One hundred forty-three rounds later, and you’ve finally won.

Every bulging, sweaty muscle strains as you laugh on top of Valko for the final lunge, pinning him by his throat and waist into the mats below.

“Haha, and that’s victory for me!”

He grumbles in response, pouting although you see the ghost of a smile curl against his lips. “Ya right. You tripped me, dirty little minx.”

You coo at his adorable sulking, “Big bad wolf can't handle a little bit of dirty play?” Pressing your forearm harder, you watch something dark flicker in Valko’s eyes as his breath stutters. “Don’t you know your enemies will be ready to exploit your every weakness?”

The room is filled with both of your ragged breathing, sweat dripping between your tanged bodies, undoubtedly soaking through your bra and shorts. The air sticks to you, hot and sticky.

Valko takes a deep inhale, chest rising under your palm, before going unnaturally still. The stillness of a predator ready to jump.

You tense, anticipating him to wrestle you off and begin the next match, and yet it never comes.

No. Instead, you’re met with the unmistakable feeling of something growing harder, larger, pushing up against your clothed ass.

The flush on your face is no longer just from exhaustion.

“Did you- are you—”

Valko’s whine cuts you off, his eyes screwed shut as if in horrible pain. “Don’t. Please.”

He’s trembling. Every hulking muscle under you straining as his enormous palms come up to cup your thighs, nails digging in.

“I just,” Valko lets out another whine, pitched and desperate, his amber eyes snapping open and begging up at you no better than a puppy would. “Ah shit, you’re so perfect. Fight perfect, smell perfect,” one broad hand goes to your ass, squeezing hard enough to pull a startled yelp from you, the sound shooting through him like another strike. “Feel perfect.”

Fuck.

Something about losing to you, about the ache blooming through his body where your blows had landed, the solid weight of you pinning him effortlessly into the worn training mats… perhaps it should have bruised his pride or made him fired up.

Instead, it leaves Valko fucking dizzy.

Your scent surrounds him, swallowed with every inhale Valko takes, intoxicating and cloying on his tongue as though he could taste you already. It’s sweet and a little spicy, like cardamom or amber, filling his brain with static as his every instinct narrows down on you and your body. To lay claim. To take.

He doesn't mean to keep nuzzling into your sweat-slicked body. One breath isn't enough, then another isn't either, every deeper pull filling his head with a pleasant, humming need that leaves less and less room for coherent thought.

Acceptance.

Need.

Mate.

Despite your full weight still pinning him to the floor, Valko's hips buck sharply up into yours, nearly throwing you off him. But his hand tightens against your ass, forcing you down into the movement at the exact same time he grinds his still-growing erection right up into your clothed pussy.

You both moan at the mere contact.

More. He needs more.

His hips don’t stop moving, pushing up into you with quick little rabbit thrusts, Valko’s head thrown back in a deep, unashamed moan as he chases the friction. His jaw opens, nearly drooling, about to manhandle you into a better position to grind against when you lean back down.

And slap him right across the face.

Immediately, he freezes, blinking and shaking away the shock and arousal from his face. His cock jumps from between your thighs, though, and that’s all the confirmation you need as Valko looks back up at you with wide eyes.

“Behave, puppy.”

You place your hand around his neck, grinding your hips backward as you watch Valko’s eyes roll back.

“I won,” you remind him. “That means you listen to me.”

He nods with so much enthusiasm you almost worry about his neck.

“Yeah, yes. Of course. I can take it, please.” Anything, anything for you to keep touching him.

Your hips are flush against his, grinding up and down just like you would be if you were riding him. The thought alone has Valko moaning louder, completely uncaring if anyone heard, voice hoarse as you squeeze his throat tighter.

It’s teasing both of you to insanity, so close and not nearly close enough. Friction hot and pressing right up against your clit, but doing nothing to ease the growing ache between your thighs. It doesn't help that the outline of his dick is enough to grind on, wide enough to part your lips and feel strain against your clothed pussy. Fuck, imagining all that power, that size stretching inside you…

You’re no better than animals in heat, gasping and panting as your hips never stop moving, spine arching as his tip catches your clit. “Ahhh, good job, baby, making me feel so good. Good boy.”

Valko keens at the praise. “Thank you, thank you. I’m your good boy, I’ll be such a good boy.”

He’s drooling as he writhes beneath you, nails clawing into the floor with the restraint it takes not to flip you over and rip your shorts off before fucking until both of you pass out. Bite and mark you as his. Fill you with his seed until he’s shooting blanks, watch you drip with his cum, push his knot inside you and cum again and again and again—

You laugh. Poor thing doesn’t even realize he’s moaning all of this out loud.

“Shhh, I’ll let you, puppy.” Leaning down, you kiss him just to shut him up, licking into his open mouth. “I’ll let you breed me.”

“Fuuuck yes.”

Valko’s tongue shoves into your mouth, hot, invasive, lapping into the kiss. You let him, kissing with teeth and tongue, spit spilling down the side of his mouth as he takes more and more. He bullies himself closer, greedy for every scrap of attention, chasing each inch you’re willing to give and always reaching for one more.

“I’m sorry, feels so good, too good.” Valko groans, every thrust becoming more sloppy, and you can tell from how sloppy his kisses are and the unevenness of his thrusts that he’s already close.

You click your tongue as though reprimanding a spoiled pet before breaking the kiss, hand tightening around his throat.

Valko breaks away instantly with a sharp gasp, chest heaving. His eyes snap to yours, dazed and teary, as though being stopped is its own reward. “Sorry, m’sorry. Please keep kissing me, please, I’m sorry.” Another whimper. “You said you’d help me, ya? P-please baby, let me cum.”

“And let you stain my favorite gym shorts with your cum? I don’t think so, puppy,” you scold, teasing your fingers up his rough undercut.

His breath catches so abruptly his whole body gives a tiny, involuntary jolt, shoulders loosening beneath your hand as a slow shiver rolls down his spine at the mere touch. If his ears were manifested, they would be pulled back, his body chasing the sensation before his mind could catch up, leaning instinctively into your palm like some half-domesticated thing desperate for another touch.

Every instinct urges him to reclaim your mouth, to grind back into your clothed pussy, but he forces himself still. Because that’s what you’ve taught him to do.

What a good boy.

Lifting your hips, Valko sobs at the loss of your heat. Your free hand reaches down instead, shucking down his sweat-drenched shorts and boxers in one tug, his cock bouncing out from its confines.

It springs against Valko’s abdomen with a wet slap, every bulging, veiny inch a sensitive pink, tip swollen and leaking all over his pretty red happy trail.

Valko whines, bucking into the air, “Please-ohhh-please let me in you. I’ll make you feel s’good, I’ll be so good. Ah fuck, come on.”

Something, anything to release this unbearable pressure swelling up at the base of his dick.

So you slap him again, and this time the second the crack echoes across the room so does his moan. A fresh spurt of pre-cum stains his abs, so much leaking and spilling down his stomach, you’re damn near concerned.

“Shh, don’t be too loud, someone might hear how desperate you are, baby.” You kiss his forehead and strip.

First you peel off the sports bra, then kick down your shorts and panties, smiling at Valko’s star-struck expression before dropping back down completely bare onto his muscular thighs.

“Come here, puppy.”

He obeys immediately, sitting up faster than humanly possible and ramming his lips onto yours, hands fighting to cup your breasts before he thinks better of it and curls them against his sides into trembling fists.

You hum into the kiss, guiding his hands up to your skin, “Go on, you can touch me.”

Two massive arms engulf you. Valko’s already nuzzling into your bare chest, mouthing at the lines of sweat collected from your sports bra, hot tongue dragging against every inch of skin. There’s no rhythm, no logic, just sloppy licking between your breasts before sucking at your nipples, around and up until he’s at your collarbone, every sensation so overwhelming that you feel yourself soaking his thigh.

“M’sorry, can’t stop. Taste so sweet…” Valko’s licking another long strip up your neck before finding a spot that makes you whine, nipping and teething at it while his hands come up to pinch and roll your swollen nipples. You moan at the feeling of it all, hips rolling against his quads as he purposefully tenses the ridges of muscle underneath you, letting you grind against him.

Once again, the two of you are humping each other like dogs, except this time there’s no more clothing to get in the way.

Your bare cunt envelopes his throbbing cock, every movement heightened by loud, wet sounds of the two sliding together, pseudo fucking in a way that drives both of you insane. The taste and smell of you is overwhelming, Valko dipping his head to suck at your nipple while bucking up into you, abs flexing, drenched with sweat and your combined slick as his cock drags past your clit, pressing desperately right up against your cunt before slipping to your ass and coming right back again.

His frustration is becoming obvious. Low growls muffled into your chest as grinding turns to proper thrusting, tip ramming at your entrance just too thick to push in and your thighs too slippery to find purchase.

“Shit! it’s not– not fitting. Please, let me in.” He’s begging, drooling against your chest. ”Please sweetheart, please doll.”

You want it just as badly. So you tug on his hair, pulling Valko on top of you as you lie down, and slowly turning yourself around until your chest is pressed into the training mats beneath you.

Valko’s frozen like a predator just narrowed in on a prey.

Except that prey is you. Your teasing smile lured him in, and your bare, dripping cunt presented to him like heaven mere inches from his drooling face.

Arching your back deeper, you smile as you finally give him what he’s been dying for. “You’ve been such a good boy for me, Valko, ya? Wanna knot me?”

He’s barely breathing, golden eyes glowing slightly as they lock with yours, unblinking. “Yes.”

Then, he pounces.

In a blink, his six-foot-something body slams into yours, shoving your face into the floor, one arm effortlessly forcing your ass higher to meet his hips and the other pinning your back into a deep arch to accommodate the weight of his chest now pressed against your spine.

Completely mounted, your muscles scream from the stretch and pressure his body gives, his heavy cock still leaking violently from between your spread thighs, thrusting between them, a puddle of his pre-cum splattering down between you.

You laugh into the mats, right where you want to be as you goad him into taking all that he wants and more. “Go on then, puppy. Claim me, take me, make me yours—!”

You can’t even finish your teasing before Valko bullies himself inside you with one violent thrust. Hands dig grooves into your thighs, pawing at your ass, stomach, chest, all while pulling you backward into every powerful thrust.

Valko’s head drops with another unashamed moan, tongue lolling out to lick at your nape and spine, drooling with every tight flutter your walls squeeze around him. God, you’re gushing. He’s glued to the mess where your bodies meet, your ass bouncing with each thrust, taking him so perfectly he’s losing his mind.

“Ohhh you feel so good.” Pressing deeper, his hand snakes around to press against your lower stomach, feeling the outline of his dick as you scream into the floor. Valko groans, babbling into your ear as his hips snap faster. “I know pretty thing. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He’s repeating it against your neck between licks and nibbles, still not letting up any of his force. You feel something unmistakable swell against the curves of your ass, knocking against your cunt and thick enough to hit your clit too, each slap making you sob from pleasure-pain.

“Gonna f-fuck my little mate full of my cum, then eat you out, then fuck you again—oh fuck. Love you and this perfect pussy,” Valko’s slurring his words, talkative as ever and loud enough for the entire training facility to hear him moan.

His thrusts turn deeper, unable to part with your heat, his knot grinding furiously against your clit as you feel your body begin to tremble. “She’s takin me so well, so tight. Mhmm I’ll fill her well, give her everything she wants, fuck her full-full of my knot.”

God, he needs to shut up or you’re going to cum.

“Shh,” you hush him before breaking into a moan. “Too loud, Valko. Someone could—ahh fuck—hear you!”

Oh, but he can’t! He can’t, not when he finally feels your pussy begin to cream around him with your impending orgasm, almost wet enough to take all of him and his knot! This is what you want too don’t you see? This is what his pretty little mate needs.

Valko can’t even comprehend what he’s saying anymore, just growling and moaning into your neck as he drops his arms to properly rub at your clit and tug at your sensitive nipples, biting down into the junction of your shoulder and neck as you squirt all over his thighs with a pitched scream.

“Good pup, good mate, keep cumming for me.” Valko licks at the pin-pricks of blood blooming from his bite, going right back to babbling into your ears as his thrusts turn rougher. “Ready to take me, have my knot, my cum, oooh youfeelsogood.”

In a last attempt to muffle your boyfriend's horny sobs, you squirm beneath him to grab your gym shorts and stuff Valko’s mouth with them, gagging him with the sweat-stained spandex. And he simply takes it, open mouth drooling all over your clothes as he gets drunk off the scent of your sweat and arousal stained into them.

You both gasp at the feeling of his knot finally pressing into your entrance, the swollen, heavy weight of it forcing you several more inches open before slipping back out. Again, and again.

Instinctively, you run away, like a bunny cornered by a wolf, writhing underneath him as Valko snarls, hands engulfing your hips entirely as he drags you back onto his cock, forcing you still with so little effort it's laughable. Nothing stops him from pressing in deeper and deeper, your poor cunt finally yielding to his knot, the burn making you drool into the floor as Valko moans into your makeshift gag.

It’s forever and only seconds, your orgasm-sensitive pussy drooling enough to help him slide in fully, greedily sucking up every extra inch he gives you until you both feel the pop! of his knot finally catching inside you. It presses every damn inch inside you so perfectly you cum again, wailing and trembling as your thighs begin to go limp.

No matter, Valko just holds you up anyway. It’s not like he could pull out of you now, even if he wanted to. Not until he filled you with his cum, at least.

You’re still shaking from the prolonged orgasm, and Valko lets the rest of your body fall to the floor, following you down until his body is smushed atop yours, pressing you both into a mean prone bone.

It just makes him feel bigger. Your head is spinning with all the sudden pressure, his fat tip kissing your cervix as he rocks back and forth, his knot still grinding into that squishy spot against your walls, the heat and weight of his chest pressing into your back, and of course, his muffled moans and rambles still going strong even through your panties.

“Cum, Valko.” You’re barely thinking straight either, already right at the edge again as Valko’s thrusts turn sloppy, his body shaking. “Fill me up, b-breed me. Become mine.”

He’s cumming.

Valko whimpers into your neck as his hips snap one last time into yours, grinding as you feel the warm gush of his release spurt violently inside you, filling and filling and filling you up. So much, too much. Too much that cum squirts out from even the tight plug of his knot, dripping down both of your thighs even as Valko whines at the waste.

He doesn’t seem to fully realize he’s done, still rolling his hips into yours, each one powerful enough to drag your bodies tangled along the floor.

“Nooo, Valko,” you whine, trapped under his weight and still inflated with his knot. “Valko, stop, sensitive! Too sensitive.”

Your hands helplessly shove and push backward at the enormous man lying on top of you, not even budging him as he continues to nuzzle himself into your sweat-slicked back.

Finally, you manage to yank your clothes out from his mouth, releasing him from the gag as he simply sighs in pleasure, licking and nipping at your ear before dragging his tongue in a long, messy line down your neck.

“You’re so heavy. Get. Off!” Each word is a shove, but Valko only laughs at the effort. He does take mercy on your poor abused body though, and grabbing your waist with one hand, rolls the two of you over. You now rest on his plush chest instead, both of you heaving as you lie still pumped full of his knot and cum.

“M’sorry, guest instinct just took over there, y’know? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“...You rabid dog.”

He might be on the brink of death, but Sylus was not one to shy away from an insult. His last word came out in a half-choke, as though something was chafing away in his throat.

You began to feel your stomach clench. The poison must have worked its way into his lungs…those contraband compounds, you never should have scoured for them!

“Zayne, please. He’s been impaled by a tainted protoshard, he will die if —”

“No.”

No?? 

Fear, and irritation, at how ruthless Zayne was being right now: they all culminated into a desperate swell in your throat.

“Please…you’re the only one capable of fixing this…”

“He has a bike, he can fly —”

“He can’t — wait, you can fly?” You turned to Sylus, half crying, half incredulous. 

“Shall we find out?” 

The next few moments comprised of exchanges: crazed, cruel, contemptuous.

“I’m sorry darling, you can stay, but I’m not helping a criminal.”

“He calls you darling?”

“Sylus…please.”

“Is there a problem?”

“You’re pretty inhumane for a doctor…”

“Callous outlaws are hardly human...”

“Enough! Shut up! Both of you!” 

You were nothing short of livid at their disregard, at their stupidity.

Sylus had been reduced to a crouching silhouette in the hallway, his mortal breaths grim in the aftermath of your outburst.

The doctor was well-aware of the peril, he most certainly was, but he remained unmoving in the arch of his doorway, features hardening with each drag of his supposed patient.

“...Wha…what are…you doing?” Seeing the energy field build around your hand, Sylus grew tense — resonating with him right now was downright suicide, there was no telling how the protoshard could transmute and kill you.

“Stop.” 

Devoid of sympathy, devoid of concern; Zayne gripped your wrist before you could expend your power. Perhaps the unfeeling mask was indeed for show, a sort of pecking order, to assert dominance over the…crow. 

But he relented nonetheless. 

“Sy, let’s go in.” You tried lifting Sylus after Zayne’s almost unnoticeable gesture for you to enter, the criminal — as your doctor best friend put it — however, was not about to appear vulnerable: being here, defenceless and unarmed, was a mere indulgence to your worry. 

Clutching his blood-stained ribs, he brushed past Zayne, shoulders colliding into the doctor’s with such loathing he was knocked backwards. 

You weren’t sure who you’d hated more at that point.

Zayne said nothing, did nothing: “Only the witless resort to provocation,” he’d once told you.

The bleeding aggressor collapsed into one of Zayne’s swivel chair by the lounge, lungs and legs about to give out. 

You saw the doctor’s flash of displeasure — no one was allowed in his seat, least of all the enemy. But his resolve held steady, too steady, that he’d even offered you the customary “guest tea”.

“Water only for the lady? That’s no way to tre…treat your guest.” 

You choked a little on your tea.

“Sylus, please. Stop.” 

You swallowed your words when Zayne held out another cup. An olive branch? Perhaps there’s a chance they might be frien —

Splash! 

There it was. The reaction the N109 boss had yearned for. It was almost as if he liked it.

He sat there drenched in tea — Jasmine Dragon Pearls — Zayne spared no expense when it came to his premium tastes, he’d made damn sure Sylus knew it.

A low rumble of laughter erupted deep within the evil dragon’s lair. “You’re so petty, Zaynie.”

What followed next was a violent shove. One that had the swivel backrest tilted to the extreme…crack, crack, crack. Zaynie stood over him, one scarred arm pressing the chair down, one scarred fist clenching an inch away from Sylus’ pretty face.

“I can save you, but I can also slit the wrong artery. Accidentally, of course.” The doctor’s voice hovered low beside Sylus’ ear.

You gripped onto your teacup, watching the fracas unfold, wise enough not to interfere: a lion’s den was no place for a kitten. 

“Take off your shirt.”

You spat out your tea. 

Plain and simple, like he didn’t just say the most ordinary thing and made it absolutely filthy. 

Sprawled out under him, Sylus couldn’t contain his smirk.

“Already? Dr Zayne, you…you’re —”

A syringe of something was stabbed into his left arm, rendering the smug devil tongue-tied before he could continue his derision.

The doctor, however, continued his indecent ministrations: he ripped the bloody shirt off his patient, prodding the skin near his ribs to see just how much damage he’d taken.

This was supposed to be a sombre sight — it really was — but the two men oscillating between animosity and affection had you…aroused?

Staring mindlessly at the handsome, virile, fine specimens of men — one of them about to die of blood loss — had you caught somewhere between ache and attrition. 

Perhaps for the better, you hurried out into the living room and decided to quell your desire in “Heart, Mind & Soul: A Trinity”, a 500-page mammoth of Dr Zayne’s own dissertation. 

It worked. 

Time raced by. You had been so immersed in your reading that you hadn’t noticed Zayne crouched down beside you, taking in your splendour: quietly, reverently, longingly.

“I’ll need an honest review.”

The book flew out of your hands. “Zay…Zayne? You guys are done? Is Sylus okay?”

“He’s fine. Him dying wouldn’t bode well for my reputation.” 

At his words you gasped — the doctor drew in close, too close.

“It’s all for you, do you know that?” 

Your best friend ran the back of his fingers down your cheek, gaze dropping ever so slightly to your parting lips. You could tell that he wanted more, but Zayne wore righteousness like a badge of honour.  

“If you don’t go after what you want, someone else will.”

It happened too fast, too soon. 

You were prised from the almost kiss, into the lips of the enemy. 

Sylus crashed into you with such fervency and hunger that all that you could do was surrender. Despite your muddled mind, you’d managed a singular thought: Oh my god, what about Zayne?

What about him?

The professor may have been virtuous, but he was far from vapid. And that was when you were yet again wrested from one man to another; the taste of jasmine now blatant on your lips. Zayne didn’t hold back this time, no — his tongue searched for yours, starved and desperate. 

Sylus, on the other side, stood grinning at Zayne’s sudden brashness. And here you’d thought all criminals were territorial. 

You were lost in the kiss, before you felt the softness of what could only be Sylus’ expert mouth skimming your neck. He took his time exploring the contours of your collarbone, feeling your breath quicken, your heartbeat hasten.

He worked his way down to your breasts, but paused; his eyes were imploring for permission. 

Mouth already fiercely claimed by another, you could only arch your back in response. Sylus didn’t have to be told twice: he ran his hands under your blouse, then under your bra, big hands cupping and kneading your tender flesh. 

You let out an uncontrollable moan. It broke the kiss, and heedlessly turned to the man between your chest. His wound seemed to have disappeared. 

“Look at me.”

It was a command from the doctor. 

Uh oh, jealous Zayne was a tad frightening.

“Zayne, I…”

But he had already slid down to your legs. “What do you want me to do?”

What did he want you to say? Did he want you to be the saintly girl from his childhood? Or did he want you all grown up, unchaste, unfiltered?

“...I want…Zayne…please…just, I just want you…” Ah, an answer ambiguous enough to let him decide. Clever. 

But dear you, you’d already hooked your legs over him as formal invitation. 

In one swift motion, he tugged your pants off, as if he’d been training his entire life to do that. Laying sweet kisses to your ankles, your calves, your thighs…

…and you watched, breath dangerously shallow, as the professor bit the corner of your panty and pulled it down, down, down. 

He positioned himself in his favourite place, eyes lacquered as if in a fevered dream, and pressed his mouth to the only spot that could make you scream. Zayne may be restrained, but his tongue was a beast untamed. It padded at your clit, flirting with the nub once, twice, over…until his name was the only thing that filled your vision. 

Could you feel? Could you feel your nipples being bitten and toyed with? Sylus now had your entire breast in his mouth, while his other hand roamed over your stomach, creeping down to part one of your thighs. Was he helping Zayne gain leverage?

Absolutely not. 

It was every man for himself. Inch by selfish inch, they conquered, marked, and safeguarded as their own. Seeing how there was no way in between your legs, Sylus schemed to the armrest where your head was. He pushed two fingers into your mouth, feeling your saliva pool around them. 

The two men hated each other, but they sure were in sync. Fingers in at the top, fingers in below. A light slap to your face, a harder one at your base. Cock in your mouth, cock in down south. 

Your legs were spread wide, so wide for the professor, and he was pumping into you with such delirium…you wanted to scream, you really did, but the length of Sylus was shoved in to keep you quiet…and that was when you realised, they were, in fact, not syncing. They were competing.

“Come feel how wet she is for me.” 

It was a taunt, but Sylus took the bait. He pulled out from your throat, stalking over, but Zayne had somehow already secured you on top of him, his throbbing heat prodding at your extremely wet folds.

“Do you want it…” the doctor hummed into your ear, so soft, so soft — it was meant for no one but you — “...baby?”

Another loud moan, and you sank into him: the squelch was defeaningly vulgar. 

You couldn’t have known, for your eyes were rolled so far back, but the whole time you were rocking into Zayne, his own had been fixed on Sylus’, watching him watching the both of you, like a depraved voyeur tangled in his own lie. 

With his gaze still locked on the silver-haired devil, Zayne slipped his hands down to where you two were connected, and dragged his index over the fluids rimming your hole. Sylus broke into a slow smile.

“Ahhh, Zaynie, please, please…” 

Too far gone. So far, that you scarce had a second to think about the man you had so desperately tried to save earlier. Said man at last, knelt down behind you on the sofa, one large hand grabbing your neck and face away from the thief, the other reaching down to massage your clit. He did not care that that domain was currently the doctor’s.

While you were chasing your own release, Sylus plunged his tongue inside your ear, whispering filth unknown to man:

 “I’m leaking right now, do you know that?” 

“I want you…chained to my bed…I want you begging…while he watches.”

“Will you be able to take it, if I fucked you, with Zaynie’s cock still inside?”

All his dirty little secrets may have been for you to hear, but his parting words were a wilful torment aimed to shatter the doctor’s composure.

Thrust, thrust, thrust. Zayne became relentless with his assault. Whether it was silent retaliation or him nearing rapture, it made Sylus very, very, happy. So happy, in fact, that he took your mouth into his once more, kissing you with all the greed and madness only a criminal could bestow. All at the same time, he began grinding his erection into your back — his breath jagged, his desire frantic. 

And this madman had the nerve, the nerve, to keep his eyes open while doing the deed, lucid orbs of devil-red goring into the doctor’s green. He bit and sucked at your supple lips, hands bullying your breasts, all this time transfixed on Zayne.

The doctor was indeed nearing his high, for his brows were knitted in sweat and shambles, and it seemed all that was needed to implode was to feel you clamp down on him. He tightened his grip on your hips, unfazed your attention was with another, and drove into you at disgusting speed.

“...fuck baby, you’re so tight…I…I…”

Begging with his cock, pleading with his words…. you cried into Sylus’s mouth at Zayne’s unbecoming behaviour. 

And that was when the enemy struck. 

Sylus shoved you down onto Zayne. With your backside elevated, he smeared his pre-load around where Zayne had stuffed you, inciting deranged moans from you and the doctor. 

Sensing an opening to enter, he did. It was raw, wanton, demented.

“Fuck…off, asshole.” Zayne managed through strangled gasps. Sharing you was one thing, sharing you whilst grazing another man’s cock? Downright deplorable.

The deplorable asshole pushed down even harder — Sylus was smug, but unreadable: his face was contorted in between arousal and aversion — there was no telling what he would do next. 

“Why don’t you take it, doctor?”

Zayne never lost, and so he did take it. He was too far gone, completely wrecked, and all he could think about was you, you, you. 

You, Sylus, Zayne. The three of you; thighs and parts slathered in your combined lust, altogether making sounds of the obscene. They were a testament to how good the two men had stretched you in tandem.  

“…fuck…you feel…so good kitten, so good for me…”

Everything around you began to constellate into a whirling blur. Only:

 “Sy, Zayne, harder!” 

“You’re such a dirty girl, kitten.”

“Say my name, louder.”

And you exploded into stars. 

And the men exploded into rage. 

Sylus was sent crashing into the lounge table, with Zayne bent over him. Their combined weight and impact shattered the glass, shards of crystalline like displaced celestial bodies doomed never again to find home.

Seething through sweat and blood, the doctor held the devil down by his neck, crushing his throat, his deft grip exerting extra pressure on his carotid artery. “You do not deserve her.”

And the devil laughed — a hearty, scathing bellow — it rumbled in the air; thick, like lightning slicing through fog. “All this be…because…I said you had mad skills? Hmm? What…isss…is it about you, doc? You’re a boring, hardline killjoy, perhaps what you need is someone to bend you ov —”

Sylus didn’t get to finish.

Spikes of bitter frost pierced the bloodied marble floor, its force leaving the corner of his left ear bleeding. Zayne — a man of self control, self discipline, self restraint — had come undone.

“Zayne! Please, don’t hurt him…” you cried, body still languid from the aftershock of your climax. You made to move, but couldn’t: Sylus held you down with his evol. 

“Sylus let me go!!” 

You scanned the room, desperate to stop the mess, to prevent the doctor from aggravating Sylus’s injury…wait, where did his wound go?

It was a scene from hell. The two men, bathed in gore and malice, naked, about to wrangle the other to the death. How it had gotten this dire vexed you…surely a war of words didn’t warrant a massacre??

“That’s the fire I’m looking for. You should be angry more oft…ten. Helps you last…longer…in bed.” 

He was wheezing, but it would seem he would goad the doctor till his last breath. Zayne pressed his face into the enemy’s, spite and spit looming in the air between them.

“Why don’t you fight back?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I want you to shut the fuck up.”

“Why don’t you make me, doctor?”

For a long, heated moment, you held your breath, sickened by the carnage you’d assumed was to come. 

It happened, in a series of successions.

Zayne slammed his mouth into Sylus’, hand steadying his bruised face like it was the most tender thing he’d ever dared touch. Their kiss was carnal, dangerous, a sort of pleasure derived only from sleeping with the enemy.

Tangled in broken glass, broken frost and broken moans, neither cared that they were impaled by sharp objects intent on taking their lives. Open mouthed and panting, Sylus fisted Zayne’s hair, pulling it back with such wild abandon the doctor was left trembling for more. 

The dragon relished in the doctor’s agony, before plunging his head forwards and devouring his lips once more. A collision so vicious it split the corners of their lips, leaving behind a bloody trail of crimson that ran down Zayne’s neck. Wholly possessed by the divine sight, Sylus began to lap at the elixir of life, sucking, biting…

A low groan erupted from the professor.

“You disgust me.”

“I know.”

Over and over, the enemies turned lovers took turns devastating each other, soaked bodies crashing violently to see who would break first. Even in lust there exists loathing, but none quite like the devotion of a dragon. Sylus placed his hand over Zayne’s heart: now one could contend that it was deference, but the sly devil began teasing his nipple before clamping it between his forceful fingers. 

He watched as Zayne stifled a cry. Sylus loved studying the doctor’s imperceptible expressions. Something in him longed to swallow his reservations, to unravel him, to see him lose control.

The pause allowed Zayne the upper hand — he was, afterall, on top. Out of breath and outside of himself, he alas captured the roaming claw on his chest, seized it steady, and guided it low, low, low…

…and he gave the dragon everything he had ever wanted. 

The devil’s leaking cock, now in the sweet mercy of the professor, the doctor, his Zayne…Sylus, for the first time, whimpered at the ruin that was to come.  

You did not exist.

But you did not mind. If being with them both was a choice, then it was a choice well made, for your boyfriends put on a show fit for a lady: they had begun thrusting into each other; and you had begun playing guess the predator….

The room could not contain your heat, you felt so excruciatingly warm…

……

“...warm? You’re burning up, darling.”

Your eyes flew open.

Zayne’s mellow coddling turned distinct in your ears. Heart, Mind & Soul: A Trinity was still clasped in your hands. Gaze darting to your pants, the lounge table, then your… guy friends, you burst into a labourious coughing fit.

He placed a hand over your forehead before again offering you tea, worry plastered all over his handsome face. 

“Is darling the only pet name you know? Tsk…you’re as boring as your name sounds…”

Sylus emerged from the lounge, his bandaged ribs visible through a half-buttoned shirt.

Ignoring him with exceptional grace, Zayne continued, “I’m sorry we took a while. We got the toxin out. Also tell him I want my shirt returned by Friday. Dry cleaned and pressed.”

The more they said, the wilder your heart pounded; the storm would not settle.

“Did you have a bad dream, darling? You were…talking a lot…”

Oh shit. 

“...I…I was? Wh…what did I say?”

There was a sudden halt in their chatter. A sudden stillness. An opera reaching its peak on the vinyl.  

It made you terribly uncomfortable.

Alas, with a coded chuckle, the devil spoke.

As you absentmindedly braided her hair that night, you wondered if it was your bad luck or good grace that he'd been killed in a riot in jail. When the penitentiary had phoned for you to come and identify his body, you'd been scared.

Scared that it wouldn't be him and the bastard would've cheated death itself.

You decided there was no need for your daughter to ever know what kind of person her father was. But as she grew older and the neighbors' kids started talking, it was clearly affecting her more than you'd realized.

"Hey, Bun" You softly turned her to face you "Do you miss Daddy?"

Her eyes widened like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar before she hid her hands behind her back, shoulders drooping "No.."

"It's okay if you do" You reassured her. You couldn't blame her for feeling left out when she watched all the little kids get picked up by both their parents. It was obvious she'd wonder why she didn't have that.

You weighed your options. If you played it right, you could satisfy her and also keep her in the dark at the same time.

"Would you like to write him a letter?"

Tears sprang to your eyes when you saw how instantly she bloomed in joy, nodding vigorously and trying to escape your hold so she could do it immediately. You stopped her, promised you'd help her write it the next day if she went to bed at once.

Three days after she posted her letter, you brought one home with a flourish, telling her that her father had written back after all!

If the little lie you told was the reason your daughter had the dopiest smile on her face, you'd never feel guilty for it ever again. Especially not as you tucked her into bed that night, her little fist still clutching the letter like it was her lifeline.

It was only a few days later that you felt your heartbeat nearly triple when she rushed into the house, clutching a blood red envelope "Mommy! Mommy look!" You'd been folding laundry when she barreled into your legs "Daddy wrote letter again!"

You didn't mean to, but you snatched the letter from between her hands so fast, it startled her. Lower lip wobbling, you saw the tears well up in her eyes and immediately decided to do damage control.

"Daddy said I should only give you this letter if you freshen up for dinner quickly!"

When your daughter turned and sprinted for the bathroom, you couldn't believe it had worked. Abandoning the laundry, you tore the envelope open and started reading.

You stared in disbelief. Sure, you had really posted the letter to the penitentiary when your daughter had insisted to take it all the way to the post office herself. You'd come up with a random serial number on the spot and figured they'd just toss the letter when they realized there was no one with that number on the roster.

My dearest Princess,

Daddy very much misses you as well. I'm always thinking of my precious daughter.

P.S You are very good at drawing! I'm proud of you.

Love,

Daddy

Not only had someone received her letter...they'd also written back? In character?

The obvious conclusion is that it's an accident. An obvious mix-up. But your daughter is so ecstatic, you can't possibly break her heart like this.

So, you let her write a letter back. Again going to the post office and posting it.

When the third letter comes back from the prison, you decide to take matters in your own hands. Writing a little letter of your own and enclosing it with your daughter's drawings.

I really appreciate you humoring my daughter, but this was just a way to cope since her father is dead. There is no need to keep up with the farce.

I don't mind it. I quite enjoy her little sketches of the three of us. Tell her that Daddy's hair is lighter in color (:

I will not be telling her anything of the sort.

So cutthroat. You wound me, darling.

Despite yourself, you found your lips lifting at his words, but you caught yourself in record time, shoving the little note in your jeans as you quickly skimmed over his letter to your daughter before you deemed it okay to hand it to her.

She squealed with delight, clutching her new bunny by the ear as she thundered down to her room to read her letter in "secret". You watched her go till she was out of sight, still staring after her and wondering if it really was a bad idea to exchange harmless letters. If some bored criminal wanted to play house with your daughter over some letters, was there really any real danger to it?

You'd always check the letter she'd write, illegible as it was, to see if she didn't accidentally reveal any information about herself. And after she'd go to sleep, you'd only change one little thing.

Erasing her name at the bottom, you used your non-dominant hand to sign a pet name. Not once had you let your daughter's letters carry her real name over to a criminal. For the sake of her mental health, you'd allowed the letters, but this was non-negotiable to you.

Like clockwork, every Tuesday his letter arrives, you skim the contents before re-sealing it and handing it over to your daughter when she comes home from pre-school. Subsequently, you post her letter every Wednesday evening, using an address that was four blocks away from yours, belonging to the sweetest old lady who lived by herself and had dementia. You felt horrible taking advantage of the fact that she never checked her mail so you could always just conveniently swipe out the letters from her mailbox, but you brought her enough baked goods to make up for it. The letters you sent were just addressed to the penitentiary; with the serial number of an inmate you'd never know the owner of.

He signed his letters Skye but after having lived a life in hiding with a criminal, you'd learned not to trust the lot. If your daughter's deteriorating mental state hadn't been in question, the first letter would've never gone out.

One Tuesday evening, your daughter pulls at your pants to grab your attention and gives you a tiny note that she says is from Daddy. Your senses immediately go on high alert, wondering how you could've missed it, worrying he's said something inexcusable and you would have to stop this little pen pal relationship.

Am I not allowed to know what my daughter looks like?

You feel a vein throbbing in your forehead, smiling at your daughter as she stares at you with her big doe-like eyes before you distract her with a snack.

If he wants to know what your daughter looked like, he would do something crazy like wanting to meet her if he ever got out. And if that wasn't bad, he'd probably kidnap her or do something inane, maybe he was already plotting it. Feeling your heart drop to your chest, you decide it really was the end.

That week, you don't send your daughter's letter. It remains in an unmarked envelope, hidden on the top shelf of your closet in a big box at the very back. The Wednesday of the week after, you wake up in cold sweat wondering if he sent a letter anyway. The morning of, you drop by the old lady's mailbox and quickly look through her mail just in case and sigh in relief when there's nothing in it.

The next week, you can't help the dread as you're swiping through the mailbox again, realizing how stupid you'd been. Not only had you probably endangered your daughter, but also the sweet old lady who always babysat for you whenever you had to pull extra shifts at work.

You can't keep the guilt off your face when you run into her at the grocery store that weekend, paying for her share as well when you realize she didn't remember to bring her wallet with her, heart pinching in agony at having taken advantage of her situation. Your daughter is skipping in front as you carry all the grocery bags, dropping the old lady off at her place with her stuff. She insists you stay for tea and you're about to decline but she's already bribed your daughter with cake and it's too late to retreat.

The sun is setting in streaks of orange and blue when you finally wave goodbye to her, adjusting the beanie on your daughter's head before she runs off again. You cross the mailbox, your stomach dropping as you backtrack and decide to doubly check.

Your hands are sweaty, forehead perspiring as you pluck out the blood red envelope, gulping as the dread overwhelms you, like hands wrapping around your throat and squeezing squeezing squeezing to see how long you'd last.

You quickly shove the letter inside your purse before your daughter can catch sight of it. There was no way she was going to read it- if at all- without you proofreading it first.

The entire walk home, you cannot keep your eyes off her. Heart palpitating like any minute you expect someone to pick her off the street and run away where you could never find her again.

Your mind is on the contents of the letter throughout preparing dinner, watching your daughter's favorite show, her bath time, reading her a story to bed and finally, like all the other nights for the past week reassuring her that her Daddy does love her even if he's not written back in a while.

By the time you're finally alone, you're about ready to rip off your hair from its roots as you hastily open the envelope and pluck the letter out.

You skim the letter, it is inconspicuous, nothing suggesting that he never received another letter, keeping the conversation going like always. Asked her about school, her best friend Kara (who was a plushie, but he'd never know) and what kind of cake she liked. Totally innocent. Picking up where they'd previously left off.

You checked for another note, and sure enough there was one. Hands trembling, you opened the twofold and started reading.

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

You'd have appreciated the sarcasm if your knees weren't fighting the urge to buckle and give in from the dread.

I suppose I have scared you with my little request. Thus, the lack of letters from your end for the past couple weeks. I apologize for the same, I only realized the implications of my request afterwards. I meant no harm and would understand if you would like to stop completely.

You trusted the man as far as you could throw him. Considering you knew nothing about him; you decided even that was unreliable.

But once in a while, with your permission of course, if the little bunny draws any more pictures, I'd be very much interested in seeing them.

You huffed out a laugh at his audacity, feeling your chest deflate. Years spent trusting your instinct to protect your daughter had wound you so tight that feeling even a single knot loosen was enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

In sickness and in health,

Daddy

As you posted your daughter's letter that Wednesday, you couldn't help but laugh at your inside joke, wondering how he'd take it. If his previous demeanor was anything to go by, you were guessing it'd be in stride.

"Mail!"

Complete silence filled the yard, all the inmates stopping where they were, at odds with how they'd usually be clawing over each other to get their mail first.

Because no one touched their letters till he had taken his.

The crowd parted like the red sea, hordes of men in orange clearing a path till the mailman who, for all the brave face he put on, was trembling in his pants as well. He could feel the bead of sweat on his back, lining his forehead as he watched him approach, praying to all the Gods up in Heaven that someone- anyone had written this man a letter.

When he'd realized there was no letter for him, yet again, no one had been allowed to take theirs. Not because he forbade them, but because they were scared of what he'd do.

He'd not raised his voice, barely bothered looking intimidating and yet no one stood in his vicinity as he carded through the envelopes, not finding one for himself before asking in a saccharine tone "Are you sure you didn't misplace any?"

The first week, the mailman had been cocky, confident. He'd tched as he snatched the mail back, wondering why no one else was stepping forward "Don't blame me just 'cuz there ain't a letter for you in here ya bloke"

But when no one else stepped forward to take their mail, all that confidence had wavered as he looked around at downcast eyes, no one willing to risk upsetting him any more than he already was.

For the past two weeks, inmates had been avoiding him like the plague. He wasn't amiable on any day but if he didn't receive his letters on Friday, it was a long weekend for all of them.

Especially the ones who challenged him in the ring on Saturday nights.

The second week, it was a similar outcome. The mailman didn't understand what exactly was going on but the nervous, fidgety energy of the inmates was making him nervous as he watched him go through the envelopes and come up empty.

This time he'd just raised an eyebrow, making the mailman sweat "I didn't misplace any!" The desperation and fear ringing clear in his voice.

He'd smiled, crimson eyes glimmering in the sunlight "No one's blaming you" He'd turned around but the wind still carried over the last word "Yet"

The mailman had found himself rechecking for any lost envelopes thrice. He didn't know what would become of him if he returned another week without a letter.

Everyone waited with bated breath as he flipped through the stack of mail the mailman had just handed over and a collective sigh of relief escaped when he plucked out a measly white envelope, lips lifting in a sinister smirk as he handed the rest of the stack back, uncaring of the crowd descending on the poor mailman now that they had the green signal.

He returned to his cell, littered with drawings lining the walls surrounding a single bed, desk and chair. His fingers were twitching with excitement as he tore open the envelope and three things fell out.

He picked up the one on the top first. His daughter had written back to him finally, describing in great detail that she had won a finger-painting competition in school, that Kara came second, her favorite cake was "stroubery". A wry smile lifted his lips at the little sketch of the cake next to the text with cherries lining the top.

Like always, she'd signed it

He admired your resolute, truly. Your daughter's writing was so dark that it would leave indents behind the paper and yet, you'd erase her name so cleanly every time that despite multiple attempts at shading over the lines of the pencil indents, he was yet to figure out her name.

Luv u forehver

Princess Bunny

Picking up the second letter, he couldn't help the smirk spreading over his lips when he saw what you'd addressed it.

Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

God, he wanted to see you mouth off to him in person so bad.

I've attached a picture of her.

He was so surprised that he immediately dropped your letter to look at the polaroid you'd sent him. One he stared at for all of two seconds before throwing his head back and barking with laughter, unable to help himself as his shoulders shook with mirth.

Resting his forehead on the letter, he could faintly smell the perfume lingering on it and wondered what you looked like. He'd spent almost every day since your first letter wondering who you could possibly be. Sure, he had no reason to lie here and actually complete his sentence, he could get out whenever he wanted but he looked forward to his daughter's letters. There was no fun in finding out who you were through Luke and Keiran when he was sure he could get you to come to him. And you would. Slowly but surely.

Beautiful, isn't she?

She looks forward to your letters so I suppose you can keep sending them.

In happiness and in sorrow,

Mommy

As he pinned up the latest letter next to the others, he also pinned the polaroid next to it, unable to escape the huff of laughter escaping him when he gazed at the ultrasound.

Sylus would make you his. There was simply no other option.

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

She is, indeed the most beautiful little princess I've ever seen. She takes after her mother, I'm sure. For research purposes, would you be willing to provide evidence I can submit?

To have and to hold,

Daddy

Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

Do you want my ultrasound too?

For better or for worse,

Mommy

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

I don't mind. Although, I'll admit I usually save the ultrasounds for a third date.

For richer or for poorer,

Daddy

Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

Unfortunately for you, I don't have those ultrasounds or a third date for you.

To love and to cherish,

Mommy

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

Why don't we start at a first one then? I would like to know the color of your eyes.

Till' death do us part,

Daddy

A/N: This has been marinating in my drafts for two months now. Time to unlock multiple chapter fics<3

When the guard entered the room, you made sure to put on a fearful look. Which—if you were being honest—wasn't that hard to do considering the situation. But it wasn't your life you feared for in that moment. No. You were afraid of the warmth blossoming in your core, spreading through your nerves like a virus with only a single treatment. All because of your current predicament.

You could barely focus on what Sylus and the guard were saying. At one point, you gave a little struggle to play the part, just for Sylus to tighten his hold on you, making sure to keep the gun pressed into your skin.

"Shh, be a good girl for me."

Fuck.

Those words, said in that deep, silky tone, made your legs almost give out. To avoid that embarrassing reaction, you tried shifting your body, but that just caused you to press against Sylus' front—

Where you felt a hard, undeniable bulge.

Your breath hitched as a result, and Sylus chuckled softly. Yet, he continued to speak to the guard, selling the performance, like nothing was amiss. Like this wasn't affecting him just as much as it was affecting you.

Finally, the guard turned to leave, and you assumed you were meant to follow—not like you had been able to pay any attention—but before you could, that sinful voice brushed across your ear once more.

"Later, kitten."

Later came.

And in your defense, it had been a busy day afterward, so it was understandable that you had forgotten. Luckily for you, Sylus was always happy to remind you.

Like now, as you stood in front of the bed—naked except for your underwear. Tight in his hold. Your back flushed with his front.

"I wasn't expecting to learn something new about you today, kitten—but I'm not complaining, of course."

Your cheeks grew warm. Hell, your whole body was growing warm. "Wha…What do you mean?"

"There's no need to pretend, sweetie. I felt the very moment desire bloomed in your soul. All because…"

Your breath hitched at the feeling of cool metal against your neck, and you had to bite back a moan.

"Tell me: do you enjoy being my captive?"

"I-I don't know what you're…"

The barrel pressed deeper into your skin, and he used his other hand to grip your chin, holding it in place. This time, you couldn't stop the whimper that left your lips.

"What was that?"

You took a deep breath, trying to gather what little control over your vocal cords you had left. "And what if I do? What happens if I say yes?"

What will you do to me?

He chuckled. "Answering my question with a question…well, miss hunter, let me demonstrate."

His evol wrapped around you, picking you up and depositing you on the bed. Red tendrils bound your wrists together above you. Now, you could finally see him as he stood over you at the edge of the bed, gun in hand, staring down at you like he had finally captured his prey. He leaned over you, placing his free hand on the bed to the side of you.

Your body jolted at the feeling of cool metal brushing across your leg. His right eye started to glow as the gun trailed further up, caressing your thigh. A needy whimper escaped you, and he chuckled.

"So responsive, kitten. Let's see if I can make you mewl…"

He moved the gun over—and a strangled gasp fell from your lips.

The barrel was rubbing against your clothed cunt.

"S-Sylus!"

"Yes, sweetie? Something the matter?" he teased, continuing to rub the metal back and forth.

When it caught your clit, you let out a loud, broken moan and chased the pleasure with a thrust of your hips. He indulged you, repeating the motion over and over until you were spasming from an orgasm. While you recovered, body shaky, he pulled the gun away to examine your soaked underwear.

He let out a soft tut. "Already so wet for me."

"Sylus…"

He swallowed down your whines with a heated kiss. "Do you need more, kitten? Need to be filled?" he whispered against you.

You nodded frantically, wishing your hands were free so you could tug him closer.

The gun traced shapes softly on your side as he said, "Use your words, sweetie. Beg for it."

Frustration bubbled out of you, making you tug on your restraints to no avail. "I need you, Sy. I need your…" you trailed off, face flushing even more. At his raised eyebrow, you managed to continue. "…I need your cock. In…inside me. Please. I need it."

He placed a few kisses on your jaw before gently nipping at it. "There's a good girl."

Those words made you shiver, and, going off the glint in his eye, you knew he noticed.

Wordlessly, he sat back up in order to remove his pants and underwear. Once his cock was free, his evol made quick work of your underwear. He rested the gun on your thigh while his other hand moved over your cunt, and his fingers started circling the hole that ached to be filled.

"Sylus…" you breathed out.

You thought he was about to start prepping you, about to insert his fingers in and stretch you like you wished, but then they moved up to your clit.

At your confused noise, he simply smiled. It reminded you of the look he put on when a deal was about to go exactly as he planned, to the detriment of the other person. "What? Do you not want me to touch you, sweetie?"

"No, it's just—" you cut off with a whine as he sent shocks of pleasure through you. "I thought…"

"You're my captive, remember?" He slid the gun down your thigh, and his voice become low, rough. "You'll take what I give you. Understood?"

Your nodded deliriously as his pace sped up, knowing exactly how to bring you to the edge quickly. "Good girl," he said, and that's all it took to have you cry out, shaking and thrusting frantically into his hand.

His eye glowed intensely as he watched you. Hungry. And then his fingers moved back to circling your entrance while he leaned down, positioning his lips right over your clit before latching on. He didn't give you any time to recover before twirling his tongue around it, sending mind-melting pleasure through you that almost made it feel like your body was on fire.

You writhed under him, not knowing if you wanted to get away or get impossibly closer—but he made the decision for you. Red tendrils slithered across your skin, holding down and spreading your legs open. A few tinier ones even started to attack your nipples with feather light touches. As you moaned, whimpered, whined, even pleaded, he enjoyed himself thoroughly as he let out content hums that sent addicting vibrations through you.

And then, finally, finally, he started stretching you open with his fingers. The air was filled with the sound of wet squelches, which only seemed to spur Sylus on more, increasing the intensity he was supplying you. He found the sensitive spot inside you easily, and he took your resulting cry as a sign to stroke it again and again.

Until your body locked up, convulsing as you came on his face.

He gave your clit one last lick—which sent a violent jolt through you—before sitting up with glistening lips and a satisfied expression.

"Please, Sy," you whined.

He shushed you gently, trailing the barrel of the gun across your sensitive skin. "Alright, kitten. But remember: you'll have to take what I give you."

His tone was so sweet. Tender. But you knew the threat hidden behind it—and your body grew even warmer, needing to see him go through with it. So you nodded.

He chuckled softly, positioning his cock before slowly pushing in. The two of you let out harmonizing sounds of pleasure.

"Fuck, kitten," he breathed out. "You take me so well. So good for me."

You could only manage a whimper in response. An internal battle of "too much, it's too much" against the greedy satisfaction of finally getting what you wished for took place inside your body as it stretched for him. With the latter winning, despite the way your nerves shuddered underneath the overwhelming onslaught.

When he finally buried himself as far as he could go, you stayed there for a few moments, heavy breaths mingling. Then, his free hand slid underneath you, holding you close. With the other, he brought the gun up to your face, nestling the barrel against your neck. The action made you clench around the cock filling you completely, dragging out a sharp breath from him.

His eyes flitted across yours, taking you in—you wondered how you looked underneath him like this, as his prey—before moving his hips to pull out just to thrust them back in. A low moan passed your lips at the force, which he captured with a heady kiss. Your mind, your body, everything melted into it, happily letting him devour you. And then started the brutal pace.

"S…Sy…" you barely managed to whisper after a few thrusts hit deep inside you, too fucked out of your mind to comprehend the complexities of language. The thrill that shot through you every time the feeling of the cool metal pushed into your skin was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

"So good for me, sweetie," he groaned into your ear, latching onto the sensitive lobe with his mouth.

After a particularly intense thrust—which made your body arch up into him—he said, "I wonder…just how many rounds do you have left?"

Through the pleasure, you struggled to understand what he was getting at, but then a little tendril appeared around your clit, making his meaning immensely clear. It rubbed it in just the way that made you come undone instantly, with soft quick circular motions.

You wished you could have sunk your teeth into him as your body burned with another orgasm, but he had pulled away slightly to watch you with his flushed face.

With a bit of surprise, you realized that your moans had shifted to soft whining cries, and tears had begun to trickle down your cheeks. The gun moved up to your face, wiping one of them away.

"Poor thing," he cooed.

And continued to thrust inside you. Reminding you of his earlier warning.

At your widened eyes, he chuckled. "Just one more, kitten. I know you have it in you."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "I…I can't…" you whined.

But you both knew that was a lie. Your body was chasing after his thrusts, meeting them with fervor. A damning smoking gun.

He moved the barrel back down your face, this time pressing it against the underside of your jaw to tilt it upwards, allowing him access to your neck.

"Oh, but you can," he whispered in between kisses—and deep thrusts. "I know my prey very well. Quite intimately, in fact."

Another wave of tears escaped, and he moved his lips up to your cheeks to kiss them away. "There you go. Let it out, sweetie. It feels good, doesn't it?"

A shaky noise bubbled up from your throat as you nodded. Because it did, in a strange way. Like tension you didn't even know you had was finally being released.

"See? Good girl," he said, voice turning into a moan at the end. And you could tell he was finally reaching his own climax. "Just give me one more." As he said that, he lifted you up off the bed slightly, just enough to change the angle to something that had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

"Sy…ah…I—" you were cut off with a hiccuping sob, so desperate for your last orgasm.

"Shh, there you go. Come on, such a good girl…" he trailed off into his own moans of pleasure and pressed the gun more firmly into your skin.

That was all it took for the trigger inside your body to fire, making your vision go white. You didn't know if you were even feeling your pleasure anymore. It was more like you were merging with it, letting it become a part of you. Letting it find a home in your soul.

Distantly, you heard Sylus falling apart above you, climaxing with wrecked gasps and moans. You felt him buried impossibly deep, spilling inside you.

While you both came down from your highs, he placed a soft kiss on your cheek as a few more stray tears fell. "I love you," he whispered into your skin, making your heart flutter.

You managed a soft hum in response, hoping what you wanted to convey shone through. And you knew it did at the feeling of him smiling against you.

He sat up in order to carefully pull himself out, caressing your arms to soothe you as you let out quiet whimpers. Once he did, you looked up at him with a pout, making him chuckle.

His hand cupped your cheek to rub his thumb over it. "Was that a lot, kitten? I'm sorry," he said—while sounding the opposite of apologetic.

You huffed at his smugness. Then, "Bath," you murmured.

His face softened, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "Of course."

"And food."

"Absolutely."

"And cuddles," you said with a tone that screamed nonnegotiable.

He scooped you up in his arms, mindful of any lingering soreness. He brushed his nose against yours. "Anything you desire. For as long as you desire it."

You let out a content sigh, nestled against his chest as the bathroom came into view.

You tap your fingers against the sheet of paper, considering your options. The only way to get out of this whole thing would be to request reassignment, but that was unlikely to happen, and you weren’t about to sacrifice both your pride and dignity. 

Instead, you turn to ruminating about the many methods with which you could murder Caleb without getting court-martialed. You’re too distracted to hear the laughter in the hallway and the footsteps approaching you. There’s an arm slinging over your shoulders, the weight of it making you stiffen as you’re pulled in close to the man’s side. 

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

“Caleb,” you greet coldly, glaring up at him. 

Caleb grins down at you, leaning in close. “Saw the eval sheet,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue, “my condolences.”

You shove him away roughly with a grunt. “I don’t need your condolences, asshole,” you snap, finger pushing into his chest, his neatly pressed uniform beginning to crease under the pressure. “I’ll be running you and your jet into the ground.”

“Ouch,” he drawls, rubbing his hand over the spot where you had poked him. “Always so mean. Keep glaring at me like that and you’ll get wrinkles. Won’t do you any good to end up uglier than you already are.”

Your fingers twitch at his insult, teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from shouting at him.

“You won’t have to see me for much longer,” you announce, crossing your arms over your chest. “After today, the Colonel will be so impressed that she’ll have no choice but to give me a promotion.”

Caleb snorts, his head cocking to the side as he leans against the board lazily. “This is an eval, pipsqueak. Promotions aren’t handed out until next month.”

You let out a heavy breath, shifting on your feet agitatedly. “It’s either me or you,” you say pointedly, shoulders shrugging. “And as much as I hate to admit it, you’re the one with an advantage here.”

He rolls his eyes, his fingers brushing across his uniform to fix the creases. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with me being a military brat?” he offers, raising his brows.

“Fuck you,” you reply, brows furrowing, “you’ll get all the fucking recommendations you need because daddy’s in charge.”

You flinch when his hand slaps the wall next to your head, your gaze meeting his as he boxes you in against the wall. Caleb’s eyes are dark, and you smile smugly, relishing in the fact that you were still able to get under his skin.

“What?” you whisper, rocking up onto your toes, “can’t handle it? You’re not pulling the strings around here, Lieutenant. Your dad is.”

Caleb’s jaw clenches, and you swallow harshly when he leans closer, feeling his breath fan across your face as he speaks. “Is that why I’m the best in class?” he murmurs, his head tilting. “Hm?” He leans in closer, and you jerk back when his nose brushes against yours. “Is that why you lose to me in the air every single time? Can’t even fucking lock onto me without blowing an engine, pipsqueak.”

A harsh breath of air escapes you when he brings that up, eyes narrowing venomously. You consider lashing out, clawing into his stupid uniform that seemed to never hold a crease until you drew blood. Instead, you look away, lips pursing for a brief moment before you look back up at him. Caleb smiles down at you, his eyes dark and sharp, and you think about how nice it would be to drive your fist into his stupidly perfect face.

“I hate you,” you say finally, averting your gaze. “You’re insufferable, inconsiderate and a piece of shit,” you continue, teeth grinding together, voice hardening. “Now get the fuck out of my face, Caleb.” 

Caleb scoffs sharply, his expression twisting into a sneer. But he does as you say, stepping back to give you space. Your lip twitches as you sneer back, boots echoing through the hallway as you walk away. You don’t get far, his fingers curling around your wrist to tug you back.

“Reccommendations are an incentive,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks. “I’ll be Captain soon. I suggest you start practicing how to address me.” You wince when his fingers dig into your wrist harder. “Show some fucking respect, yeah?”

Your fingers flex, jaw working as you try and process the sheer audacity of the man standing before you. The darkness in his gaze has you fighting the urge to reel back, your skin prickling with uneasiness as he stares down at you unnervingly. He’d always been like this – calculating, vicious, a threat – from the moment you’d stepped foot onto this base.

Pulling away now would only admit defeat, and so you steel yourself, brows raising with feigned nonchalance as you tamp down the anger festering inside of you. He stiffens when you step closer, and you smile sharply, your lips brushing against his ear in a low, venomous hiss.

“Earn it.”

You pull back soon after, not bothering to glance at his expression as you shake your wrist free, storming down the hall to your dorm. You feel hot, cheeks flushed with anger as your hands curl into fists, boots kicked off unceremoniously before you flop down onto your bed. A muffled scream leaves you as you bury your face into the pillows, fists coming down against the sheets until you realize how far under your skin Caleb’s gotten.

Several minutes pass as you stew in your anger, face nuzzling into your pillow as you frown, lamenting the fact you’d been assigned to this base from the beginning. Once you’ve managed to gain some semblance of control, you sit up with a heavy exhale, eyes fluttering shut as you mentally work through the components of the evaluation. 

The knowledge based test was where you could gain the upperhand. You’d studied the assigned chapters inside and out, had made enough flashcards that even Tara had complained about the overflowing pile of colored cards on your desk. Aerial combat was where you fell short. Sure, you were a good pilot – second only to Caleb – but the way Caleb handled his jet was vastly different.  

Limits didn’t seem to exist to him, and if they did, he broke them. You’d seen him fly, seen him execute complex maneuvers that had left even the most experienced flight instructors stunned. Caleb was reckless, but in a controlled sort of way that never failed to leave you off-kilter when you were in the air with him. 

You jolt when the speaker blares through the dorms, announcing that testing was due to begin. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble, stumbling around your dorm as you pull your boots back on, fixing your uniform in the mirror. You frown as you smooth a few stray hairs back into place, adjusting your bun until you’re satisfied.

Eyes fluttering shut, you take a few deep breaths, reminding yourself of what was at stake. Shoulders rolling back, you gather your things before stepping out of your dorm. 

You roll your eyes when you see who’s waiting in line to enter the testing room. Caleb doesn’t seem to notice as you step up behind him, so you take the opportunity to let your gaze trail over his broad shoulders with mild interest.

The military didn’t exactly encourage relationships, but you’d heard the various rumours floating around about Caleb. Besides, it wasn’t hard to miss the blushing faces and hushed whispers whenever Caleb strode past. It irked you, the fact that everyone else couldn’t see how completely insufferable the man standing in front of you was. 

Your lips purse in annoyance. If he wasn’t such a pain in the ass, he’d be nice to look at. You ogle Caleb’s shoulders and back for a little longer, gaze dipping down to his waist for a brief moment before your eyes snap up when he turns around to face you. 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Caleb drawls, crossing his arms over his chest, “should I turn back around so you can keep staring?”

“Yes, actually,” you shoot back, “then I wouldn’t have to look at that.” You gesture to his face with a look of disgust. For a moment, you think you see mirth flickering in his gaze, but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“Well,” he muses, stepping closer, “we both know that’s not true. You like glaring at me too much to stop.” 

“That’s sweet,” you coo mockingly, clutching your chest, “you pay so much attention to me. I’m honored, really.”

Caleb rolls his eyes, his gaze flitting back when the line starts to move. You raise your brows when he turns back to you, head tilting away when he leans in to whisper. You know better than to take his words for anything but a threat.

“I’ll see you in the air, pipsqueak.”

–

The tarmac is swelteringly hot.

You adjust your flight suit, face twisting with discomfort as another current of hot air blows into your face. There’s a few flight instructors huddled together and you sigh, wiping at the sweat beading across your forehead, before tugging your sunglasses down to dim the bright glare of the sun sweeping across the tarmac. 

Caleb’s nowhere to be seen, and you’re grateful for the reprieve. The test had been easy enough, and you’d been able to answer most of the questions without a hitch. An exasperated sigh escapes you as the flight instructors continue to deliberate, and you move under the wing of your jet, seeking shade.

“Plan on blowing another engine today?”

You jolt at the sound of Caleb’s voice, losing your balance for a moment before straightening out.

“What is your problem?” you ask snappily, swatting his hand away when he runs it along the side of your jet. “Don’t touch her.”

He sighs exasperatedly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you ever not wound up?” he retorts, rolling his eyes. “I’m just having a little fun, pipsqueak.”

You stare up at him, brows furrowing in annoyance. “You said you’d see me in the air, asshole. I bet you’d love to see me go down in flames.”

“Yeah, well maybe then you’d be outta my hair,” Caleb says, shrugging noncommittally. 

Your expression twists, an irritated noise escaping you. When he tries stepping closer, his arm brushing against yours, you jerk back, slamming your boot down onto his. You watch with amusement as he winces in pain, crouching over to grab at his foot.

“Oops,” you offer innocently, smiling at him smugly when he glares up at you.

“Real funny,” Caleb mutters under his breath, his hand shooting out to grab yours.

You frown, trying to pull your hand free, but he’s pulling you closer, forcing you to step back until you’re trapped between him and your jet.

“Have you lost your mind?” you hiss, trying to peer around his side to see whether the flight instructors were watching. “We’ll both get penalized for– for fraternizing!”

“Fraternizing?” Caleb snorts, stopping you from moving, one of his hands slipping down to settle on your hip. “Relax, would you? The last thing I want to do is fraternize with you.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” you scoff loudly, shoving at his chest, trying to get the attention of your instructors. “Get off of me–”

“Hey,” Caleb snaps lowly, catching your wrists in his hand. “I said relax, pipsqueak.” 

“Is this some kinda fucking joke?” you snarl, squirming in his grasp. “You spew all that bullshit about showing respect and now you’re–” you suck in a sharp breath when his grip tightens, “you’re sabotaging me!”

He lets out a heavy breath, stepping closer until his tall frame blocks you from being seen. You blink up at him with wide eyes – part scandalized, part aggravated – a shriek beginning to claw its way out of your throat until he groans and slips his hand over your mouth, effectively muffling the sound.

“Listen up,” he murmurs, pushing your sunglasses up until they sit on your head. “I’m not sabotaging you, okay?” Caleb stares down at you, his head tilting. “I just thought I’d give you some tips… to make it a fair playing field.”

You stare up at him blankly, blinking slowly as you process his words. He looks uncharacteristically… genuine, and the sight unnerves you so much to the point that you thrash violently until he reluctantly lets his hand slip from your mouth. 

“You have lost your mind, haven’t you?” you murmur, nodding vigorously, “I mean, I figured one day the lack of oxygen up there would get to your brain but apparently–”

“I thought you wanted to be promoted,” Caleb interrupts, his voice sharp, “I’m giving you a leg up.”

“Why the fuck would I want a leg up from you?” you retort, raising your brows incredulously. “You– you threatened me, and– and now,” you gesture at him wildly, “you want to play fair?”

“Maybe I’ve had a change of heart,” he hisses, glaring down at you. “Maybe I think that you’re one of the best fucking pilots I’ve ever seen and that maybe you deserve that promotion.”

You clamp your mouth shut at that. Caleb averts his gaze, his jaw clenching as he steps back. It takes a few moments for you to understand what he’s saying, what he’s offering to you. 

“Do I come across as pathetic to you, Caleb?” you murmur, stepping closer to him. Your cheeks grow hot with anger when he avoids your eyes. “Hey,” you snap your fingers in front over his face, “over here, asshole. Answer my question.”

It’s a terrible idea, really, but you’re far too irritated to worry about whether anyone’s watching or whether you’ll get penalized for this. Your fingers curl into Caleb’s flight suit, yanking him towards you until he’s forced to meet your gaze.

“No,” he says finally, his lips thinning, “but I know you well enough to know that the moment we’re in the air, you’ll do whatever it takes.”

“And how exactly is that a problem?”

Caleb lets out a dry laugh, leaning back. “You push too far and you’re gonna get yourself killed, pipsqueak. You blew an engine last time because you went too hard, too fast.” His fingers brush over yours, his skin warm and calloused as they drift over your knuckles before he pries your hand off of his flight suit. 

He narrows his eyes, and you swallow harshly when he stares down at you so intently, you’re almost sure that he can see right through you. You don’t know what he’s playing at, don’t know whether he’s saying all of this to try and get into your head. Despite it all, you know well enough that you can’t trust Caleb.

“You’re reckless,” you breathe out, “even more so than me. Are you telling me I can’t push my limits?”

Caleb shrugs, leaning against your jet. Your eye twitches at the action, hands clenching into fists at your sides. 

“Yeah, well…” he trails off, his gaze flitting behind you. “I know what I’m doing, pipsqueak.”

There’s a barrage of insults sitting on the tip of your tongue, the heat around you and your own anger putting you further on edge. You have half a mind to slap him, but the flight instructors are calling out your names, so you settle on saving your energy, standing at attention as one of the instructors reads out his checklist.

“Alright,” the instructor announces, playing with his clipboard. “The hard deck is set at 10,000 feet, do not go below it. Play it by the book, I don’t want to see any aerial maneuvers that haven’t already been approved – I’m looking at you, Lieutenant Xia.”

Caleb states his assent and you fight the urge to roll your eyes, shifting on your feet instead.

“Finally, make the right decisions,” the instructor glances at you and Caleb pointedly. “I don’t wanna see any half-assed heroic bullshit up there. Anything goes wrong with your jet, you eject. Is that clear, Lieutenants?”

“Yes, sir,” you and Caleb say in unison, before saluting the instructor.

He nods in approval, before nodding towards your jets. You suck in a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you exhale, trying to calm your nerves as you settle into your jet. 

You do a quick check of the controls, nodding to the technician standing by once you’re satisfied. The sound of your jet’s engines helps calm you, and you hum to yourself, flicking a switch in front of you to close the canopy. 

It seals into place easily and you glance outside, huffing out a breath when you see Caleb’s jet taking off.

“Asshole,” you grumble under your breath, fingers tightening around the flight control stick.

Static flickers in your ears for a few minutes, your instructor’s voice crackling through the earpiece. 

“All clear for take-off, Lieutenant. Have fun up there.”

That makes a small smile tug at your lips.

“Copy.”

–

You don’t blow an engine.

You don’t even go below the hard deck. 

But you do lose.

Your flight suit rumples as you tug it off roughly, letting it drop to the floor. You’re hot, sweaty and embarrassed. You’d spent the first half of the fight trying to lock onto Caleb, and the second trying to evade him. 

All he had needed was a sliver of an opening and he’d taken it, maneuvering his jet until he was behind you and the kill alarm had glared in your ears. The locker rattles as you slam it shut, an irritated noise leaving you as you wipe the sweat from your flushed face, now dreading the fact that you had to see Caleb’s stupid, gloating expression.

It’s precisely why you decide to avoid him, poking your head out of the changing room to make sure the hallway was clear. You dart out, quickening your pace as you make your way towards your dorm, Caleb nowhere to be seen.

A relieved sigh leaves you when you make into the safety of your dorm, forehead pressing against the door as your shoulders sag in defeat. 

“Should’ve taken the leg up.”

You jerk against the door, turning around to see Caleb sprawled out on your bed, his teeth sinking into an apple.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap, “how did you even get in?”

“Your roommate,” Caleb supplies, sitting up as he takes another bite out of his apple. “Think she might be a little scared of me.”

“Get out,” you hiss, pointing at the door. “I don’t what you’re playing at, but sneaking into my fucking dorm is a whole new low, Caleb.”

“Don’t you want to congratulate me?” he croons, standing up. You frown when he steps towards you, inching back until your desk digs into your lower back. Caleb holds out his half-eaten apple. “Wanna bite, pipsqueak?”

You don’t know why he’s so intent on testing your patience. You snatch his apple from him, tossing it into the trash can beside your desk. “Does that answer your question?”

“So you’re unhappy,” Caleb surmises, his head tilting. “You shouldn’t be. You did well out there.”

“Oh,” you say, giving him a wide, exaggerated smile that makes your cheeks burn, “is that right? Wow! Thank you so much, Caleb. That makes me feel much better.”

“Okay,” Caleb rolls his eyes, stepping closer until his hands land on either side of you. “No need to be so bitey, pipsqueak. You’ll get that promotion.”

“Fat chance,” you retort, “I embarrassed myself out there.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Caleb murmurs, his fingers reaching out to play with your dog tags.

One of his fingers hooks into the chain, using it to tug you forward. You go willingly, peering up at him, confusion flickering across your face. 

“Did you want to fuck me or something?”

The words spill out of you before you can stop yourself, and there’s a strange flush tinging Caleb’s cheeks and the tips of his ears when he registers your question.

“Wasn’t expecting that out of you,” he says, sounding oddly choked as he lets go of your dog tags.

You raise your brows.

“No– what the fuck? No,” Caleb snaps, his gaze flitting away, “why would I want to fuck you?”

“Okay,” you say slowly, “good. Then get the fuck out of my dorm.”

Caleb stiffens for a moment as though frozen in place. He opens his mouth until he decides to swallow whatever it was he was going to say. 

You shove at his back, pushing him out of your dorm. The door nearly shuts, but Caleb’s hand catches onto the edge. His head pokes inside and you narrow your eyes irritatedly.

Caleb grins down at you. “Is that your way of asking me to fuck you, pipsqueak?”

You slam the door shut in his face.

–

A few weeks later, you find a letter on your desk.

You aren’t addressed as Lieutentant, but rather… Captain.

You stare at the letter blankly, skimming through it with disbelief as you read that you have, in fact, been given a rank promotion. It shouldn’t be possible, you think to yourself as you read the letter over again, and then once more, twice and three times over.

There’s a knock on your door, and you find a Captain standing outside. “Colonel’s asking for you,” he offers in explanation when he sees your expression.

“For what?” you ask, your grip on the letter tightening.

“Your promotion,” he says, glancing down, “you did get the letter, didn’t you?”

“I– uh–” you stumble over your words before nodding, showing him the letter. “Yes, I did.”

The Captain offers you a smile. “Congratulations.”

You feel faint when he leaves. There’s not enough time to panic, so you settle on fixing your hair and uniform, finding a random piece of candy to chew on whilst you wait outside the Colonel’s office.

“Come in.”

You step inside, closing the door behind you quietly. The Colonel looks as intimidating as ever, her eyes sharp as she watches you step towards her desk. You straighten out as much as you can, keeping your shoulders level. 

“Congratulations, Captain,” the Colonel announces warmly, pushing your certificate and rank insignia towards you.

“Thank you, Colonel,” you say, offering her a smile of your own as you take the items. 

“I was rather impressed with your performance during the evaluations,” she continues, clasping her hands together, elbows resting on her desk.

“You were?” you ask, flushing lightly until you realize how high your voice has gotten. “You were,” you clear your throat, “I see. Thank you.”

“Yes, well, the recommendations were a nice touch,” she muses, “I must say I was surprised when I saw the letters on my desk.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. You hadn’t submitted any recommendations. There was nowhere stating that you had to provide recommendations. All you’d submitted was the performance report given to you by your supervisor. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, shifting a little closer. “What recommendations? I thought promotion to the rank of Captain was performance based.”

“Oh it is,” the Colonel replies breezily, peering up at you as she stops rifling through the papers on her desk. “Lieutenant Xia,” she explains when she sees your expression. “He pulled the letters of recommendation from all of your instructors.”

Caleb Xia.

Caleb fucking Xia. 

You try and school your expression into one of neutrality, before giving up and forcing a tight smile onto your face.

“But he’s a lieutenant,” you blurt out, fingers twitching at his sides. “He doesn’t have the clearance or– or the authority to go around doing that.”

“I misspoke,” she says, her head tilting. “Lieutenant– I really should say Captain Xia has also been promoted. He was very insistent about your promotion and given who his father is, well…”

You watch as she trails off, teeth gritting together. He was pulling the strings, that conniving, little– 

Your stomach churns only a moment later, fingers beginning to tremble. Without the recommendations… What if that was the reason why…? The pit in your stomach grows, carving itself deeper and deeper, dragging your cheeks down, forcing your lips to thin. 

“Would I have been promoted regardless?” You sound breathless but blunt, heart clenching in your chest uncomfortably.

“As I said,” the Colonel says, “they were a nice touch, but your performance report was entirely sufficient for promotion, Captain.”

A relieved breath escapes you, shoulders sagging. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“Of course. You are dismissed.”

You nod, giving her a salute before stepping outside, jaw clenching. You stare down at the certificate and rank insignia clutched in your hands. You were going to kill Caleb. 

Storming through the hallways, you peruse the men’s dorms until you find Caleb’s, knocking on the door impatiently, boot tapping against the floor.

When the door opens you find Gideon standing before you, his brows raising in amusement and towel in hand. “Can I help you?”

You ignore his question. “Where is he?” you ask, poking your head inside, glancing around. 

“You don’t know?” Gideon muses, slinging his towel around his neck. “Figured you would, since you two are always hanging around each other.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you say exasperatedly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Nothing,” Gideon replies flippantly, although his gaze travels over you thoughtfully. 

“Are you checking me out?” you snap, glaring up at him, irritation prickling along your skin.

“What?” he laughs, his head tilting. “No. Give me a little credit, yeah?” He stares at you for a bit longer, mumbling something under his breath that sounds suspiciously similar to “Caleb would kill me.”

“Well, where is he?” you press, growing antsy. “Give it up, Gideon.”

Gideon grins, crossing his arms over his chest. “Still surprised he didn’t tell you,” he shrugs, “Caleb’s gone home for the holiday break. He lives close to base though, you know, with his dad being the General and all.”

“I need his address,” you sigh. “Please?”

He hums, disappearing into his dorm before he returns with Caleb’s address scrawled onto a piece of paper.

“Thank you.” 

“Try not to chew him out!” Gideon calls from behind you as you leave.

–

You ring the doorbell for about the tenth time.

For a moment, you almost consider breaking in, but that wouldn’t exactly put you in the good graces of the General, not to mention you’d lose your newly earned rank.

The sound of someone grumbling inside makes your ears prick up, and the door swings open, revealing a shirtless Caleb. It’s not your fault, you tell yourself as your gaze drops down immediately, taking in his firm chest and abdomen, tongue darting out to wet your lips involuntarily when you see the sweatpants slung low on his hips.

“Pipsqueak,” Caleb greets, leaning against the doorway, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I wasn’t planning on coming,” you reply, pushing past him to step inside, taking your shoes off.

“Haven’t seen you out of uniform in a while,” Caleb says, his dog tags clinking between his pecs distractedly. “You look… nice.”

You ignore his attempt at a compliment. “Are you really going to play dumb?” you ask, head tilting.

“So you know.”

You wait for him to elaborate, raising your brows and throwing up your hands, but all he does is stare at you.

“I didn’t ask you to help me,” you snap when the silence grows too loud. “I don’t need your fucking help, Caleb! My performance was enough for the rank promotion!”

“I was doing you a favor!” Caleb snaps back, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah, your performance was enough, even I fucking knew that!”

“So why send the letters?” you hiss, stepping closer to him, your finger prodding into his bare chest. “Huh? Doesn’t sound like you thought I was good enough, Caleb.”

His throat bobs and you’re distracted by it for a moment, hand jerking back when you feel how warm his chest is.

“I said you deserved it,” Caleb murmurs, his voice low. “I was just… guaranteeing it.” 

A sharp scoff leaves you as you begin to pace, cheeks hot with anger. “You are just so full of yourself!” you grit out, pointing at him accusingly. 

“What do you want me to say?” he snarls, stepping towards you. “That I’m sorry? Is that what you want to hear?”

Your hand is swinging out before you can stop yourself. It connects with his cheek, the sound sharp as his head snaps to the side. Your palm stings as redness blooms across Caleb’s cheek. 

“There,” you say hoarsely, “that’s what I wanted.”

His jaw clenches when his head turns to look at you. You take a step back when he begins stalking towards you, stumbling on the rug on the floor. Caleb catches your wrist before you can fall, but you’re too wound up to shake free, instead using your free hand to slap him across the face again.

“Okay,” he breathes out, both of his cheeks now reddened and flushed. “Okay. You got anything else you wanna get out?”

“Yeah, actually,” you begin, glaring up at him. “Stop calling me pipsqueak, I have a name and you can–”

A muted squeak escapes you when his hands slide over your cheeks to cup them before he’s drawing you closer, pressing his lips against yours. You freeze, going limp in his arms when Caleb presses closer, the force of his lips growing more insistent until he pulls back.

You blink up at him slowly, lips parting in disbelief.

“Stop yelling at me,” Caleb murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. “You can slap me, but you can’t yell at me.”

“What?” you ask hazily, leaning into him when he kisses you again, his lips brushing over yours fleetingly. “You got a kink for it or something?”

“Maybe,” he says, his lips drifting across your skin to kiss the corner of your mouth. “You’re mad, I get it. And I shouldn’t have done what I did, without asking you.”

“I hate you,” you murmur, frowning when he pulls back until you realize what he’s doing – what you’re doing.

“That’s cute,” Caleb sighs, running his hand through his hair. “But I really, really want to kiss you.”

“Stop trying to distract me from the fact that you’re an insuffera– mmph!”

Caleb’s lips are slotting over yours again and you try to move away, only for his arm to slide around your waist, pulling you into him.

“Shut up,” he whispers against your lips. “I told you not to yell at me.”

Your eyes narrow at his words, fingers hooking into the chain around his neck, dragging him closer.

“Never thought you’d have a crush on me, asshole,” you hiss, gaze dropping down to his lips.

“I could say the same about you,” Caleb muses, his eyes boring down into yours. “Think I wouldn’t notice all that staring down at the base? You look like you’re in love whenever I’m in my flight suit, baby.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, hand swinging out to slap him again.

Caleb tsks, his hand wrapping around your wrist to stop you. He grins down at you, the glint in his eyes feral enough to have your thighs pressing together, an ache beginning to grow between them.

“Save that for when you’re riding my cock,” he murmurs, “for now… ‘m gonna kiss the shit outta you.”

You flush at his words, heart thudding in your chest. He leans in closer, fingers slipping under your chin to tilt your head towards him. “Is that okay?” Caleb whispers, his head dipping.

“I hate you,” you shoot back, close to sounding like a broken record. You press closer all the same, arms wrapping around his neck before you rock up onto the tips of your toes and press your lips against his.

Caleb groans, and you whine back – unable to help yourself – as he slips his hands under your thighs, lifting you up. He kisses you hungrily, lips working against yours feverishly as your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging at the soft strands.

And Caleb does kiss the shit out of you. You can hardly breathe, but it doesn’t matter, not when his lips are working against yours so earnestly, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, coaxing you to open up. You arch under him when he places you onto his bed, legs wrapping around his waist tightly, ankles locking together. He presses closer, warm fingers sliding over your skin to cup your jaw as he holds you in place, licking into your mouth like a man starved.

You mewl when his tongue tangles with yours, eyes opening hazily when Caleb’s lips drift to the corner of your mouth. His grip is rough, and you squirm under him when his fingers dig into your hips through your shorts, hard enough that you think you can feel the bruises beginning to bloom.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes out, lips dragging along your jaw, “you know how hard it is to not pop a boner when you’re being mean to me?”

“‘m mean because you’re fucking annoying,” you whisper, grabbing his jaw to guide him back towards you, kissing him again.

Caleb smiles against your lips and you find yourself smiling back, letting his lips slot over yours more firmly as he kisses you deeper and deeper, until you’re gasping for air and writhing underneath him.

“Am I being annoying now?” he asks, pulling away, his fingers pushing at your shirt until he’s able to tug it up over your head.

“I don’t know,” you muse, your head tilting as he stares at your bra intently. You bite back a smile, reaching back to undo the clasp before tugging it off and tossing it to the side somewhere. “Are you?”

He lets out a heavy breath, and you squirm when he licks his lips, watching as Caleb’s gaze latches onto your bare breasts. “Fuck,” he groans, leaning closer, eyes roving over every inch of your chest. “What the fuck– pretty, pretty fucking tits, baby.”

“Thank you,” you hum, arching your back teasingly, pushing your breasts up into his face just enough so that one of your hardened nipples grazes his lips. Caleb’s tongue darts out before you can stop him, a sharp, strangled noise escaping you when his mouth latches onto one of your breasts, tongue swirling around your nipple and areola. 

You whine, fingers slipping back into his hair, hips bucking up in desperation. Caleb groans against your breast, his hand coming up to play with your other nipple. He rolls the hardened bud between his fingers, pinching lightly before tugging. Your eyes roll into the back of your head when he opens his mouth wider, trying to suck your breast in further.

“You’re so soft,” Caleb mumbles around your breast, tongue swirling around the fat of it before he lets go, watching as your breast gently sways back into place. “Cute,” he murmurs absentmindedly, gripping your hip when you try to arch away, nipping at the side of your breast. “C’mon, stay still for me, pipsqueak.”

“Don’t– ah!” you glare at him when he bites harder, gaze flitting down to find the imprint of his teeth etched into your skin. “Don’t call me pipsqueak while you’re sucking my tits, jerk.”

“Why?” he asks, pouting as he swirls his tongue over your other breast, nuzzling into the fat of it contentedly. 

You let out a muffled moan when he suddenly rocks his hips into you, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders when the bulge in his sweatpants rubs against your clothed cunt. 

“Because it’s– nghh– it’s a turn off!”

“I don’t know…,” Caleb trails off, sucking one of your breasts into his mouth, letting go of it a few moments later with a muted pop. “Kinda seems like you enjoy it, pipsqueak.”

“How would you know that?” you breathe out, trying to squeeze your thighs shut so he doesn’t see the way you’ve begun to soak through your panties and shorts, knees pressing together awkwardly.

He huffs out a laugh, pressing soft kisses to your breasts, biting gently at your nipples, his teeth digging in just enough for it to be painful before he soothes it with his tongue. You glare up at him when he leans back, sitting on his knees, his brows raising as he watches you worm your hand between your thighs to hide the damp spot. 

“You’re making this too easy for me,” Caleb muses, catching your ankle when you try to kick at his chest, his lips brushing across your foot in a fleeting kiss.

“Yeah?” you scoff, trying and failing to appear unaffected when his calloused hand slides over your calf, shuddering when his lips press against your knee.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you murmur, pursing your lips. Tugging your leg free, you rise up onto your knees, pushing at his chest until he falls onto his back. Caleb grunts as you crawl up onto his lap, his hands settling on your waist as you rock your hips, grinding against his clothed cock.

“What are you doing?” Caleb grumbles, his head tipping back when your lips latch onto his neck. 

You don’t bother answering, busying yourself with scraping your teeth against his neck, relishing in the sharp, little bursts of air that leave him. Your fingers find his pecs, squeezing hard enough to have Caleb letting out a loud moan, his hips bucking and cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink.

“Sounded like you wanted a challenge,” you whisper, biting his earlobe. A smile spreads across your face when he whimpers, your teeth sinking into your lower lips as you grind your hips down harder, eyes fluttering shut when you drag your clothed pussy over the length of his hardening cock.

“What I– shit– want,” Caleb stutters, his fingers flexing around your hips when you bite at his pec, “is to kiss that wet, little cunt. You gonna let me do that, sweetheart?”

Your throat dries at his words, lashes fluttering against his skin. No one’s ever offered to eat you out before, and coming from Caleb… it sounds oddly charming. You peer up at him, mid-bite into his pec, tongue flicking against his skin before you pull back.

“Only if you beg,” you murmur, pecking his lips. 

Caleb grins at you ferally, his thumb swiping over your lower lip before he pushes it past your lips, pressing down on your thumb. You whine softly at the intrusion, lips sealing around his thumb as you suck, tongue swirling around his thumb, head bobbing lazily.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” he breathes out, slipping his other hand between your thighs, watching as your eyes roll back. Caleb grinds his palm into your clothed cunt, his own eyes fluttering shut for a moment when he feels the weight of you press down against his throbbing cock.

“Well, you haven’t so–”

“Please,” he interrupts, tugging his thumb free from your mouth. He sits up, pulling you further into his lap, nose nudging against yours. “Please let me kiss your pussy, sweetheart. Hm?”

Your heart thuds violently in response, staring up into his eyes as he leans closer. Caleb kisses you, slower this time, his lips lingering against yours. “Please,” he whispers again, slipping his fingers past the waistband when he sees you’re distracted, his fingers finding your swollen clit. “I know you want it, know you want me to kiss that aching little cunt. I’ll do it, fuck–” an irritated snarl leaves him, “fuck, fuck, fuck– c’mon baby, please?”

Caleb sounds sweet when he begs. There’s a soft, breathy tone to his words, an earnestness that makes his purple eyes shine in a way that you’d only ever seen when he’d flown. His voice leaves you feeling dazed, fingers tracing over his chest, pressing his dog tags into his chest. His heart beats violently, the vibrations travelling through the metal until you can feel the steady thump, thump, thump of his heart. 

“You sound awfully desperate,” you say, fingers hooking into the silver chain around his neck. 

Caleb groans, his head falling forward to slump onto your shoulder, hands sliding over your waist and hips. “You like humiliating me or something?” he grumbles, his fingers circling your clit, drawing a muted whimper from you. “I begged, now let me eat your pussy.”

He sounds a little too sulky and you bite back a smile, instead leaning forward to press a quick kiss to cheek. You tell yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. 

“Fine, fine,” you sigh, pretending to be burdened by his request. You wiggle back, slumping against his pillows. Pulling your shorts down, you toss them at Caleb whose grip tightens on the fabric before it slackens when he sees your utterly ruined panties. 

“Keep ‘em on,” he says hoarsely, running a hand through his hair. 

You smile, spreading your thighs a little wider in invitation. “All yours, Captain.”

A broken noise leaves Caleb, his hand dragging over his flushed face. You’re distracted by the flex of his shoulder blades as he crawls closer, settling between your thighs, his hands running over your skin. 

“Have you done this with anyone else down at base?” Caleb murmurs, his lips soft against your inner thighs as he peppers kisses all over.

“Had sex?” you sigh, fingers running through his soft hair. “Not exactly.” Your hips lift when he buries his face into your panties, his nose pressing up against your clothed clit as he breathes you in with a groan. “I did– ah– did make-out with a couple of guys.”

Caleb pauses his ministrations and you glance down to find him narrowing his eyes up at you. 

“Name and rank.”

You huff out a soft laugh, rolling your hips up to get him to press his face back into your panties. Caleb clicks his tongue, his hand pressing against your stomach to stop you from moving. 

“Name and rank,” he demands, voice hardening.

“Are you jealous?” you drawl, miffed by the fact that he wasn’t giving you what you wanted. 

He lets out an annoyed sigh, fingers wrapping around your wrist when you try and rub at your clothed pussy yourself. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Name and rank, sweetheart or I’ll edge you ‘til you cry.”

An irritated noise leaves you, and you grumble out a few names and their respective ranks begrudgingly. “Have you done this with anyone else?” you ask pointedly when he buries his face back into panties to breathe you in again, “should I be asking for name and rank?”

Caleb hums, letting his tongue drag over your drenched panties slowly. “I haven’t.”

“That’s– ah– that’s what I–” you pause when you realize what he’s said. “You haven’t? With anyone?”

“Keep up,” Caleb murmurs, lapping at your clothed cunt, his saliva beginning to cling to the fabric of your panties, “I haven’t fucked anyone down at base.”

“Fingered?” you breathe out, a soft moan escaping you when he tugs your panties up to watch them press against your puffy folds, his tongue sliding through them, managing to squirm in close enough to flick against your clothed clit. “Kissed?”

“No,” he mumbles into your panties, scraping his teeth against the fabric before pressing a sloppy kiss to your hip.

“B– but I thought–”

“Couldn’t think about fucking anyone else when you were talking my ear off, pipsqueak.”

You tug at his hair roughly in retaliation, and Caleb grunts, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily. He smiles when he sees your glare, rising up to kiss you, his tongue tangling with yours until you can taste yourself. 

“Didn’t want to fuck anyone else,” he says, stealing another kiss from you before settling between your thighs again. “Not when you were the only one making me hard.”

“Romantic,” you say breathlessly, hips lifting for him when his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties.

Caleb hums, a low noise leaving him when he sees the way your slick clings to your panties, his head falling against your thigh to just… stare at your pussy. Your legs twitch as you wait, directing your gaze to the ceiling awkwardly as he continues to stare.

“Stop staring!” you finally sputter out when he nuzzles into your thigh.

“I want to,” Caleb replies, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he lets his gaze travel over your slick skin and puffy folds. “‘s cute,” he sighs, “and pretty… cute, little pussy, sweetheart.”

You flush at his words, shuddering when his lips finally meet your bare, sensitive skin, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue slides through your folds. Caleb lets out a guttural noise, thumbing apart your folds with a restrained sort of frenzy before he’s burying his face into your cunt.

A squeal escapes you, fingers flying to his hair when he latches onto your clit, his tongue swirling around the swollen, aching bud. 

“Fuck,” Caleb snarls into your pussy, pushing your knees towards your chest, laving his tongue over your pussy. “Spent all that time fighting when I could’ve been doing this the whole time.”

You moan loudly, legs jerking when he spits, smearing it onto your throbbing pussy. It’s sloppy, the way he latches on again, slurping at your slick noisily before he’s burying his tongue into your fluttering hole. 

“Slow– nghh! Slow down, Caleb!” you whine, already feeling the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten.

You only get a growl in response, the sound going straight to the ache in your cunt, thighs tightening around his head. Caleb grunts when he feels the sheer pressure, prying apart your thighs with a strength that’s enough to have you moaning again.

“Be good, baby,” he rasps, “and let me take care of you.”

He’s stuffing his tongue back into you again, fucking it in and out at a pace that has you seeing stars. You think you might be close to yanking his hair right out of his scalp, your knuckles white when his fingers slip over your clit, rubbing tight circles over the swollen bud.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper, toes curling against his broad back, “oh fuck, oh fuck– oh fuck–”

You can feel him smile against you, a strangled noise escaping you when he replaces his tongue with his fingers instead. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you are, how easy it is for Caleb to push two fingers inside.

“Good girl,” he croons, pressing a soft kiss to your clit, “look at you, taking me so well. Good fucking girl, all for me.”

Caleb crooks his fingers, and you whimper, fingers clawing at the sheets until he decides to move his other hand to your stomach, pressing down. A squeal erupts from you, your cheeks flushed, sweat clinging to your skin, the pressure of his hand enough to have your thighs shaking.

“C– Caleb!” you squeak, thrashing under him, “that– ah– that feels–”

“Good, yeah?” Caleb whispers, his tongue slipping through your folds again as he fucks his fingers into you roughly. He clicks his tongue when you start to squeeze your thighs around his head again. “I told you to be– hey,” his voice softens into something low and smooth, like syrup seeping into the crevices of your mind. “Look at me, baby.”

You blink down at him blearily, hazy eyes following as he dips his head to kiss your clit. 

“I told you to be good,” he finishes, working his fingers in lazily, slowing his pace until you’re rolling your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his lithe digits. He drops another kiss on your clit, tongue laving over your puffy folds again. “Thought you wanted to be my good girl, sweetheart.”

He has the audacity to sound disappointed and you whine, hiding your face in his pillows so he can’t see how your cheeks burn. “I–” a soft, petulant huff escapes you, “I am being good.”

Caleb laughs, and you burn hotter, irritated by the fact that he’s managed to whittle you down into a mess that craves his praise. 

“Okay,” he soothes, his fingers sliding over your breasts, squeezing gently before he reaches out, gripping your jaw to bring you out of your hiding place. “You are, baby,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth, “but I need you to stop crushing my head. Can you do that for me?”

Caleb has never spoken to you like this. It has you preening, gaze flitting away when he kisses your cheek, heart fluttering in your chest uncontrollably. You settle on nodding jerkily, back arching when he quickens the pace of his fingers, breasts squishing against his chest.

“Good girl,” Caleb murmurs, his lips slotting over yours, hot and heavy as he fucks his fingers in and out of you. “Taking my fingers so well, yeah?”

You whine, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him down for another desperate kiss. Caleb grunts into your mouth, his hand squeezing at your hip. You can feel how hard he is, his clothed cock rubbing against your thigh as he fingers you roughly. There’s spit leaking from the corners of your mouth and Caleb’s licking it up, feeding it back to you with a broken moan.

It’s filthy, the way he touches and plays with you, letting his tongue slide against yours with sinful strokes, his fingers pressing up against the spot where you need him most. His free hand slips up towards your chest and you grumble when he stops kissing you in favor of sucking a breast into his mouth, letting his teeth tug at an aching nipple. 

“Fuck,” you mewl, digging your fingers into his shoulders. His dog tags clink against your own, the chains tangling together for a moment. You arch further when his tongue swirls and flicks against your areola, watching as he drools against your skin, his half-lidded eyes finding yours. “‘m gonna cum,” you breathe out dazedly, head tilting when he kisses your neck. “Caleb– Caleb, ‘m gonna cum.” 

You try to kiss him, but he’s already gone, burying his tongue between your folds again. You cry out, tugging at his hair and Caleb groans loudly, grinding his hips into the sheets as he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your feet slide across his back, toes curling when he scrapes his teeth over the swollen bud.

“Cum,” Caleb rasps, glancing up at you as your back bows, “cum on my tongue, baby. Cum for me.”

And you do, somehow propping yourself onto your palms as your thighs twitch violently, fingers moving to clench Caleb’s hair tightly. The dog tags between your breasts clink as you shudder, your hand slapping against the sheets when Caleb thrusts his fingers into you one final time. 

You fall back against his pillows, feeling loose-limbed and numb, curling against the sheets. Caleb follows eagerly, his lips drifting over the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, until he’s nuzzling into your cheek.

“I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?” he announces smugly and you grouse, shoving his face away. 

“Shut up,” you manage out, voice hoarse from moaning, thighs and legs still trembling from the force of your orgasm.

He sighs, pressing himself against your back. You fight the urge to curl into him, head tilting just enough to let Caleb bury his face into the crook of your neck. His arms are wrapping around your waist, holding you tighter. The silence is strangely comforting – until Caleb decides to open his big mouth again. 

“Really wanna watch you ride my cock.”

“I can’t feel my legs,” you retort, moving onto your back when he gets out of bed. You watch lazily as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down along with his boxers. Your brows raise at the sight of his cock, head tilting to get a better look. “I get why you’re so insufferable now,” you sigh, sitting up, “must be hard walking around with that.”

“You like it?” Caleb murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut when he wraps his hand around his cock, stroking slowly.

“Mhm,” you shift onto your knees, crawling towards the edge of the bed. 

Caleb’s cock is… big, to say the least. You watch with rapt attention as he fists his cock, the emptiness between your thighs becoming hard to ignore when you see the pre-cum beading at the head of his cock. The tip is flushed prettily, and you lick your lips, following the length of a prominent vein down his thick cock, gaze settling on his heavy balls. 

There’s drool pooling in your mouth and a soft whine leaves you before you lean forward, kissing the head of his cock. Caleb’s hips jerk, not expecting the contact, his eyes snapping open to watch you take the head of his cock into your mouth. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, pushing his hair out of his eyes, “fuck, baby. You like my fat cock?”

You roll your eyes, swirling your tongue around the hot head, sucking lazily before pulling off with a pop. “Yes, Caleb,” you murmur exasperatedly, nuzzling into his hip, “I like your fat cock.”

“That didn’t sound sincere,” Caleb pouts, his hand cradling your head as you trail kisses over his abdomen. 

“No?” you whisper, shifting back towards his cock. You rub your cheek against his cock, kissing the tip of it once more, head tilting until his cock rests on your cheek. “How about now?”

“You’re filthy,” he groans, grasping his cock, rubbing the tip of it against your lips, smearing pre-cum all over.

You hum, licking your lips contentedly, tongue sticking out playfully after. Caleb’s chest heaves when he sees the pink of your tongue, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“C’mere,” he rasps, pulling you closer. You whine when he slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, trying to suck it back into your mouth only for Caleb to push at your forehead gently. “Take it,” he goads, thumb rubbing over your tongue before he’s slapping the tip of his cock against your tongue once more. “Fuck– look at that… good fucking girl, pretty fuckin’ girl, hm?”

“Need it,” you whisper, thighs squeezing together when you feel your pussy ache, “Caleb, need your cock.”

He grins down at you, purple eyes glinting. “Only if you beg for it, baby.”

Your expression falls. “What?”

“You heard me,” Caleb smirks, cupping your jaw to pull you into a breathless kiss. “Fair’s fair, sweetheart. Now c’mon, beg for my cock and I’ll give it to you.”

Glaring up at him, you try to reach for his cock, but he’s laughing and stepping back out of your reach, stroking himself. It’s humiliating, and your cheeks are hot with embarrassment despite the fact you’d had your mouth wrapped around his cock only moments earlier. Lips pursing, you squirm on his sheets, averting your gaze.

“Please,” you say quietly, “please– please? Wanna feel your cock, Caleb.”

“You’re cute, baby,” Caleb whispers, his hand cupping your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “But I know you can do better.”

You whine involuntarily when you hear the disappointment tinging his tone, squirming closer when his thumb brushes over your lips. “Please,” you mewl, sucking his thumb into your mouth, inhibitions forgotten as Caleb strokes his hand over your soothingly. “‘m so empty, wanna feel you all the way in here,” you point to your stomach, “wanna feel your fat, thick cock, Caleb.” Your tongue swirls around his thumb, teeth digging into the tip of it. “‘m gonna ride it so good,” you say breathily, lashes fluttering. 

It seems to wear him down. You don’t even know where the words are coming from at this point, the heady fog of lust having settled heavily over your mind. You bite down on his thumb harder, relishing in the hiss of pain he lets out. Still, he doesn’t move and you narrow your eyes up at him, Caleb returning your expression when he spies the defiant brattiness in your expression.

“Baby–”

“I’ll let you cum inside.”

Caleb’s eyes widen, his jaw slackening. You blink up at him, nodding towards the bed. He goes willingly and you’re crawling up onto his lap, letting out a soft moan as you rub your pussy against the length of his cock.

“And to think you were concerned about fraternizing,” Caleb rasps, his hands smoothing over your waist and hips as you grind along his length, shuddering when the tip of his cock catches against your swollen clit.

You smile, head tipping back when his hand smoothes over your stomach, squeezing at your breasts before his fingers wrap around your throat loosely.

“That was before you put your mouth on me,” you murmur, hands landing on his thick pecs.

“Yeah?” he says, his head tilting as he watches the sway of your hips, the soft jingle of your dog tags between your breasts. “Always wanted you like this, baby.”

You peer down at him, movements pausing. “Do you mean that?” 

Caleb nods, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin. “Thought about kissing you when you were looking at the eval sheet… figured you’d freak out.”

“Then why be such an asshole?” you prod, hitting his chest lightly. “I don’t get it.”

“Because you hated me,” Caleb retorts, his brows furrowing, “you said it yourself. Besides,” he trails off, looking away, “I liked the challenge. When I saw you fly your jet, I knew I finally had some competition.” He props himself onto his elbows, leaning forward to kiss you slowly, his grip on your throat tightening. “Then you kept bruising my ego,” he whispers against your lips, “I couldn’t have that.”

You kiss him harder, fingers wrapping around his cock, rising up onto your knees. Caleb moans into your mouth when you start to sink down on him, his fingers flexing around your throat before he decides to let go in favor of grasping your hips. Nails digging into his chest, you whimper at the feeling of his cock stretching you out, shifting a little as your pussy flutters around his cock in an attempt to accommodate his size. 

“Shit,” Caleb rasps, watching dazedly as you sink down lower, taking his cock to the hilt. “Taking me so fucking good, baby.”

His cock twitches, the fingers on your hip squeezing tighter as he shifts beneath you. You stare at him with half-lidded eyes, feet wiggling a little before you’re lifting your hips and letting them drop back down. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes, hands stroking over your waist, “that’s it, baby. Ride my cock– shit– just like that, yeah?”

Caleb moans and you whine with him, holding onto his chest tighter, eyes rolling back at how good it feels to be stuffed full by him. His fingers are slipping to your ass, squeezing at the fat appreciatively before he’s prying you apart, the action enough to have you flushing as you rise and fall on his cock.

“Pretty,” Caleb grunts, helping you guide your pace, letting you roll your hips needily. “You– hah– look so pretty like this sweetheart.”

A soft keen slips out of you, jaw feeling heavy. You need to feel him closer. Pawing at his chest, you whine again, head dipping to dig your teeth into his pec, drooling against his skin. Caleb growls, his hips bucking to meet your ass as you sway your hips back.

“Caleb,” you mewl, latching onto his other pec, biting down hard into his flesh to leave a mark. “Feels– nghhh– s’good.”

All you get is a broken moan in response, Caleb’s hands drifting all over you as though unable to touch you enough. You nip at his throat while you bounce on his cock, leaning back to watch his head tip back. He looks nice like this, all uninhibited and moaning and groaning like you’re pulling him apart by just riding his cock.

You smile faintly, quickening your pace, widening your knees to set a firmer base before you’re dropping down on his cock while Caleb slurs something out unintelligibly, completely and utterly pussy-drunk. Still, he had promised you something earlier.

Fingers slipping over his jaw, you hold him in place, still rocking your hips while your hand makes contact with his cheek. Caleb’s eyes snap open, his cheek reddening under the impact, a guttural groan leaving him. 

“You’re enjoying this,” you whisper, kissing his cheek, “aren’t you?”

“Stupid fuck– question,” Caleb slurs, pulling you closer, hugging you to his chest. You yelp in protest, feeling yourself be jostled as he plants his feet onto the bed, bending his knees before he’s fucking up into you without abandon.

You manage to squirm just enough to find his eyes, irritation sparking in them, but he’s pulling you down, lips pressing against yours as he kisses you sloppily, tongue pushing into your mouth to shut you up.

“Slap me,” he murmurs finally, “get it all out, baby.”

It’s a struggle to think straight when he’s driving his cock into you like this, hard and fast. You whimper, managing to prop yourself up onto a palm, pussy clenching around his fat cock as he fucks up into you. But you need this, need to get whatever remnants of anger are lingering inside and so you slap him over and over again, watching as his eyes flutter shut and his cock throbs inside of you, his fingers digging into your ass.

“Fuck,” Caleb snarls, his head tipping back before he’s offering up his other cheek. You blink down at him, huffing out a soft, hoarse laugh, arms wrapping around his neck as you kiss his cheek instead.

“Didn’t know– ahh– you were a pain-slut,” you whisper teasingly, breasts squishing against his chest as you nuzzle into his cheek, teeth dragging along his skin.

“Helps remind me I’m with you,” he murmurs, offering his neck to you, “wouldn’t let anyone hah fuck– else slap me around.”

“Just me?” you whisper, tugging at his hair, teeth sinking into his neck. Caleb shudders and you hum, tongue dragging over the length of his neck, fingers prying his mouth open before you’re spitting into his mouth, lapping at his lips.

He swallows almost immediately and your eyes light up, tongue lolling out to do it again. A shriek sounds when he’s suddenly flipping you over, shoving you into his bed, his cock slipping out for a brief moment before he’s sinking it back into you.

You squeal, nails dragging down his back, staring up at him with wide eyes as he pushes your legs apart, hands hooking under your knees as he holds you down. He’s dropping his weight down and an involuntary coo slips out of you, head tilting when he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Baby,” Caleb groans, his hips snapping into you, “baby, baby– squeezing me so tight– fuck!”

“I– I can’t!” you hiccup, hands scrabbling at his shoulders when Caleb drives his hips into you harder, his balls slapping against your ass, his bedroom filled by the lewd sounds of his body against yours. “Caleb– ah!”

“You can,” he snaps, his hands slipping lower to grip your hips, “you are, baby– fucking made to take this fat fuckin’ cock.”

You scrape your nails down his broad back, toes curling and head tossed back as you cry out. His hand presses down on your stomach and you jerk, a hoarse squeal ripping its way out of your throat. You try and curl away, but you can’t, not with the way he’s pinning you down and fucking the thoughts out of your head, pounding into you so deeply that there’s tears beading at your lashes, pussy clenching around his cock desperately.

The coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter and you can’t breathe, writhing under him and whimpering and whining until Caleb’s fingers find your clit, circling the swollen and slick bud. 

“Cum,” Caleb grunts, pulling back to watch the wanton expression on your face, his lips pressing against your cheek gently. “Cum, baby,” he whispers, his voice softer, “wanna watch you fall apart all pretty on my cock.”

You grab for him blindly, tugging at his chain until his lips slot over yours, your heart fluttering at the kiss. Thighs shaking, you cum with a sharp gasp, pussy fluttering around his cock uncontrollably while he groans into your mouth, his hand squeezing at your hip. Caleb isn’t that far behind, his hips thrusting forward unevenly before he whimpers, burying himself inside of you.

His cock twitches and throbs, hot, thick cum spilling inside of you. You let out a tired mewl as Caleb pants against your cheek, his lips dragging over your jaw to give you a clumsy kiss, rolling off of you before long.

You squeak when you go with him, trying to pull away only to find that your dog tags have somehow managed to get tangled together. 

“You could just ask to cuddle,” Caleb quips, smiling when you roll your eyes.

It takes a bit of work and concentration – Caleb steals kisses from you every now and then – but you work your fingers through and untangle the chains, arms wrapping around his neck loosely. You squirm closer quietly, thighs squeezing together when you feel his cum leaking out of you.

Your eyes flutter shut when Caleb runs his fingers through your hair, his arm pulling you closer to kiss your cheek.

“Stay the night.”

You trace your fingers over his chest, feeling warm and sated. Caleb whispers his request again, his thumb stroking over your cheek and you hum, stretching against him lazily. 

“I don’t know…,” you sigh, biting back a smile when his expression falls. 

“I hate you,” Caleb grouses when he sees your smile, although he tugs you closer when you laugh against his cheek, letting you pepper kisses over his warm skin.

“Yeah,” your voice softens, fingers pushing his hair out of his eyes. You kiss him gently. “I hate you too.”

–

You wake up to sunlight streaming through the curtains.

A yawn leaves you, and you rub at your eyes, ridding them of the lingering remnants of sleep. Glancing down, you find yourself clad in a pair of Caleb’s boxers and an oversized hoodie of his hanging off your frame.

He’s nowhere to be seen, so you crawl out of bed, taking the time to examine all the trophies and awards stacked onto multiple shelves on one side of his room. You allow yourself to feel begrudgingly impressed, fingers trailing over a photo frame of him grinning with Gideon, their jets in the background.

Unable to help yourself, you snoop a little more, perusing his book shelf. The corner of a photo peaks out from what looks like a book hastily shoved back into place and you glance at the door of his bedroom for a moment before tugging the book free. 

When the pages fall open, your brows furrow when you find a photo of someone none other than yourself. You’re laughing with someone, although they’re cropped out, your eyes bright with amusement and hair loose, free from the usual, required bun. Your heart stutters when another photo falls out, finding yourself pictured candidly once more.

You glance towards the door again, flipping through the other pages, disappointment flickering across your expression when you don’t find any others. Quickly tucking the photos back into the book, you place it back into its original place, padding out into the kitchen. 

Caleb stands over the stove, shirtless and in his sweatpants, cooking sausages. There’s reddish marks streaking down his broad back, courtesy of your nails from yesterday. You raise your brows when you see the breakfast spread, taking a bite out of a jam-covered slice of toast.

“I wasn’t expecting breakfast,” you announce, hopping up onto the kitchen counter, legs swaying lazily.

“Morning,” Caleb offers, glancing at you over his shoulder. He shrugs, flipping the sausages with a spatula. “I wanted to.”

You hum, gaze travelling over the dip of his waist, teeth sinking into your lower lip. It’s unfair, really, how attractive he is, even like this, hair messy and all marked up. Your recent discovery has you feeling curious so you lean forward, letting out an airy sigh. 

“I didn’t know you liked taking photos.”

Caleb loses his grip on the spatula, muttering out a soft curse. You smile at him when he turns around, head tilting in feigned innocence. 

“They were cute,” you muse when he flushes, “and kinda creepy. Didn’t know you were a perv, Caleb.”

“I’m not,” Caleb denies, although the tips of his ears seem to disagree with how prettily they’ve blushed. “I just–” He covers his face with his hand, looking away, “you looked pretty and I… couldn’t help myself.”

You hop off the counter, padding towards him, arms wrapping around his neck. “Who knew?” you drawl, pressing your lips against his. “Caleb Xia is a huge dork.”

Caleb groans, his hands petting at your waist as he pulls you closer, the stove forgotten. You arch into him when he squeezes your ass, rocking up onto the tips of your toes when he licks into your mouth, fingers slipping into his soft, brown hair.

“Hungry?” he mumbles, his hands sliding under the hoodie you’re wearing, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. 

“Not really,” you breathe out, your hand dragging over his firm chest, down his abdomen and past his sweatpants, curling around his hot, half-hard cock that throbs in your palm. “Stove’s on.”

Caleb moans into your mouth softly, reaching behind blindly to turn off the stove. You return his feverish kisses with an eagerness of your own, stroking his thick cock lazily.

“Baby,” Caleb whispers, his head falling forward as he pants into the crook of your neck, his fingers flexing around your hips, “baby, fuck–”

You spy his phone on the nearby dining table, kissing his cheek gently before you pull away. Caleb grunts in protest, his grip loosening as you squirm away to pick up his phone. You shouldn’t be doing this, the rational part of your mind reminds you, you really shouldn’t be doing this. 

But this is Caleb, the other… more debauched part of your mind offers – annoying, insufferable Caleb who kissed the shit out of you and let you slap him while you rode his cock. Caleb, who maybe isn’t so insufferable anymore and has somehow managed to get his foot in the door to your heart. Caleb, who – you’re realizing – you want all to yourself. 

Caleb, who looks at you like you’re the only thing he really sees.

You toss his phone at him, hooking your fingers under the hoodie, tugging it up so he can see your tits, nipples hardened, the soft flesh imprinted with his teeth and your dog tags hanging between your breasts prettily. 

“Wanna take some more pictures?”

There’s a hoarse groan leaving him, his hand pressing against his clothed cock as he stares at you with half-lidded eyes. You smile up at him when he strides towards you, fingers dragging down his chest teasingly. Caleb catches your hand, his fingers lacing with yours tightly. Your nose brushes against his when he dips his head, his voice soft. 

--

honestly, it's mercy he's showing as his hips pummel into you, avoiding your poor, thoroughly abused g spot. you're overstimulated to your limit. drool drying at the corner of your mouth, eyes glazed and cunt pathetically fluttering.

he's got you pinned beneath his large body, your legs wrapped around his waist and heels digging into his ass, pulling his hips to meet yours.

"zayne..." he peppers soft kisses along your collarbone, trailing up to your chin and giving you a gentle nibble.

"let me go deeper." he mutters, pulling his hips back and sinking back in your spasming walls in one long stroke. deeper? you know he's close. he's twitching inside you.

you pull him closer by the neck, letting his cock piston into your leaky pussy. his hand clasps around your thigh, hiking it up. the angle is obscene. your messy cunt keeps oozing out your sweet syrup despite being plugged so full.

you're swallowing each of his fat inch so perfectly. wrapped around him like a warm glove. it's all so much to take. "Mmnghh I'm—" he lets out a shuddered whimper.

he gives you one hard thrust before emptying himself in you again with a low groan—his warm, salty cum filling you up.

yet, his pace only slows. zayne shifts and carefully grinds into your g-spot. you squeal at the contact. your thighs snap shut and you squirm beneath him.

"nghh zayy—s'aloott." but you let him drill into your hole deeper despite your pretty whimpers.

"i'll go slow." zayne kisses your cheek in comfort. He's as out of it as you are. "if you still can't, we'll change positions." he murmurs, angling up to kiss your cervix with each hit.

the pressure in your stomach every time he grinds against your g spot is blinding. your toes are curled tight as he pounds you deeeep and slow.

"i'm gunna cuum—" you whine. his thumb finds your slick coated clit—already throbbing and perked up for attention.

"cum for me. P-please..." his movements turn sloppy. insistent. he buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking marks into your skin as he rams into your cervix. your core tightens with molten pleasure. "zayne hngh—i'm cummingg."

you see white as you finish, eyes crossing like a porno bimbo.

when he finally pulls out, pearly white cum dribbles out—mixed with your own juices. he's transfixed at the sight, fingers reaching out to smear it over your swollen lips.

"you did good." he gives you a lazy smile before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit. "we're halfway there."

halffuckinway?

well, happy new year to you.

final fic of nya's ficmas

You sigh, then remorsefully pick up the pieces of the report in your trashcan. This guy is your most difficult boss yet, but right now, you have no idea why. But you’re determined to decipher him, and finally get him to remember and call you by your actual name. He still keeps calling you by his previous assistant’s name – in all fairness to him, ‘Mephisto’ is a unique name, probably one he won’t forget for a long time. But did you even look like a ‘Mephisto’?

You’re busy trying to piece together the report again when you hear his door open. You frantically shove the report into a desk drawer and straighten up in your seat, your hands going to your keyboard, your eyes flicking from your screen to across the room. You watch Sylus as he breezes by your desk – the first two buttons of his shirt are already undone, his tie now hanging loosely around his neck. He’s done for the day.

“Don’t stay too late,” he mutters as he walks past you. You nod, watching tensely as he turns the corner, then you relax once he’s out of sight. 

“Okay,” you murmur to yourself. “I’m going to conquer you, Mr. Qin. Just you wait.” 

—

You spend the next few weeks studying Sylus closely in your meetings with him, and in larger ones with more attendees. You take note of when he nods approvingly, when he frowns, and when he smiles, which is rare. You make notes in your notebooks, and your reports, encouraging yourself not to get disheartened when he doesn’t like something. And then, you start receiving the nods and smiles yourself. The dopamine you get from seeing them hits like crazy, lighting up the reward centers of your brain, making you feel elated. You chase that high, almost ashamed that his little gestures can actually make you feel that way. You keep working to improve your reports – he likes it when it’s styled a certain way, he likes his summaries accessible on every page, he likes the totals in bold, and so on. Soon, you’re having productive meetings that last longer – he starts discussing the numbers with you instead of just taking the report from you, asking for your opinions on strategies. You feel like you’re on top of the world – you’ve finally won him over. He’s started calling you ‘Miss Assistant’ instead of ‘Mephisto’. A big win in your books. Hopefully, he’ll actually call you by your own name soon.

You start prepping your end of year report. It’s a big project, and more than just spreadsheets and figures. You’ll be helping him present it to the rest of the executive team. You start gathering the final reports from the other heads of department and collating them. You aggressively chase up anyone who hasn’t submitted what they need to, and you start spending longer hours at the office.

Sylus would exit his own office late at night to find you still frowning at your screen, scrutinizing the numbers. “Don’t stay too late,” is what he’d usually say. You’d nod again and again, promising him you’d head home soon. But he doesn’t believe you, and would narrow his eyes at you before heading off. One night, he hands you his credit card across your desk on his way out. “Get some dinner and order yourself a ride home,” he says sternly as you receive the card. He looks at the clock mounted on the wall. “I don’t want to find you here in the morning wearing the same thing.” You nod again, gripping his card tightly with both hands. It’s not a company credit card – it looks like it’s his personal one. It’s black and shiny, with his name engraved in it in silver. “Holy shit,” you breathe, immediately looking up restaurants nearby that do delivery on your computer. “I’m going to eat so good tonight.”

—

Sylus stares at you with his ruby red eyes, and it takes everything you have in you not to break eye contact. You’ve just spent the last twenty minutes presenting your report to him, along with the slideshow. You close the lid to your laptop with a soft snap and cradle it in your lap. You grip at the edges of it tightly – you’re still waiting for his feedback, and he’s taking his sweet time to give it to you. It’s killing you on the inside.

He looks down at the booklet on his desk, flicking through it once more, one hand on his jaw, his thumb rubbing his chin.

“Are these–”

“Broken down into quarters, months, then years, then daily.” Just the way he likes it.

“And are the–”

“Totals are at the bottom of each page then summarized again at the end of each section, then at the end of the whole report,” you ramble. “I think our figures look good this year, any way you look at it.”

He looks at you, an eyebrow raised. 

“Thank you,” he tells you, closing the report in his hands. “This is great. I'd like you to email this to me as well."

You sigh in relief. Your hard work has paid off. He hasn’t given you a smile the entire meeting, but you’ll take his thanks as a good sign. He walks with you to his office door, guiding you on your way out. 

You pause at the door, confirming some last few things for him.

“Sure, I'll send it over as a PDF? Would that be good?”

He nods, then leans against the frame of the doorway, looming over you slightly. You can smell his cologne. Your heart starts beating rapidly in your chest.

“Yes. Excellent work. Good girl.” He whispers the last two words, as if they’re meant for your ears only.

Your breath stops in your throat, a million thoughts running instantaneously through your head. Your cheeks feel warm, and you feel something stirring in the pit of your stomach. You scurry out of his office, throat dry, breaths shallow. You swear you can feel his eyes on the back of your head as you make your way back to your desk.

Did he just call you a good girl?

—

Sylus spends the rest of the day reading through the report and slideshow you had sent him. He doesn’t come out of his office the entire time, and you’re almost worried about him. You continue your work, but glance over to the frosted glass now and again. You’re still reeling from the last thing he said to you, and you’re trying to rationalize how you felt about it. The dopamine hit was unbelievable, but there was something else in there. Your mouth waters as you replay his voice in your head, remembering the way his breath felt as it reached the back of your neck. You shake your head, chalking it up to your desire for long overdue approval. Yeah, that’s it.

You swear you can see him pacing back and forth in his office. You try to stay as late as you can just in case he has any other questions for you. But this is about to be your first early night in the last few weeks. Your report is done and you can finally relax. The rest of your coworkers have already gone home, and the rest of the floor outside of your area is empty – not an unfamiliar sight for you. You consider packing up and going home when your desk phone rings. It’s Sylus’s extension.

“Mr. Qin?” you ask, picking up the receiver. “What do you need, sir?”

“Miss Assistant,” he says, softly from the other end of the line. “Can you come into my office? I just need to clarify some things with you before you head off for the night.”

“Of course.” You put the receiver down and stand from your desk, straightening out your clothes. You’ve learned to invest in clothing that doesn’t crumple easily – the white blouse and black pencil skirt combination is one of your timeless favorites.

You gather up the report from your desk again and head to Sylus’s office. You knock twice on the frosted glass before he answers. “Come in.”

You open the door and he watches as you walk in, taking his glasses off and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He leans back in his seat, folding his hands over his lap. You start to take your usual post in the seat in front of his desk, but he shakes his head and motions you to come over to his side of the desk. Sylus leans away from his laptop slightly, making space for you to stand beside him. You place the report beside his laptop, brace yourself against the edge of his desk, squinting at his screen.

“Help me understand how you got these numbers,” he murmurs, pointing at the bolded numbers on the spreadsheet.

“Well, these are from the months from last quarter,” you start to explain, clicking on different tabs. “This is revenue versus actual sales. Did you want a version of the report where these two are actually split up?”

You try to concentrate on the report, but you’re hyper-aware of how close you are to your boss. Your throat goes dry again as you inhale – it’s later in the day, so you can smell the slightest tinge of sweat coming from him, and it intermingles with the scent of his cologne. It’s almost intoxicating. You swallow, hoping he doesn’t notice how fast your breathing has gotten, or how shaky your hands are. 

He leans forward, elbows on the desk, hand on his chin. His muscles strain against his white button-up shirt, and you take a peek down, noticing that his first two buttons are undone, and that you can see down the shirt. He’s not wearing an undershirt. You look away and back to the screen, mentally chastising yourself and your wandering eye. He’s your boss, he’s your boss, he’s hot as fuck, but he’s your boss…

“Show me how you’re going to do that,” Sylus tells you, leaning away from his laptop again. 

You blink at him. “I mean… it might take a few minutes. I can work on it back at my desk and bring it back to you, if you want.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “We might as well bang it out now, while you’re here.”

You nod, and with trembling hands, you reach for his laptop again. You start clacking away at the keys, bent over the desk awkwardly while he watches you silently. 

“You wanna take my seat?” he asks quietly.

It’s your turn to shake your head. “No, it’s okay.” You reach over for the paper report next to his laptop, and accidentally touch his hand. You take a risk. You let your fingers linger for a moment longer than what constitutes as an accidental touch before pulling away.

“Sorry,” you mutter, going for the paper report, hoping he doesn’t notice the flush taking over your cheeks. “Let me just flick through this quickly.”

“Don’t be,” he whispers, pushing his chair away from the desk. “Take a seat. I insist.” He leans back into his chair and spreads his legs, nodding down as an invitation. Holy fuck.

You bite your lip, your stomach doing countless flip flops in what seems to be the span of a few seconds. The rational side of your brain is telling you to run out of that office and not look back. The other side, the one you feed with inappropriate thoughts of your boss at ungodly hours of the night while you touch yourself is screaming back to take his offer – it’s louder and it’s winning. 

Hoping that you don’t come across as too eager, you lower yourself down onto his lap as he scoots his chair back towards the desk. You settle yourself between his legs as he presses his chest up against your back. His breath washes over the back of your neck, making you shiver involuntarily. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, his hands finding his way to your hips. You don’t have to check – you know your panties are soaked. “Now, talk me through how you calculate those totals.”

“Well, first,” you start, your voice cracking instantly. “I take the totals from this tab and add them to the formula.” His hands go from your hips and slide down your thighs as you click around on the screen. His fingers gather up your skirt, balling the material into his hands. “Oh god,” you murmur weakly.

“Keep going,” he commands, his lips finding a sensitive spot of skin on your neck. You moan reactively, and you can feel him smiling against your skin. “Don’t get distracted now.”

“Right,” you manage to croak. Your breaths become short and shallow, your eyes are barely able to focus. “I click on the totals for each month and–f-fuck…” You hiss as his hand travels up your inner thigh and finds the edge of your panties. He pushes them aside and slides two of his fingers up and down your slit – you can feel how wet you are and you have no doubt his fingers are covered in your slick.

“Focus,” he orders, but you can tell his restraint is slipping. “We don’t want you fudging the numbers. We could get into big trouble if you get this wrong.” You shift slightly in the seat, and feel something pressing up against your ass – he’s hard. 

You gasp as he sucks on your neck and plunges his fingers into you simultaneously. You rock back into his groin, teasing his erection. He groans, his fingers sliding out of you. Your skirt is now bunched up around your hips, your underwear pushed to the side as Sylus fingers continue to work on you. Those slick sounds, your breathless gasps and his heavy breathing are audible throughout his office. You’re praying to whatever higher power there is that you were right in assuming everyone else in your office has already gone home. You feel like you’d die on the spot if anyone saw you like this.

“Finish the report,” he growls, fingers working faster. The one hand still holding your hip is now gripping you so tightly that you think it’s going to bruise. All you can do is nod in response. Your eyes start to blur as his fingers curl up inside of you – the closer you are to finishing the bar graph you started, the closer you get to finishing. You feel it building as you highlight the cells, and your core starts to tighten. You grit your teeth as he grinds up onto your ass, and as soon as you complete the graph, you brace yourself against the desk and clench around his fingers, trying to muffle your moans with your forearm. 

“Good girl,” Sylus sighs, pulling his fingers out of you. You pant as he slides your underwear down your legs, and he bends down to make sure they don’t get caught in the pumps you’re wearing. “Cute,” he comments, hanging them over his laptop screen, covering the report you were working on. “We’ll just keep these here.”

If your cheeks weren’t hot before, then they are now for sure. You look down and you see that you’ve made an absolute mess of yourself all over his trousers. You lean back into his chest and look up at him. “Can I… do anything else for you?”

You see desire flash across his eyes briefly before he smirks at you. “Yes. Can you get under the desk?”

You nod, knowing where this is going already. He pushes his chair back to make room for you, and you kneel in front of him, hands on his knees. He unbuckles his belt and pushes his trousers and underwear down, his erection springs up and touches his stomach. Without waiting for him to ask, you take him into your hand and begin to lick at him, using your saliva to make it slippery. 

“Taking initiative. I like that,” he chuckles, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Sylus hisses as you take small kitten licks at his tip, tossing his head back onto his seat’s headrest. You take as much as you can of him into your mouth, and he groans, bucking his hips up, filling you up all the way to the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you gag on him, but you force yourself to take it. You can feel the wetness building up between your legs, and you clench your thighs to relieve some of the pressure. You’re pretty sure you’re dripping onto the carpet. He grips your hair as you start to move up and down, holding onto the base of his shaft as you do so. 

You look up at him, his crimson eyes glazed over with lust as they meet yours. He grunts your name, and you feel even more aroused hearing him say it – he finally knows your name. He thrusts up into your mouth repeatedly, but before he can finish, he pulls you off of him by your hair, and you release him with a loud pop. You gasp for air, rocking back on your heels, both of you breathing heavy as he smirks down at you. 

“Come back up.” He extends a hand to you, and you take it – he pulls you up from under the desk, his hand hovering over your head so you don’t hit it on the edge. As soon as you’re upright again, he sweeps a hand across his desk and all the papers on it fly off of it. You look at him, eyes wide, and he gives you another smirk. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with that later.”

“I can help,” you start to offer, but his hands wrap around your waist, and he hoists you up onto the desk. You let out a small, shocked yelp, but his lips are on yours, muffling any protest you were about to make. The kiss is deep, ravenous, almost swallowing you whole. You want to come up for air, but don’t want to break away from him. Your hands are in his hair while his wander up your waist and your back. He guides you to lay down onto the desk, his lips never leaving yours. 

“Give me a moment,” he murmurs, breaking away from you. He looks down at you lying across his desk, your chest heaving up and down with heavy pants, your skirt now pushed up to your waist. “Do you want to keep going?” He asks, his hand gripping the edge of the desk. 

You nod, but he frowns at you. “Use your words.”

“Yes, Sylus,” you breathe. “Please. I want to keep going.”

He grins at you. “Very well. Be patient for a few seconds.” You see him open up a desk drawer, and hear him rummaging through it. You hear the ripping of a foil packet, and he’s silent for several seconds – you assume he’s putting some protection on. 

“You’ve done so well,” he croons the praise, as his attention returns to you. He slides himself up and down your slit, teasing at your entrance. You whine, and buck your hips upwards, your back arching away from the desk. “Do you want this? Tell me you want this.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you breathe, hands reaching for his forearms. “I want this. I want this so bad.”

He lines himself up at your entrance, and you place your hand over him, guiding him in. He slides into you effortlessly, and you let out a small gasp as you see a shudder run down his body. “Fuck,” he gasps, rocking his hips slightly. “You’re so tight.”

He leans down, hands on your hips, thrusting in and out of you slowly. You meet his thrusts, your hands gripping his forearms, transfixed on him sliding in and out.

“I’m going to go faster, okay?” he tells you, already quickening his pace. You nod, your hands wrapping around his neck, hanging onto him as the desk shakes with his thrusts. 

Your legs wrap around his hips, and you hook your ankles together, bringing him closer to you as he continues. You’re past caring about how loud your moans are – you’re sure they can be heard in the offices across the floor. But then you remember that his office is soundproof. Thank god. His grunts, mixed with the sound of your skin slapping against each other, drive you crazy. You feel your orgasm building at the pit of your core again, and by the way Sylus’s movements are becoming more erratic, you can tell that he’s close too.

“Let’s finish this together, okay?” he rasps, hitting you in that spot that makes you see stars. You nod, and his thumb finds your clit, rubbing small circular movements into it. This pushes you over the edge. 

“Sylus, please I’m–fuck–I’m–I’m–” You don’t get to finish your statement. Your legs tighten around his torso as you clench around him, your whole body shuddering. Your clenching brings him to finishing too, and he grunts loudly, thrusting into you one final time before collapsing on top of you. 

The sound of your pants fills the room, and for the next few moments, that’s all you can focus on. He lifts himself slowly and gingerly pulls himself out of you. He turns himself away while he fixes himself back up, and you can hear him throw something into the trashcan under his desk. He then turns back towards you, but reaches over to the far corner of his desk behind his laptop. He plucks a few tissues out from the tissue box, and starts wiping at your legs.

You sit up quickly and attempt to take the tissues from him. “Mr. Qin, you don’t have to do that.”

He pulls the tissues away from you, an eyebrow raised. “Why did we go back to ‘Mr. Qin’? As if you weren’t screaming at me by my first name before.”

Your lips clamp shut as you let him wipe you down, noticing how gentle he is. “Sorry,” you mumble, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Sylus.”

He pauses in his wiping and he looks up at you with a soft smile. A genuine smile. The first you might have ever seen from him. You blink at him before giving him a smile in return. He finishes cleaning you up and helps you hop down from the desk. You fix your skirt, and quickly snatch your underwear from where he had tossed it. 

You’re still sitting on the edge of his desk when he leans towards you again, his hands gripping the desk, next to where yours are. He places a soft kiss on your forehead, and you feel something stir in your stomach again, but it feels different this time.

“You did so well today,” he whispers against your skin. “What a good girl.” He leans away from you, and you have to fight the urge to kiss him again. He reaches out and runs his hand through your hair, fixing the parts that got messed up in your tryst. “And good girls deserve rewards. How does dinner and drinks sound? Maybe tomorrow night?”

Legs wrapped around his hips- your lower half was already aching as he pummelled into you at ease, soaking up every inch of your gummy walls—thrashing your weak spots; tip kissing your cervix, hard length throbbing inside you faster than a heartbeat. You couldn't keep track of the million different feelings filling your mind.

"Th- this?" 

"Mhm... and wanna know the reason why?"

"C-course I do!" you nod repeatedly, letting your head involuntarily rock back on forth the more he moved against you—but the more he started losing control, the more you couldn't focus.

"Because I get to see you." He mumbles, cupping your skin with his palm and pulling you a little closer. But he doesn't kiss you. Those ruby eyes just gaze into you with a certain emotion you couldn't quite read. Hunger? Crave? Desire?

There were so many thoughts spiralling through your mind, so many assumptions, ideas, or conclusions—you weren't even sure what he meant by so he could 'see you'. That could mean so many things.

"You're curious, aren't you? I could see it written all over your face."

You gasp at his suspicion and don't bother agreeing or disagreeing. You just averted your gaze away, waiting for him to continue speaking. And when he does, quickening the pace as words started flooding out of his mouth—you were back at square one, and you couldn't focus. Again.

Your eyes roll back the deeper he sunk; inch, after inch, after inch—you were practically seeing stars. The way he knew exactly how to make you feel during these moments, knew exactly where to push himself so you both feel good–

"Hngh- you s-still haven't told me!"

"Your answer is right here."

You raise an eyebrow and before you could add on to the conversation, ask him for more than just a few word answers—your words soon skipped to a sputter when you felt the invisible knot in your stomach tie tighter.

"I- d-dont- 'm close!- get it!"

"Look at yourself." He hums, cascading his fingers down your body and stopping at the lower part of your stomach, lightly pressing his digits on your lower abdomen, watching you squirm like a bug, and this...

This is exactly where he wants you to be.

"Ooh, the claw machine is open!" MC says, jumping up from her seat. "Come on, let's go! I want to break my plushie winning record today!"

Caleb follows after her easily. "You mean I'm going to win the plushie winning record today. You know my skills are unbeatable."

Zayne leaves the table a second later, content to follow along silently, watching them bicker.

Not a single one of them looks back at you. You stay seated, slowly sucking up the dregs of your drink.

Was it high school when you finally started noticing? Sophomore year, without any shared classes with MC or Caleb. The three of you had the same lunch period, and while you were grateful for it at the start of the year, it soon became the hour you dreaded most during the school day.

Suddenly, instead of it being the three of you always together, with Zayne only returning during summer, you were stuck watching Caleb and MC get closer with new inside jokes, never looking away from each other. You couldn't complain about the same teachers or work on homework together. The invites to Caleb's basketball games stopped coming and you decided against going, unwilling to be ignored after the school day ended.

MC took all of Caleb's attention. She took most people's attention, being so cheerful and perfect. Most guys had crushes on her. A few girls did as well. She was everything you weren't and the rest of the school could see that too.

You overheard too many whispers about how you were clinging to her like an idiot, unwanted but unwilling to take the hint.

It hurt to hear. You didn't want to believe it, stubbornly digging your heels into a friendship that had already started fading years ago. You made an effort to join their conversation some more, but it rarely went anywhere without MC changing the topic. You tried to make plans to hang out during the weekends but they were almost always turned down or canceled last minute. You tried to be more active in the group chat, but the sudden silence after you sent a message was too awful to keep up at it for long.

You wondered if it was just you, or if Zayne was being excluded too. Was it just that Caleb and MC were too close? They did live together. It would explain some things.

But when summer came, Zayne slid back into place like nothing changed and MC and Caleb made space for him. He was never ignored when he spoke, his messages always answered, his presence welcomed easily. Your first friend in Linkon City didn't pay much attention to you either.

Invitations to hang out were sparse that summer. You're sure they spent more time together without you, and only occasionally remembered that you existed.

You can vividly remember the day you trailed after the three of them, going downtown to get lunch at a new restaurant that MC had been excited to try. You caught sight of your reflection in the display window of a boutique and the sight of such a plain, unremarkable person following after a group of incredible people hit like a punch to the gut. It was the first time you really realized how pathetic you've been, always rushing to catch up when they're so clearly trying to get rid of you.

It was a long lunch. An even longer day. You spent the evening looking back through your chat history, seeing all the unanswered messages and cancellations. To rub salt into the wound, you checked MC's stories and found pictures and updates about all sorts of things she's done with her friends — all without you in them.

You got the point. It didn't need to be spelled out for you anymore.

You know when you're unwanted.

You wanted to ditch them completely and make new friends that would actually want you around, but by then, social groups had been set in stone. No one wanted you around. They were friendly, but you didn't speak to any of your classmates outside of school. Any attempt of finding a new place to sit at lunch or other people to talk to lead to MC suddenly remembering your existence and physically dragging you back to join her and Caleb.

They refused to let you go, but treated you as if you didn't exist.

You wanted to rage, to start a fight, to scream that if they didn't want you around so badly, the least they could do is let you go. But you bit your tongue and lowered your gaze.

What good would lashing out do?

At least the promise of university reassured you. Soon enough, you'd be out of Linkon City entirely and you can do what you have to in order to never see them again.

And now, two years later, it's almost time to go. Graduation is a week away. Zayne's university already entered summer vacation, the timing lining up perfectly for him to attend graduation. He's only got a few years left of his degree before he can get a residency, and after that it'll be much harder to meet with him.

Good for him. Whatever he or any of the others do won't matter to you soon.

Hang on a little longer, you tell yourself. Just another week, and then you're gone.

"Are you not joining us?"

You look up from where you've been staring blankly at the table. Zayne is by your side, frowning at you.

"Oh," you say, voice flat. "No. I'm going to get another drink, actually."

"I see. I'll join you, then."

Why now of all times? Frustration squeezes your heart and it takes a deep breath to keep yourself calm. "I was thinking of going down the street to that boba shop. I don't think they have the sweet drinks you usually like."

"I'm always open to trying new things," Zayne replies easily.

You eye him, a little thrown off by his insistence to join you. He hasn't spent time with you one-on-one in… years. He's only ever around for MC, and without her there, you never get to see him. Not that he sees you while she's around.

"Alright," you say slowly, getting up. You glance over to the arcade, where MC is focused on lining up the claw to get her next plushie. Caleb leans against the machine, eyes fixed on her. You're not going to bother with telling them where you're headed. They'll be fine without you.

You take your empty cup and toss it into the trash, then leave without looking back. Zayne picks up his pace to walk beside you on the sidewalk. You can feel him staring at you and it makes you want to scream. He's a few years too late to start caring about you.

The silence holds steady as you head to the boba shop. There's a line inside the store and you're quick to join the queue, looking through the menu options hung over the back counter. You're not a fan of overly sweet drinks, and most of the ones offered are fruit based or interesting flavors such as creme brulee or strawberry shortcake. Oolong boba tea sounds decent enough, so that's what you go with once you're called to the counter to order.

After you, Zayne orders something with a long, baffling name that is sure to be 80% sugar.

You wait together off to the side as your drinks are made. Had this been any previous summer, you would have been trying to fill the silence and get a conversation going, but you're too tired to try anymore. The silence stays, lingers, remains unbroken even as Zayne looks at you strangely, a furrow in his brow.

"Let's find someplace outside to sit," he suggests once your drinks are in hand.

You nod and let him take the lead, exiting the store and walking through the streets, dodging other people on the sidewalks. You're getting father away from the arcade where you left MC and Caleb and you're surprised that Zayne doesn't mention them at all. Something's clearly up.

He leads you to a small park, where other people sit on the grass having picnics, watching kids play in the sandbox and swings. There's an empty bench in the shade of a tree that the two of you quickly claim.

You sip your tea, enjoying the flavor, popping boba pearls between your teeth. The day is pleasant, warm but not hot, a cool breeze keeping you comfortable.

Being so frequently ignored means you've given up on having conversations with any of your 'friends'. You've spent a lot of time this year getting lost in your own thoughts, attention drifting off to a space where no one can hurt you. It's second nature to let your mind wander by this point, idly watching people move through the park as you enjoy the mild, slightly bitter tea.

The presence next to you is hard to ignore, but you've had months to master to the art of stubbornly not caring.

Let him glance at you all he wants. Soon, you'll have nothing to do with him and you can start over from scratch.

What kind of life do you want? You've never really thought about it much. Most thoughts about what you want to do with your future devolve into comparing yourself to MC and Caleb, chipping away at your confidence. They're so sure of everything. Caleb already has his eyes set on Skyhaven, following his childhood dream of becoming a pilot. MC's been researching the Hunter's Association and spending more time at the gym to prepare for the entrance exam for the Hunter's Academy.

Zayne is someone you stopped comparing yourself to years ago. He's always been above everyone else; a true genius, making waves in the medical world with his youth and talent.

You, on the other hand, have no promise. There are no special skills for you to show off, no guiding dream to help you figure out what your future will be. To add insult to injury, you're the only one in the group to not have an EVOL.

The universe must really want to make how worthless you are sink in.

You wonder if you can convince your parents to let you take a gap year. Travel around a bit, grow as a person once you're no longer held back by this farce of a friendship. Perhaps you'll even discover something you love, something you can pursue for the rest of your life.

"You're quiet today," Zayne say suddenly. You almost don't catch his words, too distracted by the future.

You give a light hum in response.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"You just…" Zayne hesitates for a moment. "You seem distant. Did something happen? Are you… upset about anything?"

How ironic to be noticed just as you're preparing to disappear. This attention is coming a year too late to be any use now. "No," you say mildly, disinterested, "Nothing happened and I'm not upset. Just getting ready for graduation."

"Ah. You must be excited to be done with high school."

"I am." This, at least, is honest. The sooner you can leave behind every judgemental gaze and pitying whispers, the better. You'll be happy if you never seen any of your classmates again.

He doesn't say anything after that, so you return to slowly drinking your tea, letting your thoughts spin in whatever direction they please. You risk glancing at him just once and catch sight of Zayne frowning, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

The you of the past would have kept the conversation going. You would have rambled about any number of things to fill the air and help his shoulder's loosen up, eagerly waiting for him to speak as well. Now, you leave him to his discomfort. A sharper, more bitter part of you is glad that he can experience a taste of what he and the other two have put you through.

You finish your tea and stand up. "I'm gonna head back now."

Zayne hurries to stand and follow. "I'll walk with you. I'm sure MC and Caleb will be wondering where we've been."

"Oh, no. I'm not going back to the arcade. I'm going home. You can let them know I headed out early." You start walking away, turning to give him a small wave. "It was nice to see you again. Bye, Zayne."

He stares after you, eyes dark and conflicted. "I'll see you later," he returns. You don't bother replying; there's only one meeting left for the two of you at graduation, and after that, you will silently, gracefully exit his life.

You don't go home right away. Instead, you wander the streets of Linkon City, taking in the small details you rarely ever pay attention to. The city is so full of light, people everyone living their lives. The architecture is all neat and clean, plants decorating the streets and hanging on balconies.

Not a single soul spares you more than a glance. You are just another face among the crowd, free of the burden of being unwanted. No one knows how little your friends care for you and it's a relief.

Yes, this is the right move. This is what's best for you.

After graduation, you'll join your parents in moving to a new city for your mother's job. You'll get rid of every trace of MC, Caleb, and Zayne in your life. You'll make a place of your own in this cold world and find happiness alone.

When you get home, your parents are already in the kitchen, cooking dinner together. They look at you with such obvious concern, worried about you as they have been since you told them about not really being friends with anyone anymore.

At least you'll always have them. Your parents love you, and that's more than you deserve.

"How did it go?" your father asks.

"Same as always," you answer, "Left early too. Can we go shopping tomorrow so I can get a new phone? I want a completely new number so they can't contact me again."

"Sure. We can also buy whatever else you want as a graduation gift."

"I don't need a gift," you say, the same line you've been repeating all month. "Really. I'm just ready to leave and go someplace new. Take a gap year and worry about university once I figure some things out."

"I can see if any of my new coworkers have children your age, try to get you some friends," your mother offers.

You laugh. "No need. I can manage just fine without you setting up playdates for me. I kind of want to find a new hobby, see if there's something I can dedicate myself to."

"Why not pick up an instrument again? You used to play the violin when you were really little."

"Really? I don't remember."

"That's because it was while we lived with your grandparents. Your grandmother used to be quite the musician, and she taught you the basics of the violin."

"Huh. I'll think about it," you say. "When will dinner be ready?"

"About an hour."

"Alright, I'll come back down later to eat." You head upstairs to your room, already half packed. You've thrown away quite a few mementos and pictures of you with MC, Caleb, and Zayne. It had been hard at first, getting rid of the things you treasured for so long, but your own peace of mind is more important than any nostalgic relic. After the first few days, it became easier to just toss it all out, erasing the history you shared with them.

It's not like they'll care about you remembering them. There's no point in feeling guilty, so you kick those emotions right to the curb.

By this point, it's more surreal to see you're bedroom mostly packed up, years of your life put away in boxes. One more week, and you'll be somewhere completely new. The thought both excites and terrifies you.

You scroll through social media to pass the time until dinner; seeing the classmates you follow share snapshots of their teenage adventures, always surrounded by friends, no longer causes envy to stab your heart. These days, you just feel hollowed out and wanting. You must have done something wrong, made a mistake somewhere all those years ago to be where you are now. You wish you could go back and try again, live out your teenage coming-of-age movie the way everyone else seems to be.

Abruptly, halfway through watching a video of someone decorating a cake, you get a text notification from MC.

Hey! Zayne told me you went home first. Hope you feel better soon!

You swipe it away quickly, refusing to open it. Zayne must have thought that you were feeling under the weather. As expected of the future doctor. It's all so… performative. Every time they reach out to you now, you can see how it's just obligation rather than genuine care.

Caleb, of course, doesn't send anything at all. The last message you sent him, two months ago, was read but never replied to. The past year, all the conversations have been started by you, save for when he asked you about what you were getting MC for her birthday.

It's going to be so cathartic to throw your phone into the ocean once you get a new one. You've already moved all your precious pictures of family into an external hard drive and plan to get them printed and saved in an album, so everything else can be lost forever.

The urge to see what they've posted on their Moments is too strong to resist. You know it's a terrible idea, one that always ends with you upset, but it's like poking a bruise. You just can't help it, needing to feel the pain to know that it's real.

MC's Moments is full of pictures, random updates, and Caleb and Zayne tagging her in random things. The last photo you're in is from last summer, a group shot of everyone in line for an ice cream truck at a park. Even in that picture, you're stuck in the back, behind everyone else, fighting to be seen, strained smile and all.

Your own Moments page is quieter. You don't post much, never having much to say and unable to copy everyone else in how they're so comfortable sharing every aspect of their lives online. What you do have are candid pictures of your parents, of MC with Caleb and Zayne, of your classmates on field trips. But never of you. Even in your own eyes, you're rendered invisible.

Well. You did know it was going to upset you!

You toss your phone aside and collapse onto your bed. You'll just stare at the ceiling until you're called down for dinner. It's just as productive as making yourself feel worse through social media, really.

…

The final week of school seems to drag on endlessly. There's nothing for you to do in classes anymore, so you're left just daydreaming until the hour's up and you can move to the next period.

In an effort to avoid MC and Caleb, to make cutting ties feel more natural, you avoid them completely. You leave extra early to get to school before them, you hide in various spots around campus during lunch, then stay twenty minutes after classes end to make sure they've left before you start making your way home.

MC texts a few more times, but you ignore each message, swiping away the notification as soon as you see it.

It almost feels like they give a shit about you now that you've set into action your exit strategy; you catch sight of Caleb and MC walking around campus more than once, clearly searching for someone. Hell, you even get a text from Zayne asking if everything's alright since no one's spoken to you in a while, as if it's not obvious that you're avoiding them for a reason.

Or maybe they do get that you're avoiding them on purpose, they just can't wrap their heads around why.

Whatever. It's too late for them to start caring about you. They've had plenty of opportunities for the last nine years.

Luckily for you, you've mastered the art of being unseen. You can slip between any group of students and disappear. Caleb and MC can search all they please, they're not going to find you unless you want them to.

And then they start trying to invade your house.

Halfway through the week, two hours after school has ended, the doorbell rings. You're up in your room, watching old videos of your grandmother performing in her prime before the Chronoshift Catastrophe. Some of your memories are coming back, though they've remained faded with time: sitting in her lap, awkwardly holding the bow and dragging it across the violin she held, the smell of rosin, the smooth wood beneath your fingers.

She died when you were young, before you moved to Linkon City, so you don't remember much else about her, but the music makes you wish you did. Something about seeing her perform on stage, just a few years older than you are now, makes your heart ache. It's part missing her and part longing, wanting the same peace that seems to settle over her as she brings a piece to life underneath a spotlight.

The doorbell rudely interrupts her performance. You pause the video and listen to one of your parents go to the door, figuring it's just a package.

And then Caleb's voice filters in from downstairs and your body goes cold.

Numbness settles against you, then it's chased off by anger.

How dare he come here. After so many years, this is the day he decides to ruin your peace when you finally decided to choose yourself? All these years, you've been going to them but now is when they decide to come to you instead? To trap you in your own home?

He doesn't come in, thankfully. You've never been more grateful to have shared your frustrations and heartache with your parents. They liked your friends before, but those affections have cooled after being confronted with your pain.

MC comes the next day while you're in the living room, and you get to here your mother's cold voice say, "I'm afraid she's out right now. If it's really urgent, why don't you text her, Emily Claire?"

Fulling naming MC is the clearest indicator that she has been pushed away from your family. She doesn't come back after that, though Caleb isn't so easy to chase away.

On the last day of school, you don't bother going home until hours later, waiting for the all clear text from your parents. You pass the time by treating yourself to taiyaki ice cream, wandering downtown, enjoying your last free day in Linkon City.

Despite all the pain you've been put through with this friendship, Linkon City is where you grew up. It's been your home for so long. You'll miss it when you leave, though you're sure you'll come to love your new city just as much given enough time.

You take a few pictures with your new phone, just to have a few memories of these streets to take with you. It's a relief to be able to use your phone without feeling like you're suffocating; the growing number on your messaging app haunts you, and MC has yet to give up on getting a response from you.

The only numbers in your contact list right now are your parents, and you're more than happy with that.

Naturally, it's when you've let your guard down that you get ambushed.

Zayne, of all people, is out on the street. He spots you first and quickly crosses the street to reach you. You see him too late, and by the time you start looking for someplace to hide in, he's grabbed you by the wrist, looking a touch panicked.

"Why haven't you been answering anyone's messages?" he demands, "We're all worried about you."

You yank your arm out of his grasp. "I didn't answer because I didn't want to. That's all."

"And what's with avoiding everyone? MC's been distraught. She thinks she did something to upset you, but doesn't know what. You need to talk to her."

"I do not," you reply sharply.

"Please," Zayne pleads, "We just want things to go back to normal."

Normal?

They want normal?

Normal, to you, is being ignored and forgotten, feeling alone even when surrounded by the people you call friends. It's being unwanted but stuck in place, unable to leave for someplace better. It's feeling ugly and worthless and pathetic. It's clinging to whatever scraps of affection they feel like tossing to you. It's watching them laugh easily with each other, fitting into each other like puzzle pieces, while you watch from the sidelines, never invited in.

The only thing that's out of the ordinary is that you're not desperate for their attention, clinging to any opportunity to be with them, struggling to be heard or seen or wanted while they get to enjoy their time together.

You've decided to care about yourself for once. To put yourself first and say, this is enough. I'm not putting up with this any longer.

"Do you?" you say lightly. "Do you want normal? The normal where you get to laugh together and talk all the time and know that everyone else is listening to you? The normal where you walk together on the sidewalk while I'm stuck in the back, alone? The normal where I'm talked over and ignored? That normal?"

"We don't—"

"The three of you can still have normal. Nothing has to change at all about how you spend time together, just because I'm not there. You still have normal. But now that I'm not clinging to you all and trying to keep you all happy, you have to think about how you've been treating me and come to terms with being shitty friends."

Zayne opens his mouth to speak, to refute what you've said, but you give him a glare sharp enough to stop him in his tracks.

"Don't interrupt," you hiss. "I am so unhappy when I spend time with you all. You've never had any issues ignoring me while I was around, but now that I'm not there you all suddenly want me back? Quit the bullshit. I've had enough of being treated like this. I never once deserved it."

The shame crawling across his expression is slow, but it's still there. You can practically see him thinking, casting his mind back to all the time you've spent with them, trying to find the truth in your words.

He finds it. You can see the moment he understands why you're so upset.

"I didn't realize," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. I did notice something was off last week, but I didn't think much of it. I thought you were just tired or stressed about graduation."

"I was just tired of pretending everything was fine. I stopped acting like everything's fine. You were the only one who even bothered to look at me, really look at me, that day."

"Is there no way to make things better?"

You sigh, looking down the street. People are giving the two of you a wide berth, unwilling to interrupt the argument. Normally, you'd be embarrassed about behaving in such a way in public, but you can't bring yourself to care about anything right now.

"No," you say, "I'm done. I've spent all week avoiding everyone to make cutting ties easier. I'm moving out of Linkon the day after graduation and then I'll be gone from your lives for good."

"You're leaving?"

You blink. You've never heard him sound so wrecked before. It makes your heart clench in sympathy and you stomp it down. This is the natural consequence for how he treated you. There's nothing you need to feel bad about.

It still makes you feel like the worst person in the world.

"I need to get out. I need to put this facade of a friendship far behind me. I want to start over, someplace new, and learn how to feel like I'm worth something. The three of you are bad for me. Do you get it now, Zayne? I'm tired. I've been tired for years."

Zayne is silent and shame-faced, staring down at the ground. He can't even meet your eyes anymore.

The conversation has drained you of all you had. You can't even feel upset anymore, just hollowed out.

"You can tell MC and Caleb whatever you want. But I'm not talking to them again. Bye Zayne." You almost add a vague well wishing about residency, but stop yourself in time. It wouldn't be sincere, so why bother wasting your breath?

When you walk away from him, he doesn't stop you.

Zayne lets you go. You wish you could feel relieved, but mostly you just want to cry.

But that's a common enough feeling for you that you push it down and keep walking all the way home.

You don't have to say anything when you come home. Your father takes one look at you and sweeps you up into a hug, holds the fractured pieces of yourself together.

When the doorbell rings later that evening, he doesn't bother to open the door. Your parents keep the door shut and locked until Caleb and MC leave as night covers the city.

Graduation is a time you've been dreading. Your entire graduating class together in the auditorium, ready to walk across stage to get their high school diplomas. You're ready to leave the school behind completely, and this is your final hurdle to getting out of here.

It's pure luck that you aren't approached by MC or Caleb.

For once, they've spotted you almost as soon as you walked in, but the vice principal is strict about everyone staying lined up in order of who's walking first, organized alphabetically by last name. You listen intently to her explain the scheduling of the ceremony: the welcome speech from the principal, the valedictorian speech, walking the stage, and then a closing speech which is when they can toss their graduation caps into the air. She gives repeated reminders for everyone to keep their graduation robes on for the entirety of the event, and no never go barefoot in the auditorium. You idly wonder who was responsible for causing those rules to be implemented.

All the while, you ignore the stares burning into the back of your head. Caleb and MC are separated in the line, but both keep their eyes on you and the weight of their attention honestly makes you nauseous.

If it weren't for the vice principal keeping everyone in line, you're sure they would have already dragged you out someplace more private to demand answers for everything Zayne's told them.

You keep your gaze focused straight ahead, counting the seconds until the ceremony begins. It seems to take an eternity before everyone is seated and the lights dim, the principal walking onto stage to deliver a speech to the graduating class and all the attending families.

He goes on at length about how proud he is of the students, encourages everyone to seize the rest of their lives with strength and bravery, to make the most of their futures. The valedictorian goes up next, a girl you recognize from being the lead cheerleader at pep rallies. She talks about everyone's struggles to get here, making the most of their four years in high school. You tune her out a bit; most of what she's saying in her speech is for the more socially active students and therefore have nothing to do with you.

Once that's done, you begin the long wait for your row to be called up to walk the stage. You're in the third row out of the eight total, so it's comes faster than you expect.

Suddenly, you're walking across the stage to polite applause from the audience, shaking hands with the teachers, the vice principal, and the principal. You take your diploma and make your way to the stairs leading off the stage, then following the student in front of you back to your seat.

The next hour and half is dedicated to watching everyone else walk the stage. You let your mind wander, running your fingers over the diploma. It doesn't feel real. Four years, all coming to a close because of this one piece of paper.

After a quick closing speech, the principal congratulates everyone on graduating, and you join your now former classmates in moving the tassel to the left and tossing your cap into the air.

You can't help but smile. It's a small act, but it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

All around you, people move. Friends hug each other with great big grins and laughter, and families swarm the aisle, reaching for their children. You move with the crowd, hoping to escape the chaos before MC or Caleb can get a hold of you.

There's a dinner reservation for just your family at the fancy place you only get to go to on birthdays.

You manage to make it outside where you promised to meet your parents to avoid the crowd in the auditorium. You find them as expected, but what's not expected in Zayne standing awkwardly with them. He holds three small bouquets; one of orange flowers, one of red flowers, and one of white and blue flowers.

"Hi," he says softly, stepping towards you. Your parents watch him with critical eyes, ready to jump in the moment he upsets you.

"…Hi," you return.

"I wanted to congratulate you on graduating. Regardless of anything else, I wanted you to know that I'm proud of you, and I wish you nothing but the best in the future." He hands over the white and blue bouquet, which you take with hesitant hands.

He's not apologizing or asking for forgiveness. He's not bringing up anything you said to him the day before. He's not taking away from your night to make you go through an emotionally draining conversation.

Zayne is a thoughtful and wonderful friend when he tries.

He just never really tried with you.

"Thank you," you say. "They're lovely."

"I'm glad you like them."

"MC and Caleb are still inside."

"I see. I'll go to them now, then. I… hope we'll be able to speak again someday. I'll be looking forward to it, no matter how long it'll take."

"And if I refuse to speak to you again?"

Zayne dips his head toward you. "Then I'll accept that. But if you ever change your mind, know that I would be happy to see you again."

"I'll keep that in mind," you sigh. "I'll be heading off now. Bye, Zayne."

He nods once again, then visibly steels himself and heads inside.

As soon as he's gone, your mother is quick to pull you into a hug. Your father joins in, wrapping the both of you up in his arms. They congratulate you and go on about how proud they are of you, for school and the maturity to decide what you want your relationships to be like.

This has been the hardest choice you've ever made, and you made it again and again for the course of the year. It's finally starting to feel like the right choice instead of the desperate one. It finally feels like you can breathe again.

Your graduation dinner is small but delicious. The night fades away quickly. You all go home as soon as you're done and settle in to sleep.

In the morning, you'll make the long drive to your new home. In the morning, you'll leave Linkon behind without another word, cleanly disappearing from everyone's life. In the morning, you'll start over anew.

In the morning you'll figure out the rest of your life and find the courage to go after it.

But for tonight, you curl up in bed and cry; the mix of relief and grief is hard to work through, but this was inevitable. This was always going to end with you alone, and as much as you wish things could have been different, you also feel so much freer knowing this chapter of your life is over.

Whatever comes next, you will be ready to face it. You'll never put yourself through this pain again.

“Your skill issue isn’t my fault,” you shot back, finally dislodging his hand. “Just admit defeat.”

He leaned back, eyes soft and amused — that quiet, steady warmth that always made your chest feel a little fuller. “Alright, alright, you got me. But I won’t go easy on you anymore, pips.”

Something about the way he said it, so natural, so him, made your heart stutter. It always did, being this close. The quiet affection. The ease. Like your lives had been woven together so long neither of you even remembered when it started.

“Good,” you said lightly. “Makes it more fun.”

Your laughter mingled, easy and familiar, the kind of sound that only happened when nothing in the world felt uncertain.

The door to the other side of the room creaked open.

“Wow, so domestic,” Gideon’s voice chimed in, bright with amusement. He leaned lazily against the frame, hair still damp like he’d just showered, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You gonna start arguing about whose turn it is to do the dishes too, or is that next semester?”

Caleb didn’t even look back. “You interrupt people this often or am I special?”

“Only when it’s you, heartthrob.” Gideon pushed off the frame and wandered closer, glancing at the screen. “Who’s winning?”

“Me,” you and Caleb said at the exact same time.

Gideon snorted. “Yeah, that checks.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, tone shifting just slightly. “Anyway—there’s an aviation mixer coming up. One of the guys invited me, said it’s supposed to be huge.”

Caleb finally paused the game. “Mixer?” His voice was casual, but his posture straightened. “When?”

“Friday. Couple first and second year DAA guys, some engineering girls, a few from the aviation club. Apparently it’s the dream social event of the season,” Gideon said with theatrical gravity. Then he shot Caleb a grin. “And naturally, all of them are praying the DAA’s resident heartthrob makes an appearance.”

You stilled, though you kept your eyes on the screen. The word heartthrob echoed louder than it should have.

Caleb groaned. “Don’t start.”

“What?” Gideon shrugged innocently. “You know it’s true. They’re gonna be devastated if you don’t show.”

“I’m not that popular.”

“Please, there’s entire threads dedicated to you on the school’s forums. You’re like a campus celebrity!” Gideon replied cheerfully, glancing at you. “Right? You’d cry if he skipped out, wouldn’t you?”

You forced a laugh — light, normal. Easy.

“Totally,” you murmured, like it was a joke.

Like it didn’t twist something sharp and helpless in your stomach.

Because it wasn’t just the idea of girls that unsettled you.

It was the idea of him finding someone who mattered more than you.

The thought slid cold and dreadful down your spine, a slow realization you tried to drown beneath humor and muscle memory. Caleb had always been there — through everything. Late nights, bad days, dumb jokes, shared silences. A constant you never questioned.

You couldn’t imagine a world where someone else got to be closer to him than you were.

Where his soft smiles didn’t belong to you anymore.

Where his loyalty shifted. Where yours no longer mattered.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the possessive ache curling in your chest, the quiet jealousy that didn’t have the right to stir — because he wasn’t yours. Not really.

Caleb glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth tugging like he’d already made up his mind about something.

“Well?” he asked, nudging your knee lightly with his own. “What do you say, pips? Wanna come?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Come?” You gestured vaguely toward the door, where Gideon had just disappeared. “To the mixer? I wasn’t invited, Caleb.”

A quiet laugh slipped from him. He leaned closer, and before you could dodge, his finger tapped gently against your forehead. “I just invited you, dummy.”

You swatted his hand away, though your smile betrayed you. “You can’t just invite me to someone else’s event.”

“Watch me.” He grinned, easy and unapologetic. “Why would I go without Mrs. Apple?”

You rolled your eyes, but warmth bloomed faintly behind your ribs. “Ohhh, I see.” You tilted your head, feigning understanding. “You wanna keep up appearances. Scare off the girls.”

He paused for half a second too long — just long enough for something real to flicker in his eyes.

“Maybe,” he said, quieter now. “Or maybe I just wanna spend my Friday with you. You’re the only girl that matters to me, pips.”

Your breath stuttered. Heat touched your cheeks before you could stop it.

“Caleb…” you muttered, suddenly very aware of how close he was.

“Alright, alright, enough.” Gideon’s voice cut in as he reappeared, dramatic as ever, a bottle of something clutched in his hand. “Save the flirting for the mixer, alright? There’s no girls that need diverting here.”

He turned to you fully then, eyes wide and pleading. “Please tell me you said yes. I cannot go alone. Have you seen aviation people? They’ll ignore me just like they do on the forums!”

You laughed despite yourself. “Gideon—”

“I will cling to both of you like ivy if you abandon me,” he declared, pointing between you and Caleb. “I will not survive that environment solo.”

Caleb smirked. “You’re a grown man.”

“A grown man who would greatly appreciate his best bud’s support.”

You looked between them, then back at Caleb — the familiar reassurance in his gaze, the quiet expectancy.

“…Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll go.”

“Thank god,” Gideon said immediately. “You’re my favorite for a reason.”

Caleb’s smile softened in a way that made something in your chest flutter. “Knew you would.”

And for a moment, it almost felt like that meant something more than it should.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You linger a little too long in front of the mirror.

Not because you’re vain — but because your hands won’t stop fussing. Smoothing the fabric of your top. Tucking hair behind your ear. Letting it fall loose again. Your reflection looks the same as always, but the knot in your stomach says otherwise.

Caleb’s girlfriend.

Even if only for tonight.

The thought makes your chest flutter with something dangerously close to hope — hope you shove down immediately, because you know better. You always do.

A knock breaks the spiralling thoughts.

You open the door and there he is.

Caleb, leaning casually against the frame, hands tucked into his jacket pockets — brown hair perfectly undone in that effortless way, purple eyes warm and steady as they find you. His gaze lingers for a second longer than usual.

“You look pretty,” he says simply. “Trying to impress someone?”

“Shut up,” you deflect, stepping back so he can’t see the way your cheeks warm. “You didn’t have to dress up.”

“It’s a mixer,” he murmurs. “Kinda the point.”

You grab your bag and step into the hall, turning to pull your door shut when his hand brushes your wrist.

“Hold still,” he says.

You freeze, confused — and before you can ask, he steps closer. Fingers gentle, careful. You feel the faint tug of something cool being clipped into your hair, just above your temple.

You glance sideways, trying to see.

Caleb leans back and examines his work with quiet satisfaction.

A small hair clip rests against your strands — delicate little gems shaped like apples catching the hallway light.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then softer, more intent, “Now everyone’ll know we’re together.”

Something inside you stumbles — hard.

You laugh it off, turning away too quickly, already walking. “You’re ridiculous. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

He falls into step beside you, closer than he usually walks, shoulder occasionally brushing yours like it’s second nature.

The lounge isn’t far. The campus lights blur softly around you, the air cool, carrying the faint buzz of music drifting from the building ahead. Every step closer feels heavier instead of lighter.

You barely notice when his hand finds yours.

Fingers slip between yours like they’ve always known the shape. The contact is warm, grounding, devastating. You glance up — but he isn’t teasing this time. His expression has shifted into something more serious, more focused.

“Stay close to me tonight,” he says quietly.

Your throat feels tight. “I always do.”

And he doesn’t notice the way that sentence means more to you than he’ll ever know.

He squeezes your hand once — reassuring, possessive, comforting — all the things you’ve taught yourself not to read into.

Because this isn’t real. Because it’s a performance. 

Because tomorrow, you’ll wake up alone.

Even if the way his thumb brushes your knuckles makes your chest ache.

Even if the way he walks just a little slower for you makes it feel like you’re the most important thing in his orbit.

The lounge hums with low music and overlapping voices, light spilling in warm gold over polished floors. Laughter bounces off the walls. The air smells faintly of citrus and something sweet — punch, probably.

You barely have time to take it all in before—

“Thank god you’re here!”

Gideon’s voice cuts through the noise, bright and unmistakable. He weaves through a cluster of students and stops in front of the two of you, eyes lighting up.

“I was starting to think I’d have to mingle on my own,” he says dramatically. 

His gaze flicks to your hair, pausing on the little apple clip. A grin spreads across his face.

“Oh my—” He points, laughing softly as he nudges Caleb with his elbow. “Real subtle, man. Might as well put a neon sign over her head.”

You laugh too, instinctively, even as heat creeps up your neck. “It’s cute,” you mutter, fingers brushing the clip self-consciously.

“Mhm. Sure,” Gideon smirks. “Very casual. Very ‘not overcompensating for anything.’”

Caleb says nothing, just gives him a dry look. His hand remains warm and steady in yours.

And then—

“Hey! Over here!”

You turn to see Tara and Simone waving enthusiastically from one of the high tables near the windows. Both of them light up when they spot you, already scooting closer together to make space.

You smile, lifting a hand to wave back. “I didn’t know they’d be here,” you say, glancing at Caleb. “I’m gonna go hang out with the girls for a bit.”

His brow lifts slightly. “Already leaving my side?” he murmurs, thumb brushing lightly along your knuckles. “What happened to staying close?”

“I’ll still be close,” you smile. “Just…over there.”

Before he can answer, Gideon slings an arm around Caleb’s shoulder. “C’mon, man. You can’t just cling to your girlfriend all night. You gotta mingle. It’ll make me look cooler if you stand next to me.”

You almost laugh at the phrasing.

“She’ll be fine,” Gideon adds, nodding toward you. “Won’t you?”

You hesitate for a split second — just enough to notice the subtle shift in Caleb’s expression. Not anger. Not quite. Just a tightening of his jaw, a heaviness in his eyes, like something reluctant settling in.

“I will,” you say gently. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

His gaze searches your face, as if he’s measuring something unspoken — then he releases your hand slowly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Alright.”

Gideon grins, already tugging him backward. “That’s my guy. Come on, heartthrob—your adoring public awaits.”

You watch as they disappear into the growing crowd, the space beside you suddenly colder than it should be.

You shake it off and walk toward Tara and Simone, past the glow of eyes that follow Caleb’s every movement — past the faint awareness that not every girl here is looking at him the way you do.

And as you slide into the seat beside your friends, you try not to let the quiet dread twist tighter in your chest.

Because even for just a moment…

You almost wished he hadn’t let go.

“Finally, you made it,” Tara says. “We were about to come drag you ourselves.”

“You say that like we don’t see her every day,” Simone scoffs, nudging you lightly. “But tonight is different.”

Sure is!” Tara chirps. “Tonight, we’re boy hunting.”

You laugh softly, though your attention keeps drifting. Your eyes wander past them, toward the centre of the lounge.

Caleb.

He stands a little apart, easy posture, hands tucked into his pockets — impossibly calm while two girls angle closer, laughing a little too loudly at something he just said. One brushes his arm as if by accident. The other tilts her head in a way that makes her intentions painfully obvious.

Your stomach knots.

“Okay but he’s kinda cute,” Tara murmurs, nodding somewhere behind you. “Dark curls. Jacket. Acts like he’s disinterested but isn’t fooling anyone.”

“That’s every man here,” Simone snorts. “Personally, I’m into that engineering guy by the snacks. He looks like he’d apologize if he bumped into a chair.”

You smile faintly, but don’t add anything. Your attention drifts — until a familiar presence settles close beside you.

“Hey, baby.”

Caleb’s voice is soft against your ear, lower than the music, almost intimate just by proximity. You turn — and he’s already holding a drink out to you, glass cool with condensation, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

“Thought you might want this,” he murmurs. “Didn’t like you being over here so long.”

Your heart stutters. “It’s only been a few minutes.”

“I know.” His gaze lingers, warm and steady, the kind of look that always makes you forget to breathe for a second. “Still…missed you.”

The word slips out so easily, so naturally, like it isn’t dangerous at all.

His hand settles lightly at your waist, thumb warm through the fabric, and he leans down — slow, deliberate — pressing his lips to your temple. A little longer than necessary. Soft. Almost reverent.

“You okay?” he murmurs, breath still warm against your skin. “Having fun?”

“Yeah,” you manage softly. “I am.”

His eyes search your face, like he’s memorising something he isn’t allowed to admit he needs. Then, quietly:

“Good.”

A beat. A soft, almost reluctant smile.

“Don’t forget about me, alright?”

And then he pulls away.

Walks back into the crowd like nothing just happened.

Like he didn’t just say something that made your chest ache.

Like he doesn’t hold your heart without meaning to.

You stare where he just stood a second too long, fingers brushing the spot where his lips were, the echo of his warmth still lingering — knowing it felt real only because it isn’t.

Simone’s eyebrows shoot up. Tara lets out a slow whistle.

“Hello?” Tara grins. “When did that happen? No way you forgot to tell us the most important development ever!”

You laugh, but it sounds thin even to your own ears.

A few quiet seconds pass.

Then Simone’s tone softens. “Okay…why do you look like you’re about to cry right now?”

You swallow. The words hover on your tongue before you really think about them.

“We’re not actually together,” you admit, barely above the hum of the room. “He just…asked me to pretend. So the girls wouldn’t bug him as much.”

Both of them go still.

“He doesn’t like his ‘heartthrob’ title, I guess,” you continue, eyes dropping to the condensation on your glass. “So I’m his ‘girlfriend’ for stuff like this.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Tara asks gently.

“I mean, I thought I was.” You let out a quiet, humourless breath. “But it all feels so real…and then he acts like it’s nothing the next day.”

Simone’s expression tightens. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t think he’s trying to hurt me. It’s just…confusing.”

They exchange a look.

“Look,” Tara says carefully, “if he wanted this to be real, it already would be.”

“And pretending is gonna wreck you,” Simone adds. “You’re not his shield. You’re not his placeholder. If it’s not going anywhere, it’s gonna end with you hurt and him still untouched.”

You glance past them again, instinctively drawn to Caleb.

Now there’s three girls near him. Laughing. Leaning in. Competing for his attention.

Your heart twists.

“You deserve someone who looks at you like you’re the only person in the room,” Tara says softly. “Not someone who only claims you when it’s convenient.”

“Maybe try…letting someone else see you,” Simone suggests. “Just a little. You don’t have to rush it. But don’t keep giving your heart to something that isn’t real.”

You nod, though it aches to.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe pretending is worse than being alone.

And somewhere across the room, Caleb laughs — unaware that this small, quiet conversation has just shifted the entire gravity of your heart.

Tara squeals softly when two guys wander over — one with warm eyes, the other with an easy crooked smile — and suddenly the table fills with casual laughter and introductions.

“Pull up a chair!” Simone beams. “We were just ranking the most insane majors on campus.”

The guys chuckle, easing in without hesitation, and conversation flows easily enough. Music. Classes. Someone’s disastrous group project. They’re nice — genuinely so — and when one of them leans slightly closer to you while talking, pretending he doesn’t notice the way your attention keeps drifting past his shoulder, you almost feel guilty.

You try to give it a real effort. Smile. Laugh. Ask questions back.

But every time the conversation ebbs, your gaze betrays you — sliding instinctively across the room, searching for one familiar silhouette.

Caleb.

You spot him in a booth near the far corner, shoulders slumped against Gideon’s side, cheeks faintly flushed — eyes half-lidded, unfocused. Something about the sight tightens your chest.

You don’t even realise you’ve gone quiet until Tara nudges you.

“You good?” she asks gently.

“Yeah,” you reply, forcing a smile. Then softer, “I’m gonna go check on Caleb real quick.”

Simone gives you a look — not judgmental, just concerned. “Remember what we talked about,” she murmurs.

You laugh weakly. “I know, I know.”

Still, you weave through the crowd toward the booth, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Gideon notices first. Relief flickers across his face.

“Oh thank god,” he says, lowering his voice. “He’s had, like…two drinks? I think? I didn’t realise he was such a lightweight.”

You glance down at Caleb. He’s leaned forward, head resting against the table, strands of brown hair falling into his eyes like he simply ran out of fight halfway through the night.

You slide into the booth beside him instinctively, hand settling gently on his shoulder.

“Caleb?” you murmur. “You alright?”

He stirs instantly, as if your voice alone pulls him back to the surface. His head lifts, eyes hazy but familiar, and the second he realises it’s you — his expression softens into something almost painfully vulnerable.

“Pips…” he slurs quietly.

Before you can react, he shifts closer, pressing forward until his face buries into the crook of your neck, warm breath ghosting against your skin as he exhales your name again, quieter now.

“Where’d you go?” he mutters, words soft and tangled. “You left me…Why’d you leave me with Gideon…”

Your fingers curl instinctively into the fabric of his jacket, heart twisting.

“I was close, dummy,” you whisper. “You came to see me, remember?”

He makes a faint sound of protest, barely more than a tired murmur. “Didn’t like it,” he mumbles. “Didn’t like not havin’ you here…”

Gideon clears his throat lightly, pretending he isn’t witnessing something borderline devastating. “I’m still here, man,” he adds dryly. “Technically.”

Caleb doesn’t move. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, forehead pressing more firmly against your collarbone like he’s anchoring himself there.

“You’re supposed to stay close,” he murmurs, drowsy and sincere. “You promised.”

And as his voice drifts against your skin, you’re painfully aware of everything the gesture stirs — the tenderness, the longing, the confusion — and how none of this is meant to be real, even when it feels like his head rests exactly where it belongs.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your fingers lightly through the hair at the back of his neck. “You’re so drunk, Caleb.”

He makes a sleepy sound of protest, shifting closer instead of pulling away. “M’not,” he mutters stubbornly, nose nudging faintly against your skin. “Just…comfy.”

“Uh-huh.” You smile despite yourself. “Alright, heartthrob. Let’s get you back to your dorm before you ruin your reputation.”

He groans into your shoulder. “Don’t call me that…”

“Someone’s gotta,” you tease gently, easing back just enough to see his face. His eyes are unfocused but soft — still entirely him beneath the haze.

You glance at Gideon and jerk your chin toward Caleb. “Help me out here?”

Gideon’s already on his feet. He offers his hand toward you first. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate only for a second before taking it, letting him steady you as you climb out of the booth. His grip is warm, sure, and he flashes you a quick easy smile that makes something flutter faintly in your chest.

Then he turns to Caleb. “Alright, man. Time to stand up. We’re goin’ home.”

Caleb grumbles but eventually pushes himself upright, wobbling slightly before instinctively leaning into you for balance. His arm drapes around your shoulders, head tilting toward yours with a familiar gravity.

“Careful,” Gideon snorts, stepping in and gripping Caleb’s other arm. “Don’t crush your pretty girlfriend.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t seem to stop smiling. “He’s not that heavy.”

“Hey,” Caleb mutters hazily. “Are you trying to flirt with her?”

“You’re unbearable,” Gideon says with a grin, nudging him forward.

The three of you start toward the exit, Caleb shuffling between you — half-supported, half-clinging — his steps uneven but determined.

He bumps lightly into your side. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, almost fond. “You left me.”

“I didn’t leave you,” you whisper back, instinctively steadying him. “I was just across the room.”

“Didn’t like it,” he sighs again, stubborn even through the fog.

Gideon gives you a sideways glance, amused. “Who knew our golden boy was such a pouty drunk?”

You laugh, genuinely this time, and when you look back at him — really look — you notice the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. The ease of it. The way he keeps pace without drawing attention to it. How careful he is not to let Caleb stumble.

It’s subtle. Small.

But you notice.

The night air hits your skin the moment you step outside — cool, faintly damp, carrying the lingering scent of cut grass and distant cigarette smoke. The music from the lounge dulls behind the heavy doors, replaced by the hum of campus traffic and the occasional laughter of students passing by.

Gideon lifts a hand, waving down a slow-moving campus taxi with theatrical urgency. The small car pulls up to the curb, headlights washing over the three of you in pale gold.

“We don’t need a cab,” Caleb mumbles, still slumped into your side. “We can walk…it’s not that far…”

Gideon snorts. “I am not hauling you halfway across campus when you inevitably decide the sidewalk is your bed. Get. In.”

“I’m fine,” Caleb insists weakly, though his cheek remains pressed against your shoulder like a stubborn child.

“And I’m a professional ballerina,” Gideon replies dryly, already moving to the door.

He opens it and gestures to you first. “Go ahead.”

You hesitate, then slide into the cab, the worn vinyl seat cool beneath your legs. Gideon follows, settling in beside you — and after a moment’s fumbling, Caleb squeezes in on his other side, muttering incoherently under his breath.

The driver pulls away, tires whispering against pavement.

A few seconds pass in quiet before Caleb turns, squinting at Gideon like he’s just solved a great injustice. “Switch seats with me.”

Gideon bursts out laughing. “What, you want to crawl over each other?”

“I should be sitting next to her,” Caleb argues, chin lifting slightly, as if that settles it.

“You’re close enough,” Gideon points out. 

“No,” Caleb frowns. “You’re in the way.”

“Absolutely not,” Gideon says. “You stay by the window in case you puke, because I’m not paying the cleaning fee. And God forbid it gets on her—I’ll toss you out the door myself.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out.

Caleb rolls his eyes, squinting. “I’m not gonna puke.”

“You say that now.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, warrior.” Gideon nudges his knee. “Be patient. You can bother your girlfriend all you want when you get home.”

Caleb’s gaze drifts back to you at that — slow, heavy-lidded — suddenly so sincere it almost knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I don’t bother you, do I, pips?” he asks quietly, voice softer, almost wounded.

You chuckle and reach up, patting his hair gently. “Sometimes,” you tease.

His expression falls, lips pursing like you’ve just shattered him.

“Kidding,” you hurry, poking his forehead lightly. “No need for the puppy eyes.”

Gideon laughs again, shaking his head. “You’re a lost cause, dude. Truly.”

“She likes me,” Caleb mutters stubbornly, leaning just a little closer again, as if anchoring himself to the sound of your voice.

Your heart gives an unsteady little thump.

The cab rolls on through the soft glow of lamplight, shadows stretching long across the pavement — and for just a moment, everything feels surprisingly gentle. 

Your shoulder still warm from Caleb’s cheek. Gideon’s easy presence beside you. The quiet rhythm of night pressing softly around the car.

And somewhere beneath your smile, the ache remains — but it’s harder to notice when you’re laughing.

By the time the taxi pulls into the quiet stretch beside the dorms, Caleb is half-asleep, head lolled forward, lashes resting against flushed cheeks.

Getting him upstairs is a careful ordeal.

You and Gideon guide him down the hall, his weight sagging between you, occasional grumbles of protest escaping when he bumps into a wall or stumbles over his own feet.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs for the tenth time. “Just…tired.”

“You tried to argue with a vending machine five minutes ago,” Gideon mutters. “You’re not fine.”

Eventually you manage to coax him onto his bed, shoes kicked off, blanket pulled halfway over his chest. He blinks up at you sluggishly, one hand reaching out blindly until his fingers curl around your sleeve.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, voice rough with sleep and something deeper.

Your heart twists. You sink down beside him, smoothing your palm gently through his hair, fingers combing slow and careful at his temple. His eyes flutter, a soft, contented sound escaping him — a little sigh that sounds almost like relief.

“I’ll stay,” you promise quietly, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. “I’ll be right here until you fall asleep.”

He tries to rally, mouth curving in a sleepy, hopeful smile. “You could stay…all night,” he mumbles, the words slurring at the edges as he fights the pull of sleep. “Forever…”

You can’t help a soft laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair again. “You’re so drunk, Caleb. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

He shakes his head, barely, eyes struggling to stay open. “’m not drunk,” he insists, voice low and honest, already drifting. “I mean it…” The words trail off, getting lost in a drowsy mumble as his grip on your sleeve loosens and his breathing begins to settle.

You keep stroking his hair until his lashes finally rest against his cheeks, the barest ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips.

You sit with him, quiet and gentle, letting the silence fill in what words never could.

Gideon watches the whole thing in quiet amusement before gesturing vaguely around the room. “You can take my bed if you want. I’ll crash on the couch.”

You shake your head immediately. “No, it’s alright. My dorm’s not far, I’m fine to walk.”

“You sure?” he asks, studying your face with that easy, unreadable expression of his. “Surely this babysitting gig wore you out.”

You laugh weakly. “It wasn’t so bad. You’re well behaved at least.”

“I try.”

He grabs his jacket off the back of a chair as you turn for the door. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”

“I’ll be fine—”

He’s already stepping past you, keys jingling, expression stubborn. “Too late.”

Outside, the night is quieter now. Cooler. The kind of quiet that settles into your bones.

You don’t realise you’re shivering until he drapes his jacket across your shoulders without a word.

You glance at him, surprised. “Hey—”

“Not negotiable,” he says simply. “You’re cold.”

“…Thank you,” you murmur, tucking it closer around yourself. His cologne lingers faintly in the fabric — clean, warm, grounding.

You walk side by side down the dim path, the glow of lampposts stretching in soft pools along the concrete.

“So,” Gideon says casually. “Did you have fun tonight?”

You consider it for a second. “Yeah…I did. It was nice catching up with everyone.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You looked a bit…sad, though.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

“A little,” he admits. “You kinda go quiet. Your smile changes.”

You glance at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. “I didn’t realise anyone paid that much attention.”

He shrugs. “Hard not to notice when someone’s hurting.”

The words hang lightly between you.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around it,” he adds. “I already got the vibe earlier.”

You sigh softly, gaze drifting to the pavement. “It’s just…I don’t know. The whole ‘Mrs. Apple’ act gets to me sometimes.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“I know it’s supposed to be harmless. Just easier for him. But…I think pretending is starting to hurt more than it helps.” You swallow. “It feels like the lines between us are blurring. It feels so real and then…it’s like it never happened the next day.”

Gideon doesn’t joke this time.

“That makes sense,” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t have to audition for a role you already deserve.”

You glance at him again — startled by the sincerity.

“Maybe he doesn’t realize it,” he continues softly. “But you shouldn’t let yourself get hurt just because he’s your best friend."

Your heart stirs in a quiet, complicated way.

He stops walking when you reach your building, the two of you standing under the lamplight.

For a moment, neither of you move.

“You can start being a little selfish, you know,” he says gently. “See how he likes it.”

“Maybe I will.” You offer a small smile. “Thanks for walking me back.”

He shifts, almost reluctant. “Anytime.”

Then, softer, teasing again but not unkind— “Try not to worry about it too much, okay? It’ll all work itself out eventually.”

You smile, warmth blooming despite everything. “Yeah, Thanks Gideon.”

And when he steps back, giving you space, his eyes linger just a bit longer than they need to.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A couple of days slipped by in their usual rhythm.

Classes. Coffee. Caleb dropping by your dorm like always — teasing you, stealing half your snacks, acting as if the mixer night were just another Friday and not a moment where he’d clung to you like you were the only solid thing in the world.

He didn’t mention it. He didn’t seem to remember the way he buried his face in your neck and whispered that he didn’t want you to leave his side.

So you didn’t bring it up either.

Your phone buzzed while you were halfway through an assignment.

Tara: party tonight!! off-campus house, 10pm. come out w us??

You stared at your screen for a moment.

You: idk…kinda tiredTara: you can be tired tomorrow, lets have funnnTara: hot guys, good music, and drinks!! Tara: and NO CALEB

That last message made your chest tighten.

You: …fine. i’ll go.Tara: YESS. we’ll pick you up at 9:45. look hot!!

You laughed despite yourself.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Tara’s car honked twice outside your dorm.

When you slipped into the backseat, Simone turned around immediately, eyes widening. “Thank god,” she said, looking you over. “If you didn’t agree Tara never would have shut up. You look hot.”

You flushed, smoothing your top. “Thanks…I’m kinda excited, actually.”

“Good,” Tara grinned, pulling out of the lot. “Doesn’t freedom feel great?”

The three of you laughed, music pulsing through the speakers as you headed across town. By the time you reached the house — already glowing with string lights and vibrating with bass — your nerves had settled into something warm, fizzy, anticipatory.

You stepped inside and were immediately swallowed by the party: warm air, a crush of bodies, the scent of citrusy drinks and someone’s vanilla perfume, music thrumming through the floorboards like a second heartbeat.

Simone grabbed your wrist. “Let’s find everyone!”

You wove through groups — familiar faces from your major, people you’d chatted with at mixers, a few acquaintances who hugged you like old friends. For the first time in awhile, you felt… present. Like you were more than the role Caleb had put you in.

You made it halfway to the drink table before someone collided with your shoulder.

“Whoa—sorry—”

You turned — and froze.

“Gideon?”

He brightened instantly, grin wide and warm. “Well, well, if it isn’t our runaway fake girlfriend.”

You snorted. “Oh my god, don’t start.”

“I’m kidding,” he laughed. “Mostly.”

You hadn’t expected to see him here, but the surprise wasn’t unwelcome. He looked good — casual dark tee, light sweater tied around his waist, hair slightly messy.

“You look like you belong here,” he said, eyes flicking briefly over your outfit. “Party suits you.”

You huffed. “I literally just walked in.”

“And already improving the atmosphere.” He said it easily, without flirting — but it still made your stomach flip.

Before you could formulate a response, the speakers shifted into a bass-heavy remix, the kind that sent a ripple through the whole room. A wave of cheers rose up, bodies surging toward the center where dancing had already broken out.

Gideon tipped his head toward the chaos. “C’mon.”

You blinked. “What? Now?”

“Yes now,” he laughed. “It’s a good song. And you—” he tapped your elbow lightly, “need to stop thinking and start moving.”

You hesitated only a second before letting him take your hand. The crowd swallowed you both in warm, electric motion — lights flashing in pink and blue across your skin, the air thick with heat and the smell of spilled drinks and sweat and perfume.

Gideon didn’t pull you close, didn’t push for anything. He just led you into the rhythm, giving you space when you needed it, matching your energy perfectly.

You shouted over the music, laughing breathlessly. “You’re actually a good dancer!”

He smiled, eyes crinkling. “You sound surprised!”

“I am surprised!”

“Well,” he said, spinning lightly to face you fully, “I contain multitudes.”

You laughed harder, the knot in your chest loosening with each beat. For a moment — a real moment — you let yourself forget the ache you’d been carrying.

You were just… you. 

And then—

From across the room, someone’s gaze found you.

But you haven’t noticed that yet.

You’re too busy dancing under neon lights, smiling at someone who’s actually looking back at you.

The music swells into something heavier, deeper — bass threading through your bones as the crowd contracts and expands around you. Gideon laughs at something you say, head tipped down toward you so you can actually hear each other over the sound.

You’re mid-smile when a warm weight settles on your shoulder.

Familiar. Grounding. Unmistakable.

You turn.

“Caleb?”

The word leaves your lips on a breath of surprise. He’s close enough that you can make out the faint scent of clean soap and cold night air clinging to his jacket, his brown hair slightly tousled like he rushed to get here. Those purple eyes search your face, sharp and unreadable — a stark contrast to how soft they usually are with you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, raising your voice just enough to be heard.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he says, voice low, controlled. “So I checked your location. Saw you were here.”

Your stomach tightens faintly at the implication — not anger, but something weighted, something close to concern… or ownership.

“And, what,” you tease lightly, trying to defuse the sudden tension, “you think I can’t handle myself at a party?”

His gaze flicks past you, landing squarely on Gideon.

“Didn’t say that.”

Gideon lifts his brows in greeting, unbothered, raising his drink in a casual salute. “Evening.”

Caleb’s jaw tightens — nearly imperceptible, but enough that you notice. His eyes drift back to you, sharper this time.

“When did you two get so close?” he asks, not smiling.

You blink. “We’ve always been friends, Caleb.”

Beside you, Gideon shrugs, taking a slow sip. “I’m very charming.”

The air feels suddenly thicker — charged.

Caleb’s hand drops from your shoulder only to slide down your arm, fingers closing lightly around it instead. The touch isn’t painful — not rough — but it is firm, insistent.

“Come upstairs with me,” he says. “I wanna talk.”

Your brows knit. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

There’s no anger in his tone — just something urgent, tight beneath the surface. Something he’s clearly holding back.

“Caleb,” you murmur, glancing around the room. “What’s going on? You’re acting weird.”

He doesn't answer. Just gives your arm a gentle tug toward the staircase, gaze never leaving yours. “Come on, pips.”

The nickname lands differently tonight — more serious than fond.

You hesitate for half a second, glancing at Gideon who watches the exchange quietly, concern flickering just beneath his usual ease.

“You good?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you reply, though you’re not entirely sure that’s true. “I’ll be right back.”

Caleb’s hand remains at your arm as he guides you through the press of bodies toward the stairs. The air grows less chaotic the higher you climb — music dulling, lights dimming, the pulse of the party fading into a distant hum beneath your heels.

At the top landing, cooler air brushes your skin. The hallway is shadowed, quieter, wood floors creaking faintly beneath your steps.

Caleb finally stops, but instead of turning to face you in the hall, he reaches back and grips the doorknob of the nearest room. With a quiet click, he pushes it open and steps inside, tugging you gently after him.

The door shuts behind you. The room is dark except for a faint glow from the streetlight filtering through half-closed blinds, painting soft lines across the hardwood floor and the edge of an unused desk.

He releases your arm, but he doesn’t move away.

You can still feel the warmth of his hand there.

Instead, he turns slowly, gaze fixed on you like he’s trying to anchor something volatile inside himself. His shoulders rise and fall once, breath controlled, jaw set tight.

The silence is thick. Intentional.

Your pulse beats louder in your ears than the music below.

“Caleb…” you murmur. “What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes track over your face — searching, anxious, unsettled — as if he’s bracing for something he doesn’t want to admit is already happening.

Finally, his jaw flexes once.

“What are you doing here with him?” he says, voice low, strained with something dangerous and unspoken.

The air in the room feels tighter. Closer.

And whatever calm you walked in with cracks, just a little — because you can tell from the way he’s looking at you that this isn’t about small talk.

This is about everything you’ve both been pretending not to feel.

You fold your arms, trying to steady the rush of nerves under your skin. “What?” you ask, voice sharp with disbelief. “I can’t hang out with a friend at a party now?”

He exhales a short, humourless huff. “Don’t play dumb, pips.”

Your stomach tightens.

“It was more than just hanging out,” he continues, eyes dark, unreadable. “And you know it.”

You blink, caught off guard, but you force your spine straighter. “So what if it was?”

The words hang between you, daring him.

Something flashes behind his eyes — frustration, hurt, something hotter beneath it — and he steps closer, slow and deliberate. The air shifts with him, his presence suddenly too near, too intense.

Instinctively, you take a step back. The back of your calves brush the edge of the bed.

“Is there something going on between you and Gideon?” he asks, voice lower now, edged tight. “Is that why you were ignoring me tonight?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you—Caleb—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Were you ever plannin’ on telling me?” His voice sharpens, words tumbling faster now. “Or was I just supposed to find out that my girlfriend was done with me through a friend?”

The word girlfriend lands like a slap.

You stare at him, stunned. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

For a split second, he falters.

His gaze drops, just briefly — like something inside him cracked open before he could stop it. When he looks up again, his expression is quieter, but no less intense.

“You know what I mean,” he mutters.

“No,” you snap now, anger rising to meet his accusation. “Actually, I don’t know what you mean. Am I just supposed to put my life and my feelings on hold for you, Caleb? Is that how this works?”

The muscles in his jaw tense.

“Have you ever stopped to think about how I feel?” you continue, voice trembling, not from fear but frustration — heat rising behind your words. “How confusing this whole thing is? You parade me around when it’s convenient and pretend it’s nothing when it’s not.”

He opens his mouth, something raw flickering behind his eyes — but you don’t stop.

“You don’t get to decide who I talk to, or who I dance with, or whether I’m allowed to move on just because you’re…what? Uncomfortable?” your voice sharpens, trembling with everything you’ve been swallowing for too long. “You don’t own me, Caleb.”

Silence crashes down, thick and electric.

Your heartbeat pounds so loudly it feels like it’s echoing off the walls, every breath scraping against the tension wrapped tight around your ribs.

Caleb stares at you, expression torn open — the accusation landing exactly where it hurts most.

“You’re right,” he says quietly.

The edge of anger in his voice softens, giving way to something rawer, quieter.

“I don’t own you,” he repeats, slow, deliberate. Then, barely above a breath, like admitting a secret he’s never allowed himself to say aloud: “But you own me.”

You freeze.

“And that’s the problem,” he continues, gaze locking onto yours. “How you feel…it’s all I think about. Every second I’m not pretending I’m okay with this, every second I’m trying not to reach for you.”

His voice roughens, dragged up from somewhere painfully exposed.

“I wonder if you feel what I feel. If this is just some stupid game to you. I wonder if you’ll only ever see me as a friend…when you’ve always been it for me.”

A beat of silence follows, but now it isn’t angry — it’s aching.

Your breath stutters.

For a moment you’re not sure the words are real — not sure they didn’t form out of the heat and the darkness and the ache sitting heavy in your chest.

“Caleb…” you whisper. “What are you saying?”

He lets out a sharp, humourless laugh that sounds somewhere between pain and disbelief. “What I’m saying is—when I saw you with him tonight…” His gaze flicks away, jaw clenched, before forcing himself to look back at you. “Dancing. Smiling. Like you didn’t need me anymore—it felt like my heart was being ripped straight out of my chest.”

His voice cracks just slightly.

“The way you looked at him…” His voice drops, almost swallowed by the quiet of the room. His eyes flicker away for half a second like the memory physically hurts. “I’ve never seen you look like that before.”

He takes a step closer.

The space between you shrinks, the air warming with the heat of his body, his breath shallow now — uneven.

“I wish you’d look at me like that,” he says, softer, rawer. “Not just when you’re pretending.”

His voice wavers, the control he clings to finally unraveling.

“I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself you’d be better off without me. That I was just supposed to stay by your side—close enough to protect you, but never close enough to be wanted.” His eyes lift to yours again, glassy, exposed. “But every time you smile at me, every time you fall asleep on my shoulder or say my name like it’s safe…I want more. I need more,”

He moves closer still, close enough now that you can feel the faint brush of his breath against your cheek.

“I don’t want to be in the background,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to be the guy you almost choose. I want to be the one you run to without thinking. The one you reach for in the dark. The one you trust with everything.”

A sharp inhale escapes him, like admitting this costs him something.

“I fucking yearn for you,” he admits, voice breaking at the edges. “I want to be so close that there’s no space left to question it. No room for doubt. No room for anyone else to make you feel the way I do.”

His eyes search yours — desperate, hopeful, terrified all at once.

“But you only look at me like that when it’s pretend…and it’s killin’ me, pips.”

He stands there — angry, hurt, stripped down to something painfully vulnerable — and you realise you’ve never seen him like this. Not the steady one. Not the protector. Just a man standing in front of you holding his own heart out with shaking hands.

For a second, you can’t even speak.

All you can do is move.

Your hand lifts instinctively, fingers brushing his jaw, your palm settling warm and soft against his cheek. His breath catches at the touch, eyes flicking to yours like he’s afraid you might disappear if he blinks.

“Caleb…” you breathe again, this time with something breaking open behind the word.

You move closer. Slowly. Like gravity is pulling you together whether you intend to or not. His hand rises hesitantly, hovering near your waist as your faces draw within inches.

Your eyes drift to his lips. His to yours.

The room seems to still around you — the muffled party noise below fading into nothing but pulse and breath.

And then you close the distance.

Your lips meet, soft at first, trembling with years of restraint and misunderstanding, then deepening as the tension finally gives way. His hand finds your waist, fingers curling as if anchoring himself, as if this is the only solid thing in the world. The kiss tastes like relief and ache and everything you’ve both been too afraid to name.

He exhales against your mouth, a quiet sound that carries more feeling than words ever could.

For once — it isn’t pretend.

And when you part just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours, eyes still searching your face as if he’s confirming that this isn’t another misunderstanding.

Like he’s afraid to lose it. Like he’s afraid to lose you.

Caleb’s breath shudders out, his hand steady on your waist, eyes locked on yours — searching, almost desperate. “Tell me this is real,” he murmurs, voice raw and low. “Tell me you want this.”

Your heart pounds, hope and longing tumbling through you, years of uncertainty burning away in the warmth of his gaze.

“It’s real,” you whisper, fingers curling in his shirt. “I do. I always have…I just thought—”

But Caleb doesn’t let you finish. His mouth finds yours again, firmer this time, hunger and apology mingling in the kiss as if he’s trying to make up for every moment you both wasted. The world tilts as he spins you, strong hands guiding you until you’re straddling his lap, knees pressed to either side of his hips. The bed dips beneath you both, blankets rumpling as his arms wrap around your waist, anchoring you to him, pulling you closer than you’ve ever dared.

You break apart only long enough for him to press his forehead to yours, his thumb stroking your cheek with aching tenderness.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, the words trembling between you. “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want this.”

His apology hangs in the air for only a heartbeat before you capture his mouth again, kissing him hard, pouring every ache and longing into the press of your lips. Caleb groans softly, hands tightening at your waist as he kisses you back with something that feels like desperation — like he’s been starving for you, for this, for far too long. The world narrows to the heat of his mouth, the brush of his tongue, the shudder that runs through him when your fingers tangle in his hair.

When you finally break for air, both of you are breathing harder, faces flushed, your noses nearly touching. Caleb’s gaze is fierce, reverent, haunted by years of wanting.

“I’ve always wanted to claim every part of you for myself,” he whispers, voice rough and intimate. “I waited so long…”

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing his as you whisper his name — soft, teasing. Caleb blinks at you, a little dazed, eyes heavy with adoration, lips swollen from your kisses. The sight of him — completely undone and lovedrunk — makes you giggle, your forehead tipping gently to his.

“We don’t even know whose room this is,” you murmur, still catching your breath. “Let’s go home.”

Caleb glances around, as if realizing for the first time where you are, and lets out a low, surprised laugh. “You’re right.” He sits up, running a hand through his hair before standing and reaching for you, fingers tangling with yours — solid, certain. “C’mon, pips.”

You follow him out, hand in hand, hearts still racing as you slip down the stairs, back into the thrum of the house party. As you reach the bottom, you’re greeted by the sight of Gideon, Tara, and Simone waiting by the door, matching grins plastered across their faces.

“Took you guys long enough,” Simone calls, arms crossed but eyes gleaming.

Gideon tips his head toward the hallway, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

You and Caleb share a look, both a little lost in the sudden attention. In the awkward pause, Tara bounces forward, eyes bright. “Come on—you guys did make it official, right?”

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you nod, unable to hide your smile. Tara lets out a triumphant squeal. “I told you guys it would work!”

Gideon and Simone roll their eyes, but there’s nothing but fondness in the gesture. You glance between your friends, shaking your head. “Did you guys set this up? How did you even know it would work?”

Gideon shrugs, a little too smug. “Listen, he may be top of the class, but he’s an idiot when it comes to you. And predictable.”

Simone grins, nudging Tara. “We figured you two needed a little nudge.”

You and Caleb both laugh, the sound light and easy now. Caleb squeezes your hand, tugging you gently toward the door. “Alright, you all can stop gawking. I’m taking my girlfriend home.”

Simone and Tara exchange an excited look, and you catch the glint of victory in Gideon’s eyes as Caleb leads you out, the night air cool and sweet as you step outside — hand in hand, together, and finally, finally yours.

"How sweet," you chuckle, with a roll of your eyes. You lean down a bit, letting the camera get a nice view of your breasts that nearly spill out of the matching floral, lace bralette. "But, you'll have to be a little more specific than that."

XYZ_02: start slow then.

Your lips quirk up as you pull back from the screen. Looks like you know him well.

You position your top half off screen to give him a full view of your bent legs in front of the camera. Two fingers pinch the edge of your stockings down.

Ding!

You glance at the chat.

XYZ_02: let me see your pretty face too.

Somehow he always gets you a little flustered with his sweet talk. Your cheeks burn as you move in front of the camera, pushing the laptop back to fit all of yourself in frame.

"How's this?"

XYZ_02: good girl.

You bite your lower lip to resist your smile. This guy is probably some elderly man with cash to blow, and you're sitting in bed on a Friday night flushing over his praises. You need to pull it together.

Settling on a good position where your knees are tucked to your chest, you continue where you left off, pinching the edge of your stockings and sliding them down.

You look at yourself through the screen. Your makeup is minimal tonight. The main draw being a dark, smudged eyeliner to give off a sultry look. At least, you hope it does.

You're still new to this. The ins and outs of it all are unfamiliar, and you're not sure what works. But XYZ_02 is the only one who keeps coming back. So, there must be something you're doing right.

XYZ_02: slower.

The single command is enough to make you pussy clench. You almost hate how easily you grow weak to his simple messages.

Simple and direct. He knows what he wants, knows just how to ask for it. He's not like other chatters you've encountered, completely vulgar and demanding.

There's something intimate in the way he talks. You can almost feel him with you, each message acts as his hands and guides you toward blinding pleasure. But then again, maybe you're reading too much into it, placing imaginary characteristics onto a faceless username to get yourself off easier.

You do as he says, peeling down your stocking slower until you can pull it all the way off and toss it to the side.

Ding!

XYZ_02 tipped $5!

The tip doesn't surprise you. XYZ_02 always tips for every article of clothing you take off. Five for each stocking, ten for your bra, and twenty—sometimes fifty if he's feeling extra giving—for your underwear.

Your fingers brush over the exposed skin of your knee as you smile. "Thank you, XYZ."

XYZ_02: ;)

You continue with the other stocking, another tip chime, before moving onto your bra. You sit up on your spread knees. A slight arch to your back as you lean forward on one hand. It helps to push your breasts together, showing them off to the camera. Fingers delicately glide over your breasts, outlining the curve of the ample flesh, and you tease your bra strap off your shoulder.

"Off or pulled down?" You slip the left cup down to give him a peek at your pebbled nipple.

XYZ_02: whatever you want.

XYZ_02 tipped $10!

You opt for off, following the same languid movements to pop open the clasp, letting it slip off your body. All that's left is your panties, snug around your hips and clinging to your growing arousal.

Anticipation grows. You spread your thighs apart to show off the darker patch of your sheer, lace panties. Your hips shift across the sheets like you're needy for something to be stuffed in your cunt, whether it's fingers or a cock.

"I wanna touch myself," you whine, leaning against your headboard. Your hands grope your chest, toying with your pert nipple, but wanting nothing more than to move closer to your throbbing cunt. "Can I?"

XYZ_02: not yet.

XYZ_02: want to try something new.

XYZ_02: if you're up for it.

XYZ_02: Join XYZ_02's private room here.

You pause, sitting up now, and stare at the link. You hands fall into your lap. A private room is typically for face-to-face calls.

XYZ_02 wants to show you his face…

It's illusion breaking to even think about seeing XYZ_02's real face. So far, he's just been a blank figure in your head and that makes it easier to get off.

But, you can't deny the curiosity. Putting a face to the username.

"Um, sure," you swallow. "I don't mind."

Just joined 80085GUY

You pause over the end button.

It might be better to stay in the room and have the opportunity to get yourself another regular. XYZ_02 will understand. He's been very patient so far.

80086GUY: wheres ur pussy @??

You recoil from the screen, scrunching your nose. In second thought, maybe you don't want another regular.

"Shows over," you snap, ending your stream. You're left with the chat log open.

What if he's just like that chatter when you actually talk to him alone? You can always just block him from your streams, but then again you'd be losing out on your best donor.

XYZ_02 is typing …

XYZ_02: second thoughts?

XYZ_02: no hard feelings if you change your mind.

XYZ_02: I'll still be your #1 fan ;p

Silly.

You click the join button without anymore deliberation. His red apple icon shows up instead of his video, and it's quiet on his end.

"Hello?" You say.

There's some rustling and a slight clatter on his end. You wait, heart thudding against your chest.

His video turns on after a second and who appears in focus is not an older man with graying hair, instead it's a man close to your age.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath because XYZ_02 is hot—really, really hot.

His outfit suggests he just came back from the gym. A white compression tank top which show off his biceps with gray shorts that almost hug his thighs. You can't help but imagine those strong arms holding you up as he fucks you dumb from behind.

He smirks, and you're not sure if it's because he heard you. "Hey."

And his voice is hot too?

This is the man who's been sending you money and helping you get off each week with his simple messages. It feels too good to be true.

"Hi," you breathe, trying to control your beating heart with slow breaths. "Nice to meet you, I guess."

"Yeah," he huffs, shifting in his seat. Only then are your eyes drawn to the bulge in his shorts. "Didn't think I'd be brave enough to ask you for this. I'm glad you agreed though."

He looks huge.

"Me too," you stammer, subtly trying to rub your thighs together. "So, what's your name? Or would you prefer XYZ?"

"Just Caleb."

His name rolls off your tongue easily and you catch the way his eyes widen as he shifts his hips.

You glance away, wondering how to continue, and spot a box on your dresser, something you've been eager about before the stream even started.

"Oh, I have a few things you might like," you exclaim, moving to grab a box on your bedside table. You set it down on your lap and pull off the lid. "Want to guess what they are?"

You don't give him a chance to respond before pulling out two dildos that just came in the mail. They're both uniquely shaped monster cocks you bought after a curious late night browse. You were extremely excited to try them on stream tonight, and now you're hoping that Caleb is also interested in seeing you play with them.

He nods his head to the left. "What's the purple one supposed to be?"

You eye the pretty purple base to pink tip fade. What drew you to it in the first place was the scaly texture along the thick shaft.

"Eh, I was just a little curious about what it'd be like to fuck a merman," you hum, running your thumb over the rough texture.

"I like the other one."

You tuck away the merman dildo, for now, and show off the other—a werewolf cock, ribbed below the tip, leading down a veiny shaft to a thicker knot. You were kind of hoping he'd choose this one.

"But I think you'd be prettier on my cock."

Your eyes snap back to the screen where Caleb has a cocky grin. This kind of confidence is unfamiliar to you. As XYZ_02, Caleb rarely made comments about being with you physically. But this side of him isn't too bad because you wouldn't mind imagining that either.

"You'll have to send me a mold if you want to see that," you tease.

"Sure."

You pause at that. Caleb continues to look at you, completely serious. "You would?"

"Yeah." He slides up the hem of his tank top, revealing the line of his happy trail. "Think you could handle it though?"

Your mouth turns dry as he pushes down his shorts to free his half hard cock. He's thick with a pretty mushroom head that slightly leans toward his abdomen.

"With some prep," you choke out. You're not doubting yourself, but the stretch he'd give you would make your toes curl immediately.

He nods his head. "That dildo is more than enough prep then."

You nearly forgot you were holding it in your hand, gripping the shaft for dear life as you tried not to drool over Caleb's dick.

"Use it for now."

For now. A promise to come.

You nod, still ogling his cock as you slip off your damp panties. Your cunt is in full view for Caleb.

Being naked in front of a camera was easier when you were just looking at a screen and reading a few words. But, now that you can see the way Caleb's hungry eyes roam over you on screen, you're a tad bit self conscious. Your thighs press together as you kneel, but you don't allow your face to give anything away, keeping a sweet smile on.

"Ride it," he orders. He grips his cock, thumbing over the pearly precum leaking from his tip. "I wanna see you take that knot."

Your poor pussy clenches at his stern command and you pull your thighs apart again. You run your hand over your chest, teasing your nipples to peeks, before gliding over your stomach. When your finger reaches the tiny bud nestled between your folds, you bite your lower lip as you draw slow circles around your clit.

Caleb doesn't take his eyes off you. The muscles in his jaw ticks as he watches the way your hips buck into your hand. Your fingers work against your clit until you're trembling against them and dripping down your thighs. You dip into your pussy to gather up the mess leaking out of you.

You raise your fingers to the camera with a proud grin before popping them into your mouth, sucking off your own tangy juices.

Caleb groans, working up his cock with measured strokes.

You finally align the tip of the dildo with your dripping pussy, gliding it along your folds to coat it in your wetness, and sink. Once it begins to breach your tight hole, you moan as it spreads you open slow.

You take as much as you can before it starts to ache, as you feel the bulbous knot kissing your lips, and lean against the headboard for support. It's too much to take for now, too thick to stuff inside your untrained cunt.

"Fuck," he groans, "look at you. Taking it like a good girl. Think you can fit all that in you?"

"Y-Yes," you moan, rising just an inch before sinking back down. You'll show him just how good you can be.

You force yourself lower, popping the knot past your entrance with a sharp gasp. You head lolls back, brain turning into mush. It's so much. Almost too much to take. You've never been so full before, so stretched open. Your thighs tremble as you try to keep yourself upright. "Fuck- fuck!"

When you're finally able to open your eyes and look at your screen, Caleb is stoking himself languidly. He sunk into his cushions with a lowered gaze watching you intently.

"Feeling good?"

He looks so relaxed while you're nearly coming apart around the dildo. You wonder if this is what he looks like when he watches your streams. Keeping himself on the edge while he types out orders for you.

You want to watch him lose composure too. You pull the laptop closer, angling the camera so it has good view of your dripping pussy stretched around the knot.

"Yeah, it's so, so good," you moan, rocking your hips. You press down on your abdomen, feeling the knot against your throbbing walls, and whine, "mmh, it feels so deep, Caleb."

You hear something akin to a whimper and a curse from Caleb and the frantic, slick sounds of him stroking his cock.

"Been w-wanting to hear you say my name for so long," he moans.

When you get a peak at the screen, you find Caleb with a firm grip on himself, watching you with an almost dazed expression.

"W-Wish I could be in you right now," he groans, head falling back against the couch. His Adams apple bounces as he pants.

This is much better than reading his words in chat.

You keep up the pace with his hand, bouncing on your dildo but imagine his cock in its place. Thick and veiny bullying deep into your tight pussy. The slick sounds of both your movements and panting blend together.

You're both close. His breaths are heavier, coming in and out of your speakers as his mic tries picking up on his stuttered moans.

"Ngh, 'm so close," you pant, moving to rub your swollen clit again. You ignore the way your thighs burn and your body begs for rest, exhausted but still desperately chasing that sweet release.

"I love watching you come. Shit," he hisses, pinching the head of his cock. "You look so pretty with your head thrown back, moaning and crying. Just wanna leave some marks on you."

"Mhm, what else? Would you kiss me? Do you wanna e-eat—ahh!—eat me out too?" Your finger works faster against your clit until your legs are trembling, and you have no choice but to find support against the headboard again. Leaning against it allows your hips to angle out, giving him a nice view of your drooling pussy, clenching around the thick shaft.

"If that's what you need. I'll do whatever you want, pretty girl."

The airy way he says your favorite name forces your orgasm to rip through you. His name falls from your lips like a desperate prayer as you ride out your orgasm around the dildo. You sink against your bed, keeping the toy inside of you for now. Your cunt still squeezing around the knot as it holds itself in place.

Fluttering eyes stay open to watch as Caleb comes with you, ropes of white splashing onto his tank top as he curses. He makes a whiny sound, stuttered and breathless.

Caleb strips off his shirt to wipe down the cum on his hand. The sight of his toned chest and abs make you clench down on the toy again. So much skin that needs marking.

You both look at one another, steadying your breaths.

You lick your parched lips, tasting a bit of your cherry lip gloss still left. "See you next time, Caleb."

He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and runs a hand through his hair as he sinks lower on the couch. "See ya."

A/N — as always, comments and reblogs very much appreciated (I will give you a big virtual smooch) thanks for reading! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

sequel where you get a new viewer named 1emur1an who wants to see you use the merman dildo and wonders if you can take two at once ooh who said that!?!??!

The storm rattled the windows like it was trying to claw its way inside. Rain battered the roof, steady and furious, lightning throwing the room into brief silver flashes. You lie on your bed, the sheets twisted around your legs, your skin hot despite the chill seeping through the glass.

You tried not to think of him. You really did.

But your fingers drifted lower anyway, restless, needy, circling yourself with a rhythm that had your thighs trembling. Caleb’s grin burned behind your eyes, the way he leaned too close, impetuous heat radiating from him like a dare. His voice was everywhere in your head– low, teasing, promising things Zayne never would.

Your shoulders shook as you ground into your own hand, chasing something crisp and sweet, whispering a name you’d never admit out loud–

“Who are you thinking about while you do this?”

You choked, jerking upright. The voice came from the corner, low and even, the storm swallowing the edges of it. Your heart jumped to your throat as your eyes adjusted to the dark. Zayne. Silent, still, half-shadow.

“God– privacy much?” you hissed, yanking the sheets higher, pulse hammering. “How long have you been– ”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He just looked at you, jaw tight, his eyes colder than the rain outside. “You don’t want to tell me who it is.”

Your cheeks burned. “You don’t get to ask me that. You don’t get to– watch.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, barely audible over the thunder. He sat on the edge of the bed, careful, like the mattress might singe him. His hands twisted in his lap. “I know it’s hard. I know I can’t give you what you want.”

“But you can,” you snapped, frustrated. “You’re right here– you’ve always been here– ”

“I won’t.” The word landed like a stone. His eyes closed, his exhale rough. “If I start, I won’t stop. I’ll break you. You don’t understand what it costs me to– ”

A knock cut through the storm. Then three more precise raps at the door downstairs.

Zayne’s head turned instantly. He didn’t need to guess. His lips thinned. “He’s here.”

You shoved the sheets back, furious, from being denied, from the intrusion. By the time you stomped downstairs and yanked the door open, the rain was pouring off Caleb’s hair and jacket, his smile as reckless as ever.

“Miss me?” he asked, water rivuleting down his jaw. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

“Great.” Zayne’s voice was behind you before you even turned. “Now it smells like a wet dog in here.”

Caleb barked a laugh, shouldering past you into the hall. “Better than whatever frozen corpse stench you drag around.”

“Stop,” you said abruptly, shutting the door against the storm. “Both of you– just stop.”

But they didn’t. Caleb leaned against the wall, dripping onto the floor, smug. “Still playing saint, Zayne? What’s it like watching her suffer while you sit in the corner?”

Zayne’s reply was a blade. “Better than burning her alive because you can’t control yourself.”

Your throat ached, your chest burning with it, until the words broke out before you could stop them. “Both of you, are always fucking fighting over me– and here I stand, still untouched. At this rate, you might as well just fuck each other!”

You turned, storming back up the stairs, every step thundered with anger. But by the time you reached your room, you could already hear them behind you. Caleb vaulted up in a single leap, landing beside you like it was nothing, rain still running off him. Zayne was calmer, striding easily up the stairs, but his eyes never left you.

“Come on, pipsqueak,” Caleb said softly, almost coaxing.

“No.” You shoved the bedroom door open, then spun on them. “Not unless– not unless you kiss and make up!”

Both of them froze.

“What?” Caleb blinked, incredulous.

Zayne’s voice was clearer, almost panicked. “I’m not kissing that mangy mutt.”

You folded your arms. “Then get out.”

The silence cracked again, but this time it hummed differently– thicker, hotter. Zayne’s jaw was tight enough to splinter.

Caleb huffed, raking a hand through his rain-soaked hair, water dripping down his temple. “Unbelievable. You really are a menace, pipsqueak.” His grin widened, wicked and resigned. “Fine. If that’s what it takes to get you smiling again…”

Zayne stiffened, eyes honing. “Don’t.”

But Caleb was already moving, audacious as always, catching Zayne’s collar before he could step back. “Relax, ice queen,” Caleb drawled, voice rough with challenge. “It’s not for me. It’s for her.”

Their mouths met– not tender, not lingering. Harsh. Caleb pressed it just long enough to make your breath catch, Zayne standing rigid under the contact, his hands in tight fists at his sides.

Then Caleb broke it with a laugh, low and feral, turning back to you before Zayne could speak. “Good enough, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, stepping closer, your pulse thundering. “Mm… no. More.”

Caleb’s expression razored. He raked you forward with him, tugging you against his chest. “You heard her.” His lips brushed your temple, his voice pitched for Zayne. “Give her what she wants.”

Zayne’s jaw tightened. For a breath it seemed like he’d walk out, let the storm swallow him whole.

Caleb’s hand slid to your waist, pressing you even closer with that careless strength of his. He bent down, lips crooked in a sneer, his breath warm at your ear. “You wanted this, pipsqueak? Then watch.”

Before you could answer, he drew Zayne in too, overhasty and deliberate, closing the space until all three of you were pressed tight.

Zayne stiffened, his jaw clenched, but Caleb didn’t give him the chance to pull away. Their mouths brushed just over your hair– not tender, not even real– a clash of fangs and restraint, a kiss meant only to prove to you that they would.

The moment was over as soon as it began. Caleb laughed low, pulling back enough to smirk down at you. “There. Satisfied?”

But then Zayne’s hand lifted, cupping your jaw, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “She won’t be satisfied until we stop pretending this isn’t what she wants.”

Caleb’s mouth found your cheek, wet with rain, as he murmured, “Guess that means it’s your turn, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught, your eyes squeezing shut. And then everything blurred.

You didn’t know where to turn or whose breath stuttered against your skin. Only the sensations: wet hair brushing your forehead, the thunder outside echoing in your chest as anticipation.

Then lips claimed yours– demanding, greedy, coaxing your mouth open like he’d been waiting forever. Caleb. You knew him by the way his lips pressed, by the low growl rumbling against your throat.

The kiss broke only for another to replace it, gentler but no less hungry, a cold tremor shivering through your body as he traced the seam of your mouth with careful patience. Zayne. You knew him by the way he whispered into the kiss, reverent, as if one wrong move would undo you both.

They overlapped, again and again– one mouth leaving, another taking its place– summer and winter trading you back and forth until you couldn’t tell where you ended and they began. Hands mapped over your hips, your ribs, your throat, guiding you, anchoring you, pulling you closer when you swayed.

“She was touching herself before you showed up, Caleb.”

You stiffened, embarrassment rushing up your neck. “Zayne– ”

Caleb’s laugh was liquid heat against your throat as he bent, his mouth trailing wet kisses down the line of your neck. “Oh? That right, pipsqueak?” His teeth grazed your collarbone, nipping before sucking softly at the mark. “Tell me– was it me? Were you thinking of me when you got those pretty little fingers wet?”

Zayne’s hand slid down your arm, pinning your wrists against your stomach, holding you still as Caleb moved lower. Your back arched into Zayne, but his hold only tightened, unrelenting.

Caleb’s lips brushed the swell of your breast through the thin shirt, his lips tracing just enough to make you whimper. “Did I touch you here, in your fantasy?” He licked over the peak of your nipple through the fabric, smirking when you gasped. He sank to his knees, his hand trailed lower, brushing your hip. “Or here?”

You jerked when he traced under the hem of your shirt, tugging it up enough to reveal your shorts. “Or maybe…” His palm between your thighs, cupping you through the thin cotton. “Here.”

Your hips rolled helplessly, rocking back against Zayne’s hardness as Caleb rubbed circles over your clothed sex.

“Fuck,” Caleb swore, muttering into your skin. He pressed his nose against you, inhaling deeply, shameless. “She smells so good I could drown in it.”

Zayne hummed in agreement, his voice breaking low against your ear. “She does.”

Caleb sucked until the cotton was damp with your slick. The pull of his tongue on your clit, even through the barrier, was maddening, searing you with pressured, wet kisses. You bucked, thighs trembling, but Zayne held you steady, swallowing your whimpers with a dizzy, punishing kiss.

“Greedy little thing,” Caleb teased, pulling back to press kisses to your inner thighs. His fingers hooked in the waistband, moving your shorts and panties down your legs in one swift motion. He held the thin strip of lace up, snickering. “I’m keeping these.”

Zayne growled low in his chest at that, but Caleb ignored him, already bending, trailing kisses back up your thighs, lingering just out of reach.

Your shirt tugged over your head, Zayne tossing it aside with agile impatience. He lowered, catching your nipple between his lips, tracing it with wet unhurried circles. His hand kneaded the other breast, thumb teasing the peak until you cried out.

And all the while, Caleb’s mouth hovered closer, closer– until finally his tongue slid over you, bare, hungry, working your clit with aching precision.

You whimpered, hips jerking, but Zayne only pressed you back into him, forcing you to withstand it.

Caleb shoved two fingers inside you without warning, swearing as your body pulsed around him. “Fuck, so tight. So wet I can feel it running down my hand. You were made for this.” He lashed your clit in ruthless rhythm, his fingers curling until you sobbed into Zayne’s shoulder.

Your hips rolled without your permission, caught in the push and pull.

Zayne’s voice broke, desperate reverence in every word. “So beautiful. So perfect like this.” His teeth scraped lightly over your nipple before he soothed the sting, sucking until your cries tangled with the storm outside.

The coil inside you began to wind spired and fast, too soon, too much. “Wait– ” your voice cracked, a gasp spilling from your lips. “I’m– close– I can’t– ”

Caleb’s laugh was muffled against you, wicked and hungry. “Mm. Already?” He nipped lightly, laps flicking faster. “Pipsqueak, you can do better than that. Let me wring every drop out of you.”

Zayne’s mouth left your breast just long enough to murmur raggedly against your skin. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen. Give it to us.” Then his lips sealed over your hardened peak again, sucking deep, pulling wet and languid until your back arched helplessly against him.

The coil snapped, brilliant and devastating. Pleasure tore through you in waves, your whole body shuddering between them, fluttering around Caleb’s fingers while Zayne sighed into your chest, his hips grinding hard against your trembling body.

Caleb lapped through your release like he was starving, coaxing every last tremor out of you until you slumped boneless against Zayne’s chest. “God, look at her,” he muttered. “She’s perfect like this– dripping all over me.”

Zayne kissed the crown of your head, his voice hoarse. “Ours.”

Caleb finally pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin foxy and satisfied. You barely had time to catch your breath before Zayne tugged you, pulling you against him as he sat on the edge of the bed. His lips crashed onto yours, his kiss wet and desperate, tasting of storm and the ghost of your body lotion.

When he broke away, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice cracked low. “This is what you do to me.”

Your gaze dropped as he unfurled himself, his cock heavy and flushed, the sight making your mouth water. You obeyed without thinking, sliding from his lap to your knees, parting his legs until you were between his thighs. His hand threaded through your hair, guiding gently at first, then firmer as you licked him timidly, attentive, savoring the salt and tang, tracing every vein with your tongue until his head tipped back.

You teased, circled, and hauled him against your lips before finally taking him inside, drawing your mouth wide.

The taste of him filled you, thick and overwhelming, and when your throat convulsed around him, Zayne hissed. His hand tightened in your hair, the other brushing damp strands away from your flushed face so he could see every expression as you swallowed and took more of him.

Then Caleb was behind you again, hands rough as he propped your ass up, positioning you on your knees so you were offered to him. His slid bare against your slick folds, smearing himself on you with a taunt. “If you’ve got so much restraint, Zayne…” His voice dripped with challenge. “Then I’ll go first.”

Zayne grunted, “Caleb– ”

But Caleb didn’t wait. He pressed forward, splitting you open torturously. The burn of his girth was raw, a delicious ache that had you gag softly, the noise muffled against Zayne’s cock.

“God, listen to her,” Caleb exhaled sharply, sinking deeper, bracing your hips tight as he filled you. “So wet…so tight…better than I ever imagined.”

Zayne’s head dropped forward, a strangled tenor escaping him at the sight of you choking on his cock while Caleb filled you from behind. His grasp in your hair shook, control unraveling as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper.

Caleb buried himself to the hilt, his hands clutching your ass, savoring the way your walls fluttered around him. His breath was hot against your back as he whispered, “You feel it, don’t you? You like it. Being filled like this. Split open between us.”

And you did. Every nerve alight, every tremor wrung out of you while you knelt there– mouth full of Zayne’s cock, cunt molded tight around Caleb– helpless between their hunger.

Caleb drew back and slammed forward again, the extreme slap of his hips against your ass dragging a broken whimper out of you. The vibration sent Zayne’s head tipping back, breath stuttering as he tried to hold on.

“Fuck– ” Caleb’s voice was ragged, heat laced with triumph. “She’s squeezing me like she’ll never let go.” His pace quickened, hips driving into you, every push deep and vigilant.

Zayne’s fist curled in your hair as he started guiding your mouth, setting the pace, pulling your head down in time with Caleb’s pounds. His thighs tensed each time your throat strained around him. “Take it. That’s it– just like that,” he murmured low, his eyes locked on your swollen lips wrapped around him, his jaw tight with control breaking apart.

Caleb’s hand found your clit, rubbing until the pleasure was unbearable, the coil twisting tighter, tighter–

“Mm– listen to her,” Caleb’s bucks turned frantic. “She’s coming on me– fuck, she’s soaking me.”

Zayne’s voice broke, “Perfect. She’s perfect– don’t stop, let her give it all to us.”

Your orgasm hit like a lightning strike, body convulsing tight around Caleb as your moan was swallowed by Zayne’s cock. The sound drove them both over the edge– Caleb’s groan hot and feral as he spilled inside you, Zayne’s clutch in your hair rough as he shoved deep, spilling down your throat with a shudder.

You swallowed, trembling, and sagged between them, every nerve wrung out. Caleb’s pulse kicked against your back, his hands still anchoring your hips possessively. Zayne’s hand softened in your hair, brushing damp strands back as he panted, eyes burning as he looked down at you.

Two voices, rough and overlapping, reverent even through their wrecked breaths:

“Ours.”

The room fell silent except for the storm outside.

Rain hit the window in uneven beats now– softer, like it too had spent itself.

You stayed there, caught in the aftershock, trembling between them.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Only breath. Only warmth. Then movement again—your lips wet and swollen as you looked up.

Zayne's jaw flexed, and you saw it– the twitch of his cock, already hardening again, hungry for more.

His voice was low, almost broken. “My turn.”

He lay back on the bed, dragging you with him, his touch firm at your waist until you were straddling him. Caleb’s release was already slipping down your thighs, drenching your cunt as you rocked down onto Zayne’s length. His eyes burned at the sight, no restraint left in him.

“Fuck,” he sighed, guiding you down to slide along his cock, your clit catching his tip with every drag. You shuddered at the friction, the glide obscene with how soaked you were. Zayne’s head fell back, teeth gritted. “So wet. So ready. You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

He held you up by the hips, lining himself up. "Look at me," he demanded softly. And when you did– dazed, trusting, his– he slid inside you in one slow, deep stroke.

The swell stole your breath– hot, filling you to the edge of breaking again. Your nails bit into his chest as you whimpered. “God– Zayne– you’re– ”

“As big as him?” Caleb’s voice cut in, smug and edged. You glanced up– he was leaning against the headboard at first, stroking himself, eyes locked on where Zayne disappeared into you. His wide smile was wicked. “Tell me, pipsqueak. Who’s bigger? Me or him?”

Zayne grunted at that, his palms sliding up your sides, gripping tight. He bucked up into you hard. “Don’t answer him,” he huffed. “Just feel me. Just take me.”

You were too far gone to think, your body moved on instinct, rocking on his cock, pleasure sparking with every move. Caleb chuckled low, moving closer, his hand still working himself. “Guess I’ll let you multitask.” He got on the bed and knelt beside you. His tip hovered by your lips, thick and flushed, his grin curling when you opened willingly for him.

The moment your mouth wrapped around Caleb, Zayne broke into a curse. His hips drove up harder, the sight of you taking both of them unraveling. “Fuck– she’s sucking you while I’m inside her– ” His voice cracked into a growl, his thrusts turning desperate.

Caleb’s hand found the back of your head as you took more of him down, his voice a low taunt. “Look at her, Zayne. Look at our sweet girl, choking on my cock while she milks yours. Greedy little thing– she can’t get enough.”

You moaned around Caleb, the undulation shooting straight through Zayne’s length inside you, and both of them shuddered.

Zayne cradled your hips, guiding you into a grind rather than a frantic ride, his breath stuttered against your throat. “Feel that? Every time you take me… I’m not letting you go.”

You hummed around Caleb, your warmth stretched wide around him, circling his head as he let you set the pace. His hand stroked lazily through your hair, “That’s it, pipsqueak… nice and slow. You look so good like this. Like you were made to kneel between us.”

Zayne’s fingers slid higher, tracing your spine, up to your ribs, his thumbs brushing the undercurve of your breasts before he lifted himself to mouth at one. He sucked gently, careful now, savoring, his breath trembling with every note you made. The glossed pull of his tongue against your nipple had your whole body quaking, caught between the steady roll of his hips and the weight of Caleb’s girth on your tongue.

Caleb’s breath bridled when the vibrations of your throat reached him, his hips barely rocking, just letting you taste him, savor him. “God, you’re sweet like this. Taking us both, nice and steady… makes me want to ruin you all over again.” His thumb brushed your cheek, gentle even through his filthy words.

Zayne lifted you, watching your face, then sank you down slowly onto his shaft until he was buried to the hilt again. He held you there, kissing the side of your neck, whispering against your skin. “Stay with me. Don’t rush. I want to feel every part of you– want to remember the way you wrap around me.”

The room was thick with heat, but no frenzy now– just the slow, steady rhythm of mouths and hips, their hunger turned reverent. You were floating in it, trembling with every careful roll of Zayne’s body into yours, every measured drive of Caleb’s cock against your mouth. Every praise, every touch a reminder: this wasn’t just them taking. This was them savoring.

Zayne framed your waist, fingers splayed like he was memorizing the shape of you. His voice trembled when he spoke, quiet, like the words were meant for only you to hear. “You’re so soft, so perfect– every sound you make, I want to keep it.”

Your reply broke around Caleb’s length, making him exhale crisp. His hand cupped the back of your head, not forcing, just guiding as you licked along his shaft, your lips sliding down to take more of him with every pass. “Mm, sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “So eager to taste me while he fills you. Greedy little mouth.”

Zayne’s thumb brushed circles into your hip, his mouth tracing your collarbone, teeth grazing but not breaking skin.

Caleb leaned down, his heat on your temple, his words taunting but fond. “She’s dripping down my thighs, Zayne. Fuck– She’s soaking both of us.”

Zayne freed a hand to slip between your legs where you rocked around him, knuckles finding your clit. He rubbed in slow, cruel circles, Caleb’s dimples widening when you gasped, the sound muffled around his cock. “That’s it, pipsqueak. Let us have you.”

Your body quivered, caught in the rhythm: Zayne rolling deep inside you, gritting out each time you tightened, his digits teasing your clit until your legs quaked; Caleb’s cock sliding against your tongue as you sucked him down.

“Give it to us. Come on me. Let us feel you again.” Zayne growled, thumb pressing harder.

Caleb swore under his breath, “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. Make a mess for us. Show us how good we’ve got you.”

You came apart at their command, body shaking as your walls clenched around Zayne. He exhaled raggedly, hips stuttering as your release milked him.

Caleb cursed, pulling from your mouth with a wet pop, his hand stroking himself fast as he watched you unravel. “Fuck– look at her, she’s perfect– ” He broke into a unblunted shout as he spilled across your chest, hot streaks painting your skin while Zayne shook inside you, biting back his own release until he couldn’t hold it.

Zayne melded into you deep one last time, spilling with a guttural cry, clutching you as if he could fuse you to him. His breath broke into your neck, reverent even in the wreckage. “Mine. Ours. Always.”

You sagged against him, your chest heaving, Caleb’s cum sticky on your skin, Zayne’s warmth flooding you from within. The storm outside still raged, but in that room, it was nothing compared to the ruin they’d made of you.

Caleb wiped his thumb across your breast, smearing the mess he’d left, then licked it clean. “She’s not done. Look at her– still twitching, still hungry.”

Zayne’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, his eyes cold fire as he watched Caleb’s tongue. “She’s exhausted. You’ll break her.”

Caleb laughed under his breath, reaching down to spread your thighs wider where Zayne was still buried inside you. “Feels like she wants me to.” He dragged a finger through the dewy mess, making you whimper. “Fuck– she’s dripping all over you. Sweetheart, you’ve got more in you, don’t you?”

Zayne hissed when your body tightened around him at the touch, his restraint cracking again. His mouth found your shoulder, biting down gently this time, his voice muffled against your skin. “If you think I’ll let you take more from her than I do– you’re wrong.”

Caleb’s leer widened, his hand tracing up to toy with your clit in lazy circles while his eyes burned into Zayne’s. “Then prove it. Let’s see who she gives herself to more.”

Your breath hitched, your body caught in their tug-of-war– Zayne setting the rhythm slowly and thoroughly beneath you, Caleb rubbing and teasing in front, both of them speaking like you weren’t even there, both trying to draw out your next cry, your next shudder, your next surrender.

Zayne’s voice was the first to cut through the haze, quiet but firm.

“She trembles every time I push deep– feel that?”

He angled his hips up, and your gasp punched out of you, spine arching.

“She clenches like she doesn’t want to let go.”

His hand curved around your waist, palm secure low on your belly, bracing you as he rolled his hips again, feeling himself underneath your skin.

“I think she wants to be wrecked.”

Caleb’s chuckle seared against your cheek as he leaned in, thumb circling lazily around your clit.

“She was already half there before you even touched her,” he whispered against your lower lip.

“Were you imagining me again, pipsqueak? Thought about how I’d fuck you on this very bed?”

His thumb pressed harder– just enough to make you jolt.

“Or did you think of both of us? Taking turns? Sharing you like this?”

You whimpered, hips rocking between Zayne’s thick cock dragging deliciously inside you and Caleb’s skilled touch teasing your clit. You were melting, breathless, undone in the hands of men who hadn’t agreed on anything but you.

“Fucking hell,” Zayne rasped, his hold tightening on your waist as your silky, sopping walls fluttered around him.

“She’s close again. I can feel her shaking.”

Then, with a rougher push that hit that spot deep inside, “You gonna fall apart again, sweetheart?”

“I think she likes being caught between us,” Caleb murmured, dipping his head. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, then lower– teeth grazing your breast just enough to make you flinch.

“She’s greedy. Wants us both. Needs us both.”

He grazed your nipple with his tongue, then dragged it into his mouth with a suck that had your toes curling.

Zayne’s thumb found your jaw, turning your face toward him. His eyes were wild.

“Tell me.”

His voice was low, nearly a growl.

“Tell me you want more.”

You couldn’t answer– not when Caleb slipped two fingers inside you from the front, and Zayne rolled his hips from below to meet them. The sensation– stretching, stroking, pressure– tore a sound from your throat so ragged it barely sounded human.

“Look at her,” Caleb said, voice hoarse with reverence and hunger. “She’s fucking perfect like this.”

“She’s not done,” Zayne’s hand brushed your cheek. “She can give us more.”

They didn’t need your permission. Your body was already begging.

Caleb’s strokes worked faster, pressure just right, your slick dripping over his palm as Zayne’s length stroked deep and dreamy beneath it all.

“You're gonna give it to us,” Zayne murmured, “Just like that. Don’t hold back.”

“Let go, pipsqueak,” Caleb added, pressing harder.

“We’ve got you.”

You shattered again– crying out their names, hips jerking, cunt pulsing so hard around Zayne it dragged a curse from his lips. Caleb kissed your temple as your body shook, whispering things neither of you would remember but would feel forever.

Zayne caught you as you sagged forward, pulling you tight against his chest.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he whispered into your skin.

Caleb bent closer, murmuring against your ear.

“She can’t decide who she wants more.”

Zayne’s answer was barely a whisper, but it cut through the storm anyway.

“She doesn’t have to.”

The words hung there, fragile, for a moment, it felt like peace had teeth.

The three of you stayed tangled, sweat-honeyed, every muscle trembling. The rain softened outside, replaced by the hum of cooling air and heartbeats trying to steady.

Caleb was the first to break the silence. He laughed under his breath, voice still rough but laced with satisfaction.

“Fuck, marry, kill?”

He tilted his head, a lazy grin curling his lips.

“Me, Zayne… and me.”

You groaned, too tired to answer. Zayne only exhaled, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl, and hugged you closer until all three of you sank into the dark together.

Thanks for reading <3

Ariana, what are you doing here? Go back.