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avylea16 · 4 days ago

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PUSH N' FRACTURE 2 ! ft. caleb xia + rafayel qi

( wc : 13.7k ) ✰ essence : from paddocks to galas, caleb and rafayel never knew how to play nice. but tonight won’t end with handshakes and headlines. rafayel has a different idea to cool things down—with you between them. after all, sharing is caring, isn’t it?

⋆˙⟡ non evol au, 18+ sexual content (minors dni), dom! caleb + rafayel, smoking, threesome (m!f!m), filming / sex tape kink, slight dubcon, dumbification + corruption, voyeurism, wax play, cunnilingus, facefucking, impact play (spanking/biting/bruising), pet names, degradation + praise, body worship, spit play, choking, double penetration, overstimulation, breeding

─•──── 𖦤 ▸ one | two | three | four

the hilton’s grand ballroom was awash in a golden glow, the chandeliers hanging like constellations over the impeccably dressed crowd—red bull’s electric blue braided seamlessly with mclaren’s papaya orange: it was an evening spun from PR gold—an FIA-organized charity gala meant to plaster smiles over the wreckage of last weekend’s race. cameras swarmed the perimeter, every flash a reminder that every glance, every gesture, was being dissected live by millions.

your gown answers to the occasion: a deep burgundy halter catching lowlight like spilled wine, its fishtail hem coiled neatly at your ankles. black accents carve into the silhouette at your ribs and collarbone, a gold clasp glints at the nape of your neck. crimson nails. dark navy eyeliner. you don’t need the red bull logo stitched anywhere to be unmistakably theirs.

you sit at a joint table sponsored equally by both teams—an unavoidable diplomatic gesture after the high-profile crash that nearly tore the paddock in half. across from you, the mclaren drivers lounge in finely cut suits, every angle camera-ready. rafayel doesn’t speak to you. he hasn’t, not since that race. but when your eyes met, there’s something cold behind the way he looks at you—like he’s in on a secret you haven’t dared to name. he doesn’t blink. doesn’t budge. he holds your gaze long enough to make your dress feel too tight for your body. you hold the gaze for a breath too long. then, quietly, you look away.

caleb is nowhere to be seen.

he couldn’t possibly miss this—not with the cameras circling like sharks and sponsors salivating for damage control. not after what happened. not with all of this arranged to make him look good again. but the seat beside you stays empty. and every second that ticks by, the silence at your side grows louder.

backstage, chaos was spiraling. claire’s voice was low but fierce over the phone, her frustration barely contained, just shy of explosion. “where the hell is caleb? he was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago. this is a disaster—do you hear me? a fucking disaster.” the reply came shaky, almost terrified. “we’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not picking up. his assistant says he’s still at the hotel, but they don’t know—” claire looked like she was about to throw her clipboard at someone. her hands trembled with the effort of keeping her tone professional. “un-fucking-believable. this isn’t just some race weekend screw-up—there are cameras everywhere! the gala starts in ten and sponsors are already breathing down our necks.”

“we need a plan b. how about y/n?” a voice suggested cautiously. claire’s jaw tightened until it looked like she might crack a tooth. “no! she’s not prepared for this, and those MCL fuckers are already lookin' smug as hell.”

the youngest assistant muttered something under their breath—“this is fucking stupid.” claire didn’t even flinch. “say it louder if you want me to hear. we’re cleaning up caleb’s mess tonight, or everything we've worked for will be for nothing.”

she ended the call, drew a shaky breath, and plastered a sharp smile before returning her suit by your side, ready to salvage what she could—though the clock ticked mercilessly.

minutes dragged. then—just as the gala’s keynote speeches began, the stage lighting dimming to a soft wash of gold—the massive hilton doors parted with a hush of effort.

he had the audacity to be late.

and worse: to arrive like that.

the room shifted—conversations faltered, champagne flutes suspended in air, the golden light catching on sequins and stunned expressions as heads turned. he didn’t rush. he didn’t apologize. caleb was dressed in a deep charcoal suit, the open collar, the absence of a tie—not red bull’s formalwear colors, and definitely not something the PR team approved. there were no sponsor pins. no lapel branding. no glittering crest to remind the room who he drove for. he didn’t nod at sponsors, didn’t even spare them a glance at all.

he didn’t look at anyone but you.

when he passed behind rafayel’s chair, his side briefly brushed the back of it. rafayel didn’t react nor did he lift his head. just tipped his glass with a flick of his wrist, smirk playing faintly at the corner of his mouth. so he showed up after all.

caleb doesn’t respond. his fingers brush your shoulder as you shift to make space for him. you hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been gripping the handle of your purse until you let go and see the deep creases in the leather.

he sat beside you, hand resting loosely near yours on the tablecloth. “you look tired,” he murmured, gaze still fixed somewhere far away. “did they bore you that much already?”

“glad you decided to show up,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the sudden rush of emotions crashing through you. caleb’s expression remained unreadable, “wouldn’t miss it.”

rafayel shifted slightly on the other side of the table, fingers tapping an idle rhythm against his wine glass. “fashionably late, as always. nice of you to finally join us, mr. xia,” he drawled, voice smooth and mock-friendly. “we were starting to wonder if you'd be late for your own apology tour. you missed the speeches—but then again, you’re not exactly a crowd-pleaser tonight.”

caleb’s smile was slight. half-assed. “don't look so tense now, rafa,” he drawled, coating the name in mockery. his tone was deliberately soft, the kind that condescended by pretending not to be. “i’m here now. that’s what really matters, right?”

rafayel smiled. the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “of course,” he said brightly, but his grip on the glass in his hand tightened just enough for the knuckles to pale. “wouldn’t want the star of the circus to miss the show.”

the air between the two now feels like an electrical circuit just waiting for a break. you sighed quietly and force your gaze back to the champagne flute in front of you.

this night is far from over.

the night didn’t pause for any of you.

a silent auction was in full swing on the mezzanine, led by an alpine representative with unnervingly white teeth and a voice smooth enough to convince billionaires they were saving the world. paddock-used helmets, signed team memorabilia, exclusive hospitality weekends—your name had already begun to circulate alongside a few bid cards, even though you hadn’t so much as touched a pen.

an auctioneer took the stage as he introduced the first of several lots: a signed helmet from verstappen drew an immediate bid, the paddock pass beside it fetching a surprising sum from an anonymous benefactor. a round of applause followed the announcement of a record-breaking bid—a one-on-one karting session with an F1 driver, the winner getting to choose from a curated lineup. you weren’t surprised when someone offered an obscene sum for rafayel, nor when a red bull sponsor claimed caleb with a smirk and a wink at their marketing team.

an hour slipped by like that: presentations, speeches, toasts delivered in a dozen languages spanning every continent. you found yourself lingering near a side table while an older aston martin sponsor recounted tales of monaco hospitality passes. you nodded at the right moments, smiled when expected, but your focus had already started to shrink. one part of you listened to the story, but the rest was busy plotting your escape, searching for any opening to slip away unnoticed.

finally, when the conversation lulled for a moment, you saw your chance and slipped away from the glittering crowd, gradually fading into a distant murmur as you made your way toward the balcony door. with a gentle push, the heavy glass swung open, and then closed behind you with a muted, final click. you exhaled sharply, shoulders sinking as the night air rushed to greet you, crisp and bracing against your overheated skin.

you leaned your weight against the balcony railing, the cold, rusted iron biting sharply into the skin of your forearms, grounding you in the quiet night. one steadying breath. then another, deeper this time, as the sharp edge of tension began to dull. your heartbeat slowed, but your hands moved before your mind fully registered the motion—the clutch in your hand gave a faint, familiar creak as you carefully unzipped it, fingers gliding over the smooth surfaces of your compact, the finish of your lipstick. and then, tucked deep within the lining like a hidden treasure, your fingers closed around the soft crinkle of a cigarette pack.

you tapped the cigarette gently against the iron railing, the muted clink echoing softly each time it struck the cold metal. one, two, three. then, with a steadying breath, you brought it to your lips. the filter felt cold and foreign against your mouth. you flicked the wheel once, no flame.

you tried again. the flame sputtered—then vanished, swallowed whole by the wind. “goddamn it,” you muttered, your voice tightening, pitched low and fraying at the edges. “jus’ fucking—light.” another flick. harder. louder. the click of the wheel cracked through the night like a slap, but still, no fire.

“stupid piece of shit,” you snapped, the words spilling out hot and helpless before you could catch them. then you stopped yourself, jaw locking, and let out a dry, humorless scoff. you stared down at the lighter in your hand like it had betrayed you personally. your shoulders sagged. of course it wouldn’t work. why would anything tonight go the way you needed it to?

the wind caught your hair and dragged it across your face as if laughing at your failed moment of defiance. you let the lighter fall to the railing with a muted clack, the cigarette still clinging to your lips. no fire. no warmth. no relief. instead, you stared down at the unlit cigarette, lips tight around it, as if the sheer force of your exhaustion might ignite the thing.

behind you, footsteps slowed, then stopped.

“thought i might find you out here,” a voice said. you didn’t answer right away. just let out a quiet sigh, before turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of rafayel approaching. he didn’t speak again. instead, he reached into his coat pocket and wordlessly offered you his lighter—you leaned in toward his hand, your cigarette still waiting between your lips, and with a flick, he lit it for you.

“you didn’t strike me as a lady smoker,” rafayel said, voice low, more curious than judging. the light from the gala spilled onto the balcony in golden ribbons, catching just enough of his profile to make it striking: dark lashes casting shadows under his eyes, a sharp line to his jaw, mouth set in that familiar unreadable tilt.

you took a slow drag, then exhaled, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air between you. “lady smoker?” you echoed, a wry twist tugging at your lips. “what are you, eighty?”

rafayel leaned in, bracing his forearms on the railing beside yours. “so,” he said, “is this where we talk about the elephant in the race suit?”

your eyes stayed fixed on the glittering sprawl below, cigarette burning quietly between your fingers. “if by elephant you mean the guy who almost t-boned you at two hundred out of pure spite, sure. let’s talk about him.”

he gave a low, amused chuckle. “y’know, i’ve been wrecked before. worse tracks. worse weather. once even during a sandstorm in qatar. but never because someone saw me standing next to their girl.” he let that sit for a beat, then added, “and definitely never because she was wearing my colors like a flag.” you turned to him at that, shooting him a sharp glare, but he didn’t flinch. “you wore it just to start something, didn’t you?”

“obviously not—” the words came out too fast, too defensive, and you knew it the second they left your mouth. he cut you off, the corner of his mouth lifting into that crooked, effortless grin. “besides,” he said, voice dipping into something warm and insufferably self-assured, “you looked fantastic in it.”

you rolled your eyes, dragging from your cigarette again, the smoke sliding past your lips. “you’re impossible,” you muttered, eyes narrowed just enough to make your point.

“and yet,” he replied, fingers drumming lightly on the balcony railing, “you’re still here. still out here, with me.” you shrugged, eyes flickering away for just a moment.

“maybe i just needed the cigarette.”

“maybe,” he said, watching you through those half-lowered lashes, “or maybe you needed space from him.” the weight of that landed quieter than his last joke.

“...if you’re here to start something, don’t.”

but rafayel didn’t rise to it. when he spoke, his voice came stripped of its usual swagger, different from the usual sharp wit or careless confidence. “i’m not,” there was an honest weight to it now, quieter, more vulnerable. “i’m here because i don’t get it.”

you turned toward him fully now, arms still folded, “get what?”

“that you’re still with him,” rafayel said quietly, like the words physically hurt coming out. for a moment, neither of you moved. you stared at him, trying to understand what you were hearing, what he was really saying.

“what the fuck are you—”

“no.” he stepped in closer, closing the space just enough to make the air between you feel thinner. his voice stayed low, but the edge in it had sharpened. “you think that crash was about the race?” his eyes searched yours, “he nearly killed us both over a fucking laugh.”

“i didn’t mean for it to get that far—”

“i know you didn’t.” he cut you off. rafayel reached forward, two fingers slid along your jaw, feather-light, just enough to tilt your chin. he slipped the cigarette from your lips into his with ease. he inhaled once, before letting the smoke curl lazily from the corner of his lips, where something that could’ve been a smile tried and failed to settle.

as rafayel’s words slid from his lips, something twisted low in your chest, a strange, bitter churn. how can you just stand there? part of you demanded, furious. how can you let him tear caleb down like this?

caleb wasn’t perfect—hell, no one knew that better than you—but hearing those accusations tossed out so casually, felt like a betrayal. you wanted to speak up, to defend him, to shut rafayel down before his words cut any deeper. but the air between you was thick, and the weight of silence held your voice hostage. but another part of you knows these aren’t just lies thrown to provoke.

maybe he’s right.

“and i have to ask,” he said, eyes flickering down to your lips before snapping back up. his hand lifted and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “how long until he pulls something worse—”

“i’d be careful what you suggest.”

caleb stepped out from the gloom of the corridor like he’d always been there—leaning against the marble, arms crossed. his eyes didn’t glance toward rafayel. instead, they locked onto you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

behind you, rafayel shifted slightly, and you felt the faint pull of a smirk before you even heard his voice. “well, look who finally decided to join us,” he drawled, low and slow, almost amused. “you were lurking so long in the dark, i thought you might’ve gotten shy.” he turned his head slightly, eyes catching caleb through the dim hallway light—“didn’t peg you as an eavesdropper, RB.”

caleb didn’t rise to it. he pushed off the wall with quiet, deliberate movement, stepping into the light just enough that you could see the tired set of his shoulders. his voice came steady, even. “couldn’t find her back inside. figured she’d be here.”

rafayel let out a soft, unhurried laugh. “of course. you only go where she is. should’ve known, blah blah.” he spat the dying cigarette to the floor and put it out with the heel of his shoe, glancing between the two of you. “must be a lot—keeping tabs that close.”

still, caleb didn’t respond. his attention was entirely on you. not suspicious. not possessive. just quiet observation of the way you stood. the way your dress clung slightly from the wind outside. the way his watch still circled your wrist. your dress, the way your arms were folded—his brows knit the faintest degree.

you didn’t look away from him when you spoke. “i wasn’t planning on staying long.”

“i know,” he said quietly.

rafayel arched a brow, then moved with the casual grace he always wore like a second skin. he stepped to your side, not too close, but just close enough to make caleb’s stillness feel heavier. “shame,” he said lightly. “i was just about to suggest getting out of here. somewhere quieter.”

you glanced at him, but caleb beat you to a reply. “convenient.”

“isn’t it?” rafayel replied, all lightness. “you both could come. or is that against policy? do you two have a no-third-party clause?”

now caleb’s eyes finally lifted to him, steady and unimpressed. “whatever this is, i’m not interested in playing along.”

rafayel tilted his head slightly, a hint of mock curiosity in his expression. “who said it’s a game, caleb?”

caleb’s eyes didn’t move. “that’s cute. you think i believe you came over just to talk?”

“no,” rafayel admitted, tone dropping a notch. “but i think it’s honest. and honestly?” he shrugged one shoulder. “do you think that any of this,” he gestured subtly to the doors leading to the glittering ballroom inside, “is for people like us?”

then, without asking, he stepped closer and stopped beside caleb—his elbow hooked lightly over caleb’s shoulder, a gesture so relaxed it bordered on provoking. “the fireworks are done. everyone’s playing polite now,” he murmured, “tell me—do either of you actually want to be here anymore?”

caleb exhaled through his nose, a laugh in miniature. “not for the past hour.”

rafayel’s lips quirked, smug in that casual, unreadable way of his. “didn’t think so.” then his gaze found yours, eyes darker now under the warm chandelier light. “i’ve got a car waiting out back. my place is not far from here. view’s better, music’s ours, and no one trying to pitch a sponsorship deal.”

you blinked. “you’re inviting us?”

he shrugged, lazy in posture but not in intent. “just seems like neither of you are quite finished with the night. and wasting this kind of energy on cheap champagne feels like a crime.” then, leaning in just enough that his voice edged quieter.

“besides… we haven’t had any real fun yet.”

the car ride had been brief but silent. rafayel hadn’t spoken much after giving the driver the address. his penthouse tower rose like a shard of obsidian in the skyline, a private residence cloaked in the kind of discretion only the absurdly wealthy could afford. the foyer alone gleamed with high-polished marble under your heels, the kind that reflected everything back in silver-gold. art pieces were spotlighted in alcoves, each one likely worth more than the entire garage level below. and beyond the entry: floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the corner of the unit, giving a panoramic view of the city glittering below like a bed of stars.

rafayel peeled off his jacket and tossed it carelessly over the edge of a cream leather settee that looked like it had never been sat on. “shoes off,” he said simply, already tugging off his own. “the flooring is hand-laid brazilian rosewood. a few hundred k for the finish. let’s not disrespect it.”

caleb’s eyes scanned the room with slow, impassive interest. he toed off his shoes without comment, but you caught the subtle tension in his jaw—something about being invited into a rival’s sanctum, into his space. still, he didn’t resist.

rafayel returned moments later with three cut crystal tumblers and a bottle of something aged, dark, and definitely not off-the-shelf. “i don’t bring many people here,” he said, handing you a glass. “not that i’m private. i just can’t stand most of 'em.”

you wandered forward slowly, drawn toward the windows. up here, it was like watching the world from olympus. the drink in your hand was a slow-burning comfort. or maybe a distraction. the warmth it offered curled low in your stomach, but it didn’t settle the buzz beneath your skin. behind you, caleb hadn’t moved far. he stood angled toward the glass, shoulder leaning just slightly.

rafayel, meanwhile, lounged like a man with nothing to prove. one arm slung lazily across the back of the couch, fingers idly circling the rim of his glass. his shirt hung open at the collar, just enough to reveal a glimpse of skin, the slow rise and fall of his breath beneath the dim lighting.

“why’d you come?” caleb asked suddenly.

rafayel’s mouth curved faintly. “wanted to see how you’d look,” he said, tilting his head a fraction, “after pulling a stunt that actually cost you, for once.”

“and?” caleb asked. his tone tightened, just barely, like a thread pulled taut beneath a calm surface.

rafayel didn’t reply right away. instead, he rose slowly from the couch, glass still in hand, walking toward the windows where the city shimmered like a held breath. rafayel’s gaze flicked over him, “you’re wearing it well,” he said finally, “still playing god, just limping a ‘lil now, aren’t you?”

he stared at the shape of your reflection in the glass when he said it—like the words weren’t meant to be spoken directly, like looking at you any closer might’ve made them come out differently. and the warmth in your chest twisted. caleb turned slightly, catching the edge of your profile as if the nearness of you had only just registered.

you shifted under the weight of it—of both of them—and sank onto the couch, setting your empty glass on the side table with a little too much force. “do you two always talk like this?” you asked, not quite sarcastic, but close enough to deflect.

rafayel’s lips tugged into a half-smile. “like what?”

“like you’re trying to undress each other.”

that pulled a scoff from caleb, “he wouldn’t know what to do if i did.”

you couldn’t quite pinpoint when the atmosphere shifted. maybe it was the drink. maybe it was the way rafayel began moving closer, slower—or how caleb subtly repositioned himself, standing just behind you.

rafayel stopped near the far edge of the room, one shoulder leaning into the glass, his gaze turned out toward the city, though you could feel the sharp edge of it still angled toward you. “you know,” he said, voice low, thoughtful, “this place was always too quiet. feels different now.”

“you mean with us here?” you asked. rafayel’s eyes flicked to you, then to caleb, and back. a lazy smirk pulled at his mouth. “don’t flatter yourselves. i meant the noise.”

caleb shifted, the whisper of fabric as he leaned forward just slightly. his voice came just beside your ear, “he always talks like this when he wants something.”

rafayel chuckled under his breath, stepping forward. he stopped a few feet away, gaze cutting sharp between you and caleb. “look at you,” rafayel murmured, eyes dragging down the line of your figure before flicking toward caleb, “always hovering behind her like you’re afraid someone might take a bite. what are ya, a guard dog?”

rafayel tilted his head, eyes glittering. “why’d you come here, red bull? if you’re not planning to play nice, you’re standing in the wrong penthouse.”

you weren’t sure who moved first—whether it was rafayel stepping closer or caleb pressing in a fraction more behind you—but suddenly you were caught in the narrow space between them. your breath hitched, and rafayel’s gaze dropped to your lips.

“we don’t have to pretend,” he murmured. “we’ve all been circling this for a while now.”

your heart pounded, loud in your ears. you should’ve stepped back. should’ve said something to cut the tension. but instead, your body stayed rooted—caught in the gravity between the two of them.

“you came here because you knew i wanted her, too.”

that broke something. a flicker of something darker passed through caleb’s face before he stepped forward into rafayel’s space. their chests didn’t touch. only because rafayel didn’t flinch. didn’t budge. he stood like he always did—casual, cocky—but beneath the surface, you saw the tension riding his spine like a live current.

“she’s not a prize—,”

“she’s not,” rafayel echoed, quieter now, but no less intense. his eyes flicked to you and then back to caleb. “but if you’re going to treat her like one, don’t expect me to pretend i wouldn’t kneel, too.”

caleb didn’t flinch. but something in his jaw locked, and the breath he drew came slow through his nose. the tension coiled through his frame like a bowstring drawn too tight, and for a heartbeat, it seemed he might snap.

but rafayel beat him to it. without warning, he shoved caleb hard.

caleb staggered, caught off guard, the sudden contact knocking him back a step—then another. the backs of his knees struck the couch, and he dropped into it hard, hands splaying across the cushions to catch himself.

“then show me,” rafayel said, “show me what all that restraint gets you.”

you stood frozen, watching as caleb stared up at rafayel, eyes narrowed. and then slowly, deliberately, he sank back into the cushions, never looking away.

then rafayel turned to you fully. gone was the easy grin, the arrogance still lingered—yet his smile curved. “well?” he asked, holding out a hand. “you coming, or should we start without you?

beside you, caleb didn’t speak. but when you glanced back—just enough to catch the edge of him—he wasn’t bristling. wasn’t fighting it. his jaw was tight, yes, but it wasn’t defiance that held it tense, but one of restrained agreement.

then rafayel moved again—his hand slipped into the inside of his coat and came back with a small camcorder, like it had been sitting there all night, waiting for its cue. with a practiced flick, he popped the screen open. it whirred softly to life, the faint mechanical buzz almost too quiet to catch over the hum of the city beyond the windows.

“snagged it off some himbo journalist back at the gala,” he said, voice light, almost bored, like this was nothing more than a party trick. “guy wasn’t even watching his gear.”

he gave the camera a lazy shake, lips curling. “it’ll be our little secret.” rafayel’s thumb ghosted over the zoom toggle, though he didn’t press it.

“you don’t have to say yes,” he said, voice low now. quiet enough to be intimate. “but if you do—,” the camcorder lifted, angled just enough to center your face in the frame. then his other hand rose, and his thumb traced the edge of your bottom lip— “you better mean it.”

your hand moved before thought could catch it, fingers curling around rafayel’s. without a word, he sat back onto the couch like he’d been waiting for the invitation all night. his legs parted in silence. the leather beneath him sighed with the shift of his weight, and with an almost lazy flick of his wrist, rafayel tossed the camcorder through the air like it weighed nothing. caleb caught it without so much as a glance, his eyes never leaving you, his expression unchanged.

rafayel’s voice came a beat later, “make yourself useful, red bull. unless you’d rather be in the frame.”

caleb didn’t respond. didn’t so much as twitch. instead, he just looked down at the camcorder, adjusting it in his grip. then slowly, he lifted it. brought it to eye level, and aimed it squarely at you.

rafayel’s hand slid from yours to your waist, and with the ease of someone who already knew the shape of your body without touching it, he guided you forward—up and over—until your knees settled on either side of his hips. your dress hitched higher with the movement, the fabric bunching around your thighs. his hands were still loose at your waist, but his gaze had grown heavy. like he was holding something back not because he wanted to, but because you hadn’t told him he could let go.

beside you, caleb’s silence was the kind that made your breath hitch, made your hands clench faintly in the fabric of rafayel’s shirt. he hadn’t expected you to move first. hadn’t expected the sight of you in someone else’s lap—his rival’s lap—to cut as deep as it did.

“you just gonna sit there all night?” rafayel drawled, his voice smooth, almost lazy. he let the words hang for a beat, then tilted his head just enough to provoke, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “what’s the matter? don’t tell me you’re plannin’ on chickening out.”

“watch your mouth,” caleb said finally, laced with heat that simmered just under the surface. “keep talkin’ like that, i might forget we’re not on track anymore.”

rafayel breathed a low chuckle, unbothered, lips brushing against your temple. “funny. you don’t look like you’re remembering, either.”

caleb drew in a breath, like he needed the oxygen to keep from losing the last tether of reason. and then—he stood and stepped closer.

the couch dipped ever so slightly under the weight of his knee, pressing into the cushion space between rafayel’s legs. caleb’s vacant hand found the curve of your spine next. featherlight. just the pads of his fingers trailing down from the nape of your neck to the small of your back.

his hand flattened against your lower back, keeping you steady against rafayel’s lap—close enough to feel how tightly wound he’d gone beneath you. heat licked up your spine like flame to oil—it was all too much and not enough at once. “careful,” he murmured, gaze still fixed on caleb. “you keep pressing in like that, i might start to wonder if you’re the one trying to straddle me.”

rafayel’s hands found your waist, steadying. he didn’t drag you closer. didn’t push. just looked up at you like he was memorizing your face in this precise moment—your flushed cheeks, parted lips, the uncertainty you wore like a second skin.

you leaned in first.

your mouth brushed his, he barest touch, just enough to feel the heat of him. and when he didn’t move, you pressed closer, your lips catching his fully this time. the glass he’d been holding was long forgotten on the table behind you, his hands now fully occupied: one braced at your hip, the other sliding up the length of your spine with aching slowness. rafayel kissed like he had time. like he wanted you to feel the want in every single second of it.

you felt caleb behind you, but when you broke the kiss and turned toward him, you didn’t have to ask. his hand came to your jaw, guiding your face to his like he couldn’t help it anymore. his lips met yours in a kiss nothing like rafayel’s—his mouth was warm, desperate without being rough, like he’d been holding back too long.

“fuck,” rafayel whispered again, this time against your collarbone, his mouth brushing skin but never staying long enough to satisfy. “do you even know what you’re doing to us?”

you shifted your hips, purposefully grinding down against the growing bulge in rafayel’s trousers—and the low sound he made, deep in his throat, sparked something primal between all three of you.

“a-ah—fuck,” rafayel choked, hands tightening on your hips. “god, you—f’wahh…”

you leaned into caleb’s touch as he dragged his fingers along your waist, grazing the swell of your breast through the thin fabric. his breath stuttered near your ear when you arched just slightly into it.

beneath you, rafayel tipped his head back—offered it like a sacrifice. his throat, flushed and exposed in the low light, pulsed beneath the drag of his breath. his lips parted, his gaze heavy and dark, stuck on you like he didn’t know how to look away. “take what you want,” he added, roughened, eyes half-lidded but watching.

rafayel’s head dropped forward, forehead pressing to your chest, breath hot against your skin. “mmh’ah…,”his voice came low, like it was scraped from his throat. “fuck—tell me what you want,” he muttered, voice fraying at the edges. “anything, baby, i’ll give it to you. just say the word.”

caleb’s hand drifted lower, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your dress again, the pads of his fingers grazing the heat between your thighs like he knew exactly what it would do.

“c’mon, baby,” rafayel said again, voice rough as gravel, lips brushing the base of your throat now. “tell me what you want me to do.”

“what do i want?” you echoed lazily, hips shifting just enough to make him moan again, soft and wrecked. “i haven’t decided yet.”

rafayel groaned, a sound so guttural it felt stolen from his chest. his hips jerked beneath you, involuntary. “fuck, make up your mind,” he gasped, half-laughing through clenched teeth. “if you don’t, then i will.”

you leaned your head, just barely, lips brushing his in a slow, teasing kiss that left him chasing the contact even as you pulled away. your hips shifted with slow precision, and the sound he made in return, that wrecked, aching moan, was all the answer you needed.

behind you, caleb’s breath fanned hot against your bare shoulder. his hands hovered near the hem of your dress, tense with anticipation, twitching like he didn’t know where to start.

“caleb...,” you whispered, turning just enough to brush your mouth against his in a soft, teasing kiss. “take ‘em off for me?”

slowly, one hand slid beneath the fabric, fingertips skimming up the inside of your thigh—but then he changed course, lifting instead. the hem of your dress inched higher under his touch, rising over your hips, your waist, the curve of your ribs. his palms followed, dragging heat along your skin as the material peeled away.

when the fabric cleared your hips, the first hint of lace peeked through—black, delicate, tied at the sides in neat little bows. his breath caught, but he didn’t stop. the dress kept rising, and you let him lift it all the way, arms raised, baring more and more of the lingerie until it sat fully exposed beneath the low light. the halter unknotted with one simple tug, slipping off your body before caleb tossed it aside blindly, too focused to care where it landed.

his hand dropped, slid down your side again, this time with more urgency. his fingers found the ribbon on one side and tugged. the lace slackened, still clinging only by the bow on the other hip.

you raised your hips a little more as caleb tugged the other bow down until it fluttered loose against your thighs. rafayel’s fingers were there instantly, catching the lace as his breath shook against your stomach.

“fuckin' hell,” he whispered again, lips brushing against the curve of your bare hip like he was praying with his mouth. “aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

his laugh came low and cracked, breath hitching as he slid down the couch, dragging you with him—until your knees framed his shoulders and your bare cunt hovered just inches from his face. his hands gripped your hips tight, thumbs pressing into your skin like he was anchoring himself.

“finally,” he muttered, voice all gravel and heat. “about fucking time.”

then his mouth was on you. he moaned the second his tongue met your cunt, loud and obscene, like the taste of you broke something in him. the sound vibrated through you, deep and wrecking, and you gasped, hand flying to his hair, curling tight in his curls on instinct.

“a-ah fuck!—raf, y-you—” your voice cracked, hips twitching. “oh god—”

he buried his face deeper, tongue lapping through your folds like he had all the time in the world and no intention of mercy. his nose bumped your clit, his breath hot and ragged as he sucked, kissed, fucked you with his mouth like he needed you to fall apart on his tongue. he dragged his tongue through your folds, sucked hard at your clit, mouth working like he had no intention of coming up for air.

“fuck, baby,” rafayel groaned, voice muffled against your cunt as his tongue dragged slow, greedy strokes through your folds. his hands gripped your thighs, keeping you spread wide above him, keeping you where he wanted you—right on his mouth, trembling and wet and grinding down like you couldn’t help yourself.

you gasped, head tipping back as rafayel’s tongue circled your clit again with slow, reverent precision like he wanted to worship every part of you while caleb watched. he knew. he liked being watched. it made him bolder, sloppier. his tongue licked deeper, and you cried out, one hand fisting in his curls, the other clutching the couch for balance.

your body jerked—hips stuttering against his face. he moaned in response, hands flexing on your thighs like he wanted to leave marks there. he tilted his head just right and gave a rough, dragging suck that made your vision blur.

“fuckfuckfuuuuck—mngh ’fayel—!” you gasped, heat curling in your belly.

caleb was already palming himself through his pants, still filming. he adjusted the focus again, angling the camcorder down between your thighs, capturing every slick movement of rafayel’s mouth, every twitch of your hips.

“look at her,” caleb muttered, mostly to himself—but still loud enough for both of you to hear. “fucking dripping. she loves the camera. loves putting on a show, don’t you, baby?”

your breath caught—eyes shut, chest heaving. rafayel looked up at you from between your thighs, lips swollen, pupils blown, smiling—and then went back in with a slow, punishing lick, drawing a strangled moan from your throat as your hips bucked again.

“mm-hmm.” caleb’s voice was rough silk, lazy and warm and just a little taunting. “you look real pretty like this, ray.” the camcorder gave a soft click as caleb adjusted the zoom.

you leaned back, spine arching, then slowly straightened—your body a silhouette of composure against the chaos of rafayel’s mouth. you reached on the couch beside rafayel’s head, fingers dipping into the crumpled fabric of rafayel’s discarded coat, which lay tangled on the couch. your hand found what you were looking for instantly—his lighter.

the soft flick of the lighter split the air, and rafayel shuddered.

caleb’s breath caught behind you. “fuck,” he whispered, “you’re unreal.”

you brought the cigarette to your lips, lit it with a slow, practiced flick, and took the first inhale—deep and steady. smoke curled from your mouth as your hips rolled forward into rafayel’s face, and the contrast—you, shaking but still so poised, him, messy and desperate—was obscene.

“such a good mouth,” you whispered. “maybe i’ll let you keep it.”

rafayel groaned like you’d touched him—like the words alone had gone straight to his cock. his tongue moved in tighter circles, slower now, hungrier somehow, savoring the slick weight of your cunt against his mouth. he licked like he was trying to etch the shape of you into memory. each moan he pulled from you was soft, controlled, until your thighs began to twitch, your breath grew uneven, and your hips started to rock into him.

“fuck yes,” you breathed, the words splintering as they left your mouth, soft and sharp at once. your voice broke around the edges, every bit of composure unspooling as your thighs tightened like a vice around his head. “‘m gonna cum—don’t stop, don’t—”

rafayel wasn’t stopping. he couldn’t. not when you were starting to fall apart above him. not when you were trembling like that, cigarette still clutched between your fingers, smoke still curling lazy through the air like you had all the time in the world—even as your hips started to roll harder, rougher, dragging wet sounds from between your legs every time your cunt met his mouth.

your eyes met the lens, and you smiled stupidly, smoke slipping from your lips like an invitation. then you rolled your hips again—deeper this time, rougher—drawing a choked moan from rafayel so loud it bordered on obscene.

a show, after all, deserved a proper climax.

you came with a soft cry, body shaking, hips grinding down against rafayel’s mouth as he kept licking through it, obedient, like your pleasure was the only thing keeping him breathing. your breath slowed, hips still twitching slightly from aftershocks.

rafayel had gone quiet, except for the soft, broken sounds slipping from his mouth as he rested there—his cheek against your inner thigh, lips parted, the heat of your climax still on his tongue.

your fingers dragged lazily through his curls as you leaned back, your head tilting backwards to look at the man behind you.

caleb was still watching, the camcorder slack in his hand now, forgotten in his lap.

“c’mere,” you said. caleb didn’t move for a second. just breathed. hard. then he rose, slow and careful, as if the space between you were something sacred. when he reached you, he didn’t speak—his eyes said enough.

you took one last inhale from the cigarette—then, as the smoke sat heavy in your mouth, you leaned in and kissed him.

a gasp broke from caleb’s throat, stuttered and ruined, as your lips parted against his and you exhaled the smoke directly into his mouth. he groaned into the kiss, one hand fisting tight at your hip, the other twitching against your thigh like he wanted to do something but couldn’t, wouldn’t, not yet.

rafayel whimpered softly below you, shifting just enough that his nose brushed your inner thigh again. he was still hard, still untouched, still desperately aching.

you pulled from the kiss with a sigh, smoke still clinging to your breath. caleb stayed close, lips parted, eyes glazed—staring like he was half-drunk on the taste of you.

“you’ve been so good,” you tilted your head, reaching out to run your fingers through rafayel’s hair, combing it back with practiced ease. then your fingers dipped lower, slow, brushing his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the faint smear of you still wet on his skin.

“want a taste?” you asked.

rafayel’s tongue darted out to catch your fingertip as it passed his lip. he leaned in, eyes locked on yours, and bit down soft on the pad of your finger, teeth dragging just enough to send a pulse down your spine.

he let go with a soft pop, eyes never leaving yours. you guided the cigarette toward his lips next, the ember still alive, the smoke winding like silk between your bodies.

“just one,” you murmured, holding it steady between two fingers. “a reward.”

rafayel opened his mouth without hesitation, lips wrapping around the filter like he was kissing you through it. you watched, gaze flicking down, as he took a slow, deep drag—his cheeks hollowing, breath pulling thick and heavy through the paper.

you took the cigarette back, fingers brushing his lower lip, and let the smoke linger between you both before you spoke again. “open your mouth, baby.”

he did so with no hesitation, tongue falling out slowly, mouth open like he was ready for another taste of you—anything you gave him.

you brought the cigarette back to your lips, took a long, slow drag. his eyes flicked down, watching the hollow of your throat move as you inhaled, the tip of the cig glowing bright red. you held the smoke in your lungs, and him in your gaze.

then, without a word, you pressed the burning tip onto his tongue.

rafayel gasped—a jagged, choked-off moan ripped from his throat as the ember hissed, extinguishing in a soft sizzle against his flesh. rafayel moaned again—louder this time, shameless, hips jolting up as if the pain punched straight through his spine and into his cock. and fuck, he was hard. so hard. already straining in his jeans. his tongue barely trembled, the faint burn blooming red across it, but he held it there.

“h-hurts,” he rasped, voice cracking. “fuck, it hurts—feels so good, plea’aghh…”

you let the spent cigarette fall from your fingers, watched ash scatter near his thigh, right by the obscene bulge between his legs. he twitched, hips rolling forward like he was trying to fuck the air. his hands fisted the floor on either side of him, nails digging into the floor, but his eyes—his fucking eyes—never looked away from yours.

and then he smiled. that sick, blissed-out grin—eyes glassy, lips slick, tongue still trembling where the ember had kissed it. blood bloomed faintly, welling up slow from the seared flesh. “you still hard down there, rafa?” caleb asked, voice hoarse, the mockery curling around his words as he stepped in closer, camera steady in one hand, the other reaching past you to hook two fingers into rafayel’s mouth—tugging slow at his burned, swollen tongue, stretching it out for the lens.

“so what are you gonna do next, ray?” caleb asked, voice low, curling with cruel amusement as he circled in closer, the camera still focused on rafayel’s spit-slick, blood-bright lips. “you gonna beg her to keep going,” he drawled, tilting his head as if genuinely curious—,

“...or do you want me to take over now?”

the sheets were already ruined—creased, damp, tangled from how you'd been pulled across them again and again. rich egyptian cotton twisted low around your waist, doing nothing to cover the slick between your thighs or the raw flush climbing your chest. caleb’s shirt was discarded on the floor, half-soaked in sweat and spit, the only article of clothing anyone had bothered with earlier. rafayel’s belt still dangled from the edge of the bedframe.

the room itself was soaked in heat, the air was thick with sweat and sex, and the faint burn of expensive cologne clung to your skin where both men had touched, kissed, tasted. the camera stood steady on the bedside dresser, red light blinking as rafayel knelt behind you and caleb rose from between your legs, both naked, both hard, both looking at you like you were the altar they built this night around.

you were already trembling—naked, breathless, stretched out between them like something sacred. “a-ah—mmnh,” you whimpered when rafayel pressed his body to your back, cock heavy and hot against your spine as he rolled his hips in slow, mocking thrusts. his fingers tilted your chin, angling your mouth up to his as he kissed you deep, tasting you like he owned every noise spilling out of your throat.

caleb moved lower, tongue sliding over your clit with obscene focus. one hand gripped the back of your thigh to keep it open, the other tightening its grip on your waist, holding you down as he licked you with slow, punishing strokes. his moan rumbled against your cunt when you bucked, and he didn’t pull back.

rafayel leaned in, mouth brushing the edge of your ear as his grip locked tight around your middle. “what’s wrong?” he murmured, “thought this was what you wanted.”

you choked on a gasp, head falling back onto rafayel’s shoulder. he caught you with a grin, one arm wrapped tight around your waist as caleb licked you again, slower this time.

he didn’t let you escape. his hand slid down your front, fingers ghosting over your throat, your breasts—down until they joined caleb’s mouth between your legs, just enough to spread your folds wider for him. you were dripping, thighs slick, pussy swollen from attention, and still they were patient.

caleb sucked harder, tongue locking around your clit with brutal precision. your whole body snapped tight—back arching, legs shaking—as your orgasm slammed into you without mercy. it ripped a cry from your throat, raw and wrecked, loud enough to make both of them pause, just to feel it.

rafayel’s arm stayed locked around your waist, holding you still as you thrashed, trembling through it. caleb didn’t move, didn’t let up—he just kept licking, slow and deep, tongue fucking you through the aftershocks while your cunt pulsed around nothing.

“fuck—look at that,” caleb groaned, voice gone to hell, chin slick with you. “so fuckin’ pretty when you’re all over my mouth.”

he pulled back just enough to drag his thumb through the mess between your legs, then pressed it flat against your clit, watching you twitch.

“but we’re not done with you just yet.”

slowly, rafayel slipped off the bed in a smooth, silent movement. you thought maybe he'd finally take you then—finally press you into the mattress and fuck you until your legs gave out—but instead, he crossed the room with unhurried steps, the lean lines of his naked body bathed in that same golden light.

his hand reached for the camera on the dresser. checked the screen, then looked at you through the lens like he was lining up the most intimate shot of your ruin. you could feel the lens tracking the glisten between your thighs, the slack of your mouth, the red ghost of caleb’s handprint on your hip.

rafayel didn’t come back to the bed right away. instead, he stood by the drawer, and pulled out a thick black candle, half-melted with hardened drips crusted along the sides, and your breath caught. you hadn’t even seen him light it, but now the room filled with the faint scent of smoke and heat.

“don’t move,” rafayel said low, and before you could even ask, his fingers tangled in your hair—and he tugged, lifting your head just slightly as he moved, positioning himself above you, knees bracketing your shoulders.

you didn’t even get a full breath in before the first splash of hot wax landed just beneath your ribs.

“ah—ahfuck! what the hell are you—” your cry came out broken, high-pitched, hips jerking in reflex.

another splash of wax hit lower—just above your hipbone this time, and the heat sent your breath stuttering out in a half-sob, half-moan. you squirmed, thighs tensing, but caleb’s weight kept you pinned, wrist draped heavy across your stomach.

“that’s one,” he said, voice low, eyes never leaving your face. “you move again, we start over.”

“ngh—rafayel, i-i can’t—!” you gasped, chest rising in a frantic stutter. another moan cracked out of you, softer, wrecked. “s’t–too hot—!”

he leaned in close, voice calm, low. “you’ll live.”

caleb’s mouth curved into a grin, “you hear that, baby? he’s feeling generous tonight.”

you tried—tried so hard—to stay still, muscles taut with effort, thighs trembling. drip. another line of wax slid hot and slow down your stomach, closer to your navel. caleb pulled back with a low click of his tongue.

“two.” his voice was rougher now, “thought you wanted to be good for us.”

the wax dripped again—this time over your inner thigh, dangerously close to your soaked cunt. caleb leaned in, mouth dragging across your skin, catching the wax before it cooled. his teeth grazed over where it had hardened, peeling it from you with excruciating patience before spitting it aside.

then came another. higher—between your breasts, sliding toward your belly in a molten trail that stopped short as it cooled. rafayel followed it with the camera, recording each twitch, each glint of heat on your skin. the red light blinked, catching every arch, every gasp, every tremble.

“three,” caleb muttered, voice low and rough, his grip tightening just enough to keep your head tilted. “this how you behave when you’re gettin’ exactly what you wanted?”

“p-please—” your voice cracked, hoarse and desperate, hips jerking without control. “c-can’t, it’s too much—”

“too much?” rafayel echoed, all false concern, voice smooth as silk as he angled the camera across from him to capture the tremble in your thighs. “doesn’t look like it from down there. your cunt’s fuckin’ dripping.”

“caleb—f-fuck, ray—please,” you sobbed, tossing your head back into the bed, body twisting helplessly. “please let me cum—i’ll be good, i’ll be so good, i promise—!”

he didn’t answer. his thumb pressed cruelly into your clit, circling with slow, grinding pressure while his fingers fucked deep, dragging over the spot that made your legs spasm and your moans break into ragged little gasps.

“last warning,” rafayel said, holding the candle directly over your inner thigh again. “if you cum before it hits, we start over.”

your whole body trembled. your hands scrabbled helplessly at the sheets, at caleb’s wrist, at your own skin—anything to ground you while the orgasm clawed its way higher, tight and brutal and begging for release.

and then—

the wax spilled. slow. thick. scalding.

a thick, molten stream, landing just beside your folds, nearly touching your cunt—and the moment it did, you shattered.

you came with a broken cry, body seizing around caleb’s fingers, slick gushing as every nerve lit up and flared. caleb cursed beneath his breath, watching the way you clenched, the way your whole body twitched under the aftershocks.

“fuckin’ knew you would,” he muttered, dragging it out.

rafayel reached forward, thumb swiping a drop of wax from your stomach, then brought it to your lips—smearing it slow across them, coaxing your mouth open with the heat.

caleb leaned in again, tongue dragging over the line between your ribs, your stomach, your thigh—before pausing near your cunt, catching the last molten spill before it cooled. his teeth scraped where it hardened, peeling it from you, only to spit it to the side again, mouth open against your skin.

hot breath. a soft bite.

your lips were still parted, breath shaky, when caleb shifted—his soaked fingers slipping free with a wet drag that made you whimper. your cunt clenched around the emptiness he left behind, thighs slick and shaking.

caleb was still crouched between your thighs, tongue dragging a lazy, wet line up the inside of your leg—unhurried, like he was savoring you. then, without looking, he caught the camcorder mid-air as rafayel carelessly tossed it his way.

suddenly, caleb’s hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head up just enough to force your eyes open, dragging you to sit up on the bed.

"up," he said simply, seemingly unbothered.

you went without resistance—dazed, pliant, wrecked—but he didn’t kiss you this time.

instead, he let his cock slap against your cheek, the weight of it landing with a wet, heavy sound. then his hand wrapped around your jaw, fingers pressing in hard until your mouth dropped open on instinct.

“go on,” he murmured, tone dark and amused. “show ‘em what that pretty little mouth is meant for, yeah?”

you looked up at him, dazed—lashes spiked with tears and sweat, lips swollen and slick, parted like you were made to be used. caleb adjusted the camcorder with one hand, angling it down toward your face, while the other clamped firm around your jaw, thumb digging into your cheek until it hurt.

he smirked when your tongue flicked out, barely teasing the tip of his cock—like you thought teasing would save you.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low. “wider, baby,” he tilted your head back, wrist tangled in your hair now, holding you perfectly in frame. “you wanted to be good, yeah? prove it t’ me.”

the lens watched as your lips closed around caleb’s cock slowly, obediently, cheeks hollowing as he slid past your tongue. he groaned low, sharp, letting the camera catch the exact moment your throat took him.

“there ya go,” he hissed, grip tightening. “fuck—that’s it.”

you gagged around him, nails digging into the skin of his thighs, but caleb didn’t stop. he held your head in place with one hand wrapped tight in your hair, the other tilting the camera just slightly to catch the strings of spit dripping from your lips.

he didn’t ease you in. his hips snapped forward and you choked, eyes flying wide as he bottomed out. your gag reflex kicked hard, and he held, cock thick and heavy at the back of your throat, hand gripping your hair mercilessly.

“keep those pretty eyes open,” he growled, as your hands clutched the sheets, trembling as he fucked your mouth like he owned it. his hand at your neck held just enough pressure to make the edges of your vision blur.

“fuck, look at her,” rafayel muttered from where he kneeled between your thighs. you couldn’t see him, not fully, but you felt him—his hands gripping your hips, then sliding up, tracing the curve of your spine with a cruel kind of tenderness.

and then—

smack!

his palm cracked across your ass, loud and open, the force of it vibrating through your body. a cry tore from your throat, muffled by caleb’s cock, and another hit followed—then a third, harder, enough to make your legs quake.

rafayel leaned in, kissed the spot he’d just marked, then bit.

teeth sank in just above your ass cheek—sharp, possessive. you yelped around caleb’s cock, and he moaned, “ah fuck…she’s tighter when you hit her,” he muttered. “keep goin’.”

rafayel slapped you again—your thigh this time, harder—and bit the other side to match.

caleb didn’t ease up. if anything, he got meaner the longer you choked on him—hips snapping harder, faster, forcing himself down your throat until your nose was flush to his pelvis, spit spilling in ropes from the corners of your mouth.

your vision blurred. the sound of his cock dragging over your tongue was wet and obscene, loud in the space between the slap of rafayel’s palm and the low, strained groan caleb let out through gritted teeth.

“you’re not gonna tap out, are you?” he rasped, hips rocking deeper, jaw clenching when you gagged again. “drooling like a bitch in heat. fucking beautiful.”

rafayel’s hands are not just spanking but grabbing, bruising, dragging nails down your ass, over the backs of your thighs, leaving raised welts in their wake. he didn’t bother soothing the pain. didn’t kiss it better. only pressed a new bite into your hip, hard and mean, like he wanted to brand you.

then he spit—right onto your swollen, soaked cunt—and slapped you again, hard enough to knock a fresh cry out of your throat around caleb’s cock.

“you’re such a fucking sight,” he rasped. “isn’t she, ray?”

rafayel had his cock in hand now, hard and flushed, precum slicking his tip as he stroked himself slowly, his eyes devouring the view.

you started to shake. air starved. jaw aching. eyes glassy. caleb held your head in place and fucked your mouth like he owned it, like it was the only place he’d ever finish again. his breath hitched, low and harsh, and he held you there until your hands clawed at his thighs, the edges of your world going dark.

only then did he pull back, cock slick and twitching, your spit connecting the head to your lips in a string that broke when you gasped violently for air.

“look at that mess,” rafayel growled, not even giving you time to recover. his hand tangled in your hair, yanking you upright just as caleb shifted back.

“pretty little thing…”, his teeth sank into your shoulder, brutal and deep, and you cried out—head thrown back, body jolting as another slap landed across your already raw skin.

your cunt was already wrecked, dripping from your last orgasm, the skin of your ass welted and glowing from rafayel’s brutal hands. spit and wax still clung to your stomach, dried in patches that cooled your flushed skin. caleb had your face slick with spit, lips swollen from how deep he’d fucked your throat. your lip was split open just barely, kissed by teeth and friction, and the camera caught it all. and they weren’t finished.

not even close.

caleb set the camera on the edge of the bedside table, angled with deliberate precision—just wide enough to catch everything. you. him. rafayel. all of it.

“sit the fuck up,” caleb muttered, voice low, rough with restraint. “no—like this.”

he didn’t wait for you to comply. just grabbed you—fist curled in your hair, the other locking around your throat—dragging you down the bed like you were nothing more than a doll to be put in place. he manhandled you, shoving you halfway over rafayel’s thigh, your knees bent awkwardly, legs wrenched wide, cunt slick and exposed, ass hanging off the mattress in a messy, leaking sprawl.

rafayel stood behind you, slow strokes around the base of his cock, like he wasn’t in any rush. like watching you fall apart was enough to get him off. his grin was lazy—eyes on your shaking thighs, on the way your cunt pulsed open and empty.

below you, caleb moved in—settling between your body and the bed like he belonged there, his gaze dropping to your cunt, where slick dripped down your folds and onto the sheets, hot and wet, needy. His cock twitched, heavy and flushed, already nudging against your swollen entrance.

“caleb—! wait, i—” your voice cracked, hips shifting back in panic even as your cunt clenched down on nothing.

“shh, sweetheart,” he cooed, mocking your desperation, one hand steadying your hip while the other dragged the fat, slick head of his cock through the mess between your legs. you whimpered when it caught on your clit, body jolting, a broken little gasp tearing from your throat.

“you’ll take it,” he murmured, angling his hips. “we’ll make it fit.”

and then he pushed in.

you screamed, the sound torn from your throat—loud, shattered, barely a word.

“ah—ah, fuck, caleb—!” your voice cracked, slurred by shock.

the stretch was unbearable—too much, too fast. your hands clawed at the sheets as his cock forced your cunt open, inch by inch. the squelch of him sliding in echoed between your thighs, louder than your gasps, louder than the strangled moans falling from your lips as your body tried to take it, tried not to break.

your cunt fluttered, overwhelmed, as if trying to push him out—clenching down around him like it couldn’t decide if it wanted more or less. it only made him groan, hips grinding deeper.

“fuuuck,” caleb hissed, voice cracking as your walls sucked him in. “still so fucking tight—jesus, baby. you tryna milk me already?”

you sobbed. voice pitchy, pleading. “t–too big ah!— i c–can’t—!”

“yes, you can,” caleb snarled, hand tightening around your throat as he slammed his hips forward, burying himself to the base. the force knocked the air from your lungs, vision white at the edges. “you hear that, cunt’s gripping me like she doesn’t wanna let go.”

“g–god—fuck, caleb—!” your moan cracked open around his name, head tipping back helplessly, mouth slack and drooling. your body tried to recoil from the stretch, but caleb held you there, impaled on his cock, grinding deep like he wanted to rearrange your insides.

“fuck,” caleb hissed, dragging his hips in a slow, punishing grind. “such a sweet little thing f’me, huh?”

rafayel moved in behind you, cock heavy where it pressed against the mess dripping down your thighs. he let the swollen head drag through the wreck caleb left behind—slick and spit smeared in lazy strokes across your overstretched cunt.

you whimpered—high, hitched.

“n–no, i—i can’t—”

“breathe,” he said again, softer this time. mocking soft. his hand found your jaw, tilting your head to the side, guiding your cheek down against the soaked sheets like you were a doll in his hands. “you’re doing fine.”

his thumb traced the edge of your mouth, dragging through the spit that clung to your lips, smeared across your chin from when caleb had fucked your throat raw. he pressed it into the corner of your mouth—then, with the same hand, he slid his thumb past your lips, pressing it down flat against your tongue.

you whimpered around his thumb, tongue twitching under the pressure. your body was still shaking—nerves fried, cunt spasming weakly from everything caleb had already wrung from you.

rafayel groaned at the feel of your mouth, hips rolling forward to grind the thick head of his cock right against your entrance.

“ready?” he said, voice low, barely a breath.

and then he pushed.

your scream punched out of you like a sob, loud and broken, your body caught between them—caleb still buried deep in your cunt as rafayel started to force his way in beside him.

“oh—oh my god—please!, i—it’s too much—!”

rafayel groaned, fingers digging into your hips as he shoved deeper. “nah, baby,” he growled. “this? this is just enough.”

rafayel’s cock stretched you beyond reason, the two of them fighting for space inside you, your hole fluttering, clenching, burning. your back arched violently, legs kicking uselessly as you choked on your moans.

“fuckin’ tight,” rafayel growled, grinding deeper. “you feel that, red bull?”

caleb groaned, guttural. “she’s clenching so hard she’s shaking. fuck, pipsqueak.”

“p–please—p-please, i—i can’t—”, you cried, head thrashing, the stretch overwhelming.

“this is what you wanted, right?,” rafayel whispered against your shoulder, the scrape of his teeth just shy of a bite. “now take it.”

and then he bottomed out.

the thrust was full, brutal—his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs, forcing caleb deeper by sheer pressure. your scream didn’t even have sound anymore—just the wrecked gasp of your body trembled like it couldn’t hold the weight of them. like it didn’t know how to hold itself together anymore. and still—they stayed. filling you so deep it felt like you’d never be empty again. never be yours again.

“fucking hell,” rafayel grunted, hips pressed tight as he bottomed out, his cock heavy and unforgiving where it throbbed beside caleb’s inside you.

your breath hitched—then collapsed into a sob.

“a-ah—nnh’ please—” the sound spilled out of you before you could stop it, torn from somewhere between pain and need. your whole body shook, fingers clenching uselessly in the sheets, eyes blown wide and glassy with tears. you didn’t know if it was too much or not enough.

your next moan cracked halfway through. “h-haah—f-fuck—”

they moved together.

caleb started first, driving up from beneath you, slow and deep, his cock dragging thick through the swollen mess of your cunt. the friction made your back arch, another sharp cry breaking from your throat. rafayel followed right behind him, hips snapping forward like he wanted to force every inch of you to remember him.

“a-ah, ahhh please—fuck, it’s—haa—i c-can’t—!”

the words barely made it past your lips, choked and slurred between breathless sobs. your voice cracked each time rafayel bottomed out, and caleb gave you no time to recover—cock dragging so thick and slow it made your whole body spasm.

you couldn’t speak. couldn’t think. all you could do was feel—stretch and burn and pleasure and heat. your pussy spasmed violently, orgasm tearing through you so sudden it hit like a punch, your whole body seizing between them. your head dropped back, mouth open on a broken cry as you clenched around them both, cunt fluttering helplessly.

caleb’s hand slid back around your throat and pulled, lifting your head by the neck like he was reeling you back into him. your spine arched instinctively, breath caught sharp in your throat, mouth dropping open with a strangled, gasping moan.

“where’s that pretty voice gone, huh?” he growled into your ear, tone rough and thick with heat, breath scalding against your sweat-damp skin. “don’t go quiet on us now. let ’em hear how sweet you sound.”

you tried to speak, but all that came out was a whimper. before you could catch your breath, another slap followed. and another. each hit blurring into the next, the sting sharp and blooming, cutting perfectly against the pressure of them inside you. you couldn’t separate the pain from the pleasure anymore.

“ah—f-fuck—ahh—!” your moans punched out with each snap of rafayel’s hips and every smack of his palm, your thighs trembling, jaw slack under caleb’s grip.

“that’s it,” caleb rasped, his hand flexing tighter. “there she is.”

“say it,” rafayel hissed, breath hot, voice cut sharp through the slap of skin and the wet, wrecked mess between your thighs. his pace didn’t falter—if anything, it got meaner, cruel rhythm pounding into your overstretched cunt like he was trying to fuck the words out of you by force. “tell us who you fucking belong to.”

your mouth opened, but all that came out was a high, cracked moan—too breathless, too gone. your body seized between them, legs twitching like you couldn’t hold the weight of them anymore.

“nnh—ahh—i—f-fuck—”

your voice broke, and they didn’t slow down.

caleb's grip cinched harder around your throat, just enough to steal the edges of your breath—just enough to make your body panic in the prettiest ways.

“use your words, baby,” he growled against your ear. “or don’t come at all.”

“y-you—” you gasped, tears blurring your vision. “b-both—i-i’m yours—i’m fucking—”

“louder.” caleb’s snarl was sharp, his hand flexing—your body jerked.

“yours!” you sobbed, voice shredded. “i’m fucking yours, please—please—i can’t—i can’t—”

“yes you fucking can,” rafayel snapped, nails digging into your hips as he slammed in again, forcing your body forward like it didn’t belong to you anymore.

the room filled with noise—wet, brutal, filthy sounds of skin on skin, the slick drag of cock against cock inside you, your own cries breaking over and over as another orgasm hit without warning. it ripped through you like a wave crashing, your entire body collapsing between them, shaking violently, every nerve lit up and raw.

caleb’s hand slid from your throat to your jaw, fingers digging in tight, forcing your head back. you barely registered the way he leaned in until the warm hit of his spit landed on your tongue.

“swallow,” he said—your lips closed around the taste of him, and you choked on a sob, tears streaking down as your body jolted with another sharp thrust. caleb leaned in, tongue slow and cruel as he licked the tears from your cheek.

“shh, shh,” he cooed, mockingly sweet as his cock drove deeper, harder—pace turning feral. “don’t go soft on us now, pipsqueak.”

you whimpered—shattered, spent, yet somehow still trembling on the edge of another high. your cunt spasmed again, overstimulated, fluttering around them both, and you knew—they were going to fuck you straight into the floor if you let them.

and god, you would let them.

rafayel spat onto your back, the heat of it stark against your skin. he smeared it in slow, filthy circles, rubbing it down your spine like a mark that branded you theirs. his fingers sank into your hips, holding you steady as your thighs trembled violently.

caleb groaned low—raw, frayed. it broke out of him like it hurt. you could hear the edge in it, the unraveling. every word that followed sounded like it was clawed from his throat.

“don’t pull out,” he bit, barely more than a growl. “leave it in her.”

rafayel didn’t hesitate. just grunted, thick and low. “wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

he adjusted the focus again, zeroing in on the slick mess where your bodies met. the shutter flicked once, signaling that he had taken a photo.

“still rolling,” caleb breathed, close enough for his voice to crawl over your skin. his mouth was at your jaw, breath warm, trembling.

“go on, baby… give ’em a fucking show.”

your body jolted between them, overstimulated and spent, and still they didn’t stop—rafayel driving in from behind with sharp, punishing thrusts, caleb fucking up into you slow and deep, dragging every raw nerve along the edge.

“a-ah—f-fuck—caleb, i—i c-can’t—!” your moan cracked, slurred, wrecked from the way they filled you, stretched you, used you.

“yes, you can,” caleb muttered, teeth gritted, hand curling around your throat again—not squeezing, just holding you there, grounded in his grip. “you’ll take it, baby. all of it.”

rafayel was panting now, loud against your back, hips stuttering. “she’s shaking—fuck—shit, i’m gonna—”

your cunt clenched, involuntarily, fluttering around both of them, and they felt it—both of them groaning in sync.

“gonna fill you up,” rafayel snarled, voice cracking, pace breaking down. “fuck—feel that? feel how close i am?”

you whimpered, sobbed through it. “i-i feel it—please—please just—fuck, don’t stop—”

his thrusts turned rougher, sharper—each one dragging you closer to the edge again even though you thought there was nothing left. your moans got higher, tighter, every sound punching out of you in helpless bursts.

“g-god—caleb—raf—ah—please—!”

then caleb groaned, deep and wrecked, hips slamming into you one last time as his body went taut, breath punched out of him.

“fuck, i’m cummin’—fucking take it—”

rafayel followed seconds later, thrust grinding in and holding, the heat of him pulsing inside you. his hand slapped against your ass once more, then held you down as he finished, every sound out of him rough, broken, lost in you.

you sobbed, trembling, barely coherent as caleb shifted—still buried inside you, still keeping their combined release sealed deep in your cunt—and reached for the recorder from the bedside table with one hand, fingers slick with sweat and spit.

he adjusted the angle lazily, tilting it to catch everything: your ruined body, your twitching thighs, the mess leaking down between them. the sight must’ve satisfied something in him, because he finally exhaled—shaky, spent—and let the camcorder drop to the floor near the bed.

your body felt boneless—like the moment they let go, you might slip straight through the sheets, weightless and untethered. every inch of you buzzed, overstretched and glowing at the seams.

caleb was the first to move, slow and careful, like you might splinter if he breathed too hard. eased back with a sharp hiss, hands steadying you—one braced at your thigh, the other gliding down your side like an apology.

“easy,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, barely above a breath. “got you, pipsqueak. just… breathe.”

your chest rose, shallow and uneven. your lips were parted, but no sound came—just the faint catch of breath like a ghost of a moan, stuck between a sob and a gasp. your fingers twitched, curling weakly into caleb’s chest like you didn’t know where else to go.

rafayel leaned in next, close but unhurried, the heat of him steady. his hand slid beneath your head, cradling it like you were something delicate—something worth handling gently. his eyes met yours, sharp but clear now, voice dipped into something quiet.

“you with us?”

you nodded, just barely. it was enough.

“good girl,” he whispered, his thumb brushing beneath your eye, sweeping away a stray tear you hadn’t even noticed. “there you are. that’s it, stay right here.”

“hurts,” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed. “it—still hurts.”

“i know,” caleb said, “we’ll fix it. stay with us, baby. we’ve got you.” his forehead pressed to yours, breath steadying as he breathed for both of you.

you whimpered when rafayel’s hands settled at your hips, gentle this time, a stark contrast to the bruising grip he held you with just a while ago. he brought a warm towel to your thighs, but the moment the cloth met your skin, you flinched. your legs twitched like you wanted to close them, but couldn’t.

“it’s okay,” caleb murmured from behind you, “i’ve got you.”

caleb pulled you back into the bed with him—one arm firm around your stomach, the other dragging the blanket over your body. you were already clean—rafayel had wiped away every trace with care that didn’t match the mess they’d made—but caleb still kissed the crown of your head.

your breathing slowed. your fingers, once curled so tight into the sheets and their skin, finally loosened. your body gave in at last—sinking into the heat of their arms, into the steady weight of them on either side of you. the trembling eased, not gone, but dulled into something bearable beneath their touch.

you sniffled, voice thin and shaky. “i feel… m-messy.”

“…you’re perfect,” rafayel whispered, the words barely more than breath.

he pressed a kiss to your shoulder—soft, lingering—then another, trailing slowly upward. each one warmer than the last. the curve of your neck, the edge of your jaw. like he needed to relearn every part of you now that the storm had passed.

you shivered, not from cold, but from how gently he touched you now. like you were fragile. like he didn’t want to wake something still trembling inside you.

his voice came again, quieter this time, lips brushing against your skin.

“always have been.”

caleb’s hand stayed at your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles against your skin; rafayel’s fingers threaded through your hair, grounding you with every gentle stroke.

the last thing you felt was the press of two mouths—one at your temple, one behind your ear—and the sound of them breathing around you, slow and steady, syncing with yours like they were lulling your heart into rhythm.

you didn’t even notice when your eyes finally closed.

morning crept in slow.

you didn’t open your eyes at first. just lay there, still and quiet, letting the warmth of the sheets sink into your skin. everything felt heavy—your limbs, your breath, the ache blooming low in your body like a bruise that pulsed instead of throbbed. familiar. almost comforting.

caleb was still beside you.

you felt him before you saw him—his arm draped over your waist, weighty and warm, hand splayed across your stomach like he’d fallen asleep mid-touch. his chest rose and fell in soft, even rhythm. close enough that each breath brushed the curve of your shoulder. he hadn’t moved much. his curls were a mess, lips parted, skin still kissed with the heat of the night before.

rafayel was gone.

you could feel it in the quiet. the space where his body had been was still warm, just barely. the pillow at your back held the faintest imprint of his head, a dent in the sheets where his weight used to be.

your eyes opened slowly. the light through the curtains was soft—golden, muted, like it didn’t want to wake you too harshly. your body ached in a way that settled deep, stretched and sore. the sheets clung to your skin—warm, a little damp with sleep, the scent of them still thick in the air. salt and skin. sweat and something sweeter.

you sighed, quiet. the sound barely stirred the air.

caleb didn’t wake.

so you stayed there, curled beneath the blanket, skin flushed and worn, body half-claimed and half-floating, eyes open to a room still echoing with ghosts of touch and breath.

after a while, you moved—just enough to reach toward the nightstand, fingers dragging heavy across the sheets. your hand fumbled for a second before it found your phone, still half-buried beneath a crumpled hoodie and the edge of a pillow.

the screen lit up, harsh and blue in the golden light.

you winced.

your thumb dragged across the glass on instinct, automatic, muscle memory overriding thought. no notifications—just the dull stack of time passing in quiet hours you hadn’t noticed.

you opened an app. didn’t register which one. just scrolled.

posts blurred past—photos, headlines, clips of things that didn’t feel real. people laughing. news cycling. a voiceover you didn’t recognize spilling out from a reel you didn’t mean to tap. everything felt far away. like it was happening in a world you’d stepped out of.

you kept scrolling.

your body stayed still, tucked beneath the blanket, the ghost of caleb’s hand still curved against your ribs. your eyes were open, but your mind wasn’t really there—floating somewhere between the press of last night and the pull of this morning, dazed and raw and too full of everything to think straight.

you could still feel their mouths, their hands, the way your body had been passed between them like something they’d never get enough of. your chest felt too tight. your breath came too shallow. but your fingers moved anyway, aimless, scrolling.

and then you blinked.

a headline stared back at you—bold and red, too sharp against the white background on your screen.

“f1 stars caleb xia and rafayel qi absent for final gala speech — ‘unreachable,’ sources say.”

the breath in your lungs caught.

your eyes dropped to the photo beneath it. the angle was terrible, the lighting worse—clearly taken from the far end of the venue, probably with someone’s phone. but it didn’t matter. you knew it the moment you saw it.

there you were. the shimmer of your dress, caught in motion. rafayel’s hand pressing low on your back. caleb beside you, jaw tense, caught in profile, the line of his mouth sharp like he’d just snapped something under his breath.

the article was vague, wordy in the way gossip tries to sound official. phrases like “unreachable,” “seen leaving prior to scheduled remarks,” “reportedly left through an alternate exit.” it didn’t say anything meaningful. it didn’t have to. the comments already knew how to spin it.

your fingers tightened around the phone. you scrolled.

comments flooded the post— where did they go? was there a fight? caleb looked pissed af in that last clip. …wait is that y/n?

you were about to close it when your eyes snagged on something further down. a new paragraph. a fresh update.

“speculation intensifies after a now-viral instagram story, still live on rafayel qi’s verified account, appears to show an intimate scene involving the missing drivers.”

just a still frame of the room you were still lying in.

the same crumpled sheets. the same muted light. the edge of the bed, and a spill of clothes slouched over the corner like they’d melted off bodies—rafayel’s shirt, caleb’s jacket, your dress, something small and lacey, twisted inside-out—half-hanging from the edge of the mattress.

and next to it, the camera. screen lit, frame frozen. it was unmistakable.

your throat closed.

on the tiny camcorder screen—you could see yourself.

you were astride something—your naked back arched toward the lens, your thighs spread. your eyes looking right at the camera—smoke swirling from between your teeth, lips parted in a lazy, stupid smile. beneath you, just barely visible, rafayel’s face. his hands. his grin.

and the tags were right there.

@ calebxia, @ yourusername

“what the fuck…”, you whispered it first. just breath.

then again, louder, hoarse and sharp and disbelieving.

“what the fuck, rafayel?!”

caleb shifted beside you, groggy, blinking himself awake. “mm… what’s wrong?”

but you didn’t turn. your hand was shaking now, still gripping the phone, your pulse thudding too loud in your ears.

the story was real. still up. still public.

and now—everywhere.

dividers by @omi-resources and @ saradika-graphics

taglist : @mcdepressed290 @yriexa @13tter

# do not repost, translate, or upload my work to any other platforms. tumblr reblogs are welcome and appreciated, but reposting outside of this blog is not permitted !

— ✦ © @ x1asirene, tumblr 2025 ✧

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avylea16 · 6 days ago

Text

Sacrificed

Synopsis: Plus!Sized reader is sacrificed to the Sea God she grew up hearing horror stories about. So why does death feel so good?

Warnings: Description of thicker body, breeding, sacrifice, loss of virginity, short-Drabble for the new myth (I’m foaming), talk of eggs, iridescent coom.

Authors Note: This doesn’t really spoil the new myth at all it’s just pure filth. It’s pretty short but I had to get my feelings out there LOL.

This gorgeous creature rivaled even his own beauty in some ways. Her fluttering eyelashes, her desperate pleas of ‘no, don’t stop’, ‘It will not fit’, ‘have mercy’, spilling from her lips.

He was the God of the Sea.

Humans were beneath him. But oh, having this specific human beneath him was holy. She was set to be a sacrifice by the village on the coast of his territory.

Her life would ensure their poorly built structures would not be engulfed by the sea.

But the only sea who could ever care to protect, was right between her quivering…what did humans call them? Ah yes, thighs.

“M-My Lord I cannot-“

He growls, dipping his head into the crook of her neck. His tail lashes under the waves sending water spouting in all directions. “Quiet. I’m hunting.”

The slick tendril like flesh tested the waters. Her slick gushed as if she were made for him. If not for his strong arms holding her above the waters edge she would surely drown.

Then what kind of plaything would she be to him?

“Your elders chose you for a reason. Is it because your cunt could tempt a beast like me?” His voice was like honey in her ears. But whatever manhood this creature possessed was bringing her to an earth-shattering end.

He lifted her as if she were weightless, claws grabbing at her curved hips, the other holding open plush thighs. “If you do not survive this, I will have a statue made in your honor. So I can always remember how it felt to breed you.”

A human carrying his godly eggs was laughable. He absolutely could not imagine her round with his eggs, waddling around on land to show off just how potent the seed of a God was.

No. Never.

She couldn’t begin to wrap her mind around the not one, but two lengths diving into her once virgin entrance. Her mother had taught her the bare minimum about her own body. Only that her virginity should be taken by a worthy or wealthy man.

Perhaps both.

But this creature possessed something she wasn’t familiar with.

The way he praised how good she felt around him, how beautiful she was despite the fear coursing through her veins.

Her virgin barrier lay broken in the waves of the sea, the salt burning just barely as his lengths delved deeper. Over and over again.

His iridescent seed coated her thighs and the waters surface. She lay quivering in his arms, full to the brim of his cum. Her head rested on his shoulder, prepared to meet her cruel end.

But he only started to hum, a tone that would surely send her into sleep.

“Sleep now, child. We still have plenty to accomplish. Perhaps I will pay a visit to your elders in their own slumber.”

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avylea16 · 6 days ago

Note

Hmmm the lads men visiting reader who they find building a cabinet, mowing the lawn, plunging the toilet, etc etc and them going "pretty girl??? why are you doing physical labor???"

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ You’re not a maid, baby

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, crack, this is so funny, rafayel would totally have a wardrobe of different costumes for him and you for sexy time lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They find you cleaning

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He comes home humming, fingers still stained with pastel from whatever eccentric chaos he was up to (was it painting the koi pond pink? Who knows), and steps inside with a lazy smile, until he sees you.

You’re on your knees. In one of your softest, frilliest nightgowns. Elbow-deep in a soapy bucket, hand-wiping the skirting boards like some tragic princess cursed to clean her own castle.

Rafayel drops the canvas he was holding. Just lets it fall.

“…Baby.”

He sounds so gentle. Too gentle. His eyes are wide. “Are you… doing chores?”

You blink up at him. “The cleaning staff is off today, so I just thought—”

“You thought?” His voice cracks. “You thought my precious baby cupcake sugar-dumpling should be on the floor? Like some tragic unpaid intern in a drama?”

He’s on the floor beside you in seconds, gathering you in his arms like he’s rescuing a drowned kitten.

“I wasn’t even gone long, and look what happened,” he whimpers dramatically, nuzzling into your neck. “I left you unsupervised for five hours and you’ve become a Victorian servant girl.”

“But it’s not a big deal,”

“It is. Look at your little fingers!” He holds them up. “These are for holding diamonds and stirring tea, not scrubbing baseboards! What next? Shall I let you do taxes? Shall I allow you to fold laundry?” He gasps. “Oh my god, I’ve failed you.”

He picks you up, bridal style of course, and carries you straight into his art studio where he plops you on a heart-shaped chaise and wraps you in a sparkly throw blanket like a burrito.

“You’re grounded,” he says. “From labor. Forever.”

“…Can I at least clean the fish tank?”

“No. They can live in filth. But you? You live in luxury.”

Then he calls thomas and yells: “Send someone. My wife touched the floor. We’re in crisis.”

From that day forward, any time he catches you trying to lift a single feather duster, he gives you a scandalized gasp and clutches his chest like he’s been mortally wounded.

Also buys you ridiculous princessy cleaning outfits just for bedroom play purposes. But if you ever actually touch a mop again?

He’s “filing for an annulment in protest” (he won’t, he’s just dramatic and in love).

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

He comes home from a 12-hour hospital shift, already loosening his tie, only to freeze in the entryway.

“…what are you doing?”

His voice is low. Dangerously low. You glance up from scrubbing the floorboards on your knees, smiling, your nightgown soft and slightly slipping from one shoulder.

“The staff’s on leave for the week, so I just—”

“No.”

Zayne’s kneeling beside you in a heartbeat, pulling you up and inspecting your delicate fingers like you’ve just survived a minefield.

“You’re not scrubbing floors like a maid,” he mutters, furious but quiet. “You’re a wife, not a housekeeper. You make tea. You sit and look pretty. You kiss me when I get home.”

You pout. “But the baseboards were dusty.”

He lifts you into his arms bridal style. “So is my tolerance for this,” he mutters. You don’t touch another rag for the rest of the week. He even wipes down surfaces with medical-grade wipes himself, grumbling the entire time.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The door hisses open. He walks in silently… and stares. You’re dusting. In a sheer white nightgown with ribbons. On a stepstool.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares.

“…Xavi?” you say sweetly, dusting the top shelf. “You’re home early.”

You step down. He still doesn’t say anything. Just slowly walks over, takes the feather duster from your hands, and throws it out the window of the penthouse without a word.

“Why were you doing that?”

“The staff took leave.”

“So you decided to risk death and dust inhalation?”

“Not death, I was just—”

He’s already picking you up and setting you on the bed like you’re made of crystal. “You dusted. With your soft hands. In that. That.” He gestures vaguely at the nightgown like it personally betrayed him.

“You’re too pretty to clean. You were made to be spoiled.” He climbs into bed with you, pulls the covers up, and calls the replacement staff himself. While spooning you. While still in his coat.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You’re on your knees wiping the marble floors of the safehouse, a pink ribbon in your hair, humming softly. You don’t hear the door open. But you do hear his voice:

“…Are you cleaning?”

You look up. He’s in a fitted suit. He’s just walked in and taken off his sunglasses. And he looks betrayed.

“The housekeepers are out,” you explain.

“So you thought you’d take their place?” He raises a brow. “You’re my wife, not the help.”

“But it was dusty—”

“You’re the one who deserves dusting in diamonds, not whatever this is.”

He snaps his fingers. One of his guards silently walks in with a custom velour chaise longue.

“Sit,” Sylus commands. “Now.”

“But—”

He picks you up effortlessly, places you on it, drapes you in a fur throw, and tosses a card your way. “Buy something outrageous while I fix this mess.”

“What mess?”

“The one where my princess thought she was average enough to mop floors. It’s humiliating. For me.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

He walks into the Skyhaven penthouse, jacket slung over his shoulder, already calling your name.

And then he sees you.

On your knees. With a mop. In one of his favorite frilly nightgowns, the one that rides up when you lean forward.

He drops his jacket.

“WHAT are you doing,” he says, panicked, running over. “Pipsqueak. Hello?? No—stop—give me that mop.”

“I’m just cleaning,” you giggle. “The housekeepers are on break.”

“Then the house can be dirty. I don’t care. What if you slipped? What if you got a splinter? You’re in a nightgown. You’re supposed to be lounging. Doing skincare. Being kissed!”

You blink up at him as he wrenches the mop away. He’s full dad-mode now, grumbling as he tosses it into a closet. Then he’s scooping you into his arms and carrying you to the couch.

“You’re not allowed to do things like this. You’re my wife. Not a house elf. God, I’ve failed you.”

He sits you in his lap and force-feeds you strawberries from the fridge to soothe himself.

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avylea16 · 8 days ago

Note

Would you mind doing hcs or scenarios of the lads boys babying the reader?

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Pampered

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ Fluff, lots and lots of fluff, rich men, babying, very fem reader, spoilt princessy attitude

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ A good husband always cherishes his wife

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The sea was whispering again.

Gentle waves murmured against the pale white shore, the breeze brushing against the silk curtains of the open veranda. Somewhere far in the distance, a gull cried out, but it was barely noticeable over the soft hum of a lullaby playing on the estate’s hidden speakers, something Rafayel composed himself, tuned perfectly to the frequency that made your eyelids flutter and your shoulders melt.

you lay curled in a nest of imported satin cushions, cradled in a hand-carved seashell chaise, one leg lazily thrown over the armrest as you scrolled on your crystal tablet, mostly just pretty things. Dresses, shoes, crowns you didn’t need but would own before sundown. A half-eaten slice of strawberry mille-feuille sat on the side table, and a pearl-handled fork dangled from your fingers.

Rafayel appeared without warning, the way he always did, barefoot, disheveled, smelling like seawater and sun. His shirt was half-open, sleeves damp and rolled to his elbows, revealing speckles of paint on his wrists. He dropped down beside you with a melodramatic sigh, long limbs folding with an elegance that should’ve been impossible for someone so annoyingly lazy.

“You weren’t in the studio,” you murmured, not looking up.

He rested his head in your lap with a little grin. “Nope. Skipped it. Thomas threw a fit. Something about a gallery showcase. I wasn’t listening.”

“You never are.”

“I was thinking about you instead,” he said, voice low and sweet like syrup. “My little cutie. Wondering if you drank enough water. If you remembered to use the SPF I got you. If you ate anything besides strawberries and cream.”

He tilted his head up to look at you, blue-pink eyes soft and utterly devoted. His voice dropped to a playful whisper.

“Did you?”

“…Maybe.”

With a tut, he sat up just enough to kiss your cheek, then your nose, then your collarbone. Each kiss light, lingering, and just a little possessive.

“You’re getting thinner,” he muttered, fingers ghosting down your arms. “Do I have to spoon-feed you again like last week?”

“I was just tired,” you said, already flushing.

He clicked his tongue. “No excuses, darling. Not when you’re this precious.”

Before you could protest, he was standing again, scooping you up like a bride and cradling you against his chest. You gasped, arms circling his neck as he carried you inside, through the long marbled hallway with shells pressed into the walls, past the domed skylight above the orchid pool, into the sun-drenched kitchen where he deposited you onto the barstool like she weighed nothing at all.

“Sit. Watch,” he said, tapping your nose.

He moved around the kitchen like a dancer, pirouetting with flour, sea salt, delicate herbs, and rare imported fish you’d never remember the name of. Youdidn’t need to. All you knew was that Rafayel made it taste like luxury, and he always cut it into heart shapes or something ridiculous and adorable just to make you giggle.

“Raffy,” you said, eyes glittering. “You never let me do anything anymore.”

He smirked over his shoulder, already plating your food with edible flowers. “Exactly. You’re not supposed to.”

“You trapped me here.”

“Mmhm.”

“In a seaside estate.”

“Go on.”

“And now you pamper me like I’m made of glass.”

He finally turned to you, setting the plate down and leaning over, voice dark and sweet.

“That’s because you are.”

He kissed you then, right as the ocean’s breeze came through the tall windows, lifting the hem of her gauzy robe. You tasted like sugar and strawberries. He deepened the kiss for a moment, hands cradling your jaw, before pulling back with a faint sigh.

“You were a deep space hunter once,” he murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear. “So brave. So serious. So exhausted.”

He kissed your temple.

“And now you’re mine. Soft, spoiled, babied. Loved.”

Your heart fluttered as he picked up the fork again, feeding you the first bite like you were a pampered empress, watching you chew with satisfaction.

“I even bought you that glass tiara you wanted,” he added casually. “It’ll be delivered tomorrow. You can wear it in the bath.”

You tried to scowl but failed miserably as he kissed you again, tongue brushing yours with teasing affection.

“Now be good, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your lips. “And eat everything. I need my princess fat and happy and absolutely useless, remember?”

You giggled, and Rafayel smiled like it was the only sound he ever wanted to hear.

Later That Evening…

The sea was quieter now. Dark. Still.

Inside the bedroom, the lights were low, casting soft golden patterns across the high ceiling. You were sprawled across Rafayel’s chest, tucked beneath a gauzy blanket that still smelled faintly of orchid milk and sea salt. His arms were looped lazily around your waist, fingertips drawing little circles over your spine.

“You’re heavy when you’re full of cake,” he murmured sleepily, voice low and teasing against your hair.

You huffed. “You made me eat it.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through your cheek where it rested against him. “Exactly. Can’t have my princess going to bed hungry. What kind of housewife would you be if you weren’t spoiled to the brim?”

“You baby me too much.”

He kissed the top of your head. “And you let me.”

You were quiet for a moment, listening to the waves outside the open windows, the hush of the curtains moving in the breeze. Then softly, almost inaudibly:

“…I like it.”

He smiled against your skin, arms tightening just enough to remind you he was there—warm, solid, utterly yours.

“Good,” he whispered, brushing your hair back, “because I’m never going to stop.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The kitchen was too bright for the early hour, sunlight spilling through the marble arch windows and casting pale gold over polished countertops. The scent of warm rice and grilled miso fish hung in the air, delicate, mild, designed to suit his palate, even if the aesthetic of the lunchbox was unmistakably yours.

The box itself was pastel pink and shaped like a bunny. Inside were neatly arranged rice balls with seaweed smiley faces, tamagoyaki folded into hearts, and a miniature note folded into a star that read:

“Don’t skip lunch, Dr. Grump <3”

Zayne adjusted his tie with one hand and looked down at the open box on the counter with a small, nearly imperceptible smile. The corners of his mouth tilted up just a touch. That was all.

“Adorable,” he muttered under his breath, voice thick with fondness.

Then, he heard it, your steps, light and quick, coming down the grand stairs wrapped in that little robe he bought for you. Silk, dove gray, your initials monogrammed just above the heart. Your hair was still messy from sleep, lips pouting with early-morning fatigue as you shuffled into the kitchen, bare feet soundless against the heated floors.

He turned just in time to catch you mid-yawn.

“You’re up early,” he said quietly, smoothing his coat sleeve. “You usually sleep in when I have morning rounds.”

You blinked up at him. “Wanted to see you off.”

Zayne leaned in immediately, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Each kiss was firm, grounding, practiced. He only pulled back to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You should be in bed,” he said in that soft, familiar scold he reserved only for you. “The sheets aren’t going to warm themselves.”

“But your lunch—”

He held up the bunny-shaped box with a faintly amused expression. “Already packed. With love, I assume?”

“Always,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

“Then I’ll eat it in front of the nurses just to show them what a spoiled man I am.”

You flushed a little at that, but Zayne was already turning back to the counter, picking up his tablet and checking the schedule for the day with mechanical efficiency. You knew that look, the Doctor Mode™ face. Still, even with the schedule laid out and his mind already halfway into the operating room, he reached for you with his free hand, pulling you to stand between his legs as he leaned back against the counter.

“You should go back to bed,” he said again, tone softening. “Or take a bath. I already had the temperature set.”

You made a small, sleepy whimper and leaned into him, arms around his waist.

“I miss working,” you admitted, voice muffled against his vest.

Zayne’s fingers slowly combed through your hair. “You miss exhaustion. You miss forgetting to eat and falling asleep in your office chair.”

“I miss my team…”

“They email you. Weekly. And I never stopped you from reading the mission reports.”

You pouted. He kissed it off your lips.

“I didn’t make you quit,” he murmured. “I asked you to rest. To be soft. To be mine. Fully. And you said yes.”

You nodded, slowly. Zayne held your chin and looked at you seriously, hazel-green eyes sharp behind his glasses.

“You are not missing anything out there. You have everything here.”

Then he lifted you easily onto the counter, his large hands warm against your thighs. “You’re my perfect little wife. You pack my lunches with bear-shaped rice balls and handwritten notes. You bring me tea when I forget to hydrate. You nap in the sunroom. You water the hydrangeas. You pick out my pocket squares.”

He slid one into your hand now, a soft peach one to match your robe.

“I am not letting you throw yourself back into that chaos. Not when I finally have you to myself. Not when you finally smile more than you sigh.”

You swallowed, cheeks burning. “You’re so bossy in the mornings.”

“I’m bossy because I care.”

He pulled you off the counter, set you gently on your feet, and buttoned up your robe with care, like you were porcelain. Then, from his coat pocket, he produced a sleek little pillbox.

“You forgot your supplements yesterday. Take them now.”

“Zaaaynieeee…”

“No. Open.”

You did, and he popped one onto your tongue, following it with a kiss so soft you forgot what you were arguing about.

Later that day…

He would sit in the break room, quietly ignoring grayson’s complaints while pulling the pink bunny bento out of his briefcase. When he read the little note, he’d smile to himself, just a bit.

Then, when one of the interns commented on how “cute” it was, he would deadpan:

“She makes them for me every morning. I consider myself extremely fortunate.”

And when he got home—exhausted and loosened from his suit, he’d find you in his oversized shirt, already asleep in his study, curled up in his reading chair. He’d pick you up, kiss your forehead, and carry you to bed without a word. Tucking you in like the most precious thing in his life.

Because you were.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

It was always quiet in the upper floors of the penthouse.

Soft, surreal quiet, the kind that only existed in homes built high above the clouds. The kind of quiet where time slowed down, and everything felt like a dream stitched together with silk and moonlight.

You were draped in one of Xavier’s oversized white sweaters, sleeves swallowing your hands as you curled up on the crescent-shaped couch in the sunroom. The sweater smelled faintly of his cologne, clean, cool, and something like starlight, and you’d started to associate that scent with safety.

With home.

The low hum of the smart kettle simmered in the background. A jar of golden marmalade sat open beside a tiny teacup, half-filled with his special blend of herbal tea. A handmade plate of shortbread cookies (triangle-shaped, because Xavier didn’t understand why cookies had to be round) waited quietly beside it.

And of course, he was fast asleep. Again.

Curled on the floor beside your legs, one hand resting gently on your ankle like a makeshift leash. His silver hair spilled over your lap, impossibly soft. His breathing was slow, rhythmic, peaceful. Even when unconscious, Xavier looked like something from another world, beautiful, strange, quietly devoted.

You giggled softly and brushed his bangs back, watching the way his lips parted slightly. He made a sleepy hum, then shifted closer, nuzzling into your thigh with all the gentleness of a pampered cat.

“You really fell asleep again?” you whispered, amused.

“Mhm,” he mumbled without opening his eyes. “Recharging.”

“You came in to bring me tea, not nap.”

“I did bring the tea.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers along the shell of his ear. “You’re lucky I don’t mind.”

He finally opened one eye, a soft, glassy blue, and tilted his face toward you, still resting against your lap. “You left the bath too early.”

“You were asleep in the bath.”

“I was making sure the temperature was consistent.”

You snorted. “By napping in it?”

He blinked slowly. “Yes.”

You leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your husband.”

“Which is the same thing.”

Xavier exhaled slowly, then rose to sit beside you. He reached over, wordlessly tugging you into his arms and onto his lap, adjusting your position with graceful efficiency. Your legs ended up draped over his, arms looped around his neck as he cradled you like something precious. Which, to him, you were.

“You’re not allowed to go back to the association.” he murmured, voice low. “I locked your gear away.”

“You hid my gun too.”

“You’re not a hunter anymore,” he whispered, resting his cheek against yours. “You’re… you’re mine.”

You shivered a little, not because it was cold, but because there was such finality in the way he said it. Not possessive. Not controlling. Just… pure. Like a simple fact of the universe.

“You say that like I’m your treasure.”

“You are,” he said. “And treasures stay indoors. Where they’re warm. And happy. And dressed in very soft sweaters.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. “You made me quit.”

“You were tired,” he said simply. “You were hurt. You didn’t say it. But I saw.”

You looked away, but his fingers gently turned your chin back toward him.

“I’ll never let you get hurt again,” he promised. “Not while I’m here.”

“…You’re always here.”

“Exactly.”

He kissed you, soft, dreamy, slow. The kind of kiss that erased the years of chasing stars and burying your exhaustion in duty. The kind of kiss that said: Stay. Let me love you like this forever.

You melted into him, into his arms, into this beautiful moonlit home he’d made for you both.

Later that night…

You found a small wrapped package on your vanity: a new pastel dress, chosen by Xavier himself. Along with it, a simple sticky note in his oddly neat handwriting:

“For tomorrow’s sunroom breakfast.

I promise to make round scones this time. I love you. – X”

You giggled, holding the dress to your chest. Then, from somewhere in the hallway, came the sound of a light thud, Xavier had fallen asleep halfway to the bed again.

Of course.

Your sleepy, sweet, doting husband.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

The mansion wasn’t built for subtlety.

It spanned over three sprawling hills of private land in a region Sylus referred to only as “safehouse no. 7.” You once joked that any place with diamond chandeliers and six koi ponds didn’t qualify as a safehouse, but Sylus had just smirked, kissed your forehead, and said, “Kitten, I don’t half-ass security. Or aesthetics.”

Everything inside shimmered like it had been plucked from a fairy tale and reimagined through luxury catalogues. Velvet chaise lounges in your favorite colors. Rococo mirrors imported from galaxies you couldn’t pronounce. Every door had a gilded, custom-made floral etching, and every single room smelled faintly like roses and the perfume Sylus claimed “only suits his princess.”

And in the center of it all, you.

Wrapped in lace and tulle and sitting on the marble vanity as your husband fastened a delicate anklet around your leg. A charm dangled from it: a tiny red crow with a ruby eye. Matching the brooch nestled on your collarbone. Matching the smug glint in his red eyes as he leaned forward to press a kiss just above your ankle.

“There,” he murmured. “Now the whole estate knows who you belong to.”

You giggled, lips parted in a dazed smile. “You already made them print my initials on all the guest towels.”

“And?”

“And you renamed the island after me.”

His smile grew wider, arrogant. “A island is still too small for you.”

You laughed harder, curling your fingers in his silvery hair as he stood to full height, crowding you gently against the mirror. His hand slipped around your waist, firm and possessive.

“You’re insufferable,” you teased.

“I’m perfect,” he corrected, voice low, smug. “And so are you. That’s why I dragged you out of that pathetic job. Look at you. You were never meant to be anything less than worshipped.”

His voice dropped lower, brushing heat against your neck.

“I built this place for you. Every velvet curtain. Every silk sheet. Every gold-dusted bath bomb. All so my princess could finally live like the doll she was meant to be.”

“I do like the bath bombs…”

He chuckled. “You like the fact that I warm the tub for you and brush your hair while you soak in them.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“And today,” he said, brushing his thumb over your lip, “you’re not lifting a single finger. I had a schedule drafted.”

You blinked. “…A schedule?”

“Of pampering,” he said, guiding you off the vanity and onto his arm. “First: brunch. The chef has recreated those heart-shaped waffles you liked. Then: wardrobe preview. Every dress in your new closet is custom—frills, bows, ridiculous sparkle. You’re picking your favorites and we’re hosting a private photoshoot. I’ve cleared the whole wing.”

You flushed. “Sylus, I don’t need—”

“You need to be spoiled,” he said simply. “That’s my job. To make you giggle. To hear that sweet voice saying you missed me while I was out threatening arms dealers. I want to come back to my princess twirling in something pretty and demanding I carry her down the stairs.”

“…So if I did that right now—?”

He bent low and swept you off your feet before you could finish. Bridal-style. Effortless.

You squealed and held on as he carried you, smirking all the way down the marble steps like he was showing off a rare jewel.

“See?” he said. “Perfect.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your ridiculous.”

Later that evening…

He returned from one of his armory audits, only to find you curled on the sofa in one of your new frilly nightgowns, cuddling a plush red crow he’d sneakily commissioned to resemble him.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, leaning against the doorway, watching his wife hold a doll version of him like it was her most treasured thing in the world.

“…I take it you like the surprise?” he said smoothly.

You looked up, eyes wide and glowing. “He sings when you squeeze his tummy!”

You demonstrated, and yes, it was his voice. Singing one of the lullabies he only ever hummed when he thought you were asleep.

“God your singing is horrible as always” You laugh lovingly.

Sylus stared for a moment. Then gave a rare, genuine smile.

“does that mean i can take it back?.”

You pout. “No.”

“Okay okay kitty put those claws away,” he said, eyes glowing faintly red, teasing.

And he crossed the room, scooping you, and the plush crow, into his arms.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The Skyhaven penthouse was silent, save for the hum of the wind outside and the soft mechanical shhhh of the air purification system. So high up the clouds drifted right past the windows, and the golden skyline of Linkon City blinked faintly beneath your feet.

Inside, it was all warmth.

Plush carpets. Heated tiles. The faint scent of Caleb’s cologne, cedar, fuel, something electric, lingering on every blanket and every t-shirt of his you stole.

And on the cream-colored velvet couch, you lay sprawled like a doll, clutching a purple dinosaur plush he’d won you from a claw machine, one of seven from that day, actually. Your legs were propped over a pile of throw pillows, your pink robe slipping just enough to reveal the soft lace camisole Caleb had picked out for you that morning.

That was when the front door opened.

Heavy boots. Click of metal. The deep voice, smooth like gravity itself.

“I know you’re not wearing socks again.”

You pouted immediately, pulling your blanket over your toes. “They made my feet hot.”

Caleb’s voice warmed. “Did my little pipsqueak overheat again? Poor thing. C’mere.”

He was out of uniform, just in a dark grey tee and his flight pants, gloves tucked in his back pocket. His hair was still slightly windblown from the helipad. And yet, like always, he looked straight at you first.

Not the mail on the table. Not the reports from the Farspace Fleet.

Just you.

You squealed as he crossed the room in three long strides and scooped you up off the couch like you weighed nothing.

“Caleb!”

“What?” he grinned, settling you on his lap like you belonged there. (You did.) “I didn’t get my hello kiss.”

“You could’ve just sat down next to me!”

He blinked. “…But then I couldn’t baby you properly.”

You sighed dramatically but curled into him like second nature, cheek pressed to his chest.

“Gege…” You mutter out of habit.

“Mhm?”

“I didn’t clean today.”

“Good,” he said without hesitation. “What did I say about that?”

You mumbled into his shirt. “That cleaning is not your job anymore.”

“Exactly.” He ran his gloved fingers gently along your spine, slow and indulgent. “You’re cute to be mopping floors. What if you slipped?”

“You’ve got drones for that…”

“And they’re happy to do it. So why’s my pipsqueak crawling around on the floor like a maid, huh?” He kissed your temple. “You’re supposed to be pampered.”

You sighed again, the kind of sigh that only ever came when you were completely, utterly spoiled.

“…I was gonna cook for you.”

He paused. “Did you touch the stove?”

“…No?”

“Good. You’d probably burn your pretty fingers.”

You gasped, swatting at him. “I made you lunch last week!”

He caught your wrist easily and kissed the back of your hand. “And it was adorable. Still had rice stuck to your cheek after.”

You groaned and buried your face in his neck, already melting as he chuckled.

Then—he shifted, standing with you still in his arms.

“Caleb—!”

“Dinner’s being delivered. I already ordered. You’re having the little custard thing you like for dessert.”

You blinked. “…The peach blossom tart?”

He kissed your cheek. “Mhm.”

“You do love me.”

He smirked. “I married you, didn’t I?”

Later that evening…

You were laying across his lap in the penthouse lounge, nibbling on a fruit skewer while Caleb scrolled through your shared calendar on his tablet.

“…Did you really block off next week as ‘Princess Downtime’?” you asked between bites.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even write what it was.”

He looked at you, deadpan. “You don’t need a reason. You’re my pipsqueak. If I want to spend three days dressing you up in new outfits and feeding you strawberries while you lounge in my arms, I will.”

You flushed.

“…You’re over the top.”

“You married me anyway.”

You leaned in, kissing his cheek, then whispered: “Only ‘cause I wanted your last name.”

He laughed. Then—casually—

“…Want me to change the law so I’m the only one who can have it?”

“CALEB—!”

378 notes · View notes

avylea16 · 8 days ago

Note

Hiii do u think u could write about a chubby mc by any chance like maybe similar to your works with the lingerie and pampering? Thank you so much!!!

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Fluffy

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluffff, i love soft women therefore the boys love soft women. this is for alllll the chubby reader requests. feel free to request more specific scenarios if you’d like :p

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Your chubbiness is a result of their spoiling. they take full responsibility

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- “So soft…” Rafayel can’t stop touching you. Your tummy, your thighs, your arms, he’s always squeezing, always hugging you from behind with his chin resting on your shoulder and both hands laid over your stomach like it’s sacred. “It’s all mine, isn’t it?” he murmurs with a dreamy little smile that makes your heart melt.

- He spoils you constantly. Food from quaint seaside cafés, sugary pastries, lavender bubble tea, rich desserts from his homeland… and he insists on feeding you with his own stained fingers. If you try to share with him, he pouts, “No, no, I bought it for you, not to split.”

- He’s obsessed with how you glow. He paints you in soft, dreamy palettes, your figure bathed in sunlight, your belly peeking from under silk robes, your stretch marks immortalized like delicate brushstrokes. He’ll kiss your shoulder and murmur, “My masterpiece.” And he means it.

- He takes it personally when you talk about dieting. He’ll gently pull you onto his lap, smug as ever, rubbing slow circles into your hips while teasing, “You want to starve what I’ve been working so hard on?” Then he starts pressing kisses down your neck until you forget what you were even saying.

- He overstimulates you out of worship. Especially when you’re feeling self-conscious. Rafayel takes his time with you. He kisses every inch of your stomach, thighs, hips. His voice goes soft, “I love when you’re full of me… full of love. You’re perfect like this.” And he makes sure you feel it, over and over again.

- He loves how soft you are when you sleep. He always spoons you, his leg draped over yours, hand possessively resting on your stomach. Sometimes, he’ll even wake you up at 3am just to whisper, “You’re so beautiful right now. Look at the moonlight on your skin.”

- He starts drama with Thomas constantly. Usually because he’s skipping some press event or gallery meeting to stay home feeding you strawberries in bed or building a pillow nest around you for a nap. “Tell him I’m retired,” Rafayel yawns, nuzzling into your hair. “I’m busy sculpting divinity.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- He doesn’t say much, he just stares. The moment you walk by in one of your silky robes, and he catches the curve of your fuller hips, your thighs, the soft swell of your stomach, Zayne goes completely silent. His hazel-green eyes follow every movement like a surgeon examining perfection. And then? That low, commanding “Come here.”

- He has zero complaints. You might grumble that you can’t fit into one of your old gala gowns, but he’s already kneeling in front of you, lips brushing your stomach. His voice is calm, steady, reverent. “Then we’ll get better ones. Custom. To fit exactly the way I like.”

- He touches you constantly at home. When you’re curled up beside him, he’ll rest his hand over your thigh or stomach while reading patient files or typing on his tablet. He rubs slow, absentminded circles, like the feel of you grounds him more than anything else.

- He keeps feeding you, without comment. Gourmet meals, imported teas, delicate desserts from private caterers. He’ll set snack trays on your vanity while you get ready, murmuring behind you as he fastens your necklace, “Eat something while I zip this up.”

- Strict with everyone, except you. When you worry out loud about your weight, he looks at you with that cool, clinical gaze before saying, in a voice that brooks no argument: “You’re healthy. You’re mine. That’s all that matters.”

- Obsessively gentle during intimacy. Especially now that you’re softer. Zayne takes his time, kissing your stomach, massaging your thighs, whispering into your skin like he’s reading scripture. “I love this body. You grew it for me.”

- He starts buying you more robes. Expensive ones. Satin, silk, cashmere, soft fabrics that fall around your frame like royalty. All a little oversized, all handpicked. “You’re a doctor’s wife now,” he says, voice low with amusement. “I expect you to look the part.”

- He shuts down your insecurities instantly. A quiet frown at your reflection? Tugging at your shirt in the mirror? Zayne’s already there. He closes the mirror with a snap, tilts your chin up with steady fingers, and says, with unshakable certainty: “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” And with him, you know it’s the truth.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- He’s completely fascinated by your body. Xavier watches you like he’s studying your curves for a thesis. When you shift beneath his gaze, he tilts his head, touches your belly or hips, and murmurs, “You’ve changed… I like it. You feel warmer.”

- He teases you when you’re curled up together. Lying on the couch with you wrapped in his arms, he strokes your sides and hums, “If you get any more spoiled, I might have to carry you everywhere.” Then he does, lifting you with ease and tucking you into bed like precious treasure.

- He falls asleep on your tummy constantly. It’s become his new favorite pillow. He curls up around you like a sleepy cat, arms snug around your waist, murmuring softly as he drifts off, “You’re softer now… don’t change it.”

- He buys you outfits that show off your new curves. Tailored gowns, soft clingy fabrics, elegant cuts that flatter everything. He brushes his fingers along the zipper and says, low and reverent, “If you’re mine… I want everyone to know it.”

- Your insecurity doesn’t compute. You say something like, “I think I gained weight,” and Xavier just blinks at you. “So?” he says plainly. “You’re mine either way. I don’t want you small. I want you happy.”

- He overfeeds you without realizing. Every slice of cake, every weird herbal drink he mixes for you, it’s all love. If you say no, he looks vaguely heartbroken. “Please,” he murmurs, coaxing the bite to your lips. “Just one more. You’ll like it.”

- He secretly memorizes every stretch mark. He kisses them like starlight, like they’re sacred constellations. Tracing them with his fingers, he whispers, “You changed for me… I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

- If anyone dares comment on your weight… Xavier goes still. Completely unreadable. He doesn’t react in front of you, but later, someone ends up quietly blacklisted, evicted, or vanishes entirely from the N109 registry. When you ask, he just hums, “Strange. People disappear all the time.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- “Look at you.” That’s the first thing he says every morning, voice rough, amused, eyes glued to the way you stretch in bed beside him. His gaze lingers on your plush thighs under the satin sheets, your softened waist, the evidence of his spoiling. “You really have gotten spoiled, haven’t you?”

- He treats your weight gain like a divine achievement. He’ll lean back in his chair, wine in hand, watching you try on a new dress with a lazy, hungry smile. “You were beautiful when I met you. But now? Now you look like you belong to me.”

- He feeds you luxuries like a prince feeding a pet. Truffles, lavender tarts, honey-drenched pastries. He sits you in his lap during meetings, arms around your waist, lazily slipping bites between your lips. “Open up. Good girl.”

- He buys you tighter clothes on purpose. They’re supposedly tailored, but they always cling just a little too much at the hips, the chest. When you pout or tug at the fabric, he smirks. “Maybe I like watching you outgrow things. Makes me feel like I’m doing my job right.”

- He talks to your stomach in private. Especially after long, indulgent nights. He’ll press soft kisses to your belly, murmuring against your skin like it’s a prayer. “You take everything I give you so well. Look at how you’ve changed for me.”

- In public, he’s shamelessly possessive. His hand always rests over your stomach, arm snug around your waist. He makes sure people notice. Especially the ones who knew you when you were thinner. “Doesn’t she look divine?” he’ll ask, voice full of dangerous pride.

- He cuts off any insult with a smile like a blade. If anyone glances at your figure with even a hint of judgment, Sylus leans in close. “Careful,” he says smoothly. “Speak like that again and I’ll have you scrubbing sublevels in Zone K by morning.”

- Your softness is his favorite display of power. You didn’t get soft for anyone else, you got soft for him. And Sylus lives for it. His voice dips low with satisfaction every time he sees your curves catch the light. “Let them all see,” he murmurs. “You’re mine now. And it shows.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- “I’ve been feeding you well, huh?” he teases, voice soft and full of pride. He wraps his arms around you from behind, presses a warm kiss to your neck, and gives your belly a gentle squeeze, like he’s proud of it. Like it means you’re finally his.

- He refuses to let you walk half the time. From bed to couch, to his ship’s quarters, Caleb just picks you up with no warning. “You’re not walking.” His voice leaves no room for argument. He’ll nuzzle your cheek and murmur, “You’ve gotten heavier. I love it.”

- He tucks snacks into your bag like a protective husband prepping for war. Your favorite cookies, soft milk drinks, sweet little pastries, he packs them before missions or errands. “Eat while I’m gone, okay?” he tells you. “I want you full when I get back.”

- He’s obsessed with you in his clothes. Especially when you’re lounging around in one of his Farspace shirts and it rides up just a little over your tummy. He’ll freeze mid-coffee, jaw slack. “Pips. Seriously. Come here. Right now.”

- He shuts down your insecurities fast. Call yourself too chubby? His expression hardens instantly. “Pips, i made you like this. You’re soft. You’re safe. You’re mine.” And then he’s pulling you into his lap, hand resting over your stomach like he’s guarding the most precious treasure in the universe.

- He maps your body like a star chart. Especially after showers or when you’re curled in bed, his fingers trace every curve, every mark, every soft place you’ve grown under his love. “I could spend forever learning this body,” he whispers, kissing your skin.

- He doesn’t tolerate a single word against you. One snide remark from a cadet and his smile vanishes. One glance from Caleb and that person is off the mission roster, probably reassigned to the worst post in orbit. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

- To him, your softness means you’re safe. You stopped running. You started resting. You let him take care of you. Every night before bed, he kisses your stomach like it’s holy. “Took you forever to let me love you, huh?” he whispers. “Look at you now.”

243 notes · View notes

avylea16 · 8 days ago

Note

So I had a thought which is dangerous but I digress. What if MC has like too much rizz and this is pre-relationship with our obsessive lads boys. Like, the boys love her and she's oblivious to their feelings, and whilst that happens, she's literally always catching hearts left and right. Barista that works at Destiny Cafe? She gives MC free coffee all the time. A group of male insects walk by? They're all running into poles or trip over themselves. And she's loving all this attention while the boys are like "IM LITERALLY RIGHT HERE AND READY TO TAKE CARE OF YOU!!!!"

Like these ppl will not leave the gurl alone and the lads boys are this close 🤏 to committing so many crimes and getting sentenced to life in prison. That's all for my speech today 🙌

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ level 10 Rizz

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, crack, this is so funny to me :D

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ Your rizz is endless but so is your ignorance

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

– Rafayel is literally deranged over you. He watches from a distance as you effortlessly steal hearts without even meaning to. Hair toss? Cute laugh? Eye contact? He’s gripping the nearest surface.

– You think you’re just being friendly. You don’t notice the barista at Destiny Café slipping you an extra espresso shot and scribbling hearts on the cup. Raf sees it. Raf memorizes the name of the barista. Raf is not okay.

– You’re smiling at a random passing group of guys, and they all trip over their own feet like a scene from a rom-com. You giggle and wave. Rafayel is behind you, absolutely vibrating with rage-coded infatuation.

– “Don’t you get tired of entertaining losers?” he’ll mutter, trailing after you like a too-hot shadow.

“Aw, you jealous?”

Raf laughs hollowly “Don’t test me, pretty girl.”

– When you sweetly ask his opinion on what to wear for your “casual night out,” he stares at you like you just asked if you should walk into traffic.

“…No,” he says simply.

“Why not?”

“Because if you walk out in that, I’ll have to break at least three necks tonight, and I’m already tired.”

– He’s constantly softening his voice around you, acting all chill and teasing like, “Go ahead, keep collecting fans, pretty thing.” But inside he’s screaming. Like actually screaming.

– When you say things like “You’re such a good friend, Raffy!” he goes straight to the underworld to take out his frustration on a criminal syndicate.

“I’m not your friend,” he whispers to himself, with a shattered smile.

– But then, when you do give him even a little of that rizz? When you wink at him, or cup his cheek playfully? He glitches. He malfunctions. His brain just, stop.

– “You’re going to ruin me,” he finally says one day, voice low and close to your ear. “And I’m going to let you. But for god’s sake, stop smiling at everyone like that unless it’s going to be me.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

– Zayne has spent his whole life controlling his emotions. But you? You make control a myth.

– You walk into the hospital cafeteria, flash that pretty smile at the intern behind the register, and suddenly he’s giving you a “loyalty card” with 10 free meals already stamped.

Zayne sees. Zayne notes it. Zayne adjusts his cufflinks like he isn’t plotting to reassign that intern to the basement archives.

– You’re talking to a male nurse and laughing. The guy’s flirting, blushing, adjusting his scrubs.

“He’s sweet.”

Zayne, stone-faced: “He’s an idiot.”

“You think everyone’s an idiot.”

“No. Just the ones who think they have a chance.”

– He’s walking with you through the hospital lobby and some guy dares to wink at you. Zayne’s hand is suddenly at your lower back. Gentle, guiding, but possessive.

“Oh? Playing bodyguard?”

“Would you prefer they try again?”

– You think Zayne’s just your “grumpy doctor friend” who’s always sighing and adjusting your jacket or handing you water like he’s keeping you alive.

Zayne is, in fact, clinically obsessed with you. You are his favorite case study in restraint.

– “This guy at the gym asked for my number. Isn’t that cute?”

Zayne: blinks slowly

“…You’re not going back to that gym.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. And you’re getting a home gym. I’ll install it myself.”

– You’ll lean on his shoulder all sweet and unaware, going, “You’d tell me if someone liked me, right?”

And this man, this emotionally constipated man, will look at you like you just split open his ribcage.

“…No,” he says eventually.

“…Why not?”

“Because I’m not ready to see what happens if I do.”

– But every time you rizz him up without realizing, when you casually touch his wrist, or hum while standing too close, or look up at him with those eyes?

He has to take a measured breath. Like he’s about to go into surgery. Because he is fighting for his life.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

– Xavier stands beside you like a statue of serenity. Meanwhile, his brain is short-circuiting every time you unintentionally destroy another person’s will to live with your beauty.

– You giggle, “That vendor gave me this necklace for free. Said it matched my eyes.”

Xavier turns away and mumbles to himself “I should have bought the entire booth.”

– You smile at some poor delivery guy who nearly drops a box of flowers at your feet.

“That was sweet, right?”

Xavier: “…He was sweating.”

“So?”

“I was two seconds from incinerating him.”

– You lean over his arm while scrolling through new outfits, asking, “Would this look good on me?” and he’s frozen in place like a system update failed.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even look?”

“I’ve already memorized your measurements. It would look perfect.”

– “This guy at the café said I looked like a star.”

Xavier, smiling gently: “He’s not wrong.”

You: “You’re not mad?”

Xavier: smile widens just slightly “No. Stars burn out, after all.”

– People flirt with you constantly. Xavier is always there. Silently appearing at your side. Soft-spoken. Menacingly polite. He will stare someone into evaporating.

Barista: “Here’s your drink, angel~”

Xavier, behind you: “Thank you. I’ll make sure she doesn’t drink it.”

– When you’re sweet and lean into him like, “Xav, you’re the only one who doesn’t flirt with me!” he just stares.

“You think I’m not flirting?” he murmurs, voice low. “I’ve been in love with you for months.”

– And every time you call him “my favorite,” or playfully hold onto his sleeve, or rest your head on his chest?

He stands perfectly still, soaking it in like you’re light and he’s the void that wants to keep you forever.

– He goes home, lies on the couch face-down, and screams into the cushions. Then probably wakes up four hours later under the coffee table. Still in love. Still suffering.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

– Sylus is the type to stand in the back of a gala, swirling his drink, eyes fixed on you while ten people try to flirt with him. He doesn’t even blink.

You’re across the room, smiling like sin, and he’s already rewriting his will to include your name on everything.

– You: “This guy at the salon offered me a discount today. Said it’s ‘criminal to charge someone so beautiful.’”

Sylus: doesn’t laugh. doesn’t smile.

Sylus: “What’s criminal is how many limbs I’m willing to break for that kind of nonsense.”

– Every time someone hits on you, Sylus isn’t jealous, he’s offended. Like, how dare they breathe your air as if it belongs to them?

– You wear something cute. He stares. You catch him. He smirks.

You: “Too much?”

Sylus: “No. Let them look.”

pause

Sylus, voice lower: “I’ll be the one undressing you, eventually.”

– He watches you lead men on accidentally, smiling, tilting your head, touching arms like you’re just being sweet, and he laughs under his breath.

“You really don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

– You: “Why are you always around when I get hit on?”

Sylus: “Why are you always surprised when I am?”

You: “Coincidence?”

Sylus: “No. Surveillance.”

– He’s smug as hell when you cling to him in public. You wrap your arms around his, looking all pretty and unaware, and he melts internally.

“Careful, darling,” he murmurs, “You’ll make me think you’re mine already.”

– But the second you call him your “partner-in-crime” or “best friend”?

He’s shutting the world down for a moment. Recalculating.

“Friend,” he repeats, smiling like a shark. “That’s cute.”

– You blow him a kiss jokingly once and he genuinely stops mid-step.

“You’re dangerous,” he says softly, almost to himself. “But I want it. I want all of it.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

– Caleb does not understand how you do it. You’re out here causing collateral damage with one flirty laugh. One glance. One bat of your lashes. And he’s behind you like:

“Can you not charm the entire civilian population for five minutes?”

– You: “The Skyhaven shuttle pilot gave me a discount! Said I made his day.”

Caleb: already inputting the pilot’s name into a blacklisted personnel database

You: “You okay?”

Caleb: calm, composed “Yeah. Just thinking about airlock safety protocols.”

– You’re always unintentionally inviting chaos. Helping some random guy adjust his tie? Chatting up an ambassador who’s clearly swooning? Caleb is right there.

You: “Oh, I didn’t realize that was flirting…”

Caleb: “Of course you didn’t.”

You: “You sound mad.”

Caleb: “I’m fine. Just making a mental list of every man you’ve ever smiled at.”

– His arms are crossed, jaw tight, eyes tracking your every move like you’re a mission he hasn’t been cleared for yet.

He says nothing, but that death glare he sends across the room?

The man you were talking to suddenly remembers he has a meeting on Mars.

– You: “Caleb, you’re always staring at me.”

Caleb: “You’re always giving me a reason to.”

– He’s terrifying to everyone else, Fleet Colonel, absolute legend. But then you look at him and giggle and he goes completely soft.

You: “You’re blushing!”

Caleb: “I’m not.”

You: “You are!”

Caleb: quietly malfunctioning “…Don’t tease.”

– You’ll loop your arm through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’ll keep walking like normal, but his ears are red and he’s processing that for the next three hours.

– And when you call him something innocent like “my favorite colonel” with a wink?

He just. Stops.

“You can’t say things like that,” he murmurs.

You: “Why not?”

Caleb: voice low, raw “Because I’ll think you mean it. And then I won’t be able to hold back anymore.”

260 notes · View notes

avylea16 · 8 days ago

Text

A little headcanon I have is that MC's hunter watch has a heart monitor because of their heart condition (Aether Core and all) and that it warns them whenever their heartbeat gets unusually high.

Now, imagine the guys triggering the watch every time they fluster MC somehow. It's just...the most embarrassing, dead giveaway that MC likes them pre-relationship, because even out of nowhere while they're doing mundane things together they'll hear beeping only to turn around and see MC panicking to shut the thing off-- dhjskssksks

MC is frustrated by the sheer amount of times the monitor goes off around them but of course, they find it deeply amusing.

448 notes · View notes

avylea16 · 9 days ago

Note

I'm obsessed with your writing style!! Can I request the Love and Deepspace guys the very first time they take you shopping, wanting to spoil you and pick out pretty things for you, but you're still a little uncomfortable?

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Hesitation

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluffff, reader is a bit awkward, i promise i’ll be going through all the requests soon. i hope this is good :D

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You didn’t realise they’ve been waiting their whole life to take care of you

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You didn’t even realize where he was taking you at first. One minute, Rafayel was humming beside you in the sun-drenched car, legs loosely crossed, wrist lazily draped over his knee, then the next, you were standing in front of a boutique with marble steps and gilded trim, its window displays shimmering with silk and starlight.

You looked up at him, confused.

“I thought we were just grabbing food?”

He smiled, soft and lopsided. “We will. After.”

Your arms stayed crossed as he nudged the glass door open, the cool air inside fragrant with expensive perfume. You hesitated on the threshold like it burned. The place was pristine, curated for a kind of woman you never thought to be, draped in chiffon, light on her feet, untouched by blood or plasma discharge.

“I don’t need anything.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I want to give you something.”

He was already drifting inside, fingertips brushing lazily across a rack of pale-colored dresses like he was feeling textures of coral under the sea. His eyes were sparkling, pink and blue both. Not because he cared about the fashion. But because you were here.

You stayed by the entrance like an idiot, hand still on your belt. Rafayel turned, noting the stiffness in your shoulders. Then he padded back to you, soft, catlike steps, always a little too close.

“You look scared,” he teased gently, leaning in like he was about to share a secret. “It’s not a trap. Unless you count being emotionally manipulated by a pretty man who loves you.”

You huffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said without flinching. “And always wearing the same six hunter outfits. They don’t even have proper pockets. Let me give you something nice. Please.”

The word please lingered in the air, rare and sincere. It made your throat tighten.

He tilted his head. “You don’t have to like it. Just try something on. For me.”

His tone was so unassuming, so earnest in its quiet request, it disarmed you. A little part of you, tired, sore, always on alert, ached to be indulgent. Just for a second.

“…Fine,” you muttered, glaring at a display dress like it personally insulted you. “But if I look stupid, I’m blaming you.”

Rafayel beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Deal. I’ll take full responsibility. Emotionally, financially, spiritually.”

He plucked the hanger and draped it gently over your arm like a crown being placed on royalty. You rolled your eyes, but didn’t shake it off.

And when you returned from the fitting room, unsure, awkward, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, he stared at you like the stars had rearranged themselves just to form your silhouette.

“…Okay?” you asked, arms slightly lifted in a self-conscious shrug.

Rafayel didn’t answer. Not with words. He just stepped forward and reached out, cupping your cheek with a reverence that made your chest hurt.

“I want to wrap you in every soft, lovely thing,” he murmured. “So the world never gets to bruise you again.”

You swallowed thickly.

“…That’s not how it works.”

He smiled sadly. “I know. But let me try anyway.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The boutique was quiet, too quiet. The kind with glass shelves, polished floors, and a single attendant too nervous to breathe loud. The walls were lined with elegant neutral palettes, coats and dresses hanging like art. You shouldn’t have been here. Not in your boots, not with your hunters permit still sticking awkwardly out from your ID.

You shot Zayne a look.

“This is a little much, isn’t it?”

He didn’t look at you, fingers trailing steadily along the hem of a soft camel coat, his expression unreadable behind silver-rimmed glasses. “You’ll need something appropriate for the hospital gala.”

“I have a black dress.”

He hummed. “The one you wore to a funeral.”

You flushed, defensive. “It’s still in good condition.”

“I’m sure it is,” Zayne said coolly, lifting the sleeve of a deep plum cashmere number and inspecting the stitching like it offended him. “But I’d rather not have the director’s wife think you’re in mourning.”

You scowled. “You said she wasn’t your type.”

“She isn’t,” he said mildly. “But I’d still rather not.”

That earned him a look. You hated shopping. It always felt… vulnerable. You weren’t used to the stillness. The hush of indulgence. You’d spent years with utility belts and reinforced boots, shopping was for people with soft hands and quiet jobs. People who didn’t deal in violence.

Zayne stepped closer, voice lower, a hand ghosting over the small of your back without quite touching.

“You don’t have to like it,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly. “But I do want you to have something that makes you feel beautiful. Not just… armed.”

You paused.

That soft hum in his voice, that was the problem. The way he said beautiful like it was a diagnosis. Like he could see it whether or not you did. You didn’t know how to handle that.

Still, you hesitated. “…I’m not going to prance around in sequins.”

His lips tugged just faintly. “Noted. We’ll keep it understated.”

You narrowed your eyes, watching him pull a gown from a side rack. Sleek. Minimalist. No fuss. Elegant in the way he was, muted but unmistakably sharp.

He handed it to you. “Try this.”

“…What if I hate it?”

“You won’t,” he said plainly. “But if you do, I’ll find you something better.”

You stared at him, suspicious. “How do you know my size?”

“I’m a surgeon,” Zayne said flatly. “I could recreate your spine from memory.”

You blinked. Your mouth opened. Then shut.

He added, deadpan: “Don’t look so horrified. I meant that flatteringly.”

“…That wasn’t flattering.”

Zayne’s lips twitched again, like he was holding back laughter. He didn’t press. Just waited silently until you retreated into the changing room.

When you stepped out, he looked up from where he’d leaned against the edge of a display table. His eyes flicked over you once, slow, assessing, steady. No smirk. No flattery. Just… a quiet, deliberate stillness.

You shifted, uncomfortable. “Too much?”

“No,” he said simply.

You gave him a skeptical glance in the mirror. He stepped behind you, fixing the off-shoulder sleeve with a careful touch, the fabric gliding under his fingers. His scarred hands looked too rough for the material, and yet he handled it, and you, with absolute precision.

“You don’t have to wear it to the gala,” he said, his tone low, almost absentminded as he adjusted the fit on your shoulder. “But I’m buying it anyway.”

You turned to face him.

“Because it’s pretty?”

“Because you’re pretty,” he said without hesitation. “And I like watching you be reminded of it.”

That stopped your heart for half a second.

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “And you’re stalling. Go change.”

You stomped back into the dressing room before he could see you blush.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You blinked up at the glittering storefront. Mannequins in flowing satin. Soft lighting. Gentle classical music humming in the background. The kind of boutique you passed without ever really seeing. Now here you were, standing just slightly to the left of Xavier, who was staring at the mannequins like they were alien lifeforms.

“…Are we lost?”

“No,” he said, almost serenely. “This is the destination.”

“…You brought me here on purpose?”

A small nod. His silver hair shimmered slightly under the soft lighting. His expression hadn’t changed since you left the train: calm, unreadable, borderline sleepy. But his hand was resting lightly against the small of your back, guiding you inside.

“I don’t need anything fancy,” you tried, already shrinking under the chandeliers. “I’ve got my uniform. I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I like seeing you wear soft things.”

That caught you off guard. You glanced at him, suspicious. “Soft things?”

He paused, thoughtful. “Like… clouds. Or the pastries you like. But on you.”

You blinked.

“…You mean dresses.”

Xavier tilted his head. “I mean things that look good when you spin in them.”

You didn’t even know what to say to that. You were still in your boots. Still carrying the tension of your last mission between your shoulders. You didn’t belong in a place like this.

As if sensing that, Xavier stepped in front of you, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was quiet, but steady. “Do you feel uncomfortable?”

“…A little.”

A beat.

“I will fix it.”

You blinked. “What—”

But he was already off, sifting through a row of garments with the exact same eerie calm he brought to dismantling illegal protocore traders. It didn’t matter if it was dress racks or combat briefings, Xavier was methodical, careful, and just slightly tilted from what was expected.

He returned with a gauzy lavender number draped over his arm. He held it out to you without a word. You stared at it.

“Try it,” he said simply.

“I’m not even sure it’s my color.”

“I am.”

You gave him a flat look. “And when did you become a fashion expert?”

“I’m not,” he said. “But I am very good at observing you.”

Your ears grew warm.

You reluctantly took the dress and disappeared into the fitting room. The whole time, you expected to look ridiculous. Like someone else entirely. But when you stepped out.

Xavier was already watching.

His expression didn’t change.

But something… softened.

He approached slowly, the tips of his fingers brushing over the hem of the dress like it might melt. Then, without a word, he reached up and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gloved fingers didn’t touch your skin. But it still made your breath hitch.

“…You approve?” you asked, trying to sound dry.

“I do not understand what others consider beautiful,” he murmured. “But I like how you look. I like how you always look.”

You stared up at him. He was still expressionless. Still strange. Still not quite human in how he moved, or spoke, or tilted his head when he looked at you like the galaxy stopped turning.

And yet, your heart squeezed.

“…You’re being really weird.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But I’d like to buy it for you.”

You hesitated.

He added, “You don’t have to keep it. You don’t even have to wear it. But if I imagine you spinning once in it, in a room filled with light, then it’s worth it to me.”

You looked away, ears burning.

“…Fine. But only if I get to choose something you wear next time.”

Xavier nodded solemnly. “Deal. I will wear a pastry if you ask me to.”

“What— no, Xavier—!”

Too late. He was already at the counter, wallet in hand, gently coaxing the boutique worker to wrap it in tissue.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You’d expected the mission briefing. Trying out new weapoms. Maybe some recon.

You had not expected Sylus to park the car outside a luxury fashion district and say, lazily:

“Get out. We’re shopping.”

You frowned at him.

“You’re joking.”

Sylus didn’t blink. Didn’t even look at you. Just adjusted the black blazer hanging off his shoulders and tilted his head slightly, the red crow brooch catching the light.

“Do I look like I joke?”

You muttered under your breath, “You look like someone with twelve armories and no sense of moderation.”

He smirked. “And you look like someone I’d rather not have wearing knockoff tactical gear while standing next to me.”

Your glare deepened.

“I like this gear.”

“It’s functional,” Sylus said airily, guiding you toward the automatic doors with a hand at your lower back. “But function doesn’t always win wars. Sometimes presence does.”

You knew better than to argue when he was in this mood, calm, smug, and quietly plotting something three steps ahead. He wasn’t just taking you shopping. This was a statement. And you had no idea what kind.

Inside, the boutique was all mirrors and low lighting. The kind of place that didn’t display price tags, just power. A clerk stepped forward. Sylus didn’t speak to her. He just gave her a look, and she vanished into the back to fetch whatever he wanted.

You stood stiffly. He leaned against a gold-trimmed display table, watching you with idle amusement.

“I don’t need you to buy me things,” you muttered.

“I didn’t ask what you needed,” he replied smoothly. “I do what I want.”

You crossed your arms. “Why?”

That made him pause. His red eyes flicked toward you, sharp and gleaming. Then, softly:

“Because I like the idea of you wrapped in luxury. Because I enjoy watching you realize how easily you could own every room you walk into.”

A beat. Then he added with a smirk:

“And because I’m shallow and get bored. So this is also entertainment.”

You scowled.

Moments later, the clerk returned with gowns, gloves, heels, even jewelry, rich reds, deep blacks, all materials that shimmered like oil or bled like wine. Sylus didn’t touch a single one. He just looked at you expectantly.

“No way,” you said, hands raised. “I’m not trying those on.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a hunter, not—”

“Not what?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Not someone who deserves to be admired? To feel powerful in ways that don’t involve blood or bullets?”

You froze.

Sylus smiled, slow and knowing.

“Let me rephrase,” he said softly. “Go try them on. Or I’ll carry you to the fitting room myself.”

Your stomach flipped.

You grabbed the nearest piece and fled.

When you stepped out again, blood-red velvet, cut close and dangerous, Sylus’s expression didn’t shift. But his gaze burned. He tilted his head slightly, his tongue pressing lightly to the inside of his cheek, almost like he was savoring something.

“Well,” he said at last, voice low. “Look at you.”

“…Too much?” you asked stiffly.

“No,” he murmured. “It’s perfect.”

You swallowed. “I’m not used to this.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why we’re practicing.”

You blinked.

He stepped closer. Lowered his voice. “One day, you’re going to rule rooms like this. You’ll walk into a place like this, and no one will question the cost of anything. They’ll ask if it pleases you. And I’ll be the one standing behind you, amused.”

Your heart stuttered.

“…You think I’ll be like that?”

“I think,” Sylus said, reaching up to adjust a strap with slow, calculated fingers, “that you already are. You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You stared at him.

He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against your cheek like he was crowning you with it.

“Now pick a few,” he murmured. “Before I lose patience and buy out the store.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You were supposed to be getting parts. Weapons. Something for your mission. Not… standing awkwardly in front of a boutique window while Caleb stood beside you, hands in his pockets, watching you like you were the only star in the sky.

“I don’t need anything,” you muttered.

“I know,” he said softly, “but I want to give you something anyway.”

You turned to him, skeptical. “Why?”

Caleb smiled. Not the playful grin you remembered from childhood, but a softer, grown-up version. Sadder. Warmer. More dangerous.

“You work hard. You never ask for anything. You always think you have to handle everything alone.” He tilted his head. “Let me spoil you, just this once.”

You glanced at the boutique. Soft lighting. Silks and crystals and delicate things you’d never wear in a cockpit. Not your world.

“I’m not the type to wear stuff like this.”

Caleb stepped closer. You felt it before you saw it, the sudden change in pressure, the weight of his presence, like his Gravity Evol was always humming just beneath the surface, calibrated just for you.

“You don’t have to be,” he said quietly. “You’re you. That’s all I want.”

You hesitated.

And then, just like he used to do when you were kids, he reached out, tugged your sleeve lightly, and leaned in with a teasing whisper, “C’mon. You didn’t say no when I bought you five extra sticker packs that summer, remember?”

You blinked at him. “You told Gran they were on sale.”

“They were. Emotionally.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Caleb’s smile brightened. Not cocky. Not smug. Just sincere.

And before you could stop him, he was gently guiding you through the door, palm on your back, already talking to the assistant about “something soft, something pretty, something in her color.” The way he said it made your skin burn.

Inside, you tried to retreat, but Caleb was persistent in the way only he could be. Not pushy. Just present. Patient. Like he knew how many steps it would take for you to give in.

He held up a deep plum piece, simple but elegant, and tilted his head.

“I think this one’s pretty,” he murmured. “It matches your eyes.”

“…Yours are purple,” you pointed out.

He smiled again, and this time, there was heat behind it. “Exactly.”

You snatched the outfit from his hand and stormed off to the changing room just to get away from the flutter in your chest.

When you stepped out, uncomfortable and tugging at the fabric, he was already sitting there, waiting. Legs spread, one arm draped over the chair, dark brown hair slightly tousled from his flight jacket.

His gaze traveled down your body slowly, taking in everything.

“…You like it?” you asked, fidgeting.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stood, walked over, and reached to fix the collar.

“I love it,” he said, voice low. “But I’d love it more if you didn’t look like you were about to bolt.”

“I’m not used to—”

“I know,” he cut in gently, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “But I’m going to keep doing this. Slowly. Until you believe it’s okay to let me take care of you.”

Your heart thudded.

He looked down at you, purple eyes glowing softly.

“Because I always have,” he whispered. “I always will.”

And when the assistant brought out a pair of heels that matched perfectly, Caleb took them from her hands, crouched in front of you, and, before you could even protest, slipped one on with the same calm focus he used when piloting his favourite aircraft.

“…Cinderella moment?” you asked, flustered.

“Mm,” he smiled, still crouched. “No. My girl doesn’t need saving. But she deserves everything beautiful.”

442 notes · View notes

avylea16 · 9 days ago

Note

Hmmm the lads men visiting reader who they find building a cabinet, mowing the lawn, plunging the toilet, etc etc and them going "pretty girl??? why are you doing physical labor???"

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ You’re not a maid, baby

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, crack, this is so funny, rafayel would totally have a wardrobe of different costumes for him and you for sexy time lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They find you cleaning

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You’re on your knees. In one of your softest, frilliest nightgowns. Elbow-deep in a soapy bucket, hand-wiping the skirting boards like some tragic princess cursed to clean her own castle.

Rafayel drops the canvas he was holding. Just lets it fall.

“…Baby.”

He sounds so gentle. Too gentle. His eyes are wide. “Are you… doing chores?”

You blink up at him. “The cleaning staff is off today, so I just thought—”

“You thought?” His voice cracks. “You thought my precious baby cupcake sugar-dumpling should be on the floor? Like some tragic unpaid intern in a drama?”

He’s on the floor beside you in seconds, gathering you in his arms like he’s rescuing a drowned kitten.

“I wasn’t even gone long, and look what happened,” he whimpers dramatically, nuzzling into your neck. “I left you unsupervised for five hours and you’ve become a Victorian servant girl.”

“But it’s not a big deal,”

He picks you up, bridal style of course, and carries you straight into his art studio where he plops you on a heart-shaped chaise and wraps you in a sparkly throw blanket like a burrito.

“You’re grounded,” he says. “From labor. Forever.”

“…Can I at least clean the fish tank?”

“No. They can live in filth. But you? You live in luxury.”

Then he calls thomas and yells: “Send someone. My wife touched the floor. We’re in crisis.”

From that day forward, any time he catches you trying to lift a single feather duster, he gives you a scandalized gasp and clutches his chest like he’s been mortally wounded.

Also buys you ridiculous princessy cleaning outfits just for bedroom play purposes. But if you ever actually touch a mop again?

He’s “filing for an annulment in protest” (he won’t, he’s just dramatic and in love).

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

He comes home from a 12-hour hospital shift, already loosening his tie, only to freeze in the entryway.

“…what are you doing?”

His voice is low. Dangerously low. You glance up from scrubbing the floorboards on your knees, smiling, your nightgown soft and slightly slipping from one shoulder.

“The staff’s on leave for the week, so I just—”

“No.”

Zayne’s kneeling beside you in a heartbeat, pulling you up and inspecting your delicate fingers like you’ve just survived a minefield.

“You’re not scrubbing floors like a maid,” he mutters, furious but quiet. “You’re a wife, not a housekeeper. You make tea. You sit and look pretty. You kiss me when I get home.”

You pout. “But the baseboards were dusty.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The door hisses open. He walks in silently… and stares. You’re dusting. In a sheer white nightgown with ribbons. On a stepstool.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares.

“…Xavi?” you say sweetly, dusting the top shelf. “You’re home early.”

You step down. He still doesn’t say anything. Just slowly walks over, takes the feather duster from your hands, and throws it out the window of the penthouse without a word.

“Why were you doing that?”

“The staff took leave.”

“So you decided to risk death and dust inhalation?”

“Not death, I was just—”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You’re on your knees wiping the marble floors of the safehouse, a pink ribbon in your hair, humming softly. You don’t hear the door open. But you do hear his voice:

“…Are you cleaning?”

You look up. He’s in a fitted suit. He’s just walked in and taken off his sunglasses. And he looks betrayed.

“The housekeepers are out,” you explain.

“So you thought you’d take their place?” He raises a brow. “You’re my wife, not the help.”

“But it was dusty—”

“You’re the one who deserves dusting in diamonds, not whatever this is.”

He snaps his fingers. One of his guards silently walks in with a custom velour chaise longue.

“Sit,” Sylus commands. “Now.”

“But—”

He picks you up effortlessly, places you on it, drapes you in a fur throw, and tosses a card your way. “Buy something outrageous while I fix this mess.”

“What mess?”

“The one where my princess thought she was average enough to mop floors. It’s humiliating. For me.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

He walks into the Skyhaven penthouse, jacket slung over his shoulder, already calling your name.

And then he sees you.

On your knees. With a mop. In one of his favorite frilly nightgowns, the one that rides up when you lean forward.

He drops his jacket.

“WHAT are you doing,” he says, panicked, running over. “Pipsqueak. Hello?? No—stop—give me that mop.”

“I’m just cleaning,” you giggle. “The housekeepers are on break.”

“Then the house can be dirty. I don’t care. What if you slipped? What if you got a splinter? You’re in a nightgown. You’re supposed to be lounging. Doing skincare. Being kissed!”

You blink up at him as he wrenches the mop away. He’s full dad-mode now, grumbling as he tosses it into a closet. Then he’s scooping you into his arms and carrying you to the couch.

“You’re not allowed to do things like this. You’re my wife. Not a house elf. God, I’ve failed you.”

He sits you in his lap and force-feeds you strawberries from the fridge to soothe himself.

731 notes · View notes

avylea16 · 9 days ago

Note

Can I request a scenario where Lads men reacting to his s/o absolutely loving your plushies please? Because all of the plushies are ADORABLE 😍

𝘏𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦? (𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮) | LADS + when you favor their plush versions

warnings: fluff, humor, if they don't have your attention 24/7 they'll die, unfortunately the pictures were found on pinterest so I couldn't properly find the origins of them :(( credits to the owners for the pictures!!

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── xavier

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── zayne

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── rafayel

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── sylus

.˚₊‧˗ˏˋ ─── caleb

2K notes · View notes

avylea16 · 9 days ago

Text

Heavy Metal Lover - G.S.

Synopsis. A group project with your tall, nerdy, hot academic rival and your handsome punk best friend? Oh, you’re getting a D++

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, nerd!Geto, punk!bestfriend!Geto, thréesome, mmf, they go FÉRAL, dúmbification, Geto with tattoos and piercings, Jacob’s Ladder (iykyk), oraI (fem. rec.), all sIoppy type, yearning Geto, fíngering, spítting, p talking, manhandIing, dp, SAME DAMN TIME, creampíes, cúmplay, BIG stretches, size k!nks, rough s, marathons, overstím, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, squírting, making him cúm dry, jock!Sukuna cameo, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.4k

A/N. TWO!! Because heh- daddy Tony just turned the big 2-0!!

“You won’t believe how big it was.”

“…”

“Satoru’s audacity, I mean.” Leaning over the cluttered café table, you’re cupping your mouth with one hand, whispering oh-so-conspiratorially to your best friend. “And his d-”

“Alright.” Geto cuts through your astute observation, making an observation of his own that the elderly lady seated beside you two had promptly turned off her hearing aids. “So you really didn’t get any studying done during this ‘study session’, huh?”

Waving your hands airily, “It’s not that we didn’t try, it’s just…” The glinting snake bites on Geto’s lips curl at the sinful sight of those teeth marks down the side of your neck, the way your thighs still quivered in broad daylight. Still.

He already knew that there was something more between you and your ‘cocky, book-hugging, jerkwad’ academic rival. He saw the way Gojo looked at you. And he saw the way you looked back.

Somewhere down the line it made Geto tighten in his pants.

He’s flitting a wide-eyed glance between his thighs, fuck, then at the thick smoothie in his hands- was there something they put in this or what?

No, he’s subtly shaking his head. It’s just not everyday that you hear about your best friend finally hooking up with the very same man she’d been complaining about ever since first meeting him. It was a long time coming - the entire campus knew at this point. Hell, he’d even distantly heard about a few betting pools to see who’d crack first (okay, maybe he betted in them, too- but only twice!)

So Geto was simply happy for you. Really.

After all, he’d been right by your side through every argument, every middle finger, every war for top spot on the Dean’s List until that tall, gloomy nerd had completely n’ utterly fucked you.

And here you were, telling him all about it.

Never having been more thankful for that obnoxiously frilly tablecloth covering his legs, Geto coughs away the slight hitch in his breath. “Was it good, pipsqueak?”

A slightly dreamy look wafts across your face, and with the way that his length twitches in interest, he’s pushing away his smoothie completely now. Unable to take any chances of it somehow being spiked.

You sigh, “Hate to admit it, but yeah.”

“Nerdy fuckin’ Gojo made you cum?”

“Multiple times.”

Another jolt, another squeeze of his meaty thighs.

He darts his darkening eyes away from the expression on your beautiful face. What he’d give to make you look like that, too- no. No, he can’t. “Ah, s-so- you two’ve fucked away the tension now, or what?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say fucked away.” You’re humming idly, “He did argue with me while he was inside of me.” At the strange, strangled squawk that leaves Geto’s mouth- “I know right?”

He’s crossing and uncrossing his legs, throat dry. Sharply glancing downwards once more, “Like- dirty talk?”

And you’re completely oblivious to the way that you’re absolutely ruining him, Geto latching onto every syllable that slips out of your pretty lips like he’s breathing them in. Goddammit, he was feeling so…“Hmm—sure, but just arguing, too. Would you believe it if I told you he tried to pick a fight even after I made him cum dry?”

“C-cum dry.” The usually-deep baritone of Geto’s voice breaks as he echoes the end of your sentence, fingerpads tapping impatiently on the top of the table. Stop talking. Stop thinking. “You can do that?”

“Heh- yeah.” Fuck. You’re smirking, “Why? Jealou-”

“No.”

It comes out much more urgently than he would have liked - much more panicked - and just before you can suspect anything, he’s tugging on the ragged texture of his baggy, ripped jeans. “A-anyways, did you hear about Yaga’s-”

“Sugu, are you okay?” Oh, too late. Before he can stop you, you’re reaching over one of your palms to cover the expanse of his forehead. Feeling for his temperature, “You’re a little…hot.”

“Mm– I’m always hot, gorgeous.” Trying for his usual nonchalance, but if the way you knit your brows is anything to go by, then you’re not buying his act one bit.

“Is it strange that I slept with Gojo? I mean, I know I’ve been hating him all this time but-”

He clasps his much-larger hand over yours, blunt nails chipped with dark polish. “No no. Don’t worry about it.” With a smile, Geto stretches his long legs underneath the table to tangle them with yours. Heat against heat. Swelling cock against his pants. Tongue snagging on the silver of his snake bites.

The scorching blush that simmers across his cheeks is almost startling as he pushes away the bangs from his face - so pretty, you had to admit. Such a brash, tattooed style to him that drove nearly every woman, man, and anything in between wild any time his looming figure sauntered through campus.

Winking his eyeliner-smudged lids, “In fact-”

Ah, well, if you can’t beat them…

“-tell me more.”

Join ‘em.

Geto’s sure the poor ol’ lady next to you faints.

“Fuck-” He’s whispering, cooped up in his dark apartment not even an hour after parting ways with you at the café. Apparently you’d left for a totally-not-date with Gojo- and Geto?

Oh, Geto had one hand wrapped around his aching cock to pump until his wrist ached.

Groaning at the squelch of his thumb smearing down the crown of his reddened shaft, he’s plugging up his bawling divot. Other hand reaching over to shuffle inside his bedside cabinet, “C’mon, where- where is- ah.”

There it was.

Geto’s fingers plunge out from the depths of the drawer, all wrapped up in the strappy lace of a pair of pretty pink panties. Your panties.

Ones you’d accidentally left after a sleepover - and really, you’d stolen more than enough of his Green Day t-shirts that he didn’t exactly feel bad about stealing them away.

About hastily plucking that cutesy underwear up and pushing it against his face, he’s rolling his glassy eyes back and sniiiiffing the sweet, sweet scent of you. That smell he couldn’t get enough of. So close and yet, so far.

“Sh-shit.” Geto’s heavy shaft grows even harder in his hand, and he didn’t even think that was possible. Sinking the fringes of his teeth into his bottom lip, he wraps the ribbony fabric ‘round his erection, “Oh, shouldn’t do this- r-really shouldn’t do this.”

But he can’t stop. Not when he’s fucking the plush comfort of his palm in repeated, sloppy strokes- and not even when Geto hears the bzzzt–! of his phone vibrating from that very same bedside cabinet.

Breath catching as he turns his head to blearily stare at the flashing screen - Pipsqueak. You.

Ah…without a second thought, Geto grabs his phone with one hand, the other still tugging on the veiny shaft of his cock. Unlocking it to find that you’d sent a photograph of you - and the infamous Gojo himself. Mouth downturned, flush burning.

The two of you were cramped into the frame, at the forefront of some aquarium. Innocent, surely- but Geto catches the glide of Gojo’s fingertips down the side of your waist, the way you’re leaning in just enough to let a flash of cleavage peek through.

Dilated pupils flickering between the two figures, he finds his tattooed hips thrusting—“Oh. I’m fucked.”

So very, very fucked.

And after this, he had an email to write. To none other than Yaga.

“Iori and Haibara. Ieri and Ijichi.” Professor Yaga’s bored, monotone voice drones through with his usual steady pace, announcing each pairing for the upcoming assignment.

A practical project, it seemed - and you can’t help but feel your heart race once he’s thumbing down the list of names. Finally announcing yours and…“Gojo.” But before you can show even the slightest bit of euphoria, Yaga’s tugging up his thick sunglasses. Raising a thick brow, he’s turning your way.

And for a split-second, you think he’s staring you down- that is, until you follow his line of sight and find that Yaga’s staring above you. Just the row above.

Exactly where Geto was.

Eyes half-lidded, atmosphere surrounding him burning. Goosebumps prick down your spine, and you find yourself wondering what the hell was happening in this thick moment of silence.

Evidently, Gojo’s musing the same from his seat right beside you. Whispering from the side of his maw, “What the hell? I haven’t seen Yaga look like that since the last time you started an argument with me during class, miss valedictorian.”

That damned know-it-all nickname.

You’re taking a good, long look at him - neat, crisp. The way his thick-rimmed glasses framed a slight cute frown, cosied up in a cotton vest that hid his muscular figure, his sapphire eyes twinkling through pale bangs as you sneer.

“Satoru, that was your fault- and yesterday.”

“Well, it’s about to be right now.”

“You just want to be yelled at by me, perv.”

He’s opening his pouted mouth to snark back - but Yaga beats him to it. With a gruff, cutting announcement that neatly finishes off the rest of your little group, “-and Geto.” Only to turn away as if nothing ever happened, and rattle out the rest of his lengthy list.

And Geto? You’re furrowing your brows- this was meant to be a paired project, wasn’t it?

Well, not that you were unhappy to be with your best friend - it was rare that your uptight professor ever took his students’ preferences into consideration. But, according to your calculations, there wouldn’t have been any odd ones out in the student body, and Yaga had seemingly formed two trios for the sake of it.

Question on your lips, you’re turning in your seat to face Geto. Only to meet his eyes and oh-

Something about him was almost predatory. Something dangerous. Something that makes you gulp, and Gojo squeeze his fingers with yours.

Resting his face upon one of his palms, Geto purrs—“Consider this project a…science experiment, gorgeous.”

A science experiment.

Rubbing his swole n’ red cock raw to your photographs, writing an intently-worded email to Yaga with his choice for project pairings, and inviting the two of you to his apartment later - he was finally here, with his ‘science’ experiment.

With his ringed fingers toying down the patterns of his throbbing shaft veins, listening to the way that Gojo made you let off the prettiest shrill whimpers. “F-fuck, don’t be shy.”

You didn’t even know how you were here - only seconds after entering Geto’s sprawling living room before you’re somehow laid across his couch. Sprawled across Gojo’s lap, still fully clothed but being kissed stupid.

The former gazing all the while, thick thighs manspread like he was watching a show of his very own. He’d moved one of his cushy armchairs to watch dead-on as Gojo lifts his mouth off of yours with a dampened slurp just to spit between your parted lips.

Thwack! It’s gluing to the ridges of your tastebuds with a splatter, “Then you kiss me all proper, princess.” Gojo’s hissing between your swollen lips, the honed points of his canines nipping down on your maw just to get you to open wider. “Yer really embarrassing yourself in front of your best friend.”

Huffing, “I’m the- mmpf-”

Only to have your heated cavern stuffed with the expanse of his textured tongue. It’s just so sloppy how he’s kissing you, with the slimy edge of his muscle swirlin’ the insides of your maw as Geto snickers.

Unhinging your jaw open, you manage to muffle out. “I’m the one embarrassing myself?” The flat of your palm caresses vertically down the front of his cotton vest. All smart and sensible. Moving it down his bumpy pecs, then only further down his abs, down, down-

Before clinging your greedy fingerpads onto the large, cylindrical length of his erection. All looong and hard, it’s laid out the side of his meaty right leg. “Who’s the one that’s rock fuckin’ hard already?”

“F-fuck.” He’s gasping into your touch, and through his linen pants you can feel the bulge of his cock twitch. Flinching needily enough that the syrupy puddle forming between his thighs starts to grow even sappier, “And whose fault is that~?‘

“Mmm– mine.”

“Heh, so you know how to take accountability?”

Vulgarly, the edges of your fingers twitch into a squeeze over the outline of his cock - so thick that your hand struggles to properly close around him. “Only for this.”

“You little-”

“So you two seriously argue during sex, too?” Geto’s husky voice breaks through, and you’re both snapping your head over to see the way his head tilts. The way he lurches his hips slightly off of his seat with a buck, fingers dragging down his veiny cock. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Noticing the silky scrap of fabric that sticks out from the gaps of his fingers, you’re whining at the sight of those familiar panties you’d lost months ago. “Suguru—”

“You can make those sounds for him, too?” Gojo snarls, rutting you up on his v-line so that your dazed head lolls back towards him. Swatting a hand down on the side of your ass cheek, he’s lifting your thin skirt enough to give Geto just a peek of your panties.

Possessive. Feral.

Something primal slips into Gojo’s throat as he toys with the wiry strings of your underwear, where he’s sure Geto can watch. “M’shocked we’re not fighting even more, miss valedictorian.”

“Sh-shut up.”

With a gasp, you’re pushin’ your sultry hips further down onto his. Grinding so that the slope of your slit presses through your panties and onto his fattened cock, just so wet that it leaves a glistening snail-trail between Gojo’s thighs.

“Mmm—” Geto departs with a chuckle, hands pumping even faster on the veiny, gleaming length of his cock until it was almost just a pinkish blur. He’s milking himself with a grunt at each lecherous interaction, “Keep going, gorgeous. Just like that.”

Shyly, you shift your restless hips, “B-but, Sugu…”

“Ohhh I like that.” Geto juts his chin up, nudging the rough fabric of his pants down to free a few more solid inches even more. “Say that again, pipsqueak.”

“S-Sug-”

“Nuh uh.” But before you know it, Gojo has a hand smushing your cheeks together into such a pathetic pout. Staring back down at him- “You’re going to say ‘Toru.’”

Geto muses, “Sugu.”

“Toru.”

“Sugu-”

“To-”

“P-please.” Your wailing cries cut through the slight battle, impatiently humping the plane of Gojo’s clothed pelvis at a pace that damn near reaches a fever-point. “Just want something- anything.” Head throwing back, babbling, oh-so-pretty that Geto puffs out a low hum, and tucks your soaked panties away.

“Then c’mere, gorgeous.”

Gojo interrupts, “What?”

“I said…” The tattooed man plows on, lips twitching even further into a grin once you’re standing up on wobbly legs. The flesh of your thighs squeezing together with each step, “-come here. You too, nerd.”

Oh.

And you can’t even remember the treacherous trek you take to clamor up onto Geto’s widespread thighs, he’s just so big n’ beefy that it takes you a few tries to properly straddle his toned hips. Grappling your two hands on top of his round deltoids, “L-like this, Suguru?”

“Atta girl, there you go.” Perking you up further- he takes a second to admire you. To memorize you. To take in every heady pant of yours and each dry hump of your cunt.

Before tugging a girthy finger upon the sides of your current panties and teeearing straight through them. Skirt next to follow.

Gojo can only watch in utter awe as he’s bared to your pretty, sopping pussy from behind- fuck, he’s never going to get used to this. Joints weakening, mouth parched, his towering frame falls to his knees at merely the sight.

“Pussy got your tongue, Toru?” You’re tittering once Gojo’s only saddling up behind you on the carpet, glasses now level with your slick-glazed lips. Close.

“Well, he will have your pussy, pipsqueak.” Geto’s piping up from underneath you, sliding further down the armchair so that Gojo’s nose sticks to the outer part of your sheeny cunt. “But where do you want me? Here?” Groping your ass, “Orrrr here?” Your thighs. “Or-”

“No teasing, Suguru.”

“Oh, gorgeous, I could go allll fucking day without…” One of his rings shaped into a gothic skull traces your cunt, “-dessert.”

Gojo scoffs, “Well, I’m fucking starved-”

Geto grins, “And I wanna kiss these lips first.”

“O-oh mm–” It was just maddening- the very nanosecond that Gojo’s hearing he’ll be having your sweet, honeyed pussy all to himself, he’s plastering his mouth to your folds.

Stirring the curvy edge of his tongue instantly past your soppy entrance, puckering you up for a saccharine kiss. Latching his glossy lips down to the swollen fringe of your pussylips, he throws his head back and grins. “Nothing smart to say now, miss hah- valedictorian?”

“Now now, of course, she doesn’t.” And it’s the very moment that Geto’s mouth kisses your own that you’re realizing he didn’t have just snake bites - he’d hidden away a frigid, metallic tongue piercing.

That slick spheroid wafting between your lips, Geto’s drinking you in like he’s a man parched. And every cute bubble of spit spilling from your mouth was the first droplet of water he’s had in eons. Feeling his smug grin across your lips, “Not when she’s kissing me, of course.”

“Tch- as if.” Gojo spits- literally, a great, glittery wad of spittle that thrashes past your quivering hole. Salivating his tongue to push juuuust inside, just teasing the tight ring of your cunt with his velvety tongue. “S’because of me. Her vaginal introitus is just drooling.”

And oh- Gojo’s tongue is just so flexible. Swabbing the tender orifices of your sleek cunt with his pointed tip, he bullies a few inches past your entrance and makes you whine. “P-please- ngh more, Satoru. F-fuck me like you mean it.”

Snickering, Gojo only swats the right side of your ass cheek, gripping it to haul your wildly bucking body further against his face. Until his chin hits your treacly cunt, until his nostrils can’t even breathe-

“Aw, nothing f’me?” Geto coos, and while you’re all jostling and thrashing, one of his ringed hands plummet down the side of your body. Pryin’ apart your slick-glued folds to press his knobbled index on top of your clit like a button. “You’re my best friend. What if I wan’ a taste, too?”

Your breath hitches by the time he’s glazing his finger across your creamy pussy already, covering it with just enough layers of your juices. Just enough to hover up into his mouth and suck.

Gasping, “But you’re already…”

“S’not enough.” And while Gojo slips n’ slides his flattened tongue between your pussylips, Geto puckers his maw up to yours. Hazy amethyst irises only half-opened, mouth quirking just at the ends. “Spit.”

It happens all at once- you’re spitting inside Geto’s mouth and he moans at the taste of you, never one to be forgotten, Gojo splats out saliva on your cunt and forces his impaling tongue inside.

“Oh, your bartholin glands are just sopping all over me, so much- ngh- leukorrhea.” Babbling away, Gojo’s letting out such noisy smacks each time he flops his tongue out to flick your shaky hole. Harder. Deeper.

He’s eating you out like he’s addicted to it, the long length of his pale lashes fluttering every time the sharpness of his jawline pushes against your slam-contacted flesh until he can’t push himself even further.

Until the rim of his spectacles coldly swats your pussy and makes him stutter, “W-wonder if I can reach the ngh- Gräfenberg spot like this…” Tugging you back with trembling hands, the thickness of his tongue probes even deeper against your walls. “More- if only I can-”

“You’re never reaching it like that, nerd.” Geto rolls his eyes, back to slithering his right hand down and cupping your pussy.

He snickers each time he’s feeling the silky crowns of his fingerpads brush against Gojo’s thrashing tongue. Toying with the other man, he’s covering the nub of your pulsing clit each n’ every time, just so that Geto can be the one to give it a good, long pinch.

It’s just so cute how you buck into him with a hollow gasp, “Wh-what did I say about teasing, Sugu–”

“Just can’t help it, pipsqueak.” Your best friend purrs, snagging the sharpened ends of his snake bites against your lips. Bouncing his meaty thighs, running your cunt ragged with each rough drag down his loose, ripped jeans.

Once. Twice. Again and again- until Gojo’s clawing a hand on the side of your glissading hips to stop your slobbering cunt from darting too far away from him. You squeal, “W-wait, ohh ngh- Satoru, m’not gonna last like this–”

The dual stimulation was just rendering you stupid, twitching on top of Geto’s lap each time he’s scraping your pussy down to ride his tattooed thighs. Every bounce leaves you recoiling right back into Gojo’s mouth, mouth watering at the rovering push of his tongue entering you. And out. In and out-

“Good.” Thwack! Spanking one of his emblem rings down on your clit, “Because I think m’getting impatient here. I’ve been waiting for ages, after all.”

“A-ages?”

“Mhm— oh, you have noooo idea, gorgeous.” Drawling out, Geto’s driving you crazy with the twist of his hips angling you properly.

Making it just so that your pussylips spread wiiide open to ride his leg like you were pouring your sheeny slick out all over it. Just so that Gojo’s angular tongue can sharply strike near your g-spot, just so that you’re cumming before you know it.

It runs you over in a sudden wave, and before you know it- you’re simply seeing pure white. “O-oh my god. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, m’cumming—” Glassed irises running cartoonish circles inside the whites of your eyes with each swivel.

Head falling forwards into the crook of Geto’s neck, hips planted firmly on Gojo’s face - exactly where he wanted it.

And he’s lavishing his tongue allll over your quivering pussy, draggin’ out each spike of your high with a stretching thrust. “Oh- oh, m’fucking starved, princess. Like that, cum- cum on my ngh- tongue. My tongue.” Dilated blue eyes blinking up drunkenly, “My tongue only.”

Geto raises a dark brow, “Yours only?”

Gojo pipes up with a glistening grin, slapping away Geto’s tuggin’ fingerpads to suckle on your clit like a sweetened piece of candy. “Yeah. Too fucking late now, aren’t you?”

Chilling spheroid tongue piercing licking down your salivating lips, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Almost in response, Gojo’s wrapping his beefy forearms back around your inner thighs. Planting your overstimulated cunt even deeper across his mouth, digging his glasses back into his straight nosebridge - it didn’t matter if Gojo would suffocate if it meant he could go out with the syrupy taste of your slick drivelling down the sides of his mouth.

But Geto only coos, looking down at the other man through his inky locks. “Don’t be like that— didn’t all your books ever teach you about sharing?”

“M’not sharing my girl’s pussy.”

“Mhm?”

It was a challenge.

And both treated it as such.

You’re being tugged ‘round in the middle like some boneless ragdoll, the hazy state of your mind spinning once Geto stands up. For a split-second.

And seats you down all prettily on the armchair he was in, with your legs splayed wiiiide open with a deafening wet squelch of your pussy. Gojo’s coral pink lips parting into a soft oh! when the other man kneels down right beside him on the ground - both of them on their knees for you.

Both of them latching onto one of your legs with pawing hands, nudging them further open to accommodate their hulking sizes. To accommodate the way that both Geto and Gojo tackle themselves down to eat your drippin’ pussy at the same time.

Again.

“H-hold on- both of you- oh, mmm, fuck.” And you can’t do anything but cling your clammy palms onto both of their heads. “I don’t know if I even can hck! cum again so soon.”

“You will, princess.”

“We’ll make sure of it.”

Gojo on your left, Geto on your right- they’re flopping out two lengthy pinkish tongues between your trembling thighs. Sloshing against each other, fighting against each other, each of their pretty features plastered upon the inner side of each leg.

And where Gojo was eager, Geto was teasing. He was mean- lining the slick slit of your cunt with looooong, tender glides. He snickers once he’s feeling the other man impatiently thrust into your hole, “Mmm–fuck! Sweeter than I ever imagined.”

“I know.” Gojo’s snowy brows knit, chin polishing with ribbons of your juices each time he nodded his head down to shove past your first tight ring of muscle. Pumping you full. Beading your every nook and cranny with a thorough probe of his tastebuds, “And she’s my hah- miss valedictorian- isn’t that right, princess?”

“Y-you’re both acting so- hck!” It’s a wonder you even could speak with how much they were ruining your damn pussy. “-ch-childish- fuck.”

Lapping up every dribbling ounce of slick you gave off, licking into every and any spot on you that they could scour. And you were so much extra aroused now, a pure translucent waterfall sticking down the fronts of their chins with every too-sensitive touch.

Hell, you’re blinking your watery eyes down to watch the way that Gojo’s thumbing apart your swollen folds just so that he could plunge his tongue inside deeper. Faster.

Sloppier.

Slipping over each other, chins knocking, greedy.

With the rawest, loudest squeeelch–! Geto lingers his piercing over your clit, taking full claim with the way he’s sucking. “She might be your ‘miss valedictorian’...” Groaning, you’re feeling his glinting canines bite down once on the nearby flesh of your thigh, and then twice on your oversensitive clit - enough to leave a slight mark. “-but she’s my pipsqueak. So if I wanna taste, m’getting it. Isn’t that riiight—?”

THWACK!

Spanking your clit just so you’re crying out-

“S’what I thought.” Geto hums.

And that’s exactly what he was doing - what they both were doing.

Two soppily wet tastebuds rubbin’ your pussy all over until you were oversensitive, and the way they’re fighting to see who occupies the most of your sweet, sweet cunt is just animal.

Gojo pushin’ his face deeper until the line of his glasses left bright red marks on his flushed face, Geto instead moving you- gluing a palm on the side of your hips and jerking you to him.

“O-oh nghhh it feels shoooo good-” You’re slurring, so stimulated that your hands wrestle for purchase on the chair’s cushion each time you’re throwing your head back and bucking up, up, up.

“Good? Good, gorgeous–?”

“Mhm—”

Cunt throbbing oh-so-badly at every slash of their tongue, the way that Geto grips a hand onto the back of Gojo’s head to guide him into your favorite spots. Nudging your earliest bundles of nerves with his probin’, thumping tastebuds.

Your breath catches with a sob within your clogged throat at the sight of Geto usin’ that tight leverage to tilt Gojo’s head ever-so-slightly so that their tongues meet each other.

Filthy oodles of saliva watering over the edge of the other man’s tongue as he moans, Geto’s grinning when he’s kissing both your sappy cunt and him. “Don’tcha even know how ta properly eat a girl out, nerd?”

“I-I do-”

“Spit.”

“What?”

“Spit.”

In a sultry split-second, your already drenched pussy is being swamped by two steady streams of saliva. Spitting. Geto’s tongue everywhere, he sucks on your perked clit while Gojo back takes over sinking his honed muscle inside your gummy walls. “Tch, s’that all you got, Suguru? You clearly don’t even know the nghh- benefits of stimulating her adventitia-”

“That’s not shit, what you’ve gotta do is- hahh-” Geto departs a sweltering hot gust of breath, letting Gojo’s curling pink tongue thrash inside your pussy while he snagged three ringed fingers on your rim and push-push-puuuushes inside. “-stretch her pretty lil’ cunt wiiiide open.”

“F-fuuck why is it so big–” You’re whining, crying. Legs hooking over both their shoulders to bring them together. The sheer scrape of Geto’s metallic rings against your sweet spots makes you see stars, “Don’t think m’gonna last long…”

“C-close, huh?” Gojo drags out through a breathy tone - and there’s something higher-pitched in his tone, something that almost sounded gone. Such a primal tinge to his tone, he’s nuzzling his nose against your clit and making such a mess.

Geto grunts, rosy lips pulling back into a snarling grin by the time he gives you one-two-three sloppy strokes. Reaching for the plush area of your g-spot “What did I say? Gotta stretch her reeeal big so she can take me-” Hitting it - hard. “-isn’t that right, pretty lady?”

He wasn’t even talking to you at this point - just your pussy. And you swear you’re feeling the pointed nib of even Gojo’s falter slightly on your clit as he speaks.

Squelch after squelch, they’re both pulling out of you when you’re only growing wetter. The tips of your toes curling inwards as you’re feeling your tummy spark near familiar bliss, “S-Sugu–!”

THWACK!

The stinging noise rings out before you’re even feeling the burning ache, the way that Geto’s firm fingerpads stick to your plump cunt in a sharp swat. Him snickering, “See?”

“You’re insane.” Gojo titters back, prattling.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for ngh- this, nerd.” Ever since he first met you that fateful orientation day, in fact. Tongue piercing tickling your clit, fighting Gojo’s tongue for purchase. “Have no- fucking- clue-”

“Don’t give a fuck-” And he didn’t - really, really didn’t. The glasses-clad man doesn’t think he could even register anything other than the streaming sap your cunt was gushing out onto his tongue, and the way your hole quivered in that way that told him you were close. Again. “Just wan’ you to cum on my t-tongue, princess.”

“Heh- you’re better like this, Toru.”

“Shut up and cum.”

Long, ivory bangs soft against the bottom of your tummy with how close he’s diving himself nose-deep. More. Gojo ruts against the cushion of the armchair, knees dragging against the carpet as he’s lunging even further- and he doesn’t even notice.

“Easy there, gonna suffocate-”

You run your hands through his sweaty scalp, breath heightening. “Yeah, you ngh- okay?”

Grunting at the texture of Geto’s own tongue, “Mmmm– no.” Gojo’s classes are completely fogged-up at this point, and he’s only clashing them further. Adding one of his own lengthy fingers past your hole so that he can pump furiously. Both their hands so dexterous. “Muscularis contracting- ngh, even more leukorrhea- wet. Gonna cum- gonna cum gonna cum—”

And that’s exactly all it takes - the slightest, tiniest bend of Gojo’s stifling digits thumping your g-spot in carnal unison with Geto’s ringed ones, and then you’re reaching your orgasm. For the second time.

Hips fully wrenching off of the dampened chair cushions to push your two boys with a generous mouthful of your candied pussy- one they’re salivating over gratefully. Repeatedly targeting your favorite spots with their fingers, maws further agape, eyes rolling to the back of their heads.

You can only hit your chin against your chest to take in the lewd, lewd sight of being eaten out by both Gojo and Geto. “Sh-shiiit–” Cheeks wet with tears, “Never cum like this- ngh, it’s so- oh.”

“Please- that’s it, use me.” Gojo recants back, giving his features up for you to conduct such long, slobbering drags. “Use me, princess- ngh- m’fucking starved. Ohhh, fucking love this pussy. M’gonna eat you out for the rest of my life, miss valedictorian.”

Smirking, Geto pins your gyratin’ hips down and watches as Gojo blindly whines. Chasing the taste of your cunt just so he can lap you through your wet high. “Heh- you’re damn pussydrunk, nerd.” Turning to you with hooded eyes, your best friend’s making sure he murmurs this into your overstimulated pussy. “And you’re dumbified, my cute lil’ pipsqueak.”

Though, it’s not like he was any better.

But before Geto’s forced to bite down on his lower lip and bite back pure whimpers at the oversaturation of your taste, he pulls away.

Painfully, with a final sopping thwack! of his palm coming down to strike your cunt. Your eyes are just barely open enough to make out the fuzzy shapes of Geto pulling Gojo backwards, too, with a hand at his throat.

Watching as his lips detach from your pussy with a wet plop! strings of slick scattering all over his maw. Watching as his neat glasses stick to your pussy n’ he has to manually smear them back up his nosebridge, “Oi- the fuck do you think you’re doing, punk?”

“Well, you can make out with her pussy all you want, nerd.” Geto’s piercings glint as he pinches his index and thumb into a circle. Sticking his tongue lewdly between that hole, “I wanna fuck it.”

“Oh…” You can only ogle unabashedly once the two make quick work of discarding your top n’ bra, then their own clothes - Gojo’s two layers of vests, his formal pants, and Geto’s torn band t-shirt and washed jeans. All in a pile somewhere by your throne of an armchair.

They couldn’t be more different.

And that went for their hot, rock-hard cocks, too - where Gojo was longer, Geto was thicker.

Both oh-so-massive that it has your thighs clenching in both fear and anticipation, you can’t help but stare at the way that Gojo was so fuckin’ red that the bulging end of his shaft looked like strawberry. And just as thick, he’s glazing himself with so many layers of slick pre that fall down his lengthy member.

And Geto- oh, Geto’s was the sexiest tannish pink at his tip. Covered with so many puffy veins that you’re almost missing the line of a few silver barbells lining his fat shaft. A Jacob’s Ladder piercing - with a studded Prince Albert’s at the very bottom of his thoroughly flared tip.

Where Gojo’s cock was utterly pretty and made your cunt water, Geto’s looked like he was about to positively ruin you.

“Heh, that’s cute.” Your best friend croons, catching both your gaped staring. Gojo quickly snaps himself out of it, hands reaching for your open thighs to-

“Ah ah, dibs.” Geto slaps his hand away, and it takes him only a second to pick you up as if you were weightless. All carried in his broad arms - his shoulders were so muscular - to the nearby bedroom and lay you flat on the bouncy mattress.

Hovering over you, you take the opportunity to mindlessly gawk at him in a way you didn’t allow yourself to before. Everything from the sinful silver piercings that punctured his rosy nipples, to the stark black dragon tattooed across his back and down to his hips- and wait.

Your eyes damn near pop out of your head- right on the left side of his prominent v-line…was that…a tattoo of your first initial?

Geto catches the beeline of your eyesight and muses, “Got it in secret honor of my- ah, best friend.” Leaning in, “N’ you’re gonna feel it reeeal up close and personal now, best friend.”

Gojo calls out as he follows inside, “Oi- first come first haaaah- serve. Isn’t that right, princess?”

Before you can answer, Geto cuts in- “Then, I’m first-‘ Shoving the other man slightly, fighting for who gets the first touch of your pussy on their aching cocks. Geto’s cleanly pushes your boneless body onto all fours, stood by the edge of his bed. “-because you were my gorgeous girl first, riiiight—?”

“O-oh–! Yes- I mean no- I mean…” You’re yelping the very instant his cold, orbed piercing runs lazily down your slit from behind. And you whimper as the bed dips with a creak, revealing Gojo in all his needy glory - pale thighs parted about the length of your head, so towering where he was starin’ down at you through his thick glasses.

“Ya hear that, nerd?”

Gojo rolls his eyes, one hand smearing the plump pinkish curvature of his cock between your glossed lips. “Tch- my princess disagreed. Clearly.”

With a cackle, Geto slobbers his drooling mushroom tip down your folds- making sure that Gojo’s ears burn at the lecherous squeeelch-! that’s sounding out once he does. And you swear you’re seeing fucking stars by the time that he manspreads his sculpted thighs part and presses his thick circumference in—

“Shit- shit shit shit—” You’ve never been so stretched, and the utter fuckin’ girth of his circumference makes your eyes tear up pathetically. “How are you so bi- mmmpf!”

If you thought that stretch between your shaky, sheened legs was incredible- then you absolutely weren’t ready for the way that Gojo’s barging his prolonged cock right between your gawking mouth. Filling up your hot gummy maw with a few solid inches of his length, he wasn’t even bottomed-out yet, and you swear you could already feel him at your throat.

“Easy there, pipsqueak. Eeeasy does it.” Geto croaks out from behind you, shuffling his toned hips ever-so-slightly closer. Just the merest deepening entrance enough to make you salivate.

“Shiiiit- dunno who’s glands are l-leaking more- ” Gojo hisses, heavy lids flapping at the feeling of your treacly saliva gluing against the underside of his shaft. “Your pretty mouth, or your cunt…”

And you didn’t know either- hell, you couldn’t even think at this point.

It was just rendering you so dumb having both your slick orifices plugged up, Geto’s tattooed hips relentlessly pushing in half-thrusts from behind. Gojo clawing on top of your clammy crown and nudging your lolling head down further—

Managing to somehow muffle out, “Ngh- hck- so mm-much—”

“Yeahhh, as you like it, g-gorgeous.” Something in Geto’s voice shatters the very moment he’s able to slip his rigid cockhead in n’ swab your entrance with the point of his piercing.

Usin’ it like some cute lil’ searchlight as he’s pressing the cold metal against the sides of your stretchy walls, scouring down each side of your pussy for that spot of your nerves. The rub of his Jacob’s Ladder was mind-numbing, miniscule knobbled barbells poking tender crevices you didn’t even know existed. “Want you and this ngh- p-pretty lady right here nice n’- happy- and-”

Each word was punctuated by the most probing thrust of Geto’s powerful hips, easing the measurement of his cock inside you with the sloppiest noises.

Damn near muffling out your shrills when his pure pressure forces you forwards to pump even more of Gojo’s leaking shaft down your relaxed throat. Deeper. Harder.

“And taking- this-” With a hand on your hips, Geto reels you in- only for Gojo to scramble a grip on your throat and keep you with him. A tug-of-war. Pushing. Pulling.

And the only thing that both can think to do is urge their capped knees closer to you on the bed and split you wiiiide open-

“-biiiig stretch.” Geto finishes off.

Just as he bottoms out inside of your sweltering cunt, your initial kissin’ your skin, just as Gojo scratches the edge of your nose on his tufted white happy trail.

Both of them.

And they’re not wasting a single second - not even a split-second.

Because once your hot, clenchin’ holes have greedily swallowed up both of them, they’re rutting their hips back and half-thrusting. Not even fully- just half just to feel your heat, the sweet softness of you.

“Fuh-fuck, your buccal mucosa just feels sooo ngh-” Gojo’s babbling away, neck still held deftly within his fingers as he’s swervin’ his hips back to dab the very back of your throat with the fleshy circle of your tip. “Th-think I’m hitting all the way at your ngh- palate-”

Geto rolls his hazed eyes, tugging your hips back to strike your ass cheeks against his toned v-line. Hard enough that your mouth leaves Gojo’s bulbous tip with a pop! “D’you always needa talk like ngh- that, nerd?”

“Do you always need to be s-so filthy, punk?” The other man snarls, tempting his hips closer so that you’re almost squished between the two.

“Mmm—” Geto pretends to think, tapping the point of his chin with one hand, whilst the other smears your ass cheeks open to take a vulgar look at your cunt from behind. And he doesn’t answer- not at first, what he’s doing is spitting a cool wad of saliva that darts straightly down to your slit. “Hell yeah.”

With a roll of his shoulders, he’s thrashing the globular ends of his reddened, swollen shaft into your deepest depths. And it feels like you’re just melting around him, “So shut up and fuck, nerd.”

And Gojo Satoru was always first in class - if you weren’t, that is - you think he ever needed to be told anything twice?

Nibbling onto his pouty lower lip, Gojo darts one of his carnally itching fingerpads up and squeezes your flared nostrils - already rubbed raw by the massage of his ivory, curly hair.

Giggling something drunken as you sputter and choke on his throbbing shaft, “Fuck nnngh- you’re a dirty fucking girl, miss valedictorian-” He hisses, he’s spitting through clenched teeth every time the bumpy texture of your tastebuds were rovering down his tender underside.

Were latching onto the pulsating lines of his veins, and making him groan. Heavy, pink balls tighening each time they strike-strike-strike your chin, “S-sooo much better with my hah- fat fuckin’ cock stuck between those lips.”

Whining, you couldn’t even pant out in wailing gasps each time Geto’s bulbous piercings were crazing your bubblegum walls like a ladder. “F- mm fuck y-”

Squeezing your nose even tighter- “Fuck me?” Gojo titters out from above, and it’s almost humiliating the way he blushes as he looks down at you above his pecs, flexing core rippling with each hasty jackhammer.

Mean. His mouth was so mean, and the way his thumb drifts down the forefront of your throat, feeling for that bulge where his cock was driving was even meaner.

He could feel himself. Feel you taking him. “Y-you’re the one being fucked right now, princess.”

“Mhm— and by me.” And the very second that Gojo lets your nose free to breathe, Geto snakes his clit down to pinch your sopping wet clit.

“No- yes! Please-” You’re mewling, “Close- I-I’m so close- ngh-”

Your best friend leans in so close to whisper against the shell of your ear; letting his tattooed pecs glue to your back, lengthy locks tickling the arch of your sweaty spine. Holding on close. Hard. “No? Close? Make up your mind.”

You can only spit through an open maw—“No- yes- fuuuuck m-more.”

Absolutely ruined, and neither of them have ever seen you like this.

“H-her nucleus accumbens is going into overdrive-” Gojo sputters out, and you’re starin’ through your teary lashes at the cute way his condensation-filled glasses slip down his nose with each battering ram of his ravaged cock. “Which- hck! which means decreased activity in the cerebral cortex and- and it means…”

“Spit it out, nerd.”

“She’s close.”

“Haaah- coulda told you ngh- that.” And, truly, you’re squeezing your pretty bubblegum walls ‘round him so tight that it’s almost hard for Geto to pull back and forth in repeated thrusts. “Gonna cum f’me, pipsqueak? C’mon cooome on- let your best friend hah- fill you up, would you?”

You’re whining, “Please-” Heard sparking with whatever jumbled mess that Gojo had talked about and you couldn’t even begin to make sense right now. “Close- gonna- ngh-”

“Wait- you’re cumming inside fir- fuck!” Gojo gapes, only to hunch his washboard abs forwards and drive into you at the flick of your velvety tongue on his sensitive slit - his favorite. Only to cum- and the sight of you gulping down his milky mess, letting it dribble all down your bobbing throat was so sexy that Geto can’t help but lose it, too.

Shit- that was fast. Faster than he’d ever been with your panties snugly wrapping his cock and your photograph in hand - but your quivering, wet pussy just felt so good that he’s squelching out his orgasm once he’s feeling yours.

Long, ribbony bouts of seed that were just scalding puddling at the bottom of your pussy- you swear you’re feeling it slosh about inside of you with each tiny motion. Splashing inside your mouth.

All for you to swallow.

All three at once, you didn’t even think you could cum again before Geto’s giving you a carnal pinch to your clit. “Cum—ing– ngh.” You’re heavily gulping the ivory sap that glazes your tongue, eyes rolling back in utterly stupid bliss. “Please- oh.”

“No one taught you not to talk with your- haaah- mouth full, hm?” The man above you gruffs out through a dry gasp, hips sloppy. Chest heaving. Ringed, sticky digits twitching. “No one-” His breath hitches as he’s feeling your unsteady hips sliiide off of his pummeling cock, “Oh, where’d you think you’re going?”

“Nononono- no-” Gojo snarls, properly bearing his glinting canines like he was more animal than man right about now. Tuggin’ you back with the hand bruising your throat, “If m’fucking your creampie then I get to ngh- have her to myself a bit. Open.”

Breathless, you’re lolling out your tongue and gazing up at the way the towering man’s eyes widen at the lack of anything in your mouth. The way you’d swallowed it all. “M’gonna have so much fun this time.”

Wait…your eyes widen. Still jolting bodily with sparking bouts of electricity, your third - was that even the correct number - orgasm wasn’t even bating before they’re talking about the next.

Unaffected, Geto only rolls his eyes- and his fingers over your drivelling slit. Practically turned into a waterfall of his buttery white cum, making you pull off of Gojo’s cock with a hiss at his rude fingertips. “Oh, shut it.”

Before either of you can blink- before you can even breathe, your best friend’s stuffing your breaths all the way back into your screaming lungs.

All by sticking his cum-glazed finger inside your mouth, swirlin’ that creamy polish into your deepest crannies. “Hm…you, too.” And in mere nanoseconds, Geto has his white syrupy fingerpads stuffed inside Gojo’s mouth.

“What- mmpf–” Your mouthy academic rival just looks so pretty with thick fingers plunged between his spit-glittered lips. Pale brows scrunching together, face red-hot, a thin line of cum trickling slowly down the side of his suckling mouth.

And it’s enough so that your ravenous hips start lurching down the expanse of Geto’s cock- as if to milk him for more.

“Hehhh–?” He’s grinning through his shaggy raven strands at your motions, pulling back his fingers with a squelch. “What a filthy girl- stuffed you with so much cum you’re over ngh- overspilling, and you still wan’ more?”

With only your cutesy babbles for an answer, you’re feeling him straighten his muscular core up to face Gojo even more. “So, you either fuck her w’my cum inside- or, watch as I fill her up with s-so much of my cum she can’t not feel it inside-”

“Shut up n’ let me fuck my girl, punk.”

“Mm— that’s not having the hah- reaction you want, nerd.” As if to prove his point, Geto’s gleaming cock twitches when he’s easing out of you with a raw slurp. Slowly, but surely, he takes his sweet, sweet time to remind you of the pattern of piercings lining his frenulum. “Our girl, you mean.”

You’re swearing he’s only getting even bigger at the sight of you- draped across Gojo’s thoroughly sculpted front not even a moment later. Your cunt frosted white with his own cum, Gojo’s bulbous mushroom tip bulging your pussylips wiiide open. Impatient.

“Oh.” Geto manages to pant out.

Just barely lets himself even breathe before he’s dropping further down the protesting bedsprings, all the way until his hot breaths breeze across your oversensitive pussy in a lil’ ‘hello.’

Grunting, Gojo tugs your chin back over to face him - resting flatly on his back so you’re trembling n’ limp on his abs.

“Mmm– hello, princess.” He’s crooning out with his deep, rasping voice. And you answer with a whimper of your own at the sexy feeling of his core flexing underneath you, pecs all bouncy in the way they had no right to be.

He was so big - both of them were, Gojo being taller where Geto was broader.

Yet, both numerous inches over six feet and sandwiching you with their chiseled weights as you’re settling on top of Gojo. Cushioned over his broad, flushed chest, you feel him cup your sweaty cheek, “Heh, d-don’t think you can be valedictorian like this.”

You’re marrying your brows in what looked like such adorable annoyance to his half-lidded eyes. “Mmm—how are you gonna say that when hck! you’re the one that got pussydru- oh, fuck.”

Fuck, and then you’re promptly shut up by Geto’s tongue slithering slimily between the folds of your pussy. Letting his curly tip lap up every wadded ounce of cum overspilling out of you, “Oh, don’t stop on mmm- my accounts. Always so cute when yer mad, pipsqueak.”

“I was thinking more hot—” Gojo’s moaning out, bucking- and he was still so rock-hard. So needy that just the slightest slip n’ slide across your outer pussy makes him rut- “Fuck.”

And it makes him sink inside, just the slightest push of his thick, rotund crown. Your filthy hole plugs up with his strawberry-pink tip and you’re finding yourself gasping.

“Not gonna help me clean up, nerd?”

“Sh-shut the fuck up-” Gojo’s scrunching his brows until he’s feeling dizzy- or maybe that was just the sopping, soft feeling of your pussy. Opening up such a primal part of him once he’s listening to the swampy noises being pulled out, “Her pussy- o-ohhh this pussy…your adventitia stretches so, the way you’re- I can’t…”

You’d made one of the smartest, most eloquent men on campus speechless.

“And you call me filthy.” Geto chuckles darkly from behind you, still not stopping. Still letting the pierced muscle of his tongue swirl right near your entrance, each solid inch that Gojo was bullying inside made you leak onto his tastebuds with a splat!

Filthy.

Absolutely filthy. You couldn’t even begin to describe the sensation when Gojo’s starting to pick up his pace- to start driving his hips in a back n’ forth that only lets him pound you with half-thrusts.

Shaft so plump that it won’t even fit- he’s arching his slam-reddened hips up from the mattress to push and push and push. “S’my turn now- my- hck! gonna take this fucking cock, right, princess?” Gojo strangles out, “Right- right?”

Voice pitching higher, unsteadily cracking.

He can’t stop himself from firmly planting his two feet spread further just so he can cling onto your hips and gift you direct slams. Deeper.

“Please- s-so biiig— will it even fit.”

Gojo shoots a prideful glance down at Geto, who only thumbs apart your bruised n’ battered pussylips with a smirk. “Of course, it will.” And you’re jolting at the burning sensation of his ringed thumb pushing inside of your wet hole, just to stretch you out even wider for Gojo.

THWACK!

He’s tittering meanly as the little spank leaves you leaking from the sides of your stretched-out hole, a little trail of creamy white for him to lick down. Frigid orb of his piercing just lightly skimming Gojo’s own tender shaft, “If you’re good that is, gorgeous.”

“Yeah- yeah.” Gojo’s panting out, so drunk on the sappy texture. He felt like your elastic walls were just molding to his exact size, so tight n’ warm. “Why don’tcha count for me, miss valedictorian?”

“C-count? Satoru, what do you- oh.”

Oh was right- by the way the inches of his cock flinched inside of you. He wanted you to count how many inches he was - and you swear you hear even Geto hum in interest from behind.

Smirking to himself, oh, he’s got his mouth open to drool and make such a mess as Gojo starts stirrin’ your dewy insides with the ragged lines of his veins. Pulling back all the way until his rounded cockhead stretches your entrance, “One- c’mon, one.”

“O-one-” You’re echoing out after Gojo- but oh, even that was a fucking feat. Especially with Geto’s twirling tongue piercing rubbin’ all over your overstuffed slit. Hiccuping, “Two-”

“Mhm—?”

“Three- ngh- five.”

Geto snickers, “Does five come after three?”

“Heh, not so smart now, huh?” Gojo lazes his tongue out for you to suckle on whilst you quietly sob at the utter size of him, he just kept going and going. Like it was never-ending, Gojo’s pretty pink girth kisses the very area of your g-spot without even trying-

“Then just shut up and fuck me, Toru- oh.”

He does. Oh, you think Gojo could ever deny you?

Bottoming out with an angry jackhammer, “Ten–!” You find yourself throwing your head back with a keen, feeling that shuddering thump of his weepy shaft strike the back of your cervix. Hard. With ten solid, throbbing inches somehow shovelled inside of you, you’re bucking backwards in figure-eights, “Ten- ten ten ten- please-”

“Mmm, my turn, pipsqueak.”

Stupidly, your maw splits open with a gush of saliva- “H-huh?”

“You heard me- heh, or are you that fucked out, already?” Geto was just so mean, taking his sensual time to finish drinking up the salted caramel taste of his gooey cum dripping out of you. Until you were all niiiice and clean.

Gojo gives you another few repeated whacks to your most tender spots, almost like he was staking his claim. Eyes narrowed through slimy, slick-sprayed glasses, “Oi- you already got your turn.”

“Yeah n’ now m’fucking hard again.” Rolling his lavender eyes, Geto tuts at the impatient, sloppy way Gojo was fucking into you. “Make yerself useful and open her pretty legs a little wider.”

Grumbling, you’re oh-so-shocked to find that Gojo Satoru actually does what he’s told.

“You hafta teach me how to do that-” You’re jesting, only to get punished with another merciless bruise gliding down your cervix.

“Hahhh- yeahhh, you know it.” Your best friend nods down at you, “That’s it. Now arch those hips up f’me now.”

Something like a territorial growl rips from the back of Gojo’s throat as he feels Geto hover onto his knees from behind. Leaning forwards until his silky, Stygian hair fell like a curtain around you two. “Now, wan’ you to count again- both of you.”

Both?

Evidently, the same thing is registering in Gojo’s mind because he squawks- “B-both?”

“Ya heard me.” Turning your head over your shoulder, you’re noticing that there’s something devilish glinting within Geto’s priggish smile. With a tilt of his head he’s pushing his plump cockhead to kiss the entrance to your cunt. Your already-full entrance. “Count. And m’not talking about how many inches.”

You whine, “Then what do you expect us t-to…”

Oh, and then you’re getting it. And Gojo is, too.

Because in that instant, Geto’s drawing that cold, circular piercing of his slit along the outside of your pussy folds. The down Gojo’s shaft, then slipping it inside-

“One- ohhh-fuck!” It comes tumbling out of your mouth before you can control yourself, and your hips are gyrating back crazily to chase the incredible stretch of a second thick cock entering you. Struggling to. Aching to. “One, ngh– Sugu, please.”

“Atta giiiirl-” Geto coos, the long locks of his bangs flying as he turns his head to Gojo. “Yer falling behind, nerd.”

“…”

With a tut, he’s rolling his hips, “Come on-”

“Oh-” Comes out that pretty, pretty gasp from the edges of your spit-glossed lips. Feeling the cold line of Geto’s second piercing - his Jacob’s Ladder, this time - just grazing the treacly base of your pussy. “T-two…?”

“Two.” Gojo spits out, in reluctant unison with you as that chilling metal touches his fragile shaft- and he hates to admit that it just made his mouth water.

“Theeere we go.”

With one hand groping the backs of your thighs to stretch you out wiiide open for him, and the other rovering underneath your tummy to feel you bulge with two monstrous cocks- Geto sinks his way inside.

Twitching his red, flared tip upwards to bash the roof of your channel once the both of your two below him start babbling in sync- “Th-three. Four. Five?”

Letting his back arch so sensually at the slip n’ slide of your velvety walls, “Fuck.” He has to fight to not throw his head back stupidly, because shit- watching your cute circular hole get stretched out so tightly was fucking heaven to see. “C’mon-” Each word, each breath punctuated by a mindless rut to squeeze inside. “C’mon c’mon c’mon-”

“W-will it even fit, Sugu–?”

“Of course it will, pipsqueak.”

“As if, punk.”

Geto raises a dark brow in challenge, “Heh- you speak- what- five languages and pussy isn’t one of them?”

Face burning red, Gojo only tilts his head down until his bangs cover up most of his face. Enough of playing patience, enough of humping you like some dog in heat- he’s perking his hips up and dragging them in tandem with Geto’s- who only seems to be enjoying the music of your pretty squelches.

“Mmm– see?” Oh, those lecherous noises were only spurring him on. The double penetration makes you slurp as if you were greedily gobbling him whole, and Geto just can’t stop smiling. “Otherwise you’d know that she’s just cryyyyyying for-” Bottoming out, initial tattoo gluing to your skin. “-both.”

You gasp, “Suguru, you have six-” Just as he nuzzles his dark happy trail, fully sheathed inside of you and like he never wanted to pull out now. “-seven piercings?”

Seven piercings in all, one at the very tip scraping along your bubblegum walls, and the others massaging up n’ down Gojo’s length. “Only for you, my girl.”

“My girl, you mean.” It was a challenge.

And Geto takes the bait. “Well then—” Purring out his sinful words, he leans over to restrain your gasping throat in a headlock. Big, beefy hands cutting off your airway- and Gojo’s dexterous fingers smushing your cheeks together embarrassingly, “Tell us. Tell us who you want.”

It comes out a whine- and then a beg—“More.” And you’re feeling the way that both men halt, as if your very voice had just shocked them into freezing. “M-more, I wan’ more- Toru- Sugu-”

Well, whatever you want…you get.

It’s like something’s snapping- audibly, in later hours you’d realize that it was Geto’s aged bedframe, but right now you’re dazedly wondering whether it was the last remnant of their sanity.

Because in such precise unison, Geto pulls his cock nearly all the way out- enough for Gojo’s fattened length to take up every mass of space inside you and bludgeon all the way to the back of your pussy.

Reeling back, letting Geto nuzzle his startling metal piercings against your cervix- your walls. Back n’ forth back n’ forth- it’s like they’re milking themselves on you.

So big that you’re being constantly pumped forwards with each of their thrusts. Being sandwiched between Gojo’s eagerly pumping strokes, and Gojo’s mean teasing.

The sheer carnal stretch was just so incredible that you cry out, “O-ohhh, fuck. H-how does it feel this good- s’like you’re ngh- taking me from the- inside-”

“We are takin’ you from the inside, silly girl.” Geto’s tittering out, oh, it was just so cute how cockdrunk you were for them that he just can’t help but take extra sensually long to rub your g-spot raw with his Jacob’s Ladder. “Taking every inch of you, every spot, every pulse, everything inside this cunt.”

And that’s when Gojo pipes up, pushing his thoroughly foggy glasses up his nosebridge. “A-according to my calculations with time n’ speed and- ngh, stretch, s’at least triple the- the pressure on your anterior wall and Gräfenberg spot, princess.”

You can only look stupidly along down at the scorched blush covering his cheeks, a slim line of saliva drooling down the side of your chin that Gojo has the audacity to flop his tongue out and lap up.

“In other words…” Looking at you with such heady blue eyes- you swear you’ve never seen him look more gone. Cherry-pink lips twitching as he’s folding them into a grin, “Two is better than one.”

Geto chuckles from behind, “Now now, Satoru…don’t think our girl even ngh- understands that right now.” With the powerful headlock, he’s tugging you up to look at him instead.

And you don’t think you’ve seen either of them look so fucked-out. They weren’t any better than you.

Eyes wide, mouths parted, blushed the exact same sappy shades of pink as their bulbous tips. Each thump grazing your g-spot just makes your pussy bulge with the sagging weight of them- enough so that you almost don’t even hear Geto’s next few words.“Mm– heh, you’re sooo cockdrunk right now, pipsqueak. What’s two plus two?”

“T-two plus…” Trailing off, you can only chase their two smashing lengths for more more more. Bawling out just as much as your dripping pussy was right now, “Ngh- hck!”

“Look at you, miss valedictorian.” Gojo’s never looked more accomplished- not even during all those times he’d beaten you during a final or quiz.

Blowing the sweat-plastered white bangs out of his face, he croaks out- “S’the only thing you know how t-to ngh-” Hissing at the ridges of Geto’s cock, the way it was just suuuuch a tight fuckin’ fit inside of you, he has to put extra pressure just to fuck up into you. “-t-take both our- cocks, huh?”

Geto drags out a lil’ ‘aw’, but there was nothing nice about the way he was starin’ down at you. “Now now, Satoru. We should ask-” And he times his slender hips just right, “-d’you even know your own- hah- name?

“I- ngh- I–” It’s just so pitchy how you’re trilling out after each gash of Geto’s thick, split-ended tip. And Gojo’s- oh, Gojo’s was just rapid. You’re feeling them both probe against your cervix at once, and shriek– “Close- ngh- hah. I’m gonna- ohh, I’m gonna-”

“Close? S’that her name, Satoru?”

“Seems so, Suguru.”

Chortling, Geto’s sodden fingerpads find themselves moving from that tummy bulge of yours to your clit. Pinching. “Then, how hah- fitting that m’gonna make you cum, gorgeous.”

“Nuh uh, I’m gonna make her cum.” Gojo hisses- ah, there was that old challenge again. And both are taking it as such - determined to be the first to make you cum.

Gojo with his rapid, half-thrusts that bash your g-spot until you’re seeing stars. And then Geto with the filthily sensual rubs n’ dubs of his piercings that make you drool. Chasing that high. Ruining yourself.

Harder and harder- you didn’t even know if you could cum again. But it only takes one-two-three more synchronized pumps straight into the deepest depths of your pussy for you to find out - you weren’t just cumming. You were squirting.

Body shaking, eyes bawling by the end of it.

And by the looks of it, neither of the two were fully expecting that either.

Because Gojo gasps, he flushes- muscular pelvis hitting upwards into yours as he cums, too. Thick, ropey wads of seed that clog up the channel of your pussy, “Sh-shit. Shit shit shit- s’too much.”

It really was, and it was pouring out of you in hot, ivory bucketloads. So much that you never even thought could be cooped up inside you.

And Geto? Oh, this was way more than he’d ever seen in his wildest dreams- you with your stinging lips chanting his name, and his. “Sugu- Toru- cumming. Nghh fuck, m’cumming cumming cumming-” Hips sloshing over sparkly gushes of your slick with each bounce, still sucking him up so–

“F-fuck.” If any of you were in a better state, you’d have wondered about the way that Geto’s voice pitches. Cracks. About the way his breath hitches when he’s noticing that he’s cumming dry.

Heart thumping in his throat, rouge lips wobbling. It’s perhaps the first time that he’s officially lost for words, “I-I’m…” Remembering that conversation you had back in the café from what felt like years ago. Tongue parched, heaving- “-actually cumming…d-dry.”

“Told you.” You’re shooting him an impish grin.

“Join the club.” Gojo growls out- but that’s not what he’s worried about right now. Not at all, his forearms n’ abs were all shiny with your juices- pushing in the wiry knots of cum that sprays out of you like a fountain. “Inside- fuck, I need it inside, princess.”

Thighs trembling, you can only watch in speechless awe once Gojo’s taking up the job of webbing your pussy up with his leaking mess. Drawing an unsubtle S-A-T-O-R-U on your cunt all the while.

“Satoru…” You’re warning, throat alright tight with the feeling of Geto twitching-

Still rock-hard.

Still needy.

“W-well…” It takes him a few seconds to collect his fucking wits - absentmindedly, he dips the crowns of his fingers inside your creamy pussy and draws out his very own S-U-G-U-R-U on the forefront of your tummy, your womb.

Possessively, he bites down on the crook of your neck and it felt like you were being impaled by his snake bites. Burning once he guides one of your hands back to his v-line- to his tattoo of your initial. “Y’know what I love about ngh- science experiments, gorgeous?”

“Wh-what…?” You’re looking confusedly between him and Gojo- who apparently understands way before your cockdrunken mind does.

And so your nerdy rival grins with a push of his glasses. Bucking up, up, up- “They have twenty-five trials.”

“Oh my god- thrown to the wolves or…”

“Look at those marks—can barely even walk, is that Gojo’s doing-”

“Wait- Geto’s right behind, and he’s so close…you don’t think they’re-”

You’re fairly certain that a zoo could run through your lecture hall right now and no one would even notice. Not when they’re oh-so-occupied ogling and pointing out at the bites across every inch of your skin, the hand marks peeking from underneath the hem of your shirt.

Hell, a few were even secretly recording- surely to send to the betting pool groupchat. And somewhere in the student body you swear you see Shoko exchange cash with Ijichi. Traitors!

Though, to be fair you did look ruined - no matter how much you tried to tug at your sleeves and douse yourself in foundation. They’d simply run you ragged last night, if the broken bed, two broken couches, and five noise complaints were anything to go by.

And it really didn’t help that you had Gojo clinging onto one of your sides, and Geto dangling off of the other. Almost like they were stuck to you with adhesive.

They walked when you walked, they sat when you sat. And once you’re settled into your usual seat at the front row, surrounded by the two, you swear you hear Professor Yaga sigh something or the other about ‘not being paid enough.’

“I swear-” You start to whisper to the two underneath your breath, “If we make it out of this alive, I’m killing the two of you.”

Geto smiles, picking at one of his heavy rings. “Mm– anything for you, gorgeous. A bit kinky, however, no?”

“Hah-” Gojo only crosses his sweater-clad arms and leans back priggishly in his chair. “I’d like to see you fuckin’ try, miss valedictorian.”

Dear lord, what have you gotten yourself into?

But before you can open your mouth - or maybe stand up and run out of this hellscape of an exhibitionistic lecture altogether - a low, grouchy baritone drawls from the row right behind you.

And you don’t know what you’re more surprised at - the fact that you’re still recognizing the voice of your ex-boyfriend, Sukuna, or the fact that a nationally-acclaimed student athlete like him was attending class when he usually never did.

“So…” Sukuna’s swole biceps bulge as he leans over his desk exactly behind you- and you didn’t know whether it was the skin-tight boxing jacket with an emblazoned ‘SUKUNA’ or the fact that he’d gotten even bigger since your break-up. Everything from the meaty thighs damn near ripping through his sports shorts, to the way he seemed to take up two seats at once.

Obnoxiously, he hits the back of Gojo’s chair with his overly-long legs. “You three fucked. Everyone knows.”

Gojo sputters.

Geto grins.

And you can’t rip your eyes away from the sheer ripe curve of Sukuna’s tattooed pecs- coral pink hair still damp after training, athletic figure inching even closer as he smirks.

“I want in, ma.”

A/N. Slight Part 2 to this but can be read alone!! ALSO Y’ALL I’VE BEEN GETTING CALLED UNC HERE AND THERE TODAY I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS…

Plagiarism not authorized.

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avylea16 · 10 days ago

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Sacrificed

Synopsis: Plus!Sized reader is sacrificed to the Sea God she grew up hearing horror stories about. So why does death feel so good?

Warnings: Description of thicker body, breeding, sacrifice, loss of virginity, short-Drabble for the new myth (I’m foaming), talk of eggs, iridescent coom.

Authors Note: This doesn’t really spoil the new myth at all it’s just pure filth. It’s pretty short but I had to get my feelings out there LOL.

He was the God of the Sea.

Humans were beneath him. But oh, having this specific human beneath him was holy. She was set to be a sacrifice by the village on the coast of his territory.

Her life would ensure their poorly built structures would not be engulfed by the sea.

But the only sea who could ever care to protect, was right between her quivering…what did humans call them? Ah yes, thighs.

“M-My Lord I cannot-“

He growls, dipping his head into the crook of her neck. His tail lashes under the waves sending water spouting in all directions. “Quiet. I’m hunting.”

The slick tendril like flesh tested the waters. Her slick gushed as if she were made for him. If not for his strong arms holding her above the waters edge she would surely drown.

Then what kind of plaything would she be to him?

A human carrying his godly eggs was laughable. He absolutely could not imagine her round with his eggs, waddling around on land to show off just how potent the seed of a God was.

No. Never.

Perhaps both.

But this creature possessed something she wasn’t familiar with.

The way he praised how good she felt around him, how beautiful she was despite the fear coursing through her veins.

Her virgin barrier lay broken in the waves of the sea, the salt burning just barely as his lengths delved deeper. Over and over again.

His iridescent seed coated her thighs and the waters surface. She lay quivering in his arms, full to the brim of his cum. Her head rested on his shoulder, prepared to meet her cruel end.

But he only started to hum, a tone that would surely send her into sleep.

“Sleep now, child. We still have plenty to accomplish. Perhaps I will pay a visit to your elders in their own slumber.”

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avylea16 · 11 days ago

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Wearing This Dress Was a Mistake…or Was It?

Premise: You decide to prank him by making him think that you'd be wearing that risque, revealing outfit when you are about to head out... only to find out that pranks have consequences. Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is suggestive. Please do not interact if you are a minor. If you wanted to be added to my taglist, please DM, ask or comment :D Content warning: Suggestive. MNDI.

CALEB

Caleb was lounging on your couch like he owned the place, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other holding a can of soda that he swirled absentmindedly. He had taken a few days off, escaping from his duties as Colonel to come back to Linkon. And now, here he was, making himself right at home in your apartment like he had never left. The sight was almost domestic, but you knew better—there was nothing ordinary about Caleb. Not anymore.

He was on leave, a rare moment where he could shed the weight of his uniform and just be Caleb. It was a refreshing change to see him like this—less guarded, more relaxed—but something about it sparked mischief in you. You'd always had a playful, mischievous relationship with Caleb when you were younger. Pranks, jabs, teasing—it had all been part of the dynamic. And now that he was back, you couldn't help but feel a familiar tug to push his buttons just a little.

You'd planned this prank for a while. Slipping into the most scandalous, revealing outfit you could find in your closet, one that certainly wasn’t something you'd wear out in public. You had no intention of actually leaving—just giving Caleb the briefest hint that you were about to, and seeing how he’d react.

You walked into the living room, draped in the most inappropriate outfit you could manage. A fitted dress that barely covered your thighs, a deep V that left little to the imagination, and a loose, barely-there wrap that hung carelessly from your shoulders. Your intention was to get under Caleb’s skin, to push him just a little—just enough to remind him that the old pranks hadn’t gone anywhere.

When Caleb glanced up, his relaxed demeanor faltered for just a second, his sharp gaze lingering on you. There was a flicker of something darker in his eyes, something predatory. But he said nothing at first, just observing you with a cold silence that sent a chill down your spine. Your pulse quickened slightly under his intense gaze, but you pushed down the thrill crawling up your spine. This was just a joke.

You took a deep breath, feigning innocence. "I'm heading out to meet some friends," you announced, grabbing your purse.

The shift was instantaneous.

The lazy, relaxed Caleb from moments ago was gone. His can hit the coffee table with a soft thud, his entire frame tensing as he straightened up. His gaze darkened, trailing over your figure with slow, possessive deliberation.

"You're wearing that?" His voice was low, almost casual—but you could hear the undercurrent of something dangerous lurking beneath it.

You swallowed but kept up the act. "Yeah. Why?" You tilted your head, feigning confusion. "It looks good, doesn't it?"

"You’re not going anywhere dressed like that." he muttered, the words falling from his lips in a near-growl.

You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest. "What, you think I can’t pull it off?"

He stood in one smooth motion, and before you could react, he was standing in front of you, his hand gripping your wrist with a surprising amount of force. His fingers were warm, rough, as if he were trying to ground himself with the touch.

"If you're so insistent on showing this side of you to others," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, "then it’s only fair that I get to see more of it, isn't it?"

Before you could protest, he hoisted you effortlessly onto his shoulder, your legs dangling in the air as he carried you toward your room like a caveman claiming his prize.

"Caleb!" You gasped, half-laughing, half-embarrassed by the sheer force of his actions. But Caleb wasn't listening. His grip was firm, his footsteps purposeful as he crossed the room.

He threw open your bedroom door, his eyes locking with yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "You think you can strut around like this for anyone else?" His voice was dangerously calm, but the heat in his gaze betrayed the undercurrent of rage—jealousy, possessiveness—swirling just beneath the surface.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he silenced you with a heated kiss, his lips claiming yours in a way that left no room for argument. His lips were urgent, demanding, but still with an edge of care as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing you in that outfit.

"Do you want me to show you what that outfit can do to any individual with a working braincell?" Caleb murmured against your lips, his breath shallow as he gently pushed you onto the bed. He towered over you, his body a wall of heat and strength, completely commanding your attention.

You couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, still shaken by the intensity of the moment. "It was just a prank, Caleb. I didn’t mean—"

His fingers traced the line of your jaw with surprising gentleness before his eyes darkened. "No," he whispered. "You didn’t mean to tease me like this, but now that you have, you’re not going anywhere. Not until I’ve had my fill of you. I don’t like the idea of anyone else looking at you like this.”

You opened your mouth to explain, to tell you weren’t actually heading out like this, but before you could say a word, he was on you, his lips crashing against yours with a possessiveness that left you breathless. His hands roamed down your body, tracing the curve of your waist, gripping you tightly as if he were afraid someone might take you from him.

You could feel his breath on your neck, hot and heavy, as he pulled away just enough to whisper, “You’re mine, understand?” His words were both possessive and adoring, a dangerous combination you knew too well.

And as your neighbors found out soon after, the only sounds that filled the air that evening were far less friendly than the teasing words you’d exchanged earlier.

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was early. Again.

Technically, he was supposed to be on time tonight—after all, it was his gallery event. But you knew better. You had predicted, with painful accuracy, that he'd find some way to ding-dong ditch his own damn celebration. Which was exactly why he was here at your apartment an hour before you needed to leave.

"I'm only here because Thomas would physically drag me if I didn't show up at all," he muttered from the other side of the door of your bedroom. "Consider this me being a responsible artist. All of you should be grateful."

You hummed, feigning disinterest as you checked your reflection in the mirror. "Oh, I am grateful, Rafayel."

"Good, as you shou—"

He cut himself off entirely as you stepped out from your bedroom.

You had planned this prank the moment you'd heard he was coming early. Because if Rafayel wanted to ditch the gallery, you'd at least make sure he suffered before he got his way. So, instead of slipping into something elegant and refined for an art exhibition, you had opted for something else entirely. It wasn’t even an outfit you would wear outside—it barely covered anything at all, and the material clung to your body in all the wrong places. A sheer, tight-fitting slip with lace accents, enough to leave little to the imagination. The fabric wasn’t completely transparent, but it did the job well enough to make every inch of your skin noticeable. Every inch of skin exposed was deliberate. Calculated. A direct attack on Rafayel's composure.

And oh, it worked.

His entire body stiffened, the lazy smirk on his lips frozen mid-form. His next grape missed his mouth completely, bouncing pathetically off his chin and rolling onto the floor. But he didn't even notice.

For a long, silent moment, all Rafayel did was stare.

Then, dramatically, he clutched his chest. "No."

You blinked. "No?"

"I can't take you anywhere like this," he lamented, waving frantically at all the exposed skin. "You—You will steal the show! The gallery will forget my masterpieces the moment you walk through the door!" Rafayel’s eyes flickered to the door, then back to you, his expression a mix of shock and something darker. “You’re kidding. You want me to take you to the gallery dressed like… this? Everyone will be staring, and I can’t have that.”

He turned his back to you with a huff, clearly flustered. He spun around to face you again, his eyes narrowing, and a flicker of possessiveness flashed across his face. “This is too much. I’m not taking you out like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?”

His expression faltered, and for a split second, you saw a vulnerability in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by his usual dramatic demeanor. “Embarrassed? No!! I just don’t want everyone gawking at my—especially when I’m the one who’s supposed to admire you tonight. How am I supposed to take you out like this? All eyes will be on you, and I don’t know if I’m prepared for that level of attention. How am I supposed to look at this…”

"Is that such a bad thing?" You teased, twirling a loose strand of hair around your finger.

"Yes!" Rafayel practically whined. He circled you like a predator, eyes flickering with a hunger he hadn’t quite named yet. "Some art should be displayed for the world, sure," he murmured, voice turning dangerously low. "But some art? This should be kept private. Mine."

You bit your lip, barely suppressing a laugh. "Raf, it's just a prank. I'm not actually going like this."

He stilled. Then, very slowly, he grinned.

"Oh?" he purred, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you. His fingers skimmed the edge of your exposed thigh, tracing your skin before gripping it lightly. "Then you should go change, hmm?"

You moved to step back, but Rafayel caught your wrist. His grip was loose, teasing, but there was no mistaking the heat behind it.

"Ah, wait," he murmured, feigning deep thought. "Actually… No. That would take too long."

You frowned. "What—?"

"We're already late," he sighed, tone laced with mock regret. "And if we're already late, then it doesn’t really matter, does it?"

Before you could say anything else, Rafayel scooped you up in one swift motion, his hands firmly gripping you. “Forget the gallery,” he said, his voice practically a growl. “You’re not leaving this apartment until I’ve taken my time enjoying this… work of art.”

“Rafayel, wait!” You tried to protest, but he was already striding toward your bedroom, his grip firm around you.

“You don’t deserve to wear something this distracting for anyone else,” he muttered, his voice laced with a possessive hunger. “I’ll be the only one to appreciate it properly.”

Before you could even respond, his lips were on yours, demanding and heated, the rest of the world completely irrelevant. You could barely keep up with the intensity of his kiss as he stripped away the fabric, each motion more urgent than the last.

As the sound of Thomas’ calls rang through both your phones, going straight to voicemail, Rafayel didn’t spare it a second thought. The gallery? It was already a lost cause. Tonight, he had you—and he was taking his sweet time with it.

SYLUS

As Sylus prepared for his mission, a sense of anticipation hung thick in the air. He was packing his gear with the meticulous attention of a man who thrived on the chaos he created, readying himself for whatever dangerous task lay ahead. This lifestyle was no stranger to him —the dangerous, dark heart of his empire. But you couldn’t shake the worry that gnawed at you every time he walked out the door. Dangerous, illegal missions were a regular part of his life, and while you knew he could handle himself, the thought of him in harm’s way left you restless.

But you weren’t about to voice that concern—not when he took so much pleasure in riling you up with his teasing. Tonight, you had decided to give him a taste of his own medicine—payback, as you saw it. After all, his teasing and his ability to keep you on edge with his deep voice, knowing smirks, fleeting touches, and that intense gaze deserved a little retaliation. This time, you were going to make him work for it.

Fair was fair.

You stepped into the study, heels clicking against the floor, the sharp sound enough to draw his attention. His red eyes flickered up from his preparations, widening just slightly before narrowing with intrigue. You had dressed specifically to get a reaction—a short, black mesh dress that left little to the imagination, the sheer material teasing glimpses of lace underneath. The plunging neckline dipped scandalously low, while the cutouts along your waist accentuated every tempting curve.

Sylus let out a low, appreciative hum as he leaned back against the wall, taking his time raking his gaze over you.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going dressed like that, sweetie?” His smirk was lazy, but the sharp glint in his crimson stare was anything but.

You let your eyes linger on his figure for a moment, before casually offering, "Actually, I’m heading back to Linkon for a night out—clubbing with some friends." Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you took a few steps closer, and you could see his pupils dilate briefly, his reaction evident, though he masked it quickly with another smirk.

"Well, well," he drawled, his eyes still locked on your attire. "Funny, I’ve never gotten the pleasure of seeing you in such bold outfits before."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your lips curling into a playful smile. "I dress for the occasion."

A small chuckle escaped him, the sound rich and dark. "Interesting, these 'occasions' never seem to happen when I'm around." His eyes trailed over you once more, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse quicken.

He walked slowly, closing the distance between you in a few slow, measured strides. When he reached you, his fingers brushed against the exposed skin of your thigh, the touch featherlight, deliberate.

“I suppose I should consider myself unfortunate, then,” he murmured, trailing his hand higher. “But I’ll be damned, sweetie, you do look ravishing.”

You hummed, feeling the heat of his touch ghosting over your skin. "Maybe ypu were just not paying enough attention before."

His laugh was low, dark, full of amusement. "Oh, kitten," he purred, his hands drifting lower, tracing the dip of your waist before pulling you just a little closer. "Trust me, I pay attention. Especially when it comes to you."

Your breath hitched as his palm splayed possessively over your hip, his fingers teasing the hem of your barely-there dress. “Not worried about all the attention I’ll get?” you teased, meeting his gaze.

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound almost like a growl. "Sweetie, I know you can handle yourself if things go wrong." he said, his hands suddenly roaming over your skin, slow and deliberate, almost as if he were marking his territory. His touch was magnetic, entrancing. His fingers traced your jawline, grazing over the curve of your neck, and you felt the weight of his presence pull you in, closer to him with each movement.

He smirked, as if he could sense the effect he was having on you. "Go ahead. Have fun tonight," he murmured, pulling out his black card from his wallet and offering it to you. "Just don't have too much fun without me." His breath ghosted over your lips, hot and tantalizing, and you could feel his eyes trailing lower

You saw it then—the flicker of something dark and hungry in his stare, a silent challenge laced with possession. It made you want to push just a little further.

“What if I do?”

The moment the words left your lips, you barely had time to react before Sylus’s hands were on you. A startled gasp escaped you as he lifted you effortlessly, locking your legs around his waist. The back of your dress rode up, and his fingers pressed into your thighs, holding you firmly in place as his mouth found yours. The kiss was deep, slow, devastating. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was claiming you, drawing you in until the thought of leaving, of doing anything other than this, felt ridiculous. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure you’re more entertained...” he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with possessiveness, as if you were already his in every sense.

Without another word, he carried you through the mansion, his lips never leaving yours as his pace quickened. He didn’t even give you a chance to respond, his hold on you firm, commanding, as though the very idea of you going out tonight was laughable. His smirk never faltered, his confidence radiating in waves.

“You think I’d let that happen?” he said in a husky whisper against your lips, his voice thick with amusement. As he kicked open the door to his bedroom, he laid you down on the bed with a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. “Guess neither of us is going anywhere tonight…”

You tried to speak between stolen breaths, to tell him it was a prank, but he only smirked against your mouth, cutting you off with another slow, intoxicating kiss.His weight pressed you down onto the bed, his hands sliding over every inch of exposed skin. “It’s a good thing you weren’t actually going out,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Because I plan to keep you here… All. Night. Long.”

A thrill ran through you as you realized just how easily he'd flipped the situation in his favor. And you weren't sure if you could—if you wanted to—fight it.

XAVIER

You had been scheming for a while, setting the perfect trap to prank Xavier, and today was the day you were finally going to execute your plan. You’d texted him earlier, asking him to swing by your apartment to pick up the meals you had prepared for him. You knew full well Xavier could barely cook an egg without burning it, so he was always appreciative when you made him something special. You always made quite a batch of food whenever he came over to pick it up so he could store them in his freezer.

He had a spare key to your apartment in case of emergencies, but today, you were going to make sure he’d get more than just food when he came over. He’d always been so calm and collected in most situations that it was infuriating at times. You had tried to get a reaction out of him before but had always failed. But today, it would be different. Today, you knew you would get him to falter. You’d been thinking of a little prank to get a rise out of him—and you knew exactly what would get under his skin.

When you heard the door click open, you made sure to pick up your purse slowly, letting Xavier get a good look at the outfit you’d chosen: A tight, revealing midnight blue dress that clung to your curves like a second skin, the plunging neckline barely covering what was necessary and the high slit on the side showing just enough leg to drive anyone wild. The fabric was soft, almost like a second layer of skin, and you knew it would make his blood run hot.

Xavier’s footfalls slowed, and the air seemed to thicken with tension as he entered the room, his eyes immediately darkening the moment they landed on you. His usually calm expression shifted, but only slightly, and his voice, low and even, carried an edge. “You have plans?” His tone was casual, but you could tell it didn’t match the storm brewing in his gaze.

“Oh, yeah, I’m heading out with some colleagues,” you answered nonchalantly, knowing full well that would get him riled up. In your mind, this was all part of the prank. You were expecting a laugh, a joke, maybe even a playful remark.

His eyes narrowed, the calm veneer slipping away. “Wrong answer.”

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him with feigned confusion. “Huh?”

“I said, wrong answer. You are not going out to meet them… in that?” He spoke slowly.

“Why not? What’s wrong with the dress? I think it makes me look nice.” You looked at your dress pretending that you didn’t know what was wrong with it. “Plus, I already made plans with them…”

He didn’t hesitate, slamming the door behind him with a soft thud. His hand rested on the doorframe as he leaned in, towering over you. “Your plan,” he said, voice gruff with unspoken demand, “is with me. Right here. And only I should be the one seeing you in that dress. And outside of it.” he added, his voice dark with possessiveness.

Your heart raced, though you maintained an innocent air. “Xavier, come on... I’m just going out for fun. It’s not a big deal.” You tried to laugh it off, but your breath caught as his hands trailed over your skin, tracing your body with an intention that left no room for interpretation.

You didn’t have a chance to react before he was right in front of you, his frame crowding you against the door, his hands gripping your hips as he lifted you slightly.

He didn’t respond to your attempt at casualness. Instead, his gaze was fierce, intense, and utterly unyielding. The meals you had prepared was forgotten. The only thing on his mind was you—and the dress you wore, too.

“Why do they get to see you like this when it’s meant for me?” His voice dropped, each word heavier than the last.

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his voice. The heat between you was immediate, pressing, suffocating. Xavier reached up, his fingers gently grazing your neck, then sliding down to your waist, his touch possessive and slow.

You tried to laugh it off again, your playful nature not quite prepared for how serious he had gotten. “It’s just a prank,” you said, offering an innocent smile, hoping to break the tension. “I am not going anywhere…” You giggled, but it came out a little nervous. “I swear… It’s just a prank, Xavier.”

He blinked once, the twice, confusion flickering in his eyes. His boyish, innocent looked returned, stunned at your words. He seemed to process it for a moment. Then, the intensity of his gaze returned, fiercer than before. He took a step forward, closing the non existent distance between you, and his lips were suddenly on yours—hard, commanding. His lips crushed against yours, his tongue immediately claiming dominance as he growled low in his throat.

Before you could even process what was happening, you were on the couch, his body pressing you into the cushions. His hands roamed, touching you everywhere. as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Prank or not,” he said, his voice hushed but full of intensity, “you’ve got me thinking about you in that dress with them—with anyone else.” His hands moved lower, sliding over the fabric of your dress. “You thought teasing me would be funny, huh? Let’s see how funny it is now.” His tone was equal parts teasing and threatening, a dangerous mix that made your heart race.

You gasped as his hands found your thighs, pulling you against him, his body already pressing into yours. There was no more pretending, no more games. Xavier’s need was undeniable, and you couldn’t escape the heat between you.

His lips met yours again, deeper, more frantic this time, as if making sure you understood just how serious he was about what was happening between you. You didn’t stand a chance against him.

And when the night ended, teasing Xavier definitely wouldn’t be on your list of things to do again... or maybe it would be.

ZAYNE

The dress was daring—too daring, perhaps. The fabric clung to your body, smooth and sultry, dipping dangerously low in the front and riding scandalously high on your thighs. The sheer lace along the sides barely covered enough, teasingly revealing glimpses of skin beneath. It was the kind of dress that would have heads turning, and you knew it.

That was the point.

You had planned this all too perfectly. A new pastry café had just opened downtown, and you’d invited Zayne out for a date. You had been expecting a reaction when he arrived—maybe a subtle quirk of his brow, a small shift in his usual stoic demeanor. Something.

Instead, when you opened the door and greeted him with an innocent smile, his gaze flickered over you, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then, the door clicked shut behind him.

His expression remained unreadable, but his movements weren’t. The way he took his time removing his gloves, slipping them off with methodical ease before placing them neatly on the nearby counter. The way his fingers traced the hem of his coat, unbuttoning it in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Interesting choice,” he finally said, his voice calm—too calm—as his gaze finally lifted back to meet yours.

You grinned, shifting your weight just slightly to make the dress slide a little higher along your thigh. “Do you like it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a step forward, and you felt the weight of his presence settle over you. His fingers brushed your arm, barely there, before trailing down your wrist. The lightest touch. A doctor’s touch—controlled, precise. But beneath it was something else.

Something simmering.

“Tell me.” His voice was still even, his tone almost thoughtful as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your fingertips. “How far were you planning to go with this little game of yours?”

Your heart stuttered. He knows.

You feigned innocence, tilting your head as if confused. “Game? I was just dressing up for our date.”

“Is that so?” His lips curved, the barest hint of amusement slipping through. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if we went outside right now.”

Your stomach flipped. He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Before you could respond, his other hand moved—so subtle, so swift—and in one seamless motion, he pulled you closer, his fingers splaying over your lower back. Your breath hitched as your bodies pressed together, the warmth of him seeping through the thin material of your dress.

His lips were close now, brushing against your ear. “You forgot,” he murmured, “I know you.”

Your skin burned.

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “Okay, fine. It was a prank.”

Zayne chuckled softly. The sound was low, velvety, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “I knew that before coming over.”

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against the small of your back, and suddenly, you were all too aware of how little there was between you. How easy it would be for him to simply pull—just a little—and the dress would slide right off your shoulders.

You blinked. “Wait, you—?”

“Of course I knew.” He leaned in, his breath brushing against your jaw. “You think I don’t know when you’re trying to get a rise out of me?” The heat in his voice made your knees weak.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as his fingers traced a slow path up your spine, dragging along the zipper of your dress.

“I knew the moment you picked up my call earlier and sounded too innocent. The way you sent me a picture of the food but conveniently cropped yourself out.” His fingers pressed, teasing, against the small of your back. “And now? Now you’re here, looking like this and expecting me to just let you waltz out into a crowded café?”

You barely managed a breath before he tilted your chin up with two fingers, his expression unreadable save for the faintest glint of something more. “Cute.” His lips brushed against yours, feather-light. “But you knew better.”

You shivered at the subtle challenge in his voice, the sheer restraint beneath it. “Zayne, we have a reservation—”

“Mm.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate. “We’ll reschedule.”

“I—”

Whatever you were about to say was swallowed by his kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was deliberate. A slow, consuming thing that left no room for escape. His hands were firm but unhurried as he guided you back, step by step, until your back met the nearest surface—the couch, the wall, you didn’t even know anymore.

Zayne finally pulled away, but only just. His breath fanned across your lips, his fingers still resting against your waist. He looked at you then, truly looked at you, his eyes dark with something unspoken.

“You wanted my attention.” His voice was a whisper now, a dangerous kind of quiet. “You have it.” Your protests faded the moment his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs just enough to make your breath hitch. His lips trailed downward, past your jaw, tracing a searing path along your neck before murmuring, “Tell me, was the prank worth it?”

And as his hands began to move, taking their time, exploring, savoring—one thing became very, very clear.

Prank or not, you wouldn’t be leaving for that café tonight.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace@sinsodom@m00nchildwrites

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avylea16 · 11 days ago

Text

needy.

they joke about you being needy but you take it seriously so you stopped kissing and sleeping with them and suddenly they're not laughing anymore.

mdni. 18+ only. grinding. suggestive but no actual sex. reader enjoys being an insufferable tease <3

sylus.

You pushed him down on the couch and straddled his thighs while one of his hand runs up and down your back, and the other rests on your waist.

He breaks free from your deep kiss with a playful smirk on his face.

"You've been quite needy lately, kitten."

You paused.

Needy?

"Oh."

Sylus froze as soon as he saw the lack of amusement on your face.

"I didn't mean — "

"No, you're so right." You suddenly got off his lap and expertly dodged the hands that attempted to catch you and pull you back down. "I really should calm down, shouldn't I ?"

"No — "

"That's such a great idea, Sylus." you smiled and pinched his cheek. "Let's do something else instead. Let's make cookies!"

That was the start of Sylus' awful week, when he didn't get to touch you at all.

No hand holding.

No hugs.

No kisses.

No sex.

Sylus thinks he might actually go insane.

But he can't lose your game so easily.

He'll toughen up if he must.

He lasted years without you and he had successfully kept his distance from you, no matter how difficult and tempting, until the time was right.

His patience and self-control are not to be underestimated.

He'll be fine.

That's what Sylus keeps reminding himself every time he gets the urge to hold you. Every time his eyes fall to your lips, he tells himself that he'll survive without them.

You're trying to punish him for calling you needy, but he won't give in.

He'll wait until you give in.

It's more fun that way.

Okay, so this is harder than he thought.

It's day two and he's already weak on the knees from the very moment you walked out of the bathroom wearing the dress for tonight's date.

Sylus watched you put on your heels, flashing him a part of your thighs while doing so, and he wanted to run a hand on it to feel your smooth skin.

"Sylus?"

He blinked out of his trance to realize you just asked him a question. "What was that, sweetie?"

"I was asking if it'll be cold in the restaurant you chose, so I can know if I should bring a jacket or not."

He shook his head. "You'll be just fine."

That was a total lie.

It turned out to be cold as your table was specially reserved at a rooftop of a building.

However, it just so happens that Sylus has a jacket and the cold wasn't affecting him, so he was able to give it to you.

With a grin on his face, Sylus pulled your seat right next to his and gently put the jacket around your shoulders, making sure his fingers brush against your skin even if it's only for a second.

"Thanks." as you gave him a smile, you slightly moved closer to his face. "I feel much better now."

Sylus made the mistake of looking at your lips. Without much thought, his head tilted down and his nose grazed yours before aligning your lips.

"Wow! This wine is so good! Try it!" You shoved your glass of wine to his lips before scooting your chair back to its initial place, a couple of feet away from him.

Sylus almost choked on the alcohol but gladly accepted your offer. He put his lips on the same spot that had your lipstick stain on it.

At the very least, he got to enjoy an indirect kiss that should keep him satisfied for the rest of the week.

Or so he thought.

Day four.

The frustration has gotten to Sylus.

It's like owning the world's most valued weapon yet not being able to use it.

He can look, but he can't touch.

It's much more difficult than he thought.

Especially when you're doing everything in your power to make him cave in.

Well, technically, you aren't doing anything out of the ordinary.

Right now, all you're doing is hitting the punching bag in the exact way that he taught you, but the way you look at the moment is making him want to grab you and pin you down — or you can be the one to pin him down. It doesn't matter to him. All he wants is his body to be pressed against yours.

Sylus quietly growled under his breath.

He clenched his fist and started to hit the other punching bag, hoping to take away some of the tension burning inside him, particularly inside his shorts.

You tilted your head and watched curiously as Sylus' punches to the sandbag has gotten heavier, leaving such satisfying sounds at the impact.

"Whoa! So good! You look like you're getting ready to beat up some real nasty bad guys. Did anyone piss you off or something?" You picked up the clean towel nearby and held it up towards his face to wipe the sweat on his forehead. "You do look tense lately."

Sylus' left hand suddenly caught the one you're using to wipe his face. "You're a vicious little kitten."

He gave your hand a kiss before stepping back and patting your head before walking out of the room and leaving you alone.

"Hey, where are you going?! We haven't sparred yet!"

"Shower." He looked over his shoulder to give you a smirk. "Would you like to join?"

You almost agreed in a heartbeat.

But you have to stay strong.

"Nope, I'll just stay here and keep practicing so I can kick your ass the next time we spar."

Your own answer only disappointed the both of you.

Day seven.

You and Sylus went out for a ride on his newest motorcycle at night, on the empty, spatious roads of N109.

It was the worst idea of all.

As the one that's manipulating the vehicle, you're the one sitting at the front and you took advantage of the close proximity by pressing your ass right against his crotch.

Sylus had to concentrate on making sure his grip on your waist doesn't hurt you, with the way his body had gone stiff. Every part of him.

Every bump on the road slammed your hips against him and he had to hold his breath every time. His pants became tighter and tighter by the minute, and his breath had gotten unsteady.

He was sweating throughout the entire ride.

And once you finally made it back to his place, Sylus' patience finally broke.

From the moment you got off the motorcycle, Sylus quickly removed his motorcycle before taking off yours.

As soon as your face was in clear view, before you could even comprehend what was happening, Sylus' left hand caressed your jawline before locking his lips with yours.

Your eyes widened with surprise, though you didn't waste a precious second to kiss him back and pull him close by grabbing onto his shoulders.

Sylus didn't dare to pull away until he was out of breath. Even then, he'd only stop for a second before diving back in like a starved man.

Every time you'd pull back to gasp for air, Sylus would come after your lips and slip his tongue between them to capture yours.

"You win." he huffs in between kisses while your hands run through the strands of his hair. "I yield."

"Heh?" you can't help but grin. "What are you talking about? What are you yielding for?"

"Don't play innocent, kitten. You know what you've been doing." He tapped your forehead as you laughed. "I won't call you needy ever again, so if you could stop teasing me, I'd greatly appreciate it." he whispered against your ear before kissing it softly, "I don't know how long I can keep holding back."

"Since you learned your lesson...." you pressed your lips under his jaw. "You don't need to hold back anymore."

That was all he needed to hear.

Sylus wrapped your legs around his hips and kept you up against him as he made his way into his bedroom.

zayne

You're drawing random patterns with your finger on Zayne's bare chest as you cuddle with him when suddenly, he made a lighthearted joke.

"Your libido has been rather high lately. Based on my record, your premenstrual syndrome symptoms shouldn't be showing up for another two weeks."

You looked up to see the playful grin on his face.

"Oh, is that right?" you huff. "Must be my diet or something. No worries, I'll fix it."

Zayne blinked with confusion. "Huh?" But he received no more response for an explanation as you closed your eyes and drifted oft to sleep.

It was only until the very next day when he realized his mistake when he received absolutely zero kisses.

He was quick to figure out what brought on such an evil scheme.

"Oh, no..."

Day three.

You stopped by his work to join him for lunch, just as he requested.

Zayne observed that you're not angry with him and you have no problem spending time with him. You act normal for the most part. The one big change with your behavior is that you refuse to give him any physical affection.

You didn't even give him a hug as you greeted him.

It feels strange. It's like he's forgetting something as important like his wallet or his car keys.

"Are you punishing me for what I said the other day?"

"What you said the other day?"

"You know... about your high libido...."

He could've sworn a vein popped out from your forehead just now and he does his best to suppress a smile of amusement. He's already in trouble. He doesn't want to dig his grave any deeper.

"Nope! I don't care at all!"

Despite the words that came out of your mouth, you continued to make him suffer.

Later that day, you met up aftet work to drink milk tea while taking a night stroll around the city during such a lovely weather.

The way you were smiling the whole time made Zayne want to hold your hand and keep you close to him.

And yet, you were constantly moving around so much, either on purpose or due to all the sugar from your drink, so he ended the night feeling somewhat emptyhanded.

He hasn't realized until now just how much he enjoys even the little touches you grace him with.

Day five.

You and Zayne attended a formal event.

It's a banquet for the hunters association and you were obligated to come, and he was your date, so you two dressed up nicely to follow the dress code.

Although, if he was being honest, Zayne wishes you two are still in your apartment, where he can have you all to himself.

Ever since he had come to your home to picked you up, he couldn't keep his eyes off you. And throughout the event, he has been rather... uneasy.

As you're eating dessert, Zayne can't help but imagine tasting it from your lips. It has been days since he last kissed you, and he needed to be reminded of your sweetness.

He needed to feel the warmth and softness of your skin underneath your dress.

Zayne lets out a shaky breath before loosening his tie.

It seems that the room suddenly feels hot.

Or maybe it's just his racing mind and heart and the blood rushing down below his hips.

"Zayne, are you okay?"

You scooted your chair closer to him so that your legs are touching. You faced him and put a hand on his forehead.

"You feel warm. Are you sick?"

Zayne lets out a laugh that was half-nervous. "Are you teasing me again?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just worried about you."

He detected from your tone that you are indeed teasing him.

On the drive back, Zayne was clutching the steering wheel as his mind continues to race, imagining all the things that he'd been wanting to do with you. Sitting still became difficult with a bulge rising through his pants.

But yet again, he ends the night without a single touch from you.

And Zayne has decided, he'll never joke about anything ever again.

Day six.

On his day off, Zayne had taken you out for a picnic and the torture continues.

Whenever you two have a picnic, there's lots of cuddling involved. This time, there's none at all and there's the Happy Snowman plushie sitting right between you two as a barrier.

You two are playing kitty cards and Zayne seems to be on top of his game today.

After all, he had a special proposal.

"Whoever wins must do something that the winner wants."

It's a simple but classic prize that no one can ever resist, so you gladly accepted the challenge thinking you'd easily win.

But Zayne's focus is unshakeable.

He's consecutively dropping assist cards to take away your points, and somehow he's stocking up all the sixes.

He won't even let you switch cards by acting cute. That's how serious it is right now. The stakes are high.

After six rounds, Zayne comes out as the winner.

"How could this happen?!"

Zayne chuckles at your dramatic cries, aggressively shaking Happy Snowman as if it was the one responsible for your loss.

Unfortunately for Happy Snowman, it's Zayne's turn to have your attention.

Zayne snatched the plushie out of your hands and set it aside.

"Darling, it's time for me to claim my prize."

You sigh and bowed playfully. "Yes, yes, congratulations for being crowned as the King of the Kitties. What can I do for you, Your Highness?"

Zayne smiled and gently held your chin with his fingers before guiding you to look up so you can lock gazes.

"Kiss me."

Your mouth drops at his request, face immediately heating up.

"Oh."

He found a way to end your silly little game.

He really is a clever boy.

"Your wish is my command~"

At last, you stop holding back against your urges and brought yourself on his lap.

Zayne eagerly welcomes you into his arms and wraps them around you tightly, making sure you don't try to escape.

His lips meets yours with desperation and his hands slides down to your thighs, encouraging you to sway your hips back and forth.

Between the deep and heavy kisses, he mutters, "I joked about you being needy yet here I am, being the needy one. But it's all your fault. Are you going to take responsbility for it?" Zayne pressed you down against his hips to let you feel just how hard he is for you.

"...should we end picnic early?"

"We should end picnic early."

caleb

You stumbled into his room while removing his shirt and almost tripped on his feet as you reached the bed.

"What's the rush, Pip-squeak? And here I thought I was the needy one."

Your hands come to a halt.

"What did you say?"

"I said there's no need to rush, I'm not going anywhere — "

"No, you just called me needy just now."

Caleb chuckles at your furrowed brows.

"I was joking, Pip— what are you doing?" you picked up his shirt that you dropped on the floor and threw it at his chest before walking out of his room.

"Gonna be needy all by myself in my room. Goodnight."

"Wha — hey wait!"

It's too late. You stomped your way into your own room and Caleb is left all alone with a boner that remained standing until his mood died down.

Caleb sent you a bunch of stickers, hoping you'd come back beside him. Sadly, you ignored all of them and he was forced to sleep with a cold, empty bedside.

The next day, Caleb woke up early and prepared breakfast for the two of you as usual. You came out of your room and lazily greeted him a good morning, so he was relieved to know that you weren't really mad.

But once he tried to kiss you on the cheek after giving you a cup of coffee and you blocked his lips with the palm of your hands, he learned that he's not completely off the hook just yet.

"No."

"Huh?"

"No kisses."

"What?! Why?!"

You almost laughed at the way his face shifted, looking like a little boy who'd gotten his favorite toy taken away.

"Because. I don't want to seem needy."

"Come onnnn, it was a joke! I'm sorry!" he tried to embrace you from the back but you stood up and moved away.

"Wow, look how nice the weather looks today!" you exclaimed as you look out the window, admiring the clouds of Skyhaven.

Caleb pouts at the way you deflected him.

Knowing how you behave whenever you're being petty, he has to brace himself for the worst few upcoming days of his life.

Day two.

The pout hasn't left his face.

You two are working out together at his home gym and he's pouting as he's doing push ups.

You're not even sitting on his back and motivating him to do more reps. You're just doing your own sets of excercises in front of him while pretending he's not there.

"Pip-squeak, look. I'm doing push-ups with one hand."

"...."

"Now I'm doing push-ups with just one finger!"

"..."

No matter what he did to grab your attention, he just couldn't get you to look at him.

But what if....

"Whew, it's so hot in here."

Caleb took off his shirt and threw it aside.

He tries not to grin as he caught you sneaking glances from the corner of your eye.

Now, he'll do pull-ups on the bar right in front of you.

Or at least, that was the plan.

His shirt was thrown back at his chest just like the other night.

"Caleb you dummy. You'll get cold."

You walked out of the room and he was back to pouting.

Day four.

You went back to Linkon at Monday morning. Caleb couldn't believe he lasted four whole days without getting a single kiss from you. He didn't even get to hold your hand or pat your head.

The lack of physical affection and intimacy should be nothing to him since he always had to hold back from acting on his feelings for you. He was willing to wait forever for you.

But now that he thinks about it, he'd always been touchy with you.

Even before you were in a romantic relationship, he'd given you plenty of hugs, he'd given you lots of forehead kisses, he'd hold your hands whenever you let him, he'd hold you when you don't want to sleep alone, and he'd even kissed your cheek during the times whenever you pretended to be a couple.

Physical affection has always been a part of your relationship.

Taking it away is like taking away a pilot's airplane.

Well, maybe it's not that drastic but it surely feels that way to Caleb.

Now that he's able to kiss you and hold you whenever he wants, he can't stop. He loves being with you and becoming one with you.

He can't help but seek for your touch.

It's only been a few days but he misses your warmth. He misses how you taste. He misses the sounds you'd make.

Oh, he definitely won't survive for long.

This scheme of yours has to end now.

Day five.

You got a good jumpscare when The Colonel showed up at your doorstep at night, in his full uniform and all.

Before opening the door, you peeked through the peephole and took note of his serious expression, just as The Colonel often appears as.

But the scary demeanor vanished the moment you oppened the door.

His face lights up and you're flashed with the warm smile you've used to seeing.

"Caleb! What are you doing here?!"

"I just dropped by to bring you something you forgot at my house. It's pretty important so I thought I'd make a trip to Linkon so you don't worry about it."

You let him in your apartment, trying to recall what you could have forgotten. You were able to get through a long day at work without noticing anything missing, so what could've been that important that he had to give to you immediately?

"What did I forget?"

Caleb dug something from one of the pockets of his coat.

"Ta-da! Here you go~"

Caleb took your left hand and dropped something to your palm.

".....Are you being serious right now?"

A hair clip.

"What? It's something that you use every day, is it not? I know you were probably feeling weird without it. You're welcome."

"...I leave this behind on purpose. I always use it whenever I'm at your house, every time I'm doing my hair. It was meant to stay there."

Caleb laughs and scratches the back of his head. "Oh, my baaaad, Pip-squeak. Ah, but since I'm already here, might as well have dinner together!I'll help you cook~"

He removed his hat and coat before entering your kitchen. You're in the middle of making dinner too, so he somehow arrived perfectly on time.

You should've known he came in with a mission.

As he goes around the kitchen, he does everything possible to accidentally touch you.

He'd lightly bump into you and touches your shoulder as he apologizes.

His hand brushes against your waist to move you aside so he can pass by.

He stands behind you and reaching over you so he could get some containers on the cabinet, making sure to grind his hips against your ass just for a brief second.

Eventually, you found yourself cornered against the fridge.

"What are you doing?"

"Making dinnner." you glare at him and he was quick to give you a pout. "...And trying to win your attention because you've been so mean to me by neglecting me."

"Neglecting?" you tilted your head. "But I thought I was being needy."

Caleb groans before completely losing his patience.

He pulls you into a hug. "I'm sorry! I won't say it again! Please don't punish me anymore I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry — " his embrace starts getting tighter at every word, making you cough dramatically.

"Jeez, alright fine! I get it, now let me go — "

"Never!"

Caleb lifts you off the ground and nuzzles his face against yours. "So soft and so warm ~"

"Caleb, the pot is boiling!"

"The pot can wait. I'm busy."

"Caleb — " the sizzling noises from the stove forced him to jump away from you.

"Okay I'm coming!"

rafayel

"You don't need to be so needy cutie, I'm not going anywhere~"

You pulled away from his kiss and raised a brow at him. "Needy...?"

Rafayel's eyes widen as he realized what he just said. "I — I was just joking!"

"Right..."

You laughed along but five minutes later, the kisses suddenly stopped and your attention shifted to your phone to play a silly game (one that he recommended to you in the first place).

Rafayel didn't think much of it. He was able to cuddle with you as the two of you fell asleep that night.

But once he woke up, things started to seem weird to him.

As you left to go to work, you didn't give him a kiss. You always give him a kiss. You rushed out of the studio before he could even remind you about it.

He didn't get to see you for the rest of the day because the Wanderers robbed him all of your time and energy.

At the very least, he was able to videocall with you and chat with you about how your day went. Though, seeing your sleeping face made him wish he was next to you so he could comfort you and ease your exhaustion.

Day two.

You joined him for a stroll at the beach and helped him collect some shells. He tried to hold your hand but you not-so-subtly moved away from him.

The face he made was worthy of a drama actor award.

"Are you worried I'd give you a virus? Come here, cutie, I'm perfectly clean. I just took a bath an hour ago."

"No no, just don't wanna seem clingy, that's all."

Rafayel took a moment to figure out what prompted that response.

"Waaaait, you're not really mad about me calling you needy, are you? It was just a joke, Miss Bodyguuaaard..."

"Mhmm."

Rafayel sighs as he realizes you're going to prolong this cruel revenge of yours just a little further. It's good that you're not really mad, though he can't help but pout about it.

He had to walk through the beach with you so close yet so far from him, and his hands have never felt so cold and lonely.

You don't even always hold his hand, as sometimes collecting sea shells require all hands available, but now that he's aware of your punishment, he can't help but notice that he really loves holding your hand and giving you little kisses.

Without them, his day feels incomplete.

Day three.

You showed up at Rafayel's art exhibition and he's acting like you just dumped him.

"Oh, I didn't expect you to show up today, Miss Bodyguard. I thought you'd forgotten all about me."

He showed you one painting that you haven't seen finished until now.

"This is inspired by the gaping hole in my heart because my beloved has left me."

Trying not to laugh, you flicked his forehead. "Your beloved saw you this morning for breakfast and watched you get scolded by Thomas because you weren't ready for your event on time."

Rafayel huffs. "Well, I would have woken up early and would've been prepared on time if only I went to sleep early. But I couldn't sleep early because my beloved is being mean to me and won't let me kiss her."

"Weeeell, that sucks for you." you patted his shoulder. "I'm gonna go check out that lovely painting over there. See you later."

Rafayel followed you the entire time, walking so closely beside you so his hand would constantly brush against yours.

Once you reached an empty room, he stood right behind you and put a hand on the wall next to the painting that you're admiring.

His lips brushed against your ear after taking a whiff of your neck. "This perfume... it's the one that I really like..."

It was indeed the scent that makes him act like a cat that's high on catnip. You wore it on purpose, solely to get the reaction that he's giving right now.

Rafayel's lips brushed against your neck like a feather, testing the waters to see if you'd push him away.

So far, you do nothing but stare at the beautiful painting he worked months on.

His right hand landed on your stomach and gently nudged you back so that your body is right against his.

His kisses grew a little bolder, lingering on your skin a little longer.

But then, the sound of footsteps coming close forced you to spring away from him.

You held back a grin at his red face.

"This has been a wonderful exhibit, Sir Rafayel. Thank you for the tour."

"...Hmph..."

He crossed his arms and looked away, trying to calm down his racing heart.

Looks like his body craves for you more than he realized.

Day four.

"I got here as fast as I could! What's the emergency?!"

You slam the bathroom door open to find Rafayel chilling in his bathtub, naked body submerged in warm water mixed with pink foamy soap.

"...."

"Oh, good, you're finally here." Rafayel sighs with relief. "Miss bodyguard, you have to help me. I slipped from a paintbrush earlier and hurt my right arm, so I can't move it around easily because it hurts. Will you help me with my bath?"

"How did you get in the bathtub in the first place if your arm hurts so much?"

"Don't worry about it, cutie. That's in the past. I like to focus in the present."

You shook your head, though you're unable to hide a smile from his silly yet clever response.

You knelt down beside the bathtub and started petting his head. Right away, he closed his eyes and leaned in towards your touch.

You lowered your hand to his neck and brushed slowly your thumb against his skin just under his jaw, and you caught him gulping nervously.

Next, you slid your hand down to his chest, drawing random shapes between his pecs, causing his breath to stutter.

"But now that I think about it... how does one get help for taking a bath?" you asked. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Rafayel caught your hand before you could even think about pulling away and leave him hard, just like yesterday at the exhibit.

"I just need you... to move your hand... just a little lower...."

Your face heated up at his low tone. His face had turned into a dark shade of red, flushed from the warmth you've made him feel with just a few light touches.

"You better be careful." you whispered, moving your hands down as slow as possible. "With how you sound just now, someone might think that you might be a little....needy...."

Rafayel opened his eyes but didn't move a single muscle. His hand remained on top of yours, letting you wander to wherever you want to.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm the needy one." he kept his gaze fixated on you. "I need to have you close to me. I need to hold you. I need to feel you."

Your face burned.

As did the rest of your body.

At last, your hand reached where he needed you to be.

Stiff and twitching, just for you.

Your core clenched as you recall the way he feels inside you.

"If.... if I'm gonna help you take a bath, you better make some room for me."

Rafayel has never moved so quickly.

xavier

Xavier breathes heavily on his bed, face flushed and chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You're lying next to him, equally spent after getting lost in each other's bodies.

"We've been doing it so much lately, I'm starting to feel sore." he says with a chuckle, putting one hand on his neck and shoulder.

"....You're right." you softly tapped on his chest as if to give him comfort. "Don't worry, I'll let you recover. Let's not do anything for a while."

Xavier's eyes widen. "What?! That's that not what I meant — "

You let out a yawn. "I'm sleepy. Goodnight, Xavier~"

"Wait — "

"Goodnight, I said."

Day one.

You had to be joking, right?

You were probably just so tired and blurted out such a hasty statement.

You probably don't even remember what you said.

Xavier didn't forget, though. He couldn't, even if he wanted to.

When he woke up at noon, you were already at work. You made breakfast for him. If you were really upset with him, you wouldn't have cooked anything for him.

So, everything should be fine.

He arrived at work and the very first thing he did is greet you at your station. You're behind your desk, busy with a report on your computer.

"Good morning."

He leaned down to give you a hug. Although you didn't return it, you didn't deflect him.

That means you really were just bluffing. Everything is fine.

"Good morning, Xavier."

Fast forward to a couple of hours later, you two are investigating an abandoned but recently used building that's been raided by Wanderers.

There was a suspicious man on site, so you hid somewhere so that you can observe him for any possible leads.

Xavier pulled you into a room that looks to be a supplies closet, which was luckily clean enough to not contain any foul smell that would make it unbearable for you to hide in.

You stood by the door that's slightly cracked open so that you can keep an eye on the suspicious man.

Xavier stood right behind you with absolutely no space between your bodies. His left hand made its way to your waist while his lips brushes against your neck.

Before he could do anything else, you turned around and covered his mouth with one hand.

"Hmm? What are you — "

"Shhh. We need to be quiet."

Okay, so you rejected his attempt to makeout.

But that was only because you couldn't risk missing out on any leads and had to focus on the suspicious guy, right? That's all. Everything is fine.

Everything is not fine.

He caught you on a conversation with Andrew and you were touching his shoulder. Then you spoke with Simone and you were touching her arm.

But when he talked to you, you didn't touch his shoulder or anything. You didn't touch his hand and you even moved away when he tried to touch yours.

For the final check: the Pocky test.

Once you're back in his apartment after work, Xavier decided to share his last box of Pocky with you.

As you were eating one, Xavier quickly went up to you.

"Wait, let me check if yours is good."

He continued to eat the stick of Pocky until he's closer to your lips.

But then you suddenly pulled back and ate the rest.

"Wah — "

You gently patted his cheeks. "Nice try."

So, it turns out you knew what he was doing and no, you were absolutely not going to give him kisses today.

And so, sulky Xavier makes his return.

Day two.

Xavier decided to get revenge for taking away kisses and cuddles by showing you the most horrifying scary movie on both of your watch list.

You two are sitting on his giant bean-bag chair, sharing a blanket while your eyes are glued to the TV screen, unable to look away at the bloody scene of another character getting ripped apart.

Little did you know, Xavier is mentally cheering.

For every jumpscare, you scoot closer and closer to him. Around halfway of the movie, you're sitting on his lap yet you're too focused on the movie to realize it.

Xavier kept quiet and rested one hand on your thigh, while the other casually shoves popcorn in his mouth.

As the end credits started to roll, Xavier got up to refill your drinks so that you can have more for the next film, which is another horror one.

"Wait where are you going?!" you grabbed his hand before he could start walking towards the kitchen.

Xavier almost laughed at your expression. "I'm just going to get us more drinks. I won't be gone for long. Just sit here and relax."

"You're not scared even a little bit?" you murmured, tightly hugging a pillow. Right now, your brain is imagining the killer in every dark spot of the apartment.

"I'll be fine~"

Five steps forward and he suddenly turns around.

"Are you really that scared?"

He uses his evol to shine a bright light on his face while pulling a silly expression, mocking the one that the killer from the movie wore.

"Ah!"

His plan worked a little too well because now, you can't sleep alone.

"Are you really that scared?" he asked, walking up to the bed, watching you hug Bunbun with your dear life. "We fought Wanderers that are much worse. If you were in the movie, I bet you'll make a good final girl that'll outlive the killer."

He sat next to you and smiled as he put a hand on the plushie.

"Bunbun can go now. I'm taking over his job in protecting you while you sleep."

You gasped as he snatched the plushie and threw him across the room.

"Xavier!"

"Ssshh, I got you."

After turning off all the lights, he laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him, with your back against his chest.

The second you closed your eyes, your mind starts replaying the scariest parts of the movies you just watched, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

You hear a faint gasp behind you, but you ignore it as you're trying to block off the scary images in your head.

"Ugh! It's no good! I need a distraction."

You turned around to get your phone on the nightstand, but then you come face to face with Xavier.

"A distraction?" he leans close to you so that your noses touch. "I can give you a distraction, if you want."

"....nope, I'm good." you turned back around with a huff. "Don't wanna make you sore."

Xavier laughs and nuzzles his face on your neck.

"I'll remember not to joke about something like that ever again. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

"....are you also sorry for making me watch those really scary movies?"

"Well.... not really...."

They were excellent movies, after all. Aside from the scary parts, he could tell you enjoyed it overall.

"At least you're honest."

A few seconds later, Xavier starts to pepper kisses all over your neck and jaw.

"Do you still need a distraction? I can help you get your mind off of anything scary."

You let out a quiet moan as he softly pushed his hips against yours.

"Just focus on me."

From the moment he got on top of you, you forgot about everything — your silly scheme and the horror movies.

Right now, there's only Xavier.

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