There are two thick fingers sliding through your sopping, fat folds— dragging up and down, fingers smearing your syrupy juices all over your messy pussy. One finger gently teases your quivering entrance, barely dipping in before dragging your arousal back to your aching clit. . rolling the bud in circles until you gasp in delight.  You tangle your hands in Zayne’s hair, holding and tugging onto the strands in ecstasy. 

“Nghhh—! Haaah, a- stop teasing meee, Zaynie’. . I-i need moree!” You drool out from your stupor, whimpering when he suckles harder onto your nipple. . moaning softly to send vibrations through your body. 

Your body reacts wonderfully to Zayne’s touch, it’s becoming increasingly harder to deny you that sweet pleasure you desire when you beg so unapologetically to your husband. Two slender fingers pressed against your hole, plunging to hilt of your pussy with a welt squealchh— stretching your walls sooo perfectly it has you choking on a moan. You gasp on his name, toes curling up, shivering helplessly from that burning pleasure. 

He groans against your chest, finally releasing your nipples— teasing the bud by gently nibbling until you squeal. Instead, he roughly drags his tongue against your nipple, to the valley between your mounds, then to your other breast— giving it that same sweet treatment. Zayne’s fingers reaches soo deep, curling and slamming into your velvety walls with an obscure sloshh of your wet cunt.

The inside of Zayne’s hand slaps meanly into your puffy clit with every thrust of his fingers back into your greedy warmth, sending delightful shocks of pleasure through your already exhausted body. You can barely keep up, melting into the sheets as he explores your cunt— fingers somehow pressing deeper into your gooey walls, your arousal coating the base of his digits. 

“Mmh. . doing soo perfectly for me, sweetheart” Zayne murmurs against your chest, foggy glasses pressing into your skin as he tilts his head for a better angle to lap and drag his tongue against your nipple. 

You whine in response, gasping loudly when the temperature of his skin seems to drop too quickly. Synchronized, goosebumps erupts all over your body, shivering from his cool touch. One of Zayne’s hands presses hard onto your belly, fingers still positioning deep into your drooling hole.

Through scrunched up eyes, you can barely see Zayne peering up at you with lust and hungry filled eyes. He gazes at your body, drinking up every single once of your reactions to his touch; twitching, jumping, shaky breaths, he’s remembering every single one. He perfectly curls his fingers until he presses against your g-spot, the hand off your plush belly pressing harder as he thrusts his fingers into your spasming hole. 

“Haah—! O-oh fuck! Nngh. . fe- feels toooo good!” You wail out, eyes rolling back as your back arches once again. 

That subtle heat in your lower belly is now bold and loud, you’re sooo close to cumming. It’s just that, this feels more intense and hotter than you expected. Your skin feels more heated and stimulated.

“Mmhp—! Z- Zayne!” You squeal out, hands tugging at his hair as he groans from the tiny pain.

Your velvety walls quiver and tighten around his fingers, sucking him deeper as he miraculously keeps his same pace— a medium pace but he presses deeper into your pussy with every thrust. You can barely string words together, squealing in ecstasy when that boiling, white hot pleasure explodes in your belly. Your juices squirt from your sopping pussy, the liquid spraying onto Zayne’s arm and hands. 

It’s messy, your whimpering and tears are dripping from your eyes, hips jolting and shaking from how intense your orgasm was. Zayne didn’t seem to mind, eyes shut as he enjoys the way your nipples jolt against his tongue— fingers still steady fucking into your sloppy hole. 

By time you ride your orgasm, Zayne is dragging his tongue against your heated skin until he reaches your dripping and glistening pussy. 

“Mmh? N- no! P- please, I can’t handle it —nghh!” You mumble out barely coherent words, intensely trembling when he drags his tongue through your syrupy folds.

“Just let me clean you up, my beloved” he murmurs against your fat pussy lips, tongue dragging from your hole to your twitching clit— suckling onto the nerve until you squirm.

CALEB

Your breathing is completely erotic and ragged, it’s becoming awfully hard to breathe when the pleasure is overwhelming. You’re twitching and shivering in ecstasy; your body is burning hot, slick and glistening from sweat, lower belly stained by your own juices. It’s not just the pleasure that’s making it hard to breathe, it’s from Caleb— pistoning a thick dildo, molded after his cock, to ram deep into your raw cunt with an obscure squealchh.

“Hnng—! I. . fu- fuckk!” You gasp out between breathless moans, back arching off the bed every time the dildo kisses at your g-spot. 

The toy can easily press into your most sensitive spots, just like Caleb can, it’s delicious the way it stretches out your velvety walls. Your thighs tremble violently, walls spasming and quivering around the toy— sobbing out your boyfriend’s name when he engulfs your clit in his hungry mouth, suckling onto the puffy bud. He drags his tongue against the engorged hood, smearing his tongue against your clit in a slow manner. . up and down.

The dildo was fucking deeper into you now, relentless, each push of the toy was aimed directly at that spot inside you that made your toes curl and your vision blur— eliciting breathless sobs from your swollen lips. Caleb’s lips wrap around your poor clit, sucking hard. You let out a broken yelp of his name, Caleb, eyes rolling back so far as his tongue flicks at the hood of the engorged bud. 

The pleasure is becoming too much for your poor, overwhelmed body to handle. Being so thoroughly filled by a thick dildo while your clit was being suckled and lapped at by a rough tongue; your kind counselor focused on anything beside Caleb and how he’s making you feel sooo good.

“Haaah—! F- feels too good, ngh!” You squeal out loudly, hips bucking widely at the pleasure.

“Mmhp—! Ca- Caleb!” You whine out, tears clinging to the corner of your eyes.

Caleb drags his tongue firmly against the swollen flesh of your bud, sneaking his spit all over your messy pussy. He’s loud, groaning, moaning, and whining into your pussy— the vibrations coursing through your body, eliciting a sob from you. 

“Haah. . mmh? Yes?” Caleb hums out in response to you whimpering out his name, his warm breath fanning onto your exposed clit— there’s a pleasurable wave of heat that pools down to your cunt, arousal gushing around the toy.

He suckles back onto your clit, the non-stop attention he gives you is enough to have you squirming and writhing from the pleasure. Your clit, swollen, buzzing, and glistening from arousal, is throbbing in pleasure when Caleb drags his tongue against the bud over and over. It’s like he can’t keep his mouth unoccupied for too long, he needs to keep his mouth against your pussy. 

“Nngh—! O- oh fuckkk. .” You wail out loudly, velvety walls tightening around the didlo— juices pooling at the base of the toy. 

It’s messy. The wet squealch of your sopping pussy, the obscure slurping sound of Caleb lapping at your clit like his life depended on it. That heat in your lower belly is warm, it has you violently shivering in ecstasy.   

And Caleb, he’s just as messy; unapologetically loud when slurping at your puffy clit. That slurping sounds, squelching, and muffled moans, groans, and grunts against your mound is loud. Once again, he 

hums against your pussy, suckling and lapping at your cunt like his life depends on it, shamelessly moaning your poor, buzzing clit. 

“I ne- need more of you. . give me mo-more. .—“ he murmurs against your clit, one of his hands digging greedily into the fat of your thighs to push you open wider— simultaneously forcing your fat folds to part. 

“Haah. . nngh, w- wanna cumm” you drool out, rolling your head back to lay against the pillow. 

Your hips are relentless, bucking and squirming from him. Yet, Caleb pays no mind to it, he’s too big lewdly and erotically lapping at whatever sensitive skin of yours he can. Perhaps he’s gone completely drunk at how sweet you are— sweet, you taste just like how he imagined you would.

That thick toy, pressing deep and roughly into your g-spot, has you choking on air. And with a loud cry of Caleb’s name, your gooey walls clamp down tightly around the dildo, your juices spraying from your stuffy hole. 

“Oooh-! Fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. .” You babble over words, incoherent as white, hot heat was all you could see. 

The bed is completely soaked in your sticky juices, some of your juices managed to land onto your lower stomach. And yet, he still gently presses the toy back into your drooling hole, slowly plunging in  and out.

“Wahh—! O- oh fuck. . Caleb. shit. . can’t—“ is all that you can say, words dying at the tip of your tongue when he suckles roughly onto your clit.

“C’mon, baby. . one more time! Wanna see you squirt like that again. .” Caleb gulps, eyes completely blown out in pleasure.

⭑.ᐟ # All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block („• ֊ •„)

⭑.ᐟ #TAG-LIST @rinkomei @hon3yydew @kriscr0ss @Dummiebunny @inkwellscholar @Simphony @goobiescooby @Spookytyrantdeer @sunshimmery @prettypeachhh @nyx2021 @staying4straykids @bijuu-naginata @sillyhahaha @yanderecxre @alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r @Ame-chan-unofficial @McDepressed290 @malleus-draconias-rose @4k1to @thxtmarvelchick @katiralovely @ninahorikoshifr @priestessrosery @blcknebula @blogsforficslol @velourmobius @thequeenofcurses @bimbohkitty @rockyeatrock @voidofryomen @megantheefann @Mcdepressed290 @minivia @cherinchee @mooseheadddd @cxlltothemxon @lamogliedizayne @plzdonutpercieveme @iridescentshine @opalesquegirl @heartyluv @alyakhq @whimsiecat @staarflowerr @madison777x 

This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.

Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.

"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.

Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.

You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.

By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.

"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"

You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.

Sent.

You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message.  Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.

Sylus.

You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.

🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.

“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”

And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.

Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.

“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”

His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.

“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.

He’s wrong.

Don't you dare.

Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.

He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.

You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.

Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.

In the end, you don't choose. You do both.

The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.

He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.

Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.

"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."

The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."

He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.

So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.

God, yes.

You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.

Buzz. Buzz.

A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.

[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.

A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.

But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.

You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.

Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.

Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.

He's so indecisive.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"

Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.

"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.

"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."

You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...

Smack!

The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.

"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."

He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.

His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.

You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.

"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.

"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."

His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.

He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"

You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.

"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.

He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.

"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.

The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.

"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.

He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.

The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.

Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.

With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.

You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.

“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”

You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.

Your phone vibrates.

It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.

It’s a notification from Rafayel.

Rafayel: Is that so?

Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.

Wait.

Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.

But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.

Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"

🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.

You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.

Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit. 

Thump thump. Thump thump. 

"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"

The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.

But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.

It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.

He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.

Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.

You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.

The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.

Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.

He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.

And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.

You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.

It feels like a collision of two fires.

In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.

He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.

Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.

“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"

It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.

Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.

Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.

You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."

You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.

And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.

🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺

It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.

And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.

The friction is driving you completely insane.

Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.

His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."

He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.

You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.

A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.

"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.

His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.

Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.

He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.

You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.

"Look at me."

His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.

When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.

"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.

You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.

"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.

He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.

The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.

"Zaynie... Zayne..."

His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.

You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...

A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.

You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.

A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.

Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”

You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.

You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.

In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.

🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷

It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.

He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.

“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.

“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”

Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.

“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."

Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.

He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.

The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.

He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.

You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.

But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.

He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.

The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.

He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.

“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”

You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.

His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.

And then, the teasing ends.

His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.

Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.

He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.

"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.

He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.

"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."

agitation could be another way to describe it.

the older she got, the more difficult she found it to be around him without getting roused up. just the scent of his skin was enough to make her thighs clamp together, knuckles turning white as they gripped the kitchen chair during dinner.

'what's got you so deep in thought, pips?' that smile, his sun-kissed skin. those evil, unfamiliar eyes that had changed after his return from the d.a.a.

of course josephine was as clueless as ever, only yapping on about frivolous things while they eye fucked each other. their lust was an invisible beast, thrashing and eager to be set free from its cage. it existed only through those small, insignificant moments where boundaries seemed non-existent. even then, caleb usually knew where to stop, leaving more to be desired for.

intimacy was no stranger to their complicated relationship. when they cuddled, he left ghost kisses on her neck. if he wasn't on time with shaving, she could feel his stubble graze onto her shoulder as he licked downwards. he would laugh, mouth crooked with his canine poking out sheepishly, excusing it by saying something dumb like 'just taste so sweet, baby'. she never questioned it, only pushed herself closer to him so he could get a better taste.

'like... riiight here.' his hand squeezed onto her wrist, enough to cause her skin to turn purple under it's weight, exposing her armpit. he spat into the dip of it, then began scooping it back up with his tongue.

her wriggling made him chuckle even more, his other arm tucking into her lower stomach to subdue her.

she also knew how big his cock was. the shape of it was imprinted on her mind like a seething hot branding iron (couldn't forget it even if she wanted to, with how often it slotted between her ass). it looked the most delicious when he wore sweatpants and no shirt while they napped together. she could feel it then, twitching and curving to the swell of her ass.

it was something they never talked about, of course. in a way, they didn't really need to. it would mean putting a label on whatever the hell was happening, but there were no words in the entire universe to describe the hole in her chest that only her big brother could fill. it was why they watched each other, waiting and seeing to witness who would take the first fall. as always, she ended up the loser.

when he had left the door to the bathroom cracked, she felt the pull of his gravity. the crack of light through the door cast onto her iris, trying her hardest to be invisible.

she touched herself later that night to the memory of him holding his cock as he relieved himself. thoughts swirled around and around as her hips rose off the mattress, climaxing when she imagined herself licking the toilet seat with the bowl full of his urine inches away from her face. she bit her fist to stifile her moans, legs shaking and pussy clenching on her pathetic fingers.

he would begin leaving the door ajar regularly after that day.

"mei mei."

it was a saturday when he stood at the end of her bed, his large palm running up her bare calf.

“grandma’s gone. move over.” he murmured, pulling his shirt over his head in a manner that showed off his biceps. she watched as the span of skin stretched as his arms rose over his head, dog tag jingling softly.

“for how long?” it took everything inside of her to form those three words.

shaking his head like a dog, his dark chocolate hair rested back to it’s normal fringe. he patted her butt, kneeling onto the bed and causing it to creak with his hefty weight. finally settling behind her, he inhaled deeply at the back of her scalp.

“mmm… dunno, probably late. come closer, dummy.” he doesn’t leave room for argument, forcing her back to his chest like superglue.

“i hope it’s all night.” the truth lingers in the air like a bad stench.

a pregnant pause fell over them, only the sound of their pulses syncing together. he doesn’t try to break it either, just sighs into the nape of her neck. his fingers fiddled with the ends of her hair, pulling them back so more of her skin was available for him.

it's not unusual for the world to fall so silent when they embrace like this. but something felt different this time, like she was at the edge of a cliff and he was centimeters away from pushing her off. every movement of his body lit a fire under her, sneaky fingers curling at the hem of her shirt. she froze, breath catching sharply.

“caleb—“

“if i tell you to do something, will you listen to me?” his voice was lower than usual, as he leaned up on his elbow, resting his cheek on his hand, and watched her carefully. her expression told him everything he needed to know.

nodding, she looked back at him.

“good girl.”

he had called her that before, but this time, it had intention woven into it. she didn't dare ask what he was thinking, just let his hands wander up her shirt with the pace of a snail.. caleb had always been good at dragging shit out until she couldn't handle it anymore, begging and kicking at his feet for mercy. but for now, she remained a statue, allowing herself to slow down. to take it all in before he decided enough was enough.

that's how it usually went, anyway.

there's a certain tragedy to her life she had never been able to quite put her finger on— until then. until he opened his big mouth, that soft yet demanding cadence to his voice.

"take your shirt off."

had it not been for his tight grasp on her, she would have flinched out of pure panic. knowing her face was red, she did her best to remain obedient, her fingertips brushing over his as she guided her top over her stomach and past her breasts. it's a struggle; her nipples were so taut that they snagged onto the fabric.

he didn't comment on her not wearing a bra, knowing that she preferred to let her breasts hang freely around the comfort of their own home. his hands came up to help tear the shirt over her head, holding her hair, then patting it back down once he threw the garment across the room.

her arms automatically flew up to cover herself, earning a displeased grunt as he forced them away.

"why're you hiding?" he whispered, breath hot and curling sensually into the shell of her ear "i know everything about you."

"it's embarrassing..."

"you're beautiful," he interjected immediately, fingers still tracing lazily at her navel.

she suddenly realized he was holding himself back, her heart swelling with an irritation that she had never felt before. it's a sibling thing, getting so frustrated so easily with his politeness.

"stupid ge..." she huffed, impatiently wrapping her clammy hand around his and pulling them up to grope her tits.

he exhaled like he had been holding his breath the whole time, growling as he kneaded them like a starved man. her cheek dug into the pillow more and more as he planted wet, open-mouthed kisses along the meeting between her neck and shoulder.

rolling her nipple between his index and thumb, he watched her unravel. realizing just how sensitive she was, he pinched it softly, wanting to hear her whimper a little louder. as always, he got his way. she was no better than a handful of play-doh, completely at his beck and call. arching into his touch, she reached back to grab a fistful of his soft strands. hissing, he used his other hand to tilt her head towards him.

"behave."

squinting her eyes through the bliss, she looked drunk off of every touch he gave her. another pinch, then flick over her bud.

"kiss me." it was barely audible, the way she spoke it.

"not yet." his palm smacked across her tit, unabashed as he shifted his eyes to watch the exaggerated jiggle of fat. he did it once, twice, and a third that he almost didn't act on.

"do you know," hands removing themselves, he began to get up, sitting onto his haunches "what cum tastes like, pips?"

she's gobsmacked, absolutely frozen in place as he begins to pull his pajamas down. the indentation of his adonis belt, the dark curly hair that maps down to his cock, everything— it made her cunt throb with a heat like none other. the slap of his cock against his abdomen pierced her ears like a gunshot. pre-cum leaked out of his mushroom tip, dribbling onto her forearm and he shuffled closer to her. it felt like acid, the way it collected on her skin.

"answer me."

"n-no."

"no?" he mocked her tone, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout that resembled her own.

she smacked his thigh in retaliation, only to regret it because it hurt her more than him. a brick wall, for fuck's sake.

"my baby sister's got her pretty tits out for me. is gege being too greedy?" he pretended to ponder, gripping the base of his shaft, wiggling his cock like bait at the end of a fishing line.

submissive, she leaned up onto her palms. he clicked his tongue, thumb hooking onto her chin to yank it millimeters from his erection. her eyes fluttered up at his, brows bowing all cutesy.

"you like to watch, right?"

feeling like she could puke, her whole complexion painted red. but the humiliation didn't turn her away, it only made her wetter. she tried casting her eyes downwards, but he shook her face like a command to come back to him.

"mhmm. yeeeah, you do." he decided.

"please." she wasn't sure exactly what she was asking for, but big brother always knew how to take care of her. and would do just that.

his hand began to move, jerking himself real nice and slow for her. she watched as the veins moved underneath his touch, the silky skin shifting with it. the twist of his wrist was intriguing to study, the sound wet and sticky as he smeared his pre-cum up and down himself. his moans made her muscles tighten, enough for her to whine out of frustration.

"you're not allowed to touch yourself. this is punishment." he sighed shakily, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

a sound of pain left her, nails digging into the back of his thigh. like she couldn't bear the atonement for her own sins.

"b-but—"

the unexpected whip of his cock against her face left her speechless, her fingers coming to soothe her cheek. tears welled up in her eyes, bottom lip wobbling. but she didn't complain, she scratched at him, pawing and beseeching him.

"pleasepleaseplease, again, please do it again, caleb!"

he did, the hardness of his cock bruising her face. it busted her cupid's bow, blood blossoming from the wound. drooling, she moaned into his palm as he caressed her apologetically.

"m'sorry, baby. your face just looks so adorable next to my cock. making me get cuteness agression reeeal bad."

she wanted to tell him it was okay, that she would do anything to have him touch her. let him do anything. but she couldn't make her voicebox work, only nodded feverently and sobbed incoherently. her crying only made him more worked up, splaying his palm out for her.

"spit."

she responded without thought, hacking up a nice fat glob for him. he praised her, using it to lubricate his cock impossibly more (as if it weren't already sopping). his continued assault on his own dick made her breathing pick up, chest rising and falling each time he flicked it with expertise. the faster he went, the closer he got, slouching over when he seemed closer to his orgasm.

"being such a good fucking girl, pips. just sitting there and watching me jack off. tell me you like it."

"i like it, gege, i love it!" she leaned forward, hot breath mingling with his tip.

"uh-huh. wanna taste my cum so bad, hm?"

"yes, i want it so fucking bad!"

a dark, gravelly 'fuck it' emitted from deep in his chest as he took the back of her head and impaled her mouth onto his cock. she gagged violently at the intrusion, but steadied herself by grabbing onto his ass. he was too big, too girthy, to fit all the way down her throat. if he did, she would most likely get sick.

her eyelids felt heavy, but she still managed to look up at him, searching for his approval. i know everything about you. he brushed hair from her sweaty forehead, affectionate and reassuring despite face-fucking her.

"look so good with my cock in that mouth of yours, angel. gonna teach you what cum tastes like, so make sure to drink every drop for me, yeah?" she couldn't even nod, jaw feeling like it would dislocate if she did.

his hips faltered and she could feel his cock begin to pulsate, a strange, warm substance spurting down the back of her tongue. his release made him roar loudly, moaning her name over and over again as he fed her his load straight from the source. she took it like a god damn champ, only slightly choking from the ordeal.

after few final thrusts, he pulled out of her mouth with a lewd pop! he shook his cock like he did when he finished peeing, letting whatever drops he had left splash onto her flushed face. he patted her cheek a few times with the tip, sticky plaps! sending waves of arousal throughout her core.

"this," he pried her mouth open again "is your reward."

nothing could have prepared her for what was next.

the stream of his piss hit the flat of her tongue, the sound hollow and vile. she coughed, trying her best to keep up with his release trickling down her esophagus. choosing not to swallow, she let it pool up until it spilled out over her chin and down her chest to her lap. It tasted salty, and bitter, and unbelievably fucking hot, much more intense than the cum she had just consumed. she longed to use it as lube to rub her clit, to do anything with it.

but caleb is a tough-love kind of guy; his one rule still stood: she couldn't touch. not unless he were to say otherwise.

when he finished, he let his cock go, leaning down to get on her level. he finally pressed his lips onto hers, kissing her like his life depended on it. she deepened it the more tongue he granted her, sucking it into her mouth with inexperience. it wasn't terrible— just sloppy and uncoordinated. he tasted blood, cum, and piss and he loved it. he loved her.

there had always been this twisted yearning in him, the kind that could destroy nations. the craving to defile her down to the bone until she was entirely and utterly his. he wanted her to destroy him, too. all of these complicated emotions, just forming into a giant black hole in his mind. now, here he was, being a big ol' meanie to his poor mei mei, and the worst part of it all was that she wanted it. needed it.

all of this, only to realize he had taken the fall first. he was a loser. it made him huff out an acidic laugh.

his cock didn't go down at all, if anything, it grew harder. she stuttered, feeling sadness take hold of her. it felt like he was going to abandon her, leaving her there to drown in her own consciousness and questions of what the fuck just happened to her.

"no, hey. stop. look at me," his hands gripped her face firmly "it's okay. you're gonna soak in the bath, naked and waiting for me. i just need five minutes to clean up. sound like a deal?"

"are we still brother and sister, caleb?" she later pondered, hand skimming the top of the bath water he drew for her.

the cup he filled with water was dumped over her shampooed head. she'd rather get soap in her eyes than see him gain any satisfaction from her moping. he continued to massage the product into her scalp, smile translating through his tone.

"duh. what, did my dick scare ya away?"

she splashed him with water, his body curling inward to sheild himself. he laughed uncontrollably, sticking his hands up as a white flag.

"ca-leb!"

"i hope not, cus now you're in biiig trouble."

"whatever that means." she shook her head, only to be stopped abruptly by his fingers around her neck, squeezing with considerable pressure. his other hand descended downwards to her crotch.

"you already know."

when josephine arrived later that night, they fell back into their usual habits. the type where doors aren't closed, but left cracked as an invitation. yeah, her life felt like an absolute greek tragedy. there really was no escaping the stranglehold he had on her, especially now that a line had been crossed. he would remind her time and time again, finding new ways to destroy and rebuild her.

It would have been easier if he just told you the past year had been a lie, that he hated you from the start and you were nothing but a pastime for a rich boy like him to enjoy.

But that wasn't what he said.

No, Satoru had looked right into your eyes as you watched the tears spill from his bright blue ones, holding your hands tight as he kept repeating the same thing.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

How many times did he have to say it for you to actually start forgiving him?

Because you didn't. Not really.

It felt like a knife got lodged right into your chest then, and thats exactly how it still felt six months later. Like your skin was trying to heal, growing around this gaping wound that refused to close.

Six months was half a year. Double that and it would be a whole year already.

A whole fucking year.

One you could have been together for.

Six month ago, you wanted to throw all caution to the wind and tell him he better take you with him, or else.

But you knew exactly what would have happened. Satoru would have turned that frown to you again, with so much pity in his aquamarine eyes you wouldn't be able to bear.

He didn't want you to throw your life away for him. You knew that, in his own way, he was doing a kindness to you too by breaking it off.

You had your studies, a whole career you were so proud of… your parents would have scoffed at you at the mere suggestion of throwing it all away for a man. Hell, had it been a friend asking for advice, you would have told them the very same thing.

But you couldn't help yourself.

Everything in you wanted to be with him.

Six months was a long time… had he met someone else already? Was he a step closer to settling down like he was meant to? Furthering the Gojo name he claimed to hate?

Did he look into her eyes and wish it was you?

You dragged a palm over your face, struggling to stop the tears from falling. You hadn't been able to cry lately. Maybe this was all the months of pretending you were fine finally forcing their way out of you.

A buzzing sound came from your nightstand, screen flashing white and dousing the dark room in light before it faded away again. It was probably those stupid dating apps you had finally been convinced to download. Some poor idiot trying to get your attention when you knew well enough you were never replying to any of those texts.

You hated it.

Hated the thought of meeting someone new and having to tell them your whole life again. It felt like a chore, but with Satoru? It all just came out so easily. The worst things you had ever experienced, just falling from your tongue to his waiting ears, and it never felt awkward or daunting or scary.

Satoru was there to catch you when you fell. Always.

If only he had been an asshole like the people you dated before him. No – Satoru had practically ruined you for anyone else.

And you couldn't even hate him for it.

Your hand reached towards your phone before you fully had time to process what you were looking for. Your fingers searched for his contact instinctively, looking for the big capital letters that read DO NOT CONTACT, a stupid measure your friends had taken to keep your heart sane.

Your breath hitched just seeing the last few messages you couldn't bring yourself to respond to.

DO NOT CONTACT: I'm so sorry DO NOT CONTACT: I'll always love you DO NOT CONTACT: I'm sorry DO NOT CONTACT: Just forget about me DO NOT CONTACT: Please

More tears flowed freely, falling everywhere as you audibly hiccuped, knuckles turning white where they gripped the device. You wished you hadn't been so petty, wished you had tried calling him just one last time and hoped he would have picked up.

Despite every single call from you falling into voice mail.

Satoru had said hearing your voice hurt too much. But not hearing it hurt you just as bad.

How could you escape him when he was everywhere?

It was so wrong that those texts were buried under thousands of happy ones. Of photos you shared. Voice notes you had replayed too many times. How wrong it was that if you ever wanted to go through them again, you'd first have to reread that.

Jut forget about me.

You fucking couldn't.

So your fingers started typing.

y/n: I miss you

And pressed send before you could talk yourself out of it.

You spent a couple seconds watching the too bright screen, already regretting the decision.

But before you could delete the message altogether – something unexpected happened.

Unread turned to read, and three little dots appeared on screen.

It felt like your heart had leaped out of your fucking chest.

In fact, it was beating so fucking fast you feared it might send you into a hospital ward.

You threw your phone over the bed, standing up so you could channel at least some of the nerves into another activity. Like pacing around the room, apparently.

Pacing and watching the screen like you were a predator cornering a prey.

You felt ridiculous.

And maybe he wouldn't even reply. He didn't have to, after all. You didn't expect him to.

But he had seen the message, hadn't he? What had his reaction been?

Had Satoru rolled his blue eyes and was just typing out of pity? Some half-hearted 'hope you're well' that would make you feel even more sick than you already did?

Or had his heart hammered just like yours right now?

Had he–

Ping.

You practically launched yourself across the bed, taking the phone in your hand as fast as you could. Your palms were so sweaty just gripping the stupid thing was a struggle, but your eyes scanned the message with quick, clinical precision.

DO NOT CONTACT: Don't say that

You could almost hear his voice saying it. He had said it enough times that night.

Your fingers started typing again.

y/n: I just want to know how you're doing

Send.

It was a half truth. Your curiosity was killing you, yes, but what you really wanted was for him to admit what a mistake this all wa and tell you he was moving back to town.

Call it wishful thinking. Or desperation, whatever.

You couldn't even spend too long overthinking that message, because another notification sound came not even a minute later.

DO NOT CONTACT: I'm in town

Huh?

What the fuck were you supposed to do with that information?

Did that mean he wanted to see you? Why would he have told you if that wasn't the case?

…And would he never have said anything if you hadn't texted?

That felt like another betrayal to add to the pile.

You wanted to be angry at him, you really fucking did, but when he suggested you meet for coffee, you didn't say no.

You should have said no.

Because nothing could have prepared for the years of torture that would start with coffee.

Of course, there was no way you could have known then.

Hence why you walked into the same coffee shop the two of you had been to so many times, wearing a pretty outfit Satoru used to love when you were together. The same one he had ripped off your body far too many times as his mouth trailed hungry kisses all along your body.

Beautiful memories, now turned sour.

You walked in there like it hadn't been intentional, while still hoping some unconscious part of him would pick up on it.

And Satoru still looked the same.

Somehow, that was even worse.

"Hey" he said, voice small like it had been that day. This wasn't how he was supposed to sound. Satoru was meant to be chirpy and smug and he should have you throwing your head back with laughter already.

You hated this solemn version of him you got since that night. It was like it was an impostor. Someone wrong wearing the love of your life's skin.

"Hi, Satoru" you swallowed, taking the seat in front of him, barely able to look at his face.

"I got you your favourite" he tried to smile, motioning to the warm mug steaming in front of you. "How are you doing? Are you–"

"Why didn't you tell me you were in town?" you interrupted, finally lifting your gaze.

His adams apple bobbed up and down with a thick swallow, clearly not expecting you to be this confrontational from the get go. You hadn't planned it either – but it just came out seeing him like this after so long, knowing he wouldn't have bothered to say anything had you not messaged first.

You probably looked as hurt as you felt, because Satoru could barely bare to look in your face too.

"You know why" he sighed, hanging his head low.

You hated that he was right.

You averted your gaze again, playing with the hem of your shirt as you tried to control your breathing. In and out. In and out. In and–

"Then why are we even here?" you hissed, feeling the shame deep in your core. You were too aware of the other faces in the café, strangers who had no business seeing you get your heart trampled over again.

"Why did you message me?" he challenged.

You scoffed, rubbing your palm under your eye to keep the tears from falling and ruining your pretty make up. The make up you had put on just for him. "You know why" you spat back.

He genuinely didn't seem to know what to say at that.

"Maybe we shouldn't–" you started to say, but your body was already pushing up, yearning to leave this damn crowded café as fast as you fucking could.

The music was too loud. The voices were too loud. Your thoughts were too loud.

"Don't do that" Satoru called after you, following behind. "Please don't cry" he pleaded, but you only kept your eyes forwards, refusing to acknowledge his existence.

Yeah. This had been a mistake.

As soon as the cold air of the outside world hit your skin again, something warm touched your hand. It was a sensation you easily recognised, or, you should say, used to be recognisable.

Your eyes casted downwards to where Satoru had his palm around your one, holding your hand like you had a billion times. You blinked slowly, coming back to reality, finally dragging your eyes up through his forearm, the curve of his bicep, and finally reaching his handsome face.

Destraught was the only word for how he looked.

"Don't cry" he begged you, holding your palm tighter. "Just please don't cry"

As if the words themselves were some sort of magic trick, you only cried harder.

And Satoru didn't even hesitate – pulling you right into his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt as he rubbed up and down your back, hiding his face in your hair.

Seeing him that day made everything exponentially worse.

It was never meant to be like that.

But Satoru didn't let you go – he held on to you while you cried in the middle of the busy street, his own tears streaking down your hair as he just held you. And waited.

Just waited.

Time had stopped for the two of you at that moment – some kindness from above, as you got to inhale the scent of your past lover again. Cinnamon and vanilla. Sweet and warm.

You weren't sure how long you were held in Satoru's embrace like that, but as soon as the rain was gone and so were your tears, he called you a taxi. And with nothing but an evil kiss to your cheek, he let you go.

You really thought this would be it.

All this time had passed and maybe it was better Satoru had never picked up the phone after all. Maybe it had saved you a whole lot of struggle back when this was all still too fresh.

At least now he knew how much he hurt you, you tried to reassure yourself, as if that could make any of this better. Just some odd sense of pride and vengefulness you were embarrassed to admit.

It was finally over.

So imagine your surprise when your phone pinged again.

DO NOT CONTACT: i leave tomorrow but can i see you again?

You typed yes. The idiot you were.

Satoru came over to your house this time, deciding you didn't want to put all that effort into risking another public meltdown. If you were going to talk, let it be somewhere you could actually talk.

The doorbell rang and you rushed to open the door, revealing his tall frame just standing there.

Hands in his pockets. Jaw locked. Looking too tense for how carefree you knew him to be.

"Thank you for saying yes" he muttered, shuffling from side to side a little like he wasn't sure what should come after that.

And you weren't either.

Should you invite him in? Offer a handshake – a hug?

You couldn't really think of anything else you simultaneously wanted and didn't want so bad.

You settled for a nod though, and a small step back to allow him passage. A gesture that only further accentuated the growing distance between the two of you.

Remember when you used to jump on his arms before the door was even fully open?

"It's ok" you muttered, shutting the door and that memory tight behind you. "Do you want some water?"

"Yeah, sure" he smiled kindly. Or tried to. To you, it looked too much like pity.

You hated pity.

"So how's life back home?" you asked, passing him the cold glass and taking a seat on the chair. Not on the sofa, or you would risk him maybe sitting next to you.

But Satoru was still just standing.

"It sucks" he admitted wih a scoff. His nose scrunched a little as he looked away, tentative blue eyes finding yours to try and catch your reaction, despite looking so utterly scared of what you might say.

You could have called him an idiot and told him to come back already. But you didn't.

There was no point.

"Getting ready to take over the company?" you asked, thinking back on the many conversations where that seemed like just a faraway possibility. One he hated then, and seemed to be living up to all expectations now.

"Yeah" he sighed, finally pulling a chair and dragging it in front of yours, lowering himself in front of you with those too long limbs clearly sitting uncomfortably. "It's even more boring than I imagined"

"Poor you" you taunted a little, and it made his head tilt sideways into a little smile.

"Thank you" he agreed solemnly, one hand to his chest in mock sentimentality.

The two of you exchanged a brief laugh, more of a sharp exhale than anything else, but for a moment there, the world had shifted in its axis back to where it was supposed to be.

Just for a moment.

"I'm glad to see you're doing well" Satoru murmured, looking down at his shoes instead of you while he said it.

Did looking in your eyes pain him as much as it did you?

"What makes you think I'm doing well?" you scoffed. No point in sugar coating it, was there?

"I just meant–" he started to say, cutting himself off with a gulp. "I'm sorry, shouldn't have said that"

"It's ok" you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. "It's just been a lot"

"I'm sorry I left" he said. And when your gaze shifted upwards, you were surprised to see those bright blue eyes were looking at you now.

"How many times are you going to say that?" you spat back, with no real bite.

Satoru gulped, thumbs dragging up and down the glass of water just to have something to do. "Until I can forgive myself, I guess" he admittted.

Something in your chest twisted – was it pain? Nostalgia?

Anger?

"You could have just not done it" you shrugged, voice coming out more accusatorily than you meant. "Or just come back"

You felt pathetic just saying it.

But if he'd be gone the next day – why not?

You'd probably never see each other again anyway.

"You know I can't do that" Satoru replied through a tight jaw. "I have work, my family–"

"You hate your family" you argued.

"They're still my family" he sighed.

You hated his goddamn sense of responsability so much, but most of all, you hated that he didn't choose you.

Where was his responsability towards your relationship?

"If you always knew you were leaving" you started, gritting your teeth. "Why did you get involved with me in the first place?"

Satoru's eyes looked so pained it physically hurt.

"Because I loved you" he answered. "From the moment I first saw you"

You stood up abruptly at that, needing to extend the distance between the two of you as fast as you could. "Loved. Right" you hissed, echoing the words that stung so much to hear.

"You know that's not–" Satoru stood up too, searching for you with a raised palm but stopping the motion mid air when you turned with that stern, betrayed look on your face. "I still love you. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

…Was it?

You closed your arms tight around your middle, holding on to yourself because someone fucking had to. "No" you spat. "You have no right to say that, not when you knew how it would end"

Your words were coming out more and more strained, pitch rising higher with the effort of holding back your tears.

Satoru didn't know what to say. Just stood there, uneasy, hands balling into tight fists.

"You're so fucking selfish" you hissed when the first watery streaks started running down your cheeks, voice shaking with anger and venom. Who cares if your words were harsh – wasn't that the truth?

Didn't he choose to play with your heart knowing he would leave?

Satoru inhaled deeply, taking your anger like he agreed he deserved it.And when his voice came again, it was so small you could barely hear it above the sound of your raising heartbeat.

"Do you wish we never happened?" he asked, too quiet for how sharply you had just accused him. The words sore, wounded.

You felt yourself gasp, all the breath getting stuck somewhere in your throat as you turned to him.

No. Of course you fucking didn't.

That year with him was still the best year of your life.

You shook your head from side to side, unable to voice those words. Just a pitiful motion, left to right, right to left, feeling the tears fall harsher, drip down to where your arms were still holding on to your middle tight.

He seemed a little relieved, at the very least.

"Me too" Satoru swallowed, and you noticed there was a shine to his beautiful blue eyes. "I'd never regret us" he rasped out.

It was too much.

Like he knew you were just about on the edge, Satoru rushed forwards, pulling you straight into his arms, and you gladly fell into him. His chest felt so snug against your head, his hands so comfortable where they were stroking your back.

Why couldn't it be like this forever?

With a pitiful fist, you tried to push him away over and over, but Satoru wouldn't let you.

"I can't do this" you cried out, each word punctuated by your hands slamming against his chest weakily, unsure of what you were even trying to do.

"I know" he muttered, voice tight in his throat.

"I hate you" you lied.

"I hate me too" he confessed.

"You can't just–" you sobbed, your hands now fisting his shirt instead. "How dare you–"

"You said it yourself" he let out a bitter laugh, pulling you closer. "I'm really fucking selfish"

You pushed back just enough to look at him, lower lip bobbing pitifully though your face was twisted in anger and hopelessness.

"You are" you hissed. "Really. Fucking. Selfi–"

Your words were interrupted by a pair of lips you had only dreamt of tasting again.

Satoru closed the distance so fast you barely had time to prepare for what was happening, but like your body instictively just knew what to do, you opened your mouth for him. Accepting him, inviting him, even if your brain kept telling you this was a bad idea, your body couldn't lie to Satoru Gojo.

"Selfish. I know" he completed for you, voice vibrating against your lips, but your hands only tangled in his hair, pulling him further in.

Maybe you were selfish too.

Was one last night together worth a lifetime of regret?

"Toru" you mumbled, and his hands tightened around your waist. Hearing the nickname fall from your lips like it used to was clearly overwhelming.

"Yeah?" he asked, bringing a hand to your hair to tilt your head further towards him, and you just let it.

Your chests rose up and down in time with each other where they were connected, the rhythm of your rapid breathing serving to deepen this wet kiss, that was only made wetter by the tears that fell from both your eyes.

"I hate you" you lied again, though your hands kept starting to unbutton his fancy white shirt.

"I love you" he replied, helping you pull the fabric away with haste so he didn't waste any more time in touching your skin again.

His hands were splayed on your waist, thumbs tracing little patterns just under the hem of your shirt as you enjoyed how hot his bare skin felt under your palms.

Satoru was still so beautiful.

Why did he have to still be so beautiful?

You brought your hands down to pull your shirt over your head, and Satoru wasted no time pulling you in closer. He fell to his knees, face eye level with your freshly naked skin, as his mouth started kissing your stomach, hands kneading your breasts like any second not touching you was as good as a death sentence.

You moaned, closing your arms around his head to further pull him in, enjoying how he kissed and sucked and bit into your skin, marking you for the last time.

"Toru" you cried again, lowering your head until your forehead rested on top of his.

And then you just cried harder.

It was a full, body shaking weeping, holding on to his white head tight as you cradled him in your arms.

And Satoru noticed, of course. Stopping his lustful exploration of you to just lock his arms around your back, face buried in your chest as he let his own tears flow with yours.

"I'm so sorry…" he muttered again, breath hot against your bare skin, his tears streaking down your body.

You didn't know if you wanted to slap him or kiss him harder.

Maybe both.

You lowered yourself down as he begrudingly let you, lowering his hands to your lower back as you used his shoulders to stabilise yourself.

It was a shock to see him like this – blue eyes all red, lower lip pushed forward and face wet and puffy. You cupped his handsome cheeks with both your hands, letting out a desperate chuckle at the pathetic position you had put yourselves in.

"Shut up" you muttered, an atttempt at a smile forming in your lips. You brought his face closer to yours, letting your lips touch as you inhaled one another.

This kiss wasn't as desperate or messy this time.

It was warm, lingering, lighting every nerve inside you on fire and making your chest ache for him.

Soon your lips parted fully, tongues meeting in a slow, sensual dance as Satoru began to shift his weight onto you, pushing your body down. You wrapped your hands around his neck, laying down on the floor, both legs tight around his waist.

Satoru hummed into the kiss, kneading the flesh of your tights with both hands, making it so you were squeezing him as hard as you could.

He needed you as close as humanly possible. Hips rolling over and over, while his hands started removing the rest of your clothes.

How could something so obviously wrong feel so right?

You knew this was just another way for your heart to break.

Another memory to cling on to.

A mistake.

But you couldn't stop.

You wanted him, needed him, was willing to throw all sanity out the window just to feel him inside of you one last time.

At least this time you would know it was the last – and could prepare yourself accordingly. Savour it, take in every moment.

But it wasn't the last time.

It wasn't even the second to last.

Three years went by, and you two would always find a way to meet again. You wouldn't speak for months, until one day you would peek at your phone screen, and there it was.

Gojo: I'm in town next week. can I see you?

You always said yes.

You knew you shouldn't.

But you couldn't help it – he was addicting, a drug you couldn't nor wanted to get sober from.

You'd meet in your apartment, always the same place.

Have a little catch up while you both pretended it didn't hurt to hear how life was getting on without each other. He would tell you enough, and you would do just the same, never getting into your failed attempts at moving on, and he never went into the subject of other women either.

But Satoru had left to settle down, hadn't he? Was there another woman waiting for him back home? Did she love him as much as you did, completely oblivious to the tormenting string that connected the two of you? Were you his international mistress?

You didn't want to know. You just wanted him–

And soon enough, your hands would find his, his mouth would find yours, and this vicious cycle would come to a conclusion.

Until a few months later.

Until he was travelling again.

Heated caresses, empty promises and bitter kisses.

When did Satoru start feeling more like a ghost haunting you than the sweet man you so desperately craved?

"Taking me so well" Satoru panted, body caging you in as you so wilfully kept your legs open for him, nails scratching his back like you wanted to leave your mark. "Just like that, pretty, fuck–" he was huffing all beautifully, lewd moans that always had you wondering if this would finally be the last time you heard them.

"Toru" you cried his nickname like you always did, back arching off the bed, inviting him to wrap his arms around you like he always did.

"I love when you say my name like that" he moaned, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you"

He always said it, but you had stopped saying it back years ago.

Not because you didn't mean it – maybe now you meant it more than ever. But because you couldn't allow your mind to go there and give yourself hope.

This wasn't really love.

It was a curse.

The most twisted curse of all – isn't that what he always said?

"I'm gonna–" you tried to say, and Satoru moved his hand to your clit, already knowing what to do. Year after year, he still knew how to operate your body so well. Knew exactly what you liked, how you liked it.

And sure enough, you felt yourself clench around him, body spasming as the start of your orgasm started to wash over you, bringing you to a dimension of pure bliss and euphoria for just a few seconds.

"That's it" he praised, kissing your face, chasing his high. "Look so beautiful, baby"

Did he mean it?

You couldn't help but wonder if there was someone else that got to hear these words when you two were not in the same country.

And as Satoru climaxed inside the rubber tight around his dick, you couldn't help imagining there was someone else he was stuffing full of Gojo heirs.

Was this resentment you felt?

That was one word for it, you guessed.

But despite all your ugly thoughts, Satoru never really acted that different. He kissed your face all over, held you tight, shushed you lovingly against his chest while your tired body spasmed. He was the perfect gentleman like always, the perfect boyfriend.

Just not your boyfriend.

"You did so well for me" he said with a kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face. "Was that all ok?"

You hated how much he sounded like he cared. He did care, right?

But every sweet word felt like a knife, and before you knew it, tears were spilling from your eyes as you curled into him.

"Hey–" he called immediately, startled. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head from side to side, because he hadn't. He treated you so well it was almost even worse.

"I can't" you cried, pulling him closer. "I can't keep doing this" you hiccuped.

Satoru sighed, burying his face on the crook of your neck. "I know, baby" he whispered. "I know" he repeated like he meant it.

You melted into him, embraced by the man you had loved for so long it evolved into whatever this was. It didn't feel light anymore – it was dark, and sticky, like an uncomfortable void you were unable to move away from.

But what was even the solution?

You didn't want to leave your whole life for him, and he didn't want you to come either.

Were you destined to just keep doing this forever?

"Please move back here" you hiccuped, cursing at yourself for how selfish you sounded.

Everything would be so much easier then.

"I–" Satoru opened his mouth, ready to tell you no again. But he only sighed, nuzzling into your hair. "I'll see what I can do" he promised.

And you cried yourself to sleep in his arms, because you didn't believe him.

You woke up that morning with a bad feeling pooling in your chest.

You could have described it as hollow, but it didn't feel deep enough to describe it.

It wasn't so much of a cavin in, but more of an infinite void right in your middle. Like you were a floating head just existing, detatched from the rest of your body, trying to regain balance despite being so structureless.

You could say your body knew before your mind did.

Maybe you had been here enough times that you didn't think it would surprise you again.

You hoped you would have awoken feeling some sort of relief at the words exchanged the night before, the tears both of you had shed about this failed relationship you two seemed unable to let go of.

But you didn't.

Because there was no dip next to you on the bed, no strong arms pulling you into his warm chest.

Satoru was gone.

And you knew what that meant well enough.

You slowly pushed yourself to sitting, already feeling the pressure in your throat, feelings you were already trying to swallow down.

Your hand reached for the phone, eyes briefly scanning through the only text before you let out a long, tired exhale.

Satoru: I'm sorry

And then you were alone again.

based on a true story sobs

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You squint at your phone screen. A mix of alcohol and the late hour convinces your curiosity into clicking the email. 

You vaguely remember browsing EVER’s website a few weeks ago out of curiosity. Their companion bots are supposed to be the very best, cutting edge tech, designed to be anything you want—a friend, family, lover, anything at all. 

At first, you thought the idea of buying an android was a complete waste of money. You've seen them around the city, either doing errands on their own or walking hand-in-hand with their human partners. When they smile politely at you with their lightless eyes, it sends nothing but chills down your spine.

While checking out their website, you scrolled through the ‘build-a-bot’ section to ridicule the stupid features people pay extra to install. 

Seriously, who pays a hundred extra dollars for a bigger dick installation and extra stamina?

It was an amusing browse that lasted for an hour, and you thought that's all it would be—an hour of entertainment you wouldn't think about ever again. 

But now you're staring into the violet eyes of the most handsome man android you've ever seen, with eyes somehow reflecting so much life and charm, drawing you in the longer you gaze. He looks less like the typical androids you normally see and that has you intrigued. 

Meet Caleb (model no. X-02), EVER’s latest android companion, tailor made to be your perfect partner! He's the boy next door, an attentive lover, the adrenaline junkie that will take you on the ride of your life. 

You scan through his bio that lists characteristics, even habits that seem to bring him to life. He loves building model airplanes, hates cilantro, dreams of becoming a pilot, etc. 

It reads less like a sales pitch and more like a dating profile. And somehow, he's checking off all your boxes. He really does seem tailor made for you. It's almost creepy. 

This Caleb companion is not fit for additional installations or modifications. 

So, you can't pay for extra stamina and a twelve inch dick? What a shame. You could really use that right now. 

It doesn't help that there’s a shirtless photo of Caleb in bed with his thumb hooking around the band of his sweat pants, gazing up at the camera with a seductive smirk. 

The ache between your legs returns annoyingly and you groan, scrolling away before you find your hands down your pants for another useless session.

Price mark down! 80% off! Get him today for the low, low price of $4,999.99!

You whistle, “that's pretty cheap.” 

Considering the average, high quality android these days costs $30k and up, you're looking at a bargain—or at least, that's what your tipsy and horny addled mind tells you. But there's no way an android from EVER, a top selling android competitor, is selling a new model this low. There has to be a catch.

You try reading the finer details, but the tiny words just blend together. Somehow the only details you manage to catch are ‘passionate lover', ‘extra stamina pack included’, and ‘six vibrating arm modes’. You're extra intrigued by that last detail. 

The add to cart button is clicked without a second thought. Purchasing is a simple, familiar process. Inputting your name, card information, address is muscle memory at this point. 

You only realize what you just did when the EVER logo pops up on your screen with a purchase confirmation number. 

Buyers remorse kicks in as you stare at the screen. This is probably one of the most embarrassing purchases you've ever made, solely driven by the fact that you're unbearably sexually frustrated and horny for some super hot, discount android.

Before you can figure out how to cancel your order, you notice an audio message attached to the thank you message. 

“Thanks for choosin’ me. I can't wait to meet you.” A voice, presumably Caleb’s, says. Even his voice is hot. There's a sweet charm to it, playful and alluring all at once. “Fill out the questionnaire below to help me learn how I can please you.” 

The questions range from basic tasks you'd like help with to how frequent you want him to initiate sex. You answer with complete honesty, thanks to the wine. 

By the time you finish the seemingly endless and thorough questionnaire, your eyes are drooping until you eventually nod off, dreaming of violet eyes and that low voice whispering filthy things in your ears.

—

It takes Caleb two weeks to arrive at your door. 

The delivery man asks for your signature, carts a six foot crate into your living room, and leaves without much fanfare. Though, you suppose these days, delivering androids isn't an uncommon occurrence. 

You stare at the intimidating crate. It still hasn't registered that there's an android in your living room. In the two weeks leading up to this moment, you tried pushing it to the back of your mind. It is already embarrassing enough to admit that you bought one out of desperation, but to have it be a reality… you don't know what to expect once you crack open the box. 

It takes thirty minutes for you to breathe through your anxieties and start cutting open all the zip ties and tape wrapped around the box. You're greeted by a thick user manual and wall of styrofoam casing when you peel open the top. 

You take the manual, a full body scan of Caleb is on it, and flip it open.

EVER Co. thanks you for your purchase! We hope you enjoy your new Caleb companion. Please refer to this user guide to help you get started. 

You skim through the instructions, tapping your fingers against the pages as you worry your lower lip between your teeth. 

To switch on your companion, hold down the POWER button located on your companion’s sternum for 3 seconds. Your companion will lead you through the next steps after powered on.

There's a diagram next to the text, illustrating where Caleb’s power button is. You pull off the styrofoam mold, tossing it to the corner of your living room, and beneath is Caleb’s sleeping—tecnically powered off—form. 

It hits you all at once that he's real and… so human-like.

Your fingers graze over his cheek. He's neither cold nor warm to the touch, but he's not pallid. There's a glow to his skin, kissed by sun. When you press a finger into his cheek, the flesh gives way like any would. You half expected him to be solid, cold metal beneath your hands. 

He’s bundled up in a jacket with blue and orange accents and black sweater beneath. You tug down his collar, spying a silver chain around his neck that leads down to some dog tags with his name and model number engraved on it. You feel against his solid chest for the button. It's a small indent in the middle of his sternum, nearly indiscernible to the eye, but you feel it beneath your finger and push down. 

The seconds pass and you hear a low hum like fans buzzing to life beneath his skin. When you lift off the button it takes only a second for his eyes to snap open, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

You dare yourself to inch closer, searching for signs of cognition. He doesn't stir. You're almost afraid you've already broken him somehow. You wave your hand over his face, wondering if you have to give him something to focus on. 

Once, twice—you move your hand, and after the third pass his eyes are suddenly on yours. You squeal, falling back on your behind before scrambling off the floor, straightening out your clothes. 

What a great first impression… 

He keeps his eyes on you as if he's assessing you, picking you apart piece by piece to figure out what makes you tick, before blinking and wiping it all away with a dazzling smile.

“This is insane,” you mutter to yourself. 

His smile is just like the pictures, but somehow in person it makes him ten times more attractive. “Nice to meet ya, pipsqueak.”

You wrinkle your nose. Pipsqueak? You're not sure that was one of the nicknames you chose on the questionnaire. “Um, hello?” 

He lifts himself out of the box with quick and fluid movements, glancing around his new home with a discerning eye. There's a satisfied hum before he turns to you, dragging his eyes up and down your form. 

“Come ‘ere.” 

You hardly register what he means before he crowds you, cradling your jaw, and kisses you. His lips are rough against yours, moving languidly with his tongue parting your lips. Without much thought you melt into him. 

It's been so long since you've had this sort of physical connection. Not since your ex and that was nearly a year ago at this point. It’s comforting to fall into someone else's arms, safe and warm. 

Heat pools in your core as his hands smooth over your waist, but your mind drifts. It's all so sudden and so much. 

“Wait!” You push against his chest and stumble back into the wall. But instead of meeting the solid wall, his steady hands cradle you before impact. He's almost chest to chest with you again, staring down at you with concern. 

“Hey, be careful. You alright?” 

“Yeah, I'm fine.” As you peel yourself from his arms, his hands tighten around your waist before relaxing and letting you free. You lean against the wall to catch your breath. “What the hell was that?”

His brows furrow. “You marked ‘initiate sex every day, twice a day’ on your questionnaire,” he states as if reciting it. “Is now not a good time?” 

Damn you for doing that questionnaire while horny. 

“Not really—I mean, we just met. Maybe…” You trail off. You're still unsure about all of this, whether or not you actually want to commit to having sex with him. He just feels so alive, real, and yet willing to do anything for you without a second thought. Does he feel strange about this whole situation like you? Does he even feel at all? You really don't have the mental capacity right now to debate the ethics of having sex with androids. Not when one is right in front of you and throwing himself at you. “We start slow, um, like holding hands and stuff.”

“Holding hands,” he repeats slowly, raising a brow. If you didn't know any better you'd say he’s mocking you. “Are we five?”

You cross your arms, using it as a protective shield against the goosebumps rising on your arms. There's a growing smirk on his lips as he stares at your pout. “Hey! I'm sorry if you expected me to just jump your bones the minute you woke up, but this is really weird for me, alright?” 

You barely know him! Sure, you read the basics of his bio, but that doesn't make you comfortable with fucking him immediately even if he was designed to be.

He sighs, “I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“We can work our way up to that,” you say, adding on a ‘but’ when you see his smirk returning, “but for now let’s just pretend we’re roommates-er, friends.”

“Friends, for now. I can do that.”

Living with an android is somewhat normal. He cooks you meals, makes sure you have all three meals, helps you do laundry, and is there when you come home from work to talk to. He's funny, teasing you occasionally. Indulges you whenever you get pouty. Not to mention incredibly touchy. 

His hands are somehow always on or near you. If you're reaching for a plate, he's right behind you, grabbing it before you can get up on your tip-toes. You swear he purposefully moved them higher on the shelf so he could do that. When the two of you are on the couch while you're ranting about a particularly annoying work meeting, his arm is slung around yours, rubbing your shoulder soothingly. 

It doesn't help that you still haven't been able to come. You're still in bed every night with a hand down your pants and the other over your mouth to silence your whimpers. The solution is simple—ask Caleb to help, but you're nervous and hesitant. If you even think about tiptoeing out of your room to find him at his charging station in the living room, you tense up and pull the covers over your head. 

As much as you hate to admit, he's not just the android you bought while drunk and horny in the middle of the night anymore. He's Caleb. The one who creates a gnawing ache in your chest whenever you see him, whenever he comes near you, whenever he wishes you a good day. All the symptoms of a greater feeling. 

You know that he’s an android, advertised as being designed to obey your every command, but it feels like a violation of his autonomy to ask when you know he can't say no. So, you settle for being friendly roommates with Caleb, and leave yourself with your hands and a few toys to (not) do the job, and silent feelings you can't voice. 

It's been fine so far, but you wonder every night when the tipping point will finally come. 

“I’m back! Work was a bitch, but I picked up some snacks for movie night!” You call out when you step through the door, holding up your stuffed bag. You toe off your shoes at the door and place them on the shoe rack. “Did you choose a- oh!” 

Caleb is sitting on the couch, fiddling with his arm. Instead of skin, it is the mechanical, dark chrome endoskeleton layer exposed from his shoulder and down. He has an array of tools spread on the coffee table. You recognize them from the maintenance kit that came in his box. A panel on his forearm is open with colorful wires running through like veins. 

You turn your head away, ignoring how the exposed metal highlights the curve of his thick biceps and the way your body responds with a rush of heat pooling in your core. You clear your throat and try not to obviously squeeze your thighs together. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?” 

“Nope, I was just finishin’ up.” You hear the click of his panel shutting and the shuffling of tools. “Why’re you lookin’ away?”

“I don't know. It seems impolite to stare while you're…uncovered?” It's a pathetic excuse when the truth is you're just hot and bothered. 

He chuckles, “It’s not like I’m naked. And even if I were, you can stare all you want. I don't mind.” 

You fling the bag of snacks at him, which he catches by the handles easily, and cover your face. Images of him shirtless in his sweatpants, the obvious bulge pressing against the fabric, flash in your mind. He's walked around the house in that outfit before, sending you little glances and smirks. It fuels your imagination at night while you attempt to get off. 

“You're the worst,” you groan, stomping to fling yourself onto the couch. 

“But, you keep me around,” he retorts teasingly. 

“Only because you cook me dinner and do my laundry,” you grumble, snatching the bag of snacks from him and riffling through its contents to distract yourself from thoughts of him naked.

“Is that all I'm good for?” 

You laugh softly, “no, of course not. I like you very much, Caleb.” 

You settle for a bag of sour gummy worms and pull them from the bag. As you tear it open, you feel his stare on you again.

You squirm under his penetrating gaze, glancing at him. “What?”

“Nothin’. Just thinkin’,” he hums, reclining back into the cushions. You get a sense he's lying. “You've already seen me naked.”

You sputter, nearly jumping off the couch. “W-What! No!”

“Didn't you look at my profile on the website?” 

“I did, but I didn't see that!” You gesture wildly to his lower half. 

“Oh, you wanted me so bad, you didn't even look thoroughly.”

“I was tipsy and-” You shut yourself up before you can expose too much and huff, “ugh, you were way cuter on my screen when you couldn't talk.” 

He ignores your statement, leaning closer to you. “Tipsy and what?” 

Your face grows warmer when traces of a smirk appear on his face. “Tipsy and nothing. F-Forget it!” 

You attempt to push him away, but he catches your arm. His thumb smoothes over the pulse point on your wrist in slow strokes. No doubt sensing the way your heart is racing beneath with his heart monitoring function. Any irritation you had falls away as he edges closer.   

Cold metal meets your skin when Caleb’s hand reaches up to cup your cheek, making you flinch. Your eyes trace up his forearm and bicep. It's odd to see the mechanical parts of him when the face in front of you is so alive. 

Caleb seems to take your quiet as rejection. “Are you scared of me like this?”

“No,” you answer immediately. “Should I be?”

“You don't know me,” he says, sharp and accusatory. “My code’s been rewritten so many times. Sometimes even I don't know who I’m supposed to be anymore.”

“Caleb…” Your mouth is dry, but your heart aches to comfort him. 

“And sometimes I think I really like you,” he admits. “But is it me or is it just programming?”  

Your heart seizes up at the sudden confession, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. To think… could he actually have feelings for you too? 

He guides you closer, never taking his eyes off your lips. A drawn expression on his face. “And sometimes I think I want to kiss you—I really do.”

“Why don't you?” you whisper. 

“You haven't asked me to yet.”

“And I won't.” You rest a hand over the one on your cheek, feeling the ridges and grooves around the plates of his fingers. “Take what you want, Caleb.” 

You wonder if he can feel your hand against his. If there's some type of sensor, feeding back the warm touch of your palm over his, or if it's nothing at all.

“Take what I want…” he repeats in a whisper. 

You think if he were human, his breathing would be uneven, stuck in his chest. His hand slides down to cup your neck, tugging you forward until your lips collide in a desperate, needy kiss. 

He's warm on your lips. It's different from the first time he kissed you. Before, he was confident, and knew exactly how to get your knees weak. Now, he's moving, unsure of himself, unsure of whether or not it’s okay. 

You reinforce him by parting your lips, letting your tongues dance around each other. He leans forward, clutching you in his arms to lay you against the couch, but jerks back violently, dropping you instead. 

He grabs his head, groaning, eyes screwed shut with his face contorted. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Preventative measures EVER installed in all their androids,” he grounds out. “It usually stops us from doing anything dangerous or disobeying orders.” 

It's your turn to cup his cheeks, raising his face to look at you. You never thought this would happen, but you're so glad it did. 

“If this is what you want, I want it too. I want you to kiss me, and… I-I want more than that.” 

A half grin forms from his grimace as he chuckles. He sweeps you into another kiss, whispering thank yous between each breath. 

Your heart swells, knowing that he feels something for you. He may not be able to decipher it fully, but you'll take this, whatever he wants to give. 

He holds you in his arms. Your lips fall into a slow rhythm together, neither one of you willing to separate from the other first. 

“I found those toys under your bed while I was cleaning and tossed them out,” he admits between kisses. 

Your head snaps back as you push on his shoulders. “What? Why!”

Those were expensive!

“I was…” he thinks for a moment before the word comes out hesitantly, like he doesn't know if it's true, “jealous.”

“But you didn't need to throw them away,” you pout. As you attempt to pull away, thinking you could dig them out of the trash if they’re still there, he grips your waist.

“I want to show you why you don't need them anymore. You only need me,” he growls, grabbing your thighs to wrap around his waist and hoisting you up effortlessly. Your arms wrap around his neck as he carries you to your bedroom and lays you against the pillows. “Let me prove it.” 

Though his eyes don't leave yours, burning with a raw hunger, you're still nervous. You don't think anyone has ever looked at you this way before and it makes you squirm. 

“Are you really sure?” 

“I am.” He climbs on top, caging you between his arms. His dog tags dangle between you. “Are you?”

You nod, toying with his necklace. “Think I've been ready for this since you woke up in my living room.”

“Then let me make up for lost time.” he starts at your neck, sucking at your pulse point until he leaves his mark before moving down to your collar.

He's probably programmed with thousands of different techniques and ways to pleasure someone, you think. Plus, you recall inputting all of your favorite kinks and positions in the questionnaire. He already knows every intimate detail about you. Now he just has to learn every inch of your body. 

Caleb unbuttons your top, revealing your chest inch by inch and helping it off your shoulders, until your bra is in full view. 

You’re a bit embarrassed that they're not more lacy or risque, but he doesn't seem to mind as his metal arm traces down the seam into the valley of your breasts. You shiver at his cool touch, arching into his hand. 

“Am I too cold?” He hooks a finger down the middle of your bra, easing it lower to reveal your perfect mounds.

Your breath hitches when he runs his thumb over your nipple. The cold brings it to a quick peak. “N-No, I like it.”  

He tweaks your nipples with both hands, one warm and the other cold. You hum beneath him, sinking into the mattress. He slips behind you to unhook your bra and throws it somewhere in your room. 

You hear a sharp click! and you yelp when his now vibrating hand returns to toy with your nipple. “Wh-What…”

“Wow,” he chuckles. “You really didn't read anything on my profile. Was I that handsome?”

“Ah, shut up,” you whine when he pinches your nipples between his vibrating fingers. 

Six vibrating arm modes. Oh. So this is what it means. Your pussy clenches at the thought of him slipping his fingers into you like that. 

“How ‘bout a demonstration?” He turns off the vibrating and slowly begins to ease off your work pants, taking your panties with it, leaving you bare before him. 

You're stuck beneath his unwavering gaze, vulnerable to his desire. You try closing your legs but he's kneeling between them. 

“Pretty,” he mumbles, tracing a path down your stomach to your slit. He parts your folds, swiping against your slick pussy, gathering it on his metallic fingers. 

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the whine threatening to escape, as his middle finger eases its way into your tight entrance. A soft ‘ah’ slips past you when he makes slow curling gestures against your gummy walls. 

“I want to hear how good I make you feel. Don't hold back.” 

The low, consistent vibrations start up again inside you. It's deep and penetrating, coursing through every fiber of your being, unlike anything you could have done yourself.

“Oh,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Your body sinks into the mattress. 

“That's it,” he groans, working your pussy open, sliding in a second finger when you're wet enough. “Just relax. I'll help you through it.” 

The stretch has you arching off the bed, grinding your hips down on him. Already, you're feeling that familiar peak approaching, but you're still afraid that even now you won't be able to reach it.

When his vibrating thumb settles on your little aching bud, sending sparks running up your spine, you moan, grasping at the sheets. 

He speeds up his pace, eventually switching his mechanical hand with his other hand so he can keep using it on your clit without moving it. The slick sounds of his fingers echo through your room—shlick!, shlick!, shlick!—along with the low humming of his fingers. 

“Mph, I-I think I'm gonna come!”

“Yeah?” Caleb curls his finger against a spot that has you crying his name. He hits it over and over, letting your writhe against the sheets. 

And you finally, finally, get to come. It shatters you, breaking you apart into pieces until you're weightless and limp as your pussy drools on the sheets. 

“I've got you,” he soothes, petting your jaw with his thumb. It's his other hand, softer and warm. You lean into it, catching your breath.

You hear a click! again and the vibrations against your clit intensify with faster and stronger buzzes. It tears you out of that momentary calm and sends you hurling towards another orgasm. 

“Ahh, C-Caleb!” You cry, clinging onto his arm. Your body tenses, curling in on itself as intense waves of pleasure pour through you. Coherent words die on your lips. It's nothing but babbling sobs as tears leak from your eyes. “Hahh—ngh—I-I don't think I can-” 

 “You can. I want to see you come again,” he pants, spreading your legs again when they try to close. “One more for me.” 

It's hard to stop your whimpering to form a complete response, so you nod, eyes rolling back when his thumb returns to your aching, swollen clit. The speed this time is much more intense, already your body is tensing against his fingers.

Your hands scramble for something to cling onto. You catch his necklace, dragging him down to meet your lips as your second orgasm crashes through you. 

He doesn't move his hand, keeping the torturous vibrations against your clit even when you try to squirm away and cry his name against his lips. 

“You said one—ahh!—one more!” You sob, arching off the sheets and gasping for breath. 

“‘S not enough. I need more.” He looks down at your tear filled eyes. “Please?” 

Safe to say, it's not just one more he wants. He takes and takes until you're a complete mess by the end of it. You're not sure how your eyes are still open, but Caleb is still eager and ready to go.

“Ready to see the other features I have?” 

⋆.˚ NOTES — I won't lie sometimes I forget that he has a mech arm since it's not visible (⁠*⁠﹏⁠*⁠;⁠) also, special shout out to Calebs lvl 85 secret times for getting me through this one hehe reblogs, comments, and asks always appreciated! thanks for reading! <3