hoped so.
QI RAFAYEL SIGNED WITH LUMIERE?
Word is that the most elusive model of the decade has put down roots with the hottest brand, and boy, does the partnership seem fitting! Itâs a wonder, especially with Rafayel's sudden disappearance from the modelling scene right at the height of his career. Known for his fearlessness when it comes to experimental designs and his ability to embody any look, the model is truly at the top of his game, so it makes perfect sense for him to work with a brand that shares that very status.
We canât wait to witness his comeback with Lumiere very soon!
The fitting room was in chaos when you arrived.
You grimaced at the disarray you were met with; stylists rushing around and shouting various instructions at each other. There were different types of fabric all around, clothing items you could recognise at a single glance, falling off their hangers and display mannequins. Amidst it all stood Rafayel, who looked utterly uninterested, his arms over his chest, wrinkling the deep purple Ralph Lauren shirt he was wearing. The colour suited him.
But why was he still in his personal clothes? In two hours, he was to be at a shoot for the brand's website and social media pages, but here he was, just standing around. At least his makeup was done, you supposed.
âMiss Y/n!â One of the stylists paused her movements and greeted you. âWe are right on track!â
Were they? You glanced around at the confusion, stepping over the shoes that were right in front of the doorway and walked up closer to one of the mannequins. Wordlessly, you held your hand out, and immediately they all knew what to do, scrambling to hand you a pin. Placing it between your teeth, you folded over a part of the waist of the pants to readjust the pleating and secured it in place.Â
âIt doesnât seem like it.â Your eyes sliced back to the model, who was now looking right at you. âHeâs not ready.â
Typically, you would never visit a fitting like this, trusting your employees to get the job done. You were too busy to make the time to show up for things like these, simply giving the orders and checking in once the job was done. Even Xavier didnât get any surprise pop-ins from you, and he was someone you actually cared for.Â
But no part of you inherently trusted Rafayel to cooperate. The stylist who handed you the pin dropped her voice and signalled towards him. âHeâs a little difficult.âÂ
Of course.Â
Leaving the mannequin, you walked up to Rafayel and levelled him with a stare. âWould you care to enlighten me as to why youâre giving my stylists a hard time?â
He looked around and pointed to the clothing that another stylist held up with a helpless expression. It was a lovely white silk shirt with an asymmetrical cut, the buttons starting at the right shoulder and ending at the left side of the waist. This was paired with trousers to complete the look, but it wasnât supposed to take away from the shirt, which was the main event.Â
âIâm not wearing this.â
Irritation was a feeling you were well-versed in. The way it flared up inside of you so quickly when he spoke was still shocking.Â
âAnd why not?â You briefly wondered why everyone around you seemed to take pleasure in wasting your time as of late. This was only one of the outfits he had to be photographed in, the others lined up neatly on a clothing rack.Â
âItâs boring,â Rafayel said casually, as if he were remarking on the weather. âWhere's the colour? The life? I look at it and feel nothing.âÂ
Oh, he felt nothing, did he? Briefly, you wondered if heâd feel the slap you were so tempted to give him. All he had done since stepping into your building was insult you and parade around like he was better than everyone, and you didnât take either of those things lightly. âItâs the highest quality silk and stitching.âÂ
âEverything youâre having me wear is in black and white.â
âIâm so glad you can tell colour.âÂ
Your stylists flinched a little at your apathetic tone, despite being all too used to your snippy remarks. You were hard on everyone who worked for you, but that was only because you held your employees to the same high standards that you did yourself when it came to the work they were supposed to do. Their paychecks certainly made up for it, as did your generosity when it came to granting them leave.Â
âBlack and white is plain.â He sighed dramatically, like the lack of colour was personally offending him. âChanel already has that rodeo down to the âtâ.Â
His audacity left you astounded once more, and you were even more pissed off when you unwittingly realised that he had a point. Still, even if Chanel did have a thing for black and white styling, you liked to think that you had put your unique spin on the clothes that distinguished them from competing brands. You didnât just think it; you knew your designs were amazing. The man in front of you didnât allow you to tell him this, since he had already started speaking again.Â
âIf I wanted to wear Chanel, I would have accepted their offer.â
âWhy didnât you?â
You knew damn well that it was a good thing he had agreed to work for you, but that didnât mean he had to. Rafayelâs lips tipped upwards, as if your annoyance entertained him. âI already told you. I find black and white boring, and even though itâs all I see right now,â he gestured around the room and at the clothing rack, âI donât think itâs all youâre capable of.â
Was that a compliment? If it was, he was shit at giving them out. Not that you were any better, but that hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. It wasnât your job to be nice, it was your job to make sure things got done the way you wanted them.Â
So, against all your severely miffed instincts, you sucked in a deep breath to calm yourself down. âThis collection is already public. We just need the pictures for social media.â
He looked disappointed. âFine. Iâll make an exception just this once.â
How positively saintly of him. You wondered if he expected you to drop and kiss his feet for making such a compromise.Â
Unfortunately for him, he wasnât going to get any of that. You pressed your lips together, deciding you had wasted enough of your time already and that it was time to get back to those sketches of yours you had been putting off. Nodding curtly, you moved to leave, but he opened his mouth again.
âA word of advice?â
Well, wasnât he chatty today? You sighed, pressing two fingers against your temple and rubbing in the hopes it would soothe you. âYouâre going to give it to me even if I say no, arenât you?â
He proved you right. âIf your Paris Fashion Week collection is going to be as uninspired as this, then I suggest you start rethinking it.â
The stylist closest to the two of you gasped.
Uninspired? This was a collection you had revealed recently at a show a couple of weeks ago, and critics had been all over it, practically kissing your feet with the amount of praise they had dished out. Uninspired definitely wasnât one of the words they had used to describe it.
You didnât miss the smirk on his lips as he watched you react to his harsh words. He had gotten under your skin, and he knew it. It had been so long since someone had managed to do so that you forgot how it felt, and you despised the feeling. Your eyebrows raised in fury that was plain as day, leaning away from him like his presence stung just as much as his words did.
Rafayel didnât want to admit it, but he was having way too much fun with this. The day he first showed up at the Lumiere building, he was pretty much dragged there against his will by Thomas. He had heard of it in passing and was expecting yet another high-fashion brand that had lost all its integrity in favour of stagnating and staying relevant through its namesake. When he had looked into its previous seasons, however, he began to begrudgingly appreciate the creativity of their clothing, as well as its authenticity.
Finding out that Lumiere was only five years old came as a surprise, as did the news of the meeting with the founder and head of the company herself. To say that was unconventional would be an understatement. Typically, these types of meetings consisted of him only meeting an assistant or two, but never the designers themselves. Sure, eventually heâd speak to them at a show or afterparty he was obligated to be at, but never had he met them upfront like this.
Moreover, he certainly hadnât expected the designer to be a beautiful young woman. Rafayel had always had an eye for pretty things, so one look at you was enough for him to see that you were just that. Beautiful didnât even cut it, actually, so much so that you could probably walk in your own fashion shows.
So you were pretty. Rafayel was aware enough of it, and although he tended to gravitate towards that, you werenât exactly his type. He typically went for women who were generous with the smiles they gave him and found pleasure in his reputation, the type who giggled at everything he said and touched his arm to make sure their intentions were clear. As far as he was concerned, a type meant there was a pattern involved, and that would be the best way to describe the women he had gotten involved with in the past.Â
You were too intense for his taste, with your calculating gaze and perfectly pinned-up hair without a single strand out of place. Breathtaking in the most intimidating way. He was all for dancing through life while having a good time and breaking a few rules if he had to. You, on the other hand, looked like you had written the rules and expected everyone else to abide by them.
It was probably a good thing that he didnât want to get with someone who was technically his boss.
But you were oh-so easy to rile up.Â
âUninspired?â You hissed, and if looks could kill, the one you were giving him right now would have probably landed him six feet under. âExcuse me?â
Feisty. My, my, he was going to have a blast with this. Shrugging, he started unbuttoning the front of his shirt, and the stylists, who had been standing frozen while the two of you had a stare-off, jumped back into action. They seemed relieved that he was finally cooperating, one of them assisting him with his shirt and the other holding the one you designed open and ready to slip onto his body.
Your eyes dropped to his now exposed torso as the shirt was peeled off of him for just a second before you sliced them back up to his. That infuriating smirk remained on his face throughout.Â
âNeed some clarification?â
So this is what Gabriette meant when she said he was a nightmare to work with.Â
âThere is nothing uninspired about my clothing,â you snapped, unable to keep your temper from flaring up anymore. âFrom now on, keep any advice you have to yourself.â
Everything that had come out of his mouth so far had been unwanted, and you were starting to think he was doing it on purpose, especially with how he was watching your every reaction like a hawk. Refusing to dignify him with one, you turned and walked out of the room, emerging into the hallways of the Lumiere building. The familiarity of the decor and soothing warm lighting should have helped with your agitation, but nothing of the sort happened.
Now, you understood why Gabriette said all that stuff about not being able to handle him.Â
Four months of this madness before everything would go back to normal. In comparison to other things youâve dealt with in the past, this was trivial. You were a professional, considered a damn genius for your work and the sheer levels of success you were graced with at such a young age. There was nothing you couldnât do, even if it was dealing with a self-important model that seemingly took pleasure in irking you.
In any case, you could refrain from pushing him out of a window.Â
âOh, these are great. Iâm gonna have to hide them from Jeremiah.â
Xavier placed the box of chocolates you had gotten him on the coffee table in front of where he sat on the couch. You joined him there, eyes lingering on the cast on his leg that spanned from his ankle up to just below his knee. He caught you staring at it in contempt and grinned.
âWanna sign it?â
You scoffed and leaned against the throw pillows. âYou know I donât.âÂ
Despite your hectic schedule, you had made sure to set aside some time to visit the injured man now that he had returned from the hospital. His roommate had let you in when you arrived, since Xavier was strictly instructed to stay off his feet as much as possible. The irony of that wasnât lost to either of you.Â
âWorth a shot.â
He was pretty much homebound and stuck in that cast for twelve weeks, and after that would have to go through physical therapy for a bit before he was back on his feet. It was certainly a blow to his careerâs momentum, especially since it quite literally depended on his ability to walk. Eventually, heâd get back onto the runway, you knew, but you couldnât help but feel bad.Â
Considering all this, he seemed to be in a good mood, smiling gently at you. Xavier, unlike you, had endless amounts of patience and had a temperament that was as angelic as he looked. He was plenty successful, and Lumiere was by no means the only fashion house he modelled for, even if it was the one he worked with the most. He had seen the ambitious girl who powered through all the doubts thrown in her face when you had taken the leap and started your brand, and had stuck by you ever since.Â
This was why he was your only true friend. He had seen something in you when you hadnât quite figured yourself out just yet. For the past five years, he had stayed by your side without wavering even once, and as a result of this, he could read you like you were an open book.Â
âYouâre upset with me.â He noted. You sighed, shaking your head.Â
âNo, Iâm upset with the circumstance.â You gestured towards his leg. âThe timing is terrible.âÂ
Xavier quirked an eyebrow in amusement. âApologies. The next time I plan on breaking my bones, Iâll let you know in advance.âÂ
âPlease let there never be another time,â You let out a tired sigh. âReplacing you is a hassle. Get better. I need you back at work.â
âAnd here I thought you missed me for me.â He lightly teased.
âYou know I do.â You looked at him meaningfully. âYou know what I mean.âÂ
He did. You had never been the best at being vulnerable or expressing yourself, but he had long since learnt how to read between the lines.Â
âIâve heard that you managed to find someone to fill in.â He circled back to your point about replacing him and looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to fill him in on all the happenings he had missed. Things were progressing slower than you would have liked, but smoothly, nonetheless.Â
Except for one little thing. One person, more accurately.Â
If you were being honest, you didnât particularly want to talk about the cause of all your recent headaches. Instead, you eyed his cast again, trying your best to keep the bitterness out of your voice. âDoes it hurt?â
âItâs just a dull ache now,â he reached down and scratched over the plaster. âAnd itâs uncomfortable, but it doesnât hurt.â Then, he gave you a pointed look. âDo you think I canât tell when youâre changing the subject?â
Damn. You pulled your hair free from its tight ponytail, letting it cascade over your shoulders and letting your scalp breathe. It wasnât often you let your guard down like this, but you knew you were safe with Xavier. You also knew that you needed to be as relaxed as possible if you were going to talk about your latest problem.Â
âI did find someone to fill in.â Your lips twisted in displeasure. âBut Iâm counting down the days till you return.âÂ
âThat bad?â
âRafayel is impossible.âÂ
Xavier cocked his head to the side. âThats new. You generally comment on someone's incompetence.â
âOh, heâs plenty competent.â It was the truth. You almost wished he were terrible at his job, but that wasnât the case. The pictures for your social media had turned out amazing, and you had spent quite a lot of time looking over them, trying to find a reason to be unsatisfied, but to no avail.Â
A great model. An exasperating person.Â
Over the past two weeks, you had seen too much of him. He was constantly complaining about something, showing up late, or making snide comments and going out of his way to make everyoneâs jobs harder. You had heard of models that thought they were untouchable, but Rafayel was a whole other level, a bona-fide diva.
If you werenât so desperate, you would have already fired him. Desperation was not a feeling you enjoyed, but you didnât want to go through the hassle of having to select someone else to fill in the void Xavier had left in his absence.Â
âSo, what do you mean by impossible?â He propped an arm on the couch's backrest, rubbing the back of his neck.Â
You indulged Xavier with the details, telling him all about Rafayelâs complaints about your clothing and all the ways he had managed to drive you up the wall. You were frustrated with his behaviour, but also with yourself for being so caught up about it when you had more important things to worry about.Â
A charity gala you were supposed to attend next week. Prepping for Paris Fashion Week.Â
âOh, Y/n. He does sound like a handful.â Xavier muttered sympathetically after you had aired out all your grievances. His admission made you feel a lot better about the situation.Â
âHeâs more than a handful.â
âBut Iâve never seen you back down from any challenge.â He remarked. âAnd thats basically what heâs doing. Challenging you.â
He was right, you werenât someone who backed down easily. Your conversation drifted to other things: his time at the hospital, the terrible food they made him eat, and other such tragedies. You realised how much you truly missed having Xavier around, being able to talk to someone like this wasnât something you were able to do often.Â
You made a mental note to visit him as much as possible.
âItâs a challenge,â Xavier reminded before you left, popping one of the chocolates you had gotten him in his mouth as he gave you one last piece of advice about your Rafayel problem. âDonât let him win.â
Behind a camera, Qi Rafayel was more than tolerable.
So much about the man pissed you off. From his slow manner of speaking that tested your patience, to the lazy half-grin he seemed to perpetually have plastered on his face, you could probably list out all the things about him you disliked. He made it so easy with his incessant attempts at driving you up the wall.
Still, it was evident that even with all his antics, he was a professional.
Now, he was in archival Lumiere, one of the collections from the start of your career. There were only a few pieces of the structured jacket he wore in circulation since they were handmade. In fact, he was wearing the very piece that had appeared on the runway all those years ago. It hung from his shoulders as he posed, staring into the camera as it shuttered.Â
You had personally chosen this piece for this shoot, asking your stylists to work with it because you knew he wouldnât be able to complain. It was a stunning jacket, and apparently, he agreed.Â
Every few seconds, heâd change the pose, each more dramatic than the last. A hand raised in a flourish near his face, back facing the camera, with him looking back at it, legs spread with his arms behind his head as he stared straight ahead through a half-lidded gaze. Watching him go through the motions like it was second nature was mesmerising.Â
You were starting to understand his appeal. There was a certain playfulness to his sensuality, and he knew exactly how to use it to his advantage. Something about him felt dangerous, unpredictable in an exciting way, and that quality of his was his greatest selling point.Â
The makeup on him was bolder this time, accentuating his siren-esque features. His hair was artfully slicked back, different from his normal look and showing off his forehead.Â
He was going to be on the cover of Elle, styled with Lumiere, of course. In this particular issue, they were going to include a one-on-one interview with you as well, which was why you were present at the shoot. After they were done with him, theyâd be taking a couple of shots of you to include with your interview.Â
And it seemed they had just wrapped up.Â
The intense expression on his face immediately dropped, giving way to a relaxed one, his eyes travelling around the room until they met yours. The photographer thanked him for his time, but he was already moving towards you. As he approached, a staff member popped up at your side.
âWould you like some coffee, miss?âÂ
You turned to the woman who asked you the question. âHot, without any sugar.â
She nodded and looked at Rafayel, who had stopped by your side. âAnd for you, sir?â
âCold coffee. As much whipped cream and sugar as you can manage.â He dropped a wink in with his order for good measure, and the staff faltered ever so slightly, trying to hide how charmed she was as she left to get the drinks. Once she was gone, he looked at you, his perfect pink lips twitching.Â
It was obvious that he wanted to say something, and it would no doubt be something that ticked you off. Still, you relented and finally asked.
âWhat is it?â
He studied you for a moment. âNothing. Itâs just so predictable that you take your coffee plain.â
You bristled. âThereâs nothing wrong with it.â
âI never said there was,â He drawled, and then dropped the subject. âSeems like it's your turn to get behind the camera, Miss Designer. Ready?â
âItâs not my first time,â You said as the staff returned with your coffees. Grabbing yours, you took a slow sip and continued. âWe had to model quite a bit in fashion school for various projects and assignments.â
It wasnât as if you were claiming to be better than him, but you did have some experience. He hummed an idle tune, bringing the straw of his drink to his mouth and sipping it in delight.
You had to bite back a frown at the monstrosity he received, the swirls of whipped cream over milky coffee. There were even sprinkles on the damn thing. You understood his comment about your order being predictable because that being his somehow made a lot of sense. Globs of the whipped cream spilt over the side of the glass and slipped down its length, the entire thing was over the top and messy.
A lot like him, you supposed.Â
âWant some?â He asked cheekily, tilting the glass in your direction. He knew you were going to refuse, but the way you scrunched your nose and did such a terrible job at hiding your aversion was too entertaining to pass up on.Â
âIâm good.âÂ
âSuit yourself.âÂ
You shot Rafayel a displeased look, scanning him from top to bottom. The jacket you had so carefully handstitched was unbuttoned and open so that his abs could peak through in the pictures. You didnât let your eyes linger there, snapping them back up to his.Â
âDonât stain the jacket.â You muttered sternly, adjusting the collar of your top and centring your jewellery with one hand, the other gripping the handle of your cup. He was holding his coffee too close to himself for your liking, especially with the way the top of the whipped cream was leaning to the side, as if it was about to tip over any second now.Â
âYes, we wouldnât want that.â
The patronising lilt of his voice told you that he was trying to get a rise out of you, but you knew he liked the jacket. When he had been made to put it on, he had looked at it appreciatively and hadnât complained even once, which felt like nothing short of a miracle. You purposely looked anywhere but him, instead opting to watch the photographer set up for your turn.Â
But Rafayel wasnât someone you could just ignore. His presence was magnetic and all-consuming, and even when he was silent, he was distracting. The effect he had was strange and inexplicable, cutting through your general dislike towards him.Â
Thankfully, the photographer turned to you and nodded. âWhenever youâre ready, miss.â
Without sparing Rafayel another glance, you handed your coffee to the staff member closest to you and strutted over, taking your place behind the camera. You took a seat on the stool they had put out for you as a makeup artist came over to give you a touch-up and fix your hair. Focusing on the camera lens, you reminded yourself what you were here for in the first place.Â
But when your traitorous gaze flickered back to Rafayel, he was already looking at you.
Pages filled with sketches lay strewn out over the desk of your home office, with you hunched over them in concentration. You ran your fingers through your hair and tugged at the ends, your other hand gripping your mechanical pencil.
You may have looked like the picture of productivity, but right now, you were feeling the complete opposite. It was nearly one in the morning, and you had skipped out on dinner in favour of trying to get the conceptual designs for the spring collection done. You had been procrastinating working on them for a while now, but with only three months left before the show, the pressure was starting to set in. You usually never left things to the last minute like this â last year you had the clothes ready by this time â but for reason reason, you were having trouble with it.
All you had added to the sketches were a couple of idle lines that changed absolutely nothing. The ideas were good, very reminiscent of the typical silhouettes you tended to go for, but it felt like something was missing.Â
It felt uninspired.
Not that youâd ever admit that out loud. It was bad enough that you were struggling with what you were supposed to be a genius at, but to use the very words Rafayel did to explain your predicament? That was just humiliating.Â
Groaning, you ran a hand over your face and leaned back in your chair, your back sore from the horrible posture you had been maintaining for the past two-ish hours. You were distracted, but you couldnât figure out why, because the only sounds around were the ticking of your clock and the drumming of your foot against the floor.
Finally, you gave up, emerging from your office and into the living room of your penthouse. All the lights were off, but the large ceiling-to-floor windows you had lit up the place just enough, casting shadows around in the moonlight. You had bought the place when Lumiere had just taken off, and you had more money than you ever had in your life. As a result, you ended up with an apartment on the top floor that the elevator opened directly into, that only you had access to and too much space for your good.Â
The muffled sounds of New York City in the distance kept you company as you padded to your kitchen. Your appetite was non-existent â a result of your hyper-focused state â but you knew you had to eat something.Â
You had been feeling unsatisfied with your sketches for a while now, and Rafayelâs comments about ensuring nothing was uninspired had hit too close to home. The last thing you wanted to do was release something you were unhappy with or considered subpar.Â
God knows you hated to admit that insolent man had a point, but he did.
And you had to figure out a way around it fast.
The thing you loved more about New York was how alive it felt.
You walked down the streets, sunglasses perched on your nose. It was a Saturday, and you had decided to take a day off for yourself in the hopes that the reset would grant you some motivation for the spring collection.Â
So far, you had had no run-ins with the paparazzi. Maybe this was one of those days when they had decided to be more subtle with their approach to getting content, but whatever it was, you were grateful for the sense of privacy it gave you. Realistically, even if it wasnât the paparazzi, you knew someone would get a picture of you walking in and out of stores and post it online. That was fine, simply part and parcel of the life you had made for yourself.Â
You were enjoying the peace, the cacophony of the city melting into a song so uniquely New York. You were someone who knew how to enjoy your own company, but perhaps that stemmed from the fact that you had no one else to share it with. Sure, Xavier was there, but you knew the moment the two of you hung out for extensive periods anywhere but his or your place, or the Lumiere building itself, there would be dating rumours springing about everywhere.Â
Neither of you had the time nor the energy to deal with that nonsense. At least like this, you had control of the narrative, and that peace you loved so much.
Ah, yes, peace. The very thing that shattered immediately as a man ran into you.Â
Okay, so you hadnât exactly been paying attention, lost in your thoughts as you walked, but words laced with annoyance immediately tumbled out of your mouth. âHey! Watch where youâre going!â
âJeez, lady, Iâm sorry, okayâ wait, Y/n?â
Oh no. You knew that voice.Â
You peered up at the offender, taking in the butter yellow cap that sat over his smushed hair, long lashes framing those beguiling eyes that were currently wide in shock. His hands flew to your arms, gripping them as he steadied both of you at the same time. You had about two seconds to acknowledge the way he was up in your personal space, pushing your sunglasses up to see if you were seeing things correctly.
âRafayel?â
He swore under his breath, releasing your forearms as he jerked away, glaring. âCould you not yell it out for the entire street to hear?â
Why the hell was he annoyed? He was the one who had walked into you. If anyone had the right to glare like that, it was you. You blinked up at him in exasperation, wondering for the umpteenth time where he got the gall.
âOh, Iâm sorry,â You bit sarcastically, âMy bad for being the unsuspecting soul you run into. Next time, I hope it's a pole.âÂ
He cast you a droll look that you were sure was meant to last longer, but he seemed skittish today. This was the most casually dressed you had ever seen him, a simple sweatshirt over jeans andâŚ.were those sneakers? All you had seen him in up until this moment were shirts and clothing you designed.Â
Then, without warning, he grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him.
Right into a dark, dingy alley.
âWhat the fuck?â You blurted, more puzzled than anything else, as you yanked your hand out of his touch, holding it close to your body. âAre you high? Why on earth have youââ
âSorry,â he breathed, holding his palm out in a manner that told you he needed a second. Not that you cared in the slightest, narrowing your eyes at him and propping a hand on your hip.Â
âYou have two minutes to explain why youâve dragged me with you here.âÂ
A vibrant blush spread across the apples of his cheeks and ears. Well, at least he had the decency to look embarrassed. He interlaced his fingers behind his neck and glanced up a the sky, before looking back at you.Â
âI was trying to outrun the paps.â
âBy running into me?â
âI didnât plan that!â He snapped, and you had to admit that it was nice to see him be the irritated one for a change. His eyebrows knitted together, an indignant pout taking over his usual, nonchalant countenance. All things considered, it was kind of cute.
âIâm not hearing any explanations.â You reminded him impatiently, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for two whole seconds like he was contemplating whether you were worth explaining it to. You were tempted to tell him that his two minutes were swiftly passing by.
âI ran into an ex of mine.â He confessed finally. âCassandra Corin. Cassie.â
The name was vaguely familiarâ an actress, if you remembered correctly. Blonde, blue-eyed, gorgeous. You were sure you had seen some of her work in passing, and so you nodded, prompting him to continue. âIâve heard of her.â
âYeah. Well, we were together for like a month, but sheâs a very, uhâŚ..dramatic person, if you will. I happened to walk out of a store, and she was right outside with the press, who she had obviously called.â There wasnât an ounce of fondness in his voice as he spoke about the woman.
âDid she plan for you to be there?â You asked, bewildered.
âI donât think so, but sheâs the type of celebrity that subscribes to the âall publicity is good publicityâ agenda. A pic of us together would certainly help with that.â He explained with a surprising amount of patience. âIâve kind of been lying low as of late, so theyâre hungrier than usual to get a couple of shots. I had to run out of there, and I donât like running.âÂ
Ah, there it was. You should have known he couldnât go more than five minutes without complaining. Still, you could sympathise with his predicament, having had your fair share of experiences with trying to avoid the paparazzi.
âRight,â you raised an eyebrow. âI still donât get why youâve forced me into hiding with you.â
Rafayel mirrored the unimpressed look you were currently giving him. âIt would be ten times worse if they saw us together. I was trying to be inconspicuous and youââ He paused, gesturing towards you from top to bottom, ââlook anything but.â
Glancing down at your outfit, you let out an offended sound. âExcuse me? I can be inconspicuous.â
You were a vision, dressed in what only someone with too much money would consider casual: a light pink Chanel cardigan over a t-shirt and Prada loafers on your feet. You carried a Hermes Mini Kelly bag on your arm, Miu Miu shades pushed up on your head like a headband as you stared at him, poorly hiding your displeasure.Â
âNo.â Rafayel had to fight back a smile, shaking his head. âYou really canât.â
It wasnât a bad thing, per se. He knew a thing or two about having a commanding presence, having used his own to his advantage his entire life. Unfortunately, that meant that the two of you in one place at the same time was a recipe for disaster, especially when he was trying his damnedest to avoid it.
Your scowl deepened. âYouâre insufferable, I hope you know that.âÂ
âIâve been told it brings out my eyes.â
Unbelievable. His ego had to be sky-high, taller than the Empire State Building. Never before had you wanted to knock someone down a couple of pegs so badly. His tone was light and airy, as if he now found the ordeal funny, and while that infuriated you, there was something melodic about his voice that you couldnât ignore.Â
âYou love wasting my time, donât you?â You grumbled under your breath, wondering how on earth you managed to get yourself into such a position and, more importantly, why you were still in it. You could have easily walked out of this stupid alley already. His eyes sparkled, but before he could say anything aggravating, another sound cut through.
MROW!
You startled at the high-pitched yowl, dropping your gaze to find an orange cat sitting by your shoes. It looked fat and happy, like too many restaurants had taken pity on it and fed the little thing leftovers. Its black eyes stared up at you, as if waiting for you to give it something to eat as well, before letting out another pitiful meow.
And how did the man standing in front of you react to this?
Rafayel yelped.
Loudly. Embarrassingly, even. He practically jumped away from you and the cat, hands in front of him in a protective stance. You blinked rapidly, unsure of how to react to that.
âAre youâŚokay?â
âDo I look okay?â He hissed, the action seeming very catlike. âWhere the hell did that thing come from?â
That thing? You looked down at the cat that had busied itself with rubbing against your ankles, weaving in between your legs before settling back down into a seated position.Â
âRafayel,â you did your best to keep your voice level, speaking slowly, as if you were talking to a skittish animal. âAre you afraid of cats?â
âNonsense. Why would I be afraid of them?â He eyed the cat with such disdain that one would think it had personally murdered one of his family members, or something along those lines. Regardless of what he had said, he looked terrified, his body language stiff and unnatural. You had never seen him like this, so used to his cavalier attitude and manner of carrying himself. He sniffed, still maintaining a safe distance. âTheyâre vile creatures. I just donât want them anywhere near me.âÂ
His mouth was twisted downward in horror, and his eyebrows were raised so high they looked like they disappeared underneath the cap he had on. It resulted in an expression so comical that you had to bite the inside of your cheek in a genuine attempt to keep a straight face, but failed miserably.
You burst into laughter.
It was so sudden that it stunned Rafayel, his lips parting in shock as the sound washed over him. It felt like someone had dumped cold water on him because your laughter was intoxicating, so much brighter than he had anticipated, not that he had. It made you look younger, so much more carefree than you did with the tight-lipped facade you typically donned. Your lips stretched upwards, the edges of your eyes crinkling as you giggled at his expense.
A rare crack in your carefully crafted exterior. Intrigued, the urge to know more about you rose out of nowhere, but he clamped it down immediately.
âYouâre laughing at me.â He accused, trying to keep the indignation in his voice.Â
âIâm sorry!â You managed in between puffs of laughter, and now he knew something had to be very wrong with him, because he nearly told you not to apologise for it. âItâs justâitâs so adorable!â You bent down and scooped up the cat into your arms, forgetting yourself for a moment as you watched the animal snuggle against you. âHow can you be scared of this?â
He thought this was ridiculous. A woman like you, dressed head to toe in designer clothing, letting a stray cat all over her. It was completely unexpected and strangely alluring.
âPut that thing down.â He narrowed his eyes at the cat as you scratched under his chin. Just as quickly as it had slipped off, he could see you compose yourself once again. You straightened out your posture, your smile fading and turning less genuine and more polite, practised. He couldnât help but immediately miss the unfiltered version of you he had just gotten the briefest of glimpses of.Â
âItâs not a thing, Rafayel, itâs a cat.â You sounded amused. âLook at how harmless it is.â
You held out the cat, and he recoiled away from you, glaring at the feline. He took his cap off, shaking his head and huffing. âItâs a viscous beast. If it scratches or bites you, donât expect me to help you.â
The quick reply he expected from your end never came, because when he met your gaze again, you were staring at him â at his head, specifically. For all he knew, you were taking note of how terrible he looked now that he had lost the cap. Those things always made his scalp sweat, but they were his best bet at hiding his face without coming off looking too suspicious.Â
âYour hair is curly.â
Your cadence was back to being clipped, short, but there was something different there as well. Softer.Â
âWow. Ladies and gentlemen, we have with us the real-life Sherlock Holmes.â He snorted, running his fingers through his tangled locks, before offering up the explanation you were clearly expecting. âStylists usually end up straightening it. Something about it fitting my image better.â
âI see.â You studied him for a moment longer before looking back down at the cat. You quite liked his natural hair, but then again, he could probably pull off a trash bag and somehow make it look stylish. Not that heâd ever agree to that, but the thought almost made you laugh again.
Speaking of trash bags, you looked distastefully at your surroundings. âCan we get out of here now? Iâm sure the press would have moved on by now.âÂ
âOnly if you lose the cat.â
You sat behind your desk, going over some paperwork. It was the less exciting part of your job, and you always ended up letting it pile up until you had an unreasonable amount to get through all at once. Most of your employees had gone home already, and you had sent Simone on her way as well.Â
The bright light of your office made your eyes hurt after the long day you had had, and you pressed your palms against them, sighing deeply.Â
âWow. Do you just live here?â
The hell? You glanced up to see Rafayel standing by the door, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded, looking right at you. The sight of him made something in the pit of your stomach turn.Â
Ever since the incident with the cat from a week ago, being around him no longer boiled your blood as much as it once did. He had been going out of his way to interact with you a lot more, and you hadnât done anything to discourage it. Make no mistake, he still got on your nerves, but you tolerated him for some reason, even when he got too casual with you.
Perhaps you had been a little too lenient.
âWhat are you doing here?â You demanded, pushing the paperwork to the side and narrowing your eyes at him. He pushed off the wall and walked over to your desk, plopping down in the seat across from you without any invitation to do so.Â
âI could ask you the same question. I had a meeting with Andrew about rehearsals for fashion week, but I left my jacket behind, so I came back for it. Your office is the only one with the light still on, and my curiosity won. Your turn to tell me why youâre still here since it'sââ he glanced down at the Rolex on his wrist. â âNine p.m.â
You waved your hand over the papers in front of you. âWork.â
âBut youâre the only one here. Do you do this often?â He frowned, and if you paid close attention, his voice had a note of disapproval. That made sense, he seemed like the type of person to abhor working even a second overtime. Unfortunately, you were well-versed in it.
âMost days, yes.âÂ
He blinked. âOkay, no. Get your things. Weâre leaving.â
Definitely too lenient. âWe are?â
âYep, come on. You can doâŚ.whatever youâre doing now tomorrow.â He got to his feet and stared at you expectantly, evidently waiting for you to follow suit. âI donât think you know what a break is, but youâre going to take one right now.â
Wow. Truly, the man had unprecedented levels of entitlement to try and boss you around when technically, you were his boss. Scoffing under your breath, your defiant gaze met his stubborn one.Â
âIâm busy.âÂ
âYouâll be just as busy tomorrow.âÂ
This was ridiculous. No one dared to speak to you so brazenly, and yet there he was, doing just that if there wouldnât be a single consequence. What you should have done was tell him to piss off and leave you alone so you finish your work like you had set out to do.
So why on earth did you grab your coat and follow him out of your office instead?
âIs this another instance of you wasting my time, Rafayel?â You asked as you approached his car in the parking lot. You still werenât sure what possessed you to actually follow him, but it was too late to back out of it now. A smirk teased his lips.
âMaybe.â His response resulted in you grumbling under your breath, and he laughed, fishing his keys out of his pocket and pressing a button to unlock his sleek, black Mercedes. He slid into the drivers seat and cocked his head in your direction. âGet in.â
God help you, because for some reason, you complied. âAre you going to tell me where youâre taking me?â You settled in the passenger seat, taking in the interior, because, of course, the seats were covered in bright red leather. It was as unashamedly flashy as he was in every sense of the word.
âItâs a surprise.âÂ
âI donât like surprises.â
Rafayel started the car, smoothly pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road. With one hand on the gear stick and the other on the steering wheel, the scene of him driving was ridiculously attractive for something so normal. You told yourself it was just because he was a conventionally attractive person. âOf course, you donât. Relax, Miss Designer, donât you ever loosen up?âÂ
âNot if I can help it.â
âI figured. You look like the type to not know the meaning of funâ And clearly, he was a stranger to the concept of holding his tongue. One glance at the offended look on your face only made him want to tease you even more. Not too long ago, he was convinced the only expressions you were capable of were scowls and glares, but he had recently learned that you had an entire arsenal of them. Your nose would scrunch when you were disgusted, your lips would part when you were caught off guard, and if something happened to amuse you, you wouldnât smile immediately. Instead, the smile would start in your eyes, and oftentimes stay there.Â
It felt like he was slowly but surely unlocking new sides to you, and he wanted nothing more than to unravel all of them. Most of all, he wanted to figure out how to get that pretty laugh out of you once more.Â
For no reason in particular. He was just a naturally curious person.Â
âLook,â he reasoned with you. âYouâre gonna have to trust me on this one, alright? Itâs not far off and it's worth it.âÂ
â...Fine.â You finally relented, relaxing just a little as you leaned back in the passenger seat and busied yourself by looking out of the window as he drove. Minutes later, he pulled up by a modern-looking structure that consisted of only a ground floor. Once he parked, he cleared his throat.
âReady?â
âI donât know what Iâm supposed to be ready for,â you said dryly, undoing your seatbelt and getting out of the car. He grinned like he had won the lottery.Â
âThatâs what makes it even better.â Faulty logic and all, he led you to the entrance of the building and opened the door, sauntering inside like he owned the place. You lingered outside, noting how all the lights were off, and it clearly looked like it was closed.Â
You couldnât not be suspicious. âAre we trespassing?âÂ
âNah. Trespassing would mean weâre here without permission.â Rafayel gestured for you to follow him into the darkness, the moonlight filtering in through the door and letting you see just enough of him to not lose your bearings. He reached out and felt around the wall before humming triumphantly and flipping a switch. âThere we go. Stop thinking so much and trust me, yeah?âÂ
Squinting to readjust your eyesight to the now-bright lighting, you were left even more dumbfounded than before. âWeâre in anâŚ.art gallery?â
White walls with frames hanging on them surrounded you, each with little plaques under the art pieces with the artist's information. Some of the walls were constructed in the centre of the room for people to walk around as they inspected the art. There didnât seem to be any sort of theme with the current display, from what you could tell.Â
âAgain, with those deduction skills,â he teased, and strangely enough, you didnât want to slap him for it. âIâll have you know that art can be very therapeutic. Great for taking a break from workingâ
It wasnât every day you found yourself spontaneously being dragged to an art gallery, and having company was something even rarer. You had long since made peace with your lifestyle and its lonesome nature, but you were admittedly enjoying his presence, even if it was a little too chaotic for your liking.Â
âIâm pretty sure thats to do with creating it.â You almost smiled when he glared at you for your rebuttal. Huffing, he turned and walked further into the gallery, leaving you with no choice but to follow along. You were well aware that you were encouraging his crazy behaviour, but it wasnât like you could stop now.Â
So you picked up your pace, pulling your coat around yourself tighter as you took in the different art pieces. Portraits, landscapes and some abstract pieces, the different art styles captivated you. You had always had an affinity for art, since fashion was so intrinsically intertwined with it.Â
Lost in your thoughts, you almost walked right into his back. Fortunately, he turned around at the perfect moment and reached out, hand on your shoulder. The contact snapped you out of it, and you looked up at him only to find an apprehensive look in his eyes. That didnât make much sense though, considering how cocky and self-assured he was.Â
Raising your eyebrows in silent question, he sighed and moved out of your line of sight, revealing a wall.
Your eyes widened, all the air in your lungs leaving you at once.
The wall was covered in artwork of the sea. Every single piece was extremely detailed, some moody with their depictions of storms and deadly waves and others painting a picture of the sea at its calmest.Â
It was stunning, and even that word felt like an understatement. It simply did not do what you were currently looking at justice. The artist had captured the terrifying beauty of the sea so perfectly that looking at it stirred something akin to inspiration inside of you.
To you, the seafom resembled lace. The wheels in your head began to turn as more comparisons burst forth â the sand could be chiffon, and the waves themselves draped like silk. It had been so long since you had felt creativity like this that all you could do was stare, letting your skills take over and work through all the ideas that rushed forth, feeling overwhelmed and delighted all at once.
A singular plaque on the wall sat low and hidden away, tucked under all the art. You crouched down slightly, eager to know the person who had inspired you once more.
Anonymous.
You blinked, rising to your full height as you looked back at the art, dazed. âItâs beautiful.â
âThank you.â
You spun around, unable to stop yourself from gaping at him. His stance was relaxed, hands in his pockets, and his eyes trained on the artwork. At first, you had thought you had misheard him, but the tone of his voice and the way he was looking at the paintings with what could only be described as pride told you otherwise.
âYou made these?âÂ
Your disbelief was unmistakable, and it stung a little. He chuckled at the incredulity in your voice as you asked the question, nodding slowly. âSurprised?â
âVery, yes.â You glanced between the art and him. âWhy have you shown me this, Rafayel?â
âYou donât think very much of me,â It was a statement, rather than a question. He said it with a small simper, but it was unlike the one he usually wore. It was genuine, if not a little sad, no traces of that signature smirk of his as he met your eyes now.Â
âYouâve never given me a reason to.âÂ
âWell, there you go. Hereâs your reason.â His voice was oddly quiet. âTo think of me better, that is.â
You truly didnât know what to make of that. Only one question remained in your mind as you eyed the artist's plaque that held no information about the man beside you. âWhy have you chosen to be anonymous? Your work is wonderful.â
Pride flickered to life in his eyes once more, like your compliment meant something. âBecause this way, people will appreciate my art for what it is, without my affiliation. Iâm not an idiot, Y/n, I know the entire world knows who I am. The moment they find out Iâm the one who painted these, it wonât just be about the art anymore. Itâll be about me. Sure, it would get a lot more attention than it does here, sitting in the back of a barely known art gallery, but at least whatever attention it does get is real.â
Oh.
Rafayel was shallow, with a silver tongue he didnât know how to control. He infuriated you to no end and thought much too highly of himself for his own good. He was vain, arrogant, and about a dozen other things that you thought of as faults.Â
But he was so much more. As of late, you were beginning to see who he was past all of that. You saw the man who was irrationally afraid of cats and, for some reason, went out of his way to talk to you. You saw the artist behind the model, curls and all. The softer smiles and perceptiveness that you would have never attributed to him before.Â
âI wonât say this often, so donât get used to it.â You said slowly, glancing back at him. âBut you were right, I did need a break. Thank you for this.â
He and you werenât so different. Both of you were artists in your own right, seeking control over the art you created. The only difference was that he held that control by distancing himself from his work, whereas you were the very essence of yourself. Both of you had pride that clashed and egos that didnât take kindly to bruising.
You no longer knew what to make of Qi Rafayel. That should have scared you.Â
But when he flashed you a boyish grin at your admittance to him being right, you realised that it didnât.
It was past ten when Rafayel dropped you back home.
You made a beeline for your home office, forgetting to take off your shoes in your frenzied state. Within minutes, you were hunched over new, fresh pieces of paper, your old sketches discarded in a trash can and forgotten about. Your pencil flew over the pages as you frantically began to draw out new designs, eager to capture the ideas that had been swirling around in your head the moment you saw those paintings.Â
Inspiration was powerful, but fleeting. For the next two hours, you poured everything out onto those pages, and it felt like you were submerged underwater, unable to come up for air until you were finished. Your newest collection came to fruition that night, born from an unexpected muse.Â
When you were done and the sound of waves in your mind receded, you were left with the sounds of the city and a sense of tired satisfaction.Â
Jimmy Choo's were meant to be savoured. They were the type of shoes that people glided in, they made the simple act of walking an experience to remember.Â
They were not meant for the furious strides of one very livid fashion designer.
âAndrew!â Your model's manager flinched at the sharpness in your voice as you addressed him. âWhy on earth are they not walking yet?â
âThereâs just been a small delayââ
âI am in no mood for excuses.â You snapped, sweeping your gaze over the lineup of models standing ready but doing absolutely nothing. âHonestly, Iâm starting to think Iâm surrounded by imbeciles. First, I find out that the hems of an entire rack of shirts have been messed up and have to spend my entire morning explaining how to fix that problem to people who apparently donât know how to do their jobs. Then I come here to check on how rehearsal is going, only to see that it hasnât even begun.âÂ
Andrew scrambled to appease you. âWeâre starting right away!â
With that strangled declaration, he jumped into action, snapping his fingers in the direction of the models. âAll of you! Behind the curtain, stat! In order, I want all of you walking out like you will for the show, understood? Chop Chop!â
Rafayel watched you from the end of the line, moving along with it until he was positioned correctly. This was the first rehearsal for the Paris Fashion Week show that was rapidly approaching, with only about two months left before the final day. Today, all that was taking place were run-throughs of the walks and setting the order of the models walking. His position was confirmed since the start, he would be the last one to walk, the much-anticipated closer of the show.Â
He noticed your tense shoulders, the way your lips were pressed together in a thin, displeased line. The first model walked out, and you studied her like a hawk, no doubt mentally filing away all your criticisms. Imposing as ever, your bad mood was evident.
For some crazy reason, he wanted to help alleviate it. He had seen past this untouchable facade you put up and had peeked through the cracks in your walls a couple of times now, when your pink lips curled upward just slightly, and your eyes glimmered a little brighter than usual. When you were just yourself, instead of the persona you played to stay at the top.Â
It seemed to him that you didnât let anyone see that side of you. Instead, you did everything in your power to avoid letting it show.
What a lonely existence that must have been.Â
He walked out onto the practice runway when it was his turn, one foot in front of the other as he glided smoothly, focusing on a spot on the wall directly in front of him. It was the same old routine he had practised and perfected for years now.
When he reached the end, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other before turning around. His view shifted to you, and he let it linger, savouring the way you stared at him. For a split second, he was sure your expression softened, but just as quickly, that softness vanished. He continued his walk until he disappeared behind the curtain once more.
Another run-through with Andrew yelling out the changes he wanted each model to make, and then they were all afforded a generous ten-minute break. Rafeyel did not know why he found himself gravitating towards where you stood.Â
âShouldnât you be with the rest of the models?â You raised an eyebrow as he approached you, trying your best to sound as indifferent as possible. That wasnât something you typically had trouble with, but now it felt a little harder to do when faced with the intensity of his attention.Â
âWhen have I ever done anything I was supposed to?âÂ
You exhaled, shaking your head bemusedly. âDonât sound so proud of it.â
âYou look stressed.â Rafayel's voice was low and thoughtful, almost as if he actually cared. You snuffed out that thought. He had been on your mind a dangerous amount as of late, but there was a perfectly rational explanation for that: he had inspired you.Â
âIâm always stressed. Iâve been on my feet all day.â You rubbed the spot between your eyebrows with your index and middle finger, smoothening out the frown that had formed.Â
âHave you learnt nothing from being around me? What happened to taking breaks?â He groaned, but it was more theatrical than genuinely perturbed. âOr do you need me around to make sure you take them?â
Absolutely not. Having Rafayel around was proving to be detrimental to your sanity for reasons entirely different to those expected. You tilted your head towards the other models and waved your hand in their general direction. âWhat I need you to do is your job, not loiter around here.âÂ
 He laughed like you had told the world's funniest joke, pinning you in place with a knowing look. âOh, just admit it already. Iâm the most entertainment youâve had in a while. You love being around me, even if you donât want to admit it.Â
You pursed your lips. âThe juryâs still out on that one.â
âIs it, though?â His habit of incessantly questioning you was getting old, but that addictive drawl of his voice pulled you right back in. âYouâre smiling.â
To your mild dismay, you realised he was right. Now that he pointed it out, you could feel how the apples of your cheeks were raised with the upward curve of the sides of your mouth. Scoffing, you tried your best to erase any evidence of the sort as you turned away, but to no avail.Â
âYour break is over, you can stop pestering me now.â But your tone was lighter than it had been all day. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and walked off, joining the group of models who were gearing up to practice their walks once more. As the distance between the two of you increased, you realised with a start that you unfortunately did quite like being around him.Â
But there wasnât a rule that said you had to admit to such a thing. Rafayel was like a breath of fresh air after almost drowning, or a lagoon in the middle of a desert. Unpredictable and against everything you knew to be true about life, and yetâŚ
There was something undeniably charged between the two of you, from the way he sought you out and how you let him linger. Neither of you dared to acknowledge this, however, keeping your distance literally and figuratively.Â
As he paraded down the runway once again with the elegance of a swan but the flamboyance of a peacock, you couldnât help but wonder if it was that predictability and control you so desperately clung to that held you back. The second you let yourself go for just a little while, you found the inspiration you had been so desperately waiting for.
The past week had you being more productive than you had in months, your designs for fashion week already in production. With how everything was going, the collection for the runway would be ready by next week, which would finally put everything back on track. You had to constantly check in to ensure things were going exactly how you wanted them to, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like you could let go of your tight hold and just breathe.
And if a certain pretty boy was plaguing your thoughts, well, that was no one else's business.Â
Maybe he was rubbing off on you.
âThis way.â You turned the corner into yet another hallway, causing Rafayel to wonder just how big the Lumiere building was. You had summoned him there out of the blue, giving him no explanation as to why you wanted him there and only reminding him to be on time. The request was definitely unlike your usual self, more aligned with his impulsive nature, but he couldnât bring himself to refuse.
And so there he was, following you through the endless corridors. When he had asked why he was there, all he received was an uncharacteristically mischievous look in your eyes and nothing more. When he probed for answers, you only said one thing: âI thought you liked surprises.â
Never in a million years had he expected you, of all people, to throw his words back in his face. You had successfully piqued his curiosity, and he trailed behind you now, eager to see what you had in store.
Finally, you stopped in front of a door and brought out a pair of keys. âCurrently, only select individuals have access to this room,â you informed him as you unlocked it, before pausing and looking at him. âYouâll be the first and only person who isnât from Lumiere itself to witness what Iâm about to show you. It goes without saying that itâs a secret for now.â
âI feel like the Sherlock joke has gone a little too far,â he muttered dryly. âYou have a thing for suspense now.â
Your lips twitched, and you pushed the door open, letting him enter first. When he did, he froze in place, jaw falling open as he made sense of what he was looking at.
Mannequins filled the room, the same number as the number of models there were for the fashion week show. Each form had complete outfits on, and each one was exquisite in ways he couldnât properly describe the way it deserved. Navy blue satin gowns with hand-stitched embroidery and ivory-coloured lace hems, intricate golden beading on cream corset tops, deep turquoise shirts made of the finest silk, and skirts that looked like waterfalls, layered with intent, short in the front and long in the back. Netted tops and coats with the most gorgeous pearl detailing he had ever seen, flowy chiffon shirts that were artfully tucked into white pants â every piece was thoughtfully designed and lovingly put together.Â
Rafayel was rendered completely speechless.Â
âIntroducing Lumiereâs 20[XX]Â Spring Collection.â You announced, stepping beside him and regarding your work with pride. Your hands were tucked behind your back, your stance bashful, but he could tell you were anything but. You knew what your work was worth, and you werenât shy about it.Â
He wasnât the type of person who was used to having nothing to say â quite the opposite â but there he was, rooted to the spot in awe as you walked over to one of the mannequins and slightly adjusted the skirt on it. The simple action told him just how much each piece meant to you, how well you knew them. He intimately understood the familiarity an artist had with their work, but seeing that mirrored in you was something else entirely.
âY/n,â he breathed out, âThis isâŚâ
âIâm hoping youâre going to say âimpressive.â It might be a little too late to walk for Chanel now.â There you were again, throwing his own words back in his face, and he couldnât, for the life of him, figure out why he liked it so much. It was so completely unlike you.Â
âItâs more than impressive, youâve outdone yourself.â He said, finally managing to break out of the reverie he had found himself in.Â
âIs that so?â You looked over your shoulder back at him, the slightest of smiles teasing your lips. âYou havenât even seen what youâre going to wear yet.âÂ
Without so much as another glance in his direction, you gracefully weaved through the mannequins to the back of the room. It was all he could do to follow along, doing his utmost best not to knock anything over as he gaped. As he passed each outfit up close, details he hadn't seen before revealed themselves, and he had to resist reaching out to touch.
And in the back, on the final mannequin, was the garment that took his breath away.Â
A shirt made from blood red organza silk that had an iridescent quality to it, shifting colours when the light hit it from different angles. From red to blue to violet, Rafayel found himself entranced by its ever-changing nature, eyeing the pale blue pearl details on the collar with deep appreciation. It was completely sheer, with subtle winding patterns stitched into the delicate fabric that resembled coral.Â
âI hand-stitched this one myself, and in three weeks, youâll be the one wearing it to close my show.â You said softly, trailing your fingers over the sleeve with care. You toyed with the end of it, watching how his eyes went wide and lips parted in something close to reverence.Â
âItâs phenomenal. All of it is.â He couldnât tear his eyes away from it, taking a step closer to you and the mannequin. âItâs so different from anything Iâve seen, especially from you.â
âYeah, well, I realised that I didnât just want to put out a collection that meant nothing.â It was true, the very thing that had driven you as you had put the collection around you together. âFashion is more than just clothing. Itâs an art form. Itâs supposed to evoke a feeling, to be able to tell a story and have its own identity.âÂ
The devotion you possessed towards your work was admirable, it was so plainly obvious that this was exactly what you were meant to do. Utterly enamoured, he spoke, âItâs gonna be one hell of a show.â
The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You had been around him long enough to know he wasnât someone who took anything too seriously, but the earnest look he was giving you that he definitely took this â and by extension, you â very seriously.Â
âGood, but I donât want to just want to put on any show. I want it to be a performance.â You aimed to leave an impact, for people to leave the show and think about the experience for weeks, maybe even months, after. Rafayel realised that you were trusting him with enabling that by divulging your vision to him.
âThen itâs an honour to be one of your performers.â
That earned him a proper smile, not just the hint of one. It was small but mighty, starting in your eyes like your smiles always did, but this one was the rare type that reached your mouth and lit up your features. He found himself feeling winded for the second time in the past ten minutes, but this time it was because of you and not the clothing. At least he could explain the latter option.
âIn that case, what do you think about a more permanent position at Lumiere?â
It wasnât like this was the first time he had been offered this, but shock infiltrated his system anyway. âLike Xavier Shen?â
You nodded. âLike Xavier. A brand ambassador.â Waving a hand around, you continued, âYou fit with Lumiereâs image and the vision I have for my brand, so I believe you wonât disappoint. I donât say that lightly, or to every model. Of course, Iâm not forcing anything on you, and you can take your time to think about it.âÂ
Such plainly stated praise from the impossible-to-please Y/n L/n was practically unheard of, but there you were, staring at him with finality in your eyes. Arms folded over your chest, hair pinned up in that perfect bun as always and stiletto-clad feet, you were the same as always and yet he couldnât seem to perceive you as he had in the past.Â
Thomas would be overjoyed at him finally taking something seriously. His aunt would certainly approve of the collaboration, and heâd be walking for a fashion house he actually cared about. It seemed perfect.
âI donât need time.â Rafayel looked at the shirt that he would soon be wearing. âYouâve got yourself a new brand ambassador.â
The airhostess led you to your seat in first class, dragging your carry-on suitcase behind her. Once your bag was in the overhead cabin and you were settled in your seat, she returned a couple of minutes later with the drinks menu and a cart, patiently waiting for your order. You leaned back in the plush seat and scanned over the available options.Â
âA glass of Dom PĂŠrignon, please.â
God knows, youâd need the drink. Alcohol now acquired, you took a leisurely sip and tried your best to relax, but that was easier said than done. Boarding was still going on, and in about half an hour, youâd be airborne. The thought caused your stomach to churn.Â
To say you werenât a fan of flying would be an understatement. Sure, you had to do it a lot for work and shouldâve probably been used to it by now, but that wasnât the case at all. Oftentimes, you found yourself clutching at the armrests for dear life during take-off, which, in your opinion, was the worst bit, and remained on edge throughout the flight. Even the comfort of first class didnât help very much.Â
When you landed in Paris, there would be exactly ten days before the start of Fashion Week. You would be at your busiest since NYFW, and the added stress of anticipating that only added to your jittery state. Sighing deeply, you closed your eyes for a moment to ground yourself, index and middle finger rubbing against your temple.Â
âWell, hello there, neighbour. Fancy seeing you here.â
Your eyes flew open, settling on the culprit of the voice.Â
Rafayel stood in the booth right next to yours, looking the opposite of how you felt, completely at ease in this setting.Â
âWhy are you here?â
He raised an eyebrow. âThe same as you, I presume, to get to Paris. Did you expect me to take a boat or something?â And then, as if he owned the place (which was his usual way of carrying himself), he rested his arms over the walls of your small enclosure, chin propped in his palm. âI guess Thomas booked the same flight as yours.â
âIt certainly seems that way. Are you going to bother me the entire flight?â You felt mildly embarrassed at how you had blurted out the question so disgracefully.Â
âAs much as I possibly can, yes.â He beamed like he had delivered the best news of your life. âIsn't it lucky our seats are so close?â
âSuch a blessing,â You deadpanned, needing another drink despite your current one not being anywhere close to finished. The rest of the first class was completely empty, which meant you were stuck with his relentless pestering, whether you liked it or not, confined to the same space as him for the next seven and a half hours.Â
Brilliant.Â
Rafayel snorted. âIâm going to pretend that you meant that.â The airhostess appeared once again with her cart, and he opted for whiskey, neat and on the rocks. Once he had obtained his drink, he turned to you and held his glass out. âCheers.âÂ
You were too busy giving him an unimpressed look to remember your flying anxiety, until one of the airhostesses stepped into the first class section and announced that the takeoff would be soon. Immediately, you put your drink in its holder and frantically gripped the armrest as she went through the motions of the safety debrief. Rafayel sat down in his own seat, but looked over at you in amusement.Â
âYou seriously pay attention to these things?â
âWhat does it look like?â
âI mean, havenât you been on enough flights to know the basics by now?â He fastened his seatbelt as the safety instructions were done, and the lights dimmed, the plane getting ready for take-off.Â
âIt doesnât hurt to be reminded.â You muttered under your breath, but the cadence of your voice had taken a shaky turn, which was a far cry from its usual firm, clipped nature. Rafayel shot you an inquisitive look before noticing the death grip you had on the armrest and the tense set of your shoulders.Â
Whatever teasing comment that lay on the tip of his tongue dissolved as he dropped his voice. âHey. Are you okay?âÂ
âIâm fine.â
âThat was the most unconvincing âIâm fineâ Iâve ever heard.â He tilted his head and studied you for a moment. âYouâre pale.âÂ
The plane began to pick up speed, causing you to dig your manicured nails into the leather of the armrest and stare straight ahead at the blank screen in front of you. Usually, you always started a movie by now to distract yourself from your fear, but this time, you had paid so much attention to Rafayel that you had forgotten your routine when it came to flying.
But your silence told Rafayel everything he needed to know. âHey. Look at me.â
âRafayel, I am in no mood for yourââ
âTell me about the Spring Collection.â
You whipped your head to him, considerably confused by the sudden change of topic. âWhat? Why? Youâve seen the entire thing upfront.â
He sighed theatrically and gave you a pointed look. âJust do it, will you?â
This bizarre man. You didnât think youâd ever be able to understand how his brain worked. Still, if there was one thing you allowed yourself to brag about, it was your work. Crossing your legs, you tried your best to relax in your seat.Â
âItâs inspired by the sea, which actually, you have yourself to thank for,â you said, getting straight to the point without beating around the bush.Â
Rafayelâs lips parted. âI do?âÂ
âYour art.â You clarified, giving him a meaningful look. âIt really struck a chord in me. One look at it and I knew exactly what I wanted to do for the collection, which was surprising considering I had been going through a bit of a creative rut.â You recalled how your creativity had come rushing back to you all at once, the moment you set your eyes on his paintings.Â
He told himself heâd dissect the warm feeling in his gut later, a smug look taking over his features. âI am nothing if not inspiring.â
You scoffed under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief at his conceitedness and wondering why-oh-why you found it somewhat endearing now. âDonât let it get to your head.â
âToo late.â A slow, languid smirk stretched out on his lips as he took a sip of his whiskey, the amber liquid swirling around in his glass. Your eyes betrayed you, dropping to his mouth and watching as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. âIâm gonna brag about this forever. Where is the show going to be held?â
âIn a cathedral.â You averted your gaze, feeling heat creep up your neck and onto the apples of your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you sipped your champagne in an attempt to soothe your ruffled feathers, hoping it would cool you down and keep your face from flushing.Â
What the fuck was wrong with you?Â
âA cathedral, huh? Youâre really going all out.â He rubbed his chin in thought. âItâs gonna have a very operatic feel to it.âÂ
âThatâs exactly what Iâm going for,â you admitted, pleasantly surprised that he had grasped exactly what you wanted to put across without you going in depth at all. It was as if he had reached into your mind and taken the words out of your mouth. Even Xavier wasnât this perceptive.
Now, why on earth were you comparing him to Xavier? This was madness. Something was obviously very wrong with you since your train of thought had never been this outlandish before. You couldnât make sense of it at all, simply because you had never been subjected to feeling this way before. Why was there a fluttery sensation in the pits of your stomach? What was this warmth that seemed to simmer underneath the expanse of your skin every time he looked at you?Â
Oh my god. Were you flustered by Qi Rafayel?
As that absolutely insane possibility made itself known, the lights in the cabin flickered back on, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to reality. Rafayel was already watching you, amused, taking another leisurely sip of his drink and blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil. Blinking rapidly, you realised that you were already airborne and had made it through take-off without a hitch.
And that was when it hit you: all this talk about the collection and the show had been for your benefit. The model had been distracting you on purpose, somehow picking up on your fear. His presence, one that you had previously considered as bothersome, had been the very thing to calm you down.Â
You didnât know what to say.Â
âNow then,â he picked up the bowlful of salted nuts one of the airhostesses had gotten upon his request, eyes twinkling as he popped a handful into his mouth. âTell me more.â
Day one of Paris Fashion Week was a whirlwind.
You had been invited to watch two shows that day, the first of which was a Marc Jacobs runway show. The second show was for Dubois Designs, after which Gabriette had made sure to personally meet you and insist that you attend the afterparty as well. The new addition to your schedule gave you less than an hour to get ready for the aforementioned party, since right before it, you had a talk and presentation with Anna Wintour.Â
Between the glitz and glamour and one too many coffees, it was only the first day, and you had been thrust right back into the chaos you so loved and thrived in.Â
Dubois Designs was huge in Paris, being the home city of the brand and the founder. Even with your conditional friendship with Gabriette, you could admit that her show had been incredible. The exaggerated silhouettes had been eye-catching, and the craftsmanship was truly remarkable.Â
You descended the stairs and found yourself in a large, crowded basement. The party itself was in full swing, moody red lighting bathing the entire room while simultaneously keeping it dark. It fit the edgier aesthetic that Dubois Designs tended to lean towards, despite being a luxury fashion house. A DJ was tucked into a corner, mixing the electronic music as the backdrop for people to drink and dance to their heart's content.Â
Familiar faces stopped and greeted you as you made your way to the bar, knowing youâd definitely need a drink to enjoy all this. The darkness made it a little harder to recognise people, but most of them were well-known faces in the industry, from models to actors and even some well-known influencers. Having to be social at almost midnight was not something you particularly enjoyed, but it was the start of fashion week, and your adrenaline was at an all-time high, making all of this much more tolerable than usual.Â
Getting yourself a gin and tonic, you began consuming it at a pace that would ensure you had a pleasant buzz in about twenty minutes. The energy around you was palpable, the ebb and flow of it was surprisingly infectious, forcing you to subconsciously loosen up.Â
âY/n! You made it!â
The French accent gave her away before she even stepped into your line of sight. Gabriette appeared seemingly out of nowhere, throwing her arms around you and giving you air kisses on both cheeks. You returned the gesture, tentatively returning her hug before pulling away.
âOf course I did. How could I ever refuse a personal invite from you?â You smiled the commercial smile you practised for events such as these. âAfter a show like that, I knew the afterparty would be just as spectacular.â
It was obvious that she was still riding off the high that the success of her show had brought, but you couldnât blame her. She laughed, the sound a tad bit too shrill, âYou are too kind. I have people to meet, but please, enjoy yourself.â
And with another exaggerated air kiss, she left you to your own devices, continuing on her mission of making rounds through the party. Events like these always tended to be impersonal, interactions were short and fleeting, and the more connections you managed to make in one night, the better. The industry was filled with young people looking to connect, and this was the best way to do so.
You finished your drink while chatting with the creative director of Louis Vuitton, who expressed their excitement for your upcoming show. As you engaged in conversation, you observed the scenes going on all around you, a sense of wistfulness taking over you. There was a point in your life when you thought youâd never belong in this world, back then when it felt too out of reach for a young aspirant such as yourself.Â
As your eyes swept across the room, they snagged on a familiar pair staring right back at you.Â
Rafayel cocked his head to the side when he caught your eye, immediately excusing himself from the conversation he had been having and making his way over. Unsure of what compelled you to do the same, you slipped through the crowd until you met him halfway.
âI did not think you would be here,â you admitted once within earshot. You hadnât seen him for the past two days, with him being busy with photoshoots and other such events, his manager had added to his itinerary at the last minute (to his dismay).Â
Now that he was before you, his gaze dropped, slowly dragging over your figure from bottom to top like he was committing it to memory. The act sent inexplicable shivers up your spine, and you gripped your glass to show yourself from physically reacting, but that was harder said than done.Â
He wore a dark red shirt that had shimmery lilies embroidered across it, mostly unbuttoned to expose the smooth skin of his chest and torso. With his hair slightly dishevelled in a way that made him seem effortlessly attractive and the dark lighting casting sharp shadows over his face that brought out the intensity in his typically soft visage, he was truly something to behold.Â
Devilishly handsome, temptation incarnate.
âGabriette invited me.â He waved his hand dismissively as he explained, like he didnât really care. âSomething about nurturing goodwill.â
âSheâs all about that, isnât she?â You muttered dryly. The loud music almost made your quip inaudible, but he caught on anyway, delighted at the hint of the sassy nature you possessed under all that seriousness.Â
âI didnât think this was your scene.âÂ
You wore a blue drop waist Lumiere mini dress and Isabel Marant fringe boots on your feet. Signature Vivienne Westwood earrings dangled from your ears, glinting through your styled hair whenever the light caught them. The entire outfit was in stark contrast to what he was used to seeing you in, devoid of any formality and primness.Â
âItâs not, but you know.â A playful smirk adorned your lips as you swayed to the music, looking so much more relaxed than normal. âGoodwill and all.â
God, he could get addicted to that. âShame, you secretly being a party girl would have made you even more interesting.â
âAm I not interesting enough for you?â Your voice teetered on the edge of mockery with the question, shifting your weight from one foot to the other and staring up at him defiantly.Â
âTrust me, Y/n, you have no idea just how interesting I think you are.â He said smoothly, plucking your drink out of your hand and placing it off to the side, but before you could reprimand him for doing so, his hand cupped your elbow gently and pulled you along with him.Â
âDance with me.â
It wasnât a request, but rather a statement he was annoyingly sure you would comply with. You supposed you didnât have much of a say in the matter with how he was basically dragging you with him, but it had been a while since you found yourself able to be properly irritated with him.Â
Even in the dim lighting, you were acutely aware of how people watched the two of you, eyes following your every movement, but you knew who they were actually looking at. You might have been Y/n L/n, the fashion industry's darling, but he was Qi Rafayel. You didnât live under a rock; you knew of his reputation as the life of the party, but now you could see that play out in real time. A party wasnât a good one without him. In all honesty, that was probably the reason Gabriette invited him in the first place.
Rafayel was made for the spotlight. Wickedly charming with levels of confidence that some would spend their entire life chasing, he basked in the attention being thrown his way like it was a form of currency. Perhaps it was, in a sense, what they exchanged to be able to admire such an alluring soul in his element.
The entire room watched him, but Rafayel? His eyes were locked on you.Â
You felt your mouth go dry, and a hammering began within the confines of your ribcage, slow at first but building up to a crescendo. His hands slipped from your elbows down to your waist, holding you gingerly. Everyone begged for even a speck of his attention, but all of his was on you, and the effect was downright dizzying.Â
âYou look beautiful.â
âThank you.âÂ
How proper of you. Mirth danced about in his expression as he pulled you just a tad closer, knowing fully well he was pushing your limits. âArenât you going to pay the compliment back?â
âYouâre a world-famous model, Rafayel. I harshly think you need me telling you how good you look.â You looked over his shoulder, unable to hold any eye contact with him.Â
âNo,â he mused, dipping his head until his mouth was just by your ear. âBut you could tell me how hot I am.âÂ
Every syllable dripped with that delicious, insufferable cockiness you desperately wished you still loathed. You could feel the warmth of his breath tickle the skin of your neck, and you turned your head until you were face to face with each other, so painfully close it felt illegal.Â
One thing was becoming quickly apparent to you, and that was that whatever you felt towards Rafayel wasnât the plain old, run-of-the-mill attraction. That was just one aspect of it, especially in this moment, running through the charged air between the two of you like an electric current. The tension was almost tangible, like a live wire you were tempted to wrap your fingers around and tug.
But there was so much more. His willingness to share his art with you, even though he kept it a secret from the rest of the world. Distracting you on the plane. Challenging you to be better, even when you hated how he went about it. You, turning him into your muse, letting him inspire both you and your work.Â
You had disliked him because he was out of your realm of control. He wasnât someone you could put a leash on and expect to follow every order; no, he did things his way and forced you to see the good in it. Now, however, you realised that you didnât want to try and control him. You liked the unpredictability.
âIâd never do that.â You whispered, hating how breathless you must have sounded. Still, you made no effort to reclaim your personal space, addicted to the close proximity from the second you had been exposed to it. You finally understood why everyone wanted this. Wanted him.Â
A knowing smile stretched across his face, and in spite of your best efforts, you found yourself utterly enraptured by it.Â
âOh, I know.â
Rafayel was tipsy, just about aware of the bass-boosted music, with a lazy smile on his face as he ordered two drinks at the bar. You were somewhere out there waiting for him to return with them, no doubt ready with a scathing remark about how long he was taking.Â
He didnât know what he was doing. He couldnât recall the last time he felt so bewitched by someone, solely because he never let anyone get close enough. Keeping people at arm's length was something he was well-versed in, but for some reason, he had only pulled you closer. His attempts at breaking down your walls had resulted in him letting you through his.
You, and your scrutinising gaze and sharp tongue. Beautiful. Unforgiving.Â
âMr. Qi?â
He turned to the source of the voice, finding a man standing there with a determined look on his face. Rafayel raised an eyebrow. âYes?â
âLovely to make your acquaintance, sir, Iâm Gabriette Duboisâ assistant.â He adjusted his glasses and continued. âMiss Dubois is overjoyed that you made it, and she would be here herself if something hadnât come up. She wanted me to pass on a message.â
The drinks arrived. Rafayel tugged them closer to where he leaned against the bar, nodding. âGo on.â
âMiss Dubois is interested in working with you once again.â The assistant held out a business card, evidently not picking up on the man's surprise. As far as he remembered, the collaboration between Dubois Designs and him had been a couple of years ago and a roaring success, but there had never been any talk of extending it. He had expected that, since he had been his usual difficult self, Gabriette hadnât appreciated it very much. Moreover, this was before he had catapulted into being considered one of the world's hottest models, so she had had no reason to keep him on for any longer.
âI see.â
âShe awaits good news from your end. Take the time to think about it.âÂ
And with that, the man left Rafayel alone once more. He toyed with the business card for a couple of moments before slipping it into his pocket. Then, he picked up the drinks and made his way back to you.
âHow many times have you been to Paris?â
You stitched your eyebrows together in thought. âFour times, maybe?â
Rafayel looked scandalised, eyes widening and mouth falling open like you had personally offended him. âAnd this is your first time exploring?â
âI come here very briefly and only for work, Rafayel,â You spooned a heap of thick cream into your hot chocolate. âI should be working right now, but someone insisted I accompany him to the middle of nowhere.â
âI insisted you take a break, since you clearly donât know how to take one yourself.âÂ
That much was true. After a gruelling rehearsal (one that ended in you talking sternly to your employees about not ensuring the practice runway was to scale), he had caught up to you and demanded you drop everything and follow him. Maybe all the stress had been getting to you because you let him convince you, but not without complaint. You made your annoyance with the situation quite obvious, even if it wasnât genuine at all.Â
He had suggested taking a walk, which is what this insane outing had started as, but when you admitted to never having actually explored the city, he acted like you had personally offended him. He decided to take matters into his own hands, which was how you ended up in a small boulangerie that was hidden away in one of the Parisian streets.Â
The hot chocolate was rich, and the croissant you had ordered was perfectly buttery and flaky. By no means did the bakery look like a place a celebrity would frequent, with its old-timey decor and peeling paint job, but it had a certain charm to it, run by a lovely old lady who immediately began fussing over Rafayel the moment the two of you arrived. Later, he told you that it was a secret gem and one of his favourite places to frequent whenever he was in Paris.Â
It turned out that was quite often, so much so that he even had an apartment here. He absolutely loved the city of love, which was why he was so flabbergasted at you not knowing much about it despite having been there several times.Â
âFashion week is a very important time for me. I can rest after it's over.âÂ
âWorkaholic.â He jibed at you, stealing a piece of your croissant. âIâm going to take you around.â
You tried to protest, âThatâs unnecessary-â
âTrust me, itâs necessary. Besides, I already asked Thomas to bring my car.â
âYour car?âÂ
He gave you a too-innocent smile. âDid I not mention I have a car here? Donât worry, it's very nice. A convertible, too.â
âYouâre ridiculous.â You looked off to the side to conceal the grin that was threatening to break out on your face. There were about a million other things you could think of that you should have been doing, and yet here you were, going along with his shenanigans.
Once you were done eating and emerged from the bakery, his sports car was indeed waiting out for both of you with the roof pulled back. He ushered you into the passenger seat, going so far as to open the door for you before taking his place behind the steering wheel and pulling out of park.Â
Rafayel had no destination in mind, simply wanting to spend more time with you and keep you away from your precious work. Due to the late hour, they were mostly empty, which made the drive pleasantly smooth. He switched the radio on, the latest and greatest pop music filling the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you.Â
The lamps cast a dim yellow light over the Parisian streets, and you took it all in, watching intently from the car as they passed you by. By no means was this the greatest tour in the world â far from it. He didnât tell you what you were looking at, too busy humming along to a Taylor Swift song, but it stirred up a feeling deep within you that you couldnât quite put your finger on.Â
The sounds of late-night Paris mixed with his voice, turning into a melody you would have never thought was worth listening to before. It wrapped around your senses, and little by little, you let yourself go. Your posture relaxed, your jaw softened from its perpetually clenched state, and you let out a breath you didnât even know you had been holding in.Â
And for the first time in a long time, you realised that the loneliness you were so used to carrying around was nowhere to be found.Â
The only other person who managed to lessen the sense of isolation you harboured was Xavier, and even he couldnât do it all the time, and yet, the headstrong man driving you around had somehow managed to break down all your walls and let you out of the prison you had built for yourself. While others expected you to break from the pressure that came with your position, he made sure you didnât, even when you refused his help.Â
You sat forward in your seat, shutting your eyes as the cool night air blew against your face. Perhaps it defeated the point of the ride if you werenât looking around anymore, but you couldnât help it. It had been so long since you had been able to completely let go around someone else that you wanted to savour every second of the moment.Â
Rafayel glanced over and found it almost impossible to look away from you. Eyes fluttering open with shadows cast from your eyelashes and dancing on your face. Wind in your hair, hair that was finally let out of its perfect updo and allowed to freely fall over your shoulders. The way your head was tilted up just slightly as you stared at the starless sky, focused on the crescent moon overhead.Â
God, you were a painting he could never do justice to, but desperately wished he was able to.Â
Forcing himself to look away, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and focused his attention back on the roads he cruised down. âI should take you back to your hotel."Â
âYeah,â you mumbled, leaning back against the seat. âI have a lot to do tomorrow.âÂ
âWhen do you not?â
âJust drive!â You forced exasperation into your voice as you put in the address of the hotel into his GPS. This moment was one you never wanted to end, but your feet were firmly rooted in reality even when your head was in the clouds. You clamped down on that wish and settled back in the seat, watching the streets pass you by.Â
But it festered anyway, latching onto you like wishes so great tended to. You had everything you could have ever wanted: money, fame, and you had achieved all your dreams, but now here you were, with a new dream blooming from the remnants of old ones, a dream you never thought would see the light of day.Â
If not for him, would you have let another trip to Paris pass you by with your head stuck in your schedule until it was time to board that flight back to New York? The notion of that had made him go out of his way to remedy it, even when you put up a fuss and tried to talk him out of it.Â
Unfortunately for you, you were rather easy to convince when it came to him.
When he pulled up to the hotel, he ignored all your protests and accompanied you to your room door. With every step you took towards the elevator, you did your utmost to keep a safe distance between your body and his, reminding yourself that this wasnât something you could get used to. You hated the giddy feeling in your chest and the way it seemed to consume you when he was around. The back of his hand brushed against yours as you stood side by side, and even though the contact was minuscule, you could feel it everywhere.Â
The doors of the elevator opened, and you walked out with purpose, desperate to put as much space as you could between the two of you. He sauntered behind you, hands casually shoved in his pockets, completely and blissfully unaware of the storm waging in your head. You stopped outside your room and turned to face him.Â
âDonât expect me to invite you in.â You warned, crossing your arms over your chest as you regarded him warily, expecting him to push back once more. âYouâve already taken enough of my time today.â
Your tone was reprimanding, but he could tell it was all just for show. There was a glint in your eyes that told him you more than enjoyed yourself today, even if youâd never admit it. He knew you well enough by now to know that you said one thing but meant something else entirely, and that solidified you as one, if not the most confusing person he had ever met.Â
And yet there he was, trying to decode you. âI wouldnât dare ask for even a second more.â
Taking a step forward, he looked down at the floor for a second before lifting his gaze back to your face, staring at you intently. The silence stretched on for a beat too long, and in that fleeting moment, those mesmerising amethyst eyes of his dropped down to your lips. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like if he just leaned forward andâ
He would have dismissed that deranged thought entirely if he hadnât caught your breath hitching. âActually, I might need a couple.âÂ
Rafayelâs eyes flickered back to yours, realising you hadnât moved away. You swallowed, too proud to be the one who looked away first, and instantly, you knew what this was: weeks of flirtation disguised as tolerance and arguments coming to a head. A silent question hung in the little space between him and you, weighted and with far too many strings attached for you to even consider. He was waiting for permission, you realised, or any sort of answer.
It was a bad, terrible, no good idea. A desire that was nothing more than a moment of weakness, one you would surely regret somewhere down the line.Â
But around him, succumbing to moments of weakness was so easy.
âThen you better make it worth it.â
His hands found your waist, tugging you closer and pressing his lips to yours without another word. He stole your breath with his, leaving you to gasp against his mouth as it moved against yours oh-so gently, like you were made of glass he refused to let shatter. You could taste the subtle sweetness the hot chocolate had left, and smell the scent of his expensive cologne, struggling to process all of it as he kissed you.Â
And fuck, how he kissed you. The world around you went silent as Rafayelâs lips fit perfectly against yours, like two pieces of a puzzle finally coming together. They were soft and a little chapped from the night air, but intoxicating nonetheless.
When the two of you broke apart, he made no motion to move, keeping his hands on your hips. Your eyes fluttered open, your noses brushing against each other, and the warmth of his breath fanning over your lips. You hadnât quite returned to reality just yet, still existing in the few seconds prior.Â
Rafayel let go after a minute or so and took a step away from you. You could see it now â the way he looked at you like you were the sun and moon and stars, a type of fondness you were wholly unused to. It had been there for the past couple of weeks, but you had mistaken it for mirth.Â
âTimes up,â he muttered with an impossibly soft smile adorning his face, stuffing his hands into his pockets. âGoodnight, Y/n.â
You watched him walk away from you, down the hallway and back to the elevator. As the doors shut, he gave you a cheeky little wave, causing you to stand there flabbergasted and more confused than you had ever been in your life before. You lifted your fingers to your lips that tingled from the ghost of his kiss.
Youâd be lying if you said you didnât like it.Â
You quickly became addicted to the drug that was Rafayel.
Secret touches. Lingering glances. It had been two days since he first kissed you, and you had made no efforts to get him to stop. In between interviews and rehearsals, he somehow managed to grab hold of you and steal you away from the world, even if it was just for a couple of minutes.
His apartment in Paris was on the fourth floor, in a building with older elevators. You walked out of it and to the numbered apartment that he told you was his, knocking and waiting for him to answer. He had texted you just after you finished filming a video with Vogue, insisting that you absolutely had to come over as soon as possible.Â
When he opened the door, looking completely at ease, you suspected your mild concern had been for no reason.Â
âThere you are,â he hummed, holding a glass of wine precariously in between his fingers, sloshing it around before taking a sip. âI was wondering when youâd show up. Come inside.âÂ
You stepped over the threshold and into his apartment, following him to his living room. For someone as over-the-top as himself, it was quite the quaint place, with wooden furniture and the original paint job still intact. If you asked him about it, you figured heâd just say something pretentious about preserving the Parisian integrity of the apartment.Â
Pulling off your gloves, you tossed them on his coffee table and shrugged off your coat. He leaned against the island that separated the kitchen from his living room, watching your every move like it was a dance sequence he was trying to memorise. Once you were done, you turned to face him with an expectant look.
âFrom the urgency of your messages, I assumed there was an emergency.â
He smiled coyly, pressing the edge of his glass to his lips. âIs wanting to see you not emergency enough?â
You wanted to scream, to push him out of a window and kiss him senseless at the same damn time. That conflict inside of you bubbled over, leaving a confused bout of need in its wake because no one had ever driven you this crazy before. Narrowing your eyes at him, you walked over until you were standing right in front of him.Â
âYou know very well that Iâm busy.â
âAnd yet, here you are.â He reached out to you, taking your hand in his and pulling you closer. His hair fell into his eyes, the deep purple ends of it kissing the high of his cheekbones like wisteria hanging down from tree branches. Unable to resist, you cupped his face, brushing your thumb over the mole on his cheek with tenderness that surprised even yourself.Â
âI think youâre distracting me on purpose.â
âThere she is,â he murmured fondly, turning his face into your palm and pressing his lips against it in a soft kiss. âThe queen of cynicism.â
He gripped your wrist and slowly began peppering kisses from the centre of your palm down to your wrist, his eyes sweeping to yours. Something about the action felt strikingly intimate, sparking a fire inside of you that you hadnât known could ever exist. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, drawing him into you for once and meeting his lips with your own.Â
You were hooked. Every brush of his mouth against yours was electrifying, precise and addictive in ways that left you wanting more every time. Wine entirely forgotten, his hands lifted to your face and held it, turning you around and pressing you against the edge of the island as he took the lead.Â
When Rafayel kissed you again, you blossomed under his touch like a flower exposed to the sun for the first time in days. His fingers entangled in your hair and cradled the back of your head delicately, his nails scratching against your scalp and sending delighted shivers down your spine. He tilted your head back so that you could meet him better, the nature of the kiss dissolving into something much more intense as his tongue swiped over your lower lip, eliciting a soft sound from the back of your throat.Â
âJesus,â he mumbled against you, pained and breathless, pulling away for a singular moment that somehow felt too long despite probably being not more than a second. When he leaned back in, his lips found the side of your mouth, trailing down to your jaw and finding the spot below your ear that made you sigh and tip your head back. He made good use of the access you had so willingly given him, leisurely leaving hot open open-mouthed kisses over the expanse of your neck, knowing exactly what to do to have you fall apart while simultaneously doing barely anything at all.Â
Your hands gripped the collar of his shirt at first, then slid down the silky fabric until they met the cool metal of his belt buckle. Emboldened by the situation, you hooked your fingers in his belt loops and tugged him even closer, until his hips were flush against yours. Your eagerness induced a dry chuckle from him, soft and barely there, puffs of his breath tickling against your pulse point. His thigh slotted between your legs before he paused, letting the gravity of what was happening hit either one of you.
It never did.
âDonât you dare stop.â You almost snapped, but it lacked that authority your voice usually possessed when delegating tasks at work, instead laced with avid desperation for something only he could give you â a thrill only he could provide. Your permission was all he required, gripping your hips and lifting you onto the kitchen island and stepping in between your legs.
âSo bossy,â you could feel him grinning against your neck. âYou canât resist ordering people around, can you?â
Before you could even think about refuting, his mouth was back on yours with a renewed sense of want, demanding and dizzying all at once. The beginnings of a retort died on your tongue when his meets yours and his hands slip under the hem of your skirt, sliding up your thighs maddeningly slow. All you could do was whine impatiently, leaning into him and giving in to that magnetic pull of his. He lifted his head, peering down at you with darkened eyes, so close that you could still taste him.Â
âTell me what you want,â he asked, squeezing your thighs in a manner that told you knew knew exactly what you wanted. âYou can do that for me, canât you?â
You glared, though it was weak. âDonât play dumb.âÂ
âFine. When was the last time someone made you come, Y/n?â
You exhaled sharply at his question, one he phrased so innocently, although it was nothing of the sort. âRafayel.â
âI thought you liked it when people were straightforward with you.â He smirked down at you, running his thumb over your lower lip and applying a little pressure, enough to have your mouth part. His other hand slipped further up your inner thigh, fingers languidly tracing the edge of your panties. He could feel you stiffen, anticipation running rampant through your veins as a wave of arousal crashed over you, rendering you pliant and wanting.Â
Dipping his head to your ear, he whispered, âYouâre always so wound up, baby. Let me help you relax.â
With that, the spark he had lit inside of you roared to life, the flames burning your blood, making you feel hot all over your body. You were wet, embarrassingly so, soaked through your underwear as a haze of lust enveloped your mind. His knuckles brushed against your clothed core, and the minimal contact made you whimper needily, flattening your palms against the flat of his chest.Â
âPlease, Rafayel.â Never, in a million years, did he ever think heâd have you begging for anything, but there you were, with your legs spread. âTouch me.â
Rafayel didnât think heâd ever been this turned on in his life.
Manoeuvring your panties to the side, his fingers dipped in between your folds, a hungry gleam blazing to life in his eyes as he watched you jerk into his touch, drinking in the way your cheeks flushed and eyebrows furrowed. Your slick coated his fingers, and he groaned, the sound low and deep as he brought them up to your clit and circled it, tantalisingly slow.Â
âYouâre so wet for me.â Shame filtered through you at his words, but it came secondary to the want that coursed through you. It wasnât like you could deny the claim anyway; you could feel it firsthand. âGonna make you feel so good.â
âYou better,â you breathed out, clutching at the ends of his shirt in a futile attempt to keep your sanity somewhat intact, but he was doing an excellent job of chipping away at it, with how expertly he rubbed your clit, increasing the pressure of the circles he rubbed against the bundle of nerves.Â
âOh, I will.â He flashed you a cocky grin, hooking his finger in the center of your panties and tugging them down your legs. âDonât you worry your pretty head about it.â
His other hand travelled underneath your top and pushed the material up your body, and you raised your arms, helping him pull it off and leaving you in a simple black bra. Still, he looked at you like you had a matching lingerie set on, humming in appreciation as he pulled your panties down your legs. They caught against one of your heels, which fell to his floor with a soft thud, but neither of you cared enough to even comprehend that. Immediately, he was back on you, middle finger pressing against your entrance as he nipped at your throat, soothing the sting his teeth left behind with licks of his tongue and wet kisses.Â
Finally, finally, he pushed one lithe finger into you and provided you with some relief, revelling in the moan you gasped out. His lips made their way down your neck and to your collarbone, kissing the swell of your breasts unhurriedly, as if he had all the time in the world to do with you as he pleased. He set a lazy pace with his finger, introducing a second one to your cunt with ease on account of how wet you were, gushing all over his hand.Â
Impatient, you reached behind and unhooked your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders and took in the appreciative look on his face when you tossed it to the side.Â
âFuck,â he looked like you had positively wrecked, like you were a witch that had put him under a spell. âYouâre killing me here.âÂ
Rafayel attacked your chest again, this time with a little less precision. His pretty pink lips dragged across your breasts, tongue flicking out and swirling around one of your your pebbled nipples, taking it into his mouth and sucking. You arched into him with a whimper, your hands finding purchase in his soft hair, holding his head close to your body. His fingers moved in and out of your cunt fast, the palm of his hand rutting against your clit rhythmically, having your toes curl out of pleasure.Â
âRaf- oh, fuck.âÂ
He looked up at you through his eyelashes, biting down on your nipple just hard enough for sparks of pain to shoot through you, mingling with the pleasure until you were left with a heady mix of both swirling inside you. You cried out, your hips bucking up against his fingers on their own accord.Â
For someone usually so well put together, it was hypnotic to watch you fall apart for him â and because of him. His mouth slipped from your nipple for a moment in favour of staring at you in wonder. âGod, youâre soâŚâ
You never found out what he meant to say, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his fingers curled inside of you, the tips of them stroking against the spot that made it hard for you to hold back your moans and whimpers. The sounds tumbled out of you like a waterfall, combined with the wet ones from your pussy, and filled the silence of his apartment, spurring him on even further as he fingered you so diligently. He went right back to lapping at your breast, his free hand kneading your other one, rolling that nipple under his thumb and pinching it.Â
âOh my god,â you whined as you helplessly ground against his palm, the heel of it digging into your clit and applying delicious pressure on it that had you losing your damn mind. You could tell you were close from the coiling sensation in your gut, and from the way your legs were trembling, he had picked up on it as well.Â
âThatâs it,â he cooed. âCome for me.â
Seconds later, your orgasm hit you hard, a choked moan of his name leaving you as you clung onto him, overwhelmed at how good it felt. He held you against him, his ministrations never letting up for even a moment as he helped you ride out your high to the fullest. Once he was satisfied, he pulled his fingers away, staring at the mess you left on them in awe.Â
And then he looked at you, and he realised that the mess of you was far prettier. Lips swollen and kiss-bitten, hair all messed up just like how heâd imagined far too many times for him to willingly admit to, and eyes blown wide with desire. The sight of you like this â so perfectly wrecked â almost made him moan aloud, but he stopped himself by kissing you once more, messily now, all teeth and tongue and heat.
âY/n,â Rafayel rasped out your name against your lips, âFuck, I need you.â
You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer until you were flush against his chest, locking your legs around his hips. âThen take me.â
Bossy as ever, it only made him want you more. Gripping the underside of your thighs, he picked you up and carried you to his bedroom, lips locked with yours. He didnât know how he made it to his room, but once there, he set you on the mattress and climbed over you, taking a moment to admire you in all your glory.Â
He was a total goner.Â
âYouâre wearing too many clothes,â you huffed in between kisses, tugging impatiently at his collar and fumbling with his buttons. Rafayel laughed, finding your indignation so fucking adorable that he almost forgot what the two of you were doing, so consumed with the fact that he had you like this. When you managed to undo most of his buttons, he leaned back and pulled the shirt off, discarding it to some corner of the room and unzipped his pants.Â
His cock sprung to life as he kicked off his pants, and you were awestruck at the sight of him. The tempting lines of his abs you had forced yourself to look away from several times, now on display for only your eyes, and the flushed tip of his hard cock claiming all your attention because not only was it pretty, it was big. You bit your lower lip in anticipation, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look.Â
âLike what you see?â He drawled out the question with a lazy grin as he slipped on a condom, his smugness riling you up even more. Licking your lips, you pushed him away until he landed on his backside, expression morphing into one of confusion.
Aha, so it was possible to wipe that look off his face after all.Â
âSit up against the headboard,â you instructed, getting to your knees and slipping the skirt that you still had on off your body, both of you completely naked now.Â
Although surprised, he complied fairly quickly, the smirk returning with full force. âYes, maâam.âÂ
To Rafayel, this made sense. You always had to have a modicum of control over any situation, and this was how you established that here. You threw a leg over him, straddling his lap. His breath hitched when his cock came into contact with your bare cunt, unable to hold back a groan when you began to grind. The sound fired off every synapse in your brain, your body working on its own as you rolled your hips harder against him.Â
âGod, fuck,â his honeyed voice was strained with the effort it took to not just hold you still and fuck up into you. âIâm going to lose my mind if Iâm not inside you soon, pretty girl.âÂ
The nickname did something to you, going straight to your head like a strong shot of tequila. You lifted your hips, reaching between your bodies and aligning his cock with your entrance, wetness coating the tip. Circling your hips, you savoured the way he sucked in a breath between his teeth.Â
But you were a woman who had virtually no patience. Teasing him, while fun, only succeeded in making you more desperate than you already were.Â
So you steadied yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, slowly sinking onto his length. You hissed in pleasure at the burn of the stretch, nails sinking into the skin of his shoulders and most definitely leaving marks. The near drunken sound that left him when you took all of him was the most gratifying one you had ever heard. He gripped your hips, tipping his head back against the headboard and breathing heavily.Â
âYouâ fuckâ you feel so perfect,â Rafayel stuttered in wonder, but you were still adjusting to his size to comprehend the praise properly. He was buried to the hilt, and you felt delirious, clawing at him as you tried and failed to keep yourself together. You needed him so bad it scared you, somehow growing even wetter with him inside of you because of how fucking good it felt.
Lifting your hips once again, you came down on him, mouth falling open at how he filled you up so easily. He groaned, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and ravishing it once more, both of you far too gone to even think about the consequences of leaving marks.Â
âRaf,â you whined, rocking your hips into him as you chased your high, in turn pulling his along. âShit, it feels so good.â
âI know, cutie, I know,â His mouth was on your nipple again, wrapping his lips around it and sucking harshly, sending shocks of pleasure right down to your core. Instinctively, you clenched around him, and his grip on you tightened imperceptibly, a silent warning. Naturally, as you did with most things, you took it as a challenge, this time clenching on purpose.
âYou little-â In retaliation, his thumb found your engorged clit and flicked it, causing you to screw your eyes shut and squeal with the extra stimulation.
âI canâtâ god, it's too much,â you whimpered, feeling that familiar tug in your core build rapidly. Still sensitive from your first climax, it was no wonder that you were close already. Wanting to come again, you bounced faster, earning you a pleased groan from him.Â
âYouâre incredible,â he crooned against your skin, hands running up your sides reverently as he stared at you through a half-lidded gaze. The sight of you on top of him, bare, looking so gorgeous, was enough to have him come undone, and he wanted it imprinted in his brain forever. He wanted to paint you like this, to turn you into art for his eyes alone.
You came hard, crying out his name in between the many of sounds that fell from your lips in ecstasy, gasps and moans alike. All you could think of was Rafayel, Rafayel, Rafayel as your high crashed over you like a wave crashing onto the shore.Â
Immediately, he took over, flipping your positions so that you were pressed into the mattress, his hips snapping to yours with a renewed sense of urgency. You mewled at the instant overstimulation, pawing at his torso in a weak attempt to get him to slow down, knowing damn well you didnât want him to. He grabbed at your wrists and pinned them above your head, thrilled at the gasp-moan it elicited.
âYou sound so fucking pretty,â Rafayel mumbled, sheathing himself inside of you with one final thrust, unravelling with a low moan. The two of you stayed like that for a couple of seconds, still connected, recovering from your mutual high.Â
Carefully, he pulled out, discarding the used condom and climbing right back into bed with you. His arms wrapped around your body, gathering you against his chest with all the tenderness in the world, limbs so entwined with yours that you didnât know where you started and he ended anymore.Â
âHey.â
You glanced up, finding him staring down at you with a soft, satiated smile, tracing soothing circles on your back. Like this, Rafayel was at his most irresistible to you, with his hair all mussed because of you, cheeks flushed, and every ounce of his attention on you. Try as you did, you couldnât fight hints of your own smile from showing, so you nuzzled into his neck to hide your face. âHi.â
âThere isnât a single reason for you to be shy,â he whispered playfully, propping his fingers under your chin and lifting your head so you were looking at him once more. âThat wasâ you were amazing.âÂ
âI donât get shy.â Nonetheless, your cheeks flushed at his praise.Â
He chuckled quietly. âOf course you donât.â And he kissed you again, like all the times he had just done so werenât and would never be enough for him. Cupping your jaw sweetly, it was the most innocent press of his lips to yours, not needing any more from you. You certainly didnât.
âRafayel?â You breathed his name, pulling back and looking into those captivated eyes, hues of dark fuchsia and sapphire twinkling back at you. Entranced, you realised that your heart was no longer yours to control, free from the clutches of your mind, belonging to the man who held you. It was terrifying and freeing all at once, falling without knowing when and if youâd land at all.
âHmm?â
âI think you might be my favourite muse.â
The words were honest, tinged with a vulnerability that hit home for Rafayel. He knew you didnât open up like this to anyone, but you were staring at him now with that same look you gave him after asking him to stay on at Lumiere as a brand ambassador. Something in the confines of his ribs constricted as he brushed your hair out of your face.
âWhat an honour that is.â
It was early morning when Rafayel padded to his living room. The sun hadnât risen yet. You were still in his bed, curled up under the sheets, looking so peaceful amidst your slumber. When he slipped away, he made sure not to disturb you.
For as long as he remembered, he had thrived on attention. It was something he had been handed even before his breakout into the mainstream as a top model. People constantly told him how he was meant for the limelight, standing proud at the centre of attention.
He settled on his couch, elbows on his knees and palms pressed into his eyes as he tried to think. His mind was racing, running at a mile a minute, and he was struggling to catch up.Â
You said he was your muse.Â
He had been a muse his entire life. For his aunt, for other designers and brands, he was used to it. The prospect of being a muse had never scared him before, but now he was yours, and he wasnât sure how to navigate that role anymore. You, who said his art had inspired you to create your clothing, clothing he would soon wear and show off to the world. It should have thrilled him because he rarely resonated with a brand like he did yours, and even less with people.Â
Up until you, of course. You were a force of nature, obstinate and stubborn and spectacular too, like a storm that crashed into his town and swept him away. He meant it when he said it was an honour to be your muse.Â
But he knew that after a while, people got bored of their muses. Periodically, they moved on and found a new one to devote all their time and effort to. He was used to being wanted, and he often used that to his advantage, but being the one who wanted your attention was not a role he knew how to fill. The script had been flipped on him, and he felt like an actor with zero experience, wading in waters that were much too deep for him.
Walking away had always been easy. He wasnât the type to be tied down to anything, all about living in the moment and having a good time. Now, he found himself wanting to stay, and that endlessly frightened him. What happened when he finished serving his purpose as your muse and you pushed him to the side?Â
He didnât want to stick around and find out. He couldnât bear to.
A business card lay on his coffee table. Lifting his head from his hands, he reached out and picked it up, turning the thin cardboard over in his fingers and reading the number on the back. The Dubois Designs logo glared up at him, as if taunting him with what would come to pass if he went through with this.
He picked up his phone.Â
You didnât see Rafayel after that.Â
There were many things you could attribute this to. Your swamped schedule, the dinners, afterparties, showcases and fittings that youâd never hear the end of, his own endeavours â it made sense.Â
What didnât make sense was the radio silence. He had gotten very comfortable with messaging you, even though you never entertained his overzealous texting style and only graced him with the driest of responses. Now, your phone was filled with communication from everyone except the man you were admittedly waiting to hear from.Â
Nothing.Â
Smack dab in the middle of one of the busiest weeks of your year, you didnât have the time to dwell on it. The Lumiere show drew closer, and you were heavily involved in every aspect of the preparations to make sure everything was exactly how you wanted it to be.Â
You called him once, but he hadnât picked up. It made you frown, but it wasnât like you had the right to his time. Hadnât you told him how precious yours was time and time again? Satisfied with that reasoning, you continued, pushing all thoughts of the charming man away for as long as you could.Â
âHe isnât here.âÂ
The observation slipped out of you flatly, a little too loud and emphatic even for your own ears. It was the night before the show, and the final rehearsal was underway, held right in the cathedral that would serve as the set. Typically, these run-throughs were held a couple of hours before the actual show, but that would have disturbed the normal proceedings of the church, and you had no intentions of undermining the sanctity of it.Â
You turned to your assistant and models' manager. âWhere is Rafayel?â
Simone jumped in quickly, knowing well how you hated being left hanging. âAndrew didnât see him come in, and I contacted Thomas, but he hasnât been able to get hold of him either.âÂ
âWhat on earthâŚ?â You muttered mostly to yourself as something in the pit of your stomach twisted, tight and unpleasant. His absence lately stung, but up until this moment, you had graciously let it go, figuring that there was a reason for it. Now, however, it was impossible to let it slide because he wasnât just ignoring you, he was skipping out on rehearsal, and that was a professional commitment.Â
âI heard he was difficult to work with,â Andrew commented, rubbing his chin. âBut I didnât think heâd be irresponsible.â
You wouldnât stand for it. Nodding stiffly, you spoke. âIâm leaving the rest of the rehearsal in both of your hands. I have something to check on.âÂ
Neither of them questioned you, absorbing your instructions and carrying them out efficiently. You grabbed your coat and left the cathedral, your shoes clicking against the cobbled footpaths as you hailed a cab. Your best bet on where he was would be his apartment, and that was exactly where youâd go to get your answers.Â
When you reached, the scene you were met with wasnât what you expected at all. The door to his apartment swung wide open, loud music reaching your ears from where you stood as the elevator doors opened. Swallowing down your bafflement, you slowly approached the entrance, an uncomfortable feeling settling in the middle of your chest the closer you got.Â
Once you were inside, it only got worse. The music made it hard for you to think, your eyes sweeping across the room and taking in the sight: people laughing, mingling and dancing, some of them you even recognised.Â
And in the eye of the storm was Rafayel, lounging about at the centre of the chaos around him.Â
What the fuck?
He looked so at ease, lounging on his couch with his head tipped back on the back of it, eyes closed like he was unaware of what was going on. His serene expression only stirred up your frustration, and it mixed with your confusion and the crumbs of dread that swirled around your gut. Brushing aside your discomfort, you stormed over, knocking your leg into his to alert him of your presence.Â
Rafayelâs eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused. At the sight of you, something flickered in them, but it disappeared just as quickly. âY/n,â he slurred your name, barely audible over the volume of the music. âWhat are you doing here?â
God, he was drunk. Clenching your jaw at that fact, you narrowed your eyes and set him with a glare, taking in his inebriated state.
âWhat the fuck do you think youâre doing?âÂ
DĂŠjĂ vu was what Rafayel felt at that moment, but instead of it being Thomas coming to scold him, it was you who stood before him, looking so furious and beautiful at the same time. There was nothing gentle about the way you phrased the question, your tone harsh and accusatory, like you had already decided he was in the wrong without giving him the chance to explain.Â
Clever woman.Â
He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together through the haze of his tipsiness. His lack of answer seemed to piss you off even more, and while that might have once amused him, all it did now was make his heart sink. Grabbing his wrist, you pulled him through his apartment and back out into the hallway, not caring if you were making a scene or about who was staring.Â
âIâm going to ask this once, and only once. What the hell is all this?â You let go of his wrist, spinning on your heel to face him once it was just the two of you. The music was softer out here, making the clipped tone of your voice all the more apparent.Â
âItâs a party, sweetheart. Iâm sure you know what that is.â
âDonât call me that,â you snapped, furious at how cavalier he was being. It felt like you were back at the beginning, when you first met him, with his audacity and you struggling to keep your temper in check, except so much worse. Now, you were personally involved with him, which caused all of your emotions to lash out all at once. âDonât you know what day it is?â
âYouâre asking such odd questions, but if you must know, it's Thursday.â He looked completely uninterested in the conversation you were trying so hard to have. You grit your teeth, taking a step forward.Â
âFirst, you ignore me,â you seethed, your perfect facade crumbling bit by bit in his presence. âThen you donât show up for the show rehearsal, that is going on right now, mind you, and throw a party instead? What the fuck is wrong with you?â Your disbelief was palpable, and it grew exponentially when he scoffed, like your questioning right then was a major inconvenience.
âOh, please, you and I both know Iâll be fantastic on the runway whether Iâm at the rehearsal or not.â He leaned against the wall to hide how unsteady he felt on his feet right then, the paradox almost making him laugh. Almost.Â
âThats not the point!â You took a step toward him. âYou know it's not.â
âIsnât it?âÂ
You exhaled shakily. âNo. Itâs aboutââ Us, but was there an âusâ for you to even refer to? From the way he was looking at you right now, so cold and aloof, you doubted it. âYouâve been avoiding me.â You let the statement hang between him and you, not bother to tack on the question that sat on the tip of your tongue, letting the rhetorical nature of it take over and do the work for you.Â
Rafayel was aware of how it looked because he was the one who had made it so. He had kissed you, held you, slept with you and then disappeared. He hated the look on your face right now, the way you were staring at him so pleadingly, waiting for him to explain why, too proud to outright ask for it. He averted his gaze, staring at his shoes.Â
âAre you really that surprised?âÂ
Something in you cracked wide open. âWhat?â
âCome on, Y/n, youâre smart. Iâm sure youâre aware of my reputation.â He knew he was being an asshole, but what was one of instance of that to him? That was what the world perceived him as anywayâ a playboy with a penchant for partying and a pretty face â so why not live up to it? If it were going to protect him from getting hurt, then by all means, it would be worth it.Â
With how your face swiftly collapsed at his insinuation, it certainly didnât feel worth it. He wanted to take it back immediately, to take you by the shoulders and tell you the truth and hold you like he had just days ago.Â
He couldnât. Everything about wanting you terrified him because of the intensity of that desire. He had never felt like this before, and the thought of you someday not wanting him back was unbearable. He knew how he was: selfish, self-serving to a fault, difficult and exhausting at times, so very skilled at pushing people away. Eventually, youâd get tired of him and leave.
The idea of you walking away scared him so much that he opted to run away first to save himself from that pain.
âDidâDid everything that happened between us mean nothing to you?â You despised the way you stuttered, the stilted rhythm of your speech that betrayed the emotion behind it, because it made you feel weak. Out of control.
Perhaps if he were a better man, a stronger one, heâd tell you the truth. Heâd tell you that it had meant the most to him, and how nothing had ever mattered as much as you did.Â
But he wasnât.
âWas it supposed to?â
You couldnât conceal the sharp gasp that left you at his cruel words, staggering away from him like you had been shot. The man in front of you was one you didnât recognise, a mere phantom of the one you thought you knew. He had Rafayelâs eyes and hair and stature, but it wasnât the same Rafayel that had torn through your walls and coaxed the real you out into the light, the part of you that you kept hidden away from the rest of the world. Instead, it was a man who held those secrets and threw them back in your face like they had meant nothing.
You had let your guard down and let him in, forgetting how easy that made it for you to get hurt. Those walls that once towered so high around had come crashing down, and you didnât know how to rebuild. Hot tears burned your eyes, heartbreak mingling in with your rage toward him, but you refused to cry. You wouldnât give him any more of yourself than you already had.
All you had left was your dignity, and youâd be damned if you let that go.Â
He was right; he had a reputation for a reason, and you should never have expected anything more. You pulled yourself together, momentarily wondering how you ever let yourself be so stupid.
âYou will walk in the show tomorrow.â You forced yourself to sound steady, fingers curled into fists at how enraged you felt. âAnd then you will never walk for Lumiere again. Do you understand?â
The cold fury in your cadence wasnât lost on him, and neither was the way you were shutting him out and shutting down. You had gotten used to expressing yourself freely when around him, and even now, it was like all your feelings were plastered across your face for him to see. It was awful to watch you blink away your tears so rapidly, knowing that they were because of him, how your lips twisted downward at the sorrow you felt but refused to give in to.
Rafayel hated that he was the one who had caused you this pain, but he couldnât backtrack now. He had come this far, he might as well finish the job. Maybe it would be easier if you hated him.
âThat wonât be a problem. Iâll be signed with Dubois Designs.âÂ
You felt the betrayal before you processed it.
It started as a dull ache in the centre of your chest, gradually worsening until it felt like someone was standing on top of it, making it hard for you to breathe. When itâ what he had doneâ finally hit you, you could no longer think straight, unstable on your feet despite being the sober one. You had spent your entire life keeping your cards close to your chest, only for the one person you had let peek at them to burn the whole deck.Â
There was a lump in your throat and a knife in your back.
When you spoke again, your voice was dangerously quiet. âAfter tomorrow, I never want to see you again.âÂ
With your head held high and heart sinking low, you turned on your heel and left, stepping into the old elevator without sparing him another glance. Part of you wanted nothing more than you shake him and make him feel the way you did right then, but that would require casting your pride aside, and frankly, you didnât have it in you. You wouldnât let him take that away from you.Â
Rafayel watched you leave, frozen in place. The irony wasnât lost on him; he had run away from the future possibility of you walking away from him, only to have you do exactly that right now. The party continued in the background, but all he could think of were the tears in your eyes and how fucking hurt you looked because of what he had just done to you. To himself.Â
You emerged back into the Parisian streets, the cold air nipping at the exposed skin of your neck. Pulling your coat tighter around yourself, you looked up at the sky and then at your surroundings, those tears you had so valiantly fought against finally trickling down your face.
The city of love had never looked so dull.Â
The models were lined up and in place. Every seat was filled, celebrities and critics alike taking the front row. Photographers had their equipment in place, ready to capture the results of your hard work. You stood backstage, and despite having done this so many times, you felt a little nervous.Â
Everyone looked fabulous in your clothing, the stylists carefully draping them in the delicate fabrics and complicated pieces. Both the women and men models had little Swarovski crystals embedded in their hair that would shimmer when the light hit them, with the womenâs hair being done in beach waves. Last-minute touch-ups to the makeup, some models having to be quite literally stitched into their outfitsâ it was that unique brand of madness that only existed behind the veiled curtains of a fashion show.Â
This was it. The end of a season for Lumiere. Months of fretting over details and extensive planning, hours upon hours of work and stress and obstacles would culminate in the twelve minutes that your models took the stage for.Â
âOn in ten,â Simone announced, taking her spot beside you. âReady?â
âAs Iâll ever be,â you mumbled, both your hands over your stomach in an attempt to calm its churning. The lights came on all of a sudden, signalling that the show was about to begin. The music began playing, and the first model rolled her shoulders, straightened her posture, and lifted her head just slightly, a look of concentration dawning on her face.
And down the runway she went.
She glided down the runway with grace, and a hush fell over the audience at the magnificent sight, fabrics shimmering as the dramatic lighting hit them. Once she reached the end, she twirled gracefully and turned to return as the next model emerged into the spotlight. They passed each other on their respective paths, hums of appreciation arising from the onlookers. Haunting organ music accompanied the models as they walked one by one, dramatic and exquisite.Â
Operatic.
It was funny how only one person had ever been able to capture the essence of what you had envisioned so perfectly and put it into words. It was fitting, you supposed, the muse would understand what he inspired. He now stood at the back of the line, waiting his turn to take the runway and blow everyone away with the final piece of the collection.Â
Rafayelâs eyes met yours across the backstage area one final time, so brief that you would have missed it if you werenât already looking at him. For his look, you had instructed the stylists to leave his hair in its natural curly state, and with the crystals in it, he truly looked like a character from a fairytale. When you looked at him now, though, his beauty wasnât what you were transfixed on.
It was the look in his eyes. Forlorn, longing andâŚ.defeated? The combination resulted in something inexplicable, but it chipped away at a suspicion you had been harbouring ever since the night before, one that you had buried deep to save yourself from the pain that would come with trying to understand it. For how well he could read you, it seemed that you could do the same for him, and now, that split second of eye contact told you everything you needed to know.
Everything that had happened between the two of you had meant something to him, and for some reason, he lied to you and said it didnât.Â
You didnât want to know why.
Rafayel stepped out and onto the runway, his expression morphing into one you had seen in magazines and on your website. The dark red organza silk of his shirt shimmered in the light like light upon ocean waves, hints of blue and purple making a show as he walked. Captivating as ever, he brought your clothing to life with every step he took.Â
The perfect closer for a sensational show.
When it was time for you to walk out, you plastered on a smile and waved, placing one foot in front of the other like your life depended on it. Cameras flashed, and thunderous applause was heard throughout the cathedral, especially when you took your place in the middle of your models as they lined up for a final bow. You joined then, a weight rolling off your shoulders as the show came to a spectacular close, undoubtedly a resounding success.Â
You had done it. This show was unlike any other you had put on, and no doubt everyone would be talking about it. You had stepped out of your comfort zone when it came to designing and achieved your goal of putting on a spectacle that made the audience feel.
So why did you feel so hollow?
After surviving a swarm of paparazzi shouting questions at you, desperate for even a sliver of your attention and a glance at their lenses and shaking the hands of impressed critics, you found yourself at the Lumiere afterparty. People you called loosely called friends for appearances' sake, celebrities, influencers, and fellow designers were all in attendance, showering you in congratulations and complimenting your work. They said the show would go down in fashion history as iconic and asked how you managed to do it once again. You smiled and drank and tried your best to bask in your well-deserved glory at a party you didnât want to be at, in a city that was tainted.
And at this party, Qi Rafayel was nowhere to be found.
New York was as unforgiving as ever.
Your life resumed its regular course when you returned; fittings, photoshoots, interviews, and so much paperwork. You threw yourself into your work, filling every spare moment of your day with something to do, fix, or delegate, an arguably pathetic attempt at keeping yourself from thinking of him.Â
The cacophony of the city accompanied your every solitary step, and you took comfort in it. The incessant honking while stuck in traffic and the chatter of pedestrians filled your senses, whether you were sitting in the back of a cab or running errands. It served as background music to your loneliness, and while you might have once been satisfied with it, you found it hard to go back to that blissfully ignorant state.Â
Because now you had a taste of what it felt like to not be quite so lonely. Rafayel had waltzed into your life like the tempest of allure and insolence he was and drenched your world in colour. He had taken you out of your box and painted you a new perspective, one you had so foolishly assumed heâd view by your side.
Early mornings and late nights â your days began to blur together until you werenât sure when they started and ended. Your voice lacked the bite it usually had when reprimanding your employees for any stupid mistakes. If your coffee was cold, you drank it anyway, perplexing Simone. You walked through the hallways of the Lumeire building during those long work days and returned to your penthouse in the dead of night, moving under the heavy silence that completely claimed the large space.Â
You loathed him for making the life you had so carefully built for yourself feel so miserable. More than anything, you hated how you wished he were still in it.Â
Rafayel threw a party.
He didnât even want to be there anymore. Everything about it felt wrong. His drink wasnât strong enough, the music was too loud, and there were too many fucking people around. He didnât even like any of them; it was the usual crowd that showed up whenever he hosted one of these things, and while he could usually get along with them, right now all their presence did was remind him that the one person he truly wanted beside him wanted nothing to do with him.Â
A pitiful try at filling a void he had created himself. He didnât want anything to do with himself either.Â
God, he missed you. He missed that rare smile you seldom let show, the ridiculous updo you always had your hair done in, and the passion in your eyes when you spoke about your work. He missed your voice, your crimson painted lips and scrutinising glare that made everyone it was directed at shrink. The way youâd scowl when he teased you, and the softness with which you told him he was your favourite muse.
As he glanced at the doorway of his apartment, he almost willed you to walk through it like you had in Paris, on that fateful night when he ruined everything. He imagined you appearing there, huffing in displeasure at the pandemonium of this stupid party and wanting to see him. Idiotically, he braced himself for exactly that, waiting and watching like it was something that would actually happen.Â
But he knew it wouldnât. Instead of waiting around for it to happen, he realised that for the first time in his life, heâd have to work for what he wanted.Â
He would have to go to you.Â
Walking into the Lumiere building after two months away was a strange experience.Â
It seemed like nothing had changed, not that he expected it to. He had almost become an ambassador for the brand, and now there he was, walking down its hallways as nothing more than an exiled stranger.Â
His feet carried him to your office, knowing that was where youâd be, always holed up in there with a thousand things to get done. Passing the conference room where he first met you four months ago, he wondered how things had gotten to this point. Back then, he had been reluctant to get involved with Lumiere.Â
Funny.Â
When he reached your office, you seemed to be in conversation with someone. One glance at the silvery blond hair on the man, and he recognised him as Xavier Shen, the model he had replaced. Now, the man seemed perfectly healthy, standing on his feet as the two of you conversed. The sight reminded Rafayel that he truly might not be needed by you anymore, in every sense of the word.Â
Still, he steeled himself and pushed the glass door open, not bothering to knock. He never did in the past, so why start now?
âHuh. You really do live here.âÂ
Both Xavier and you turned to him, and the first thing he noticed was how tired you looked. Your shoulders looked like the weight of the world rested upon them, slumped just a little bit, and prominent dark circles under your eyes. It seemed he was right in assuming you were running yourself ragged; he knew your habits well enough. Still, even with all that, to him, you looked positively radiant.Â
At the sight of him standing there with his hands in his pockets, your heart stuttered before it twisted in pain. He was the same as ever, his presence commanding the entirety of your office like no one else but you could, still a sight for sore eyes. That ever-present playful tone to his voice, however, was weaker than you remembered, just barely hiding the thick layer of vulnerability just below the surface.
âI thought I said I never wanted to see you again.âÂ
 Xavier glanced between you and Rafayel before clearing his throat. âIâm gonna take my leave. See you tomorrow.â He gave you a sharp nod and slipped out. Rafayel barely comprehended the other man leaving, so focused on being in the same room as you again.Â
âI know.â Those words were fresh in his mind even after all these weeks, eating away at him. They were the reason it took him so long to come here, so afraid youâd turn him away the second he showed his face, but he knew heâd regret it for the rest of his life if he didnât try. âI know, I justâŚâ He trailed off, not quite sure what to say now that he was face to face with you.Â
âWhat do you want, Rafayel?â You took a seat behind your desk and defensively folded your arms over your chest, keeping your guard up. âTo waste more of my time? To remind me how little I meant to you? Take your pick, and do it quickly because I donât have all day.âÂ
He looked pained. âI want to talk. Please.â
A bitter laugh escaped you. âAnd why should I listen to anything you have to say?â
âYou shouldnât,â he admitted, walking to your desk. âBut Iâm asking you to, anyway.â
You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief as you looked off to the side. He somehow had the gall to walk into your building and ask to talk to you when he had no right to do so. It was just so like him, selfish with total disregard for your feelings, and as much as you wanted to tell him to get out, a small, hopeless part of you wanted to hear what he had to say.Â
You supposed that was what you got for falling for someone like him. âFine. Talk.â
Relief flooded his system. He sat down on one of the cushioned chairs in front of your desk and tried to gather his thoughts. There was so much he wanted to say, but he hadnât the faintest idea of where to start. âIâm sorry.â
That had seemed like a pretty good place to begin, but with the way your eyes narrowed, he wondered if he had already made a mistake. Lord knows it wouldnât be his first or last one. âThat could have been an email.â
âWould you have read it?â
You clenched your jaw at his rash question, opting to stay silent. Rafayel wanted to slap himself, knowing he was being an asshole even now, the one time he was actively trying to avoid doing so. He didnât deserve even a second of your time; he should have walked out of your life and stayed away to avoid causing you any more pain.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and forged on. âI fucked up, I know that. Iâve neverâ I lied and said that none of it mattered, butâ fuck, this is coming out all wrong.â He rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated at his inability to say what he wanted in a manner that made even a sliver of sense. âI was scared.âÂ
All that self-assuredness you were so used to was nowhere to be seen now as he stumbled over his words. It was jarring to see Rafayel admit to being scared when you had only ever associated him with unshakable confidence.Â
âScared of what? Me?â Â
There was something fractured in the way you asked that, fragile even. He immediately refuted the claim, feeling awful that you would even consider it a possibility. âNo, god no, not you. Never you.â His eyes snapped to yours, full of earnestness that made you instantly believe him. âYou called me your muse.âÂ
You let out a slow breath. âI remember.âÂ
Rafayel gripped the armrests on either side of him, looking off to the side, his throat bobbing with uncertainty as he contemplated whether this was a good idea anymore. âBut muses are temporary. They canât inspire forever, and god knows Iâm not someone who thinks about forever.â A huff of forced laughter. âBut with you, I did. I wanted to be the one that inspired you forever and that scared the shit out of me.â
Here they were, answers to questions you had been too proud to ask. He ran his fingers through his straightened hair, pushing it back and out of his face. Regardless of how restless he felt, he continued, knowing that the truth was the least of what you deserved. âFor the first, fuck, maybe the only time in my life, I wanted to stay. I was so afraid that youâd wake up one day and realise Iâm not worth being your muse and youâd walk away. Pick someone else.âÂ
âDo you really think so little of me?â You asked quietly, unable to look anywhere but him.Â
âI didnât know what to think,â He said honestly. âIâve never cared so much, and the thought of you leaving because you didnât find me inspiring enough for your creationsââ He cut himself off and dropped his head, as if suddenly realising how fucking awful his assumption sounded out loud. âI thought the only way to avoid that would be to leave first, and I know that that makes no sense, but IâŚ.Iâm so sorry.â
You had been called a lot of things in your life: difficult, stubborn, unreasonable, and yet somehow, this stung the worst. He had made the decision for you, leaving you to deal with the repercussions of an outcome you didnât have a hand in choosing.Â
âYou thought I saw you as a means to an end.â Your voice was devoid of emotion, hollow, anguished eyes never once finding his. âWhen I only ever thought of you as a beginning.â
For something that was a concept, it was funny how his regret manifested itself as a physical ache, ripping through his chest and causing his throat to close up on itself. Your words cut through him, reminding him of how he was the one to rush to an end that you hadnât even considered.Â
Maybe this wasnât salvageable. Maybe all he was destined for was to live with the knowledge that he had finally loved someone other than himself, and ruined it.Â
âI know what it feels like to be loved.â It took everything in him to keep looking at you when it seemed like you couldnât bear to even glance at him. His tongue felt like it was made of lead, heavy and uncooperative as he tried to say what he had known for so long. âAdoration, infatuation, whatever. I know when someone is in love with me, but Iâve never felt the same way. I donât know how to, but I think whatever I feel for you has to be pretty damn close, andââÂ
âDonât you dare.â
ââIâm in love with you, Y/n.â
A shattered breath left you, your composure faltering completely at the confession. Nothing about this was fair. Your heart was bruised and battered, but it fluttered to life completely against your will when he said it, and you detested it. You wanted to hate him so badly, even when it was so clear that you loved him. Why else would all this hurt so bad?Â
They said pride came before fall, but in your case, you fell first, and now it was your pride that stopped you from letting him back in. You knew he didnât deserve a shred of forgiveness, and you also knew that if you looked at him right now, youâd let go of the anger you were so desperately holding onto. It was the only thing keeping you from being totally vulnerable, so you kept your gaze on your mahogany desk, trying your hardest to stay strong.
âI think you should leave.â
Quiet enough to conceal how choked up you truly felt, you knew you didnât mean it. You needed the time and space to think about everything that had happened. You couldnât just forgive him even if you wanted to, so skilled at holding a grudge as you were, the bitter realisation that you were perhaps as scared as he was right then making itself known.Â
Rafayel had never been good at doing what he was told, but there was no place for his sense of entitlement here. He had done enough damage, and if you wanted him to leave, then that was exactly what heâd do. Getting to his feet, he stared at you one last time, waiting, wishing and hoping youâd look up.
But you didnât.
So he left your office, complying with your wishes without argument. It should have pleased you, considering how you hated rebuttals when it came to people following your orders.Â
But as you watched him walk through those doors, you had never wanted someone to defy you more than in that moment.
When a storm comes to an end, it does so in parts.
First, the wind stops howling. As it does, the heavy showers relent and turn back into the light drizzle it started as, gentle and harmless. The darkened clouds clear up, giving way to clear blue skies and the warm, golden rays of the sun.Â
Resentment worked differently when it came to someone you loved. It turned out that both those feelingsâ resentment and loveâ could exist simultaneously, even when it seemed nearly impossible, but when the latter was real, it made it exhausting to hold on to all that anger. Love itself was confusing, contradictory, and so difficult to navigate, especially when it was good.
And when had anything good been easy?
The art gallery was pretty much empty, seeing that it was almost eight p.m., which was when it closed. You swept through the different hallways, procrastinating, approaching the showcase you were truly there for.Â
And why the hell were you there?
Because, despite everything, Rafayel was still everything you wanted, and you were so tired of pretending he wasnât. You had spent night after night going over everything that had happened over the past six months and trying to convince yourself of the opposite, but when it came down to it, one thing was abundantly clear: he made you happy like no one else could. He could accomplish the opposite as well, but one extreme would not exist if the other didnât.Â
He was flawed, but so were you. Your pride made it impossible for you to see that at first, making you punish yourself and stay miserable, even though the one thing you wanted was within reach. You turned it away, thinking that refusal would help you forget him and the way he made you feel, but it didnât. Maybe it didnât make any sense, but maybe it wasnât supposed to. You had spent so much of your life making sure everything went exactly how you wanted, caging yourself within your own expectations.Â
Stepping into the back, you were in front of the very wall he had shown you all those months ago when he had dragged you out of your office. Even when you werenât sure of him, he was the only person in your life who had ever forced you to live.Â
Your breath hitched.
The paintings had been rearranged with a new one in the centre. The colours stood out against the others, this one bathed in warm oranges and yellows, a faceless woman leaning out of the roof of a car with the wind in her hair. There was something distinctively wistful about it, like she was being viewed from the lens of another.Â
It was you.
You took a hesitant step forward, instinctively looking at the artist plaque despite knowing that it would read âanonymousâ. Not that it mattered, of course, because you knew exactly who had made it.Â
âY/n?â
You turned, and there Rafayel was. It had been a while since you had seen him, and during that time, he had stayed out of the limelight completelyâno articles in tabloids, no rumours, nothing. Your pulse picked up at the sight of him, and you felt like a child being caught doing something they werenât supposed to.Â
âWhat are you doing here?â The ridiculous question left you before you could stop it. His lips twitched slightly, a hint of amusement bleeding into those all-consuming eyes.Â
âForgot already? Iâm a little insulted.â He spoke gently, cocking his head towards his artwork. He studied you for a moment. âWhy are you here?â
When it came to him, you always found yourself wanting to do opposite things at the same time. You wanted to run away, but more than anything, you wanted to run right back into his arms. If that made you an idiot, well, wasnât everyone allowed to be one every once in a while?
âI donât know.â
A soft smile, so much like the one he gave you that night when he first kissed you. âNo, you do. You of all people donât do things without a reason.â
There he went again, reading you like a book without your permission. You looked back at the painting of you, skillfully evading his question with one of your own. âWhen did you make that?â
âRecently.â Hesitantly, he made his way to your side, like he wasnât sure if he had a spot there anymore, but in typical Rafayel fashion, he took it anyway. âIâve had time on my hands.â
âHow?â
âI havenât been modelling that much lately. Thomas is just about fed up with me.â His attempt at levity wasnât lost on you. You were quite aware of his absence from the spotlight as of late, but something nagged at the back of your mind, telling you that you had a piece of the puzzle missing.Â
Then it hit you as your eyes swept to him, once again succumbing to the gravitational pull he possessed. âBut what about Dubois Designs?"
He slipped his hands into his pockets, not meeting your eyes. âThey sent over a contract.â He admitted, clearing his throat. âBut I may have thrown it out.â
âWhy?â It felt like all you were doing was asking questions you already knew the answers to. Rafayel clicked his tongue in a mixture of mild annoyance and something else, something you couldnât quite pinpoint, giving you a knowing look.
âYou know why.â
Fuck. Both of you, stubborn, impossibly prideful people, holding each other back because of each other. It was almost laughable. Swallowing thickly, you shifted closer to him, your gaze darting back to his depiction of you. âItâs a beautiful painting.â
âYeah, well, you can thank my muse for that.â
You were breathless. âIâm your muse?â Another question lay under this one: Do you still love me?
âIf thatâs okay with you,â His eyes never strayed from you, watching you like you were the very essence of the sun itself, or the most perfect pearl in the ocean. âI wouldnât blame you if you donât want to be. I may have given it a bad rep.â
You bit the inside of your cheek, facing him properly now that you had finally worked up the nerve. âYouâve made me a fool, Qi Rafayel.âÂ
Fondness sweeter than the ripest of peaches spread over his face. âNo one could ever make you a fool, Y/n. Especially not me.â He took a tentative step forward into your personal space, and you never wanted him to leave again. âSo Iâll ask you again, why are you here?âÂ
There were a few things in this shallow, pretentious world you were certain of. Your faith in your abilities as a designer was the first, knowing that no matter what, your skills and talent would always speak for themselves more than your words ever could. The second was your preference for coffee that was piping hot, without sugar, so that the bitterness would shock your system into functioning.Â
And the third, in a sick, unfortunately fortunate twist of fate, was Qi Rafayel, the model who had traipsed into your life without so much as a warning and had turned it upside down.Â
âBecause youâre still my muse.â You whispered. âAnd as it so happens, I love you too.â
When your lips met, you knew right then and there that youâd never let him go again. Your palm cupped his face as you pulled him closer, reaquainting yourself with the feel of him against you, how the two of you fit together so perfectly as if you were made for each other. One of his hands slipped around your waist, the other coming to rest over your own over his face, keeping it trapped there as he leaned into your touch, whispering I love youâs back.Â
âIâm going to fuck up,â Rafayel mumbled against your mouth, resting his forehead against yours like he couldnât bear to be any further from you. âIâm going to piss you off and Iâm never going to be easy.â
You squeezed his forearm. âI know. Those are your most endearing qualities.â
âWill you love me even then?â He held you close, but you could feel the slight tremble in his touch. You saw him for what he was under all that indifference and chutzpah: a man who desperately loved you through his fear. Lucky for him, you were a woman who loved him through his mistakes and all the madness he brought into your life.Â
âRafayel.â With a tender whisper of his name, you pressed your lips to his reassuringly. âI love you because of it.â
Love was messy and imperfect, but so were the two of you. Neither he nor you were easy people, but when had you ever taken the easy way out of something? You wouldnât mind never getting out of this, content to stay with him for as long as heâd have you. The colours rushed back into your life, starting with the pinks and blues of his eyes as they crinkled with a smile. Heâd break every one of your rules with a smile, and youâd let him.
âGod, youâre going to regret that.â
But he was laughing, and so were you, giddy with the thought of a future with him. The sound of his laughter was so enchanting that you wanted to memorise it, and perhaps now you could, with him by your side for what you hoped would be a beginning without an end.Â
You were wholly and irrevocably in love with Qi Rafayel, infuriating quirks and all. Everyone in the industry that the two of you ruled might have thought of him as a total nightmare.Â
Tags: dragon!sylus x fem!reader, smut, cunnilingus, breeding, creampies, biting, slight injury, some bleeding, primal kink, courting rituals, mating rituals, sylus has two cocks :333
Summary: Sylus begins to act strange and you think he may have caught some sort of illness. He's strangely warm, irritable and eating more. However this "illness" turns out to be more intense than you could have ever imagined... (Ëľ â˘Ě á´ - Ëľ )
"You're wrong," he murmurs, voice husky and edged with something raw. "Youâre fertile. I can smell it on you."
You freeze.
His lips ghost just beneath your ear as he continues, tone smooth and reverent. "Your scent is different nowâsweet, ripe, like fruit at the peak of bloom. The warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your pulse...your body sings to mine in ways you cannot hear. But I do."
His hand tightens at your waist, possessive, anchoring you to him like you might drift away otherwise. The heat in his eyes is no longer just desireâit is intention, it is instinct honed over centuries, it is him answering a call your body didnât even know it had made.
"You're ready. Now," he growls, the final word laced with a quiet sort of reverence, as if he were speaking a truth ordained by something far older than either of you.
AN: Okay so, this fic was SO fun to write I may have gotten a little carried away hehe. This was a little bit out of my comfort zone but I am so happy with it!! Plus it was about time I did a oneshot for dragon!sylus. After what he went through he deserves as many babies as he wants ;(
Enjoy!!
Sylus had been unusually irritable lately, and it wasnât just in the way he grunted or snapped when spoken toâit was in everything. His eyes seemed sharper, flicking around like he was constantly on edge, and his tail, which normally lay relaxed behind him, had developed a twitchy, agitated flick. He wasnât acting like the level-headed fiend youâd come to know and love.
Even he seemed aware of the shift; there were moments he paused mid-sentence or mid-motion, as if catching himself acting out of character. When he returned to the cave after hunting, he couldnât seem to keep still. He paced the stone floor in restless circles, ran his claws along the wall, muttered to himself under his breath. His whole body seemed to vibrate with pent-up energy, with something unspoken roiling beneath the surface.
His appetite had doubled, maybe even tripled. He devoured whatever meat, vegetables, or fruit he managed to scavenge or hunt for the both of you, sometimes not even bothering to sit down before tearing into it. He would eat so quickly it was like he hadnât tasted food in days, and when he was done, he still looked unsatisfied. It was primal, instinctive, like something inside him was demanding more than he could give it.
And then there was the heat.
Heâd started to feel noticeably warm to the touch, which was strange for a reptile. The first time you noticed it was when he brushed past you, and you flinched, startled by the heat radiating off his skin. Since then, it had only intensified. Whenever he hugged you, lingered too close, or let his fingers graze your arm, you felt itâhis body running hot, almost feverish. It was unnerving. And his touches had changed too. They werenât violent, but they carried a kind of hunger, an urgency that hadnât been there before. He gripped a little tighter, held on a little longer. Like proximity alone wasnât enough to settle whatever storm was brewing inside him.
It worried you terribly. Was he getting sick? Could dragons even get sick? The question gnawed at your thoughts, carving out little pits of anxiety in your chest no matter how often you tried to push it away. The heat that seemed to bleed from his skin, the sharp glint in his eyes that hadnât been there before, the unpredictable mood swings and restlessness...it all felt off. Like something inside him had shifted, and you didnât know if it was something natural or something dangerous. You'd never seen him like this. He wasnât just irritable, he was volatile. Every movement held tension, like he was wound too tightly and one wrong word might snap him in two.
You knew better than to voice your concerns aloud. Suggesting he try any kind of human treatment would go over about as well as trying to leash a wildfire. Heâd scoff, roll his eyes, and brush you off with a dismissive sigh. Sylus was proud, fiercely so. Stubborn as a stone wall, and not exactly someone who tolerated being fussed over. An illness? He'd laugh at the implication.
Still, you couldnât just sit back and watch him burn from the inside out.
So the next time he finally dozed offâafter hours of pacing, mumbling under his breath, and tossing scraps into the fire like theyâd wronged him personallyâyou waited until his breathing evened out and his face slackened. He lay sprawled out on the nest of furs youâd both piled near the hearth, the orange firelight casting shadows across his angular features. One arm was thrown loosely over his chest, the other curled slightly beside him. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that looked almost peaceful. Almost.
You moved with painstaking care, the cool, damp cloth in your hand trembling slightly from how tightly you gripped it. Your feet barely made a sound against the stone floor as you approached, every step deliberate. When you reached his side, you crouched slowly, heart hammering so loudly you were sure it might wake him before you even got the chance to touch him. You leaned in, gently pressing the rag to his brow, hoping the cold would cut through the heat pouring off of him like he was lit from within.
For a brief moment, you felt relief. He didnât stir. Maybe, just maybe, he would sleep through this.
But then something shifted.
Without warning, a firm pressure clamped around your wrist. You gasped, flinching, and the rag slipped from your fingers. Your gaze dropped, heart stalling in your chest, as you realized his tail had slithered around your arm in one smooth, silent motion. Like it had a mind of its own.
His eyes snapped open a second later, glowing faintly in the dim light, red pupils slitted and sharp. He looked at you without blinking, like heâd known what you were sneaking up on him the entire time.
"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" he murmured, voice husky with sleep and something elseâsomething darker. There was a flicker of amusement there, curling at the corners of his lips, but beneath it was something far more intense. Possessive. Primal. Like he wasnât just waking up, but awakening to something deeper.
You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. Your heart thundered against your ribs like it wanted to escape.
You opened your mouth to answer, but the words caught in your throat, stuck somewhere between nervousness, concern and something you couldnât name.
"I'm helping you, silly. You're sick," you mumble, voice soft but threaded with a note of stubborn concern. Your lips purse, irritation flickering across your features as you glance down at the thick coil of his tail still looped possessively around your wrist. "Now let go of me," you add, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in your voice.
To your surprise, he does. The tension releases almost instantly, the pressure around your wrist vanishing as his tail retreats. You exhale a breath you hadnât realized you were holding, rubbing at your skin where the warmth lingered.
"I am not unwell," he says after a pause, voice rich and steady, threaded with an unmistakable certainty. "Only mortals burn with fever."
You frown, eyebrows drawing together in quiet frustration. "Yeah, but... you've been acting really strange lately," you reply, your voice lowering, touched now with genuine worry. "Youâre restless, snappy, and you never eat this much. I just...I want to make sure youâre okay. That youâre not hurting."
The confession slips out before you can think better of it. You stare at him for a moment longer, searching his unreadable expression for some crack, some tell that might confirm or deny what your instincts have been screaming.
And then you move, slow and tentative, inching closer to him as if drawn by an invisible force. When you rest your head lightly against his chest, you feel the heat radiating off him in waves, hotter now than it had been earlier. His body is solid beneath you, unmoving, as if heâs forgotten how to breathe. The sound of his heartbeat thuds against your ear, rapid and deep, like a distant drum.
You think, for a moment, that he might relax.
But he doesnât.
Instead, his entire frame stiffens. Thereâs a flash of tension through his shoulders, and then his tail moves againâbut not with the idle instinct of before. It wraps around your waist in a slow, deliberate spiral, the grip firm but not cruel. He lifts you effortlessly, his strength startling in its subtlety, and then plants you down several feet away from him.
You blink, stunned, arms still half outstretched in the air where you had been.
The new distance between you is not just physical. It feels like a chasm, sudden and inexplicable, heavy with all the things he wonât say. You sit in silence for a heartbeat too long, the echo of his rejection ringing in your chest like a hollow bell.
He avoids your gaze, eyes cast to the fire, jaw clenched tightly.
"Hey! You can't juâ" you begin, voice raised in disbelief, frustration bubbling overâbut the look he gives you stops you dead in your tracks. It's not angry or loud, but it carries a quiet authority that slices through the air like a blade. His eyes flash with a warning, cold and unreadable.
"Silence, love. Sleep on the other side of the cave tonight," he says, each word deliberate, clipped. There is no room for negotiation in his tone. Itâs final. Commanding. His eyes close again, as if your protest doesnât deserve his attention. Like the matter is already settled in his mind.
The dismissal stings more than you expect.
It hits like a slap, raw and disorienting. You reel back a step, mouth parting slightly as you try to process the flood of emotion that crashes down on you all at once. Hurt. Confusion. Anger. They churn in your chest, thick and suffocating. What the hell? All you had done was try to help. You had stayed up, watched over him, worried yourself sick, and this was how he repaid you? By pushing you away like a child being told to go to their room?
Ugh. Stubborn. Always so impossibly, frustratingly stubborn.
Your jaw tightens as the ache behind your eyes starts to burn. He didnât get to do this. Not after everything. If he thought you were just going to walk away, tuck yourself into the far corner of the cave like a scolded pet and let him suffer in silence, he clearly didnât know you as well as he should.
Because humans donât give up on the ones they love.
"Sylus!" you bark, louder this time, anger sharpening your voice. You stomp across the stone floor toward him, every step punctuated by the slap of your feet and the pounding of your heart. "You know Iâm not doing that! Iâm not going to just curl up in the corner like you didnât just say that to me!"
He says nothing, but you can see his jaw twitch. That slow, deliberate breath leaves his nostrils againâheavy, controlled. Tired. Still, he doesnât open his eyes. Doesnât look at you. Itâs like he's deliberately trying to sever whatever invisible thread connects the two of you.
You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, fighting the overwhelming desire to scream. "What is wrong with you? Just talk to me! Look at me! Say anything!"
But all you receive is silence. Stubborn, infuriating silence.
Your fists tighten at your sides. The cold cavern air suddenly feels stifling.
Fine. You could be stubborn too.
Without thinking, you finish crossing the cave, heart pounding loud enough to drown out your better judgment. Every step echoes with stubborn purpose as you close the gap he created between you. You don't hesitate. You donât ask. You simply actâclimbing over him, swinging a leg across his large body, and settling yourself squarely atop his waist. The furs beneath you shift and rustle, but he doesnât stop you. His brow furrows slightly, the only sign he even notices, but otherwise, he remains infuriatingly still.
Still silent. Still distant.
You lean down slowly, hands braced on either side of his torso, and fix your gaze on his face, searching for some flicker of emotionâanything to tell you heâs still there beneath the silence. The heat rolling off of him is overwhelming up close, like standing too near a smoldering hearth. It curls around you, prickling your skin, quickening your breath. The air feels thick, heavy with unspoken things.
"Sylus..." you murmur, your voice low, raw with feeling.
No response.
"Sylus! I know you can hear me!" you bark, sharper now, frustration rising with each second he continues to ignore you. Your heart twists painfully.
Still nothing.
You sigh, the sound long and defeated, your chest aching with the weight of his silence. Carefully, gently, you lower your forehead to his, hoping maybe the closeness will shake something loose. His skin burns beneath yours, unnaturally warm.
"I just want to know whatâs wrong with you," you whisper, voice so quiet it nearly disappears in the cavern's stillness. "Guess your species are terrible communicators."
Still, he doesnât flinch. Doesnât open his eyes. But you feel itâsomething in him coiling tight, like a rope being pulled taut. He may be still, but heâs not unaffected. Something inside him is shifting, stirred by your proximity, your touch.
Acting on instinct and desperation, you close the small distance between your mouths and press a kiss to his lips. Itâs meant to be fleeting, a soft reassurance. But it lingers. Longer than it should. Your lips stay, pressed gently to his, drawn in by the heat, the subtle shape of his mouth, the restraint that pulses beneath his immobility. Your eyes slip closed as your hands moveâone cupping the side of his jaw, the other resting on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart.
Then you feel it. A breath. Deeper. Shakier. His chest rises and falls faster.
And in a blink, the world flips.
One moment youâre above him, tethered by warmth and hopeâthe next, youâre on your back, the furs catching your fall as a gasp escapes you. "Ah!" The air leaves your lungs in a rush. Your eyes fly open to find him hovering above you, strong arms braced on either side of your head. His large body cages yours in completely, heat surrounding you like a second skin.
His eyes are open now. And they are glowing.
There is something feral in his expressionânot cruel, but ancient and wild and hungry. His gaze drags across your face with a depth that makes your breath hitch. Every inch of him is tense, restrained, as if holding back something that wants very badly to be unleashed.
He still hasnât spoken.
But he is no longer ignoring you.
"You're making it very difficult to control myself, love," he growls, his voice like gravel softened by heat, thick with restraint and something darker coiled beneath it. The words roll over your skin just moments before his lips do. His breath fans against your neckâa warning, a promiseâbefore he dips his head, and you feel the sharp, precise puncture of his teeth sinking into your skin.
This isnât a playful nip. This isnât a teasing show of dominance. His bite breaks the surface, deliberate and deep. You feel the sharp pain bloom instantly, a white-hot flash that steals the breath from your lungs. A gasp escapes youâstartled, rawâand your hands fly up to clutch at his shoulders. Your fingers dig into him as your back arches against the sensation. Warm blood trickles down your shoulder, and your skin tingles where it flows.
You werenât unfamiliar with Sylus's biting. He'd always had a possessive streak that came through when things turned intimate or emotional. But thisâthis felt different. It felt desperate. Like he was trying to root himself in you. Like something inside him was slipping, and you were the only thing keeping him from losing his grip.
His mouth lingers at your neck, his lips now parted just slightly. You feel the tremor in his breath before his tongue slips out and glides across the bite. Slow. Deliberate. He licks away the blood heâd drawn, and the pain dulls under the hot, wet press of his mouth. In its place comes a deep, spiraling heat that blooms low in your belly, tightening your grip on him.
"S-Sylus..." you breathe, barely able to form the words. Your voice trembles. "If you were just...er, in needâyou know I would've helped you ages ago."
Still, he doesnât answer.
You feel the way his body stiffens slightly against you. His hand slides up along your side, slow and controlled, as though heâs still deciding what to do with the storm inside him. Then, he leans in again and presses his lips gently to your neck, just beside the wound. This time, the touch is less claiming and more conflictedâlike he's trying to soothe something in himself rather than stake another claim.
He stays there for a long moment, breathing in the scent of your skin, your blood, your closeness. You feel the tremble in his chest where it presses against yours, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch as though resisting the urge to hold you tighter. The cavern feels impossibly still around you, as if the very walls are holding their breath.
At last, he lifts his head. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, he looks completely unguarded. They glow faintly, with a trace of something wild, but itâs the emotion in them that catches your breathâraw, aching, afraid.
"It's more than that," he says, his voice rough and frayed at the edges. Not defensive. Not ashamed. Just...honest. Like every word costs him more than he knows how to show.
You stare at him, heart hammering, throat tightening.
Oh no. It's bad news, isn't it?
The thought slams into you with the force of a crashing wave, stealing the air from your lungs. You blink rapidly, trying to keep your vision clear, but the sting in your eyes wins. Tears begin to well, hot and fast, blurring the edges of your world as your chest tightens with dread. Something in his voice, in the way he looked at youâit had to mean something terrible. Something irreversible.
"What is it? Please tell me you're okay!" you blurt out, your voice cracking and shaking as panic rises up your throat. Your hands cling tighter to him, desperate and trembling, fingers curling into the fabric of whatever covers his back. As if somehow, your grip could keep him from slipping away. As if love alone could hold back whatever awful truth he was about to reveal.
Sylus blinks, visibly startled by your sudden burst of emotion. The intensity in your voice clearly catches him off guard. His eyes, once glowing with wild tension, soften slightly. His expression shiftsâno longer hard and guarded, but touched with a flicker of something else. Something gentler.
Wordlessly, he draws you closer. His arms wrap around you more securely, with purpose now. Not to restrain, but to reassure. His hands press to your back, his warmth enveloping you like a cocoon. His voice, when he finally speaks, is low and deliberate. A slow drag of velvet.
"No need to fret," he murmurs. "All is well."
You pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes wide, your breath caught halfway in your lungs. Your heart pounds in your ears. Thereâs a moment of suspended silence where you brace yourself for the real answer.
"It's just mating season."
You freeze. Your body goes still, and your mind... blanks.
Of all the explanations you had been preparing forâa curse, an ancient affliction, some kind of irreversible breakdown of his controlâthat had not even crossed your mind.
Mating season?
You blink once. Twice. And then the realization crashes over you, dragging with it a rush of relief and a sudden, absurd clarity. The heat, the irritability, the pacing, the biting, the overwhelming hungerâboth physical and something deeper. It all made sense now. It fit together like puzzle pieces you hadnât realized you were holding.
You let out a breathless huff, lips parting as the tension begins to unravel inside you.
And then you laugh.
A full, startled, ridiculous laugh bubbles up from your chest and bursts free before you can stop it. It catches you completely off guard, but you canât hold it in. The absurdity of it allâthe sheer contrast between what you imagined and what it actually wasâbreaks something loose in you.
You double over slightly, pressing your forehead into his collarbone as your shoulders shake with the sound. Itâs laughter born of relief, disbelief, and the strange, heady rush of realizing everything isnât falling apart.
Sylus stares down at you in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly. Clearly, he doesnât find your reaction particularly amusing. If anything, his expression deepens into a look of resigned irritation, as if this wasnât quite the response he expected.
But still, he doesnât pull away. His arms stay around you, anchoring you to him, the heat of his body steady and real. His tail curls lightly around your leg, a quiet, instinctive motion. Protective. Possessive.
And despite the glare he levels at the top of your head, thereâs no real venom behind it. He lets you laugh, lets you melt the fear from your chest with every shaky breath, until your voice begins to soften again.
Eventually, you lift your head, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.
"Is something humorous?" he asks, his voice low, edged with a faint note of offense, though there is no true malice behind it. His eyes narrow slightly as they study your face, as though trying to decipher the cause of your sudden laughter. But even in his quiet suspicion, his arms never loosen their hold around you. If anything, he draws you closer.
You shake your head quickly, the laughter dying in your throat as a rush of guilt creeps in. "Honestly, you had me scared" you say, your voice softening, breaking slightly at the end. "I really thought you were going to die on me."
That doesn't seem to ease him. He exhales through his nose in a deep, low gruntânot dismissive, but something closer to acknowledgment. The sound vibrates against your body, a warm, strange comfort. Then, with a fluid, instinctive movement, he adjusts your positions. His strength is effortless as he shifts, guiding you until you're lying beside him on the furs, your body drawn into his larger frame like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
His arm curls around your waist, securing you against his chest. It isnât just for comfortâthere is something possessive in the gesture, protective, as if heâs anchoring you there by will alone. The heat of him envelops you entirely, bleeding into your limbs until the cold stone floor feels like a distant memory.
"Does this mean..." you begin, your voice barely more than a whisper. But the thought drifts before it finishes, scattered like leaves on the wind. You have so many questions tumbling through your mind: What does this mean for him? For you? Is this temporary? Instinct? A sign of something deeper? But they all blur at the edges, softening under the pull of exhaustion.
Your body is finally registering the toll of the night. You had stayed up far too late, keeping vigil while Sylus paced, brooded, fought himself in silence. You hadn't let yourself rest until he did. Now, the weight of sleeplessness pulls at your limbs like gravity, and your eyelids feel impossibly heavy.
Outside, the first blush of morning glows gently. Sunlight begins to pour through the narrow cracks in the rock that serves as the caveâs natural door. The pale beams stretch across the stone floor like golden fingers, warming the air with soft radiance. The quiet sounds of the wilderness beyond stir faintly, muted by distanceâbirds beginning their morning calls, wind rustling through high branches.
Sylus doesnât answer your unfinished thought. He merely presses closer, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. His breath fans across your skin in slow, even waves, and the low, rhythmic sound that rumbles from his chest is unmistakable. A purr. Deep and velvety. Content.
The sound settles into your bones, a vibration that eases the tightness from your shoulders and lulls the last frayed edges of fear from your heart. There is something incredibly grounding about itâlike being cradled by the earth itself. One of his hands rests on your waist, fingers spread, as if silently promising that you are safe, that he will not let go.
You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of smoke and warmth and him. Despite the adrenaline, despite the questions that remain unanswered, your body begins to let go. Your thoughts drift. His purring fills the quiet like a lullaby spun from heat and breath and unspoken devotion.
Sleep takes you gently.
And you surrender to it, wrapped in Sylusâs arms, as the light of a new day filters through stone and silence alike.
As the days passed, you began to notice other, more subtle changes in Sylus's behaviorâthe kind of shifts that spoke not just of mood, but of instinct, of ritual. Of purpose.
It started gradually. At first, it was the gifts. Sylus had always brought you little trinkets here and thereâa gleaming stone from a riverbed, a silver ring once forgotten in the ruins of some fallen estate, or a flower pressed flat and preserved between scraps of parchment. But now? Now he returned from his ventures with arms full of treasure.
You began to receive things that looked as though they had been pulled from the vaults of kings. Gemstones the size of your knuckles. Necklaces heavy with gold and set with fire-bright opals. Crowns, actual crowns, one with a missing jewel that he promised to "replace shortly." Delicate filigree bracelets and earrings of such craftsmanship that you wondered if they had come from the hands of mortals at all.
You accepted them, of course. How could you not? They dazzled the eye and stirred something deep within your chestâawe, gratitude, wonder. And then there was the way Sylus looked at you when you accepted each piece. The way he watched your reactions with quiet intensity, hunger and satisfaction warring in his gaze as your fingers traced the contours of every offered treasure.
"Is this suitable to your liking, beloved?" he would ask, voice a rich hum in your ear. There was always a thread of tension in his tone, a need that ran deeper than pride.
Youâd smile and nod, sometimes laughing softly at the extravagance, sometimes whispering thanks as you leaned into his warmth. That always seemed to satisfy him. His shoulders would relax, his tail would curl in closer around you, and a low purr would rumble from deep in his chest.
And the gifts didnât stop with jewels and gold.
His hunting habits changed too. Where once he had returned with modest catchesâa brace of rabbits, a string of fish, the occasional deerânow he came back with trophies that left you reeling. Massive elk, towering wild boars with tusks the length of your forearm. Game that would feed you both for weeks. And then, one evening, he returned dragging behind him the largest bear you had ever seen.
Its massive body sprawled across the cave entrance like something out of legend. Thick fur matted with snow and blood, claws that could gouge stone. You stood frozen in the firelight, staring at it, unsure whether to marvel or panic.
Sylus merely stood beside it, chin slightly raised, one clawed hand resting on its flank like a proud hunter presenting a trophy.
"For you," he said simply, as if it were nothing.
You had blinked at him, stunned. "Sylus, I...I donât even know how to cook that."
He grinned, utterly unbothered. "Then I will learn."
The gifts. The feasts. The constant nearness. The careful watching of your every reaction. You had thought it was simply Sylus being more open, more affectionate in the wake of your recent closeness.
You were trying not to overthink it. Truly, you were. Every part of you wanted to believe that all the changes were just instinct, affection taken to a slightly obsessive level. Youâd chalked up the treasure hoarding, the feasts, the increased proximity, the way he hovered just a little too closely sometimesâall of it to simple fondness. Maybe even a primal form of love. But nothing could have prepared you for what awaited you after returning from a brisk walk one particularly chilly afternoon.
The moment you stepped through the threshold of the cave, you froze in place, heart lurching with confusion.
Sylus had completely transformed everything.
Gone were the scattered, mismatched piles of pelts, the half-organized piles of gold, the signs of his usual indifference to comfort or aesthetic. In their place was something deliberate. Thoughtful. Nest-like. The entire back of the cave had been cleared and restructured, centered around an enormous bed of furs that had been meticulously arranged. It looked almost ceremonial in its care.
The old sleeping area had been expanded, padded with thick layers of fur and hideâincluding the bear pelt from the beast he had dragged home days ago. It now lined the center of the nest, skinned, cleaned and softened into a thick, luxurious base. Softer animal hides had been layered on top, and the perimeter was reinforced with woven branches, dried moss, and feathers, creating a barrier of warmth and comfort.
It wasnât just for practicality. It was beautiful.
There were little details everywhere. Smooth stones from your favorite riverbank placed in a pattern near the fire pit. Bits of dried herbsâthe ones you loved for tea or the scent they gave when burnedâtucked into the seams of the bedding. A string of beads you thought youâd lost was now nestled between two thick furs, as if it had been intentionally displayed.
You stood there for several seconds, mouth slightly open, completely unprepared.
"Sylus..." you breathed, your voice caught somewhere between awe and bewilderment. "Whatâs the meaning of all this?"
He looked up at you from where he knelt, smoothing out the bear fur with surprising tenderness. His expression was completely unreadable. Calm. Focused. As if this were the most natural thing in the world. "You were shivering at night," he said simply. "This will keep you warmer."
That might have been enough for anyone else. Practical. Logical. An easy excuse.
But his eyes told a different story.
He watched you too closely. Not just to gauge your reactionâbut to savor it. There was something ancient and yearning behind the glow in his eyes, something that vibrated in the silence between his words. He was waiting. Not for your thanks, but for your approval.
Noticing your lack of response, Sylus's expression begins to shift. The warmth in his eyes dims, replaced by something sterner, more guarded. His tail flicks once behind himâa sharp, agitated motion that echoes his growing unease. He straightens his spine, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.
"Do you not like it?" he asks, his voice quieter now but unmistakably tense. Thereâs something beneath his words that makes your chest tightenâdisappointment, certainly. But also something rawer. Doubt. Hurt. The faint tremor of vulnerability from someone unaccustomed to feeling exposed.
Your eyes widen, and guilt rises quickly in your throat. You hadn't meant to be silent for so long. You were simply overwhelmedâby the effort, by the meaning behind it all. But now, seeing the shift in his posture, the way his eyes avoid yours, you realize how that silence must have come off.
You quickly close the space between you, reaching out instinctively. Your hands lift to cradle his face, palms warm against his heated skin. You guide his gaze back to you, gently but insistently, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, searching your face as though still bracing for rejection.
"No," you say softly, firmly, your voice thick with emotion. "I love it. I really do. It's beautiful. I just...I donât understand why. You donât have to do all this. The gifts, the meat, the rearrangingâI was already happy. I was perfectly content with how things were before."
Sylus doesnât recoil. Instead, he leans into your touch just slightly, as though the reassurance eases something deep in his chest. The tightness in his shoulders begins to uncoil, and the tension etched into his brow softens. A quiet exhale escapes him, almost inaudible.
"You laughed," he murmurs after a moment, his voice roughened by something too ancient to be called simple sorrow. "When I spoke of mating season. I assumed then that you deemed me unworthy as a mateâill-fitted to claim or keep one such as you."
You blink, taken aback. The memory of that moment resurfacesâyour burst of laughter, the disbelief, the release of tension you hadnât realized he was carrying so heavily. It hadnât been mockery. But now, you see how it must have been received by someone like Sylusâa creature whose understanding of humor, especially human levity in the face of instinct, is limited by centuries of solemn tradition and a worldview where gestures hold more meaning than words.Â
"So...the jewels? The meat?" you ask gently, your voice cracking slightly as realization begins to sink in.
He lets out a low, almost frustrated huff, glancing to the side. His tail curls around one of your ankles without thought, anchoring you to him in a quiet, possessive motion. "To prove I can provide for you," he says simply. "And for our offspring that I hoped you'd bear."
The words hit you like a wave, your breath catching in your throat. Your heart swells and shatters at once, a knot forming deep in your chest. He really wanted a baby with you? To form new life? With you??
Because that was it, wasnât it? This powerful, ancient creatureâso feared, so composed, so unreadable to othersâwas doing everything in his power to show you his worth. Not by demanding your affection or asserting his claim, but by showing you how he could build a life around you. Make a place for you. Prepare for a future, one you hadnât even considered yet.
He had rearranged his entire world to make space for you in it. Courted you to prove himself just as many of his species had done with their mates.
You looked at him now with new eyes, your throat tightening as you caressed the edge of his jaw.
"Sylus...you donât have to prove anything to me. I never doubted your strength. I never doubted you for a single second. Sometimes humans laugh when we feel relieved. That's all."
You notice that he seemed to perk up ever so slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. His posture straightened by a fraction, the glow in his eyes shifting with something newânot quite relief, but intrigue. A subtle ripple of tension unwound in his shoulders, though he tried to mask it.
"Mortals laugh when they feel better?" he asked, voice low and gravelly, as if the question itself was unfamiliar. There was a curious tilt to his head, the tone almost scholarlyâas if he were cataloging your species' behaviors like one would study a rare flame.
You nodded, giving him a gentle smile. "Yes. Laughter is...a release. I wasnât mocking you, Sylus. I was relieved. It meant you werenât dying. And...I think you would make a wonderful mate. And father. To our baby."
His grip on you suddenly shifted, tightening with sudden purpose. Not in a threatening way, but in a way that grounded you firmly against himâpossessive, almost reverent. His pupils expanded rapidly, red irises eclipsed by black. A primal heat surged behind his gaze, burning steady and intent. You felt the growl in his chest before it even reached his lips, a low, rumbling vibration that poured through your body like a tremor.
"Then...you accept?" he asked slowly, the words thick with restrained emotion. "You will take my seed into you? You would bear my offspring?"
Your heart skipped a beatâno, several. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel your pulse hammering in your throat. He said it with such conviction, with none of the coy hesitations or evasive phrasing you were used to. Just truth. Raw and full of meaning. The ancient kind of promise that didnât ask, but waited.
You hesitated, swallowing hard. "I mean...I do have my doubts," you admitted, fingers curling against his chest. Your fingers graze the edge of his scales. Your voice trembled slightly under the weight of his gaze. "I donât think Iâm strong enough to carry children of yours. Dragons are...different. Your children, theyâd be massive, wouldnât they?"
You tried to laugh. It came out tight, nervous. A shaky sound that barely carried.
But Sylus didnât laugh. He didnât smile. Instead, something deeper flickered behind his eyesâa hunger, yes, but also certainty. Purpose. Legacy.
A low, pleased growl rolled from the depths of his chest, his breath warm against your skin. You gasped as you felt his tail move, the strong, silken muscle winding slowly up your leg. It caressed your skin with practiced control, the movement deliberate. Purposeful. The hem of your dress lifted inch by inch under the teasing weight of his tail.
"Nonsense," he growled, and this time his voice was like smoke and stone. "You are more than capable. I would never choose a mate who was not capable of the task. Your body, your spirit, your frameâthey are all sufficient. More than sufficient."
His claws ghosted over your hips, drawing you in closer, like a hunter gathering something sacred. You felt the heat of him, not just his body but his intent, his longing, the centuries of instinct that pulsed just beneath his skin.
"I'm not even sure if it will work..." you murmur, your voice laced with uncertainty. "Humans only ovulate for a short time. If that window's already passedâ"
Sylus moves before you can finish. His body leans into yours with quiet purpose, and in an instant, the air shifts between you. His breath ghosts over your neck, warm and steady, and you shiver as his nose traces the delicate line of your throat. The movement is slow, deliberateânot just intimate, but instinctual. He inhales deeply, the sound low and resonant like something ancient stirring in his chest. The rumble that follows isnât quite a growl, but it thrums through you like thunder beneath the earth.
"You're wrong," he murmurs, voice husky and edged with something raw. "Youâre fertile. I can smell it on you."
You freeze.
His lips ghost just beneath your ear as he continues, tone smooth and reverent. "Your scent is different nowâsweet, ripe, like fruit at the peak of bloom. The warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your pulse...your body sings to mine in ways you cannot hear. But I do."
His hand tightens at your waist, possessive, anchoring you to him like you might drift away otherwise. The heat in his eyes is no longer just desireâit is intention, it is instinct honed over centuries, it is him answering a call your body didnât even know it had made.
"You're ready. Now," he growls, the final word laced with a quiet sort of reverence, as if he were speaking a truth ordained by something far older than either of you.
Your breath catches, your face flushing as your heart pounds against your ribs. You can feel the heat rising in you, pooling low, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
You search his face for doubt, but find none. Only certainty.
So, you were ovulating, and he could smell itâand worse, he wasnât just aroused by it; he was called by it.
You feel your nerves ease, if only a little. Sylus was dependableâfierce, steady, and impossibly sure in the way only something ancient could be. For all his intensity, he had never once let harm come to you, had never faltered in his protection. And now, with the weight of everything shifting between you, that truth brought the smallest measure of calm. If he said he would keep you safe, you believed him. If he said he would protect the life growing between you, you knew it to be a vow etched in something deeper than words.
The idea of having a baby had once seemed distant, more fantasy than reality. Something soft and quiet that belonged to another version of your life, another world entirely. But now? Now it felt inevitable. Natural. Fated. Like every step had led to this moment, and all that was left was to lean into it.
He wanted this with you. You could see it in everything he did: the nesting, the offerings, the way he curled around you at night like a guardian warding off the dark. His every action had been leading here, even if you hadnât recognized it at the time. And though nerves still fluttered in your chest like a thousand wings, the deeper truth remained. You wanted it too. You werenât entirely prepared, not yet, but you were ready to say yes.
You looked into his eyes, your heart thundering, and gave a small but certain nod. "Okay. I accept."
Those three words changed everything.
It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him, something primal and powerful released from its cage. You barely had time to react before he swept you off the ground with effortless strength. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he cradled you against his chest, his expression focused, almost reverent. In mere seconds, he had crossed the room and laid you gently down on the massive bed of furs he had so meticulously preparedâhis gift to you, his offering.
The nest was impossibly warm, soft and inviting, wrapping around your back and shoulders like it had been waiting for this moment. You could feel the heat of his body above you, the power in his frame held taut just beneath the surface. He hovered for a breath, eyes raking over you, and then his tail movedâsnaking up one leg, coiling slowly with deliberate grace.
The fabric of your dress tightened as his tail looped beneath it, and you barely had time to gasp before you heard the slow, purposeful sound of it tearing. With practiced precision, his tail shredded the fabric, beginning to peel it away from your body with a hunger that had been restrained for too long. Each thread undone was like a silent declaration: mine, mine, mine.
You felt a rush of cool air against your skin, and your breasts were exposed to his gaze. You could sense his eyes on you, drinking in the sight of your bare skin and hardened nipples, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Your breasts bounced slightly as you shifted, and you could feel his gaze following the movement, his eyes hungrily taking in every detail.
You instinctively tried to shield yourself, your arms moving to cross your chest, but he was quicker. His tail wrapped around your wrists with gentle but unyielding strength, keeping you exposed beneath him. Vulnerable. Claimed.
He leaned in closer, breath hot against your skin, and you felt it hitch as he studied you like something sacred. There was a deep rumble in his chest, not quite a growl but something more ancientâa sound of possession and awe.
"This will not be gentle," he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel smoothed by fire. "But do not fret. I will take care not to hurt you, beloved."
His words settled over you like a brand, searing into your skin. There was something sacred in them, a promise forged not in softness, but in strengthâand devotion.
And the way he said it, with such conviction and tempered need, made your breath stutter and your fear crumble, replaced with something far more powerful:
Desire. Acceptance. Surrender.
His voice was a low rumble, "I want to see you. All of you." His eyes met yours, seeking consent, respectful despite the fierce hunger within. You nodded, your heart still pounding, but the fear was gone, replaced by a strong lust you didn't know you had.
He reached for the remnants of your dress, his touch gentle yet firm as he pushed the rest of the fabric off you. It slipped down your body, leaving you bare except for your undergarments. His breath hitched, his gaze roaming over you, worshipful and hungry.
"You're beautiful" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Like a dream I never dared to have." He leaned down, his lips met yours, a soft, tender kiss that belied the intensity of his gaze. It was a question, a request for permission to explore further. You responded, your body melting into his, your lips parting to deepen the kiss. He tasted of smoke and spice, a heady combination that made your head spin. His claws, those large, warm claws, traced the curve of your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
You gasped, breaking the kiss, your body arching into his touch. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to hear you," he whispered, his breath hot on your ear. "I want to hear every sound you make, every gasp, every moan." He captured your mouth again, his tongue delving in, exploring, tasting. His hands continued their journey, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, the soft flesh of your thighs. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your undergarments, pulling back to look at you.
He slid the underwear down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a shiver of anticipation and vulnerability, but the heat in his gaze, the raw desire, kept you from feeling exposed again. He stood up, his tail unwrapping from your waist, and you missed the contact instantly. But he was back in a moment, his hands on your knees, gently pushing them apart.
He knelt down, his gaze still locked with yours, and you felt a jolt of surprise and excitement. His rough claws traced up your inner thighs, his touch feather-light, sending shivers through you. You could feel the heat of his breath on you, and you squirmed, your body aching with anticipation. He smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and leaned in.
His long tongue found your aching bud, hot and wet, and you gasped, your body arching off the pile of furs. He made a sound, a low growl of pleasure, and the vibration sent waves of sensation through you. He gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he explored you, his tongue and lips driving you to the edge. You could feel the pressure building, your body coiling tight, and you grasped the furs beneath you, your knuckles turning paler.
"Thank you for agreeing to give me the gift of new life" His gaze held you captive, even as his tongue continued its torturous, delightful dance. You felt a flush spread across your body, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.
But you didn't look away. You held his gaze, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body writhing with each flick of his tongue. He groaned, the sound vibrating through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel it, the pleasure building, coiling tight like a spring ready to snap. "Sylus," you gasped, his name a plea on your lips.
He growled in response, his fingers digging into your thighs as he redoubled his efforts. The room spun, the golden light blurring around you. Your body tensed, every muscle coiled tight, and then, with a cry, you shattered. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in sensation. You felt Sylus's claws on you, steadying you, his tail wrapping around you, holding you close as you rode out the storm. When the world came back into focus, you found yourself cradled in Sylus arms, your body still trembling with aftershocks. He was looking down at you, his eyes soft with concern and something else...a deep, profound satisfaction.
As you finally noticed the absence of his usual belt, your eyes widened in shock. There, at you waist, were not one, but two substantially sized cocks, side by side, both throbbing with desire. You could've sworn he only had one before?? A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you felt a surge of panic. You tried to wriggle free, to create some distance, but Sylus's grip only tightened. He growled, a low, primal sound that sent shivers down your spine, as you managed to shift into a crawling position. But your brief moment of triumph was short-lived.
With a swift move, he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back towards him. You could feel his hot breath on your neck as he forced you face down onto the soft furs, his body pressing heavily against yours. "You cannot run from this," he rasped, his voice thick with lust and determination. "Be still." The fear that had been lurking within you surged back, filling every fiber of your being. You knew, with a certainty that was both terrifying and exhilarating, that there would be no escape. Not this time. Not until he had marked you, claimed you, bred you. His need was too great, his desire to leave his seed within you too strong to change your mind now.
As Sylus began to push his first cock into you, you felt a searing pain and a sense of being stretched to the limit. You realized, with a jolt of fear, that he hadn't been lying when he said this wouldn't be gentle. His cock was like a battering ram, forcing its way into your tight pussy with a ferocity that left you breathless. He let out a fierce growl of pleasure, pushing himself as deep as he could possibly go inside your walls.
He pumped feverishly, his hips moving with the strength and power of a beast. You groaned, your voice hoarse and barely audible, as your pussy was forced to take the pounding he was giving you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that left you gasping for air and gripping the fur beneath you.
His cock was huge, and it felt like it was tearing you apart, stretching your walls to the limit. You felt like you were being ripped in two, your body struggling to accommodate the size and strength of his thrusts. But Sylus didn't seem to care, his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.
You were at his mercy, unable to escape the torrent of sensations that he was unleashing on your body. Your mind was a jumble of pain and pleasure, your body torn between the pain of his thrusts and the thrill of being taken by a creature so powerful and dominant. You felt his second cock rubbing itself between the rounds of your ass.
As Sylus continued to pump into you, his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure, he leaned in close and whispered in your ear.
"You'll never want for anything, beloved," he growled, voice low and reverent, thick with the weight of promise. It wasnât just a statement. It was a vow. An oath carved from the bones of instinct, older than memory and heavier than gold. His breath was hot against your neck, his words brushing over your skin like fire.
"Not once," he continued, a possessive rumble threading through each syllable, "not once you're full with my children."
There was no shame in his tone, no hesitation. Just certainty. Purpose. He spoke like a dragon made flesh, a creature built for legacy, for claiming, for protecting what was his with unrelenting devotion. His hand traced your side as he spoke, the motion slow and reverent, as if feeling the space where new life would soon grow.
"Yes...yes give me as many children as you want Sylus, I want them all..." you begged, feeling yourself beginning to drool into the furs.
Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to have a profound effect on Sylus. His eyes flashed with a fierce light, and his face twisted in a snarl of pleasure.
Without warning, he pulled his cock out of you, the sudden withdrawal leaving you feeling empty and uneasy. But before you could even catch your breath, he flipped you around, his hands grasping your hips and pulling you back onto his cock. You felt him shove his cock balls deep inside you once again, the sudden invasion making you gasp with shock and pleasure.
You were stretched to the limit, your body struggling to accommodate the size and strength of his thrusts. But Sylus didn't seem to care, his face twisted in a mask of pleasure and desire. He pumped into you with a fierce intensity, his hips moving with a rapid, pounding rhythm that left you breathless and gasping. You felt his second cock sliding in harmonious rhythm across your stomach as he continued to pump the other inside you.
Sylus's movements grow frantic, each thrust more desperate than the last. The heat builds between you, an unstoppable force that drives you both to the edge. His breath hitches, and you can feel the tension coiling in his muscles, ready to snap.
With a final, forceful thrust, he slams deep inside you, a low groan ripping from his chest as he cums. The heat floods into you, a searing wave of release that leaves you both gasping. As he rides out the last pulses of his climax, he leans forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. The bite is sharp, claiming, sending a shock through your body that mingles with the aftershocks of his release.
You're both slicked in sweat, your chests rising and falling in a staggered rhythm as you cling to each other, trembling and utterly spent. The cave around you is dense with heat and the scent of exertion, the air thick enough to drink. Your skin is flushed, tingling, every nerve alight from the intensity of what has just passed between you. You feel the large amount of cum he shot inside you begin to spill out, making your thighs stick together. Itâs hard to tell where your body ends and his beginsâhis warmth wraps around you like a living cocoon, steady and ever-present.
Every breath you take is his, pulled in from the narrow space between your mouths, and every exhale becomes a shared offering. His body is heavy over yours, enveloping, protective. Youâre still reeling, caught somewhere between bliss and disbelief, when Sylus leans down and claims your lips in a kissâfierce, unrelenting, yet reverent. It isnât rushed. Itâs deep, meaningful, and possessive in a way that leaves your heart pounding anew.
"Can you help me up?" you whisper, voice trembling, your limbs aching with fatigue. You lift a shaky hand, fingers brushing the fresh mark on your shoulder. The skin there is tender and warm, a physical memory of him etched into your flesh.
Sylus pulls back just enough to look at you, a small smile touching his lips. Thereâs affection in his gaze, but itâs layered with something elseâsomething feral, possessive, unwavering. You blink at him, puzzled by the look he gives you, your breath catching as your body anticipates an answer.
"We arenât finished, beloved" he murmurs, his voice like a caress wrapped in iron. The timbre of it thrums through your bones. He motions to his other member, still throbbing with need on your stomach. "I still have seed stored. I told you this would not be brief. We wonât be done until I am certainâutterly certainâthat my seed has taken root."
The words wash over you like a second wave of heat. You feel it building againânot fear, not even hesitation. Just the slow, inevitable rush of anticipation. Your breath shudders as he presses closer once more, and the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter. He is so sure. So devoted. So...inescapably yours.
This isnât just instinct anymore. It isnât mere biology. Itâs a vow, an offering, a claiming that comes from something sacred and ancient within him.
And as his lips brush against your throat, his tail curling possessively around your thigh again, you know one thing for certain:
Sylus isnât finished.
And this becomes abundantly clear as he pushes his second cock inside you.
The next two days blur together in a haze of heat and aching limbs. Sylus is relentlessâa creature driven by instinct and obsession, bound not just by desire but by an instinctual need to claim and secure what he now considers his. The cavern is filled with the sounds of breathless gasps, low growls, and the slick sound of bodies tangled in devotion and purpose.
There is barely a moment to rest. He presses into you again and again, each time with a ferocity that leaves you trembling, breathless, dazed. He rarely lets you catch your breath before pulling you close once more, whispering possessive promises into your ear, vowing over and over that he will not stop until he knows that his seed has taken root.
Still, there are brief breaks. Moments when he leaves to hunt, returning with food to replenish your strength. He never brings back just a mealâhe returns with offerings: rare fruit, tender meats, things heâs sure will sustain and strengthen you. His eyes scan you for any signs of weakness, worry carved into the lines of his face even through the veil of lust that constantly clouds him.
One such time, you had tried to redress yourself, more out of instinct than shame. But when he returned and found you clothed again, his eyes darkened, the low sound of displeasure vibrating in his chest. He had stalked over to you, roughly tearing the garments off of your body, scattering them on the stone floor in pieces.
"Sylu-"
"No," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "You are to remain bare for me. Ready. Always."
And with those words, he had taken you again roughly, until the floor was soaked in his cum, as if to remind you that your body was his haven nowâa vessel for something sacred. And this continued hourly, even when you had just awoken from a nap. He simply would spread your legs and begin pumping himself inside you. You welcomed this of course, figuring he was just following what his instincts were telling him to do.
Eventually, his frenzy began to slow. The fire that had once consumed him now burned low and steady, replaced by a quieter, more reverent form of devotion. Weeks passed in a blur of rest, warmth, and gentle touches, and then came the shiftâhe began to note that you smelled different. His sharp senses detected it before you felt a thing. He would murmur it against your skin, nose pressed to your neck or your belly, voice thick with wonder.
"You carry new life," heâd whisper.
At first, you rolled your eyes and laughed it off, teasing him for being so certain. You didn't want to get your hopes up. But soon, you began to feel it tooâa flutter, faint and flickering like butterfly wings deep within. The first time it happened, you froze, a hand going instinctively to your belly. Sylus noticed immediately, his head snapping up, eyes wide.
"Did you feel it?"
You nodded slowly, hand still pressed to the gentle curve of your stomach. He was elated. Absolutely overcome with joy. He knelt before you and kissed your belly with a soft, contented purr rumbling from deep in his chest, his tail wrapping protectively around your ankles.
True to his word, he kept his promise. You never wanted for anything. He hunted only the best for you, brought the juiciest fruit, the most nourishing roots. He prepared meals with painstaking care, even if he didnât eat most of it himself. When your back ached or your feet swelled, he massaged you with surprising tenderness, his large hands easing every knot and tension from your tired limbs. At night, he curled around you like a shield, his wings a blanket of protection, whispering soft things in a language you didnât always understand.
Eventually, your clothes grew too tight to wear. Your belly swelled gloriously with life, and you gave up trying to force yourself into fabric that no longer fit. You wandered the cave freely, naked and glowing, your hands always resting protectively on your rounded stomach. Sylus didnât mind in the slightest. He thought you looked divine.
Even in the later stages of your pregnancy, when walking made you tired and your body ached from the weight of his child, he still looked at you with hunger in his eyes. He remained ever ready to take you, though now with more patience, more gentleness to not hurt you or the baby. His touches were slow, reverent, his need no less intense but guided now by something softerâan unshakable adoration.
To him, you were more than his mate.
You were the future of his lineage. A living miracle he worshiped with every breath.
He was awoken one morning by the soft, fragile sound of you whining beside himâa breathy, instinctive noise that sliced through the quiet like a blade, shattering the peace of dawn. Instantly, he was alert, his senses snapping into sharp focus. In one smooth, practiced motion, he propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over you, red eyes scanning your body with fierce, frantic protectiveness. His hands hovered inches from your skin, as though afraid to touch and yet desperate to find the source of your distress.
When he found no visible wounds, he moved lower, his tail curling around your leg and lifting it gently. What he saw next made him still completelyâand then smile, slow and reverent. A sheen of clear fluid glistened at your thighs. His chest swelled with emotion, and a warm, knowing glow filled his gaze.
It was time.
His breath caught in his throat, and the world seemed to narrow around this one miraculous truth. He leaned down, pressed his forehead to yours, and gently shook you awake, voice husky with emotion. "Wake, beloved," he murmured. "The hour is upon us."
What followed was the longest, most grueling day and a half of your life. The cave became a sanctuary of primal sound and sacred painâthe sharp edge of your cries echoing off the stone walls, the slow, rhythmic cadence of your breathing, and Sylusâs steady, grounding presence through it all. The space that had once been a den of passion now transformed into a place of birth and bond, of new beginnings.
He had prepared for this, of course. He always did. A nest of soft animal pelts had been lovingly arranged just days prior, thick and warm and perfectly layered to support your aching, straining body. You lay upon them, your skin damp with sweat, hair plastered to your temples, your belly tightening again and again with each new contraction. The pain was searing, unforgiving, your body fighting for every inch of progress.
And Sylus never left your side. Not for a moment.
He positioned himself behind you, his body acting as both cradle and shield. His larger frame curved protectively around yours, arms curled reverently over your middle, claws softened and carefully restrained so they wouldnât harm you. He rubbed slow, grounding circles into the swell of your belly, the weight of his presence a balm against the storm.
His lips brushed your shoulder often, murmuring affirmations and praise, voice a low, calming purr that vibrated through your bones. His tail coiled gently around your thigh, anchoring you when you trembled. Whenever you cried out or whimpered in agony, he was thereânot panicked, not shaken, but steady. Fierce.
"Breathe, my love," he whispered again and again, the words threaded with admiration. "Youâre strong. So strong. You were made for this."
There was never a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He watched you with awe, holding space for your pain and your power, never wavering. His devotion took on a quiet intensity, every touch purposeful, every breath synchronized with yours. When you broke down in tears, sobbing through another wave of pain, he kissed your temple, held your hand, and wrapped you tighter in his warmth.
He treated you like something sacredânot just the mother of his child, but the miracle who bore his legacy. There was reverence in the way he touched you, in how he shifted with you through every hour, how his purring grew louder as your contractions deepened. You were his whole world in those moments, and he made sure you felt it.
As the hours stretched into exhaustion and time lost all meaning, he remained your constant.
And when the sharp, piercing cry of a newborn echoed through the cave, Sylus felt the breath leave his lungs entirely. The sound struck him like thunder, powerful and sacred, and his eyes locked on the sight before him: you, cradling the small, wriggling form against your chest. You were slick with sweat, flushed from exertion, but your smileâsoft, exhausted, and full of wonder for your new babyâwas the most radiant thing he had ever seen.
He moved toward you reverently, as if approaching something divine. But as he leaned in closer, a deep instinct stirred within him, passed down through countless generations. His tongue flicked out ever so slightly, and his body tensed with the urge to clean the newborn himselfâthe way his kind had always done.
You caught the motion and gave him a knowing look, gently placing a hand on his cheek. "No licking," you whispered with a tired laugh. "Thatâs not how we do it."
It took some convincing, his instincts hard to quiet, but he eventually yielded, watching with wide-eyed fascination as you showed him the human way. Warm cloths, gentle strokes, soft murmurs of comfort.
He knelt beside you, silent and attentive, absorbing every detail.
And though he did not get to perform the ritual of his bloodline, he found something just as profound in learning yours.
Together, you welcomed new life in a way that blended two worlds into one.
big men who blush when you compliment them. big men who fumble their words, who get all fidgety when you're sitting next to them because they can't focus. big men who do that little aw shucks rub on the back of their neck when you kiss them on the cheek. big men who love cuddling you. big men who pick you up like you're light as air and tuck you into their side so you can't see how big they're smiling
LEAVING AFTER AN ARUGMENT. . .
you leave for an unrelated reason after an argument and he panics
lads & f! reader
( I. ) first time writing for these guys kinda nervous eeeeeek ALSO what nicknames are we calling the boys? like is it baby, honey, or what cuz sometimes i wanna write dialogue for reader when she calls him and it's not his actual name if that makes any sense? lol
( II. ) send any lads reqs if you want ! i can't guarantee i'll get to them, but i'll try :)
. . .
it seemed like all you did was argue lately. tensions were high as both your schedules clashed, leaving no time for any meaningful connection. he was busy with work, irritated beyond belief as his colleagues continued to piss him off; you were drowning in missions, sorely overdue for some time off. everything you did annoyed him, and everything he did annoyed you.
you came out the shower, clad in your pajamas. you applied some lip balm while your eyes drifted to where he sat in the living room. despite your own exhaustion, you could tell he was stressed and wanted to offer some comfort. but after just one question of are you okayâ
"for the last time, don't worry about it." he snapped, his jaw clenching as he attempted to retain control on his emotions.
your eyes narrowed at his tone, swallowing the hurt stuck in your throat as you carefully chose your next words. "i only want to help youâ"
"well, you're not. in fact, you're making things worse."
your mouth opened... then closed. you stepped back, shaking your head at the audacity, emotionally clocking out of the conversation.
"right." you muttered, grabbing your phone and keys before snatching your coat off the rack impatiently.
he was so consumed in his own problems and how he would fix them that he hadn't noticed the uneasy silence that followed. he looked up, his discerning gaze scanning his surroundings. he caught the slam of the front door, blood draining from his face. he'd done it now.
đ CALEB
"...pips?" he asked the empty room, his voice quiet as if hoping to attract wildlife. the couch creaked as he stood slowly, his heart racing erratically in his chest. "hello?"
when he was met with no response, he ran over to the door. his throat constricted when he didnât see your shoes next to his. shit. he shouldn't have said that. he groaned and ran his hands over his face. he really shouldn't have said that.
"makin' things worse? really, caleb?" he mumbled to himself in disbelief.
though his hand flew to the door handle, he hesitated to turn it. his thumb tapped on the handle anxiously. stupid, stupid, stupid. every fiber of his being ached to run after you, scoop you up into his arms, and take you back home where you belonged.
a part of him was scaredâwhat if he ran after you and you finally told him to go away for good? he wouldn't do that in a million years, of course, but... he didn't want you to hate him, whatever the reason was. especially if it was his own doing. he couldn't live without you, and the empty house he stood in was a painful reminder.
he thought back to all the times he's brushed you off for work recently, leaving you in his flat with a placating kiss to your cheek. he didn't expect the fleet to demand so much of his attention, and now both of you were suffering for it.
caleb cursed under his breath and shoved his feet into his shoes, ripping the door open and sprinting down the street. he called your name, spinning around on the road to cover his bases, searching for any rustle, scent, or noise that would lead him to you.
"caleb, what are you doing?" you sighed from behind him.
he straightened up and turned, his hopes refusing to sink even after seeing the glare on your face. you just looked so cute in your pajamas and puffy jacket. he frowned, a new wave of guilt washing over him.
"get out of the road, please? and put on a shirt if you're outsideâ" your lecture was cut short as caleb hugged you tight, worming his warm hands under the wings of your coat and clothes "...what is up with you?" you asked softly, returning the embrace.
he squeezed you tight, savoring the feeling of your skin under his fingers. "i thought you left."
"i mean, i did. i just forgot my headphones in my carâ"
"you scared me," he whispered into your neck.
an unbelieving laugh bubbled out of you, put off by his strong reaction. "whatâdid you think i left left?"
"yes." he whined, standing back and tilting your head up to face him. "you don't ever make things worse, princess. i don't know why i said thatâ"
"caleb."
"no, you're the only good thing i have left and iâ" he choked up, his eyelids squeezing shut. "you don't deserve that. i love you, you know that right? i love you."
"i love you, too." you gripped his wrist, bringing him back down. "our lives aren't easy, and i don't expect you to be perfect all the time. we're both going to get to stressed and maybe annoyed with each other, but... i don't want us to grow apart because of it."
"no, never." he gripped your face with both hands, holding you firmly as if he were trying to communicate his pledge into your skull. "i'll never lash out like that again, pips, i promise. i know you were just trying to helpâi'm so sorry." he peppered kisses all over your face until you wriggled out of his arms.
you extended your pinky, an expectant look on your face. he smiled gratefully and hooked his pinky with yours, allowing you to string him along back to bed and into your arms, where he belonged.
SYLUS
he checked the cameras surrounding his home, watching you storm down the pathway to your car. his heart thumped when the car door slammed shut, and he turned off the camera feed to save his thoughts from running wild.
he rose calmly from his chair, abandoning his drink and phone as he paced. ...he shouldn't have snapped at you. your look of hurt and betrayal was seared into his mind. the echo of you persisted even as he closed his eyes. i only want to help.
sylus debated enlisting the help of luke and kieran to keep an eye on you. he didn't want to pressure you to return home if you were upset with him, but he also wanted to be the one to comfort you... for a slight of his own doing... hm. what a paradoxical feeling.
his work required much of his time and effort, as did yours. of course the N109 zone had to act up when you finally found the time to spend the night. his stomach twisted with disappointment. what kind of man was he to put work over the most precious treasure of his life?
sylus gritted his teeth, grabbing his robe and tying it on before racing out the door. his motorcycle buzzed to life as he approached. mounting it with ease, he pulled up the map on his phone to checkâ
"where are you going at this hour?" you cast him a sideways look, judgement written all over your features.
...perhaps he should have checked the garage cameras before rushing outside with the intent of chasing your car down.
for once, his expression did not reflect his usual collected demeanor. "i... i thought you had left."
you held up your headphones. "forgot these in the car."
"i see." sylus cleared his throat, turning off his bike's engine. he swallowed thicky, choosing his words carefully as he had failed to do earlier. "i didn't mean what i said, kitten. making things worse is something you are not capable of."
you waved him off, turning to retire to bed. he frowned, hopping off his motorcycle and catching your hand, halting your withdrawal.
"i'm tired, sylus." you sighed, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.
of me? he thought in a panic, his throat suddenly bone-dry. sylus always had something to say, but in this moment, nothing he came up with seemed right. "what i said was in error. i never want to hurt you, so for tonight, i deeply apologize."
"sy..." you quirked an amused smile up, and his brows furrowed in confusion. "i am really tired. and i imagine you are, too. we're both high-strung, and you're not going to be perfect all the time."
"you deserve nothing less," he argued with a firm shake of his head. his hands rested on your waist, rubbing soothing circles into your skin.
"you demonstrate that to me everyday, but i don't expect that of you all the time. you're human." your hand lifted to hold his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin after he leaned into your touch. "but when we fall short, i don't want us to take it out on each other."
his hand covered yours, pressing a kiss to your palm regretfully. "...i know, sweetie. i'm sorry. i love you, and seeing you walk out today reminded me that you mean the world to me. i would sooner abandon my work than push you away."
"i love you, too." you smiled and he brought you closer to his chest, hugging you as though he were afraid you would disappear.
when the night breeze made you shiver, he lifted you in his arms and tumbled into bed with you, his work long forgotten the moment your soft giggles hit his ears.
RAFAYEL
rafayel didn't look up from his blank canvas after realizing you left, but painting was the last thing on his mind. his knee bobbed uncontrollably, his brush wagging between his fingers nervously.
why did he say that? he always had to have the last word, even when he didn't mean anything that left his mouth. he might as well have said get out, i don't need you, when the truth was the polar opposite.
he heard your car engine rumble to life and fear seized his chest. you weren'tâyou weren't leaving were you?
rafayel knew his attitude was a lot to deal with sometimes. getting snippy when you were both upset was a recipe for disaster, and he often envied your patience in those instances. he always wondered when you would finally get fed up with him though he never believed it would happen.
until it did, today.
you were one of the few that loved him as he was and he was not letting you go because he let his exhaustion screw everything up.
he let his tools clatter to the floor as he sprung to his feet, speeding to the driveway. he spotted your car and practically ran into it, slamming his hands against the driver's window.
huh? rafayel peered inside but the driver's seat was empty. weird, he swore he heard you scream...
the backseat window rolled down, your annoyed head popping out soon after. "what are you doing?! you scared me!"
he scooted over to the back window sheepishly, his confusion apparent on his face. "what, uh... what are you doing?" he coughed to cover up his quivering voice, resting his arms on the door.
you bent over, searching under the seats. "i'm looking for my headphones. i'm pretty sure they rolled under here somewhere..."
his eyes darted to the front, seeing the dashboard lit and ready to go. "you turned the car on, so i thought..."
"i needed the lights. my phone wasn't enough." you explained hurriedly, then paused. you sat up and stared at him. "...you thought what?"
"i thought you left." he mumbled. rafayel's fingers rapped along the roof of your vehicle that it could've passed as rain. after a moment, he gave into his need to be close to you, opening the door and slipping into the backseat.
"you know i didn't mean it, right?" he began.
you glanced at him, shrugging. "i don't know. did you?"
"i didn't." he said indignantly, but his tone softened when he remembered his goal: apologize, not defend. "i would never mean something like that, cutie. i say stupid things when i'm backed into a corner. that's no excuse, though."
"yeah." you concede, sitting beside him. the soft melodies from the radio made the dip in the conversation less uncomfortable. "you really thought i was going to leave?"
he ran his hand through his hair nervously. "i thought you finally got tired of me."
"raf..." you frowned, your hand reaching to his. "we'll get tired of each other from time to time. it comes with being life partnersâthere's good days and bad days. doesn't mean we love each other any less."
you pulled his head into your shoulder and he didn't waste any time curling into you, clinging to you like his life depended on it. you could feel his racing heartbeat against your skin, but with every deep breath of your scent, it calmed down. little by little. his hair brushed against your cheek as he nuzzled impossibly closer.
"i know. but as your life partner, i should be making you happier. i'm sorry for losing sight of my top priority." he pressed an apologetic kiss to the crook of your neck. "i love you more than anything."
you smiled, stroking his fluffy hair. "i love you, too."
thomas found you two cuddled up in the backseat together the next morning.
ZAYNE
regret flooded him immediately. he let his head drop into his hands in disappointment, but his shame found him even as he closed his eyes. he didn't give himself time to wallow in self-pityâhe got up, grabbed his jacket, and flew out the door after you.
he called your name just as he sees a flash of your pajamas turning around the corner into the garage. keys. he vaguely remembered the jingle of keysâdid you intend to leave?
he burst into the garage after you, his breath short as he locked eyes with you over the hood of your car.
you raised an eyebrow but didn't stop moving. you were about to open the door when he grasped your arm, turning your body to face him. his grip fell from your biceps to your hands, lacing your fingers together pleadingly. you looked up in confusionâ
"forgive me. i did not mean to snap. you were only trying to help, i know thatâ"
"zayneâ"
"please, allow me to finish. i will never force you to do anything you do not wish to, but i promise i will never let my stress cloud my judgement in a way that makes you suffer. please don't go. i willâ"
"zayne," your lips curved into a smile and zayne's brain had to buffer. "i'm not leaving."
he blinked, his eyes darting between you and your car. "but..."
you nodded to the center compartment through the window. "i left my headphones inside."
"oh."
your smile only grew as he released your hands, stepping back to allow you to open the door and retrieve your headphones. you pocketed your stuff and hooked arms with him, a gesture that weighed guilty upon his shoulders. he didn't deserve your affection after he lashed out at you, at least not so easily.
"i accept your apology." you hummed, leaning your head against his arm as he walked you back inside. "i wasn't mad, just... annoyed. we're both stressed out, and stuff like this will happen when we're both in bad moods. let's try not to make a habit of it."
"of course." he whispered. then, even quieter, "i don't deserve you."
you pursed your lips. "i don't like it when you talk down on yourself."
"i know," zayne murmured. "though it's hard not to when you... you make things so easy."
you smiled up at him. "loving you is easy."
his eyes communicated his gratitude, but the way he stopped in his tracks to embrace you said much more. i love you.
XAVIER
shit. xavier frowned, leaning back and peering through the window. he caught you walking down the street, dialing someone on your phone. when you spun around, he quickly let the curtains fall back into place. he didn't know what to do.
he was an idiot, that much he knew. xavier often got short when he was sleepy, but even more so when sleepy and stressed. he never meant to lash out at you, and normally he wouldn't, but... you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. with the sorry state he was in, the next person that talked to him was going to be unfairly assailed.
his palms grew clammy as he caught your voice muffled through the glass. you sounded upset. he peeked outside again, watching you vent. he winced and sunk back into the couch, his mind racingâwhat does he do? what does he say?
next, he heard a car pulling up to the house. his heart dropped in panicâhe whipped around, watching someone park right where you stood. you opened the door...
oh, no. xavier scrambled off the couch, running past his coat and shoes out the door. he called your name as he sprinted down the sidewalk.
"what're you doing, xav?" you gave him a look before you entered the car, keeping a foot on the pavement to stabilize yourself as you climbed inside.
"waitâ!" xavier came to an abrupt stop behind you, ready to pull you out if he needed to.
"yeah, that's my boyfriend." you laughed softly to tara. your friend ducked her head to catch a glimpse of him through the open door and waved in greeting.
huh?
"he looks like he's seen a ghost." tara mirrored your odd look from earlier.
xavier shifted behind you.
"he's been out of it all week, you know... working pretty hard." you rifled for something in the backseat, exclaiming happily once you recovered your headphones. "thanks for coming all this way, i appreciate it. have fun on your vacation."
"of course, no problem. think about having one yourself, hm?" tara smiled, honking her car in farewell as she disappeared down the street.
"iâi thoughtâ" xavier took deep breaths to calm himself. "i'm so sorry."
"you thought what?" you asked, stuffing your headphones in your pockets.
"that you were going to leave." he admitted, blue eyes filled with panic and worry. "i'm sorry for snapping at you, you didn't deserve it. you never deserve anything like that, it won't happen again."
you flattened your hand against his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. "it's okay, xavâ"
"it's not." xavier's eyes hardened, guilt welling up inside him. why were you being so forgiving?
"i trust you won't do it again. even you seem surprised by your outburst. this isn't you, and both of us know that." you continued calmly. "sometimes the stress gets to us. i get it."
he bowed his head, covering your hand with his own and squeezing it every so often to soothe his nerves. "you could never make things worse. i love you, so much."
you smiled. "i love you, too. let's sleep in? i'll call in if you will."
"yes, please." he groaned with relief, nodding. he intertwined your fingers, swinging your hands between you as you walked back home.
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thoughts about big dick caleb losing his self-control on your first time
caleb tries really hard. really, he does. when you whine and say it hurts or he's going too fast, he does his best to comply with your demands. keeping still. being gentle. peppering you with soft, reassuring kisses.
when caleb felt your cunt clench around his fingers, he didn't go crazy. he didn't lose his patience and tried to loosen you up to prep you as best as he could. when he put the head of his cock inside, he was slow and careful, even though he really, really wanted to feel your pussy.
but now, halfway in with you sobbing and crying for him to take it out, it's too big it won't fit, he hesitates. he can't move. he doesn't want to.
he really, really doesn't want to.
caleb can't stop his hips from fucking into you, not when you're so warm and wet and sinfully tight. looking up at him through teary lashes. cunt clenching around him like you never want him to pull out.
so even when the tears roll down your cheeks, when you say it hurts it a little, all caleb can do is apologize. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i can't stop," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your temple to make up for the way his hips fucking pound into you, heavy and rough. his cock keeps releasing globs of pre-cum, sloshing inside with your slick. "pips, i'm sorry, you feel too goodâ"
your legs are trembling, kicking out when the tip of his dick hits a good spot. he holds them down with a tight grip, bruises shaped like his fingertips blooming on your thighs. "ah, no, please don't run away, don't run away from me... mmgh, let me feel you, ah, let me have your pretty pussy, fuck!"
it's like any semblance of control he had slipped away from him; suddenly, he can't ever have his lips empty, always kissing you, marking the side of your neck, or sucking down your chest. he can't stand having you away from him, pulling you back to his cock before you can escape.Â
and, hysterically, he realizes he can't bring himself to pull out, even as he feels his release fast approaching.
so he pumps it all inside you, thick loads of hot semen flush against your womb. the cum keeps coming out, painting your walls white, filling you up and overflowing. his hips keep thrusting, pounding, fucking it deeper, even long after he's finally stopped cumming and he's so sensitive it almost hurts. because maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough, maybe it'll take on the first try. if he pushes it deep enough, maybe he'll see you round and glowing.
and if it doesn't, well... he'll just have to keep going, won't he?
nsfw (18+). i really did not mean for this to be a whole fic but i just kept typing. and typing. and typing... anyway, here are the usual cws: blowjob, cunnilingulus, corruption kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, marathon sex (sylus is starved), more yearning than you'd expect from a sugar daddy fic, and side note that sylus is older than you here (you decide how much lol). likes and reblogs will be very appreciated!
pov: you're a barista at the cafe sylus usually orders at and he overhears you saying you want to try being a sugar baby to make more money.
sylus generally avoids interacting with ordinary citizens. for one, they live in a separate world from him, and two, he'd rather not drag other people into unnecessary trouble.
you are no exception to this rule he placed upon himself. or at least, you should be.
but he can't help being drawn to your sunny smile, undeterred despite his intimidating appearance. he can't help but relax his shoulders when you greet him âwelcome!â in a warm, gentle voice. he can't help but ask you how your day went, listen to your complaints, and chuckle fondly when you say something particularly funny.
and he can't help but notice how your sunny smile has diminished the past few weeks, weighed down by late nights and endless work juggling several part-time jobs to get by and pay the debt your father left behind.
so when he overhears you saying you want to try having a sugar daddy, he moves against his better judgment.
it's not hard to track you down in a shady site. even easier to lure you with an enticing price, better than any old, rich fool can offer.
and really, sylus doesn't plan on doing anything to you. this is somewhat like a donation, he convinces himself. that's all there is to it. he's not being possessive.
he pays you for your time. feels amused seeing you sit beside him with an almost visible question mark on your face, not knowing what to do. sure, you have a general idea what sugar babies do, but it was probably not simply watching an old romance movie while snacking on finger foods.
you think it must be some sort of foreplay, but he drives you home. the next time he calls you over, you eat together in a who-knows-how-many-stars restaurant in a tall skyscraper overlooking the city, which ends in a similar fashion. in the next, he takes you shopping and fills your closet with luxury brands, yet again ending the day with a drive to your shabby apartment.
and it's nice. it's really nice. to the point it's too good to be true. from the very beginning when you learned your client wasn't going to be an old geezer, you already thought you lucked out. but with sylus practically treating you as his girlfriend, leaving nothing to be desired, things couldn't be better. you can't even consider the possibility of being sylus's side chick that he's cheating with because there's nothing for him to gain from this arrangement. if you really think about it, sylus is basically throwing you all his money.
you think you can leave things like this. after all, you have nothing to complain about.
but on one of your gigs taking up a friend's waitress shift at a fancy restaurant, you see sylus with a woman.
they're both well-dressed. sylus always is, but now even more so with his styled hair and clean, crisp suit. the woman looks gorgeous in her champagne dress, all smooth silk and beautiful curves. the men around her can't help but stare.
he leads her to a table. pulls out her chair for her. smirks at her as they exchange friendly banter, looking like the picture-perfect couple.
a cold settles deep in your chest, even if you have no right to feel bad. you don't have the right to feel upset because it isn't like you're bound by any serious relationship.
but for the rest of the night, you try to avoid their table. you hope he hasn't taken notice of you, but that's probably wishful thinking considering you've felt an intense gaze on your back all this while.
eventually, they leave, and so do you. as you walk home, you try to dissect why you felt so awful. is it because he might cut you off now that he's interested in another woman? it must be. once he breaks off whatever you have, you're going to have a hard time finding someone else to mooch off of. you'll be back to the same old dreary lifestyle; the magic has worn off, and cinderella has to be miserable again.
but it isn't just that, even if it should be. you shouldn't feel so shitty seeing him with another girl if you only saw him as a client. somewhere along the line, you've started appreciating his quiet smiles, his teasing smirk, his kind gaze. there's something soft about his innocent touches, tucking your hair behind your ear or his thumb wiping away cake frosting on your cheek.
and you hate the idea of him doing all of that to that woman he was with.
âyou should pay more attention to your surroundings, sweetheart.â
sylus interrupts your thoughts. you turn to look at the street beside you where you find sylus leaning against his car. waiting.
you hesitate only for a moment. you get in, and he drives you home. the silence is unsettlingly tense, so different from the comfortable quiet you've grown used to in your past drives.
eventually, you bring yourself to speak. âlet's go to your house.â
sylus says, âi haven't asked for your services tonight.â it's soft, teasing, and most importantly, it's not a no.
the familiar manor comes into view, grand and imposing as always. he opens the car door for you. asks to carry your bag. unlocks the front door.
he drops it when you push him down the plush sofa, catching him by surprise. you've never quite seen him as stunned as he is now, stock still as you press your mouth against his. clumsy. unsure. yet eager. his fingers tangle in your hair, unmoving for just a moment, but soon he manages to tear himself away.
âi didn't ask for you to do this.â
he hasn't. he probably never intended to do this sort of thing in the first place.
but it isn't like he doesn't want to. his voice is strained. he's still holding you, as if afraid you'll pull away once you realize this is a bad idea. he's staring at you like you're the only thing that matters.
and you realize that you enjoy this attention. you like having his hands around you. you like him doting on you. you like him looking at you.
you don't want him to look at anyone else.
and, you come to realize, you want this just as much as he does.
---
there's a sense of clumsiness when you wrap your hands around his cock, hesitant and unpracticed. you seem as if you've never done this before. sylus should not be as thrilled as he feels at this discovery.
perhaps he should be a little turned off. but his dick feels the hardest it's ever been when you start giving kitten licks to his tip, innocently looking up at him through your lashes like you're asking for praise.
he murmurs filth under his breath when your lips close around his head, sucking at a spot that makes him shudder. he forces his hips to stay absolutely still even if he wants to destroy your throat. he can't afford to scare you away now. not when you're finally within his reach.
yet sylus can't help but run his hand through your hair, pulling you closer. making you take him in deeper. guiding your head as you bob up and down. you're gurgling around his cock, spit dripping from your mouth, tears in the corner of your eyes. so obviously struggling but still sucking more of him in, eager to please. you choke when his cock hits the back of your throat, and still, you hollow your cheeks, licking everywhere you could.
and that does it for him, making him finish much, much quicker than he means to. his cum fills your mouth, warm thick streams that overflow from your lips. he doesn't expect you to swallow, ready to catch with his palm, but you gulp it all down like a good girl.
sylus's chest fills with deep satisfaction. he tells you well-deserved praise as he showers your face with pecks, capturing your lips in a kiss that tastes bitter but oh so nauseatingly sweet.
he wants to reward you for being a good girl, you he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, pressing down on your thighs as he digs in. the first lick on your pretty pussy makes you yelp, legs kicking out in surprise. he gives your thighs a warning squeeze, and by the second, you're obediently staying as still as you can, whimpering to your palm.
you taste as sweet as you look, and sylus hums contently as he licks up all your slick and it never runs out. you moan so nicely for him when he laps at your clit, continuously flicking his tongue at the small bud, and you all but scream when he sucks it hard, tangling your fingers in his hair and jerking up your hips.
he doesn't complain when you ride his face, staring intently at your expression twisted in pleasure. your mouth is shaped around an âoâ, eyes rolling back as he dares to slip his tongue inside your hole. he rubs your engorged clit with a rough thumb, fucking in and out your pussy with his tongue, groaning amidst the lewd symphony of squelches.
he hasn't planned on touching you, no. but he's thought of it countless times on nights he felt especially lonely after you left. imagined you on his lap, fondling your soft chest, playing with your cute pussy. he wondered what spots made you feel good, where you'd be sensitive. what faces you'd make when he touched them.
sylus doesn't have to wonder anymore, committing the sinful sight to memory. you've always been cute, but he thinks you're even more adorable now, squirming as he gently eases a finger inside you. you're wet enough to fit two, but it's still quite tight; it might take a while before you can take him in. he presses a reassuring kiss on your inner thigh when he finds your g-spot, telling you to stay still and be good.
so sylus spends a bit of time between your legs, adding more fingers as he laps away at your clit. at your first orgasm, he fucks you through it, not stopping his hand until the spray of cum has ceased. by the second, you've drenched his sheets and his arm, but by the way you're moaning his name almost incoherently, you don't want him to stop.
on the verge of a third, a fourth finger teasing at your entrance, you're begging him to fuck you. sylus has felt close to bursting for a while, so he doesn't complain. he rubs his cock between your wet folds, tapping at your clit with the head. slicking his cock with your juices as he marvels at how tiny you seem under him, the length of him intimidatingly massive laying on your stomach.
when he pops the tip of his cock inside, you clench around him immediately, warm and so goddamn tight. he can't slide it in one, smooth thrust; he fucks it inside bit by bit, observing your face for any signs of pain, but all he sees is a dazed, drooling slut, crying out his name and for him to put it all inside her. he shushes you, reasoning he has to be slow, but he's very well on the edge of his patience.
when his cock is halfway in, you turn into a shuddering, sobbing mess. his tip has poked somewhere sensitive, and when he grinds against it, you squirt hard, spraying cum on his abs. he laughs in disbelief, meanly rubbing tight circles on your clit to make your orgasm last longer.
once sylus has finally bottomed out, he whispers endless compliments to your ear, hands roaming around your skin. he can't stop his hips from thrusting, tirelessly fucking in and out of your soaked cunt with vigor he hasn't had in years. sylus doesn't consider himself the vocal type, but now he can't shut up about how pretty you are, how good and sweet you are for him. how nice and tight your cute pussy feels, how you're made to take in his huge cock.
he uses you the way he imagines in his dirty fantasies, like a whore he pays to bed. yet at the same time, you're his precious little princess, the one person he shouldn't hurt. the one person he should treat with utmost care. the one person that should stay untainted by the filthy world.
but you're moaning so loud, enjoying being his little slut. you want to be fucked hard and fast, fingerprints on your hips and waist. you want to be bred full of his cum and do it all over again. you want to be his.
so sylus takes you in all the ways he knows how. on your back. on your knees. on his lap. he lets you ride him, fucking up into your cunt when you get tired. he takes you against the wide, clear window panes, uncaring if someone might have seen. he fucks you while standing, holding up all of your weight, making you watch yourself on the mirror as he thrusts inside. he never once pulls out when he cums, your pussy crammed with his hot, milky loads.
you make a mess everywhere, but you don't have time to worry about it. you don't even worry about the chances of getting pregnant, being pumped full of sylus's cum. even if you did end up pregnant, sylus keeps going on and on about wanting you to be his pretty wife, that he won't let you want for nothing, that he'll provide for your every need if you'll just stay with him.
and in the face of his love, bordering on desperate obsession, you don't even know why you were ever worried about him falling for anyone else.
from the moment he laid eyes on you, he couldn't look away.