gayoxygen

[gayoxygen]

Post workout meal~

♱⋅── caleb x reader

♱⋅── about: honestly? caleb just can't get enough of you, especially after you're finally his, and especially after the two of you come back from the gym together.

♱⋅── word count: 3.8k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, pwp, scent kink, oral, shower sex, thigh choking?, sweat is mentioned a LOT, caleb's a perv but what else is new

art credit to 粟糍 @/realccc_ on x, dividers by @cafekitsune

Caleb is a horrible gym buddy. 

Don’t misunderstand, he’s been there every step of your fitness journey. From racing each other barefoot across the backyard as kids, to crashing into each other during high school basketball drills, to now, years later, spotting you through PRs and designing workout programs whenever you ask. 

You’re not sure when he turned into your unofficial personal trainer, but you do know you wouldn’t be half as consistent without him dragging you out of bed with pre-workout in hand.

It’s Monday, which means, obviously, it’s leg day. You and Caleb walk into the gym like routine, sharing a single pair of AirPods, one bud each, an unspoken ritual. Your playlist, naturally. Today you need a little bit more motivation, so it’s 2000s rap and phonk, enough base to usually drown out everything else, except for the fact that Caleb seems set on distracting you. 

He’s doing that thing again.

Hyping you up without a shame in the world, grinning like the devil as he watches you load up the hack squat. “C’mon, your quads are doing god’s work today,” he says, whistling low and obnoxiously close to your ear. You can practically feel the gummy smile in his voice.

You glare at him, but you’re already laughing, already flustered.

“Oh come on, you got two more,” he says smugly when you’re shaking already on rep fucking nine, voice dipped just enough to sound like a challenge. You want to say no, maybe curse him out. Instead, you bite down and do three. Just to spite him.

And when you rack the sled, gasping, barely able to stand, he leans over you and yells, loud enough for the guy curling way too close to hear—

“Push, push, push. Good fucking job.”

You groan. “Can you not obnoxiously moan at me in public?”

Caleb just grins, completely unapologetic. “Can’t help it. You’re hot when you suffer.”

Your face is already flushed from the set, but now it’s burning so violently you can feel it heat up. The worst part? Caleb definitely noticed it.

When he does decide to take mercy on you and call it a day, it’s mirror selfies and flexing like idiots in the locker room. He makes you pose next to him—every time—and posts every single picture of the two of you with the dumbest captions like, ‘Leg day with my pipsqueak’. 

He even adds a fire emoji—five times in a row. You're too tired to even fight him on it.

By the time you get home, drenched in sweat and barely functional, you're ready to collapse. But it’s what he does when you get through the door, sweaty and raw and wrung-out, that reminds you Caleb’s generosity always comes with a cost.

Or rather, it's what he refuses to let you do.

You only just make it back to your apartment, groaning as you drop your gym bag with an uncerimous thud, limply kicking your shoes off as your quads and hamstrings tremble in protest. “Holy fuck, this is going to hurt in two days.”

Caleb laughs behind you as he closes the door with his foot. “That’s ‘cause you refused to stretch with me, pipsqueak.”

You don’t even get a chance to throw something snarky back before his arms are around you. Not just a hug—a trap. He hauls you in like you weigh nothing, plastering his sweat-slick forehead against your neck as you let out a strangled groan at the sudden warmth and overwhelming scent of something so Caleb your brain short-circuits, trying and failing to pry him off as he just squeezes you tighter. 

“Don’t say I didn’t tell ya so.”

“Whatever, can you just—ugh—let go,” you huff, arms straining uselessly against the bulk of his shoulders, but your fingers only slide along damp skin, unable to get any real leverage. “Caleb, you reek.”

“Mhm, and you smell great.” 

As if to further prove his point, Caleb buries his head right back into the crook of your neck without a hint of shame. And then, he inhales. Deeply. Open-mouthed and right up against your neck.

Something feral, something desperate. 

“Caleb,” you warn, voice wavering despite yourself, but his hands are already wandering up your sides, fingertips hot as they trace the exposed skin between your tight bra and even tighter shorts. Another sharp inhale, cursing, “Fuck.”

Not even a moment later, Caleb’s spinning you around like it’s nothing, lifting you straight off your feet. You yelp, arms flailing until they find purchase in his hair, right as he licks a slow, hot, disgusting stripe up your throat.

“Ew, ew,” You flail in his arms, laughing and shrieking all at once, unable to even budge the man as he continues to suck and kiss at the drying rivulets of sweat across your neck and collarbones. “Ew! Caleb, what the actual— at least let me shower first you psycho!”

He looks offended at the very thought.

“Fuck no. That defeats the point.” Caleb rolls his eyes before going right back to licking your exposed sweat-slicked skin, lips dragging along your jaw. Up until the thick smell of you and the tang of salt thins out on his tongue, and he immediately looks down, eager for more.

 “I don’t think--” another kiss, this time right next to the strap of your sports bra, “--you understand--” his teeth tug at the fabric, “--how good you smell.” 

That’s all the warning you get before Caleb buries his face straight into the crook of your armpit. 

You scream bloody murder, full-on thrashing now, trying to dislodge him, grabbing his ears, his hair, anything. He’s laughing into your skin like a man possessed, barely able to hold you up as your squirming turns violent, the two of you tumbling further into your apartment. He stumbles as you continue to fight, nearly trips as he still can’t see anything from between your arms, leading you both to unceremoniously crash into the living room couch. 

Caleb dumps you there like you weigh nothing, his arms braced on either side of your head as he towers above, eyes wild, cheeks flushed. His chest heaves in sharp, shallow bursts, and you're just as breathless, laughter fading into something quieter, heavier.

“You ticklish or something?” he mocks with a cocked brow, all faux innocence. Like he hasn’t memorised every inch of you. Like he hasn’t known all the little tells and soft spots and the way your body fits against his since before either of you knew what that meant.

“Don’t you dare.”

Caleb only laughs again, crawling over to you as you try to squirm away, not getting very far as the leather of the couch sticks to every exposed inch of your sweat-soaked skin, holding you hostage.

“Nuh-uh, you can’t run away from me.” A smile, one far too innocent for the way his hulking body traps yours beneath him. His voice drops just enough to make your pulse skip. “I won’t let you, princess.”

The change of nickname makes you stutter. 

That’s all the opening Caleb needs before his mouth comes right back into your skin like he belongs there. Like it’s his. Humming shamelessly at the scent of your shampoo, slight remnants of perfume, and of course the scent of your sweat that all wrap him right back up with every glorious inhale. 

Lifting the band of your sports bra, Caleb traces the pink indents left behind before his tongue follows, hot and slow, moaning unashamedly at the thick taste of salt along the seams. He starts at the straps, sucking light marks into your collarbone and upper chest before he nuzzles his head right in between your boobs, looking up at you between them with innocent puppy-dog eyes as though he’s not doing the filthiest thing in the world. 

Your cheeks are burning. You can’t hold his gaze, not like this. Not when you’re pinned, not when he’s touching you like you’re something precious after all these years of wanting him. Unable to keep eye contact, you snap your gaze away, hand shielding the warmth of your face until something grabs at your wrist.

“Don’t,” Caleb says, and it’s not teasing this time. His voice is soft, and all he does is simply look you in the eyes once more. “Please, don’t hide from me.”

He lures your hand away and slowly moves to grip your chin instead, guiding your jaw down to watch as he lifts your bra, sucking at the sweat-damp fabric, letting the vibrant pink color turn dark with his saliva before letting it snap back against your clavicle with a wet slap.

“Can I?”

You can’t help it when he looks up at you like this, like someone revenant, someone hungry. Someone in love. All you see is the boy you grew up with, the man you love. And that makes you so, so weak for him. 

“Please,” you whisper, melting into his touch. 

Caleb’s grin returns, all boyish charm and puppy love. “Well then,” he says, voice low and delighted, “bon appétit.”

That fucking— 

You can’t even yell at him before Caleb shoves your sports bra right up, mouth instantly latching onto your nipple as your boobs bounce out from their constraints. Hot, desperate, starving. He latches onto your nipple like he’s been denied this for years, sucking hard enough to make your whole body jolt beneath him. 

It’s glorious to him, the still-wet patch of sweat between your chest, the way you arch up into the heat of his mouth as his tongue drags up the underside of one breast, moaning at the taste of you once again, leaving a teasing nip before tracing the damp, reddened outline of where the bra once was. 

Then he shifts, dragging his tongue across the underside of your other breast, following the line where your bra used to rest, tracing the sweat there like it’s honey. His breath is hot against your flushed skin. “I used to dream about this,” he mutters between kisses, sounding almost angry about it, like the taste of you is too much, like you’ve ruined him just by existing. “Instead of just watching you, imagining you. I’ve wanted you forever.”

That’s the confession that finally breaks you.

It’s not just the way he says it, voice low and hoarse, like every word costs him. It’s the weight of it, the dirty truth behind it, thick and sharp in your chest. The admission of guilt, of sin, of longing for longer than either of you can ever admit. 

If it’s not that, then it’s the heat of your sweat drying sticky on your skin, or the way Caleb’s spit is now everywhere, dragging across your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. He’s replaced your sweat with something worse and he just keeps licking, mouthing, groaning into you like a man starved.

“Caleb, please,” you gasp, tugging at his hair, trying to drag him away, to slow him down, but he only whines low in his throat, stubborn as always, kissing down your stomach with messy, frantic little presses of his mouth. You realize too late what he’s after, your desperation spiking. “No. No, Caleb, please just let me shower first.”

That earns a noise from him, half-animal and offended, Caleb not even bothering to respond as he just dips lower, hands sliding down to cup the sore backs of your thighs. His thumbs press into the trembling muscle, prying you apart like he needs this. 

You writhe, legs instinctively trying to clamp shut, but Caleb only leans further on top of you, using his weight to pin you back down. Groaning, he drags his tongue up the sweat-slick muscle of your quad. 

It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting.

And you’re embarrassingly turned on. 

The addictive smell of you, so much stronger after the gym, has his eyes rolling back. His fingers flex against your thighs, kneading and massaging at the tremors he caused, mouth following the trail of sweat that leads him further and further down.

Your hips buck in protest, but Caleb doesn’t budge. Just presses a hand to your stomach, holding you still with no effort at all, looking down at you like your squirming is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“You pervert,” you curse, your voice somewhere between horrified and breathless. “This is disgusting.”

“Don’t care,” Caleb rolls his eyes, voice muffled as he leans in and breathes deep, straight through his mouth, his nose dragging along the crease of your thigh until it bumps the edge of your shorts. “Need to taste you, feel you. Need everything you give me.”

He practically nuzzles into the damp fabric, the center of your gym shorts already darkened from the mix of sweat and something worse. His moan is guttural this time, desperate, like he’s been deprived of air and this is the only thing that can bring him back.

“Holy fuck,” Caleb’s slurring now, rutting forward just slightly—god you don’t think he realizes he’s doing that— hands shaking as they spread you wider. “More, need more.”

“Caleb, don’t— Caleb—”

“Shhh,” His eyes flash up, pupils blown wide, eclipsing the purple of his iris so violently you only see black. “You don’t even get it,” he whispers, before diving right back, licking a long, slow stripe right over the seam of your shorts.

You jolt, biting your lip to stifle a whine.

“Fuck, how do you always smell this good?” He’s groaning now, open-mouthed against the fabric, mouthing and licking at you like the flimsy pieces of fabric weren’t even there. “Even better now, after the gym. So. Fucking. Perfect.”

And god help you, your hips are moving into it now. You really are no better than him. 

It’s only when Caleb begins tugging at the high waistband of your shorts that you panic, hands shooting up into his hair as you yank—hard. 

The force of it jerks his head back with a whine, and you freeze when you feel his hips buck up into you at the same time. Half-lidded and dizzy, Caleb’s eyes narrow as he looks down at you as if daring. You tighten your grip experimentally, just a little, and his eyes roll into the back of his skull, jaw dropping open in a raw, broken moan.

“Shower, Caleb,” you hiss, trying to sound firm, trying to sound like you still have any leverage even as you nearly break at the feeling of Caleb subtly still humping your thigh. “Shower, or you don’t get anything more.”

There’s a beat. He blinks like he’s rebooting, then that boyish, infuriating grin spreads slow across his face. Pink rushes up his cheeks as he laughs, a little breathless, and without a word, he lifts you. Just scoops you right off the couch like you weigh nothing, still flushed and wide-eyed and painfully hard as he chases your lips again, mouth as greedy as always.

Caleb practically races across your apartment, kicking open your bathroom door as he licks into your mouth, sloppy and a little uncoordinated as he tastes every bit of you. 

“Fine,” another kiss, “We can shower. But let me eat you out first.”

You open your mouth to object, to remind him you just said shower first, but he’s kissing you again before the words can even leave your lips. And again. And again. Sweet, searing little kisses, each one chipping away at your resistance, his tongue dragging against yours until you’re dizzy, until your fingers claw into his hair to pull him closer, until you're the one moaning now.

You don’t even register your back hitting the shower tile until the cold sends a shock straight down your exposed spine.

Gasping, Caleb takes the opportunity to lick up into your mouth once more before pulling back, a thick strand of saliva still connecting the two of you as he carefully sets you down.  “Sorry, princess,” he breathes, crowding into your space, “you’re just too hot to wait. Can’t help it.”

You blink up at him, breathless, your sports bra halfway up your chest, still sticky with sweat and spit and whatever the hell else, and Caleb just leans in and licks another slow line up the side of your neck, groaning low like even this is the filthy luxury he’s waited decades for.

“Turn it on,” you say, barely recognizing your own voice, “Turn on the water.”

He does, one-handed, not even looking, his other hand sliding up your thigh and thumbing the band of your shorts, dragging the fabric down as the spray bursts to life behind him. 

The first hit of cold water makes you squeak, but then Caleb’s hands are on your ass, and his mouth is back, giving you one sweet kiss before tracing back down your body once again as he sinks to his knees before you like he’s praying.

Caleb’s clothes are entirely soaked already, sticking to every bulge of muscle and the obvious strain in his shorts as he coaxes both your thighs over his shoulders, pinning you between him and the wall.  

“So beautiful,” he breathes, voice almost reverent, letting your shorts hit the floor as the water turns hot, rushing over both of you. “So perfect like this. All wet. Just for me.”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, trembling as he shifts you further up on his shoulders, inhaling deeply as if scared the water might wash the scent of your sweat and arousal away. 

“You promised…” And fuck it comes out so weak now, your chest heaving as steam curls between you, sliding down Caleb’s flushed face as he looks up from between your legs, eyes dark and shining.

“Sure did, pipsqueak. And I always keep my promises,” and then Caleb’s mouth is on you.

Just like he did to your shorts, he licks up your entire cunt in one slow, greedy stroke, groaning at the taste of you before his lips suck onto your clit. He moans into you again, a full-body sound, and the vibration coupled with each flick of his tongue makes your whole spine arch off the wall.

You’re scrambling for anything, his hair, the slick tile, the edge of the shower door, but the steam and the rush of water have you slipping, half off balance. Caleb simply slides in closer, ignoring the scratch of tile against his knees, catching you by the hips like it’s nothing. 

You let out a shocked laugh, too breathless to be annoyed, and his grin grows wicked as he kisses the inside of your thigh, shamelessly admiring the way your muscles twitch and flex, and then bites—just hard enough to make you gasp—harder when you don’t pull away.

“You have no idea what these do to me,” he murmurs, tongue dragging up your thigh again. “Every time you run? Every time you squat? The way you look in those fucking shorts?” Another kiss. Another scrape of teeth. “I’ve been obsessed.”

And then his tongue is back, curling up into you greedily, lovingly, while the heat of the water pelts his back and your fists close around his wet hair. Again, the sting of your tugging only instinctively makes him push closer, his mouth works deeper, firmer, and you don’t mean to, but your thighs start to tremble, closing in around his head. 

Caleb moans into you like that’s all he’s ever wanted.

He tilts his head like he’s giving your cunt a messy kiss, mouth opened and drooling as his tongue pushes in deeper,  his nose nubbing up and down across your clit, forcing you to squeeze your legs tighter, to lock him in between, to choke him with the strength he’s worshipped for years.

“Shit, Caleb,” you whimper, thighs trembling around his ears. “You’re gonna, gonna suffocate—”

He hums like it’s encouragement. Like it’s all he wanted. 

You try to relax your hold, but he sure as hell won’t let you. Hands grip tight and take it further, pulling one of your legs to lock around his head entirely as Caleb puts himself in a headlock between your thighs, muffling praises and moans into your cunt as he eats at you like he’s going to die soon.

Caleb’s so hard it hurts but god that’s the last fucking thing he’s thinking about, not with the the heady smell and taste of you on his tongue, not with the way you’re squirming and whining and denying how turned on you are by this all, not with the way his vision is starting to go black from the pressure and lack of oxygen.

Ya that’s it, he wants to say, choke me, come undone for me, show me just how much you still need me. 

Your thighs tremble around his head, heels digging into the soaked fabric of his shirt, your pitched, desperate cries of Caleb’s name muffled by the rush of the shower and Caleb’s own wet, messy licks to your clit. Another scream of his name and Caleb feels you arch off the shower wall, squirting into his mouth as the pressure of your thighs finally eases around his head, the rush of air and your cum making him feel dizzy as he gasps and swallows it all. 

How is it possible for you to still look so cute? Even while choking him, even while trembling on his shoulders at the aftershocks of your orgasm, even with your hair dripping wet and plastered to your face, Caleb swears he’s never seen anything as perfect as you. 

He really is obsessed.

The heat and steam from the shower really isn’t helping either of your lightheadedness. Caleb’s arms tremble as he sets your legs down, holding up your hips when your knees threaten to give out, laughing, breathless and dizzy.

“Are you,” you inhale, shaky, bracing yourself against the shower wall as you try and pry your soaked sports bra off. “Are you going to help me shower now?”

Caleb grins from where he sits on the floor, eyes still hazy as he looks up at you, drenched in sweat, water, and now your cum. “Sure,” he says, voice hoarse, and you swear you’ve never heard anything so sexy in your life. “Right after you help me up. I don’t trust my legs anymore.”

You huff and pull him up, Caleb dramatically groaning to his feet before leaning into your touch like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored.

The two of you stumble under the spray of the shower, laughing and teasing, until Caleb eventually reaches over you to grab the shampoo. His fingers work gently through your hair, as easy as muscle memory, falling into the same routine of washing your hair as he did when you were children, except now he allows himself to place gentle kisses all across your bare neck, shoulders, and back whenever he has the chance. 

Yes, obsessed. This must be what obsession is, what love is. 

And Caleb smiles.

[gayoxygen]

Omg all the overstim in your sylus and raf works 😫🤤 makes me wonder if you have headcannons about how the other boys would be 🫣

can I make you lose your mind? (caleb, rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne)

♱⋅── nearly 7k of the lads boys just losing their minds (and their control) when it comes to you. art by @/osk_purinnumee on x

♱⋅── WARNINGS: mdni, overstimulation, oral, pussy drunk boys, daddy kink (caleb), bicep choking (caleb), "just the tip" (sylus), size kink (sylus), cunnilingus (xavier), Lemurian heat (rafayel), orgasm denial (rafayel), breeding kink (rafayel), slight exhibisionism (zayne)

Caleb ♱⋅ ── the bully

How could Caleb deny you? 

How could he when you come to him crying big crocodile tears, sobbing how no matter what you do you can’t seem to cum, how you think you must be broken, how no one would ever want such a hard-to-please woman in their bed. 

As if he hasn’t spent years watching you, waiting for you, knowing damn well that the problem isn’t you.

So of course Caleb, being such a kind and thoughtful gege, has to prove you wrong, right?

He does. Over. And over. And over again. That is, until you’re crying in overstimulation, writhing away from his punishing thrusts, clawing against the sheets as you try to run from the pleasure-turned-pain.

Or, tried to.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Where do you think you’re going?”

You’re running? No, no you can’t run away, not when he’s already spent his entire fucking life chasing you. 

Caleb’s voice is teasing, raspy and sweet, but there’s nothing playful about the way his Evol surges to life with a mere crook of his finger, dragging you back along the mattress and pinning you down as he takes his sweet time crawling back to you. 

Trapped, your breath hitches as you feel the weight of him settle over you, his intimidating frame caging you in, tracing featherlight kisses along your spine in such a stark contrast to how ruthlessly he was fucking you earlier. His hands roam, slow and deliberate, kneading your ass as he repositions himself behind you.

"If I let you go," he murmurs, "you promise not to run?"

Run? Why did you even want to run? You can’t remember now, not as you viciously nodding your head as much as is allowed under the control of his Evol, already arching your back into his touch as Caleb nips and marks your sticky inner thighs. 

“Good girl.” The pressure disappears. 

Immediately, Caleb replaces it, his entire body pressing you down before you can so much as take a proper breath. His arm snakes around your throat, flexing just enough to remind you who’s in control, the bulging, thick mass of his bicep choking you deliciously when you attempt to squirm or beg.

He’s got you in a headlock, the rest of his corded body pressing down atop you until your chest is squished to the mattress, ass pressed against Caleb’s pelvis, the combined pressure enough for you to be seeing stars. A drooling, overstimulated mess.

It doesn’t help that he’s practically panting like a dog in your ear, whining as he already begins thrusting himself back into your cunt, delirious moans of your name and filthy praises cooed right into your ear, words barely distinguishable with how hard he’s breathing. 

“Aww p-poor thing.” Caleb pants, voice wrecked, whiny with need as he grinds himself against you. His pace is already brutal, his thrusts sharp and unforgiving, every desperate snap of his hips forcing a cry from your throat as his grip tightens, choking you deliciously every time you so much as try to squirm.“Can you be good for me? Be my sweet little girl and cum for daddy.”

It shouldn’t be hot, Caleb, your gege, calling himself daddy, it shouldn’t have you sobbing out an unintelligible plea as another orgasm builds, seizing up your body in tight, aching waves. And yet here you are, loosing your fucking mind at it.

“Please,” you gasp, voice muffled as you sink your teeth into his bicep, embarrassed by the desperate sound of your own voice. “Please, daddy.”

For the first time in thirty minutes, you feel Caleb stop. 

He’s frozen entirely, dick hot and throbbing with need within you, each shaky breath hitting your ear as he pressed down closer, flattening, suffocating you into the mattress as you feel the growl come from his throat. You can hear the way his lips curl into a grin. 

“You wanna say that again, princess?”

Whining, you try and arch your back further, wiggling your hips up as you try and bait Caleb into continuing, into giving you that release that was only just out of reach. But he wasn’t having any of that bratty attitude tonight. 

“Behave.” Caleb’s arm tightens, and your vision swims. ”I asked you a question. You need daddy to—ah shit you tightened, dirty girl— fuck you nice and full, hmm? Fuck you stupid?” 

A fresh wave of humiliation burns down your spine, but it doesn't matter. You’ll say whatever he wants if it means he moves, if it means he chokes you more, if it means he finally gives you what you need one more time. 

“Yes, m’close, please daddy! Please—ah—let me cum one more time.” 

Caleb just snaps.

His grip tightens instinctively. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it, enough to make your breath stutter, your body jolt like the sweet little thing you are under his grasp. His entire frame tenses above you, muscles coiling so tightly it’s like he’s holding himself together with sheer willpower alone. But it’s already slipping.

"Fucking," His voice breaks, dissolving into a strangled groan as he buries his face against your neck, breathing you in like a man starved. "Fuck that shouldn’t be so hot, it really shouldn’t—"

Like you haven't already wrecked him beyond repair.

Caleb’s Evol comes back full force, pushing you prone against the mattress so you can’t feel anything but him, the arm around your throat dropping so his hand can press against your belly instead, pinning you down as he fucks into you so deep, so hard, you swear you can feel him in your lungs. His other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to smash onto yours, sloppy, desperate, sucking at your bottom lip as the two of you jolt with each thrust. 

"You have no fucking idea," Caleb laughs against your lips, the words a feverish, choked-out confession, "how long I've wanted to do this to you."

It’s almost like he’s hammering that truth into you, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, the sound of skin on skin nearly drowned out by your own sobs of pleasure.

"Caleb—"

"Say it again," he demands, not even trying to keep his composure anymore. "Say it for me, princess. Say it like you mean it."

"Daddy—"

"Fuck."

Caleb really didn't need another kink, he really didn't need to imagine you calling him all these filthy things on top of every other sinful thing he's already imagined you doing. It must be divine punishment, because god was he into it.

Practically collapsing on top of you, Caleb's barely pulling out before grinding right back in as deep as he can get, like he can barely think to part from you even for a moment, like he needs to feel every twitch, every squeeze, every shudder of your overstimulated body. His hands roam wildly, equally greedy, kneading and groping every tender curve like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, like he’s claiming you in ways he’s never let himself before. And fuck, you’re close. 

Caleb notices, of course he notices, nibbling the shell of your ear as the arm around your throat tightens, the other going right back to abusing your clit as you squirt all over him with a scream. 

“Aw that’s it, keep cumming sweet thing.” Caleb’s voice is the only thing grounding you, your entire body, your vision trembling as you begin to lose consciousness. The only thing you can think of is Caleb. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb!

You don’t even realize you’re screaming his name over and over again as you squirt down both of your thighs, making a mess against the already ruined sweat-slicked sheets beneath the two of you. You’re so damn messy. He loves it.

Convulsing, walls fluttering around him like you’re made for him, a sweet temptation Caleb is so laughably weak against as he follows, humping against you like a mad dog as his breath shatters into desperate, shaky moans of your name, spilling inside you with a force that has you sobbing with pleasure.

“Oh, princess,” he rasped, his tongue tracing over the tear-streaked path down your cheek before pressing a soft, almost mocking kiss to your jaw. “Shh, it’s alright, don’t cry. Your gege is here, your daddy will take good care of you, promise.”

Rafayel ♱⋅ ── the desperate

You’re going to have to call in sick for the week. 

Every year with the return of the tide, with the return of ebb-and-flow day, Rafayel becomes insatiable. You’ve barely been able to be able to escape Rafayel’s grasp for long enough to go to the bathroom, let alone escape enough from his insatiable fucking to walk well enough to fight. 

It’s never been this bad. And it’s all your fault. Being back in your arms after eight hundred years, finally remembering the way your voice sounds when it says his name and the way you fit oh so perfectly in his arms. It’s borderline painful to spend even a minute in your absence. His very body violently rejects the notion of it as spasms of violent heat and need drives him right back into your arms again and again and again. 

“Please, please let me fuck you. I can’t come like this, you know that.”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled against your thigh, breath hot as he presses a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. His hands are clenched into the sheets beside him, trembling with the effort of keeping them off you, as you ordered. It’s the only rule you’ve given him tonight, and yet it’s breaking him.

"Rafayel," you warn, fingers buried between your thighs, working yourself open as his desperate, pleading gaze follows your every movement.

He whimpers, nodding frantically, his cock throbbing angrily where it rests against the mattress, one hand coming back to violently fist the swollen head as it leaks all over his palm and sheets.  "I know, I know," his voice cracks as he drags his hand around its base, rutting into his own palm like it’s not enough, like it hasn’t been enough for hours now. "But please I—fuck—I can’t."

“You can.” You spread your legs wider, letting him see, letting him watch your fingers disappear into your fluttering cunt with a slick, wet sound that has his jaw going slack, his own hips grind into the bed helplessly.  “I told you what would happen if you forgot to use a condom, again.”

Rafayel’s eyes plead up into yours, big fat tears slipping down his cheeks, his head shaking against your leg as he kisses the trembling flesh. "You don't understand," he sobs, nuzzling into the crook of your knee like he can smell the orgasm building inside you, like he can taste it on his tongue already. “I need- I need—”

"You need to learn control, Rafayel." 

Your voice is less strict than you’d like it to be, already embarrassingly close considering all the times you’ve come earlier today. And the way Rafayel’s looking up at you, begging, pleading, is really not helping. 

Tilting your hips slightly, you circle your clit in a way that makes your eyes roll back, making sure he sees the way your poor cunt flutters all empty, the way your body clenches, desperate for something more, something bigger.

Rafayel groans, his grip on himself tightening. Still, it’s useless, his Lemurian biology physically won’t let him cum unless it’s inside his pretty little mate, his cock swollen and weeping with how much he’s holding back, the pleasure that spikes through him now nothing but a cruel, agonizing echo of the real thing.

"My love," he chokes, head falling back against the mattress, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe past the desperate hunger clawing at his insides. "My muse, my sweet darling, please. Taste you, touch you, anything, please!”

You hum, considering, rolling your hips against your own fingers as he moans, watching with wild, fevered eyes. "You wanna clean me up?"

"Yes."

The word is instant, sharp, like Rafayel’s been waiting for you to say it since the moment he first laid his hands on you tonight. Before you can even think of teasing or denying him any further, his grip snaps—both arms wrapping around your thighs, dragging you down the mattress in one swift, fluid motion.

"Rafayel—"

Too late.

His mouth is on you before you can protest, his tongue filthy as he sucks at your clit, licking up everything you’ve given yourself, drinking in the mess between your thighs like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Slapping your own hands away, Rafayel pauses briefly to suck them clean before diving right back into the source, moaning into your cunt, making your body seize with another orgasm before you can even process the first.

"Fuck, fuck," Your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard, but it only makes him groan, rutting against the mattress, his own pleasure reigniting just from the taste of you. 

You try to pull away, squirming and kicking at Rafayel’s sides, his shoulders, but he doesn't even budge. His arms lock tight around your hips, keeping you there, keeping you spread for him as he eats you out like a man possessed. 

And then he's begging again, voice wrecked, slurred with delirious pleasure, licking at your clit between words as though he really can’t get enough.  “Please, please let me fuck you. I promise, mhm, promise I won’t cum inside you again.” 

Rafayel is still begging for permission even as he manhandles you beneath him, hesitantly parting with your cunt as he kisses up your stomach, sucking at one of your breasts as you feel the nudge of his cock against your entrance before you can even think. “Promise I’ll be good. I’ll be such a good boy.”

Fuck, you really are weak against him. 

Using the last of your strength, you flip the both of you around, grinding down against his cock as you feel it throb, violently jumping between your thighs, the sloppy, wet sound of each movement sending shivers down both your spines. Poor thing is already ruined, body extra sensitive due to his heat, cock swollen and leaking as it begs to be inside you. 

"You promise?" Your voice is a whisper, teasing, as you drag your soaked folds along the length of him, feeling him tremble beneath you.

Rafayel nods frantically, breath hitching, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to grab you, wants to force you down onto him, but he knows better. Knows he wouldn’t survive the punishment. His lips are red, glossy with your slick, parted around little choked-off whimpers as he fights against the desperate urge to rut up into you.

"I promise," he gasps,  "Please, I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll be so good for you.”

You hum, dragging your fingertips down his chest, nails scraping lightly over sweat-slicked skin, enjoying the way his breath shudders at the contact. The pain. "You say that, but you've already come inside me, what, three times now?" 

You rock your hips again, coating his cock in your arousal, watching the way his abs twitch with the effort of keeping still. Gods, he’s so pretty like this, neglected and crying underneath you, muscles strained and glistening with sweat and cum, watercolor eyes bleary as his tears collect on the mattress as dusky pink pearls. The same rosy shade of blush that burns across his cheeks, ears, and throbbing tip of his swollen cock. 

“That warrants punishment, don’t you think?”

Rafayel all but whines at that, head tilting back against the pillow, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe, tries to hold on to the last fragile thread of control he has left. "I—I won't this time, I swear, I’ll be good, I just need you."

"You need me?" You lean down, pressing your lips just below his ear, letting your voice drop to a sinful whisper. "Or do you just need to fuck something, sweetheart?"

"You." Rafayel’s answer is immediate, desperate, his hands finally snapping up to grip your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. "It’s always you. Only you, my mate."

The admission makes your stomach tighten, heat pooling low as you let yourself sink down, just enough for the swollen head of his cock to catch at your entrance. Rafayel jerks, eyes wide, mouth dropping open around a silent moan, his grip on you tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"Oh, fuck."

"You need me, you need your mate?" You tease, rolling your hips, letting him feel the wet heat of you without giving him what he really needs.

"Yes, please, please, please—"

And then, because you’re cruel, because you love seeing him like this, you lift yourself off him entirely.

Rafayel practically cries at that, and you let him plead, let him beg, until his whole body is shaking with the need to be inside you, until his voice is raw and wrecked from crying out your name. Then, finally, finally, you sink down, dropping the entirety of your weight onto him as you both moan at the sudden pressure as your ass smacks his pelvis with a lewd slap. 

Rafayel’s body aches up off the mattress, a wrecked, strangled moan tearing from his throat as his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. His head tilts back, chest heaving, eyes glassy and unfocused, dilated almost like a cat’s, as if the feeling of being inside you after so long is too much for his mind to comprehend.

"Fucking finally."

You barely have a moment to adjust before Rafayel thrusts.

Whatever fragile restraint he had is gone, obliterated the second your walls squeeze around him. His hips jerk up in a desperate, instinctual rut, shoving himself deeper, harder, until the thick length of him is buried to the hilt inside you, and then pulled all the way out before ramming back in again. You choke on a gasp, nails digging into his chest, but he doesn’t even seem to register the pain.

"More." Some inhumane warble distorts Rafayel’s voice, nails turning clawed and sharp as he thrusts up into you with more strength than any human should possess. “Perfect, perfect mate.”

Your head spins, the force of each snap of his hips making your whole body jolt. His desperation is relentless, dragging you closer to the edge far too fast, too intense, gripping onto his shoulders just to keep you from falling over as your thighs begin trembling once again. 

"Rafayel—Raf, slow down!"

"No," he whimpers, shaking his head wildly, hands tightening on your waist as if letting go isn’t an option. "No, please, sorry, need this." Rafayel’s voice breaks into a sort of trill, something like whalesong, eyes fluttering shut as he drives himself up into you, starved for more, cock throbbing desperately inside you. "Don’t leave me again, please.”

Your heart clenches. "I’m here," you whisper, leaning down, pressing your forehead to his as your body moves with his, rolling your hips as you try to stay in time with his brutal pace. "I’m right here, Rafayel."

He moans, high and broken, clutching you so tightly against him, feeling every inch of you pressed into his skin. His pace turns frantic, sloppy, body shaking beneath you as pleasure racks through him in violent waves. He’s close, but he won’t let himself fall over the edge alone.

"Come with me," he begs, his lips brushing over yours as he pleads for it. "Please.”

And you do.

The orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave, stealing every breath from your lungs as your entire body clenches around him. Rafayel keens, hips jerking wildly as he follows, his cock pulsing inside you as he fucks his cum deep inside you yet again, stuffing you full until you’re both shaking with overstimulation.

But it still doesn’t stop.

Rafayel can’t stop.

Even as his body trembles beneath you, even as his whimpers turn into sobs, he keeps moving, his hips rolling into you in slow, messy grinds. His cock twitches inside your still-clenching walls, sending violent aftershocks through you both.

"Mhh sorry," he moans, lips dragging down your throat, sucking bruises into your skin as if marking you will somehow keep you tethered to him. "Did it again, can’t help it. Pussy feels so nice, wants me too, always so desperate for me. Made to worship me."

You let out a wrecked, exhausted laugh, trying to lift yourself off of him, but his arms snap tight around your waist, keeping you anchored to him.

"No," he pleads, voice cracking, nuzzling into your neck as he breathes in your scent. "No, please, just—just a little more. You owe it to me for being so mean before."

Your head falls into the crook of his neck as yet another orgasm crashes through you, ripping a moan from your throat. Rafayel shudders, gasping against your skin, completely gone, his hips jerking helplessly, overstimulated beyond the point of caring. His body is moving on instinct now, neither of you fully conscious as he keeps moving on his own, chasing another high even as it breaks him.

"Fuck, Raf...”

"One more," he’s licking into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip, too tired and uncoordinated to properly kiss you. "One more, one more."

You don’t even know how many times you’ve both come. The world is a haze of heat and pleasure, of wet, messy grinds and deep, instinctual thrusts, of Rafayel’s loud, unashamed moans directly in your ear between kisses, of the desperate way he clings to you, unable to bear even a second, an inch of separation.

You ride him through another, and another, until your body finally gives out, completely limp against his chest, your limbs trembling too hard to keep yourself upright any longer. Rafayel follows soon after, his movements slowing, stuttering, until he’s finally, finally still beneath you, panting raggedly, body wracked with aftershocks.

The room is finally silent except for your heavy breathing, the two of you floating between sleep and reality for what seems like an eternity. 

"I think I might die," Rafayel croaks, voice hoarse.

You huff a weak, breathless laugh as you grumble into his shoulder. "Good, you stupid horny fish."

Sylus ♱⋅ ── the sweetheart (liar)

You’re going insane. 

Sylus promised he would finally fuck you, promised he’d finally give you what you’ve practically been begging him for all week. “Just the tip,” you’d beg, whining into his neck or suckling gently against his fingers in attempts to bait him, “Please, Sy, just the tip and I’ll stop asking.”

Technically speaking, he’s held up his end of the deal. After all, you’ve already cum four times. Not that it’s ever stopped you from wanting more. 

“What’s this? Are you even listening to me, sweetie?” Something jerks your head up, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts at the same time as Sylus grinds forward, humming as he pulls you closer on his lap, your thighs spread wide atop of his. “Tch, first all that whining and now you’re not even paying attention to me. I’m hurt, kitten.”

You shake your head as best you can with his thumb and forefinger still squishing your cheeks, tears from the sheer overstimulation blurring your vision as you bury your face into Sylus’s chest, chasing the mere friction. 

The fat head of his cock slips right back out of your cunt, tapping once, twice, on your swollen clit before grinding back in with a lewd pop. One inch, two, just enough for you to feel the delicious stretch of the tip of his cock, before Sylus lifts you up higher on his lap, pulling out as the torture begins all over again. 

You swear you can take more. It doesn’t matter than everytime Sylus lines up his cock it hits your bellybutton from the outside, it doesn’t matter that your hands can barely wrap around his base, it doesn’t matter that even when you suck him off your jaw throbs and he can barely thrust it in halfway without you gagging. 

“Sylus, please, please just—” you whine, rutting your hips down to no avail as his firm hands render you immobile. Watching you squirm with thinly veiled amusement. “Just fuck me already!” 

Your breath comes out in short, stuttered gasps, frustration bubbling over into pitiful little sobs against Sylus’s skin. He shushes you, rubbing slow, teasing circles into your hips as if he’s offering you comfort. But you know better. The bastard lives for this, the way your body trembles, how your cunt clenches down hard every time he pulls out, desperate for more than what he’s giving.

“Please.” A broken cry rips from your throat as he nudges forward again, pushing the tip back inside like he hasn’t already driven you half-mad. “I can take it. Ah, I swear, I can take it.” 

And yet, he’s still so fucking mean.

“Hmm,” Sylus’s voice drips with amusement, low and tinged with laughter as his lips graze the shell of your ear as though lost in thought. “No.”

You whine, digging your nails into Sylus’s back with more force than necessary as you hiss out curses, “Cruel, stubborn, self-assured asshole. I told you I can take it Syl—ah!”

Sylus pushes himself upward, roughly fucking his swollen tip against you, ramming that delicious spot within you as your curses dissolve into mindless babbles of his name, another orgasm ripping through you as you try and match Sylus’s rhythm by grinding yourself on the rest of his cock. 

“That’s it,” He hums, dragging his tongue along your pulse, relishing the way it hammers beneath his mouth.  He can feel how fast it beats, erratic and needy, the way your breath catches in your throat. “You’re gonna be good and take what I give you. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re already fucked stupid. And I’ve barely even given you anything, kitten.”

It’s humiliating how right he is.

Your thighs tremble violently on either side of his, the ache in your muscles a dull, distant thing compared to the unbearable need twisting in your core. Desperate, you try to grind down, to force him deeper, to make him give you what you need. But Sylus just clicks his tongue, unimpressed, fingers digging into your hips as he holds you still, keeping you right where he wants you.

Sylus shifts back on the couch, pulling you down, controlling your movements with an infuriating ease, guiding you along the few inches he’s deemed fit to give you. It’s barely anything, nowhere near enough, but even that—just that slow, teasing roll of his hips—and the unbearable pressure of the thick, insistent tip of his cock is enough to make your back arch violently against him. 

“There we go,” he murmurs, cooing as he watches you, helpless and pliant in his lap. “No more complaining.”

A desperate nod. Another broken whine. 

You can feel it building again, the pressure coiling deep inside you, sharp and unbearable. Sobbing, you drop your head into Sylus’s shoulder, biting into the curve of his neck to muffle your cries, nails digging into his shoulders, chest, clawing violent red marks as Sylus shudders, eyes rolling back at the pain. Your legs are shaking too hard to do much of anything anymore, giving out as Sylus is the only thing left guiding you, dragging you toward yet another orgasm. 

Or rather, he would have. 

But you feel Sylus chuckle, the sound deep and sinful as it rumbles down his chest and into yours, and fear prickles along your spine. Then, with excruciating patience, he pulls out, leaving you empty all over again before tapping his throbbing cock against your clit—slow, deliberate, taunting.

“You wanted just the tip, sweetheart.” He grins, voice a low, cruel purr as he kisses your forehead. “So don’t start crying now that it’s all you’re getting.”

Xavier ♱⋅ ── the munch

“Then sit on my face.”

You stare, dumbfounded, as Xavier already begins leaning back against the cushions of your bed, those big, blue eyes begging up at you in ways that make it hard to breathe. 

Xavier’s hands tighten around your waist, fingers flexing like he’s barely restraining himself from yanking you down then and there. The heat of his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making your pulse stammer, making every inch of you ache with want.

“Xavier, I didn’t actually mean…”

“You want me to prove it, right? Then I’ll do what I can to serve you well.” He’s dead serious, you realize, still staring down at him in shock as Xavier frowns, sitting up just long enough to wrap his arms around your waist and haul you toward him, seating you on his chest as protests die in your throat. “Sit.”

Biting your lip, you still find yourself hesitating. What if you’re too heavy? Or if he doesn’t actually like it? You still have your underwear on, shouldn’t you take it off, or does he plan on eating you through it? What if—

"You're thinking too much again." His voice is firm, but gentle, cutting straight through your spiraling thoughts. Before you can get another word in, he lifts you up from the backs of your thighs, guiding you forward until your knees are bracketing his head and you're hovering just above his waiting mouth.

Xavier groans, this is already better than his dreams—just having you above him, so close, so warm—is enough to make him lose his damn mind. His hands are keeping you steady, and when he tilts his head back to look at you again, you almost drown in the sheer hunger in his gaze.

"Please," he murmurs, breathless, sucking and kissing into your thighs like he can't believe you're making him wait so long for something he so, so desperately needs. "I really don’t think I can wait much longer."

A shudder racks through you, thighs trembling as the heat between your legs grows unbearable. Xavier’s so serious, so patient, despite the raw hunger in his voice, despite the way his chest rises and falls in uneven pants beneath you. You’d have to be cruel to deny him. 

Slowly, you lower yourself the rest of the way, bracing your hands against the headboard as Xavier immediately pulls you the last few inches down, shoving his face up into you like he’s starving.

He might as well be because the first swipe of his tongue is so hot, so eager, that you nearly jerk away from the sudden pleasure. Not that Xavier would let you. His fingers dig into the marked-up plush of your thighs, keeping you right there as he groans into your pussy like you’re the best fucking thing he’s ever tasted.

“Wait—” Your voice is already breaking, a gasp caught in your throat as he licks into you again, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it. He doesn’t even bother pulling your underwear aside, just mouths at the fabric, dampening it further, teasing you through the barrier until it sticks to your folds and you’re a whimpering mess, gripping the headboard so tightly your knuckles ache. 

Then he shifts, hooking a single finger under the waistband, dragging it aside just enough to give himself proper access.

The first real flick of Xavier’s tongue against your clit is devastating.

A high, broken moan rips from your throat as pleasure jolts up your spine, your thighs snapping shut around his head, suffocating him as Xavier feels like the happiest man in the world. Moaning into your cunt, Xavier pulls you down harder against his mouth like he wouldn’t mind drowning in your pleasure if it meant he got to taste you for just a few seconds longer.

You’re already cumming. Head falling backward, your lips part in a silent scream as Xavier’s tongue continues circling around your clit in that same, devastating rhythm, only letting go once you’ve come all over his face. But he doesn’t stop for long. 

His tongue flicks and curls and fucks into you with the kind of dedication that makes your vision blur, that makes your whole body burn as you become more and more sensitive. And when you grind down against his mouth, desperate and trembling, he just groans in approval, encouraging you to ride his face like you need this just as much as he does.

"That's it," Xavier mumbles between licks, inaudible between your wet, sinful noises. "Don't hold back. Use me."

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling hard, but it only makes him grin against you, only makes him suck harder, making you gasp and sob as your thighs start to shake once more around his head. Still, he devours you, no teasing, no hesitation. Just raw, ravenous hunger. 

"Xavier—"

He hums in response, the vibrations sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you. Then he finally fucks his tongue deep into your cunt, curling against your walls as you clench around the hot muscle, Xavier’s nose grinding deliciously into your clit as his hands begin guiding you back and forth once your rhythm falls apart. 

You come hard, a choked cry ripping from your throat as your body locks up, pleasure searing through every nerve. Xavier doesn’t stop—doesn’t let you escape—licking and sucking you through your orgasm like he needs every drop, like he won’t be satisfied until you’re a writhing, overstimulated mess above him.

“Ah, Xavier, seriously,” you whine, every suck against your clit now tender and overstimulated as you try and squirm away to no avail. “Can’t, Xavier, can’t come again!”

Crying, you finally manage to wrestle his head out from underneath you—body still shaking, pleasure crackling under your skin like a live wire—realizing something that makes your stomach flip.

Xavier is panting, eyes half-lidded and hazy with bliss, hair fisted in your hands as the rest sticks to his forehead and pillow with sweat, letting you inch off of him as he finally breathes, heaving in deep breaths through swollen, wet lips. His whole body shudders beneath you, and when you shift, you feel it—the sticky warmth against his stomach, the evidence of his release.

He came. Just from eating you out.

And the worst part?

He’s still hard.

“One more time, please?”

Zayne ♱⋅ ── the addicted

Uh oh. 

This was bad. 

Zayne has always considered himself a beacon of self-control, having grown up under the concept of restraint and caution when it came to everything from his Evol to his life’s work as a surgeon. 

But even he could get addicted to having you spread out underneath him like this. 

It had started innocently. Zayne had forgotten his lunch today, probably due to his consecutive sleepless nights, thanks to being on call for not two or three but four surgeries this week. So when you delivered his lunch to his private office like any sweet girlfriend would do, it was only natural that you’d want to see if you could help him feel more relaxed and maybe help relieve the stress that was so clearly fogging up his mind. 

This, however, was not what you had in mind.

"Zayne, someone is going to hear us," you hiss, voice trembling, but make no move to stop him.

Zayne only hums, two fingers rubbing right up against your clit with expert precision even with your jeans still unzipped around your waist. His other hand shucks them just barely down your thigh, pressing his fingers right back in, curling against that spot that has your legs jerking against the polished wood of his desk before dragging his fingers out of you agonizingly slow. 

"You should’ve locked the door when you came in, then." He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, leaning down, his breath hot against your ear. His free hand presses against your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you open with his fingers, movements slow, deliberate. "You know I don’t like being interrupted."

Your head tilts back against the desk as your cries are muffles into your palm. "Zayne!"

"You were the one who wanted to help relieve my stress, weren’t you?" His voice is calm, collected, like he isn’t knuckle-deep inside you with his fingers glistening from how wet he’s made you already. "So be a good girl and take it."

Your breath stutters, thighs twitching as you clench around his fingers, already embarrassingly close with how well he knows your body, how pent up you’ve been after not having Zayne in over a week. Meanwhile, Zayne watches you come undone with sharp, almost clinical eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained, a predator biding his time.

"Mhm, close, I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," he cuts you off smoothly, pressing his fingers deeper, rubbing firm, steady circles over your clit. His expression doesn’t change, but his voice dips lower, smiling ever so slightly as he watches you. "Come for me."

You shudder violently, hands gripping the edges of the desk as another orgasm threatens to crash over you, your body far too weak to resist the relentless pleasure.

"Zayne," you cry out, hips jerking.

He clicks his tongue, allowing you to ride out your orgasm, but not before ripping his tie off, deft, scarred hands looping through the expensive silk before balling it up and pushing it into your open mouth. 

“What did I say about staying quiet?”

Your response is stifled around his tie, and Zayne feels his traitorous cock throb at the sound of your fucked out, inaudible voice, the very picture of debauchery with the slight drool smearing your lipstick, your eyes hazy with post-orgasm glow, your office button-down skewed across your breasts just enough so be can squeeze your breast right under your lacy bra. 

He wants to ruin you even more. 

Zayne has barely even zipped down his pants, holding up his own shirt as he bites it to keep his leaking cock from smearing pre-cum all over the cotton, before he’s desperately fucking his own fist with one hand, the other still circling your clit. 

When the sound of voices echo from right outside his office door. 

Your body jerks under him at the sudden noise, but Zayne doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down, pressing his slick fingers harder against your clit, wrenching another broken sob from your throat, muffled by the tie still shoved between your lips.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispers, voice low, dangerous. His free hand tightens around his cock, stroking faster, more desperate, more sloppy than you’ve ever seen him. The sight alone has your walls clenching down around nothing, a fresh wave of arousal making a mess of his desk and the scattered papers on top. 

The voices outside the door grow louder, and Zayne’s entire body tenses. Not with fear. Not with hesitation. But something that he thinks might ruin him forever. 

“I should stop,” he murmurs, though his fingers never leave you, still rubbing circles into your overstimulated clit, dragging you higher, forcing you to ride that unbearable edge of pleasure. His teeth clench, brows furrowed as his pace on his own cock stutters, his restraint cracking with every second that passes. “I really should stop.”

You whimper, body trembling beneath him, a plea barely audible around the silk in your mouth.

“But you love this, don’t you?” His voice drops, rasping, guttural. “You love making me a mess, love knowing that the only thing keeping us from getting caught is how good you are for me.”

Zayne never talks like this, but god, now you wish he’d never stop. His mere voice is enough to send you over the edge once again. Your moan is strangled, raw, hips lifting weakly into his touch despite the overstimulation.

The door handle rattles.

Zayne snaps, one arm shooting out as ice surrounds the handle, spears of it crawling over the wooden frame of the door, across the tiled floor as he loses control. 

He barely spares it a glance. Pulling the tie from your mouth, Zayne immediately replaces it with his lips, swallowing your gasp as he shoves two fingers back inside you, curling them deep, his strokes ruthless, relentless. His other hand leaves his cock only long enough to drag you forward, forcing your legs around his waist, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance as he moans into your mouth.

"Zayne, your Evol—"

"Don’t worry about me," he hums, kissing you one more time before his gaze drops, watching where the two of you meet. “You’ve done more than enough for me. You’ve always been enough for me.” And he pushes in inch by inch, stretching you open around his thick length, your body still pulsing and greedy from your last orgasm.

Zayne exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours as he stills, buried inside you. His fingers flex against your waist, grounding himself, keeping himself from completely unraveling.

 “That’s it, breathe,” he murmurs, voice back to the soft, low tone you know so well, the urgency melting into something reverent. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw, as if to soothe you through the stretch. “You’re perfect.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently as you grind upward, coaxing him into going faster, into actually fucking you. 

Zayne groans, his control fraying as he clutches you tighter, nose brushing against yours. “You're going to be the death of me,” he whispers, lips ghosting yours in a kiss, the intimacy making your heart clench.

You can still hear muffled voices beyond the door, a stark reminder of the risk, of how dangerously close you are to being caught. But it only makes you cling to him tighter, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you whisper, “Then let me take care of you, Doctor.”

[gayoxygen]

rafayel who desperately thrusts into your hand loosely wrapped around his cock. he wants to cum, no — needs to cum so badly. the heat swirling inside his stomach is too much, his face surely burning along with the rest of his skin. his bottom lip is pulled in between his teeth, soft hisses escaping as he moves your arm for you.

"s-so mean t'me." his chest is rising and falling rapidly, dress shirt pulled open as if that could help cool him down. "making me, ahh, making me do this myself."

the hand around your wrist tightens, begging you to finally take pity on him and touch him the way he craves. he wants to feel your hands all over him instead of this teasing and agonizingly gentle touch.

"you don't have to use my h-"

"yes, i do." rafayel cuts you off, his voice shaky with every uneven breath, "your hand feels so much better. plus, s'your fault."

a low whine is pulled from him as you squeeze him softly. another tantalizing taste of what he desires. it's not enough to send him over the edge and tumbling towards his climax, it's barely a change in your lazy hold. but it makes a pearl of precum gather on his swollen tip before it slides down his length.

"please," his hands pull you closer, his hips practically humping your fist. "just a lil'more."

and you can only hold out for so long, especially when his gaze meets yours, his eyes shining with unshed tears of frustration and want. a simple swipe of your thumb along his shaft has his whole body shaking.

"fuck, yes yes yes." rafayel's eyebrows furrow together, eyes squeezing shut, and mouth falling open. he grunts softly as you touch him the way he's been craving, his own movements slowing as you take over for him. you stroke him firmly, your hand wrapped around him tightly enough that you can feel every throb and twitch of his dick. "'m close, so close."

a few moments later and he's spilling over your hand, his sticky spend coating your fingers and himself. you're thankful that his cum didn't get on either of your clothes, knowing that it'd be hell to clean up. the main event might be over, but there's still plenty of people mingling outside this room. plenty of people who want to talk to the artist of these pieces.

"c'mon," you say, pulling your hand away. "we have to get cleaned up. people will notice you're missing."

you don't miss the way he begins to pout, a complaint on the tip of his tongue about how he doesn't want to even be here, but you turn away before he can speak, knowing that he'll follow you.

[gayoxygen]

I imagine Gideon is sick of both Caleb and mc cuz they aren't even trying to be normal abt their relationship 😭

[gayoxygen]

Caleb’s just so well hung. It makes your mouth water thinking about it. And your poor baby just doesn’t know how big he is. He doesn’t know that most men aren’t this big.

It drives you crazy, watching Caleb undress, his thick cock standing at attention, practically slapping against his abdomen, already weeping for you.

He’s all yours.

[gayoxygen]

cw for somno and dubcon (and implied pseudocest bc caleb)

sharing a bed with caleb and you happen to wake up before him. you take the opportunity to study his face (not like you don't already have every little detail memorized) and the slope of his neck and his broad shoulders. your hand rests over his heart, feeling the steady beat that your own is mirroring.

you should be content with this quiet moment. but you're not. you've always been curious about what you aren't allowed to see. and when your hand trails down his chest, feeling the firm muscle underneath his thin shirt, excitement begins to flood your veins.

morning wood. exactly what you were hoping for. it's wrong — not only because he's asleep and you're taking advantage of him in this vulnerable state, but also because he's like a brother to you. but you really, really want to know.

your fingers are featherlight as you gently brush them along the bulge, your eyes constantly flickering between his crotch and his expression, watching for any sign of him stirring. even with just this, you can tell that he's big. you had a hunch based off other times you've been able to sneak glances and when he's worn those gray sweats that make him unfairly attractive. his dick print always looked impressive.

carefully, you pull down the waistband of his pants, your heart pounding in your chest when caleb groans softly. still asleep. guilt swirls in your stomach and you know you should stop but you're too close to do anything other than continue.

after what feels like an eternity, you manage to shimmy his pants down enough for his heavy cock to be freed. it twitches under your gaze, still semi soft and absolutely mouth watering. your mind immediately begins to wonder how it would feel on your tongue. what it would taste like, the sounds caleb would make as you take more and more of his length down your throat, if you would even be able to get it all in your mouth.

with another glance to his peaceful expression to ensure he didn't wake up, your fingertips graze along his velvety soft shaft. he reacts beautifully — eyebrows furrowing slightly, hips jerking forward as if chasing your touch, and lips parting to take in a shaky breath. it's a sight and experience that you could easily get addicted to.

your touches get bolder, driven by a deep seated desire and hunger. your thumb swipes over his slit, gathering a small drop of precum before you gently swirl it on his tip, testing how far you can go.

you know you're playing with fire, every touch adding fuel to the flame that threatens to burn you alive. so when caleb groans softly, his dick twitching under your hand, you decide to stop pressing your luck.

caleb hides his disappointment as you carefully tuck him back into his pants, eyes staying closed and hoping his heartbeat will slow down before you realize just how fast it's racing from your curiosity.

[gayoxygen]

“Muah,” you beam, pressing a soft peck into Sylus’s cheek. “Muah!”

Another. And another. And another scattered little kiss along the skin of his face as he sits with you situated comfortably on his lap, hands tracing up and down your hips. It’s late—somewhere close to the sun’s routine time to rise, and somewhere close to Sylus’s routine time to fall asleep. He’s a lot easier to bend to your whims like this, when he’s tired and limp under you and lets you have your way.

He hums, curling his lips into an sleepy smile as he murmurs, “you missed a spot.”

“You don’t get to get picky when you get free affection,” you say instantly.

His smile drops. Something of a grouchy scowl (that’s more like a pout, if you’re being honest) drapes along his lips and forces them into that downward curl. Your lips do the exact opposite, curling up at the sight of his dissatisfaction.

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls, “who knew you could be so stingy?”

“I’m not being stingy,” you grin, purposely missing his lips as you press your next kiss, landing it right over his Cupid’s bow and watching as his eyes flash impatiently. “I’m teaching you a valuable lesson.”

“Which is?”

“We don’t always get what we want.”

“Funny,” Sylus quirks a brow, that awful, terrible, nightmarish and dangerous smug look returning to his features as his eyes narrow, “because I always get what I want. It’s as simple as taking it.

The room is spinning and shifting and tilting on its axis as you feel everything move in a blur—one second you’re on top of him, sat on his lap, and the next second he’s hovering over you, melting your body into the mattress like it could swallow you whole under his weight.

“Sylus!” You screech, earning a low chuckle from him, “get off of me you brute!”

“Not until you give me what I want.”

“No!”

“Then I’m not moving.”

And true to his word, he settles himself on top of you, promptly pressing all his body weight over yours as his drapes his figure on top of you. He’s heavy—in a pleasant sort of way. He feels like comfort and home and warmth pressing into you and crushing your bones with nothing more than body mass and willpower. You like it. And as if on cue, your hand instinctively finds the back of his head to smooth through his hair.

Sometimes your body just does that. Admits he’s what you want and what you need against its will. Admits it likes him there and welcomes him like your souls are two halves of a whole—one involuntary muscle responding to him at a time.

“You’re heavy,” you whine.

“This could all be solved rather simply if you’d just give me a proper kiss, sweetheart. But you insist on hissing like a stray kitten in an alleyway.”

“And it’s just too easy to ruffle your feathers,” you giggle, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck and feeling him shiver under your touch, “who knew a kiss could have you so worked up?”

“I’m not worked up,” he grumbles quietly. You smile wider. He pinches your hips in warning without even looking at you.

“Spoiled,” you murmur, “that’s what you are.”

“Spoiled is what you are with how you swipe my card,” he retorts, earning a glare from you. His eyes are half lidded—heavy, and tired, and slowly closing shut against his will as he stifles a yawn, giving you a poor attempt at a smirk.

“No kisses for you forever.”

“I think that’ll cause you more distress than me in the long run.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” You huff exhaustedly.

“I’ll stop talking long enough for a quick nap if you give me a proper kiss,” he negotiates. Like the proper, opportunistic business man that he is. So good at playing his cards right and getting the deal he wants so badly, just enough that he always walks away with the better end of the stick.

Sly, you’d call it.

Persuasive, he’d correct.

And you’re convinced. Persuaded and swayed into his trap because all he has to do is give you those sweet, tired little blinks of his eyes and that hopeful little look as he stares at your lips before you cave and fold like a piece of paper into his awaiting palms.

“You’ll finally sleep and leave me alone if I give you a kiss?” You pretend to bargain.

He nods earnestly, “oh yes, sweetie. I’ll be out like a light faster than you can call Mephisto over to be witness of our deal.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “One kiss.”

“So stingy,” he chuckles.

“I’m not—”

He kisses you. Props his head up, still blanketing you with all his weight as he kisses you softly. Like he means it. Lips carving out lips like he’s mean to mold your flesh to fit the shape of his. You gasp, and he lets out a soft sigh into your mouth, closing his eyes and pressing into you as much as he can.

When your hands twist into his hair, he lets out a soft groan, slumping more weight into you (if that’s even possible) before his breathing gets shallower.

When he finally pulls away, his head tucks itself back into your neck as he mumbles, “told you I’d get what I want.”

It comes out like a soft slur. Your eyes widen instantly.

“Sylus, no—I have to get up for the day so don’t even think about—”

He’s asleep. Heavy, limp, and comfortably on top of you. You try a sad, futile attempt to shove him off, but he’s stuck. Glued to you like his life depends on it. (Sometimes it does, you think. Sometimes it feels like he lives only for you. Only knows how to breathe when he’s sure you’re there to listen to his soft breaths.)

“You asshole,” you mutter, “you spoiled, obnoxious asshole.”

He always gets what he wants—the feeling of your delicate body under his, and the nails that trace his scalp softly in defeat are good enough proof of that.

Early bday drabble. Long fic to come. Stay tuned. This is a sylus only blog. I don’t even like mydei even a little bit. What else? I think I’ve covered all my bases

[gayoxygen]

tantrum

synopsis: what makes sylus snap?

tags: fluff, sylus is tired and grumpy bc he misses you, he obliterates his phone with his evol, sunshine reader probably, cartoonish luke and kieran appearance (sorry boys) word count: 842

a/n: after that magnum opus line i really wanted to see sylus throw a tantrum and i kept mulling over what would actually make him do that because i can’t see him doing anything much worse than this. i think he’d find Actual grown man tantrums lame. anyway i don’t like this and will maybe delete? nvm but i had the writing urge so i sacrificed this concept from my wips. 

When you arrived at the base after your three-week business trip, your long-awaited homecoming was…tame, to say the least. You’d been expecting a teasing “How nice of you to join us, sweetie,” or a cocky yet vulnerable “I was beginning to think you’d run away.” But once you’d stepped through the front door, Sylus had barely said a word. A soft “Welcome home” and a kiss on the forehead, and before you knew it, you were cradled in his arms as he carried you to his office.

He’d sat you both down in his leather armchair, making you face him in a straddle. His tired eyes had searched yours, and a moment later, he’d buried his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“I missed you,” you’d murmured into his ear, pressing a kiss to his hair. With a quiet groan, he’d tightened his grip on your hips and nuzzled into you even deeper.

That’d been 15 minutes ago. Basking in the comfortable silence, you’d traded kisses all the while—yours on his hair, his on your neck. 

But suddenly, a low buzzing noise cuts your reunion short: his phone is ringing.

When he makes no effort to answer, still breathing heavily in your embrace, you twist in his arms and accept the call before he can protest. 

A familiar voice crackles over the line. “Boss?” Kieran asks. “Next meeting’s in 10. The one about those stolen shipments from Linkon—we’ve been waiting to hear back for months. You coming?”

Sylus doesn’t answer.

“…Boss?” Kieran repeats. “Boss, you there? You oka—”

Red and black mist shreds the phone into pieces. 

“Sylus!” you yelp, jumping in his lap. “What’d you do that for? He’ll probably be worried. And how will I text you now?”

You pout up at him, and as you study his chronically calm expression, you see something unusual: Sylus’s eye twitches. Just for a millisecond, only moving a millimeter, but you catch it.

“I’ll have a new one delivered tomorrow. As for the meeting, I’ll stay here,” he says lightly, a tight, closed-lip smile on his face.

“But Kieran said it was important,” you reply in confusion. “Why don’t you want to go? Are you feeling sick?” you frown, starting to lift off of him.

“No,” comes his too-quick reply. “It’s just…the twins can go in my stead,” he decides simply, moving to lean into you again.

But before he can move an inch, a rhythmic sequence of knocks sounds at the door.

“Come in!” you chirp happily, too excited to see the faces you’d missed the last few weeks to notice Sylus stiffening under you.

Immediately, the door swings open, revealing two masked figures. 

“Hi Luke, hi Kieran!” you beam, and they wave back at you eagerly.

“Long time no see,” Kieran begins. “Boss, did you lose signal or something? I tried calling you about the meeting, but I think it disconnected. Anyway, we’re about to head down and—”

“Cancel it,” a frustrated growl rings out.

You all freeze.

Somehow, you’d been too wrapped up in your excitement to feel Sylus's body shaking—no, quaking—beneath you.

“W-what? But they’re already here!” Luke sputters.

“Cancel. It.” Sylus grits out the words as if holding back a snarl, and the power in his voice leaves no room for argument. 

“O…kay,” the boys say in unison, and as they back away slowly, you shoot them a sympathetic look.

Red tendrils wrench the door shut behind them, and when you’re alone once more, it’s like the man under you deflates.

His head returns to the crevice of your neck with a soft but unceremonious thud, and his deep exhales and burning hot skin tell you he’s trying to calm himself down. 

Uncertain and a little amazed—you’d never seen him lose his composure—you give his cheek a gentle poke. “Sylus,” you whisper. Nothing. 

“Psst. Sylus,” you try again, and there’s some force behind your poke this time. With bated breath, you watch as your finger sinks into the space under his cheekbone, sighing in relief when the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 

Lifting his head up to make eye contact, you smile at him softly. “Hi.”

“…Hi,” he rumbles, and as his crimson gaze softens, the remaining annoyance dissolves from his face.

“Are you upset?” you prod gently. 

A brazen scoff precedes the dry chuckles that fall from his lips. “And what makes you say that, kitten?”

A squint and a slight tilt of your head is all it takes. 

“I haven’t had you to myself in a while,” he begins cautiously. “Three weeks is…a long time. The longest we’ve been apart. And then the moment I have you in my arms, well…” he trails off, gesturing to the shards of phone on the table. “I just want to enjoy you right now. Undisturbed.”

“Oh, I see,” you coo, cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your way of saying you missed me too?” you quirk a brow.

“Yes,” he responds through squished cheeks, honest and unabashed. “Now, won’t you stay with me like this for a little longer?”

[gayoxygen]

They are literally that couple 🍷

[gayoxygen]

unedited. wrote this while taking a break from finishing his fic bc I forget just how rich Sylus is.

It's rare, but occasionally Sylus gets you mad. And the victim of your rage isn't him... but his bank account — specifically, the black card he's given you to use.

"Serves him right. I hope you go broke," you bitterly muttered, purchasing whatever comes to sight.

Usually, you're adamant about not using his money, specifically this card, despite his constant reminder to use it without guilt.

But when he finally comes home, days without warning or contacting you, with his clothes covered in blood and face full of exhaustion, that breaks the camel's back for you.

The result —

A new dining set, this time plated with gold. -$5k.

A new set of diamonds and pearls. -$9k.

A new Camaleonda sofa set. -$25k.

A Hästens bed set that you'll be using alone. -$150,000k.

So when Sylus gets a phone call asking if these purchases were fraudulent or if he would want to lock his card in case it was stolen, he chuckles while he taps his finger on his desk, smirking.

cute. so so cute.

He informs the banker on the other line, “No, run those purchases through."

"But sir, are you sure...? Whoever this is, they've also purchased 100 kitty plushies?"

Unfazed, Sylus responded, "That’s just my future wife throwing a tantrum. She’s cute, no?”

"I-I see."

How adorable and naive were you to think this would ever bother him — no, it excited him even more whenever you decided to challenge him, especially when you didn't allow him to touch you ever since he's gotten back.

And before he ends the call, he orders, "Send me a list of what she purchases, and make a transfer into that account so she could spend more."

Not too long after, you receive a text from him.

From: Don't You Dare Get Weak And Call Him First 🔪

I expedited that bed, Kitten. But why don't we put it to good use and give your new plushies a good show, Sweetie? Tonight.

[gayoxygen]

thinking about caleb crying when he cums…

like he’s wanted you for so long. he’s been aching for you for fucking yearsssss. he just can’t hold it all in when the time comes. he’s holding onto you as tight as he can, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. his face is buried in your neck. maybe the scent of your skin can help ground him. maybe it can muffle any embarrassing sounds.

but neither work. you’re just so soft and you feel so good and he loves you so much. every little moan you let out is so pretty. every clench of your walls around his cock has him whimpering. you’re so fucking perfect. better than he ever imagined. it’s just too much.

before he knows it, he’s letting out a sob. just one at first then another. his teeth dig into his lip and his eyes screw shut, but it’s not enough. he cries against your skin, warm tears dribbling down his cheeks onto your throat.

you shush him, cooing in his ear that you’ve got him, that you’re right here. but the tenderness only makes it worse.

he’s out right weeping as he clings to you, pumping his hips erratically while mumbling “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. fuck it’s so good. so fucking perfect.”

it’s less than a minute later that his high creeps up on him. his breath hitches while his hips stutter. he lets out another strangled sob into your neck as he shoots hot ropes of cum inside you.

when the two of you are done, you hold him on top of you for a few minutes, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. you’d never seen him so emotional before.

he finally pulls back to give you a proper kiss and look into your eyes. you stroke his cheeks, wiping any leftover tears away. and when you ask if he’s ok, he just sniffles and nods. he looks at you with those deceivingly innocent eyes, glossy lashes shimmering as he asks:

“can we go again?”

[gayoxygen]

In His Mind

Warning: panty sniffing, masturbation

AN: I just wanted to write about my favorite panty sniffer.

Caleb x Reader

Caleb plans his panty raids like he plans his fleet mission: get in, get out, avoid casualties.

When he finally manages to get his treasure, he quickly runs from your room and into his own.

He unfolds your panties with shaky hands. They’re so cute. The color, the pattern, the lace. He can so clearly picture your pussy pressed against them.

The slick patch of the panties gusset draws his eye immediately. He licks his lips.

He pressed the panties to his nose, inhaling deeply. They’d been at the top of the laundry pile. It was a risky pair to take. They were the freshest but they were also the most noticeable if they went missing.

He scrambles to get his pants off and closes his eye as he falls onto the bed. He pictures you hovering over him, your panties on full display for him.

He tongues the gusset of your panties. The taste still lingers and he can so clearly picture your own pussy over him. His tongue slipping inside you. All the pretty moans you’d make for him.

He’d hold your thighs down while your hips roll. His nose would bump against your clit and you’d whimper for more.

Caleb laps at the taste of you on your panties. His hand reaches into his pants and he fists his cock, desperate for some kind of friction.

In his mind he could picture how you’d twitch and whine. How your hips would roll on his face. Your thighs would clench around his head as you get closer and closer to cumming into his mouth.

He’d treat you so good. He’d make you cum over and over again if you let him. It’s all he ever wanted. It’s all he’d ever dreamed of. In his mind, you were already his. You just needed to realize how good the two of you could be together.

Caleb cums with your panties in his mouth. His cum dribbles over his chest and hands. He’d cum so hard, a little got onto his chin. He gives your panties one last suck before finally putting

He’ll volunteer to do laundry this week. It’s the easiest way to hide his little thievery. It’ll also be the easiest way to get another pair.

Requests are Open!

[gayoxygen]

Panties 🎀

Cw: NSFW, pervy nasty Caleb being NASTAYYYY

Caleb’s a pervert. He’s incredibly aware of the fact—he’s been like this for a long while. Ever since he was a teenager, when he’d first discovered porn. He’d jerk off in the middle of the night, once he was sure you and Grandma were fast asleep. Fisting his dick, he’d watch videos of girls…that looked like you.

It’s unsurprising; Caleb has liked you since you were babies. He feared, however, you’d only always see him as an overprotective brother figure and not something more.

Then, he joined the Farspace Fleet and rose to the rank of Colonel. When you attempted to infiltrate the Farspace Fleet and learned Caleb was alive, you both knew he wasn’t the same kindhearted boy from your childhood. But your bond was renewed—you both became closer than ever.

You were Caleb’s girl—you both knew it and were crazy for each other.

Often, you stayed the night at Caleb’s apartment in Skyhaven—you’d sleep with him on the couch, in bed, even on the floor (sometimes it just feels better).

Currently, you are fast asleep, snuggled up with one of his pillows, in his bed. You slept over so often you had your own drawers of clothing in his room; of which he was taking full advantage of.

Quietly, Caleb opened your pantie drawer, and pulled out a lacy little pair you’d bought to surprise him with. It was a miracle he hadn’t ruined them while on you. But he was in the bathroom, holding that damned pair of underwear to his nose, inhaling your scent deeply before fisting the panties around his dick. He moaned quietly, going until his body was twitching and the lacy scrap of fabric was soaked with cum. He’d tuck it away in his laundry basket; you wouldn’t have to know.

[gayoxygen]

i wonder when caleb began to realize that he was in love with his (adopted) lil sister??? i wonder how long he fought it for and why he’s finally giving into his forbidden desires now??? what happened? why did he suddenly decide to stop being the Good Guy and allow himself to succumb to his indulgences??? does it have something to do with whatever horrors he ended up suffering after the explosion?

on a much more sordid note, do you think caleb would steal some of her panties to bring with him back to work during every visit home? do u think he rifled through her undies drawer, pawing through lace and silk and cotton, to find his favourite pairs as a memento? a little piece of home, a comfort to bring back with him, to soothe him during long and lonely nights? do u think he’d spy on her in the shower? or when she slept? do u think he’s got any secret photos of her? like whEN did he start slipping into indulging himself, if he did at all? when did he start telling himself one pair won’t hurt; one photo won’t hurt; as long as i’m not physically doing anything it’s okay, right?

[gayoxygen]

tw: pseudo-cest, hints of noncon, cum eating | 18+ minors do not interact

currently eating an apple from between caleb’s thighs (˶˃⤙˂˶) omg could u imagine tho? he’s got your hands tied behind your back with a thick, scratchy rope—too tight, of course; your fingertips have begun to numb, the skin of your wrists rubbed raw from incessant, involuntary struggling—and he’s forcing you to eat it from between his thighs, knees spread just enough for your head to fit snugly between them, strong, sculpted muscle cushioning either side of your your cheeks.

your chin aches from being pressed so forcefully into the hard seat of the chair he’s currently on—a feeble attempt to keep your balance as you attempt to obey him, compelled to keep inching forward further and further as the apple escapes your slippery lips, chin sticky and slick with spit and juice.

eventually, the apple reaches the apex of his thighs, slotted up against his rapidly hardening cock, each one of your tiny bites into the apple’s flesh causing it to rub along his length, inspiring another flush of heat southward. every hiss sucked between his teeth spurs you on, gazing up at him with watery devotion, tears of frustration beading soaked lashes.

and you, good little sister that you are, you don’t stop—not as his hips begin to buck, apple bumping against your front teeth violently, top lip pinched between the fruit and enamel splitting open in a tiny slit to smear crimson across indents left by your teeth; not as a gloved hand grips the crown of your head and holds you still, keeping the apple trapped between your mouth and his crotch, your jaw still flexing obediently, striving to continue your meal as pain sears through your temples and fear stutters your chest; not even as ribbons of thick white cream spill through those charcoal trousers, soiling the apple with caleb’s bitter essence, your greedy tongue sopping up every ounce of his cum the moment he releases your head like you’ve been fucking starved for it, deprived of it—which, really, caleb supposes you have been.

and at the end of it all, when the apple’s been gnawed to its core and your face is a mess of snot and salt, you’ll look up at him with a startling gratitude shimmering in your eyes, voice wrecked and raw as you thank him for such a delicious meal. because if there’s one thing your big brother taught you, it’s manners.

[gayoxygen]

WEAR HEADPHONES

NSFW

2 minutes of Caleb fingering you and then fucking you.

Excluding bgm. All audio and sfx come from the game. No Ai. 🤤😏

[gayoxygen]

you're driving me insane!

minors and ageless dni colonel!caleb x fem!reader cw: nsfw, yall know those portal fleshlights? yeah it's that but instead of a fleshlight it's with a dildo, caleb in his colonel uniform, pretty tame

caleb grips the armrests hard enough that his knuckles turn white. he covers his mouth, attempting to stifle his groans against his clothed hands. his cock is straining in his pants, pre-cum spilling through as he sits alone in his office. pipsqueak... what are you doing?

you're in your apartment in linkon, fucking yourself on a dildo that's a perfect replica of caleb's dick. and caleb can feel every single fucking thing. the warmth, the tightness—every single ridge and nook and cranny—and it's driving him insane. your cunt is driving him insane. really, what are you doing? he's breathing hard, his head in his hands as he tries to stay calm.

"colonel," a voice and knock comes from the other side of his office door, "here's the report for—"

"leave." caleb responds, his voice harsh and cold.

"...i'll leave it by your door, colonel." the voice doesn't question him and his footsteps retreat away.

caleb exhales a shaky breath, but nearly chokes when he feels your pace quicken out of nowhere. you're thrusting the dildo into you wildly, nearing your peak. your pussy is clenching down and caleb can feel it. he can see your flushed face and your eyes rolling back, seeing nothing but stars. it's almost like he's fucking you right then and there. your sweet moans, the way your mouth parts and your leg shakes... fuck. he needs to go home. he needs to go home to you.

suddenly he feels your walls convulse and squeeze his dick and he knows you're cumming. with your face in mind, he cums too. he paints his briefs and growls into his desk, panting heavily, promising to replicate everything you were doing tonight. not as a reward, but as a punishment for giving him a hard time. it's a waste that he spent a load on his briefs and not inside you. he quickly recovers and changes out into a clean uniform, covering his hard-on that won't go away, and clocks out for the day, climbing onto the next train headed to linkon.

your phone rings just as you're coming down from your high. with bleary eyes, you read the name. a chill runs down your spine, his timing is insane. it's almost like he knew. you answer anyways, trying to keep your voice still and your breath even.

"hey, pipsqueak? yeah, yeah—just got off work. i'll see you in a bit."

just a thought i had