sxkura-blxssxm

[sxkura-blxssxm]

YOU WANT A TREAT, PRETTY BOY? (PART 3)

character(s): Caleb Xia x f!reader (smut with plot)

u and best friend caleb FINALLY get to some sexy timeeeee

PART 1 HERE, PART 2 HERE

wc: 4.6k

warnings: ummm literally two adults having adult sex soooo... p in v, oral stimulation (both f & m giving and receiving), fingering, humping, swearing, tint of exhibitionism...

if u aren’t 18+ please close this and go watercolour or catch bugs… i'm not here to entertain minors, thank u loveeee<333

You woke up pissed.

Utterly and otherworldly pissed off, and way too clothed for how much you had wanted to… not… be clothed… in Caleb’s car the night before.

The sunrise was too bright. His floor was too clean. Your skin burned in all the places he’d touched you and your underbelly clenched at the memory.

You rolled over. There was only a slight indent  in the mattress where his body had been - minutes ago, given by the warmth of it. You glared at the twisted sheets.

Coward.

Soft-spined drama llama.

You buried your face in a pillow and screamed like it might force the frustration out.

The questions and worry consumed you. What if he was pissed at you? Were you too much? Have you been reading him completely wrong and did he genuinely only want to be friends? But he said he wanted to, no? Did he regret it after? Did you hurt him? Were you bad?

COULD YOU’VE BEEN SO BAD THAT HE RAN AWAY?!

You groaned louder but picked yourself up like a champ and transported yourself to the kitchen in search of food.

You found Caleb eating his breakfast there instead. Shirtless. Barefoot. Hair messy. Eyes still heavy with sleep.

He didn’t look at you when you walked in. He just kept watching the omelette like it was a casual Sunday morning. Like you didn’t just stomp all over the ‘best friends’ label literally hours ago.

“Morning.”

His voice was scratchy and gruff.

“Morning.”

You sat at the edge of the chair, knees pressed together like you were in church.

Caleb coughed.

One of his cheeks was stuffed round with the omelette when his eyes flicked to you. He sat directly across the table and you realised it might have been your first time using this chair instead of his thigh or the one next to his.

“You want coffee?”

“Sure."

The kitchen was dead silent except for the splash of the liquid in the mug.

“Slept alright?”

“Yeah… You?”

“Yeah,” Caleb nodded and placed the mug in front of you.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

You sipped. It was too hot. Or maybe the room was too hot. Or you. Hell had taken up residence in the area between your legs.

“So…,” you tried.

He grunted. That was it. A whole-ass neanderthal grunt.

Great. Fantastic bombastic. All friends had their mornings after nearly screwing in a vehicle. Whatever, right? That’s a thing.

“Didn’t know we had eggs.”

“Yup.”

“Planning to do anything today?” you asked, sipping on the coffee and burning yourself again.

“Um… dunno. Cardio. Maybe laundry.”

“Fun. Serve, diva~” 

“Yup.”

“Yup.”

“Cool.”

“Cool cool cool….”

You wanted to crawl into the coffee mug and drown. This wasn’t your Caleb…

He tapped his fork against the table. Once. Twice.

“Nice weather today,” he motioned to the window behind you.

“Can’t see it.”

“Right. It’s… behind you. Right.”

He kept chewing, you kept sipping. You couldn’t stop bouncing your leg, he couldn’t stop not looking at you. You could hear the light buzz of the fridge. The scrape of his fork. The-

“Okay, no. NO! FUCK THIS!” You shoved the mug away and stood. “What the fuck are we doing, Caleb?! HUh?”

He blinked at you, eggs halfway to his mouth.

“What the flying fuck are we doing?!!!??!!?!? What is this?” You motioned at the space between the two of you and slammed your hands on the table. “Like… I don’t know! I’m sober. You’re sober. COME AND FUCK ME YOU COWARD-”

The table flipped sideways and the ceramic plate crashed to the ground. The mug shattered and the coffee splashed across the tiles, the cabinets.

When your wide eyes returned to Caleb again, his were feral.

He grabbed you by the neck and slammed his mouth against yours. The kiss tackled you and knocked all the thoughts straight out of the skull when the back of your head hit the wall. There was no tongue. No nothing. But the furnace in your body raged and your body ascended with the sensation of his lips flush with yours, his fingers abusing your windpipe, his chest heaving.

You gasped for air and your teeth clashed with his when you shoved his face back. “YO! Argh! Time out!”

He stared at you, breathless. “What?!”

“I- I didn’t think you would actually-! You know- This is-. Isn’t this big? Should we record it?! Like you know... some people record a baby’s first word, first steps, shouldn’t we—”

This time he went in with tongue, hard enough to make your knees buckle. You moaned and kissed him back with so much force that he almost tilted and fell back on the knocked down table. You bit down on his lower lip and he whimpered at the pain.

Now this was your Caleb.

“Oh fuck me,” you muttered to yourself.

“It took you forever to ask,” Caleb sighed against your lips and took a handful of your ass.

Your back arched and you grabbed his pants by the waistband to keep him pressed to you. He tasted fucking divine - minus the eggs.

“Fuck-”

“We will, we will, honey,” you kissed his chin and he began to suck on the tender flesh of your neck. It hurt but the prickles of your skin were more intense than in any of your fantasies. Caleb’s fingers dug into your waist and yours in his hair.

His kisses eased and a whole damn zoo broke out in your stomach. You sucked in a breath and then broke out into giggles.

“Wha- Are you okay?” Caleb asked, pupils blown so wide that his eyes were basically black now.

“Yeah,” you let out a contented sigh, “It just… tickles.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

You pretended to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’ll twist your dick into a pretzel if you stop,” you smiled sweetly.

That earned a full, belly-clenching laugh from him.

You both laughed into each other, noses bumping, mouths brushing in half-kisses that hardly fully landed. He pressed a kiss to your temple. You pecked the side of his jaw. He leaned in for your lips, missed since you squirmed, and got your cheek instead. 

“Stop moving, pips,” he chuckled.

“I can’t,” you giggled, dodging his mouth as he tried to kiss your neck again.

He blew a breath against your collarbone just to get another reaction from you. You smacked his shoulder with a giddy smile.

“Caleb! I swear to god-!”

“What?” he blinked, feigning innocence, then grinned like the Cheshire cat. “You’re just too sensitive…”

He nuzzled your neck, and the moment his lips grazed that one extremely ticklish spot, you basically shrieked and tried to wriggle away from him.

“Stoooop-” you gasped and laughed so hard your chest began to ache.

But he held you in place, nose buried in your neck, mumbling something about hating pretzels, placing small, quick kisses all over. Your fingers tugged at his soft hair and the giggles melted into little sighs.

“Co-”

The words died in your throat when Caleb’s hand slipped past your shorts and ran over the curve of your bare ass.

Your core and thighs spasmed.

“Couch,” you forced out.

Caleb shook his head and his weight on you made you sink all the way down to the floor. Your back rested against the wall and Caleb’s lips moved from your burning neck and tickled down the clothed dip between your breasts and to your navel.

He hooked a finger behind the waist of your shorts and looked up at you with a questioning look.

“Take the damn thing off,” you hissed.

He smirked and ridded your lower body of any fabrics.

Now facing your bare middle, his smile grew and he looked like a boy mesmerized by the candy store window. 

His tongue lolled out and he swept it along your slit.

The groans you both let out were unrestrained. Guttural. Pure bliss washed over you as Caleb’s sloppy and inexperienced tongue finally swirled all over you.

It wasn’t precise. It wasn’t mind-blowingly pleasurable how porn made it seem. But gods, the sight of Caleb between your knees was a spiritual experience. He lapped at you one second and flattened the muscle against you another. His nose bumped your clit when he wasn’t flicking it and his hands were spreading you open like he couldn’t get enough of the view. It was messy, the stimulation was overwhelming, but it didn’t matter because every sound he made - every sucked in breath, every moan, every whimper - sank deep under your skin and rushed straight to the heat slowly uncoiling in your gut.

You writhed. Shook. You kicked the chair behind him and your left leg slipped on the spilled coffee.

“F-fuck- Caleb- Caleb, oh my god-”

He sneaked his arm between your legs to massage the apex of your cunt, dipped his head lower to savour you, smiled into it again. He followed by blowing against it, swiftly replacing it back with warm pressure.

Your scent wrapped around him, drowning out the world. Your soft breaths echoed in his ears and the outside buzz faded. You were all he could feel, all he could breathe; every corner of him was filled with you and he never wanted you to leave.

He moaned into you like your pleasure fed him, arms bracketing your thighs tighter as he buried his face deeper. His morning stubble scraped your inner thigh and the tightness in his lap made him wince.

You cried out and your hips buckled. Your head thudded back against the wall with a hollow sound.

“Shit– Caleb–”

Sliding your fingers through his hair, you pushed his face deeper into your heated core, and grinded into his face.

He let his eyelids fall - only if you knew how he’d ached for this. You swallowed his every word. Oh, how irrevocably drunk he was on you, each touch pulling him deeper, deeper into an intoxicating abyss where the weight of everything dissolved except for the raw, unravelling gravity of your presence.

You left a trace of yourself everywhere - his mouth, his nose, his chin - a dizzying mess that felt like a mark that only he could wear.

When you pried him away to take a breath, he slumped forward, a wreck of whimpers and trembling limbs, eyes glazed with a lingering wish, swimming in a dream. He panted, strands of damp hair clinging to his feverish face.

“Gods, you…,” you sighed. “Rougher.”

Caleb groaned and curled his tongue up, drawing his cheeks in to suck on your clit. He pressed a palm against your stomach, pinning you in place and a surprised gasp escaped your lips as his tongue began to fuck into your hole. ”Ah luhv ih when you commahnd me, hunhy.”

He nibbled on the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Makes me wanna fuck the arrogance right out of you,” he mumbled, itching back to your clit and replacing his tongue with his fingers as you squirmed above. He gazed up at you from between your thighs, and you've never looked more breathtaking.

The planes of your chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm and the beads of sweat glinted, as if you were draped in fragments of the morning sun. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, spreading your twitching walls in a scissor-like motion.

And when his teeth experimentally grazed your clit, the coil inside you snapped.

Your eyes closed shut. Your legs locked around his shoulders, trembling and spasming, and your mouth hung open in a silent cry before any sound finally escaped. It was loud. Both of you were. Desperate. Utterly joyful. He bit into your thigh to stop himself from waking the whole apartment complex.

But he didn’t stop until you twitched away from overstimulation, and even then, he kissed, right over the soaked mess between your thighs.

His mouth, still wet, lifted from you and he grinned at the sight of you, gasping and still clenching on air. He carefully placed your legs back onto the floor and pulled one close to him to massage the muscles while you just laid on the kitchen floor.

“How was it?” he asked, rubbing your knee, clearly fishing, clearly knowing damn well how good he did.

You just blinked up at the ceiling, completely dazed, so he kissed you on the lips.

“You just rolled a nat 20 on oral…”

He snorted and dropped his forehead to yours.

“-boots the house down mama werk pussy slay diva as fuuuuuck…”

He laughed harder and kissed your temple.

“I’m serious,” you wheezed and scratched his nape, “That was… I’m seeing colors that haven’t been invented yet… What the fuck…” You lifted yourself up onto your elbows and pecked his lips. “We should have tried this out sooner!”

Caleb scooped you up, pj shorts discarded in the puddle of cold coffee, and like a sack of potatoes, he carried you to his bed as you squealed. He climbed up your body and the mattress dipped under his forearms at either side of your head. He leaned down and placed a plush, long kiss on your lips. “Then we better make up for all the missed occasions, no?”

You grinned, locked your legs around his waist, and before Caleb even yelped, you rolled over so he was below you instead.

You grinded down on the bulge in his pants and he bit back a surprised groan.

But before you could take a proper look at him, he flipped you over again, and you landed flat on your back. You squirmed and tried to claw your way up, but Caleb was already on you, grabbing onto your ankle and tugging you back under him.

“You’re gonna pull something! Stop it!” he barked and you thrashed, legs kicking the sheets off the bed. “You’re- Jesus, woman, lay still!”

“I wanted it to be perfect for you!” you cried, “Let me treat you!”

Caleb practically growled. “Then let me do it! Honey, you think I want our first time to be me flat on my back while you hurt yourself pretending you know what you’re doing?”

You burst out laughing. “Pretending?”

He caged you in with his arms, but you grabbed his shoulders, trying to push him off and wriggle your legs back around him.

“Move it!” you insisted, “Girls can be on top!”

“Not this girl,” Caleb barked, clearly at the edge of losing it, “Not for our first time. You know how long I’ve wanted this?! You think I’m just gonna let you lead this to the hospital after trying to be all dominant and sexy?!”

You narrowed your eyes. “I am sexy.”

Caleb hummed and kissed the corner of your mouth before sitting back on his heels.

“Okay. Here’s the battle plan. We ease into it. I get top, you can break your spine next time, yeah?”

You eyed him warily but resorted to extending your pinky to him.

He pinkie promised you and slipped his palm under your knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he began to lift your legs up to your chest to get access to you. Your hamstrings stretched and your hip joints began to burn as the position began to resemble a mating press.

“YO YO YO!”

Caleb looked like he was about to cry.

“Slow down cowboy! You know I have shortened ligaments!” you added.

“You told me you were doing yoga.”

“...”

Caleb gasped. “You lied to me?!”

A clean smack landed across your ass and you yelped at the sting.

He repositioned your legs to make it gentler on the hips and began to kiss around your neck. “Please.”

Something clenched in your chest a little at the way he said it. Like it wasn’t simply sex. Like it had been building up in him. A need to be careful with you, to love you gently, to show you his vulnerabilities and to kiss yours.

“Let me take care of you, pips.”

You tugged at the hem of the shirt covering you. “Take it off, Caleb.”

He swallowed hard and began a slow motion of dragging the shirt up your body, slowly uncovering your skin. He took in every curve, every freckle, every strand of hair until you laid completely bare and exposed. He took off his sweats and sat there, not yet back to touching you.

You reached to his nightstand and pulled out a paper box stashed at the very back of the drawer. You ripped it open and dumped all of its contents.

“How did you-”

You bit your lip to hold back a smile. “I saw you hide it there. What interests me is…” you ripped the condom's package open with your teeth and crawled to him. You ran a hand down his chest to his lap “... what was going through your head when you bought it that day.”

His naked lap was half-aroused and sticky. He must have already come once - in the kitchen, when you did, you thought.

He didn't move as you rolled the condom on for him and leaned back down on the mattress. At first, you felt a certain shyness in his eyes, but it didn’t last long. Now, he was caressing you with his eyes. It made heat pool in your stomach because you could only imagine what he would do next.

Would he taste you with his tongue? Would he circle your nipples and squeeze them first? Or would he whisper dirty things and make you come on his fingers before slipping into you?

You reached down without a word, fingers ghosting along his thigh. He flinched, like the contact startled him back to earth.

You asked him to touch you with your eyes. You parted your legs to him.

“Just breathe with me,” he exhaled, “I’ll go slow.”

You nodded and he kissed your forehead, then your cheek, the crook of your neck, your heart, and with a hand cupping your face, he began to push into you.

Your body was tight and resistant… unpracticed. It burned a little, more pressure than pain, but it made your breath catch in your throat.

“Okay?” he choked out.

“Yeah. Perfect. Just–slow.”

He was shaking too, since the moment he entered you. His stomach was clenched and his biceps were rippling with tension on either side of your head.

With careful, inching motion, he eased in a little more. You gritted your teeth and let your body take him in.

Something else bloomed in this bareness. Something that was never there when you showered together or cuddled on a heated beach. The way he tried to breathe through it with you. The way he was blushing from head to toe. The way he held his eyes shut, further consumed by the pleasure. Pleasure caused by you.

Eventually, your body began to loosen. Accommodating. Wanting. Welcoming.

Your hands wandered across his back, nails scraping gently, and you couldn’t stop the small, broken sound that escaped your throat.

He froze in terror. His eyes shot open.

“Baby–what is it?” his voice cracked. “Am I hurting you?”

You couldn’t speak right away for the lump in your throat. Your chest was just too full.

The moment he saw the tears trailing down your temples and seeping into the pillow, his whole face changed.

“Shit– Shit– I’m sorry. No— I did– I did– Did I?”

“No, Caleb,” you sniffled, “No– God… It’s not that.”

You wiped your eyes with the back of your wrist.

He still wasn’t moving. Completely frozen in horror.

You cupped his face with both hands, bringing his forehead down and kissing it with a soft, trembling breath.

“I’m okay,” you whispered again. “I promise. I’m just—fuck—I’ve never felt this close to you before.”

Your fingers brushed through his hair and his arms came around your waist as if trying to press himself deeper inside, closer somehow.

You moaned. “I love it. God, Caleb—I love it so much.”

He exhaled shakily, forehead still pressed to yours.

You kissed him then, full and messy, your tears catching on the lips of two people who hadn’t quite figured out how to exist separately from this moment onwards.

And halfway through the kiss your whole body jolted.

A little laugh slipped from him. You hiccupped again.

Caleb pulled back, flushed and stunned. “I’m trying not to cum in thirty seconds and you-”

Your hiccup interrupted him.

“Oh, pips…” He peppered kisses down your face.

“I’m sorry.” You covered your mouth, half-laughing, half-sniffling as you hiccupped one more time.

“Don’t be,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose. “You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

Timestamp~ 10:23 Location~ Caleb’s bed Muscles you didn’t know you had burned, your neck was littered with blooming purple, and your thighs trembled just from shifting under the blanket. Your naked chest was sticking to Caleb’s as you laid on top of him. Your legs were entangled and you were dragging your fingers along the chain of his dogtag. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship…” “Well…” You leaned to the side and squinted at the floor. “-three, four, five… FIVE wrappers! We massacred it…” You raised an arm and he high fived you. Caleb stretched his arms and folded them under his head. “To my defence, you were the one yelling ‘I don’t care! I don’t care! Just don’t stop! Don't stop’” he imitated a girly voice. You flushed and smacked his chest. He readjusted and trapped you in a bear hug and your thighs were magically spreading again.

Timestamp~ 11:02 Location~ Shower Your back hit the steamy tile. Caleb slipped into you with a hiss. Water ran between your bodies, and he looked at you like he was trying to engrave the memory into his head—your flushed face, damp hair clinging to your cheeks, and the faint tremble in your legs. He reached between your thighs and massaged you in sync with his thrusts. “Faster, please.” “I don’t wanna cum too fast,” he whimpered. “Then you can do it again after,” you whispered, wrapping your arms tighter around him while he rocked into you hard enough to rattle the glass. “And again. And again.”

Timestamp~ 12:31 Location~ Kitchen Caleb hardly had time to flip the pancake before your knees hit the floor. “Are you serious?” he rasped, but was already half-hard. “Don’t burn it,” you looked up at him, lips brushing his tip. He groaned as you took him in, one hand clutching the pan, the other twisted in your hair. “Fuck—” he gasped, trying to keep upright. “You’re gonna kill me.” You pulled off with a smirk, “Then die like a man.” And then swallowed him deep.

Timestamp ~ 14:17 Location ~ Couch The TV was playing a documentary neither of you were watching. One chaste kiss there. Another there. And would you look at that... you were bent over the armrest, Caleb behind you. “Didn’t know archaeology was such a turn on for you,” he groaned. “Caleb,” you wheezed, “I can’t feel my legs.” “Good.” He bit your shoulder. “Means I’m doing it right.” You lifted your head and stared at the man on the TV showing off his rock collection. “What if it’s nerve damage?” you sobbed-laughed into the couch cushion. He grinned and kissed the centre of your back. “You can take one more. For science.”

Timestamp ~ 15:48 Location ~ Balcony You leaned over his bare back as he put up damp laundry on the balcony. “No,” he said. “Pretty please.” One look at your blushing chest was all it took. “I have zero self-control around you,” he growled. “Hands on the railing.” You raised an eyebrow and squeezed his bicep. “We have neighbors.” He leaned close to kiss your lips and made you stumble back against the railing. “Then stay quiet for me.”

Timestamp ~ 17:19 Location ~ Hallway mirror You paused mid-walk, catching sight of your reflection. Your lips were swollen. Your hair tangled and face sticky with sin. Purple and red marks covered you from neck to ankles. Neither of you even bothered to put on clothes at this point. Caleb came up behind you - looking like a similarly bruised-up purple dalmatian - hands roaming over your bare waist. “I wanna do it standing again,” he nudged your temple with his nose. You squinted at your reflection. “I look like a racoon that fucked a succubus.” "You look like a F-14 Tomcat's afterburner." "Afterburner needs a damn shower." His hand slid a little higher to cup your boobs. "Can I come with you?" "Caleb." "Please... I promise not to peek." You arched a brow at him in the mirror. "You're literally holding a tit right now."

Timestamp~ 19:35 Location~ Granny Josephine’s house “Missed me already?” you murmured, elbows deep in potato scraps. “I miss you when I blink,” Caleb whispered, pressing himself to your back, his lips brushing the back of your scarf-covered neck. “Been thinkin’ about you all day.” You let out a dry laugh, leaning into him. “You’ve been inside me all day. If you were thinking of anybody but me-” “And still,” he whispered in an even lower voice, hands running down your stomach and teasing the button of your jeans, “not enough.” His fingers slipped just under the waistband and grazed the line of where your underwear would have been, were you not rocking it commando- “Caleb, darling?” Josephine’s voice echoed from the hallway. “We need help with dinner.” You cackled and closed your legs around his hand like a trap. Caleb’s eyes shot wide open and tried to break free. Futile. Granny’s slippers rounded the corner. “How many times have I told you to tuck your shirts in, pips? Your kidneys!" You bit back a laugh as Josephine peeked in, eyebrow raised at Caleb's hand digging around in your pants, pretending to tuck a shirt. “Good boy, Caleb. I keep telling her the same." When the air was clear you pressed a soft kiss behind his ear, “How about this good boy goes wait for me in the attic, hm?”

Timestamp~ 22:04 Location~ Apartment elevator Caleb’s back hit the elevator wall as you yanked his jacket open and your hand was shoved halfway up his shirt. He lifted one of your legs to his waist, his hips pressing against yours, body heat flooding through your jeans, denim grinding over denim. “Mmm–our floor’s coming up, pips,” he gasped into your mouth. You smirked. “So are you.” Caleb glanced down, saw the evidence, and groaned. His tongue slid into your mouth and your fingers dug into his shoulders. The floor dinged, but neither of you moved. You clutched his jaw and rolled your hips, making him groan into the kiss. The elevator doors closed again before you got to get off. The sound of your kisses and heavy breaths echoed between the four metal walls, when the elevator dinged at the floor below. You quickly climbed off of Caleb and smoothed down your hair. A small, hunched figure stepped in with a gentle tap of her cane. Cardigan. Velcro shoes. “Oh…” Berta blinked up at you over her thick glasses. “Well—hello, dears.” Your sweet old neighbour - Berta. The one who brought you cookies during the holidays. The one who let you use her wifi when yours got cut off… Her eyes slowly adjusted to the scene and you smiled awkwardly. You remembered the wreck your neck was, so you yanked the collar higher. Caleb followed suit. His jeans were still crooked and half-zipped and- god… She shuffled toward the corner, trying not to make eye contact.  “I, uh… I just ran out of chamomile,” she said, gripping her purse tighter. “And umm… Since you’re here. I might as well... I— noticed the pipes on the ceiling were rattling this morning—then again during lunch—and, well, the afternoon was—” she trailed off, flushing pink. Your soul left your body. “I’m moving out,” you whispered into Caleb’s shoulder. “Don’t,” he muttered back, barely holding in a laugh. “This is the best day of my life.” You smacked his chest. He winced —you’d hit the exact same spot you’d bitten earlier– and Berta noticed and looked even more panicked. “I—I won’t tell the building manager,” she offered kindly, still not turning around. “But maybe—perhaps—next time, try a little music? Something to muffle the joy.” You basically shoved Caleb out the moment the door opened on the ground floor. You didn’t dare look back and bolted to the stairs. “Still bringing cookies this weekend, dear,” she called after you softly. “Should bring us condoms instead,” Caleb snickered and slapped your ass when he caught up with you.

if u enjoyed this fic check out the rest of this series under this tag <333  #get in loser we're repressing feelings - ft. bestie caleb  yayyyy <333

a.n. hello my loves<333 I just wanted to say that with this post I’m kind of closing off the flatmate bestie caleb series for now… that said, I’m sorry for the few requests I haven’t gotten to do but I promise I did my best to write up as many as I could for u, my beloved<333 the series is not fully over, not at all… for two main reasons hihi~ 1. after this fic, u can hardly say that they are just besties sooo… I have a new project in mind… but as LOVERSSSS yayyy so u can look forward to more content with these two but with advanced fluff and snippets of smut, including my beloved angst too~ (I’ll share the details with u later oooonnnnnnn) 2. never say never… sooo i don’t wanna say that ill never return to this??? ofc??? sooo yeah… i also want to focus on writing for other characters too… from the lads universe sylus but also from other fandoms too… (I’m looking at the jjk manga on my shelf as im typing this up) but i mostly want to enjoy my break and just take it easy for now, coz that's when my fics usually feel the most authentic to me<333

tag list for my lovessss (if u wanna be added just leave a comment, shoot me a message, or literally anything <333): @cordidy, @midiplier, @mariojins, @shinreiplays, @dummiebunny, @raendarkfaerie, @calebsfairy, @mcdepressed290

[sxkura-blxssxm]

THE TOOTHLESS TALE

character(s): Caleb Xia x f!reader (crack 2 fluffity fluff)

caleb gets his wisdom teeth removed and it’s a clown show... then i just want to smother him in love and affection

wc: 1.8k

based on this requestttt <3333

Caleb blinked at you in the surgery room of the dentist’s office… not a normal blink… a frog blink… left eyelid fell first, then opened, then the right one but delayed, opened.

He stared at you from the patient’s bed. Pure boyish awe. As if you were a discounted barrel of protein powder. The astonishment of a man seeing God…

You cocked your head to the side to examine him. 

Some white crap was stuffed in his mouth (soaked with blood from the teeth removed), a white scarf-like bandage was wrapped around his mouth and up his head, and his eyes were half-lidded and smiley, just like the last time he got high with you.

Except now he was as high as a giraffe's ass on the good old ‘doctor’s gas’... as you called it…

While you stared at each other - you trying not to laugh at the poor, swollen Caleb, and him ignorant of the drool that dripped onto his shirt - the assistant nurse came to tuck his blanket a little higher up his legs.

Her fingers barely grazed the wool-

Caleb threw himself against the pillow. “KEEP YOUR PREHENSILES AWAY FROM MY PUBUS AREA!!” he shrieked.

The nurse jumped back and you quickly came to her rescue, apologizing for your best friend and thanking her for all the work, letting her know that you can manage on your own now.

You sat by Caleb’s bed and adjusted the blanket for him.

He leaned in and whispered so loudly that it couldn’t really count as a whisper anymore. “I have a face of a twink… but a dick of a hunk… you can never be too safe.”

God you wish you had your camera right now.

You made a falsely-intrigued face and ran your fingers along the line of where his wisdom teeth were just a few hours back.

“Does it hurt?”

“That nurse is dangerous, pips.” 

You flicked your eyes to the cute nurse in question quietly organising papers in the back.

“She has pretty boobs,” you admired.

You couldn’t have hurt Caleb more. And his face mirrored the pain… Awe? Gone…

He squeezed each of his tits with one hand.

“AREN’T THESE ENOUGH FOR YOU?!”

You blinked at him.

“LOOK AT THESE CANNONS!”

His arms searched for the hem of his shirt but found none. He tugged the hospital gown up, and despite your best efforts, began the struggle of pulling it over his head.

“I WON’T BE SILENCED!”

You were horrified.

“FREE THE NIPPLES, FREE THE BALLS!”

You tried to wrestle the gown back down, but Caleb was on a mission. He got it halfway up his chest before he got stuck in one of the sleeves and thrashed helplessly on the bed.

“Bro. bro. I’ll sedate you myself,” you hissed.

“What do you see in her?!” Caleb cried. “She looks like a neglected horse.”

You gasped and smacked Caleb’s thigh.

The nurse - thank the gods, unaware of the recent charade - came back a minute later and asked for your relation, as in to whether she can let you leave with Caleb, whose tattas were still on full display as he strugled to escape his own headlock.

“She always says that I’m a cunt and that she’s a cunt-ness” Caleb mumbled proudly.

The nurse raised a brow.

You smiled tightly and rubbed his thigh. “Best friends.”

Caleb glared at the nurse. “With be~ne~fits.” (a.n. liar… furthest he got with miss baddie is here)

You covered his mouth to preserve some dignity and let out an awkward laugh.

His tongue darted out and you yelped.

“She likes it when I pull her hair more.” Caleb gave the nurse a shit-eating grin. “Never said which one, tho.”

You whacked him on the head and the poor woman had to gently guide you back to your seat and remind you to relax, that this was completely normal behaviour.

After signing some papers, you had Caleb sitting across you in a wheelchair, all ready to be discharged. You bent down to him and wiped a trail of blood-tinged drool from his chin and smoothed down his hair.

Caleb let out a content sigh. “You’re my whole world piiiiiippppsssss,” he moaned.

“You’re mine too.” You kissed the top of his head and set out on a journey to push the still-very-much-drugged Caleb to the car with the nurse by your side. “But if you strip in public again, I’m leaving you to your fate.”

“Buuutttt, you’re the one I had to bail out for public indecency just a week agoooo~”

You swallowed back the hazy memory. Way too much tequila. Yup. But at least you reflect on your actions no? Growth, right?

“You are so good to me…” Caleb now sounded like he was about to cry.

You exited the hospital and he tilted his head back to stare up at the sky, a goofy smile stretching wide across his puffy cheeks. He tugged at your sleeve behind his head.

“What?”

His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head as he tried to look at you above him. “You smell so nice today.”

“I smell like antibacterial gel,” you laughed and ruffled his hair.

“Mhm. But sexy babarial gel.”

The nurse behind you snorted and immediately turned it into a cough.

“What game should we play now?”

“Let’s play ‘ten minutes of quiet and looking out the window’. You’ll love that one.”

Caleb’s tail would’ve flapped, if he had one. He readjusted in his car seat and took in the passing street signs and tall buildings.

After ten seconds his attention was glued to you again. 

“Hey…”

You sighed and stopped the car at the red light.

“What’s up?”

“I want to join the church.”

You flicked your eyes to him. His mouth was still crooked from the swelling and he was smiling all giddy.

“What?”

“Yeah. I wanna be a perverted priest.”

“That’s…specific…sure…” You steered the car with one hand and tapped your chin with the other to think for a second. “Fuck our degrees. Let’s do it. If you still want to tomorrow.”

Caleb nodded so vigorously that you got worried you might have to rush back to the hospital for brain inflammation.

“I still think you should sleep in tomorrow though. You shouldn’t go to the exam.”

He giggled. “I wanna take itttttt.”

“No. You need rest, you dummy. Your brain's a mush anyways.”

Caleb swayed a little, mouth opening and closing in search of words. “No… No… I gotta do it. To be a pilot, pips. To take you above the clooooouuuuuuds~”

“Alright,” You squeezed his thigh over his jeans. “... Then tell me - what is space?”

Caleb’s head fell back and he stared at the roof of the car, groaning.

“It’s your aero~space~ electrical engineering class… c’mon.”

He sucked on his thumb so you scolded him not to touch the wounds.

“Space isssss…. Space issss….”

You nodded, encouraging him.

“Distance to the power of three… since it's cubic!”

His face was overtaken by joy as if he cured cancer.

“Uh-huh… Sure... And if we do the third square root thingy of distance…” you joined in on his kindergarten-level scientific adventure.

“THEN YOU FOLD SPACE!” he interrupted, “YOU GET TIME TRAVELLING!”

You allowed him to peck your cheek, despite the insane amounts of bloody cotton pads folded in his mouth. 

“We’re getting the Nobel prize this year, babe.”

Caleb’s eyes fluttered closed for a second and you swore he fell asleep for a millisecond before his eyes jolted open again. He scanned the car’s dashboard.

His eyes widened. “Who has fifty-three? Not Clippers, right?!”

You followed his gaze to the radio.

“...That’s… the time…,” you chuckled. “It’s 16:53, honey.”

“I once busted a nut to a plane. Have I told you?”

You stomped on the break with both feet and stared wide-eyed into nothingness in front of the car.

“Caleb, stop….”

“I made a bet…”

“Oh god, please stop…”

“I made a bet with Gideon that I could” - he made the wanking motion with his palm in his lap- “you know… to a F-35 Lightning II for a six pack of beer.”

You dropped your forehead against the steering wheel and groaned along the car honking from the impact.

“... It took me three minutes and fifty-three seconds. You see, the curve of the underwing area-”

You screamed for help.

After aan afternoon of silly videos, two nights of unbearable pain, smoothies, yoghurts, blended veggies, the drowsiness and lack of sleep caught up with Caleb on the fourth day of his ‘wisdom teeth removal’ journey.

You were sitting on the carpet by the coffee table with your back resting against the couch’s seat cushions, sorting out playing cards by symbol and order. A big shadow suddenly covered your work and you looked up at Caleb standing a hair’s length away from you.

He had moved from the Theodore puffiness to Alvin now… but still didn’t really fit the Simon category.

Without a word, he plopped down on the couch behind you, placing each of his legs by your sides and began massaging your head.

You hooked one arm under his calf and rested your temple on his knee and carried on with your makeshift solitaire. You gently scratched Caleb’s leg with the free hand and ran it up and down through the hairs on his shin.

“Still hurts?”

The legs shifted, fingers left the surface of your skull, and Caleb’s ass slipped down the non-existent gap between you and the couch so that he was now squeezed between your back and the cushions it had warmed. He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you even tighter into his chest.

“Honey?” you tried again as your ass slid over the carpet in between his legs.

“Like a motherfucker…” he groaned into the crease where your neck met the shoulder.

“Like a motherfucker…” you repeated.

You laid your arms over Caleb’s clenched forearms. “Do you want to go lay down? Take a nap together?"

He shook his head.

“Do you want a hot compress?”

Another shake, face still buried in your neck.

“A cold one?”

“The freezing one hurts too,” he grumbled. “It’s too cold.”

You sighed and combed through his days-unwashed hair. Then the lightbulb lit up in your head.

You tapped his leg. “Caleb, baby, can you fetch me the cold compress with your evol?”

“I just told you–”

“You won’t regret it.”

Caleb nuzzled closer to you and squished you between his legs as well, but the freezing compress landed in your hand. He was right, the ice bit even into your healthy palms when you rubbed it in between them, let alone placing it on sensitive swelling.

 After a few more seconds of your hands nearly falling, you slid your hands from the compress and reached back to carefully cup his swollen jaw with both chilly palms. He twitched at first but then his eyes fluttered shut and a shuddering moan of relief escaped him. He groaned right after and you would be lying if you said that his whole body vibrating against yours didn’t send your skin prickling. You swallowed hard but shooed the thoughts away.

“Feels so good, god, pips,” he hissed through his teeth, lips brushing lightly against your cheek.

He kissed the place and his burning face went limp in your freezing palms.

You repeated the practice a few more times until Caleb's headache subsided and he muttered thank you's into the cradles of your palms, smooching them as if they raised him from his deathbed.

You did indeed manage to drag him to his own bed and positioned his head on a pillow in your lap. As soon as the pains returned to him (you could tell by his brows suddenly knitting together in his sleep and irritated whimpers slipping from his lips), you quietly blew cool air across his cheeks. And every time you ran out of breath, you placed a little kiss to where it hurt, hoping that the sayings about 'kissing the pain away' held some truth to them.

if u enjoyed this fic check out the rest of this series of the uni life of these two divas under this tag <333  #get in loser we're repressing feelings - ft. bestie caleb  yayyyy <333

tag list for my lovessss (if u wanna be added just leave a comment, shoot me a message, or literally anything <333): @cordidy, @midiplier, @mariojins, @shinreiplays, @dummiebunny, @raendarkfaerie

[sxkura-blxssxm]

❥⼺ still wakes the drowned god

⸻ summary: Your life as the Witch of the Abyssal Rift is turned upside down when the Kraken God awakens from his cursed slumber deep within the Abyssal Trench and seeks you out with one simple request: "Come to me."

The subsequent seduction and beckoning that follow will either lead you into a trap, or bind you in a deal you can't back out of. But it's too late now. You're already a reef fish curling into the silk of an anemone, thinking it found a bed, not teeth.

⸻ warnings: dream sex (consent is there but i will still add dubious consent just in case), ritual sex, tentacle sex (consentacles), he is AN OCTOPUS WAIST DOWN, freak shit, monsterfucking i guess, badly depicted witchcraft and deity work im so sorry if any witch or pagan reads this pls it's fictional 😭

⸻ before you read: this is based on the 4-star fragrant dream card and that one line in forgotten sea about lemurians turning into monsters without light. you don't have to read fragrant dream to understand this, though. the rafayel depicted here is also the sea god rafayel in his myth(s) and not current canon rafayel, so he might read differently. I took liberties with the sea cursing them both, so it's technically alternate universe canon divergence. the majority of this was written before tears of romirro dropped, so any similarities (such as rafayel being chained in the trench 😭) are NOT intentional. seriously, check my blog.

also, i would like you to shut your brain off if you're somehow knowledgable about the ocean and sea animals and ecology in any way shape or form. magical kelp grows where i say it grows and fantasy animals exist at which depth i deem they can exist. this is a tentacle monsterfucking fic don't look to me for scientific accuracy. if i see one person go "an anglerfish can't go that deep" i will delete my entire blog. thank you.

⸻ author's note: this fic absolutely DEVOURED my life to the point i went mia on my own blog. i damn near lost my mind writing it like this is my first time prewriting and publishing a work this long.

because of this, you will find the entirety of the work chapter by chapter on ao3, published at the same time. i really can't be bothered with posting them here one by one because the interaction drops dramatically and only the chapter(s) with smut get traction. so. boom. get cozy, get some snacks. or don't and pace yourself and finish it slowly, but i hope you enjoy!

please please let me know what you thought! i dont know when this'll go live and if it'll come out around his new myth but happy late mermay i guess LMAOOOOOOO (note to myself: yes this is dropping after the myth. look up at the fuckass banner you had to make so rafayel's tits wouldnt get sent to superhell by tumblr.) divider modified from here.

⸻ word count: 97K

❥⼺ READ ON AO3

[sxkura-blxssxm]

missed my heart

pairing: nurse!sukuna x patient!reader word count: 4.9k content: sukuna is mean but a secret softie what's new, mentions of shootings, violence, this would definitely land him a meeting with HR irl but who cares, FLUFF

nurse!sukuna who scares the shit out of all his patients.

He was most definitely the last person anyone would have ever assumed would go into a field centered around helpingvulnerable people. Hell— it surely wasn't his first career choice, but when his brother and sister-in-law died, he suddenly had a lot more to worry about than just himself. 

It took a lot of internal arguments with himself, still grappling with the loss of the only family he'd ever known, and now he had a six year old to take care of as well. 

nurse!sukuna who came to the begrudging realization that his preferred method of making a living that typically consisted of underground gambling, the occasional gig as a temporary hit man, and messing around with the wrong crowd definitely was not going to work anymore with this toddler waiting up for him every night. 

He threw himself into researching professions that would afford him and his nephew a comfortable life— one where he could still make ends meet while having enough time to be present in Yuuji's life. 

nurse!sukuna who realized in the midst of his frantic research that he could make a hell of a decent pay as a nurse while only working three days a week thanks to those brutal twelve hour shifts. 

nurse!sukuna who had barely a high school education under his belt working his ass off threatening people to do his work for him trying to pass the prerequisites he needed in order to get into an accelerated nursing program. 

He figured he'd have to cheat his way through nursing school, already having learned through his extensive research that the program was not for the faint of heart, and he essentially wouldn't have a life for the next eighteen months. At the very least, he had enough money stashed away to be able to focus on school for a while without completely drowning in bills. Of course, a big chunk of that savings went to paying for a damn near round the clock babysitter for his nephew.

There was no other way around it though, what with the countless three plus hour classes, the clinicals, the exams— Sukuna truly did not have a life any longer. 

nurse!sukuna who, at the very least, was slowly realizing that there was no need for him to bully a classmate into giving him their study guides or paying someone to complete his grueling care plans for him— because he was actually getting it. Not only that, but he was kicking ass in nursing school.

Not even in a million years would he have guessed the learning about sepsis and arrhythmias would actually peak his interest, but he found the meticulousness of it all utterly fascinating. Sure, the long hours were beating his ass, but at least he wasn't completely miserable.

nurse!sukuna who finished his program at the top of his cohort and had no issue landing a residency in the trauma unit of a local hospital. Well— perhaps no issue was a stretch. The interview panel were definitely hesitant when the intimidatingly large and tattooed man sat down before them, wondering what a vulnerable patient might feel with thiswalking in as their nurse.

nurse!sukuna who put all their doubts to rest when he answered all their questions with flying colors, spit firing through their case study examples with an ease that even some of their more seasoned nurses couldn't pull off. 

nurse!sukuna who quickly made a name for himself on the unit following the end of his residency. 

The entire staff feared him— CNAs, unit secretaries, hell even some of the doctor's feared what might happen to them if they didn't put in the orders for Sukuna's patient's meds quick enough. He paid them no mind though, because he was making an honest living for once with four days to spare every week for his own life. 

nurse!sukuna who became the go-to dump for the unit's more... difficult patients. If he noticed, he certainly didn't make any complaints. He knew he had an assertive air that got him farther with his patients than most of the other nurses who were too scared to put their foot down. 

nurse!sukuna who had had HR called on him more times than he could count thanks to his... cold and abrupt approach with his patients. Each case was always dismissed though, because despite the fact that the patients might not like his firm attitude, they all received excellent care from him, and the unit knew firing him would be too great of a skill loss. 

nurse!sukuna who had grown used to his coworkers coming to him to set their patients straight. 

They didn't want to take their meds? Sukuna just had to cross his arms at their bedside with that daring look in his eyes and down the hatch those sleeping pills were going. 

Male patient was getting frisky with some of the female nurses? Sukuna would insist that they switch assignments, because he'd love to see that bastard trying to grope at his ass while keeping his round the clock pain meds. 

nurse!sukuna who's assistance was requested for a gun-shot victim who was refusing to let phlebotomy draw her blood for their routine checks. 

He sighed, saving the charting he had been catching up on at the station before stretching from his rolling chair. The endless popping of his joints had onlookers staring over in concern, though everyone knew not to stare too long lest he snap at them. 

Sanitizing his hands at the door, Sukuna's lips remained in a firmly set line as he strolled into your hospital room. You were staring blankly at the window by your bed despite the fact that one of the staff members had turned the small television on for you at the beginning of their shift. 

Of course, no one liked hospitals, much less being stuck in one for days on end, but the bullet wound in your chest definitely didn't make matters any easier. 

You had been in the wrong place at the wrong time— at least that's what everyone told you in a half-hearted attempt to urge you to accept the past that you couldn't change, but none of their reaffirming words would rid you of the memory of the piercing gun-shot ringing through your ears that night. 

Gang violence is what the police had chalked it up to, almost as a means to clean their hands of the situation. You could hardly blame them for not wanting to get involved. After all, more than half of the time, each person that got caught meddling within their affairs often ended up dead or... in the trauma unit at the hospital wondering why the fuck they didn't just take the train home instead of walking through a bad part of town late at night. 

Your head shifted at the sound of nearing footsteps, and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes in frustration. The action froze midway into your skull upon seeing the specimen that had walked in. 

nurse!sukuna who looked way too devilishly handsome for someone who was already seven hours into his twelve hour shift. 

His black scrub top strained against his bulging chest and biceps, threatening to pop at any moment if he should make too abrupt of a movement. It was tucked neatly into his matching, jogger-style bottoms that tied at his waist and accentuated his lean figure, and you had to remind yourself to look up lest he caught you gawking at him. 

"How many phlebotomists does this place have?" You grumbled rhetorically as your fingers fisted into the stiff sheets below you anxiously. 

"Not a phlebotomist, princess." He quipped with a click of his tongue, examining the way your body seemed to ease up at that reassurance. "You giving these people a hard time? They don't get paid enough to put up with your bullshit. So, why don't you give them your damn arm and let them help you, alright?"

Your cheeks heated at his sharp criticism. The last thing on your mind was trying to give the staff attempting to help you a hard time, but you were sure your veins would collapse if you let another one of them poke aimlessly at you for twenty minutes again. Turning your face back toward the window, you chewed on your bottom lip, crossing your arms carefully around your bandaged chest. 

nurse!sukuna who actually thought he felt the strangest glimmer of remorse sting at his chest at your mumbled explanation. 

"They keep saying I'm a hard stick. One of them was digging a needle around in my arm for ten minutes this morning instead of just looking for a different vein."

His ruby eyes drifted down to the slightly concealed crease of your arms where there were countless, deep purple hematomas lining the area. Hard stick or not, whichever dumbass phlebotomist that was on shift this morning seriouslydid a number on your veins. Clicking his tongue in aggravation, he made no explanation as he strode out of your room. 

nurse!sukuna who returned to your room only five minutes later with the blood draw supplies in tow. 

You shifted uncomfortably on the bed at the sight of the capped needle sitting menacingly in the plastic tray alongside the sample tubes. As he began snapping on a pair of rubber gloves, you quickly shook your head in protest.

"I told them I don't want to be stuck anymore." You insisted, though your voice was wavering with subtle panic at the memory of the needle digging through your already sore arms. "Blame me, say I refused." 

Setting down the tray at the bedside table, the nurse crossed his swelled arms over his broad chest. The expression on his handsome face was ever-unimpressed, but there was an underlying determination hidden within his gaze. 

"Like hell you refused." He grumbled as he raised the bed for better leverage. "Tell you what, if I don't get you on my first try I'll document your refusal request myself." 

With an apprehensive gulp, you sized up the intimidating man. He by no means had the presence of someone delicate enough to handle a blood draw with the type of intricacy that the task called for. Still, if he agreed to document your refusal, the phlebotomy team would at the very least leave you and your poor veins alone for the day. Your teeth sunk into your inner cheek before offering the most subtle of nods in agreement. 

nurse!sukuna who exhibited far more patience than you would have hoped to give him credit for as he reached for your wrist to outstretch your arm for him to see. 

He shook his head disapprovingly at the countless bruises that marked the previously failed attempts. 

"Make a fist for me." He ordered lowly as his warm, gloved hand still gripped at your wrist. The other flicked at your forearm in an attempt to find a vein. With a firm hum, he made quick work to tie the tournaqnuette just above your elbow before wiping at his chosen area with an alcohol pad. The sight of the thin needle alone as he uncapped it was enough to make you lightheaded, that queasy sensation settling at the pit of your stomach. 

Glancing up at you and taking note of the paleness that had suddenly befallen your expression, he handed you a fresh alcohol pad. 

"Breathe that in before you pass out on me." 

nurse!sukuna who paid you no mind as you looked up at the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut as he carefully slid the needle into your arm. You held your breath as he slowly advanced it, waiting for the inevitable digging to start. 

It never came though, and after only a second or two, the nurse was snapping the tourniquet off your arm and twisting on the sample tube to collect the blood flowing freely from the vein that he'd found on his first try.

He tried to appear nonchalant, but the awestruck expression on your scratched up face warmed his ice-cold heart. The nurse made a mental note to check who the fuck the phlebotomist on shift was this morning so he could bitch them out. 

Once the final tube was filled, he carefully slid the needle out and placed it in the forgotten tray while holding pressure on the minimally bleeding puncture site. His forefinger and thumb wrapped easily around your arm with a firm grip on the cotton ball as he grabbed a bandaid to hold it in place. 

nurse!sukuna who winked knowingly at you as he snapped his gloves off and tossed them expertly into the trash bin across the room. Collecting the tray with the over samples, he glanced over his shoulder on his way out. 

"And if that bruises, I owe you a shitty cafeteria ice cream."

nurse!sukuna who saw that they had put you onto his assignment the next morning, already having deemed you a 'difficult patient' that apparently had become his specialty. He had half a mind to tell them that you weren't difficult, you were just tired of being poked and prodded at. 

Still, he didn't mind having you on his assignment, so he didn't bother raising a fuss about it either way. 

nurse!sukuna who found himself eager to come greet you that morning with an I told you so smirk because of the bruise he didn't have to check your arm to know wasn't present.

Upon entering your room after a warning knock at your door though, he found you still fast asleep. Humming softly to himself, he tore his gaze away from your sleeping form to replace the night shift nurse's name and pager number on your whiteboard with his own. 

He quietly made his way over to your bedside to replace the saline bag on your IV pole that had run out. You stirred softly as he continued his routine checks, or as much of it he could do while you were sleeping. Given the nature of your injury and trauma, Sukuna wasn't sure when the last time you were able to sleep so soundly. 

nurse!sukuna who shot straight up out of his spot at his charting computer when he saw phlebotomy making their way to your room just a short two hours later. 

Scrambling to save his progress, he made quick work of barging into the room just as you had begun to protest the samephlebotomist that fucked your arm up the day prior. Spotting that familiar head of pink hair over his shoulder, there was a palpable relief glimmering in your eyes. 

"I'll take care of it." He said simply, holding his hand out expectantly at the startled phlebotomist. "Didn't know they were hiring fucking dimwits in this place." 

He knew he'd surely be getting another complaint filed against him, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he caught sight of your grateful expression, the soft smile you were attempting to hide breaking through your dry lips. 

nurse!sukuna who made sure to use your other arm in order to give the one he'd poked yesterday a break. After having looked over your chart, he knew you had frequent lab checks, so the least he could do was make it as tolerable as possible. 

Much like yesterday, the sight of the needle still had you squirming uncomfortably in the stiff hospital bed. Sukuna huffed out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he advanced the needle. 

"Are you laughing at me?" You squeaked out, eyes still turned toward the ceiling so you wouldn't fall sick at the sight of your own blood. 

"You got shot in the fucking chest but can't handle a butterfly needle?" 

nurse!sukuna who kept forgetting to watch his sailor mouth when he was on the clock, but hey— it made you laugh.

nurse!sukuna who's interest had been peaked that morning as he was reading over your chart and discovered your admission paperwork, learning that you had come in for a gun-shot wound following a gang related incident. The bullet had grazed your heart, hence the need for such an emergent, invasive surgery that was evident in the fresh, straight scar running down your chest.

Sure, he had left all of that behind after taking Yuuji in, it had been years, but he still couldn't help but want more information. What he was going to do with it? God only knew.

"Gonna have to do some wound care on you soon, too." Sukuna prefaced as he finished up drawing your labs. 

The thought had you flustered, even if you knew this was a professional. Sure, he'd likely seen more chests than he could ever care to wish for in his lifetime thanks to his field of work, but it didn't make the prospect of this way too hot for his own good man seeing you so exposed any less intimidating. 

You should have ripped the stupid stickers connecting you to your heart monitor off your chest when you had the chance, because the anticipation of the moment alone was causing that embarrassing beeping to sound off again from your gown. 

Taking a few deep breaths and glancing away from him, it luckily steadied out just as he pulled the box up to inspect it once again with furrowed brows. 

nurse!sukuna who came back almost an hour later with various supplies in tow to do his job as you had been dreading for the past sixty-four minutes. 

nurse!sukuna who, despite his typical, sharply astute nature, remained completely oblivious when your heart monitor spiked in tandem with your loosening the ties on your gown as he busied himself with prepping the supplies so as to provide you some privacy. 

“Your nurse yesterday didn’t call in a cardio consult for you?” He questioned mainly to himself, recalling the fact that you had been slightly tachycardic yesterday as well. Making a mental note to make the call himself, he hummed when your timid voice informed him that you were ready. 

Your hands were clutching your gown anxiously over your breasts as well as you could while still allowing him access to the wound site that was residing just above your right breast. 

Wanting to make this as quick as possible in order to cut your discomfort of being exposed in front of a stranger short, Sukuna made quick work to carefully undress your wound. The entire surrounding area was a grueling, greenish-yellow hue, but that was to be suspected with an incident so recent. 

nurse!sukuna who was no stranger to gunshot wounds given the crowds he used to get himself involved in back in the day, but the sight of one on someone as unsuspecting as you made his jaw clench. 

Perhaps it was the fact that he knew it was gang-related that irked him so deeply as he cleaned the site as gently as a man so large could possibly manage. 

The nurse knew how these sorts of things went. The police never wanted to touch that side of town, someone always knowing somebody else, or that people who were meant to be protecting the little guys were too fearful of getting involved. They would tell you that they were working diligently to apprehend the individuals at fault, but nothing would happen— no justice would be brought to you.

You who he thinks is the first person in a long time to have been comforted by his presence rather than scared by it. You who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You who’s sweet and timid smile those assholes would never have the pleasure of seeing because there were never any repercussions for their actions. 

You who could be brought to justice with just one phone call to the right person who Sukuna knew he could find with just a few minutes of concentrated searching. 

nurse!sukuna who hadn’t felt the urge to have someone else’s blood on his hands if weren’t to help them in so long, but he could practically feel the substance crusting deliciously under his fingernails and into the crevices of his knuckles now as he thought about how satisfying it might be to call in one last favor. 

nurse!sukuna who has to pull himself from his murderous thoughts when he heard your voice cut through the haze of his imagination to ask how much longer this would take.

“You bossing me around now?” He huffed in feigned annoyance, but the mirth hidden beneath his eyes gave him away. “Don’t forget who’s the only bastard here who’s been able to find your worm-ass veins.”

You attempted a breathy laugh at his mocking, but you found it difficult to release anything but a pathetic, choked gasp as his head dipped down to get a better angle of his work. Catching a waft of his subtle cologne, it was becoming increasingly impossible to not act like you’d never been touched by a man before.

Still, the pink-haired man didn’t catch on, too focused on assuring each nook and cranny of your wound was cleaned lest you become septic on his watch to notice your flaming cheeks. 

nurse!sukuna who’s movements paused altogether when your traitorous monitor began going ballistic once again just as soon as his hand grazed too close to the swell of your breast by accident. 

He blinked slowly, his ruby irises seeming to move in slow motion as they shifted from where his hand had wandered to the small box monitor resting just beside you. 

“...Oh.” Was all he said. 

You held your breath, hoping his abrupt halt was due to his concern for your cardiac health. Those prayers were in vain though, because after only a few seconds, he looked back up at you with the most infuriating of knowing glints glimmering in his prepossessing eyes.

Gulping down the anxious lump in your throat, your eyes immediately shifted in an attempt to escape his rapturous gaze, landing on the tiled ceiling above your head. 

“Hm,” Sukuna hummed in amusement, finally tearing his eyes from your flushed face to begin putting down some fresh gauze. “Gotta say, I didn’t think I was your type.”

“Oh, please,” Your nervous scoff wasn’t at all convincing, but you were grasping at straws here. “You’re the only person I’ve seen in days that isn’t over forty or collapsing my veins.”

“So, if the phlebotomist was hot, I wouldn’t be here right now? That what you’re saying, princess?”

“Please either finish this or pull my plug and leave me to die here.” You begged as the back of your head hit the pillow so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes.

“You’re not on life-support, dumbass.” Sukuna quipped with a smirk, but, despite his teasing, worked quickly and efficiently to secure the fresh gauze around your wound before tossing the used supplies into the bin. “All done.”

“Thank you.” You managed to breathe out even through the tremble in your tone, quickly moving to shrug your arms back into your gown. 

Still unable to look him in the eyes, your breath hitched when you felt his cold hands at your nape, tying the back of your gown so you didn’t try to lift your arms above your head and pop a stitch. Despite having his literal job on his defense, you couldn’t help but feel as though he was doing it on purpose now, given the deep chortle that reverberated within his chest at the sound of your heart racing out of your ribcage once again.

“Don’t think of me too much while I’m gone.” The nurse mocked as he sanitized his hands on his way out before throwing a mischievous wink over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t wanna have to call a code on you.”

nurse!sukuna who notoriously never picked up overtime, marching over to the charge nurse as soon as his shift ended to let them know that he could come in tomorrow if they needed the help— with the exception that he could keep his same assignment, of course.

And, let’s be real, when didn’t they need the help?

nurse!sukuna who would drop whatever he was doing when it was time to draw your labs, because he’d be damned if someone was going to mark you up again on his watch. Phlebotomy had already stopped bothering to pass by your room, opting to simply leave your needed lab tubes at the station by Sukuna’s computer. It didn’t matter if he was drowning in work, he would always somehow find the spare five minutes if it meant making you more comfortable. 

nurse!sukuna who would come back early from his lunch to spend the remainder of his break with you under the guise of doing a routine vitals check. Nevermind the fact that you had informed him through fierce confusion that the nursing assistant had just checked you only an hour prior. 

“You telling me how to do my job?”

nurse!sukuna who scoffed out in frustration upon noticing that you had only been barely picking at your food trays, though he could hardly blame you— feeding this shit to human beings should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. Despite his understanding, he would adamantly hover in your room until you at least finished your protein. 

“This ain’t a fuckin’ hotel— eat your dry ass chicken.”

nurse!sukuna who would still sneak you in sandwiches from the employee cafe when your meals would look particularly gruelling. 

 “Quit looking at me like that. I want you to go home, I’m sick of seeing your sorry ass on my assignment.”

He left out the part where he just wanted you to get better so he could slip his phone number onto your discharge paperwork, and maybe he could meet you over coffee that didn’t have to be decaffeinated per your nutrition plan. Seeing you everyday wasn’t so bad though. 

nurse!sukuna who pushed you to get out of bed everyday, even if you were digging angry, red crescents into the flesh of his arm as you looped around the room.

“I feel like everything winds me.” You would sigh out through tears of frustration. 

“Don’t be a pussy.” He would always reply, but the ice cream he would always inevitably sneak into your room later on in the day let you know that he was proud of you, even if he had a funny way of showing it.

nurse!sukuna who ran into your room when the nurse call button above your door started blinking— because you never called for anything. 

“You okay?” His words nearly slurred together as he burst into the room, his brows drawn so fiercely together that they were practically kissing. 

You were perched calmly on your bed though, the head raised up so that you were in a sitting position that he insisted you remain in unless you were sleeping. There was a palpable excitement etched onto your expression, albeit shocked, but happy nonetheless. Looking over at him eagerly, you nodded toward the small television screen on the far wall of the hospital room. 

Trying to calm his racing nerves from the scare you had just given him, he slowly trekked farther into the room to stand at your bedside as he looked up at the news you seemed so excited about. 

“The fuck am I looking at?” The nurse deadpanned, his ruby eyes scrutinizing the various police cars surrounding a dingy looking apartment building as depicted on the screen. 

“They caught him!” You babbled incredulously, and the elation in your tone made him tear his eyes from the television to see how that joy would manifest on that sweet face of yours. Fluttering your gaze between the screen and your nurse, you blinked back the relieved tears that threatened to spill from your waterline. “The guy that shot me. They said an anonymous tip was sent in with information of all the people involved in that gang.”

He only hummed, but there was a faint smirk of satisfaction tugging at the corners of his lips. 

nurse!sukuna who may or may not know why that tip wasn’t as anonymous as you believed it to be. 

“You called me in here for this?” He grumbled in feigned annoyance, but even you could see right through his cool facade. “Thought you were finally going into cardiac arrest at the thought of me.”

“Sorry…” Your voice trailed bashfully as you looked down at your blanket-covered lap. His heart stirred at the shade of red quickly swirling onto your cheeks. “I just… just thought you’d wanna know.”

Clicking his tongue softly, he pushed off the side rail that he’d been leaning on, taking you by surprise when he grasped at the nape of your neck. With a gentle tug, you were being pulled in closer to him, completely shell-shocked when you felt the warmth of the very lips you had been fantasizing about for nearly a week pressing a chaste kiss to your temple before releasing you all together. 

“We can celebrate when you get out of here, yeah?” He quipped with a tender wink and ruffle of your hair. 

nurse!sukuna who would definitely miss the way your heart monitor betrayed you each time.

a/n: sorry for such a short post after being away for a while, I'm getting back into the swing of things and hope you still like it :')

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[sxkura-blxssxm]

a/n: first time doing headcanons. :p wanted to try it bc they're quicker to write. i was at the gym and got inspired. xD

masterlist | rules

Gymbro!Caleb who notices you the first day you step a foot into the gym. It’s not every day a cutie like you walks in, all nervous and tugging at your sleeves as you squint at the machines like they're some kind of torture devices.

Gymbro!Caleb who's always there at the distance. All big arms and even bigger chest, tank top clinging into his skin and leaving little to the imagination. You can't help but glance his way every time his muscles flex as he finishes a series. He's always wearing that gentle smile that makes it hard to focus on your reps.

Gymbro!Caleb who finally makes his move when he catches you struggling at the hack squat machine – legs shaking, form all wrong, far too much weight. He starers at you for a moment, then walks straight over with no hesitation and that damn smile. "Here, let me help you."

Gymbro!Caleb who absolutely didn't need to get that close to help you. His chest brushes your sides, one arm around your waist as he adjusts your back. From this distance, you can catch traces of his smell. The faint smell of sweat, faded deodorant, and something distinctly masculine. You're too dazed to protest.

Gymbro!Caleb who somehow always ends up at the gym during your sessions. Monday before work? He's there. A late friday evening? Still there. And every time, he finds a new excuse to keep lingering. "Want to take turns in press?" or "Let me lift this for you."

Gymbro!Caleb whose hands trail lower with every interaction. One day it's his hands brushing your stomach, another day his fingers ghost your thighs. And you don’t stop him. In fact, you start to look forward to those moments.

Gymbro!Caleb who visibly stiffens the moment another guy talks to you. His smile drops, his jaw tightens, and his brows knit together like he’s about to lift the entire gym floor. The guys always end up storming off when he appears behind you, but an instant later, he acts like nothin happened.

Gymbro!Caleb who starts bringing you snacks and protein-packed meals to eat after workout. At first, it's "I made to much and don't want it to go to waste", but two weeks pass by and he’s still doing it.

Gymbro!Caleb who smirks every time you mess up a set and get really flustered, just to brush it off with “Don’t worry, i’ll help you with whatever you need.” And he means it. But he wishes you needed him for more than just your reps.

Gymbro!Caleb who offers to walk you home one night after a late session and waits outside your building until he sees the lights in your room turn on. He doesn't care if he lives on the opposite side of town.

Gymbro!Caleb who’s never flat-out told you how he feels, but shows it in the little things he does. He wipes down every machine before you sit on it, never leaves until you're done, and makes sure you're eating enough.

Gymbro!Caleb who’s clearly into you, but you still think he’s just being nice.

Gymbro!Caleb who finally snaps when a cocky newbie tries to flirt with you near the dumbbell racks. He steps in mid-sentence, voice low and one hand resting on your shoulder. “She already has a trainer.” And suddenly, he’s twice his size and the guy’s gone.

Gymbro!Caleb who leans in right after, close enough that his breath warms your cheek: “Guess I’ll have to make you mine before someone else tries to snatch you.”

Gymbro!Caleb who drags you into the empty yoga studio that night, presses you against the wall, and kisses you like he’s been holding back for months. One of his hands traps you as the other hugs your waist, his kisses are hungry and messy. You let him, because you've been waiting to.

Gymbro!Caleb who might be territorial and a little too possessive, but completely melts the second you tug his hair and push him down.

Gymbro!Caleb who lets you take the lead, savouring how you rub agaisnt him as you continue desperately tugging at his hair and clothes. He could easily overpower you, but he likes seeing you in control. He likes that you think he's wrapped around your fingers, and maybe he is.

Gymbro!Caleb who still cooks for you after that night, who still checks your form and counts your sets and glares down every guy who glances your way. Especially now. Because now, he’s finally claimed you, and he’s not letting anyone else have you.

[sxkura-blxssxm]

courtside sins

basketball player!caleb x cheerleader!nonmc reader tags: NSFW (18+) RAW. NASTY. SMUT!!! creampie, penetration (p to v), clit stimulation, groping, swearing, smut w/ sorta plot we just tryna bang caleb ngl

the gym is electric! stomping feet, whistles, screaming fans packed tight into the stands– but all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. caleb’s got the ball. shot clock ticking down. sweat glistens down his neck as he dribbles past the last defender, eyes locked on the hoop. you’re front and center on the sideline in your cheer uniform, pom-poms gripped right in your hands, “let’s go, number 5!” you shout louder than anyone else. 

it cuts through the noise!

his eyes flicked to you– just for a second– and that is all it takes. you see it in his face; he heard you! that cocky smirk flickers across his lips right before he takes a leap, muscles coiling as he sinks the shot– buzzer screaming!

the crowd erupts– screaming echos off the gym walls, and you can barely hear your own damn voice as you chant along with your squad, launching into your celebratory routine. you flip, kick, throw your arms in the air, adrenaline high and cheeks flushed. state champions. the win tastes sweet, but nothing compared to the way he’s looking at you across the court. 

caleb shoves past his teammates, brushing off the pat on his back, and makes a beeline for you. your pom-poms hit the floor just in time for him to grab you by the waist, lift you off the ground, and spin you in a tight circle, sweat drenched and grinning wide.

“thank you. did that for you.” he breathes into your ear, voice rough, chest heaving. his hands linger a little too long on your hips, and you don’t stop him. 

before you can respond, he’s pulled away– swallowed by the swam of teammates, reporters, and coaches flooding the court. everybody wants a piece of him. cameras were flashing, arms were wrapping around him. someone shoves a towel at his chest and another hand grasps his shoulder. but even as he talks, nods, and plays the part of the mvp, his eyes would drift back to you.

he manages to break away for half a second, weaving through the chaos just long enough to lean in close for you to be the only one to hear him;

“locker room. 30 minutes. i need you.” his voice is low, rough and urgent. it wasn’t a request– it was a promise– a demand.

your knees buckle, and your lips part to grasp.  your pulse is already pounding for a completely different reason.

then he’s gone again, smiling for the crowd.

.

you don’t wait the full 30 minutes. 

the noise of the celebration fades behind you as you slip through the back hallway, cheer uniform brushing your thighs, every step echoing on the waxed floor. the locker room door is ahead- slightly ajar, the overhead lights humming softly inside. your hearts thudding so hard you swear it might rip out your chest.

you push the door open, slowly, letting it creak just enough to announce you. it was empty. warm. the air smelled of sweat, victory, and… axe?

you walk past the lockers one by one, fingers grazing cool metal, until you reach the row where his things always are. your back presses against one of the doors as you wait, stomach tight with heat and anticipation. you can still feel his hands on your hips from the court, still hear that growl in your ear– i need you.

you’re not sure what’s going to happen when he walks through that door. 

.

the door clicks shut behind you– and then it opens again.

you don’t even have time to speak before caleb steps through. the moment his eyes find you the tension snaps. he’s still in his uniform, jersey peeled off the slung over his shoulder, skin slick with sweat and flushed from adrenaline. that look in his eyes? it’s not the cocky grin he gives reporters. it’s darker. hungrier. just for you.

“you waited.” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel smoothed by heat.

“i always do..” you answer, barely above a whisper.

in two strides he’s in front of you, one hand braced on the locker beside your head, the other already gripping your waist, pulling you in. “you don’t know what you do to me out there,” he mutters, breath brushing your lips, “the way you scream my name..” he groans, head tipping back slightly like he’s trying to restrain himself, but he can’t– not tonight. “the way you move in that skirt.”

then he kisses you– hard. no hesitation, no warm up. just heat and teeth and weeks of tension finally breaking open in the dark.

the kiss turns frantic fast– his mouth claiming yours like it’s owed, like the win wasn’t complete until he had you like this. your back slams softly against the locker, the cool metal contrast the heat flooding your body. caleb’s hands are everywhere– one tangled in your hair, the other sliding down, rough palm catching the hem of your skirt.

“been thinking about this all game,” he growls against your mouth, voice thick and shaky with need, “you cheering for me like that… jumping around in that damn skirt… do you know what that does to me…” he mumbles hungrily

you gasp when his fingers trail up your thigh, under your skirt now, dragging slow over your skin with purpose. his touch is firm– like he already knows every place that makes you squirm. your legs part for him instinctively, the air between you charged and electric. his breath hitches, his eyes flicking down as he grins darkly. “no shorts underneath?” he murmurs, “bad girl.”

you’d took it off before he came in.

he doesn’t move further. his fingers stay right at the edge, maddeningly close but never quite touching where you need him. instead, he just smirks, like he’s already won twice tonight. once on the court, and now here, with you trembling beneath his hands.

“you came in here like this on purpose, didn’t you?” caleb whispers, mouth brushing along the shell of your ear, “no shorts.. no shame..” he drawls, lips dragging along your neck, slow and lazy, “what were you hoping i’d do? take you right here? make you mine again– while the rest of them think i’m still giving interviews?”

your fingers dig into his shoulders as he drags his hand up your inner thigh again, feather-light. every muscle in your body tightens, aching for him to stop teasing and do something. but he’s enjoying this– watching you squirm, seeing how badly you want him to break.

“you should see yourself right now” he mutters, eyes locked on yours, “so needy.. so fucking pretty when you beg..” 

he pauses, fingers still hovering. your pulse is in your throat. “tell me.. what do you want, baby?”

he doesn’t wait for you to say it. instead, caleb grabs your wrist, spinning you around with dizzying ease, then pulls you down the row of lockers. the sink and mirror come into view, silver and fluorescent lit, as he presses you hard against the counter, your palms catching on the edge.

“look,” he growls, positioning himself behind you. “his hand splays across your lower back, holding you there as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you? look at yourself– watch what you turn me into..” he presses himself on your ass– his dick already hard.

the mirror reflects your flushed cheeks, wide eyes. the way his tall frame towers behind you. all muscle, hunger, and restraint stretches thin. he hikes your skirt up slowly, painfully slowly, exposing you fully in the mirror, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

“this is what I wanted..” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles up your inner thigh, “you.. just like this.. mine..”  he tugs his shorts off, skinagainst your own.

you barely have time to breathe before you feel him press against you even harder. caleb’s grip tightens on your hips as he leans in, his mouth brushes your ear again, voice low and possessive, “keep your eyes up,” he commands, “don’t look away.” 

expert fingers hook onto your panties, tugging them to the side. his dick sliding between your thighs. you were dazed. mind in space. your juices start to coat him as he starts to move slowly, his shaft teasing your folds. your eyes locked onto his gaze, a blush creeping on your face. you were lost for words. 

absolutely fucking lost.

then– he thrusts in– deep and sudden– and the sound rips from your throat is half gasp, half moan. one of his hands clamps over your mouth just in time to muffle it, palm broad and rough, the other anchoring your hips in place as he starts to move– hard and deliberate.

the mirror trembles with every motion. your reflection blurs with every rock of his hips. lashes fluttering as you try– and fail– not to melt under the weight of him. caleb groans behind you, head falling forward against your shoulder, “fuck baby..” he murmurs against your skin, “you feel so fucking good..” he pants, pace picking up, “so tight..” he coos, so lost.

your hands grip the sink for dear life, knuckles white. your eyes keep catching his in the glass– wild, dark, and locked on you like you’re the only thing here right now. “you’re mine..” caleb growls again, “say it..” 

you try to speak– you really do. but all that comes out is a broken whimper, your mouth falling open against his palm as your body rocks with his every thrust. words feel impossible, lost in the haze of heat, and pressure building fast and sharp inside you. your eyes plead through the mirror, and he sees it– of course he does.

“tried to be sweet.” caleb mutters, voice raw and breathless now. “but you don’t need words, do you, baby?”  his hand leaves your mouth, sliding down your front with a slow drag of fingers that find your aching center, circling and taunting, “you’ll tell me with this..” 

“y-you idiot!” you half scream half whisper, “ t-tried m-my ass… y-you didn’t let me– talk!” you say in between ragged breathing and moans. your back arches, thighs shaking as he sinks deeper, his fingers working you in time with his hips until you’re right on the edge– held open and helpless, pinned between the sink, and the full weight of him behind you. 

he watches every twitch, every moan, every desperate press of your hips against him. 

“you’re saying it now.” he grunts, pace snapping into something rougher, more desperate. “you’re saying it with how you’re moving.” your answers before you can. you clench around him, head falling back against his shoulder as a cry tears rom your throat, your release crashing over you like a wave. but caleb doesn’t stop– not until he’s spilling into you with a low guttural sound. chest pressed against your back, lips against your neck as you both come down.

he pulls out slowly, dragging a moan from both of you, and you nearly collapse against the sink– legs shaking, chest heaving. but before you can fully catch you breath, caleb’s hands are already back on your waist, guiding you away from the mirror with that same intensity in his eyes. 

“not done-” he breathes, voice husky and rough. “get on the bench.” you don’t question it– because you can’t. he drops onto the wooden bench lining the lockers, legs spread wide, sweat-slick skin gleaming under the harsh overhead light. he pulls you into his lap like he owns you, and maybe he does. your hands find his shoulders as you straddle him, still in your uniform, skirt flipped up and forgotten. 

his hands grip your thighs, sliding up slowly, possessively, and he lets out a shaky breath as you sink down onto him again. the stretch burns, raw, and perfect, and his head falls back with a low groan.

“that’s it baby..” he whispers, eyes dark and fixed on where your bodies join. “ride me.. just like that..” 

you start to move– slow at first, letting him feel everything, every grind of your hips. he groans again, hands sliding under your skirt to grip your ass, guiding your rhythm. 

you set the rhythm first; slow, rolling your hips against him in smooth, deliberate circles, letting him feel how deep he is inside and how wet you still are. caleb’s jaw clenches, his hands gripping tighter, his eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to keep going at that pace. you smirk, just a little, riding the high of having him this crazed beneath you.

“you like watching me fall apart for you, huh?” he mutters, voice thick with arousal and something a little hidden, “think you’re in control now?” 

you don’t answer. you just keep moving, slow and deep. hands planted on his chest as you grind down hard, a quiet whimper escaping your throat as his cock hits that perfect spot. 

then– he moves.

his hands slide to your hips and slam you down onto him harder, faster, stealing your breath mid-moan. he thrusts up into you from below with a rough rhythm that makes your thighs tremble and your back arch.

each snap of his hips steals whatever control you thought you had, until you’re a mess in his lap– moaning, panting, clinging to him. holy fuck.

“i’ll let you ride me.” he grits out, lips brushing your ear, fighting back a groan, “but don’t forget who’s really fucking you.” 

your hands claw at his shoulders now, nails digging in as the pace starts to turn brutal– neither of you bothering to hold back anymore. caleb’s breathing is ragged against your neck, his mouth catching on your skin between curses and praise. his thrusts from below meet every roll of your hips perfectly, the sound of your bodies slapping together echoing through the empty locker room. 

your name falls from his lips, rough, desperate, as his hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling that sensitive bundle of nerves with maddening accuracy. you cry out, his stuttering, and he knows– that you’re close– again.

“come on baby..” he whispers, “want to feel you fall apart on me again.. let go.. i’ve got you.” 

you do

your body locks up for a second, thighs clenching around him, and then he crashes over you– blinding, breathless, a mess of trembling limbs and broken sounds as you cum all around him. caleb curses under his breath, holding you tight as he follows, thrusting up hard one final time before he grabs you by the back of your head, lips colliding with yours.

you’re still trembling when he lifts you off his lap. arms strong but movements slow and careful. he murmurs a soft ‘i love you’ barely enough to hear, as he kisses your temple and runs a hand down your spine to soothe the aftershocks.

then he slips his hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you in his scent. it was warm and oversized. his sweats follow, tied loose around your waist, your uniform stuffed in his duffel bag.

you’re exhausted– limbs heavy, brain foggy with bliss– but he crouches in front of you with a smile that’s all soft and cute, “come on baby girl” he says, tilting his head, “i’ll carry you.”

you don’t argue. you climbed onto his back, resting your cheek against his shoulder as he hoists you with ease, one hand beneath your thigh, the other steady at your knee. the locker room lights hum behind you as he walks through the hallway and out the door.

when he gets to the car he opens the door with one hand, sets you gently in the passenger seat and buckling your seatbelt before brushing a kiss on your forehead. 

“still my favorite win.” 

taglist : @rcvcgers, @miffysoo

[sxkura-blxssxm]

Conjuring Ryomen Sukuna

pairings - Haunted Doll/Demon Sukuna x f!reader

summary - Your haunted doll Sukuna is really creeping out everyone you know, so you're tired of it! He is always watching, he scares your dates away - rude! You decide enough is enough, and after numerous times trying to destroy him, you get the help of a friend to sage/smudge the house. Big mistake!

warnings - Horror tbh lol, COMPLETE CRACK, spitting, name calling, oral (f receiving) Sukuna being psycho and just a freak, mating press, rough sex, creampie, Sukuna is basically Anabelle lmfao.

You can thank @yenayaps for spurring this on and for making the Sukuna pic lmao!! (also @indiewritesxoxo bc they rly get me on the weirdest paths)

You have tried so many times to get rid of your creepy, haunted ass doll!!! He's so torn up and raggedy, he's still covered in dirt from when you've buried him. He's sewn together in places (you never sewed him!?) his creepy ass grin and red button eyes terrifying as ever. You've thrown him in a blender, a dumpster, you've thrown him in the damn pond!

Fuck you burned him, earning some singed raggedy pink hair. But Nothing Works!!

He's always coming back, showing up on your chair, showing up in your fucking bed!? Sometimes you'd wake up and scream, and throw him out of the attic window, sometimes you'd stuff him in a trunk up there and you'd hear his creepy little footsteps as he ended up back in that rocking chair. You'd push him in your closet and he'd be sitting at the dinner table, waiting for you to serve him.

Not like you ever would!

What's the worse is when you tried to bring a date over, and the moment you thought maybe you could get off a bit - (fuck you deserve it living with this demonic doll) - the doors start slamming and the lights flicker! All of your dates run away in fear, and you're left endlessly frustrated all the time.

"I swear, I'm getting rid of you today!" You say this morning, shaking the doll and then throwing it on the floor, just for it to move it's head, making you scream. "God you're creepy, just wait!"

Your friend is a whole hippie, and thank goodness for that. You've buried Sukuna again in your garden, wiping the sweat off your brow as your friend looks at you with a concerned gaze. "I'll be right in, please go ahead!"

You may look insane burying this doll in your yard every week, surely the neighbors are concerned, but they have no clue the torture this damn thing causes. Cheap mortgage payments are not worth it!

"This is what you get for buying a haunted house you know," you're walking in, washing your hands in your kitchen as your friend shakes her head. "The energy in here is insane."

"I know, ugh. You know I couldn't afford anything else!" You dry your hands on a towel as she starts laying out crystals, evil eyes, and lighting the sage. The smoke makes you cough it's so thick, when she hands you one.

"Repeat this - you will not harm me."

"You will not cock block me!"

"Hey!" You blush then, realizing your words, clearing your throat as your friend rolls her eyes. "Why do I deal with you?"

"He really does, I haven't gotten dick since I've been here," you pout and she starts walking through the house, shivering. "Yeah, he sits in my room the most."

"We'll put extra protection in here," she's smudging more, opening all the windows, as you follow her - praying this doll was done - the next step was a whole exorcism!!

The doll doesn't return that day, you almost can't believe your luck, and that night he's still not there! You freely go on a date - he's not even that good of a kisser but you really need to get laid, it's been a whole year since this doll started. He's fingering you good enough in the car, that you decide to bring him in.

Typically, this is when your doll would start messing with you, but the house smells so clean and it's blissfully empty. Your date is kissing down your body as you lay in your bed, and for once the creepy doll isn't even here staring at you!

Yay for Sage!

"So pretty," he's murmuring, kissing up your thigh, you're moaning then, it's just been so long, you were even scared to masturbate because he's watched so much! "So wet..."

"Shh," you didn't need the dude to talk, no you really need to cum - but of course, he doesn't know what he's doing. But that's okay, you're just excited your creepy ass doll is gone, so you tug his face where it needs to be and work with it. "Mnh!"

"Hmm," that sound doesn't come from him, or you, in fact he's buried against your pussy when you look curiously to see it-

That Fucking Doll!

He's grinning at you, making you scream when your date pulls his lips off whatever part of your pussy he was going for, looking at the chair then. "Oh, I didn't see that - it's fucking creepy!"

"Just... um ignore it..." Soon the doll has slammed the damn door, your lights flicker again, and your tv is going on and off. "Dammit..."

"I'm sorry but... this is too creepy, he's like haunted!?" Your date runs out when the doll turns his creepy ass head, and you're done. You tug on your panties, picking the doll up by his hair, scowling.

"I'm getting an exorcist tomorrow, you creepy little shit!" You throw him out of your room with a huff, locking your door and grimacing, throwing a hand over your face.

You almost could have cum just grinding on the guys nose, you're that needy after this year of hell! You're grabbing your vibrator, spreading your thighs then, eyes fluttering shut. You have to just cum and you'll feel a little better, surely, hopefully the stupid doll does his usual routine and comes in after a couple hours.

The vibrations are hitting your clit, and your hips rise up, shutting your eyes and imagining how good it'll be to get rid of this stupid fucking doll, when the vibrator is snatched from your hand and thrown against the wall. You scream at that, eyes opening when a hand comes over your mouth.

Who the fuck is this!?!?

He's got glowing red eyes just like your doll, but he's huge, and he's naked, covered in tattoos as your eyes dart down his throat, his chest, and his big hand lets go. He smirks down at you, when you scooch up the bed, chest heaving, and he eyes your pussy, lapping at his plump lower lip.

"You thought that loser or that toy could make you cum, brat?" his voice is gruff as he speaks, you reach for your phone, but he throws that now too.

"Who are you!? How'd you get in?" You're covering yourself up with a pillow, only for him to throw that now too, as you look all over the room. "I have a haunted doll, he'll scare the shit out of you."

He laughs then, throwing his head back, before giving you an evil fucking grin, straddling your bed and making it creak with his heavy weight, one arm on either side of you. "Oh you're fucking dumb."

You glare and smack the shit out of him then, screaming out as your palm stings, he's chuckling again, and you see him hard, he's fucking huge. Veiny, a good nine inches, leaking precum on your damn bed, as he shoves up your top.

"Get the fuck out, who breaks in naked - you're a creep!" He's chuckling now, shaking his head, pink hair messy, his fingers gripping your breasts.

"I'm tired of watching you try to fuck all these losers," you gasp then, lips parted.

"You can't be..."

"My name isn't Anabelle by the fucking way," he says, glaring at you, and you tremble. "It's Sukuna, king of fucking curses."

"Oh whatever as if you're a king- Raggedy Andy looking- ah!" Sukuna is done with you then, he has a huge hand around your throat, as his other finds your soppy little cunt.

"I'm not raggedy andy, I'm a fucking demon," you're shaking your head again, but when he touches your clit with his rough fingers, you can't help but cry out. "Cunt is desperate, so slutty."

"You're really the doll!? I saged you! Oh fuck," he's rolling in circles now, his heavy cock looking more and more tempting - you weren't really gonna fuck your haunted doll were you!?!? "Ngh!"

"You just brought me out, hah - pathetic, looking at you with your stupid ass crystals, think they work on me?" He's shoved two thick ass fingers inside you now, you're rolling your eyes back, pulsing around them already.

"W-why don't you... just leave me alone... ah!" You're saying it as you're gushing down his fingers. "I was finally gonna cum - you haunted fucking chucky doll!"

"I'm not chucky or fucking anabelle!" He's furious then, pulling out his fingers and shoving them in your mouth, you're sucking on them without thinking, when he scowls at you. "I can't believe you lit me on fucking fire- oh and I'm claustrophobic by the way!? you mean ass little-"

"Don't you dare even! Fuck, could you just... get me off! It's your fault I never do! Maybe I wouldn't burn you or throw you in the pond if you were useful!'

"Useful, you're such a bitch.." you smack him again, just making him harder - it's been eighty years trapped in that stupid fucking vessel, and he's had to watch you naked for a year! He's far more needy thatn you.

"Don't call be that, fucking Robert the doll but even lamer!"

"You listen to too many much horror podcasts, oh and you know he wouldn't have got you off, yeah?"

"Like you can, you're a doll!"

"I'm a fucking demon, now shut up," he's yanked off your panties, shoving them in your mouth, when he leans down and brings your pussy right against his face. "I'll show you how to really cum, fucking insolent brat."

"Who the fuck says insolent- ancient ass- oh fuck," he's spreading your lips, eyeing your pretty cunt, he'd tell you it was pretty if you weren't always trying to destroy him or stuff him in boxes. But for now, he'll think it, drinking your cunt up and moaning as he ruts his cock against the matress. "Oh god! There, there, fuck!" You're tugging at his hair when he nips your clit, smacking your hands now, scowling with his bright red eyes. "Ow!"

"Don't tell me what to do, pathetic human, be thankful I'm letting you have this," he is so fucking pretentious for a doll you think to yourself, wishing you could toss him back into that trunk in the attic until he's sucking on your clit. "Mmm... should thank me."

You're gushing then, how can you not, his tongue swirling your clit, sucking it into his hot mouth, the little thing twitching as he vibrates it with his stupid demon mouth. You wonder if the doll actually killed you and you're in some weird limbo with it, maybe it dragged you to hell, but it feels so good you honestly go with it.

He's messy, sloppy and somehow precise as he drags your thighs closer, sucking up all your juices. You're writhing under him, closer and closer, while he devours your pussy so hungry, he won't tell you how good it tastes either, you're too much of a fucking brat for all that - you've given him PTSD from all the ways you've hurt him!!!

"Cum, now - whiny little brat..." You're screaming out before you can stop yourself, his tongue slipping up to collect all the juices that spill as you're yanking his hair again.

The orgasm hits far too good, you're making a mess and squirting on your - haunted doll's!?- face then, he grins, lapping it up, before leaning up and wrapping a tattooed hand around your throat. He spits right into your mouth after prying it open, you're choking as you swallow it, only for him to bend you in half, slamming his thick cock in as much as it can go.

"G-god... oh my... you're too big, fuck!" You're trying to back off, but he drags you back, smirking as he presses your thighs up, smushing them against your breasts and fucking deeper.

"Tired of listening to you every fucking day, bitchy and annoying, tired of you bringing losers - ah fuck you're tight - home. And tired of - mmm - you trying to get rid of me!"

"I'm - ah! - tired of - fuck, there!" You're done as he's fucking you so good then, you've never had dick like his, it's tearing you apart with each filthy fucking stroke. You're trying to scratch at his back when he pins your wrists down, pressing all his heavy weight on you.

"Shut you up - hah - fuck..." Your cunt is milking him, it's been a good hundred years since Sukuna has fucked anything, he would jerk off in his vessel but it wasn't the same! And he's wanted you too long, so he's trying to hold back for a moment as your gummy walls grip his veiny length.

"W-won't sage you if you... mnh, make me cum again - ah!" He's scowling now, fucking you harder, breaking you in half with his mean cock - you have to hope that he doesn't have some creepy fucking doll stds or something!?

"Haven't fucked in... a hundred years... gonna cum so much, in your slutty little fucking pussy - mine, not that fucking losers..." you feel a little relief, a hundred years he should be okay, but you're still half convinced you're dead or asleep anyway.

"Cum in me," he smirks then. "Oh stop it, just do it."

"Slut, fucking mean ass brat, fucking.... god your pussy..." he also thinks you're pretty, but you sure wouldn't hear that either!

Sukuna fucks you in that mating press, until he's got you cumming again, pulsing around him with your aftershocks, and he lets out a hundred fucking years of cum, white ropes busting in your pussy, bulging your tummy.

"So much what the- you're still cumming!?"

"Shut up, god... fuck..." He's losing it now, he almost kisses you, but instead he's spitting in your mouth again, moaning as he pulls back, watching his own cum being pushed out down his length.

"I'm like hallucinating or dead," you're whining out then, as he pulls back, cum spilling all over your bed, as he smirks, fingering it back into your hole. "I'm sore! It's been a year because of y-you!"

"Shut up, fucked ya good enough yeah?" You're just trembling now, as he pulls back, sighing and laying next to you, on one arm. "I require clothing."

"Aren't you going back to like being a creepy doll?"

"Tch, no, the sage released me, and now your sexual energy is feeding me," he's tugging you against him, frowning as he studies you. "You were so mean to me!"

"You were a haunted doll! And never let me get dick."

"Well obviously not," he's blushing now, and you can't help but giggle. "Do not laugh at me, mortal!"

"Oh sorry, I may have some old sweats or shirts from my ex, let me look." You hop up now, shaking your head when he tugs you back on his lap. "What is it?"

"I'm scared by myself, that's why I kept going to your room, and you just kept throwing me away," he's nuzzling your neck now, kind of sweet for a demonic possessed doll. "Don't do it again!"

"Okay fine, I won't. Now I feel bad!"

"You should!" He's sinking sharp teeth into your neck, fucking you again, as he has much to make up for, making sure to fuck all his frustrations out of his mistreatment!

This is silly LMAO

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[sxkura-blxssxm]

art credit to @Qianbenshan on X ! all credit to the artist!

divider credit to @cafekitsune ! all credit to the original creator of the divider!

the ocean’s call / rafayel (m.)

rafayel just thought it would be funny to lead the fisher’s daughter astray by crowning her in water and blood - he’s killed so many of rafayel’s brethren, after all. if only he had known how hard it is to resist the desire of something you cannot have. (14.7k words)

content/content warnings: reader as the daughter of a fisher who hunts mermaids for their caviar (yum), reader and father’s relationship is not physically abusive but perhaps emotionally idk how to properly describe but i don’t want to leave it untagged, reader probably has some daddy issues (and i don’t mean that in the mocking way but in a the-author-has-daddy-issues-and-this-shit-is-not-funny-or-sexy kind of way), some body-horror detailing caviar harvesting, stealing star wars names for my background characters because i just finished andor and i’m not good at naming stuff, oral sex (male receiving), body worship (fem. receiving), switch!rafayel who seems submissive at first but in reality is just a crybaby dom, animalistic behavior (rafayel’s shark ass bites reader), some flesh-eating thoughts on rafayel’s behalf because you give him cuteness aggression, no actual cannibalism (wouldn’t that be funny) (i love yellowjackets), some overstimulation (both receiving) if you squint, idk . Idk i just kinda went crazy over this . who even wrote this

You were nine when your father took the joy out of the sea for you.

Perhaps you should start this off differently. You should remember the way it was a perfect summer’s day, and you had just finished your very first day of tutelage under the shrine maiden in Whalefall City. Your mother, whose rejection of that idea had been whittled down like a wooden arrow for the entire spring, had finally relented and allowed you to pursue a shrine maiden’s education. One day, it would be her daughter calling her to prayer and not the sneer-faced woman who currently held the title of ‘seasinger’. It wasn’t because your household was necessarily non-religious, or averse to the faith practiced in the city.

It’s just that your father spits on the holy city’s faith by partaking in the hunt of mermaids, just for sport, just for fun, just because he can.

Before that magical summer, you had never once been able to affix a picture to that. You knew your father was a talented fisher who was able to draw out even the most difficult of oceanic bounties, and he always made sure your family was fed. But you were a daughter, you see, a fact your father always had secretly mourned no matter how much it hurt your mother (“How I have groveled and suffered to deliver you to this earth!”), and thus you had never been taken with on the boat to hunt the mermaids littering the shores of Whalefall City.

You’ve seen them. It’s impossible not to. They dive in elegant curves, as whorling as the waves, a star-speckled shadow across the water before they disappear in its depth. The colors of the rainbow, the shimmer of the night-sky in their tails. More myth than real life. More dream than reality. Yet still here, sharing these waters with the citizens of the city. Lurking. Hiding. Surviving.

As per your own tradition, you bend down at the curve of the cliffpath you always took towards the sea and scoop up the wild-growing oceanvales. This was something you never once had told anyone about, and it was a daily routine you never neglected, feeling as though the day would remain incomplete if you didn't. This was not part of the religious teachings one received in the halls of the Dolphin's Hall, but it was a part of you, just as the ocean was. In the end, everything returns to salt. You throw the oceansvale into the waves and watch as the petals dissolve above the water's surface, as if sending a paper lantern off to carry your wishes.

In that moment, on the edge of you casting one last look at the horizon and in the turn of your heel to begin the climb back home, a blue-haired, child-like head bobs above the waves. You almost miss it, absentminded as you are, but you do see it: the small hand, barely differing to your own human one, furling around the petals and taking them with it as both hand and mermaid disappear. It makes you smile, almost making it worth it; as if this routine had finally been acknowledged for what it was. You wondered if mermaids and humans could be friends.

You couldn't have known how decisively crushing your father's answer would be.

The door is already open when you come home. An ominous sign, a warning for yet to come. The door was never left open, especially not on days where your father is supposed to take to the sea so he can partake in his favorite illegal dealing. There's no specific law condemning the prizing of roe out of a mermaid's womb, but it isn't looked upon with favor, either. The scriptures had always foretold of a deep unity between earth and sea, between moving plates and shaking waves, between mineral and salt. To turn your back on the ocean's creatures was to turn your back on the seasinger's preachings. That does not erase the hunger for their caviar, though, and the black market flourishes. And as long as the black market for caviar flourishes, your father refuses to cut into his own pockets, especially now, when the taxes in the city become more unforgiving and unforgiving with the preparations for the festival that is to be celebrated in just a moon's turn.

Your father is standing just beyond the door, in the dimly-lit hallway leading to the comfort of your mother's kitchen. His face is suffused with blood, red with anger, a fact that makes you duck your head in alarm, but is in vain. As soon as he sees you, your father's hand grips your frail shoulder and turns you toward him, his face the shadowed grimace of a man annoyed. "Did I not tell you to not go near that cliff time and time again?" he chastizes. For the moment, he holds himself back; your mother has drawn herself up in preparation of your defense, and her face mirrors the storm clouds you perceived in your father's grimace. But you can feel the need for him to shout rise steadily, like a tsunami beginning to swallow you whole. You lower your gaze to the ground, not knowing what to say. When you don't answer, your father finally shakes you and barks out, "Speak, girl! If it hadn't been for old Luthen pointing you out to me, I would have never found out about this, and then we'd be fishing out your bones out of that damned cove instead of a good piece of salmon for dinner!"

"Oh, leave it!" Your mother's hands shake off your father's threatening grip, and you allow yourself to breathe again. At your mother's chest, the world is safe. There are no scary men or scary bed-time stories about the unruly ocean. Instead, the scent of cinnamon and warm wood wraps you in its’ embrace, and you hide your face in the crook of your mother’s arm as she glares at your father. “She’s gonna be a seasinger, this girl is, and I won’t have you interfering with it. We all agreed to listen to her wishes. She’s not gonna be a fisher like you, Galen!”

“Well, I sure hope she won’t, because she does not heed a single warning I’ve ever taught her about it! Those mermaids don’t exactly gallop into my nets of their own free will, they’re dangerous!”

“You’ve made your point, now shove off.” Your mother glides her hand over the curve of your head. Protective, caring. Her presence is the calming lighthouse in the stormy seas, guiding you home, and although your father is still enraged, you believe the worst to be over. You are wrapped up in a childhood kingdom that is still entranced with the unknown, the beckoning of the deep, the ocean’s call. No one has taught you how to drown yet.

Not yet. But someone will, now.

Your father, your only father. You remember him tying knots in all ur robes, the way he made you laugh when swinging you up into the skies, up, up, and beyond. His fingers digging into the sides of your tummy to tickle the giggles out of you, claiming the sound was so joyous that all on earth and in the sea should rejoice in it. But you also remember the way his fingers dug into the soft of your flesh, yelling at your fingers bitten down to the quick, belittling you for your fear. The sneer on his face when he couldn’t fathom where your stupidity came from. The stormy eyes. This was the man who had never been taught better on how to love his family, and he won’t change for you, not for your mother or anyone else.

So when he encircles your wrist with his manacle-like fingers, you already know you’d been hoping for a reprieve and now the guillotine came swinging down to behead you. Your mother’s startled voice speaks up, but you cannot even begin to decipher the words, because your father is already shouting, “I don’t want to hear it, not from you, not when it’s your fault she’s turned out this soft and naive! If she wants to be a seasinger so badly, I’ll teach her what it means to sing into the sea!”

Her panicked voice is swallowed by the wind as your father begins to tug you down the pebbled path winding down from your house into the city, but you quickly turn off-path as your father begins to steer you towards the ocean. The salt is in your eyes and in your mouth, and you cannot be sure if the sharpness on your tongue is the rain, your tears or the taste of pure fear. As you angle up your head to look at the house one last time, your mother stands in the door, looking incredibly forlorn. You understand that look very well: that although your father is an incredibly hotheaded, temperamental man, the fact still remains that his little sport paints a target on the fishers’ backs.

It is time to stop romanticizing the mermaids now.

It’s the only thing you can think of as they claw the mermaid to ship. The words repeat over and over in your head, like the sharp stones thrown against the waves as the soft water makes them yield. They become round and pliant, your thoughts, running together in a string as you stare at the sight and try not to look. You don’t want to see. You don’t want to see. But they make you: Old Luthen (you’d spit on the name if you could) has his hands settled on your shoulders, keeping you turned towards the sight of your father and his shipmates heaving the gods’ dearest creation on deck. You try to see through the face, make yourself not acknowledge it, as if it could help if you pretend not to take note of her face. But she looks back at you, straight on. Her pearlescent eyes zero in on the way old Luthen has his fingers carved into your shoulders, the way he could crush and grind you down like brittle bones if you resist. And she understands: you are as trapped as she is. It is a terrible thing, this understanding that passes between the two of you, and you wish it hadn’t happened, wish she would have growled and screamed at you as she did at her captors.

The understanding flees her eyes pretty quickly when they begin to carve her out like a pig on a spit.

It’s terrible. The fear on your tongue turns into bile, and then you find yourself swallowing back vomit, not trusting yourself to throw up when your father was still intent on punishing you. The knife glides into the soft-scaled tail way too easily, giving way to a glittering, human-like nightmare. You’ve seen the way clams guard their precious pearls, the almost pretty membrane surrounding them to keep them safe. The translucency of it made it a beautiful wonder to behold, but there’s nothing beautiful about this, not when they’re clawing at the mermaid’s insides as if they were the bothersome strings of a spider’s web. The mermaid thrashes and screams, and then the bloodcurdling noise coming out of her mouth is unrecognizable, because they begin to serrate at the edges of her wound to drive into the hard scales surrounding her womb. To get everything, y’know, there’s people paying a pretty penny for their organs. S’pposed to have miracle healing properties. You swallow and swallow and swallow, but when they begin to tear at the flesh that was supposed to keep her roe safe, and the guts begin to speckle your feet, you find your way out of Luthen’s prison-hold and throw up right over the side of the ship. You can still hear her sobs, despite the sound of Luthen’s laughter - can’t stomach the fisher’s life, can she, your daughter? - and more deafeningly so, you can hear how loud the silence is in your ears when she finally quietens down, when she returns to the sea, the only burial the men give her. One last time, you’re looking at her as she bobs in the waves, her helpless arms streaked with wounds she suffered as she strained against the nets and knives. You think of those arms, and her ocean eyes, the way they had looked like a nightmare come true and yet the gaze they contained had been softer than any look your father had ever given you. Maternal, almost.

You close your eyes and think of your own mother. You guard that image of her, imprint it on the back of your eyes as your father settles his hand on the top of your head. Wanting to slip back into the role of the nurturing, caring father. Your fists clench and unclench at your sides. “It’s not a pretty thing, girl,” he says, and it’s supposed to sound soothing. Instead, it feels like he’s stabbing your ears with the same knife he used to gut her womb with. “They know what we’re capable of. They like us just as little as we like them. Your songs will help you nothing. It changes nothing.”

But something had changed. Irrevocably, unrepairingly, it had changed. As they paddle you back to the shore, all you can think about is the fact that this mermaid, this stranger, had viewed you more kindly than your own father had. And you carry that look with you as you grow into a woman, as unacknowledged and resented as the young daughter you had been.

From his hidden viewpoint, Rafayel can only glimpse the edges of your skirt. It’s a silver, diaphanous material, hugging the back of your legs like a seastar clings to the rocks. Expensive. Noteworthy. The garb the students of the shrine’s faith don as they perform their traditions, as if they don’t smile at the sea’s creations with one corner of their mouth and spit with the other. Disrespectful, your faith is, as disrespectful as your father’s nets and his arrogance as he takes to the sea. Rafayel’s sea. “Father, you forgot to take your hooks with you again,” your voice then rings out, freeing him from his hateful looks. It sounds too melodious. It should be as scratchy, as bothersome, as vile as humanity’s existence. But he is Lemurian at heart, and he cannot help himself from appreciating your lovely voice. A true seasinger, he begrudgingly thinks, but then he hastily corrects himself. A seasinger with the talent for it, but a liar nonetheless. Humanity can only deceive. “You should at least maintain the illusion that you’re hunting for something … legal. They’ve been cracking down on the black market’s dealings for a while now.”

“Only makes my prizes more precious, girl,” comes your father’s dry retort. He’s never once called you by your name in the entire time that Rafayel has begun to trail you, following your traces around town. He hears the gentle splash of your feet hitting the water, feels his senses prickle as he becomes aware of the way your body braves the spitting sea. “Just means I’ll get a better fetch for this stuff because of how rare it is. Alright, hand it over, before you catch a cold. Stupid attire you’ve got on there barely even protects you from the wind.”

“The sea warms me, father.”

“Pah!” The mockery comes easy to your father, he, whose entire business relies on his mockery of the Lemurian species. He can’t tell whether you’ve handed the bucket to your father, but he can tell when you retreat, the way your toes send up sandstorms all along the beach as you wade back to shore. “Spare me. If I wanted a sermon, I’d be sitting next to your mother in that overstuffed hall of yours. And I’ve told you countless times to avoid this cove!”

You ignore the latter part of his sentence. “The Dolphin’s Hall would have to be hit with a meteorite to ever move you to its sanctuary, father.”

“Ha! Haha!” His laughter seems biting, then becomes less striking as your father begins to paddle away. It creaks, heavy with his gear; the little rowing boat is just a distraction from the heavy vessel way out in the ocean his friends are waiting for him on. “It hasn’t taken your humor, at least. Alright, get back now. Go on!” He has to shout as the distance grows. “Gonna catch a cold, you will! And kiss your mother from me!”

The murmured answer you give him is lost on both your father and Rafayel, but it doesn’t sound very assenting. What isn’t lost on Rafayel is the realization that your father is the worst person in the world, but you are his favorite daughter, and that knowledge drags you down like an anchor rapidly descending. Keeping you in one places, weighing you down. Your footsteps become heavy as you walk up the beach, not as graceful as the way you had carried yourself in the sea. As he begins to follow you upstream, following the ocean’s arms deeper into the woods which border your village, he can still hear you angrily muttering to yourself.

He doesn’t know what to make of that. When he had suggested to his court that he’d revenge himself on the fisher and his entourage, his advisors had only given him a pained smile. Most of the elders still cling to the memory where their devotees on land would outstretch their hands in a blessed union, where their friendship made the moon wax and wane with happiness. They shake their heads in sadness with every murdered mermaid, as if that would fix anything. And yet, there are also those with a mind as murderous as his, still cautioning him, she’s not her father. If we take what is precious to them just because we can, what makes us better than them?

Morality. Rafayel scoffs to himself, sounding as resigned as you did in your trudge upward. As if that could help with anything. Had your father thought of morality when he had killed sweet Lyra right before her wedding night? Had he thought of morality when he desecrated her corpse for a handful of eggs, which could have been Rafayel’s nieces and nephews to dote on?

The ocean merges into a river he refuses to swim in, so Rafayel halts at the edge of the water to watch your slight frame disappear into the city. He doesn’t like to leave behind his tail in favor of awkward, human legs, but if he wants to keep an eye on you, he will need to. He’s getting pretty good at this, actually: Looking at you. Memorizing the way your lips curve into a smile, the shark teeth glint inside the grin you sport for when something makes you laugh. The way your light and deft fingers can tie the most powerful of sailor knots. The way your gentle hands hold a knife in the most reverent manner, as if this was an honor entrusted to you, not in the uncouth way your father points it at precious life.

You are not like him, uncomfortably so. It rankles Rafayel to see how much you are trying to escape your father’s taint.

The more he watches, the more he sees that taint poisoning you. You are a river current, slowing, slowing under the poison the human world dumps into you. It eats away at you, the way the rust claims the metal it swallows before it destroys the metal whole. The way you lower your head like a supplicant, shameful of the tales your fellow shrine maidens carry when your father sports another ‘treasure’ on the market. The way you paint on a smile when necessary, because you do not have the strength to face the naked truth. Your careful fingers, always touching in devotion. Moving to prayer. Guiding along to the sea’s chants. Hands of peace, not of war.

Of course, that only makes you an even more delicious offering. Even the gods know an innocent life is more precious than the forced sacrifice of a man already doomed for punishment.

As the sun sets on Whalefall City, people begin to flood the Dolphin’s Hall with eager chatter. Rafayel melts back into the shadows of the impressive dome, becomes one with the many murals depicting the ocean’s history. The hall itself is decorated in such an ornate manner that it makes Rafayel question whose devotion had turned into flesh here, bearing fruit to a worship so true that even Rafayel doesn’t dare think of blasphemy. Perhaps there was a time where humanity hadn’t been an accursed thing for him to ponder over. A long time ago, when words and actions still had meaning.

But then is not now. And now, everything has changed.

He watches as that change warps you, the shadow that passes over your face taking on the shape of his long lost Lyra. When you look up again to lead the group into prayer, your eyes have steeled over - as if through the entire room full of people, his thoughts have reached you. They hang above you like the clouds gathering before a storm as you begin the sermon, your voice crystal-clear, never wavering. Whatever doubts your father has stirred in your heart, they do not find their way here.

The last bell of prayer rings out at the same time as you bow to the masses. In acknowledgement, they murmur back their only line in the script - may the moon guide you through the storm - and then turn, flooding the exit like over-eager sardines squirming inside a can. Rafayel joins the stream of people, casting one last look back at you, but you’ve already risen again and turned your back on him. Your connection is broken now, a fact that Rafayel is secretly relieved, then aggrieved about.

Why does that matter to him, anyways?

On a full-moon night, Rafayel decides to cut you loose before you can confuse him further.

He’s been anticipating this for days now, anxiously looking up into the sky every time his head broke through the waves. As a seasinger, you are required to take part in monthly ablutions under the light of the full moon, returning to her domain of power before the wax and wane pulls at the seas. You’re supposed to take the maiden in training with you, but over the past few months, you’ve rejected her every time, gently but sternly relegating her to other tasks to be completed inside the Dolphin’s Hall. You want to be alone with your shame, alone with the fact that you seem to speak to the moon like she’s your only friend.

You’re not aware of the fact that Rafayel has been quietly listening on, every full moon night. As a Lemurian, he does not partake in a faith that revels in the worship of the sea. And yet, here he sat come every full moon, hiding himself in the rivers converging into the shallow pool in which you submerge yourself. He cannot keep hanging on to your every word. If he wants to revenge himself on the old fisherman, he has to do it now, before his too-humanoid-heart foils his plans and spares you. He thinks of Lyra and her kindly face, knowing she’d disapprove, but he makes himself go through the motions anyways.

He hadn’t been prepared for your reaction.

You don’t divest yourself of your clothes when you enter the pool, but Rafayel doesn’t have to imagine much to paint a picture of what is beneath, anyways. The satin hugs the shape of your body like a fervent lover, beginning to pool around you as you accept the water’s embrace. Lower and lower you sink, before you dive into the water to be fully submerged and rise again. He comes to a halt just a few feet away from you, on the periphery of your gaze. You do not see him yet. But he sees you. He sees the way the water falls in rivulets from your luminous lashes as they frame your clear eyes, sees the way the moonlight drinks in your irises. There’s a jealousy he cannot pinpoint inside his chest as the water begins to tear down your cheeks, framing your face so gently. You shudder slightly when the cold begins to settle in your bones, and your hands come to cover your exposed arms. As Rafayel realizes that he should not feel so enticed by the sight of a mere mortal being and his heart begins to tighten, you finally turn your face and realize that you aren’t alone here.

For a very long, heart-stoppingly awkward moment, no one says anything.

Rafayel stiffens up, waiting for your scream. He has planned this carefully, and he knows there is no way any help will reach you here, not when you’re in his domain. The moon may peer her gaze over these waters, but the water is his dominion, his kingdom. You are trapped inside the palm of his hand, and he is readying himself to swallow you whole.

But you don’t scream.

Your breath comes more shallowly, speeding as your lungs rush to fill air. He idly wonders how that feels like, the way the lungs balloon inside that easily broken chest. Despite all this, despite the circumstances, despite the fact that you are quite aware what the sight of a mermaid might mean to you, your eyes do not fill with fear. So Rafayel doesn’t move, either. He watches you and the way your chest constricts, listens how your breath stutters. And then you finally speak. “Is it you?” you whisper. “Did you hear my prayers?”

The magic of the moment is broken then, and Rafayel audibly breathes out. He almost breaks out into mocking laughter, - me, fulfilling your prayers? - but he stops himself short, not intending to waste the opportunity. If you would come willingly to meet your fate, then that would be even better. “Your prayers?” he repeats, and then, although he couldn’t make his disbelief clearer, he says, “Do you really think a being like me would bother to listen to any of your prayers? After all your kind has done to us?”

You take in his words with an austere expression. “No, I suppose not,” you murmur out, biting down on that full lower lip. No, don’t think about biting that lip for her. Don’t think about it. He chases away his own thoughts and instead begins to wonder why you’re not scared yet. Are you aware that there is nothing you can do to change this fate? “But one can hope. I couldn’t ever call myself a seasinger if I didn’t still have faith that the earth and the salt could reconcile again.”

“And whose fault is it that a reconciliation seems to be so impossible?”

You blink at him, fresh rivulets of water carding through those lashes like tears. You look like you’re crying, even though Rafayel knows you are not. “Do not take me for a hypocrite,” you tell him, sounding entirely too earnest. “I am quite aware of whose fault it is. We humans bear the sins of our fathers, after all.”

You sound bitter.

She’s not her father. If we take what is precious to them just because we can, what makes us better than them?

Rafayel hums at that. It doesn’t matter; it doesn’t change anything. He’ll kill you swiftly if he has to, give you a kind death. It’s better than anything your father’s crewmates have ever given to any mermaid they’ve stumbled upon. You won’t suffer, that he promises you, but he’s not going back on his word, not for anything. So he makes himself move closer. You still don’t scream for help as he approaches you, just muster him warily, like you’ve encountered a familiar face on the street yet cannot remember where that familiarity comes from. “And if I was your friend?” he asks, challenging your logic. “Then what? Would all be forgiven, and we’d dance in a circle throwing flowers?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

You stretch out a hand.

He should spit on it. If anything, he should claw at that hand like a man drowning and pull you into the depths. Your father does not deserve to cradle your corpse and reminisce about the day he’s held you for the first time. He deserves to suffer beyond all measure, and Rafayel intends to see to that. He schools his features into polite neutrality before he readies himself for the killing strike.

Rafayel draws in a shuddering breath. And then, like the liar he is, he takes your hand.

It is as soft as he had imagined. Too human, too weak, too frail. Every bone and sinew feels like it will give with just a squeeze, broken beyond repair. It feels like a betrayal.

He can barely make himself think a proper thought when you use the opportunity to step closer to him. He can smell you now, that distinct scent of myrrh and burnt offerings that clings to your skin. This is the scent he’s been using to track you for months. Below the too-thin garb of your seasinger attire, he can see the way your precious collarbones lift and sink in quick succession, your breath coming entirely too fast now. You’re panicking. You are deathly afraid of him. And yet you ignore that fear to squeeze his hand, as if this was just another interaction in the Dolphin’s Hall to you. In your eyes, he finds that steady faith that holds your spine rigidly straight, the look you can never give your father because of how you defer to him. “You’re much taller than I thought,” you tell him, your voice shaky. Then you give him a tentative smile. The light of your hope is reflected in that expression, and it hurts to realize that he will be responsible for diminishing that forever.

It’s okay, he tells himself. I’ll just grow closer to her so she’ll trust me, and then, when I’ve got her wrapped around my finger, I’ll kill her in front of her father’s eyes. “You look too small for a human, so I’m not certain you’re equipped to be delivering these kinds of judgements on appearances,” is all he says in response.

“Well, that is a valid observation.” You haven’t let go of his hand yet. Rafayel makes no move to free himself, either. You are locked into this situation, moved by something neither of you can understand. You let your gaze roam over the entirety of his face, the way it lingers on the sharp edges of his ears, the scales rippling down his throat. He certainly hopes you don’t see the way he squirms beneath that gaze. “But you’re my friend now, so you’ll forgive me for my deadly honesty. I fear that is just part of who I am, so you’re going to have to live with it.”

“Is that how one becomes a friend? This quickly?”

“Oh, certainly. You’ve been holding my hand for quite some time now. No,” you rush to say as he attempts to disentangle himself, fingers flashing to grip his arm. His first instinct is to strike out, to defend himself from humanity’s danger. He wrestles that instinct down until it becomes nil. He is bending at the edges, unraveling like threat inside your skilled hands. You guide him back towards you and intertwine your fingers. Your seasinger voice lulls him into a sense of security that is going to get him killed someday. She’s already bewitching you far too much for this plan to work, his inner voice cautions. The sound is growing increasingly frantic, every thought stumbling after the other until it turns into a senseless avalanche. Kill her now, before she undoes us all. Kill her now. “Will you let me prove that our friendship can work?”

No, his inner voice shouts. She’s your enemy’s daughter. SHE is your enemy. KILL HER NOW.

The warmth of your hand melts into his every bone. Sinking in like poison. “I suppose I have no choice,” he tells you, sealing his fate.

Rafayel begins to realize how fucked he is.

He was already quite aware of his awful disposition before he ever approached you, the way your mortal face charmed him the way a snake ensnares its victims. Too pretty for a human, a trap laid bare. He feels that very trap biting into his skin every time you smile at him. It draws blood every time your touch brushes him. As ridiculous as it sounded, he feels himself exploding from a second puberty, your every notion setting fire to his blood.

He struggles to maintain his murder fantasies. It’s a little bit difficult to focus on when all his dreams plague him with the image of you.

Today, you’ve asked him to accompany him to the hidden cove that he’s watched you frequent when he was still trailing you. It’s a beautiful location, the sandbank curving to accommodate the ocean’s kisses as it laps at the earth. Almost absentmindedly, your bare feet come to a halt every few meters to gather up a bundle of oceansvale, a flower you’re particularly fond of and have been ridiculed with by him. Idiot human, he had said, as if your obsession with the ocean wasn’t big enough already. You’re a seasinger, for crying out loud. Aren’t you religious enough without an obsession with the only flower that blooms near these waters?

You’d only looked at him with a steady, self-satisfied look. Are you jealous, per chance?

Yes. As if. Like he’d care what you’re obsessed with and what not. Anyways, mermaids don’t fall in love with humans. They kill them. By luring them to the sea, to be exact, so you’re halfway to the gallows already, so who’s the idiot now?

“What’s all this, then?” Rafayel wildly gesticulates around him - at the sweeping cliffs, the sand-carrying wind, the beautiful beach. The atmosphere is way more serene than he is, a calm and quiet getaway. The perfect hiding location for a forlorn daughter. “I hate using my human legs. If you were going to take me to the ocean anyways, why torture me before you do it?”

“I very much appreciate you using your human legs, Rafayel. But I am afraid the hike up to the mountain and down to this place is the point of the trip.” You give him a lopsided smile, the kind that makes him dizzy with emotions. Sickening. He clenches a hand inside the pocket of the jacket you lent him. “You know, I’m a little disappointed you don’t recognize the place. This is where I first met you. I remembered you straight away, yet you were ignorant.”

He waves away the words. “I’m a Lemurian, after all. Time passes much more differently for us than it does for your kind. What does an encounter like this mean in the grand scheme of things? ‘Tis a single star in the universe we traverse.”

The words make you frown. In fact, the frown disfigures your face entirely, your nose scrunching and your lips twitching together in an expression of dejectedness. He almost eats his words, almost hurries to tell you that of course he remembers, that he couldn’t forget the tiny human who bothered to throw the ocean flowers, even though its inhabitants were humanity’s enemies, but then you speak up again and the matter becomes irrelevant. “Then I ought to be thankful this star turned out to be brighter than it was. I’m quite thankful we got to meet again. I’ve always wanted a chance to meet a mermaid, to fight back against this enmity between our species.”

“Quite the conciliator, you are.” Rafayel follows you down unto the beach. Your feet trace a path into the sand which he follows dutifully, making sure to cover your tracks in case your father still admonishes you for coming here. “Is that what you meant when you saw me for the first time? ‘Did you hear my prayers’?”

“Yes. My mother’s always mocked me for that too, you know. She’s the only one who listens to me about this stuff, and even though she loves me a lot, she’s not above teasing me. I guess it’s kind of an inside joke in my family.”

Rafayel takes note of the way your eyes steel over. He knows you long enough now to recognize that stance. If you were a soldier, this would be the position you’d move into if you had to defend yourself against the thoughts about your father. Even when he is not present, he haunts your wellbeing. Even when it’s your mother you think about, his phantom always lurks right behind. “Your father isn’t too fond of the ocean?” he asks. The lie on his tongue tastes vile.

Like the rotting corpse of a gutted mermaid.

You shake your head. “No, he’s fond of the ocean, alright,” you correct. When you sink into the water, clothes and all, Rafayel joins you immediately. Before your eyes, his legs merge back into his trusted tail. It makes you shake with laughter. “You know, I wanted to make a joke about you being like a fish in water, but um. You are one. A fish, I mean. In water.”

“You’re too funny,” Rafayel deadpans. “Truly, I am beside myself with laughter.”

You turn away your face and laugh into the palm of your hand, as if that could hide your mirth. Not like he’s feeling every single vibration in the water that your quiet giggles send out. The sound settles in his chest, taking root there. “Note taken,” you chortle still. “I’ll work on my jokes.”

“Don’t bother. You’ll never be as funny as I am.”

“Oh yeah?” You swivel your head around to him. Whatever smart response Rafayel was cooking up dies inside his mouth, turning dry in the face of your beauty. The dimples in your cheeks make you look younger than you are, your face luminous with real happiness. This is what had been lacking from your expression inside the Dolphin’s Hall. You were living for your faith, for your duty, leaving yourself much too neglected. But you were finally growing comfortable inside your skin. Opening up to him.

Kill her, the voice still whispers. He smothers the spark of that thought before it sets his brain on fire. Rafayel swallows. “Is that all you brought me here for, then?” he sighs. “To bore me with your unfunny jokes and reminisce about the past?”

“You sure do know how to kill the moment.” The sentiment makes you snort. You finally turn your face to the horizon, and Rafayel can breathe comfortably again. Looking at you for too long makes him want to dig into you. With knifes, of course. Not with kisses. Or his fingers. Of course not. Nothing of the sort. None. “I just wanted to free my mind for a little bit. It gets incredibly loud in there, sometimes.” You tap your temples, the guardians of your thoughts. He wants to climb into that brain and see for himself how loud it is. He’d risk turning deaf to hear. “Everyone always looks to me, because I’m a seasinger, but they aren’t looking at me, not really. So I make myself entirely into that role I’ve been given. And I lose sight of who I really am. When I’m here, I don’t have to do that. I can just listen to the ocean. And she listens to me.”

You sound wishful.

In his own silent moments, when Rafayel discards his own roles, he is able to admit to himself that he wants to read your every wish from your lips and make them come true. If possible, he’d crown you in oceansvale and pearls, to show you the beauties of the watery underworld and all it has to offer. But that is something he can never allow himself to desire. So, like you, he makes himself steel over, and then asks instead: “Aren’t I listening to you?”

“Sure, but you’re just required to, aren’t you? You’re my friend.” You nudge him with your shoulder, the touch a brand of fire on his skin. You’re so, so warm. Rafayel chases that sensation as you lean away, and you let him drape himself over you, already used to his clingy behavior. You’re my friend. You’re my enemy. “The ocean doesn’t have to listen, but she does. She’s been a better parent to me than my father has. He’s always thought I wasn’t worth raising because I was of the cursed sex, anyways.”

“Does that matter? Your mother loves you.”

“But he’s my father.” And your voice breaks. As he angles another look at you, he realizes that you’ve been gazing at the sea with tears in your eyes. If you were Lemurian, you wouldn’t need him to crown you: your own pearl-teary eyes are already beginning to fill with treasure. Like tidepools, they spill over, painting your face in salt-burned tear tracks he wants to kiss until his mouth runs dry. Rafayel curls an arm around you, all thoughts of murder forgotten, and all he can think of is how to comfort you properly so you’ll never have to mourn your father again. “He’s my father,” you repeat with a muffled voice against his shoulder, as if he didn’t hear you the first time, “He should have loved me anyways. I would have become the son he wanted if he gave me the chance. But he didn’t want me. He didn’t want me.”

Rafayel doesn’t know if it’s the ocean or his blood he hears rushing in his ears. His mind has already become clouded with rage, swirling into a hurricane that tears your father apart. He rocks you back and forth, and he hopes it feels like the ocean is cradling you, carrying you far away from your sorrow.

It’s already been two full moons since Rafayel has become your ‘friend’.

Your birthday has come and gone, and you’ve scared Rafayel out of his own skin when you burst into tears as you accepted his gift. It’s just a necklace made of a shell, idiot, he had clarified, flustered. It’s not like I spent money on it or anything. It was just something I had laying around and wanted to get rid of.

Rafayel, you had said, voice shaky with teary joy. It’s everything to me.

It’s getting harder and harder to convince himself into doing what he set out to do.

Particularly today he finds himself reaching back for the memory of his bloodlust, watching you guide new devotees to the sea to be baptized, like turtles taking to water for the first time. He’s seen his fair share of baby turtles scrambling to the sea, muddling up the waves as their tiny legs fought to master them. These children are not dissimilar to the freshly born turtles. Traitors, the lot of them, he thinks to himself, but the threat feels hollow. Cursed species, they are. Liars and deceivers all. He tries to ignore the irony of that prejudice considering the nature of your relationship.

When you finally send the kids off and join him in the water, he schools his features into a childish pout he hopes will mask his hatred. “You’ve made me wait all evening,” he complains, the annoyance in his voice real. It has been quite some time since you got to unwind with him. The thought of Rafayel looking forward to seeing you again had made him panic, and he had scrambled to avoid you for a few days before his own longing drew him back to you. “I was freezing to death here.”

“As if!” Your laughter rings as jubilously as the bells inside Dolphin’s Hall call to prayer. There’s a myth as old as humanity which decrees that when the bells ring twelve times, the gates of heaven will open to flood the world entire. Only the true believers will become one with the sea, the earth finally reunited with its one true love. The planet will become a single ocean again, and it will be as if land and sea never had separated, all creatures under the moon united under one banner. “I know exactly well that wherever you live is way colder than whatever temperature these waters are. This must feel like a hot bath for you in contrast.”

Rafayel sniffles, caught in the lie. “It’s the principle that counts.”

Your smile gentles. “Rafayel,” you say. The way that name rolls of your tongue makes him want to roll his eyes back into his head: if all sermons sounded like this, he’d be the most devoted follower of the sea’s faith alive. Your voice is the single most exultant sound any living creature could create. Perhaps you were a siren in your past life. “Don’t tell me you missed me.”

I miss you all the time, he thinks. I miss you even when I fantasize about killing you. I miss you even when I should be grieving all the mermaids my brothers and sisters have lost. I miss you even more when I watch them take brides and grooms and make the kingdom of the depths a happier place in the face of adversity. You would like us, the way we cling to hope like you do. “I bet you’d like that,” he drawls out, feigning normalcy. “Any living being would want to be missed by me. I’m very beautiful, after all, and very desired.”

“Truly? Are they all vying for your attention down there?” You flick his shoulder, intending to be teasing. Even the pain is welcome. He tries to ignore the way his stomach flips. “And yet you’re here for me. What an honor, oh desirable bachelor.”

“You should be honored,” he tells you. It sounds arrogant, but why shouldn’t he be? He is beautiful after all. For once, he’s not lying. Rafayel takes pride in his appearance, and he preens at the chance of receiving a compliment from you.

You cock your head at him. It’s supposed to look threatening, but you hold all the danger of a sweet otter. “Don’t make me laugh,” you tell him, still joking, but your voice is breathy.

Maybe his looks don’t leave you as untouched as you pretend to be. Maybe he’s not the only one feigning.

Rafayel brushes his fingers over the hollow of your arms, following the veins as they reach upward. It makes you shudder. He delights in it. “I adore hearing you laugh, sweetling, but it’s not the intention I have here,” he says. He is in and out of his body at the same time. Most times, he smothers these thoughts before they reach his mouth, yet he continues to speak as if this were just another dream of you. “Go on. Say it. Tell me I’m beautiful.”

Your lips part, speechless. Behind you, the human world goes on, tickering away like a fluid mechanism. With or without you. You look like as if you realize that the ocean is beckoning. He is beckoning. If you’re not careful, he’ll drown you, bones and all. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper then, the sound of it caught up in the rushing of the waves. They cling to the sand, dragging it with the pull of the tide. He yearns to do the same.

His hand comes up to cradle your face. You fit perfectly into it, as if you were made for him. As if he was made to compliment you. Rafayel’s heart stutters in his chest, threatening to burst. “Again,” he says, his voice steady. (He doesn’t know how he does it. He feels like he’s about to explode.) “You can do better than that.”

You draw in another sharp breath, your lungs fluttering. The human body was so very fascinating. He wants to reach inside you and look at everything, feel it all. “You’re truly beautiful, Rafayel,” you try again, and this time, you pitch up your voice. Every word is clearly enunciated. You look at him straight on. “All the wonders in this world pale in comparison to you.”

Oh. Oh.

“You,” Rafayel breathes out. His fingers are shaking on your face, but they hold on. Latching on to you. If he strengthened his grip, will he be able to crush your skull? Will he be able to reach inside? His body feels heavy with desire; as he bends towards you, he finds that you’re already meeting him halfway, and this time, the soaked material of your clothes exposes the sight of your stiff nipples. He yearns to warm them up for you, to take them in his mouth and kiss you until you’re burning from the inside out. He’s always wondered what you would taste like.

You are both torn out of the fantasy at the sound of your voice in a human mouth, carried by the wind from the shore. You draw apart hastily, as if a spell had been broken, and you fumble to rearrange your clothes and fix your hair although nothing had happened. Rafayel tucks his traitorous hands behind his back.

“I,” you manage to say, your voice drowsy with the lingering desire, “I have to get back. I’ll see you?” You phrase the order like a plea, as if Rafayel wouldn’t bend over backwards for you. You miss his assenting, fervent nods as you whirl around and wade back to shore, your own hands drowning in the material of your dress as you lift it up and wring it out. The water trails behind you in his stead, leaving him behind.

He’ll totally be able to carry out his revenge, alright.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to resist you.

The more time passes, the more it feels like the sun rises and sets just for you. Your happiness is his own, your sadness his bitter grief. Every emotion you ever display resonates so deeply in his soul that he grows hazy with responsibility, wants to reshape the world in your image. Every tear you shed is carefully collected like his own well-cared for treasure, every laughter bottled in the memory palace of his mind. His mind traces each and every one in your absence, creating melodies which cannot compare to your voice. He is becoming enraptured. He is coming undone.

Even the distance is beginning to choke him. You feel so close and so far. He wishes to lap at your body like the ocean does when you perform your prayers, wants to smother you in a hug that threatens the ocean’s might when you dive down with him. In the few times where you were able to swim with him - your timetable strict, your parents suspicious - he’s allowed you to trace your hands over the scales of his tail. To you, it’s the satisfaction of a curiosity. To him, it is a so startling intimacy that he wants to weep. There is no room for justice as his heart expands to encompass you, and it grows inside his chest, breaking apart his ribcage so it can guard you from the world. There are no words. You’re in every breath, every steady push of his blood.

Although the active threat of your father’s suspicions has come between the two of you, every meeting rarer, but becoming more precious over time, it cannot erase the wish for his soul to reach for you. You doze away in your place on the stony slopes surrounding the pool you perform your ablutions in, and Rafayel is content to guard your slumber, dipping in and out of the water. He never strays away for too long. He makes sure to count every strand of those stunning lashes that had already enticed him when he first met you here, follows every vein inside your face to see where it branches into. What was hated has become dear to him now, your humanity as endearing as your very existence. He wonders what you dream about. Wonders if you dream about him, as often as he dreams about you. His brain has become very enamored with you, every fold of the thing having been etched over with memories of you.

Your father is already hounding you. Your newfound happiness hasn’t gone unnoticed. It should please Rafayel, how your friendship has changed your life for the better. You are standing up straight, opening up to the world. When you laugh, it finally sounds like your vocal cords are singing in true harmony, never again pushing for the falsity you used to employ to wave away concerns.

If anyone were to discover you were sneaking away with a mermaid, they’d be dumbfounded. Perhaps they’d mock you for it. But if your father were to discover you two, then it wouldn’t take much until Rafayel would find himself face to face with the same knife he used to kill Lyra.

I’ll have to tell her the truth, Rafayel thinks then, stricken. If I really love her, then I have to let her go. He closes his eyes, losing himself to the sharp sting of grief inside his chest. That’s what Lyra would have said, anyways. She was always so enthusiastic about fairy tales and happy endings and true love. He mourns for the way his childhood had been shaped with the loss of her, and the loss of all the mermaids that had ever died an unjust death. But it has taken on a new meaning. He looks into your face and cannot find it himself to justify the means to the end he had intended for you. There was nothing vengeful or freeing about this. If anything, he’d push himself off to his own metaphoric end, because Rafayel has reached the ends of his wits and he’s finally accepted that there is no you without me. He stretches out a hand to card his fingers through your dry hair before it can fall into the water. What a blessing it is to do at least this, to be cherished by you.

He begins to ask himself how he is supposed to leave you.

As Rafayel’s thoughts take a turn for the worse, you open your sleep-drowsy eyes. They are still blurred over with the dreams you’ve been chasing, just slowly becoming clear and taking in your surroundings. “Raf?” you whisper, and he tries not to melt at the nickname. No one’s ever thought up a nickname for him. So many things you’ve given him that he will never be able to repay you with. So much light you’ve brought into his dark, dark life. The bottom of the ocean, despite all its magic, had never been as bright as this. “I’m here,” he tells you, the sentence literal, but he means it with every ounce of his soul.

You blink away the last traces of unconsciousness, your pretty lips stretching open to release a yawn. “I was afraid you’d left,” you tell him. Also so literal. But in the way you look at him and your tone turns up with hope, he finds himself recognizing the underlying meaning, just as you had discerned his.

He’s told you so many lies already. What’s one more? “I’d never leave you,” he tells you, and he tries to mean it. In another universe, he would be able to mean it. Rafayel swims closer so he can throw an arm over your frame as you lie back down, and he angles himself up so he can cage you in-between his hands. As he arranges himself, he abandons the scales and tail in favor of his awkward human legs, caging your delicate waist inbetween his knees. He’s balancing himself on top of you now, not caring if the drops of water pearling off his skin splash on you.

You don’t look like you care, either. You stare at him as if there’s nothing else in the world, just the two of you for all eternity. The thought fills him with happiness.

Slowly, very slowly, as if asking for permission, you lay your hands on his naked chest. The tips of your fingers are even softer than the palms of your hands, a testament to your nature. Not a toiler, not a warmonger. Something more peaceful and calmful, that brings his own soul rest. “I dreamt about you,” you tell him, honest as a Lemurian. He smiles at the inadvertent way you had answered the question he’d been thinking of while you were sleeping. “What was your dream about?” he asks, anchoring his weight on one hand so he can use the other to curl around the side of your throat. He can feel the pocket inside it traveling as you swallow to gather your bravery.

“A little bit like this situation right now.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate, friend.” Rafayel’s fingers dig into the supple flesh of your shoulder as they move, then gently claw at your skin as he follows the curve of your arm. He’s always been fascinated with your human skin, the way it seems entirely different from Lemurians although they look so similar. The smallest of things could break it. Bruises bloom like flowers with the lightest force. It makes him want to cage you inside his chest, where he can keep you safe from harm and make sure no one will ever hurt you again. It’s irrational, and unnecessary. But he just can’t help himself.

You narrow your eyes at him playfully, blissfully unaware of his thoughts. “Are you enjoying this?”

Now Rafayel begins to smile as well. It is entirely genuine, and only reserved for you. He is yours, heart and soul. “Of course I am,” he confesses, feeling as exposed as a newborn babe. “You always act so unbothered by me, you know. I was beginning to worry whether I was the only one caring about this … friendship.”

Your own hands have begun to wander. You place them directly on his cheeks, directing his gaze at you, as if you weren’t already the single fixed point around which his entire existence was centered around “Rafayel,” you say. “I don’t want to be just your friend.”

His breath catches. He searches your eyes for a joke, for the mockery, but you are serious. And for once, his own mind blanks at the possibility that his feelings might be reciprocated. “Do you… mean it?” he whispers, afraid. Vulnerable. She’s human, she’s a liar, she’ll lie to you, watch. This isn’t possible. This is a trick.

“Shall I prove it to you?”

Rafayel’s heart stops.

(God, he always knew you’d be responsible for his death.)

The answering smile you give at the sight of his eagerness makes his insides melt into the same constitution as a jellyfish. There is a fire at the core of his existence, and you have come to kindle it. He feels the blood rush; in his cheeks, in his body, down his abdomen. He is alight with emotion, bursting at the seams. As you flatten your palm and curve it around the shape of his chest, he chokes out a, “Yes. Please.”

Your touch is hesitant, but your eyes are determined. “I love you, Rafayel,” you finally tell him, the magical words that crack open his chest like a volcanic crater exploding into the water. He collapses against you, crushing his lips against yours, and then he can’t tell where you start and he ends because of how you meld against him. Every inch of his body comes alive with the sensation of you against him, and you fit into every curve inside his body. Your lips carefully trace the shape of his own, moving against his tenderly, carefully. He can’t bring himself to entertain the same restraint as you do: as he digs his hand into the curls of your hair, he angles your head appropriately and then delves inside to finally taste that sinful mouth he’s been dreaming about for so long.

Your answering whimper is smothered almost immediately by his beckoning tongue. Greedily, selfishly, Rafayel kisses you as if his life depends on it; like he might die without ever getting lost on your tongue, dissolving like sugar. He groans into your mouth when you carefully tangle your tongue with his own, not used to this kind of kiss. When he tries to pull back to grant you a reprieve, your heavenly lips wrap around the tip of his tongue, sucking on it in the mock-fashion of a blowjob.

He almost comes then and there, that’s how embarrassingly obsessed he is with you. Only you.

You chase him as he disentangles himself, but Rafayel quickly busies himself with your throat, littering those veins he’d been staring at like a vampire starved with kisses. “You have no idea,” he whimpers into the skin there, speaking directly into your soul, “how you make me feel. No idea. You’re dangerous.”

You don’t mock him for once. Instead, Rafayel is gently pushed to the side. Before he can worry about being rejected, you straddle his lap and sit down like a queen crowned on her throne, and the sight makes him so breathless that Rafayel finds himself falling back against the wet ground without complaint. Your lips are kiss-swollen and smiling, a sight he mentally declares to be his favorite sight in the world. “I’ll find out soon, enough,” you promise, the words as delicious as your kisses. “For example, how does this feel?”

And you grind down, your clothed core sliding over his exposed cock in a perfect glide.

Rafayel throws his head back, cussing in Lemurian. He doesn’t even realize the crack of pain as his head hits the ground, his entire nervous system too caught up with the sensation of you rubbing against the most sensitive spot of his body. There’s a sound he doesn’t immediately recognize, a quiet giggle that shakes your entire body, and then the feeling of the weight on top of him shifting as you bend down to kiss your way down this body. “My Rafayel,” you murmur against his abdomen, lips shaping the words against his hipbones. He almost trills in happiness at the sound of that. Yours. “You’re so, so, so beautiful.”

If it was possible to dissolve in extreme happiness, Rafayel would be seafoam on the water surface right now.

He digs his fingers into the hard stone, unyielding as it is, as your lips seem to vanish off his skin right before reaching his already erect dick. He catches the look of your eyes, the slight surprise at his size - he can’t lie, it makes him want to puff up in pride - but then you begin to sport a scary smile, the kind that makes Rafayel realize that you’re going to suck the life out of him, and he’s already on the brink of death from the possibility of this happening alone. “My love…” he begins to caution, but then he chokes off as each and every one of your fingers wraps itself around the shaft of his cock, and there is no consciousness to form thoughts, no thoughts at all.

You kiss the tip of the head, tongue peaking out to catch the first beads of pre-cum. “Gonna make you feel good, I promise, Raf.”

He wants to answer, he swears he does. There is just no way he can. Rafayel’s entire body arches off the ground as you take him in your mouth, and he’s barely aware of the way you slightly choke on the size of it - his hands go to your head, are you alright, are you okay, love? - yet that doesn’t stop you; the slide of his cock on your tongue continues and continues and continues, and then he feels himself hit the back of your throat and he cries out in pleasure, feeling like a star that’s exploded.

“Fuuuuuuuck.”

You sound like you want to laugh; your mouth shakes and shudders around him, and that makes him tug at your hair, unwillingly, instinctively. He’s about to apologize, but your own tugged out moan makes him hold himself back. He hates hurting you, but you seem to enjoy it, so he tangles his fingers into your hair and gently begins to guide you up and down, up and down. He hisses at the sensation, of the clenching around his dick, the gentle swipes your tongue makes when you get to. “You’re so good to me,” he tells you, watches the way your eyes light up with the praise. He’s never even thought about how lovely and romantic sex could be. Love-making. “So good.”

You hum, and Rafayel hisses; it’s a delicious kind of vibration, both torturous and pleasing. “Please,” he pleads with you, his fingers shaking. Not aware of what he’s asking. But you seem to understand, you speak the language of his soul; you hollow your checks and suck, and then his eyes do roll back so far into his own head that he thinks he can finally see his brain and all the images of you he imprinted on it. As your fingers begin to stroke in time with your tongue, he begins to feel like he’s shaking out of existence, both here and not. Both bound and untied. The coil in his abdomen begins to tighten, his toes curling at the way you drag your tongue around the tip, suckling, teasing. Your lips pop as you remove your mouth, pumping him quicker and quicker, watching him. A predator devouring its prey. “Beautiful,” you say again. “The prettiest, my Rafayel. Look at you taking it so well.”

He keens at that, hands sliding down to claw at your arms, not sure if he wants you to stop or keep going. He’a never experienced an orgasm building up like this, a literal supernova beginning to build at the edges of his perception. “I,” he gasps out, looking for words, finding none, but you help him out of his predicament by kissing him messily, the taste of his own pre-cum lacing his tongue. Your hand, every caress growing in pressure, continues to pump his cock even when he cries out against your mouth, even as his teeth find your shoulder and latch onto it to bite it. You don’t push him away, not even when he explodes into your hand, his release beginning to pearl over your hand as you continue to fuck him through the orgasm. When he begins to sob against your collarbone, pushing at your dangerous hands, he finally understands how deadly a single human being can be.

You’ve ruined him, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

The second you remove your hand, Rafayel flips you onto your back and begins to lick your fingers clean, pleased at the way your mouth drops into that cute little shocked ‘o’. Intertwining your fingers, he drags his tongue over every inch of your palm, taking note of the way your eyes zero in on the length of it. His chest rumbles, pleased; he wants to be as desirable, as perfect to you as you are to him. You are an absolute miracle, a wonder to behold. “Your turn,” he tells you, and your eyes darken.

But you shake your head. “Raf,” you say. Your voice is deadly serious. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to explode into a thousand pieces and you’ll never see me again.”

Despite the sensuality of the situation, Rafayel finds himself bursting into laughter. Your own obscene, reddened lips curl into a matching grin, and for the moment, you are both innocent again, youthfully in love. Love-making, he thinks again. I want to make love to you for the rest of my life, for all eternity. “I love you,” he says out loud. “And I don’t want you to explode. But I want to show you how much I love you, as well. I want to worship you from head to toe.”

Your eyes widen in the most adorable way. As someone who’s always lowered herself as a supplicant, you find yourself entranced by the idea of being an object of worship. “You do?” you ask, unsure.

Rafayel raises your still sticky hand to his face, not caring about the mess. He wants to be messy with you. He wants to be part of you. “There’s nothing else in this world,” he begins, kissing the inside of your wrist, nuzzling the skin there. “I adore as much as you. I already worship you. Your hands, your face, your waist, your entire body. All of it is holy to me, holier than any faith I’ve ever believed in my entire life. And if that is a sin, then I will die the happiest sinner to have ever graced this earth.”

The way you blush at his words make him want to eat you whole. He’s never once considered partaking in human flesh, and although he isn’t too fond of what could possibly be considered cannibalism, his desire borders on the urge of devouring you entire. You are just too sweet.

“I’m going to eat you,” he actually tells you. Your answering laughter only makes his chest constrict in pure, unbridled joy.

He backs the words up with another gentle nip to your fingers, his sharp teeth only stopping short of breaking the skin; he finds himself back at your throat, lapping up the thin stream of blood and listening in to the way your laughter turns into a strangled moan. “Oh,” you yelp. “I thought that was a joke.” That makes Rafayel grin; with the taste of your salt on his tongue, he begins to kiss the space inbetween your chest, his fingers gently rolling your nipples through the thin dress you’re wearing. You sigh in please, your back arching just so slightly at the feeling of his fingers on you. “Adore this chest,” he tells you, trying to stay true to his word, but he’s already getting lost in the delicious sight of you surrendering to your pleasure. Following an urge that’s been haunting him ever since that almost-kiss on the beach, he wraps his lips around the rose-bud like nub and suckles it into his mouth, the sound of your sharp outcry like music in his ears. He groans against your chest and hopes you can hear the sound inside your heart; he wants to crawl inside and live there, reside under your skin. As he kisses the nipple with the same fervor he did your mouth, his other hand gently fondles the neglected nipple until you begin to whine for him to stop, the gentle torture not enough for you.

He abandons your chest in favor of your soft, soft stomach - he smushes his cheek against it like a cat, reveling in the way it feels. “God, I love you,” he says, hands cupping your waist. You don’t answer him, too lost in the sensation of his knees beginning to grind against your exposed core for some friction: your dress has ridden up, revealing the lack of underwear. His mouth runs dry, sparing only a moment of pondering where he asks himself whether the seasinger’s attire just doesn’t include underwear; you don’t leave him any more time to think as your fingers claw their way down his back, the pain as erotic as your lewd moans. “Please,” you beg him, grinding up your hips against his. He’s rock-hard again, straining to be inside you. “Please, I need you so bad. Fuck me, Raf.”

“You’ve got a filthy mouth,” he grits out. It’s not a reprimand, more an articulation of how crazy you drive him. Rafayel’s hands glide to the small of your back, lifting you up to receive him, readying you. You’re staring straight into his eyes, panting heavily, and he wonders whether you’re actually seeing him or staring into his soul. “I love you,” you say in response, clinging to the words like a lifeline. His heart jumps and jumps and jumps in chest, struggling to break out of its cage to join hands with yours. The head of his cock nudges against your labia, opening you up, and you fold open like a pond lily, more beautiful than even the oceansvale you adore. “I love you so much.”

“But I,” he tells you, voice strained, “love you more.”

And he pushes inside.

For a second, it feels like all kingdom come. It’s blasphemous and religious all at once; Rafayel feels whole, feels like you’ve become one person as he stretches you open. You feel so perfect around him, so, so perfect. “Oh, gods,” you whisper, the only time you take the name of your articles of faith in vain, a fact that he’s arrogantly proud of, and then Rafayel draws back and curls back inside again, the head of his dick nuzzling against something spongy that makes you wail like a woman stabbed. He almost pulls out, if not for the way you kiss him like this is the last time you ever will, your tongue inside his mouth before he can register, and then the hunger you illicit in him is too much to tolerate and Rafayel begins to fuck into you.

“Full,” you whimper, the words drawling together on your tongue as if you don’t even have the peace of mind to formulate the thoughts properly. Rafayel drags his cock back, pulling out almost entirely before he snaps it back inside; you bare your teeth at him in the same manner as he had done before he had bitten you, which would have made him smile at the way his behavior’s rubbing off on you. But there’s no space to do anything, no controls inside his mind. He’s become prisoner to your gummy walls, the way your warmth swallows his whole, every clench of your pussy around him like a shooting star frying his nervous system alive. “So perfect,” he whines, letting his instincts take over, and your fingers shakily hold on to his shoulder as he begins to piston in out of you. The slapping of flesh meeting skin is so loud it makes you screw your eyes shut in embarrassment, yet you offer up your body all the same. Your legs interlock behind his back as he continues to grind into you, in and out, in and out, in and out. “God, you take me like you were made for me. You’re a dream come true. You are. You are.”

“Rafayel,” comes your pitiful answer, but he’s not paying attention to you right now, not when his body is so hyperfixated on the way you make him feel and the way your own pleasure becomes the forefront of his mind. “S’too much. Slow down.” Your pussy flutters around him, dragging him back in every time he tries to pull out, and his solution is to pump into you quicker, harder, deeper. There is no sound, none that could be described when his cockhead begins to kiss your cervix, and now Rafayel’s chasing after your climax, desperate to get you there before he comes again. There are tears pooling at the edges of your eyes, tears which he licks up with the same delicacy he would use to gorge on you, lose himself in the taste of your cunt. His own tears blur his sight, dripping onto your face, searing into the skin there. “I can’t,” he bawls, sounding entirely too heartbroken for the way he fucks you, the way he folds your body into position to take him better, take him deeper. The bloody trails your nails leave on him don’t even make an impression on him anymore. He sobs into the curve of your throat, chasing, chasing. He ruts into you like a man possessed.

Even in your fucked out state, your shaky hands brush away the tears from his face. He hisses into the palm of your hand, swallowing his sobs, ignoring the hiccups. His own hand finds its way down your body until he’s sure he’s found your clitoris, finding the confirmation in your stuttered out “Fu-u-uck,”, and the hasty circles he draws have your thighs shaking in time with the constant snapping of his own hips, meeting him halfway as he chases your climax, pounding you into the ground. “Gonna come, gonna come, gonnacomegonnacomecomeRaf.” The last of your sentence becomes unintelligible as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, and he holds you close to his chest and continues to fuck you through it as his own begins to spill inside you, no stop to it seemingly in sight, up until the heartbreaking sob that falls out of your mouth breaks him out his trance and snaps him awake. His hips come to a stuttering halt, the picture of a stumbling drunk, then stop completely, and Rafayel slumps, still inside you. He can feel his semen dripping outside, running down his thighs, pooling on the ground. He’s dimly fascinated by the fact that he even has this much cum, but the majority of his consciousness focusses on the way you kiss his forehead, his head, everything you can reach.

“Don’t expect me to move anytime soon,” he mumbles from where his face is smushed against your boobs, and your laughter makes his head shake like the oceanvale bobs in the wind. “Well, darling. You’ve certainly showed me how much you love me.”

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started, Raf.”

This time, it’s he who laughs. He hides his face in your chest and laughs, loud and free, in a way that he’s never been able to ever since he’s been a child. He feels your fingers comb through his blue-pink hair and feels like he’s finally home.

When you wake up from another nightmare in the night, crying for Rafayel like he’s abandoned you, he kisses every tear away until he’s positively certain you’ll never remember the way that dream felt again. You are safe in his arms, joined to his hip, bonded to his soul.

Caught up in so much luck, Rafayel forgot the looming threat.

He forgot how perfectly capable your father was of stealing away Rafayel’s happiness

The memory of Lyra drifted away from him as steadily as his craving for revenge did. She had raised him like her own in his dead mother’s stead: they’d been best friends once, and she became his only connection the mother that had labored and labored to give birth to him. Lyra had always warned him to take good care of his long hair, as it looked exactly the same as his mother’s, and she’d spent all her free time brushing the tangles out. It wasn’t Rafayel she was seeing, not really. But if she was chasing the after-image of her best friend in her son, then there really wasn’t anything he was going to do about it, not when he looked into her face and could only see his mother. They had been united in their loss, and then loss had divided them again.

It’s mother’s long hair, and Lyra’s plea for him to maintain it, that ends up being weaponized against him. Someone is tearing at his hair like a leash, pulling him from the safety of the pool. “Father, no!” You shout. You’ve never raised your voice in anger, not once. “Let go of him!”

“I’ve told you countless times!” Your father’s voice overpowers your own easily, as loud as the thunder before the lightning, as loud as the bells inside Dolphin’s Hall. Rafayel had always guessed you’d been trying to drown out the sound of your father’s shouting, the way he’d done your entire life. “They’re not to be trusted! Ask him! Ask the bastard why he’s entertaining you in the first place!”

You draw back from the accusation, the word ‘entertaining’ like a slap to the face. “He loves me,” you defend him, but your voice has become meek, small. As Rafayel thrashes in your father’s and a second man’s hold, he catches sight of your pale face, the way it’s stained with fear. For his life? Or because of an anticipated betrayal?

“Bullshit.” The unknown man spits at the ground.

“I love her,” Rafayel manages to stay. There’s a punch thrown at him that bites the taste of blood back into his mouth, foreign, not as welcome the way your blood had been. His teeth have cut into the insides of his cheek. “Which I can say with more certainty than you can, you bastard. Yes, I’ve entered her life under a guise. You murdered the woman who raised me. You’ve killed countless of my siblings. But I saw the way you starved your daughter of love and affection, and I vowed I’d never do that to her.”

“Do not play hero with me,” your father says, the hatred in his voice like the lash of a whip. Your own small hand spins out, and for a moment, Rafayel scared he’s lost you, that it’s him you’re going to strike. But your fingers wrap around your father’s wrist, as i you can do anything, as if this wasn’t the hand controlling your entire life. “Let him go, or I swear I’ll tell everyone,” you vow. The threat inside your voice is as venomous as the enmity your father’s had contained. “I’ll tell them where that caviar you so adore comes from, I swear it. Let him go or kill us both. Or maybe I’ll kill you.”

Your father halts in his shock. Rafayel can’t tell what is happening, his head still lowered to the ground by the hand pinning him there, tearing at his hair. It loosens then, and he’s kicked aside, like some stray dog that was a bother and is then forgotten. When he looks up, he sees you locked in a stare-off with your father - your father, whose looking at you as if he’s never once seen you in his entire life.

Perhaps he hasn’t.

“Walk,” is the only thing your father says then. “Walk before I forget myself.”

Rafayel struggles to sit up, to defend you as you had defended him, but you shake your head at him, the dismissal clear enough.

He watches as you leave him behind. How ironic, for you to have feared abandonment, when here he sits being abandoned now. Lost and alone.

In the following days, you don’t turn up. When Rafayel comes to search your human house, despite the fact that your father had threatened to kill him, the building is empty, stripped of all its belongings. None of the vendors in the city know about what has happened, giving only absentminded shrugs and I-do-not-cares. You’ve turned into an actual dream, a fantasy conjured by his love-sick brain, a haunting nightmare. He finds himself clenching his chest as if the heart contained inside was going to give out, broken apart like an empty shell by a mere mortal’s love.

He fears he’s going to die like this.

Alone, and unmourned, and forgotten.

When his desperation mounts in impulsiveness, he either decides to flee Whalefall City or look for you one last time. He can’t remain here, not when he looks everywhere for you, in the strange faces of this place or the gentle tosses of the waves in the harbor, in the sound of a melodious seasinger calling to prayer. It’s driving him insane. He turns up on the steps of Dolphin’s Hall, half-crazed from the loss of you.

It’s there where he witnesses the miracle of the Gods.

It’s not you, sadly; but your shrine maiden, freshly appointed as the new seasinger, hurries thorugh the throng of hall-going attendees. “It’s you!” she exclaims, a haunting echo of the very first words you addressed at him.

That makes him wary. “How do you know who I am?”

She blinks as if Rafayel was the one acting suspicious. “Well, because she’s told me, of course. And your description doesn’t really fit to any of the people here. In a city like this, it’s easy to recognize a new face.” The girl - no, woman - unfolds a letter, revealing a penmanship that he’s never seen, but which he recognizes with his heart.

Rafayel, the very first word on the paper shapes, in elegant loops, written in the soft scribbles of love.

He’s gone to meet you before the letter can hit the ground. Your successor, shaking her head, watches him go.

You’re right where you said where you would be, sitting in the surf like a mermaid would, your human legs anchored in the sand as the ocean drinks the earth. Your arms are crossed over your chest, over clothing he’s never seen before: garment from below the sea. His heart pounds inside his chest.

When you turn your head to face him, the smile on your face is entirely real.

Rafayel hurries to meet you, and then you are embracing each other like one soul being knit together; there was a physical pain in being separated from you that had strangled him for every second that you had been gone, drowning on land like a beached fish. He swipes your windswept hair out of your face, behind your ears, holding your head in his hands. You fit there, as always, like a missing puzzle piece. “I thought … you wouldn’t want to see me again,” he chokes out, the words a struggle. His tongue is heavy with sorrow, weighed down by his betrayal. “I mean, I wanted to tell you the truth. Long before I ever wanted to confess my feelings. I was going to do this properly. But I didn’t expect you.”

You snort, as if amused. “I could see that.”

His thumb strokes your cheekbone, as gentle as a clam reaches to embrace its pearl. “No, you don’t understand,” he tells you, and his chest unlocks in the same way it had when he had allowed himself to be vulnerable with you. “From the very beginning, I hadn’t expected you. I came to you with a heart heavy with hatred, blind with pain. I was so sure of myself, so sure of what was going to happen. But you reached inside me and changed everything. I’ve never even realized how painful it was to be me. Not until you administered the cure.” Rafayel leans his forehead against yours, tasting his tears. Crying, for the first time in so long. Only you. Only you. “Say something. Please.”

“Rafayel.” Your voice is wondrous. When Rafayel looks into your eyes, he only sees pure and unadulterated love, the kind of love that had drawn him off the edge of self-destruction and right into your safe arms. “Don’t you realize you’ve done the exact same thing with me? You’ve come into my life and filled it to the brim with a kind of joy I’ve never thought would be possible for me. I had resigned myself to my fate, to always be under the thumb of my father, and then you came, with all your unbridled anger and pompousness and unconditional love. If it hadn’t been for you, I might never have been able to shake off my parents’ expectations and build a life for myself with you.”

“With me?” Rafayel speaks the world gingerly. As if he can’t let himself believe it. As if he can’t let himself believe that the kinds of happy endings Lyra had always lectured him about were possible, after all.

If you witness true love, hold on to it.

Your fingers are reverent on his face, your smile so all-encompassingly loving. “How else are we going to heal this deep rift between mermaids and humans? I promised to show you, after all.”

Rafayel bursts into laughter. It’s an unexpected reaction, as unexpected as the miracle in his life that had been you, love of his life you. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” he admits, and instead of taking your hand as he had done so long ago under the secretive gaze of the moon, Rafayel finally gets to kiss you in the light of day, claiming you in front of the whole world.

[sxkura-blxssxm]

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

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

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

─•──── 𖦤 ▸ one | two | three | four

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

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

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

caleb is nowhere to be seen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

he had the audacity to be late.

and worse: to arrive like that.

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

he didn’t look at anyone but you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this night is far from over.

the night didn’t pause for any of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

behind you, footsteps slowed, then stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“maybe i just needed the cigarette.”

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

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

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

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

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

“what the fuck are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

maybe he’s right.

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

“i’d be careful what you suggest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i know,” he said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blinked. “you’re inviting us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“she’s not a prize—,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you leaned in first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a show, after all, deserved a proper climax.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“want a taste?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then—

the wax spilled. slow. thick. scalding.

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

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

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

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

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

hot breath. a soft bite.

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

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

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

"up," he said simply, seemingly unbothered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then—

smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

not even close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then he pushed in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you whimpered—high, hitched.

“n–no, i—i can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

and then he pushed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then he bottomed out.

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

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

your breath hitched—then collapsed into a sob.

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

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

they moved together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nnh—ahh—i—f-fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and god, you would let them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“g-god—caleb—raf—ah—please—!”

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

“fuck, i’m cummin’—fucking take it—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you with us?”

you nodded, just barely. it was enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“always have been.”

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

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

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

morning crept in slow.

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

caleb was still beside you.

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

rafayel was gone.

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

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

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

caleb didn’t wake.

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

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

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

you winced.

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

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

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

you kept scrolling.

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

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

and then you blinked.

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

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

the breath in your lungs caught.

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

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

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

your fingers tightened around the phone. you scrolled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

your throat closed.

on the tiny camcorder screen—you could see yourself.

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

and the tags were right there.

@ calebxia, @ yourusername

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

then again, louder, hoarse and sharp and disbelieving.

“what the fuck, rafayel?!”

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

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

the story was real. still up. still public.

and now—everywhere.

dividers by @omi-resources and @ saradika-graphics

taglist : @mcdepressed290 @yriexa @13tter

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

— ✦ © @ x1asirene, tumblr 2025 ✧

[sxkura-blxssxm]

Bodies and Tails

so slowly, rafayel would go so, so slowly for your consummation.

on the sea floor, on your back, his hands on the toes of your dress, he admires you as if you shine brighter than all the ocean pearls.

kiss. kiss. kiss.

all the way down your throat, between your breasts, and down to your navel. his nose would nuzzle into your soft stomach and revere just how feminine and lovely you were there.

his hands, big and clawed, would map you like feathers.

“may i see?” he would ask with a low, warm tone.

he could see everything if he wanted to.

stroking you gently through the ripples of your folds, even here down on the bottom floor of the sea, rafayel could tell your arousal apart from the water.

“humans… they’re much more beautiful than i expected,” he murmured. “or perhaps, it’s just you, my bride?”

kink, fetish, depravity, none of those existed in his sea god heart. it was all pure. worshipping, reverent touches was all he knew and it was all he was going to give you.

he didn’t need anything back. especially not your service.

to honor his beautiful bride with his own body was enough service to his life as it was. and seeing you spread out on a large shell, hair floating away from your face and sunlight shining through the waves and onto your skin, even the lemurian language couldn’t describe you nor what his heart felt.

“you are bound to me already, heart and soul, body and mind. you know that?” rafayel rumbled. “then letting myself give you my body, that will only solidify how bound we are. this bond of ours…” he took your hands and brought it to his chest to feel the rapid beating of his ghostly heart, “is forever. through lives, through tragedy, through sorrow. i’ll never let you forget that.”

he brought his kisses back up to your face and interlocked his soft lips with yours. his tail wrapped around your legs, pressing them together in a very delicate hold.

his hands touched your breasts. they cupped them, squeezed the fat there, and gently rubbed the nipples. after the kisses he leaned his head down to them and smiled.

“do humans often enjoy these? i do. they remind me of how soft and tender you are, my bride. a loving bed of seaweed, you are.”

finally finding his mate felt… incredible.

even the sea god was oblivious to the true feelings of love until he met you.

lemurians mate for life. there is no other, there is no hit or miss. there is only hit, and every mermaid or merman knows it when they feel it. that hit.

it’s undeniable and remarkable. its not a feeling you can mistake.

meeting you, above waters and exploring the sandy shore. rafayel was blessed with experiencing that hit at such a young age. it was overwhelming and confusing. a human? of all the creatures in the sea, the one most dominant on land was what his heart chose?

no lemurian could reprimand him. love was love. love was you.

arousal was different for lemurians in love. it was triggered from attraction, sure, but it was wholehearted and consuming. a gentle obsession.

his arousal grew from every sound and sight of your on the shell. you couldn’t take two, not yet. one was okay today.

rafayel smiled down your body and align himself with you. love was penetrating you slowly and steady. now you could feel the staggering love rafayel felt for you. that love fit perfectly and stung nicely.

“i hope my attempts are helping, my sweet.”

he placed his hand over your navel and a gentle hum of his power helped the rippling ache in your deepest of crevices.

you squeezed and wrung and almost begged with your body. pain was nonexistent right now.

rafayel tilted his head back to look up to the ocean surface. he closed his eyes and hummed deeply and intensely. “my beautiful bride,” he proclaimed, “has been taken.”

the size of him was overwhelming enough, he didn’t need to move intensely to make you feel good. gently, his hips and sharp V of his tail undulating like a hypnotic dance. over and over again, sweet kisses to your womb.

rafayel looked over you, his long hair spilt around you like curtains or a canopy. his pupils were practically in the shape of hearts and his lips were curved up in a small, neurotic expression. he bit the side of his bottom lip almost seductively while keeping his eyes on yours.

for a long time he didn’t say anything. he let you sing your own chorus of sounds and simply listened. he only stared hard, but it was loving.

“i wish to be in your skin, fusing my love with yours to create a love no lemurian has ever seen nor felt.”

his hand went from caressing your cheek right down to your soft, pulsing nub. he didn’t look at what he was doing, refusing to let his gaze peel off your face.

“this pearl here means more to me than all ones gifted to me in prayers,” rafayel stated as a fact. he circles the area in a slow and rhythmic motion. “just with a few touches of my love, i can give you a pleasure nothing else in this world will.”

he leaned down to your breasts and take a nipple into his mouth for soft sucks. his eyes gazed up at your from your chest like a hatchling while nursing.

“and these pearls,” he continued, “are too my favourites. what a nurturing body you have.”

faster, harder.

sounds ripple through the water like thunderclaps. it wasn’t painful, just passionate. the water on the skin was cool, but the sensations inside were burning hot.

rafayel was the beauty of this sea, but with you here, he thought you put him to shame.

he touched your arched back gently and used it to thrust harder. your legs sprang up and immediately he caught them.

he kissed up and around your calves and ankles and then to the soles of your feet. no part of you went under appreciated.

rafayel was losing it fast. he grinned widely with devotion written all over his smile.

“my bride, my bride, my bride, my bride, my bride.”

the chemicals in his lemurian brain hazed over his gaze and mind. the ultimate sign of love was no longer just the burning bond on his chest, but the feeling of kissing your deepest aches with his sharpest appendage.

true and utter penetration.

“the sea will thrive with you by my side,” rafayel panted softly. “because our love is exemplary. it shall set an example to all mermaids and mermen. this,” he immediately finished inside with just the thought of showing off his worship of you, “i-is love. my beautiful bride… you’ve been claimed by the sea god.” he slowly unsheathed himself from you and smiled warmly. “and i know im meant to be yours,” he whispered by your face, “because you’re glowing like an angel after being filled by me. you’ve been christened.”

with his body, rafayel could’ve gone for days with you on the bottom floor. but you?

you delicate, sweet creature.

you needed time and mending. and rafayel was the most patient lemurian in the sea.

he pressed an affectionate kiss to your forehead like always. there was still so much to show you about lemurian love, but now, as you laid tired and equally as obsessed, rafayel was the happiest to just simply hold what he’d claimed.

࣪𖤐

[sxkura-blxssxm]

BAD GIRL GOOD GIRL

pairing ─ policeman!caleb x civilianfem!reader contains ─ MINORS DNI, fem!gendered terms, use of y/n, good girl/bad girl, lots of pet names, spicy content, basically just p no plot, no established relationship, slight degradation, teasing, kind of roleplay, unprotected p-in-v, handcuffs, oral (m and f receiving), missionary, very forward reader, some dom and sub dynamics, kind of fluff at the end, all strictly fictional word count ─ 4.1k about ─ when you accidentally mistake police officer caleb for a hooker, things take an interesting turn!

notes ─ heavily inspired by caleb's farspace fleet outfit sO IMAGINE THAT INSTEAD OF A NORMAL POLICE OFFICER UNIFORM. my first time writing this type of content!! i think i put in the right stuff in the contains section but let me know if there's anything else i should add. hope you enjoy ;)

The lights were glaring and the music was pumping throughout the club. You and your group of friends had dressed up to the nines for your birthday, booking yourselves a little table in Linkon City's hottest nightclub. The DJ was playing some banging 2000s hits and you couldn't contain your excitement as you drank shot after shot, drink after drink. And if that wasn't enough, you and your girls had decided to take the party to your apartment, blasting out music from your tv speakers and dancing around to your heart's content.

The girls soon left one by one clambering out of your apartment, still giggling and high off the energy of the night. They mentioned a 'special surprise' that they had prepared for you, not giving you the slightest clue to what it was. You thanked them all for coming as they left, opting to spend the rest of your time awake and cleaning the mess that had now accumulated in your apartment. You could worry about washing up after all of that was done. 

Ding dong. The doorbell rang accompanied by two sharp knocks at the door. You looked at the clock which was now nearing 3am. That’s odd? Maybe one of the girls left something here, you thought. Hurrying over to the door after hearing another knock and an "Excuse me", you looked through the peephole only to be met by a tall, violet eyed man in a stunning police officer uniform. No fucking way. You had spoken to the girls multiple times about liking men in uniform but you didn't think they would send you a male hooker dressed in uniform for your birthday. Opening the door, you gave the man an innocent smile.

"Hi officer. What seems to be the problem?" you questioned, head cocked to the side.

"Hello ma'am, I'm Officer Caleb. I’m just here because there's been complaints about the noise coming from your apartment." he declared, eyeing your figure and the inside of the apartment. You were a sight for sore eyes and the way your eyes fawned over him had him drooling just a little. However, he had a title to uphold and a job to do. He couldn't risk it all over a precious, gorgeous thing such as yourself, could he?

"Hmm? A noise complaint? I don't know what you mean Officer.....Caleb." you drawled with a grin, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ears as you drew your eyes from his badge to his lips. This man looked delicious, absolutely ravishing even and if you were right he was all yours for tonight.

"Ma'am what was your name?” Caleb asked, eyes gazing into yours.

“I'm Y/n.” you answered, holding his gaze.

“Well Y/n I think I'll need to take a look inside your apartment. Extra precautions you know?" Caleb insisted with a smirk, his arm propped up against your apartment door. 

"Of course sir. I'm a law abiding citizen. I would never disobey an officer of the law." you answered with a giggle. Opening your door, you stepped aside to let this handsome stranger walk in. He took his hat and badge off, surveying the area. Wow this man is really into his role, it's kind of hot, you ogled as he walked around your living room.

"Anything else you need to check out? I've got a whole lot more to show you." you slyly asked, eyes perked up to meet his. 

"You sure about that pipsqueak? I'm off the clock in a few minutes. You mind waiting?" he questioned, eyebrows raised. 

"Sure thing Officer, anything for you." you breathed, fingers trailing across his chest to meet his tie and pull him in towards you.

"A little impatient aren't we?" he chuckled with a slight shake of his head.

"What can I say, I really like a man in uniform." you emphasised, not once taking your eyes off of him. Caleb was flattered to say the least. Throughout the many years working as a police officer, never once had he been so enamoured by such words from an attractive woman like yourself. Maybe it was the boldness in your actions and that fucking cute smile. He wanted to know exactly how those pretty lips would look wrapped around his cock. 

"Why don't you show me to the bedroom then? Nothing like a little routine check to make sure everything is in order." Caleb suggested still peering at your lips.

"Right this way officer." you purred, pulling him by his tie to the direction of your bedroom. You dragged him in before pushing him towards the bed, jumping onto Caleb and straddling his waist.

His hands landed onto your waist, before pulling you in for a deep kiss. Both your lips moved rapidly against each other, whilst your hands ran through his hair, tugging at it before going to the nape of his neck. The kiss was hot and heavy, your tongues delving deeper into each others' mouths, hands hastily grabbing at whatever they could. You two kept going with no breaks for air as Caleb slowly leaned back down towards the bed, bringing you along with him. You broke free from the kiss, eyeing Caleb and his muscular body.

“So Officer Caleb, are you satisfied with your routine check of the bedroom? Anything else you need to do?” you smirked, noticing the lipstick stains Caleb was now sporting on his own lips.

“Unfortunately I don’t think I'm done with my routine check just yet. Someone has been a really bad girl. I'll need to conduct a strip search." Caleb answered, hands roaming all over your body. He quickly flipped you over onto your back, causing you to softly yelp from the sudden movement.

“I think I want to start with these.” he whispered in your ear, hands cupping your breasts from over your top and softly massaging them. 

“Definitely officer, I can help with that.” you replied, taking your top off, revealing to Caleb your cute lace bra. Caleb began peppering kisses from your lips to your neck, all the way down to your bra.

“May I, Y/n?” he softly asked, motioning to the back clasp of your bra.

“Yea go for it.” you breathed, eyes fluttering at him. Caleb swiftly undid your bra clasp revealing to him the most perfect pair of tits he had ever laid his eyes on. Looking up to your eyes for confirmation, you gave him a small nod. Within seconds, Caleb had latched onto your nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue on one whilst he rolled and tweaked your other bud between his fingers. This sudden pleasure and sensation elicited soft whines and moans from your mouth. Caleb's hands and mouth were magical, sending electricity pulsing all throughout your body. 

“Mmm, just like that baby. I want to hear you make those noises. Let me know how good it feels.” he groaned. God you sounded amazing. He wanted to hear more. The sweet noises you made urged him to keep on going. 

“More Caleb, please.” you moaned, feeling a warm wet pool beginning to form between your legs. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me then? Going to listen to whatever I say?” Caleb hummed, now kissing and leaving marks from your chest to your neck as he continued fondling your breasts.

“Yes, yes.” you replied nodding without any hesitation, hands making their way to tug onto Caleb's hair.

"Good. That's exactly what I want to hear." Caleb cooed, making his way to your lips. Once again, he pulled you in for another kiss. This one being more intense and more eager than the first. You melted under his hypnotising and yearning touch, both your tongues swirling roughly against each other. You wanted to move, palm the growing bulge you could feel pressing against you but you were in too much absolute bliss to be able to move.

"I want these to come off too. Still haven't finished with my strip search yet, pipsqueak." Caleb added smugly, now looking down at your miniskirt and tugging at the hem of it. 

"But you haven't taken anything off yet. It's not fair." you whined, pulling at his tie in an attempt to take it off.

"Nuh uh, hands off baby girl. You said you'd be good. Let me finish my routine check and I'm all yours." Caleb answered, eyes commanding you to back down as he held onto your wrist in an attempt to pry them away from his tie. You gave him a pout before following through, ever so slowly taking off your skirt along with your panties. Caleb's finger ghosted slowly to your sides, placing soft gentle kisses and leaving marks along the way to your core. He gently moved your legs apart, marvelling at the slickness coating your folds.

"I bet you taste just as good as you look right now." he praised before completely devouring you, attacking your sensitive bundle of nerves with his tongue laid flat, flicking it with long, slow licks. You groaned, your thighs clasping around his head as your body sunk into sensation, responding to his movements. He clamped onto your clit, sucking and licking it like a man starved and desperate.

"C'mon now, what did I say? I want to hear you Y/n. Only good girls get prizes." he urged, eyes looking up at you whilst he continued swirling his tongue on your clit. His hands moved from your legs to your tits, this time doubling the feeling of pleasure as he continued tweaking and rubbing your breasts. You whined in response, your back arching as he continued ravaging you in the best way possible. Caleb began dragging long licks from your cunt to your clit. Tongue darting in and out of you, lapping up your juices. Fuck was this hooker good at his job. Your friends must've paid a whole lot of money for this package. 

"Fuck, you're making me feel too good." you moaned, looking down at the handsome man in between your legs. His eyes met yours, observing the way your eyes scrunched up and how your moans were shaped on your mouth. He studied you, seeing which licks and sucks elicited the prettiest expressions on your face, etching it forever within his memory.

"I'll make you feel even better in a moment. You're so pretty like this for me. Doing so well pipsqueak. Just a little bit more and then you can have your way with me." Caleb rasped, his hands now making their way back towards your core. 

Caleb's finger began burrowing its way between your folds until it came nestled into your sopping cunt. He purposefully dragged his finger slowly into you, causing a slight whimper to escape from your mouth. He ran painstaking slow circles within you, adding another finger whilst his tongue was still flitting over your now sensitive bundle of nerves. 

"Hmm I can't seem to find anything in here except your tight cunt. You're sucking my fingers in so nicely huh? Wonder how it'll look when you're sucking in my cock." Caleb taunted, teasingly grinning up at you succumbing to his pleasurable movements. 

"Mhm more please Caleb." you breathily let out. Your hands clambering from his hair to your bed sheets with your mind now a blur.

"What was that baby? I can't hear you. Speak up and I’ll give you what you want." Caleb smirked, still continuing his slow assault within your cunt.

"I want you to go a little harder please." you seethed. 

"That's my good girl. Since you asked so nicely, your wish is my command." Caleb grinned before moving his fingers faster within your aching centre, hitting just the right spots. He used his other free hand to rub circles around your throbbing clit.

"Fuck, Caleb. I can't think straight at all." you drawled, head thrown back with your eyes rolling back to your head.

"That's just what I like to hear." Caleb chuckled now, moving and rubbing at a slightly faster pace, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. The way you were writhing under him was hotter than any girl he had ever had and he wanted time to slow down for as long as it could. Your whines and moans echoed throughout the room, urging him to keep going faster and harder with his movements. He gave you another longing kiss, feverishly devouring you. You moaned into the kiss and the way you sounded almost made him want to finish in his pants right then and there, almost. 

"'M so close." you let out as your laboured breathing began mixing in with soft mewls. Your hands were grappling at your bedsheets, head spinning and reeling from all the build-up of pleasure. 

"You are? It's so cute the way you're tightening around my fingers. You gonna be a good girl and come for me then?" Caleb crooned and with those words you came undone by his hands. Your body trembled in delight, head thrown back and riding through the tremendous waves of gratification for what felt like forever. Your body was a temple and Caleb had just paid his dues in worshipping in it. Slowly your eyes fluttered open as you came down from your high. 

Looking over at Caleb you ogled his fully clothed body, still clad in his tie and slacks with his handcuffs dangling from his belt. 

"Wanna use them?" Caleb asked, taking off the handcuffs and dangling them in the air. The silver metal glinted in the lights, calling out to you.

"Oh you don't need to ask me twice." you answered eagerly, grabbing the handcuffs from him before looping your arms around his neck.

"Sooo Officer Caleb, since you've had your fun, I think it's my turn." you declared, a mischievous gleam within your smile. Your hands moved to his wrists, locking the handcuffs around them so that his hands were now cuffed up behind his back.

"Hmm, are you going to make me feel good then?" Caleb questioned, smiling at your cute attempt to take charge. Still he'd let you have your way and then he'd show you who really was the one with all the power. 

You straddled his hips, hovering slightly over the bulge confined in his pants and deliberately grinding your hips at an achingly slow pace. Caleb hissed in response, violet eyes glaring into yours. You giggled before leaning into him, engulfing him into another kiss. Both your mouths melding into one another, drawing out soft groans from Caleb as you continued your slow-paced assault against his tent. You helped him undo his tie, unbuttoning his shirt as you continued to kiss your way down towards his pants. 

"Mind hurrying up there?" Caleb grunted, eyes now searing into the way your hands slowly, but surely, began to undo his belt.

"You took your time with me, what's wrong with a little payback?" you teased, unzipping his pants and finally pulling his boxers down, freeing Caleb's twinging thick cock. It was so fucking pretty. Perfectly shaped and curved, a smidge of precum leaking from the top with veins perfectly intact.

"Are you just going to keep staring or what?" Caleb smiled smugly as he noted how you looked at him in awe.

In response to his comment, you gave little kitten-licks on his lip, savouring the taste, eyes peering into his. Your tongue swirled around the top of his cock, teasing him, drawing him in and making him want more. He moaned, bucking his hips in an attempt to get his cock deeper into your mouth. You pulled back and Caleb's aching cock was met with the cold air of your bedroom. 

"C'mon pipsqueak, you can do better than that." he frowned, upset with being denied the pleasure of sinking his throbbing cock into your sweet, sweet mouth. 

"Say it with a please at least." you jokingly scoffed.

“Please pipsqueak." he pleaded, eyes clouded and full of need. You answered him by licking from the base of his cock to the tip, spitting onto it so you could lube it up. You began sinking your mouth onto his cock, using your hand to pump him from the base upwards. Fuck this man was a little too big. You bobbed your head up and down trying your best to breathe through your nostrils as your hand continued stroking.

"Fuck baby, you're doing so well. Be a good girl and try to fit all of me in your sweet mouth, pretty please?" he groaned as your mouth went slack, moving deeper down onto his cock and feeling the tip hit the back of your throat. Caleb let out a throaty moan as you carried on sucking and caressing him, making him see stars as he closed his eyes. Your mouth let go of Caleb's cock with a pop before staring up into his daring eyes.

"Can I ride you?" your words came out as a whisper, barely registering in your head what you had just said. Caleb's ears perked up, a smile carved onto his lips.

"I thought you'd never ask pipsqueak. Be my guest." Caleb answered, moving his legs wider to give you space. You positioned your dripping cunt over the tip of his cock, slowly but surely easing yourself in. A hiss slipped out from Caleb's lips whilst a whimper escaped from your mouth. He was stretching you out, moulding his way into you. You took short deep breaths, sinking yourself further down to the base of his cock.

"That's it baby, you're doing so well for me hm?" Caleb drawled, the feeling of being so deep in you was doing things to him he couldn't comprehend. It was a perfect fit. Like you were made to fit him, an exact piece to his puzzle. 

You began to move, your hips grinding against Caleb's and soft moans eliciting from your mouth. To Caleb you looked like heaven, no you were heaven. If he had died and this was what greeted him up in heaven, then he wouldn't have it any other way. Your hips were driving him insane and if he wasn’t so concentrated on trying not to finish so quickly, he would’ve already been a goner. He couldn’t take being unable to move anymore and ever so secretly undid the handcuffs just exactly like he had been taught within the police academy. Within seconds your back was now on your bed, Caleb’s cock still in you, his eyes now held a mischievous glint in them and his face was adorned with a smirk. 

“Huh? How did you even..?” you gasped in shock, confused at how he had undone his handcuffs so quickly.

“They teach you a lot of things at the police academy.” he grinned with his hands now massaging your hips, slowly easing his way in and out of you, evoking short, sweet gasps from you.

“Please Caleb.” you let out, grasping at whatever pleasure was rippling through your body.

“Please what? Gonna need you to be more specific baby girl.” Caleb mused, peppering kisses all along your neck and chest. 

“Need you to move please, Caleb.” you groaned, pouting at his minimal amount of movement. He was teasing you, provoking you to want more from him. And in truth, all you really wanted him to do was fuck your literal brains out. 

“But I am moving.” Caleb taunted, torturing you with his painfully slow movements.

“Just fuck me like you mean it Caleb.” you answered back, now glaring at him instead. 

“Your wish is my command, princess.” Caleb beamed before absolutely going in. His hips snapped against yours, his tip hitting just the right spots that sent your head reeling and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He showed no mercy, suckling at your sweet skin as though tonight was his last night on Earth and everything he did needed to count. 

“Hmmm you’re so fucking pretty like this.” Caleb let out, panting and grunting at every word he gasped through his breath. You moaned in response, hands moving to latch around Caleb’s neck, leaving scratches behind his back as the satisfying way his cock hit right at your cervix had your body leading up to another high. 

“Mmm right there, it feels so good Caleb.” you mewled, cooing praises into his ear. Your words of affirmation motivated him more, rousing him to move in a more circular motion and prompting his movements to grow at a steady pace. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you and closer into you. 

“Can’t get enough can you? You just want me deeper and deeper inside don’t you? Gonna go so deep you won’t be able to forget how I feel baby girl.” Caleb moaned, the feeling of being squeezed and absolutely absorbed by your soft walls was sending him over the moon. 

“Caleb, ’m close again.” you drawled, feeling your high getting closer and closer, a building tempo increasing within your clenching walls.

“Fuck baby, me too. You’re gonna have to stop clenching so hard I won’t have enough time to pull out. ” Caleb replied, feeling too good at the way his cock was rubbing so nicely against your cervix, his own nerves bundling up inside him. 

“Can’t help it. Feeling so good. Gonna come soon Caleb.” you stuttered, your voice barely a whisper before finally the feeling of being tipped over the edge, hit you like a wave crashing all throughout your body. Your back arched in response, letting out one final gasp and after a few more thrusts, Caleb's high followed along with yours, pulling out and spilling himself all over your stomach and breasts, groaning in the process. You still had your arms around his neck, before you pulled him in for another kiss.

“Holy shit princess, that was incredible. Let me get you cleaned up. Where’s your bathroom?” he asked, sweat now prominent on his forehead and hands frantically looking for tissues. 

“I’ve got tissues on my desk. Bathroom’s right next door, there should be a spare towel there.” you answered with your limbs sprawled out on the bed. Caleb rushed to grab the tissues, slowly and carefully cleaning himself off from your chest and your stomach. He ran to grab your towel, wetting it and wiping you down ever so gently, a stark contrast to his headstrong persona in bed before. He cleaned himself up with the spare towel, making sure he chucked both towels into your laundry basket before settling down right next to you.

“You don’t mind if I stay the night, do you? I know we don’t really know each other but-” Caleb began, hand running through his hair as his eyes darted around.

“Be my guest. After what we’ve just done, I'd say we’re definitely a little closer.” you giggled at his shyness, wondering where exactly Officer Caleb had gone. He was a stranger, yes, but by now you had definitely broken all the ground rules on stranger danger. Plus a man who had treated you that good in bed was surely a man worthy of being allowed to stay over. Caleb moved under the covers, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into his chest. The lull of his heartbeat and the way he stroked your hair pulled you into the most peaceful sleep you had ever had. 

Ding dong. Your doorbell was ringing, disrupting you from your wonderful slumber as you cocked your head up from Caleb’s warm chest. Who the hell was it at this hour? You grumbled to yourself, grabbing your phone to check the time. Your phone read 1pm whilst flashes of birthday messages, photo tags and more were flooding through to your notifications. Not wanting to wake up Caleb, you moved slowly to the door, peeping through the peephole just like you had done last night. There in front of your door stood a man in an awful looking police officer costume. 

You began frantically messaging your friends, wondering to yourself who it was that was at your door. Surely your friends hadn’t hired two hookers for you. After last night you knew you couldn’t handle nor wanted anything more. You received a reply back:

‘Must be your surprise! He said he was supposed to come last night but he got delayed. Enjoy ;)'

Your eyes widened. If the man outside was supposed to be the hooker your friends had hired for you, who the hell was the man who had fucked you oh so good last night? Eyeing the badge Caleb had left on the kitchen bench, you opened it up, only to be met with an official Linkon City Police badge and the name Caleb Xia boldly printed on it.

Oh fuck.

[sxkura-blxssxm]

Amen (Hey, Men!) - G.S.

Synopsis. BIoodshed. BIoodIust. Vampires. It was no wonder you’d turn to the charming new priest in town during dark times like these…but Father Gojo seems to be interested in you in ways that are more than sinful. And there’s nothing holy about him, either.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, priest!Gojo, VAMPIRE AU, slight wild west AU, slight vioIence, reIigious themes, mentions of déath, slightly eerie, small town gossip, first times, oraI (fem rec.), he goes FÉRAL, fíngering, bíting, spítting, p sIapping, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, mentioned bIood, matíng presses, size kínk, breaking furniture, D slipping, manhandIing, he’s BIG, tummy buIges, D piercing, dúmbifícation, squírting, marathons, fated ones, matíng marks, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.0k

A/N. Tysmmm to the babygirls that voted on this poll <3

“H-help-” Words tremble weakly from your throat, drowning underneath the wailing wind. The storm was furious; forming iron walls of rain that blocked every dusty road and lane of your idle country town. “Please help-”

And your escape.

You thought you knew better than to trust the rumor mill. A few murmurs here, a hasty funeral with a closed casket there, and then two more exactly the same. It had everyone - from haunted elders at the local pub, to children on the playground - uttering only one word.

Vampire. 

And then, you’d seen it- him. 

Just the thought itself is enough to send your aching legs surging towards the nearest, faint yellow light on the midnight street. Safety. “H-he’s comin’ for me- please-” 

Terrified to even turn your back, you race to bang your fists against the oak doorway of the building. For fear of seeing those eyes again - two glowing sapphires piercing at you from the dark. “He’s here-” Cold. Just like-

“Going somewhere, my angel?”

Lightning crashes against the sky. And you crash into his arms. 

Staring right into the blue, blue eyes of Gojo Satoru.

Who else could it be? 

That warm, handsome priest your age who’d taken it upon himself to renovate the dilapidated ol’ church of your town. It’d been forgotten for ages - and with it, the fear for what came after you were no longer upon this Earth.

Now you had both the recent string of deaths and Father Gojo to remind you.

And oh, were you reminded - it was hard to miss him. Especially in a town so small. 

Golden cross always swinging in the middle of his dark black cassock, Bible always in large hands that you couldn’t look away from.

Perhaps it was sacrilegious, perhaps it was fleeting fancy- because there always was much to see. 

From the broad shoulders filling out his holy robes, to the slight dimples that cratered his pale cheeks any time he grinned - at least you weren’t alone with your admiration. For it had only been a few weeks since Gojo had arrived, as quietly as if he’d simply parted the heavens and set foot here, and he was already starring in as much of your town’s gossip as the myth of the vampire was.

Well, a myth no longer, you’re realizing. And it’s enough to make your shivering fingertips clench-

Onto…a firm arm? 

You blink, looking up only now to register that it wasn’t just any arm - it was Gojo’s arms. Heated. Strong. Around you. 

The only thing holding your weight up right now, as your weakened legs made themselves useless. 

And Gojo himself was peering down at you through his long, pale lashes. Close. Close enough that your wet-streaked cheeks bristle at his scorching breath, “My, you look like you’ve been face to face with the Reaper himself, beloved.” His rosy lips curl at the ends, slightly. “Or…worse.”

That makes you gasp- fighting in his grasp, you snap your head over your shoulder and stare into the darkness behind you. Just hoping it won’t stare back. “It- he- was f-following me- kept after me, wouldn’t let up-”

“Pardon?”

“The- the vampire!”

His eyes seem to flicker in the dim lighting, and Gojo speaks not a word. Just lets out what sounds like a short, sharp gasp- before tucking you deeper into his embrace. 

And it would almost be scandalous, you knew. If it wasn’t for the rain then one of the neighbours might have peeked their head out, and by tomorrow afternoon the entire town would be ablaze with the news of the priest holding a rain-drenched woman outside the church itself.

But Gojo didn’t care if anyone would see, it seems.

Because he only tugs you tighter against his tense core once he feels you struggling, “There there, my angel. It must have been quite the fright, the Lord has surely tested your courage.”

“Oh, it was downright terrifying. One moment I was closing up my stall- ready to walk back home tonight, and the next thing I know I hear the crunch of a twig.” 

Close. “Interesting.”

“He towered over me like a mountain- and just as cold. I-I think he was gunning for my blood next-”

Closer. “Real interesting.” So close that you could count each spike of grey in his irises, and every vibrato in his baritone voice. “No harm shall come to you whilst these holy walls and I stand, my darling. He shan’t lay a hand on you.” And then Gojo smiles, crooked and gleaming in the glowing candles from behind him. “Not a single hand.”

You seem to breathe out, for the first time in what feels like years. Simply held. 

Simply ignoring the coil of something deep down in your stomach- you busy yourself with the frigid dig of something hard against your back, where his hands glided up n’ down soothingly. Like the corner of a book-

“Oh, heavens. I have forgotten myself.” Gojo starts, noticing the most minute shiver that runs down your spine. 

In a singular, fluid motion, he’s breaking away to shut the heavy wooden doors and usher you inside- so fast that you half-heartedly wonder whether it may be spellwork. “Please, come in. Soak up some warmth in my office.”

“Th-thank you, Father.”

“Please. Call me by name.”

And you can’t help but follow.

Noticing the small, tattered book that was clutched in one of his hands - ah, that was what you’d been feeling on your skin. Guiltily, you think you must have interrupted him during his reading time…

As Gojo turns his back on you to lead you down the long, candle-lit hallway of the church, you can’t help but narrow your eyes at the tiny book swinging by his side. It didn’t look like his usual Bible-

“Ah, here.” You’re looking up to see Gojo dip his lengthy fingers into a side pocket within his dark robes. Almost melding with the shadows of the candles, it’s as if he’s pulling a long, stringed rosary from thin air. “Take my rosary. Let your faith guard you when I cannot, beloved.”

“O-oh, thank you again, Father-”

His dimple winks, “Satoru.”

“Right…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, even as he probes you with half-lidded eyes to do so. Instead, busying yourself by tugging on the incense-scented necklace, it weighs light ‘round your neck. And you can’t help but run your fingers over each bead- “I won’t forget this.” 

And the very second your eyes flit up- you see him, Bible grasped in his hand like it always had been.

Strange, you quiver your head slightly, tonight must have shaken you up more than you thought for you to be seeing things that weren’t there.

Though, it should’ve been expected with how disorientingly massive the interior of the church was. Much too immense for such a town. You didn’t remember it being this grand before Gojo had arrived- far arches of the ceiling peered in with gargoyles, high stone walls carved with faint effigies. 

Ahead of you, the pews were polished enough to act as mirrors. And as you turned left past the high place of worship down a corridor towards his office, you couldn’t help but feel like the building was swallowing you whole. 

“Something the matter, my angel?” Gojo’s voice breaks through the cold silence, back still turned. “Still troubled by what the Lord has shown you?”

Clutching the delicate rosary, “It- it’s just…it wasn’t the vampire that spooked me.” You twist, and so does the string of beads in your hands. “But those eyes?” 

“Yes–?”

“Hell rode in ‘em.”

The clap of thunder, the clash of dry prayer beads on polished stone.

It’s as if each degree of warmth bled by the candles blows out in a single gale of wind the very moment you say this. 

Boring into your very soul, Gojo’s pale eyes are almost other-wordly as he turns. “Worry not, for no monster can enter through these holy walls, beloved.” Chuckling, and the rolling spheroids of his now-shattered rosary sing as he steps past them. 

A tall, shadowed figure leading you into the dark.

“Except humans, of course.”

.

.

.

“Sugar-–! The finest sugar from the East-”

“Boots half-off–!”

“-get yerself velvet-”

The market was always alive, despite everything. A bustling, breathing thing lined with snug stalls upon either side of a dust-track road. And you were stationed at your fruit stall, as usual, as if you hadn’t damn near been the lucky fourth on a long list of closed caskets. 

Shuddering, your fingers tighten on the wooden panel where you’d lined your plethora of fruits. 

Eyes darting towards the melting yolk sun warming your skin- right, it was still light out. The elders whispered that vampires feared the day - and so you were safe. For now. You had to make sure to pack up as soon as the others did, no more idling around tonight.

“My my, isn’t that Father Gojo- oh, what a sight for sore eyes he is.” Your head turns at the coo of the bookseller’s young daughter, Miwa, her stall right next to yours.

And it didn’t take long for you to see what she was talking about- not long at all for you to nearly want to fluster, too. 

Because there was Gojo Satoru - even in the distance, he was two heads taller than anyone else. With his stark ivory locks catching the daylight, tight cassock snug against his waist and fluttering ever-so-slightly as he weaved through the flea market, the calling pedlars. 

“Oh, Father Gojo- I hear he built that dingy ol’ church right up with his bare hands-”

“I know he’s gotten nearly twenty-seven proposals by the wealthiest families, but guess what? Rejected ‘em all!”

“And that purity ring, oh, a true man of the holy script. Why, forget their daughters, I would have proposed myself- oh, but don’t tell my husband.”

The whispers made you squirm for some strange reason. It was a hasty retreat from the church last night after a brief bout of warming tea in his office, lest someone caught you and thought something else. And you didn’t expect to see him so soon; least of all have his fiery blue eyes waft through each shabby stall as if he was drinking them in. 

So close. Close enough that you couldn’t help but let out an dragged-out sigh-

“Oi. Oi! You deaf or somethin’- fuck’s sake.” 

Oh. Shit.

“M-my apologies, sir-” You’re gasping, snapping your head to the front of your fruit display to find that you’d attracted the attention of none other than Zenin Naoya, sole heir of the house of Zenin merchants. As if your day couldn’t have been any more eventful.

Well, as long as he was a paying customer. Plastering a plastic smile across your face, you gesture towards the ripe red pomegranate held in his grip. “Want me to tally that up?”

Scoffing, “No not after that shoddy customer service. It’d be the last time I spend a dime in this dump.” He tilts his head defiantly, “What’s got yer eyes so occupied anyways-”

“Nothing-”

“Hehhh–?” And you’re appalled to see the way Naoya’s smile curls as he swivels his head the same direction you were looking in - one that half the market was surely turned to admire at this point.

The sight of priest Gojo Satoru bent in playful conversation with a little child, beaming. 

“Sweet on that damn preacher, huh? Isn’t it a sin to watch him that close, sweetcheeks?”

You bristle, “I beg you not to say another blasphemous word-”

“Oh, I bet the gossips at the general store’d eat this little turn of events right up.” Naoya titters, pomegranate now rhythmically thrown up n’ down into the air to be caught. “Small town like this? News like that won’t stay quiet for long. Real shame, huh?”

Only one word and it wouldn’t just be you paying the price, it would be poor, undeserving Father Gojo as well. You stay quiet. You can only stay quiet. 

More so to stop from snatching that pomegranate and slamming it straight into his sneering face. 

But Naoya takes that as an opportunity to lean in- to let his tobacco scent cloud all over your face as he grumbles. “Unless, maybe you care to keep me company for one ni-”

“My darling, pray tell, did you know that the Greeks figured the pomegranate to be symbols of abundance and fertility?” A smooth, simpering voice cuts in- and so does a slender hand that stretches its pale fingertips to clasp the pomegranate in Naoya’s palm.

What? You’re blinking at rapid-fire speed, looking from the familiar newcomer to where you’d just been staring seconds prior - how was he here? So quickly? All of a sudden? 

And Gojo doesn’t even let out a pant of fatigue as if he’d been running, only curving his lips into an icy smile down at the other man. “The Lord speaks through consumption. Planning to expand the family, mister Naoya?”

“I- you-” Naoya strangles out, he jabs. A finger right into the smiling face of Gojo, and then into the space between you two. “My ol’ man shall hear of this. See how holy you really are when you’re-”

Gojo grins, leaning down from his towering height as if he was speaking to a child. “He shall be welcome to find me. Sermons are on Sundays.”

“Tch-” 

With one last glower, and a few more muttered words underneath his breath, you can only watch in speechless amusement as the seething man promptly turns his back and saunters away. Fast. Furious. 

“You have saved me yet again.” You’re breathing out in relief, finally raising your head to look up and oh- did he look absolutely magnetic bathed in the blood-orange light of the setting sun. “How can I ever repay you?”

“I do beg your pardon, to defend your holy honor is the least I can do, beloved.” And you don’t know where to look - the dimples decorating Gojo’s cheeky grin, or the peripheral vision of Miwa beside you mouthing ‘beloved’ in shock. 

But Gojo always does steal your attention away in the end, and the buzzing marketplace rings with the snap–! of his bare, neat nails cracking open the outer rind of the pomegranate. 

Letting thin trails of crimson run down his wrist like blood, “I was not jesting about the Greeks and their belief of fertility.” You gulp as his pinkish tongue darts out just teasingly to run down a stray droplet of juice before it inched too close to his long sleeves. “Try it, my angel.”

Before you can say a word, one hand tucks his Bible, and the other holds a clump of bright, beaded pomegranate to your quivering lips. 

And you swear you hear the bookseller gasp! when you gingerly take it into your mouth. Humming at the explosion of sweet, saccharine syrup. “I can see why- about the Greeks, I mean. Now, if only that snake Mahito didn’t swindle me of the price each time.”

“Hm, is that so?” He huffs out slightly deep laughter, sharing more fruit. “But this was no idle trip to the market today. Truth be told, I came, with earnest heart, to see you.”

“M-me?”

Unaware of the restlessness he’s seeping through your very veins, Gojo tucks a free hand between his Bible and pulls out a long, now-fixed rosary. The very same one you’d accidentally torn apart just the night before-

“It was to give you this.”

Your ears burn with the hushed, pointed whispers of the market as he reverently puts the necklace ‘round your neck. And the cold flowers of the pearly chain nearly sizzle against your skin. “O-oh, thank you, Father-”

“Satoru.” Gojo smiles. He nods. 

He reaches over to hold one of your clasping hands, pressing his mouth against your pomegranate-stained fingertips. In an instant. Red, red juice drips from the ends of your digits and stains his lips scarlet - almost in a kiss.

Oh.

He taps the nearby book stall in goodbye, “Until next time, my darling. Have a blessed day.”

With that - and nothing more - as swiftly, and as quietly as he’d arrived, Gojo Satoru was disappearing back into the thronged crowd. Cross on his chest, Bible in hand.

And you barely register the giddy whispers of Miwa- all but gripping your shoulders and jostling you back and forth at the excitement of coming across the most scandalous piece of gossip to hit this town since the vampires. 

Hissing feverishly, “-way he cast his eyes upon you and- and how long has this been going on?”

“I uh-” At this point she was shaking you, much to the amusement of passersby. Monotone, “Don’t you have your mother’s stall to run, kid- oh.”

And something catches your eye, something tattered. Something blue. 

Something that you swear looked exactly like that old book Gojo had for but a mere split-second in his arms last night. Neatly piled at the top of Miwa’s column of novels on sale. And you can’t stop yourself from pointing, “Hey, what’s the price of that book?”

“Oh? Hm…” Picking it up, she scrunches her eyes in thought. “I don’t remember such a book being here, least of all in this condition- my momma would’ve skinned me alive.” Then, suddenly she perks up. “Tell ya what- you tell me more on wha’s happening between you and Father Gojo and I’ll give you this here thing for free.”

.

.

.

There wasn’t much that one could do during a monsoon rain, and raindrops fall heavy on the roof of your cozy lil’ home. Making the wooden structure creak and sing you to relaxation as you tried to take your mind off of what happened when night arrives.

Who arrives, as night does.

“I’m starting to spook my own self.” You’re notching up your oil lamp to flare up even brighter; so long as you had this, no vampire would set his clutches on you. 

Sighing, you search for a distraction in your gunnysack bags from the marketplace. Leftover fruits still good, a stray few hairpins, and oh- 

A soft gasp leaves your mouth as you find it - that small, blue book you’d bought just a few days ago, not having had the time to read through just yet. No author. No date. Yet, you look over the faded gold print of the cover, “‘Scripture of Shadows’, huh?”

Satisfied, you drag your armchair to where your oil lamp sat sleepily on a windowsill, and start to read by flickering fire light. 

‘Prologue: On Creatures That Walk Among Us. 

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against. —Ephesians 6:12

In the years of my ministerial labors, I have come to learn that one may never truly know what walks alongside you. There are creatures in every shadow you look - though you may not see. 

Out past the edge of God’s hand, these things are borne of hunger and sin - they may be cursed, fallen, or bound to their flesh cruth; salvaged only by thirst that no godly mortal can explain. I have seen them, spirits of ruin that massacre entire herds and weep alongside the shepherd in the waking morn’. 

Yes, dear reader, they may take shapes you belove—wolf, woman, child, lover. And above them all, vampires-’

The flash of lightning, the grumble of thunder- you’re jumping in your seat and nearly slamming the heavy tome shut with a yelp. Wide-eyed, you take a hasty glance through the window, feeling your skin blanket in skittering goosebumps. 

“Dear gods-” Breathless, you’re flipping through a few more pages on vampires and other such entities to settle on a random chapter. 

‘Chapter Four: The Myth of the Vampyre.’

Heavens, why was this always following you like so? And what was Father Gojo doing reading up on such a thing- skipping a few paragraphs and scriptures, you continue reading in honed silence.

‘Perhaps the most cunning of demonic creatures. Not truly dead, nor truly alive, the vampyre boasts the most fearful humanly power of all—beauty. Indeed, they possess much more; overwhelming strength, teeth to kill, speed to hunt. And yet, I have seen more mortals fall victim to the enticing nature of the vampyre than any other creature.’

Perhaps it was the topics taled in the book, perhaps it was the raging storm outside, but you can’t help but squirm restlessly in your seat as you feel oddly…watched. 

‘Let this scripture stand, then, not as idle fancy, but as a caution towards the charismature essence of the vampyre. With this, most hold positions of great authority. Infiltrating even the most tight-knit towns with ease - among them, mayors, teachers, merchants, and mostly-’

Someone was watching you. 

You stare up at the empty, pitch-black square of your window. And then back down past a few paragraphs-

‘But fear not, dear reader, though they cross realms of living and shadow, the vampyre has one confirmed flaw - not sunlight, nor garlic, as tales claim. It is barred from thresholds unbidden, for only when an invitation is offered, may the creature enter. And Revelation 3:20–’

You look up.

The empty window.

The full book.

‘Take care to hold forth the crucifix and be not deceived by beauty or charm. But be cautioned, god-fearing reader, even vampyres have tales of legends. Those of their kind so infamous-’

The empty window.

The full book.

‘-that we hear merely brief whispers of his name, one so vicious and almighty that even vampyres dare not evoke His anger.’

The empty window.

‘An omniscient being amongst even creatures of the shadows, his name-’

A flash of blue-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

You gasp. 

Urgently, you drop the book and hurry to the ramming fist at your door, more to get away from its words than anything else. 

KNOCK! KNOCK!

“C-coming–!”

Your rickety front door creaks as you swing it open, immediately struck with the light of the storm and the icy breath of rain. Wincing against the droplets of water that hit your face, you can just barely make out the flicker of blue, blue eyes. 

Gojo tips his hat to you solemnly, “I pray I’m not disturbing you, my angel.” His deep voice rings out, curiously above even the howl of the wind, and his pretty face simply looks haunted. “Forgive the haste, but I came straight away- there’s been another attack.”

Out of breath, “A-another vampire attack?”

“We fear so, ranch hand Mahito this time. Neck punctured, eyes white- God have mercy on us.” He shakes his head, “The town’s congregatin’ for a special Mass tomorrow, I would like it if you were to join us together to pray for the four lost souls.”

“Of course of course.” You’re taking in the layers of water that soak through Gojo’s dark robes, skin-tight over his heaving chest. Opening your door wider invitingly, “Please, come on in. Oh, you’re just drenched.”

And he opens his eyes just a tad wider, he curls his lips just a slight further. 

“I fear I cannot, beloved. So many more houses to alert.”

Gawking at yet another clap of lightning- “In this storm?”

And you have no idea how he can just smile like that during dark times like these. The pearly whites of his canines wafting near the shell of your ear as Gojo leans in- whispering. “Worried for me?” 

He takes a step, his rain-soaked clothes chill your skin as he inches forwards. Then another step, trying to listen in for your breaths. Your lack of an answer. “You should be worried. Though, not for me.”

Lashes fluttering, “Wh-what do you…”

“Be careful, my angel.” And your collarbones turn humid with the steam of his breath, the way he’s moving his ajar maw down. “You’d do well not to open the door for strangers. Lest you wish to invite…” Down, down, down—“-a vampire.”

You wait - gasps stuttered, fists clenching once he takes a step past your doorway. Just a singular, miniscule step-

Only to brush off something invisible from your shoulder, touch warm on your skin.

“I bid you a goodnight, my darling. Rest well.”

And with that Father Gojo was gone, and so was any wink of sleep that very night. Or any memory of that book, now laying as open and untouched as it had been left on the floor. 

.

.

.

“I ask you not to give into fear- neither anger, nor isolation. Solely to the word of God.” Gojo’s fervent voice sing-songs over the numerous pews. Hands waving, feet stepping. “And I ask you to watch over your kin, pray over those lost, and keep your lamps lit with the faith that He watches.”

It was impossible to tear your eyes off of him.

And you’re sure that the elderly lady seated right beside you was drenching her fifth handkerchief in tears already.

“Trust in me, as I trust in Him. For even in the darkest night, there is still light to be found. For no creature can snuff out the soul of one who believes…”

As you’re nodding, you can’t help but feel that familiar sensation of eyes burning into you. Though, softer than last night- less…frightening. Darting your line of sight behind you to catch Naoya assessing you- and you couldn’t snap your head back faster. 

Instead, catching Gojo’s own twinkling eyes as he finishes his sermon. 

“And who is a vampire to Him? Go forth, and may the Lord be with you. Amen.”

There’s a rush after concluding rites, a crowd forming around Gojo before he can take even a step from the polished pulpit. And just as you close your books to stand from your seat yourself, ready to head home- something tugs on your wrist.

“Oi- I still have a bone to pick with you, missy.”

Or more…someone.

“Naoya.” You’re deadpanning, snatching your wrist free to stare him down with a glare that was utterly not suited for the place you were in right now. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He spears his index your way, “Don’t you go thinking that I’ve forgotten ‘bout you and that tch- preacher.”

Standing your own, you sneak glances at the thinning crowd and just pray they won’t give this little quarrel an ear. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Telling me nothing’s happened, sweetcheeks?” Naoya huffs, “I heard you talkin’ with that sobbing hag- saying how he invited you personally for today’s sermon.”

“Why, yes. What seems to be the problem?”

“You think he went knockin’ on any of our doors at the dead of night?”

Your brows furrow, wouldn’t he have? After all, it was what he said.

“But, of course, he’s gonna invite you personally. The day right there by the fruit stall? The way he was undressing you with his eyes today—I wouldn’t be a darn bit surprised if he’s laid with a shameless woman like you already-”

“And if that is so? Jealous?”

Naoya gasps, and so do about fifteen of the nosy townsfolk lingering by the pews. 

Wincing as Naoya’s grating voice threatens to speak once more–

“Mind your tongue, mister Naoya.” A steady hand claps down on the shorter man’s shoulder, and this silvery bangs flick towards the interruption of the one and only priest. “We stand on hallowed ground.”

Just as he turns his fury towards Gojo instead, his palm squeezes where it lay- hard enough that you can hear the faint pop! of something emanating from the contact. And before he can say any further, Gojo tilts his head down to whisper something in Naoya’s ear.

Something that has him pale. Trembling. And rushing out of the church faster than you can even blink. 

As Gojo smiles at the rest of your company in a polite dismissal, you’re fighting back an awed whistle from your throat. “Pardon my language but-” Eyes steady on his rapidly retreating figure, shoving past each attendee misfortunate enough to cross his path. “-what in blazes did you say to him, Father-”

“Satoru.”

You grin, “Gojo.”

“And ah, I only spoke the truth- that this was God’s sanctuary.” He tilts his head with a beam, though, there’s something about it that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And perhaps something of his father…”

“You’re the devil.”

“Quite the opposite.” Never one to care for gossip, Gojo wastes not a second leaning down till his breath wafted your cheeks. Snowy brows pinched into one of regret, “That reminds me, do forgive my intrusion last night, beloved, I pray I didn’t come at a bad time.”

You flail your hands in disagreement, “Oh, heavens no-” In fact, the eerie book rested upon your bookshelf, and you couldn’t have asked for a more welcome interruption. “I was just…reading a book, you see.” 

“So you say.”

Carefully watching for his reaction, “Called um- ‘Scripture of Shadows.’”

And if you expected him to gasp- if you expected Gojo to even blink at the familiar title, then he doesn’t give you the satisfaction. Only nodding his head in deep understanding, “Anything interesting in that book, my angel?”

“Only fearful.”

He jests, “Then you should devote those eyes to the Lord.” 

You grip your rosary, “I shall do both.”

“Good.” The call of Gojo’s names for blessings and prayers were often, and he nods his head towards a group beckoning him over. As he turns to walk away–“Chapter six is particularly fascinating…and I have plans to reread it tonight.” He whispers, just barely audible over the sound of footsteps on the hardwood holy floor. “My door is always open for you, my darling.”

Oh.

.

.

.

Step.

Step.

Step.

“Hello?”

You didn’t know whether it was the darkness or the taboo in what you were doing that had your footsteps rattling in noisy unison with your heartbeat. 

It was dark - dark enough outside that the neighbors wouldn’t be able to make out your flickering oil lamp through the blanket of the night. Light in one hand, your book in the other, you let yourself slip through the unlocked gates of the church, making your way down the winding hallway that you knew led to Father Gojo’s office. 

Though, it was not the church like you’d ever known it.

And you’d known it crumbling from the walls, you’d known it manifested into something grand - but never so…chilling. 

Each candle was snuffed out, puffing out ghosts of smoke that curled up in the high hallway. Clinging onto your shivering shoulders and making you flinch at each miniscule noise in the distance- “Father Gojo? Are you present toni- mmpf.” 

Your mouth gapes, aghast, nose wrinkling when it felt like you’d just been run over by a carriage. But, it wasn’t a carriage at all - it was a thick, metallic scent that permeated the frigid air and made you stop straight in your tracks.

Hand coming up to cup your mouth, “What is that godforsaken smell?” 

Step. 

Step. 

And it only gets thicker. More relentless. 

Soon enough you’re fully closing your tingling nostrils with your palm and hopelessly praying that it was only a passing perfume. For this wasn’t just the tinge of metal you might smell as you pass the time piece-maker, rather, it was heavy. Slightly sweet. 

Step. 

The one you’d smell on the butcher.

Iron. 

Your eyes widen- blood.

Gojo. 

Running. 

All but sprinting, you’re staggering further down the hallway to where you’d remembered were his quarters. Following the faint memory of his candlelit office, fear laces its frosty grip ‘round your heart as you call out. “F-father Go- oh!”

And it seems you’d forgotten that light reveals more in the shadows than you might want to see.

Red.

Red, red pools paint the grey stone of the church in a bloody mosaic. 

You gasp, body running a few steps backwards on pure instinct at the pale hand sinking into the blood like a desolate ship. Mindlessly, the hand holding your oil lamp jerks over to reveal pale, silvery bangs peeking out from the crimson puddle.

Your heart races- was this. No. Stepping tentatively closer, your mouth drops as once you spy a few stray strands of deep, two-toned black. Naoya. 

“Bitter.”

Slowly…achingly…your quivering oil lamp raises up to the darkness behind Naoya’s corpse. And there you see it - two bright, harrowing eyes of azure blue that bored into your very soul from beyond. 

His eyes. 

Just a flash of those, a mere single glimpse is all that you’re given before the light crashes down to the ground, and you’re both plunged into darkness.

Both you and Gojo Satoru.

Who shoves you against the nearest wall with such inhuman speed, so fast that you don’t even have the time to register it, register your rosary breaking.

One hand slamming down on the rocky wall above you, hard enough to make it crater an outline of his five fingers. The other cupping your cheek gently- almost gingerly, as if afraid to use his true strength with you. 

“Five bodies.” He rasps, and in the grimy lighting you can see two elongated glints of his canines, “Five bodies. All five of them bitter, but you, my darling…”

Before you can even take a closer look, he’s stuffing his face into the thrumming skin at the crook of your neck and drinking in a deeeeep inhale. A sigh. A groan.

“-I would kill for but a taste.”

And he already has, you’re realizing. 

You stammer, staring up into his pale, stoic face - looking at him properly now. 

From the sharp fangs poking through his rosy lips, to the beauty that was so incredible that it was other-worldly. He had a trail of dark red blood staining one side of his maw, a few droplets spattered onto the whites of his roman collar. 

“Y-you’re-”

“Say it.”

“You’re a vampire.”

Whimpering at the ice-cold breath that haunts your flesh, your pulse. “And you’re a delicacy.” He’s enveloping all of you, as if you were ripe for the picking- and you can feel the way your thighs tremble when Gojo’s pushing himself harder against your body. He’s holding you. 

Cassock rubbin’ your front, your book falling, golden cross startling.

Gojo raises his refined nose into the air just once to sniff, before the most simpering tone bleeds into his voice. “How adorable.” 

“Wh-what you- oh!” 

It seems you can’t help but fail in catching your breath whenever he’s around, even though it might just be your last. And Gojo slithers out his long, pinkish tongue to sliiiide down your racing pulse - wet and hot on your flesh, he’s tasting you. Savoring you. Enough to make something instantly hard n’ raw tug through the layers of his holy robe. 

One that he ruts between your legs-

Gojo tilts your face up by your jaw, nailmarks dotting your chin. He gives you a sensual peck, “Let me show you what true carnal pleasures are, little human.”

Maybe you’re nodding, maybe you’re simply gasping at the shock of his touch and bucking your hips up wildly - because that’s all it takes.

All that it takes for Gojo to scoop your weakened knees underneath a singular arm and turn- almost as soon as he did, you’re blinking your eyes to stare up at the ornate ceiling of the priest’s quarters. 

Right now you’re laid out across the large, cushioned couch in the middle of his room. Legs sprawled out embarrassingly, dress hiked high up to your knees where Gojo had kneeled himself on the floor in front of you.

Speed to hunt, the book had said. 

The very same book that he was now twirling between two pinched fingers and humming idly, “My my, it seems that you haven’t even read chapter four properly, my darling. Going against holy orders? Now, how should we rectify that, hm?”

Fingers itching for the hem of your skirts, “P-please-”

“Oh, the Lord has spoken to me.” Gojo gasps, suddenly, as if he’d just come to an epiphany. And his smile is simply sinful, sapphire eyes glowing- the very same ones you’d seen that night. “Bend.”

“Wha- hey!” 

In a nanosecond, he’s manhandling you like a puppet. Making you crawl onto your knees with your front plastered against the high seat of the couch. Arched directly in front of his salivating maw-

“This shan’t work if your heart didn’t will it, my angel.” Gojo muses, shit, how gorgeous you looked like this. Bent and ready for him. He doesn’t even have to make use of his inhuman eyesight to locate that pretty damp spot blotchily drenching through your dress.

You were so wet that all he had to do was lean his nose closer and sniff to drink in that sweet, heavenly scent of you. “Oh.” Gojo’s sharp nails tug on the hem of your thin dress, “Oh.”

Rip-rip-riiiiip—!

Every inch of your clothing melts like butter underneath his power, and the only thing you can do is whimper as you lay your spine arched. Thin panties the only thing you had on underneath during this humid night. 

“Fuck.”

It’s the last thing you hear before Gojo’s lengthy tongue probes at your sheeny inner thighs and laps up- not your drooling, puffy core where you’d needed him the most.

But instead the slight cut that had grazed your heated flesh as he tore off your dress- Gojo moans the instant your taste hits his tongue. Red-hot. 

Not even having to breathe, but his pants were labored, “Fuck.” The sloppy drag of his moistened muscle lets out the most sinful slurp when he’s licking and licking before nothing else is left of your crimson. And then he’s inching his tastebuds up your thighs. He wanted more. Needed it this very instant, all the patience of these immortal years and it wouldn’t be enough. Not even caring for your paper-thin panties, “Fuck-”

Hastily stuffing the quivering orifice of your puffy with his fat girth- before scoffing at the complete n’ utter tightness that wouldn’t let him go completely in. “Pure as a dove, aren’t you, beloved?”

“I-I’ve never…” Tearfully mewling at the burning streeeetch, Gojo’s tongue was just so massive that even the slightest probe inside made your head loopy. “Never done…this.”

The only thing he does is spank a hand down at the edge of your spine to make you bend even further- “Then show me how devoted you are.” Straight into his mouth. Straight into a pert, pretty target for him to spit. Thick, globular, and wet. “Show it to me, my darling.”

And it’s maddening how it’s the last thing that Gojo can get out before he flicks his sizzling tongue through your undergarments to taste down your slit. Letting the slippery wads of your slick fill up his tastebuds and make him groan-

You gawk over your shoulder when his eyes only dilate, sharp fangs growing even sharper. “Show-”

With a hand groping the left of your ass cheeks, he’s tuggin’ you all back to him with an inhuman strength that makes you keen. 

That makes his metallic crucifix press against the backs of your thighs. Fanged lips hovering over your outer pussy as he wetly nuzzles aside your panties to slip his tongue past-

You buck, “Sh-shit, Gojo-”

“Oh.” He’s shuddering at the act of you bucking up stupidly, chasing the temperate French kiss of his mean mouth. Giving him even more of a taste that he just can’t take it- 

“Dear heavenly father, I thank you for this meal.”

And then it all happens at once- your soggy panties are torn off you in a split-second, Gojo’s mouth replacing it even more rapidly. 

Bent over the chair, he’s eating out your saccharine sweet pussy like a beast starved.

He glues his upper lip against the swollen nub of your clit and you whine at the sharp sting of Gojo’s fangs digging right up against your bundle of nerves. Sucking. Tasting. Until his cheeks are all hollowed out with the friction of his suckling and he’s still forcing himself deeper into your pussy for more.

“Oh g- fuck.” Head throwing back stupidly, his nose nudges against the very tip-top of your treacly cunt. “It feels so, so good-”

“A meal this exquisite- never in my s-six hundred years.” He’s muttering between the swollen folds of your pussy, lining your slippery slit with the long line of his nosebridge. 

So messy. Gojo snickers in lewd amusement at the way you’re rolling your hips back to ride n’ slide his nose. He’s rovering his mouth everywhere, glassy eyes half-lidded until he’s simply moving in pure primal instinct to slap the curl of his long, lecherous tongue by the edge of your dampened hole.

Tugging the rubbery circle of it just enough to make you whimper, he circles out soppy patterns that stretch out your cunt. Back and forth back and forth until your limbs weaken. “Have you just finished your monthly dues, my angel?”

You’re gripping onto the wooden headboard of the chair for sweet relief, “Y-yes?”

“That explains it.” And then he nuzzles in nose-deep and even deeper into your drivelling pussy, up n’ down to latch onto your clit and bite. “The next time, you tell me first. I know exactly how to…”

Murmured straight into your hot pussy, mouth departing such a guttural groan as he feels your sap splash down with a noisy squelch. Alllll down his pointed chin and where he’s creepin’ up one of his free hands to caress your glossy outer pussy. “-help.” 

Squealing, you’re feeling just the thick crown of his index poke your cunt. “A-are you putting your ngh- fingers in?”

“I said I shan’t lay a hand on you.” And just then, the doughy palm of his second palm pushes your legs wide apart, not nearly enough to distract you from the flick of his flexible tongue and the way he smooches your filthy hole with yet another cushy fingerpad. “I shall lay two.”

And then you’re seeing raw white in your vision, the feeling of Gojo pushin’ his two ringed fingers past your first tight ring of muscle too much to bear.

Thick enough that you’re struggling to squeeze him inside- “Fuck back t’me- fuck back-”

“L-like this?”

He’s matching your sluggishly sensual pace, nose wrinkling sinfully at the velvety texture of your insides. Gojo’s cross necklace swats your thighs with each constant lurch of his head, crooning out. “Yes- yes. Oh, hell.”

He scrapes the mushy roof of your walls with his deep black purity ring, the cold material thrusting into your most sweetest spots and making him grin. “This is devotion, beloved.”

“Y-you’re just so big- nghhhh–” Your moans strike against the wide chamber and echo all across the building. Hips rutting back to feel his prolonged digits all the way down to the mountains of his knobbly knuckles, “Why are your fingers so big?”

“Only to please you, my darling.” And oh- oh, it was such a tight fit. 

Gojo can’t help but salivate the slimy tip of his tongue down your silvery slit and fucking pry your pussylips apart to let your snug channel take him deeper. Harder. Faster. The roaming shapes of his long, long digits scissor just so that he can stir apart your gluey walls and let you gush out slick.

Licking his way inside while he’s pushing into each nook n’ cranny- hitting down all the way to the base ends of his digits with a right thwack! 

“And you’re just so- ngh- looong—”

“Only to find-” Oh, you didn’t forget about those eyes of his, did you? Because right after he’s letting off a murky gust of those syllables, Gojo’s eyes glow- his fingers hammer - exactly into the bulging area of your g-spot. He’s seeing right through you. “-this sweet thing better, my darling.”

And then it’s absolutely driving you crazy- Gojo’s fingers are just so incredibly rude, swatting a furious back and forth. Thrash-thrash-thrash, determinedly perking up his fingerpads to push his purity ring against your g-spot and watch as you cutely flinch. 

“You’re so- oh- oh my god-” Making each scrape against your sweet spots so sensitive, pump after pump.

“I prefer…Satoru.”

He’s letting out a husky snicker each time he’s plunging into the deepest of your melty depths. Maw now gaping widely ajar to scoop up every glittery ribbon of slick that trickled from between your folds. He’s hungry- thirsting like a vampire parched for six hundred years n’ now he can only gulp in the first meal of his lifetime - you.

You’re bending your pussy to slope down against his mouth and he has the audacity to give you a sweet, puckered smooch. Innocent. “C’mon say it- pray.”

“Please-”

“Not what I asked, beloved.”

Your throat rips with such a carnal shrill at the pudgy crown of his third finger desperately trying to find a way in. Pushing- pap! pap! pap! “Pleeeease- ngh- Satoru. Satoru, fuck-”

SPANK! 

Such glistening beads of pearly slap stream n’ gush all down the front of Gojo’s bobbing throat the very moment he swats his plush palm down across your cunt. “Profanity is a desecration of the church, my angel.” 

Another spank. Another splurging squelch of your pussy talking out in leaks of your sweet, sweet juices. And Gojo only nods along as if in conversation, “How wonderful of you to volunteer to read chapter six in repentance-” Some invisible force of his powers is guiding your familiar shadowy book to your hands. “-and recite it in perfect condition, too.”

“But-”

“Perfect-” Just as a third finger spears its way between your slick-glazed pussylips and finds itself mazing down your walls, headed straight for your g-spot with a thump. Grinning. Voice airy. “-condition.”

A tiiiight fit, that makes you fumble with your poor book, your eyes whirling in the exact lecherous patterns he’s drawling out on your wettened cunt. Each sloppy slurp Gojo’s drinking in enough to make your wrists weaken-

“Ch-chapter six: The Vampyre’s ngh- Beloved.” Unsure of what has your mind spinning more, the title or the way that he’s picking his pace up angrily. “Many are unaware of- hah! the one weakness of the- fuck.”

Tittering, his dimples peek. “Keep going.”

“-the vampyre- hnghhh–”

“Don’t make me- oh.” And before you know it, not only does he have three of his fingers rummagin’ inside. But also the slither of his tastebuds stuffing insides- his vampire tongue so lengthy that it squeezes and squeezes ‘round your tight rim till he’s rutting his flushed cheeks against your cunt.

And the underside of your stomach crackles with a few sparks of bliss, “-the vampyre- their one true love.”

“Mmmmm, yes. Say that again.” 

“O-one true love?”

Gojo’s pulling back his tongue with a wettened squelch. Ravenous. Feral. He’s getting himself drunk on each drag that your restless body was quivering out - now moving everywhere and anywhere. 

Faster. Sloppier. 

Fucking back inside your hole. Slapping over your clit. Biting down on the swollen edge of your pussy just to hear those pretty cries, “One true love-” Then sticking the damp edges of his bangs to tickle your skin, he suckles on your clit like gum. “-my one true love.”

Again and again.

Moving so rapidly- it’s like he’s in three places at once. Swirling the long edge of his tongue around and around your walls until you’re babbling stupidly, “The fated mate- ngh- soulmate…?” Skipping paragraphs, enough to make Gojo give your pussy a quick spank.

“All scripture is God-breathed.”

“-c-can induce a different kind of bite in the vampyre. An unexplainable soul tie that happens merely once in- haaah- eternity- one that vampyres tear down heaven and hell for.” Oh, that gets him excited. 

Flicking his tongue furiously in hearts upon hearts on top of your sensitive clit now. Thoroughly. Feverishly, you’re half-wondering whether his lips weren’t aching- “And one such known- ngh- vampyre in search-”

“Yeeees–?”

“Gojo Satoru.”

And then you’re hitting it- that lewd, lecherous crash of your orgasm that’d been building up for what felt like eons at this point. 

“O-oh my god-” Was this what all those filthy romance books you hid away meant? It was so much better than a lonely night with your hand. You were cumming so hard that you’re seeing comical stars, letting go of the book. “Satoru- Satoru Satoru Satoru- I-I’m-”

“All over my face now. All over, my darling. C’mon.”

You didn’t even know where it started, you didn’t know where it ended. 

Just that it had your poor, trembling pussylips plastered to Gojo’s mouth like he was attaching it with adhesive. 

Inhuman strength holding your thighs down to stop you from even recoiling- because anything that would break off the rubbing massage of your cunt was something he had to halt. You were creamin’ all down Gojo Satoru’s face and he was making sure it stayed that way.

“Yes- yeeeees, that’s it. That’s it. Never in my life have I- hah-” Even speaking was such a difficult endeavor for him, not when he couldn’t bear to pull away mere inches from your gushing pussy. “-been more grateful for the fact that I don’t need to breathe.”

Thighs shaking, goosebumps taking over. You arch your back with a whine at the repeated flicks of his tongue on your clit- in dual stimulation with your g-spot. “B-but I do-”

In response, Gojo’s only crushing your poor pussy against his face further. “Hmmm- heh.” 

Only fucking you juuust a bit more with the coiling ends of his tongue, oh-so-lengthy like a snake’s. He swabs the bruised corners of your walls a few more times, gurgling through each fleck of gooey sap that escaped you. Before pulling back with such a loud, dramatic mwah! “Amen.”

Shocked, you flip your woozy head backwards to catch sight of his sleazy smirk, the way that his summer-blue eyes seemed to spark. Feeling your legs twitch slightly with the jolts of your high, “A-and about the vampire’s Beloved?”

“Huh? Oh.” Blinking his dazed eyes, he’s so pussydrunk that it takes Gojo a few seconds to even register what you’d just asked. “Well…will this prove my scripture’s truth, beloved?”

You’re being treated like a cute lil’ ragdoll at this point; because it doesn’t even take seconds for Gojo to perch a rude hand on the side of your hips and flip you over. 

With your back now against the cushion, you’re grappling for the woody bearings of the chair as he holds your ankles wide apart and lodges himself between them. “How devoted I am?”

“D-devoted?” You’re puffing out a humid breath, and your chin strikes your chest in your hurry to ogle the entire sight of Gojo Satoru. Because oh…oh, was he such an utter sight.

Your slick sheens the entire lower half of his handsome face- all the way up to his damn, ruddied cheekbones. Dripping down in sticky sloshes all across the hollows of his cheeks, and down his pointed fangs. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in just how glistening they were with all your glazes of sweet juices. 

He was wearing it like a mark of honor.

“So. Hopelessly. Devoted.”

Staining his neckline of his dark cassock even darker, you can’t help but notice that you were completely exposed while he was still dressed in his priests’ robes. Right down to the gold cross. 

Gojo slaps down the edge of his coral pink tongue to lick up the cloying excess glued to his mouth, staring dead-on at you all the while. “Oh…are you aware that I can smell whenever that pretty pussy gets even wetter?” 

“Y-you can?” You’re hissing, trying to close your legs but you can’t - not with Gojo pushing himself between them.

“It’s delicious.” Even deeper. Even wider, he stretches your legs and hunches over with his towering frame to fit a fat thumb between your spit-glossed lips. “I can smell your blood.” Sniffing your throbbing pulse, “Your need.” He glides his digit down your canines, so much more blunt than his fangs.

“And–?”

He looks down with a grin, “Your pussy.”

And Gojo could already sense your lewd impatience, holding onto the side of your waist with one hand- and the other pulling back to fumble with the golden buttons of his robes. 

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

“Satoru-”

“Ah ah.” He was such a damn tease. Unbuttoning only about halfway down his fitted cassock and black clerical shirt. Just enough for you to be spying his extremely chiseled front, from the bulge of his curvy pecs, to the ridges of his abs.

He was oh-so-naturally sexy that it made your mouth water. Ripped core flexing once he’s removing his belt and tugging down those pants of his, robes lifted now. Not enough for you.

But just enough that his red, aching cock springs free and hits the pure white happy trail on his abs with a thwack! 

Nine- maybe even ten thick inches. And you can only speechlessly gape, because he wasn’t just rock-hard…he was so hard n’ heavy that it must’ve been painful, like every drop of blood in his pale body was surging up to the bulbous tip of his cockhead. 

Gojo’s mushroomy tip blushes a scorching hot pink and leaks out hot precum as if he’s melting, a translucent splat! straight between the slitted slope of your pussy. “Any last words?”

You’re trembling, “L-last words?”

“Mmm—” He’s sandwiching the girth of his fat, veiny cock between your folds. Just so thick that your pussylips are already being spread near their absolute max- and was that…

You gasp, surging your head down and oh- you were feeling it right. Each n’ every time Gojo’s sliiiding his length between your cunt, your clit snags on the cold, bulging nib of something. A piercing. He had a piercing.

Like one of those you’d only heard they had in large cities and oh, you weren’t making it out of this alive. 

“M’gonna eat you alive, my angel.”

As if he’d just read your mind.

And you wouldn’t be surprised if he could- pure cottony static entering your brain the very second that Gojo’s aligning his smooth tip at your entrance and pushing.

The stretch is so much that you can only blink your teary lashes and keen– “I-it’s so big- oh, shit, go easy on me, Satoru.” Especially when you’ve never been stretched out like this before.

So-very-vulgarly, Gojo only hovers his wet-glazed thumb down to tip aside your plush folds. It was so cute, like your swollen pussy was puckering right up at him every time he nudged his hips back to give your tight hole a good probe.

“Is that all?” He’s inspecting with a grin, ringed fingers pryin’ your dewy cunt apart. Mindlessly rutting- bucking- “Six hundred years and s’that all you can take, beloved?”

Clearly teasing, but the thought of taking all his barrelling shaft makes your back arch wildly. Whimpering after every smooch of his orbed piercing, “I-I can make all of that fit?”

“No.” Gojo snickers, but even that sounds unsteady. Even that sounded like it was on the very verge of shattering into a zillion pieces, and he’s only sinking a finger inside your pussy to stretch you out. To force his raging dick to break off from your clammy cunt to push and push. “But I will make it fit.”

And then it’s like you’re losing your mind- seeing white behind the lids of your eyes when he’s sinking in a few fat, heavy inches. 

Hissing underneath his breath, Gojo’s moving the hand at your hips over to your throat to pin you down. 

“C’mon-” Chortling, he uses it to keep you still as he ruts- “C’mon c’mon-” And ruts, burying your upper half into the couch cushion as he swerves his hips deeper. The stretch just vicious, your elastic entrance is being oh-so-tugged to his very size. “Acting like such a sinful girl– and you shall be dealt with as such. Now, open those legs wider, my darling.”

“Oh-oh, god- Satoru-”

Choking you, his big, beefy biceps flex once he’s pulling you down by your neck. Meaty thighs gluing flush against your own, his fangs peek in a grin. “Yes and yes.” 

Languidly, Gojo’s pumping himself deeper to fill out each slick ridge and orifice. Prince Albert’s piercing decorating the very line of his sensitive slit, he’s acting like it’s a spotlight to massage every spot inside of you.

 Letting the puffy entrance of your pussy stretch-stretch-streeeetching-

“F-fuck.” Gojo lets out, all of a sudden. Barely even audible over the resounding plop! that lets off from the damp space between your thighs when he’s finally - finally - bottoming out. 

Finally. 

And oh– it takes a few seconds to register inside your mind, did you just make the infamous Gojo Satoru stutter? Mewling in bewilderment, “D-did you just…did you just fit all- hck!”

He groans—“Sure did.” But there’s something dopey in his tone, something that sounds like utter fucking disbelief. Gojo rovers his hand over your plump cylindrical tummy bulge - he was so big that he could tap his thumb down on the hill of his cockhead poking through. “Fuck.”

Then it’s like the floodgates open. The floodgates shatter. 

Gojo’s fangs elongate, his eyes slit almost menacingly- and he’s throwing your boneless legs over his shoulder to push you down into the tightest possible mating press. 

A mating press.

Hand slamming down on the couch’s oak frame hard enough for it to splinter, “Fuck.” He’s croaking out like a broken record as soon as he’s gifting your goopy cunt with the first thrust. “Fuh-fuck.”

Then the second, the third, the fourth- smashing against that cute spongy cervix at the bottom of your pussy. Gojo rubs his swollen veins raw on the gummy texture of your walls, feeling a little part of his sanity crack each time.

“Oh my- ngh- fuuuuck, Satoru–” You’re wailing out whimpering, fingers valleying through the locks of his ivory hair and pulling. “It’s so big- h-hngh- how’s it even going in-” 

“If only your eyes may gaze upon what I can.” The edges of his blue eyes sizzle with power, and shit, he’s seeing right through your drooling cunt.

Using the lecherous advantage of his powers to swerve his hips just right, he knocks the flared end of his tip right at the target of your g-spot. Extra, extra blissful with the way his chilling piercing slips n’ snags just right across that particular orifice.

“Then you’d know that this is the only- ngh- heaven that a creature like I shall ever taste. The only heaven that I shall…fuck.”

Digits twitching on his clammy scalp, “O-oh.”

And you just look so pretty like this- lips sprayed with bubbles of drool, your eyes rolling cartoonishly every time he struck the bottom of your pussy, chest heaving. 

So Gojo can’t help but feel your gushing pussy clench ‘round his cock and gasp- and slouch. Maw sagging fully open, cross hitting your chest, he’s furrowing his brows down at you- yeah, the most beautiful thing he’s seen since he was turned six hundred years ago.

Letting go of teasing that tummy bulge, he holds your left hand - tenderly. 

And Gojo, for all his riches, might not have an engagement ring ready yet; which is why you’re feeling the cool slip of his purity ring make way onto your ring finger. Blinking dazedly, “C-can the Father even- ngh- propose?”

“For you? I’d burn down every soul, building, and flora upon this land.”

Dead serious.

Gojo tilts his flustered features down at you and asks one simple question, “Feel like flying?”

“Flying? What- oh, fuck!”

And he could fly, if he so wished to grow his wings- but what Gojo meant right now was to pick you up. Cleanly off the broken couch, he stands tall with only a singular inhuman hand supporting your weight. 

The other turning your head up to watch the twitches in your expression as gravity slides you doooown his aching cock. From the ruby-red globe of his crown to the wide circumference of his hilt, each squirm leaves his prominent veins grazing your walls sensually.

Your ass cheeks nuzzling his heavy balls, you whimper, “I-it’s in again?”

“Oh, beloved, it’s more than in…” Trailing off with a husky groan, Gojo leaves a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your lips that makes you whine. “-I don’t think m’gonna make it out of this with my life to spare.”

Oh.

Oh.

Then Gojo’s fucking you like he’s angry his thick, ravenous cock can’t delve deeper inside your pussy - just furious, slobbering strokes. 

He thwacks the curve of his ballsack against the front of your cunt and then hisses when it won’t go any further. Usin’ a firm grip on your ass to get you to arch even further, “More- come on. More, little human.”

Rolling your hips back with each hit after hit to your g-spot, he’d mapped you out perfectly at this point. Shaft just so extremely long that you were feeling it in your very lungs. 

“R-right there mmm–” Spittle pours from the edge of your mouth and lavishes Gojo’s deltoids, where you can only hold on for dear life. “Oh my god, Satoru-”

“You think your Lord’s lookin’ down at you right now, my angel?” Gojo has the audacity to giggle with his fanged canines - pussydrunk and gone once his hips only slam harder into yours. 

His golden crucifix repeatedly thumps your chest, and you can only watch when he drags up your ringed left hand right up to his mouth. Biting. “He can’t hear you-” Hard. “So maybe you should heh- scream louder.”

Louder and louder - your pitchy whines were utter music in Gojo’s blushing ears. 

By now reaching a fever point as you’re feeling the sensations in your legs go numb, head lolling stupidly-

“My, no ngh- sleeping yet, my darling.” And this position just left you so helpless, completely at Gojo’s mercy when he’s deciding to slip a free hand between your legs and pinch your perky clit. Brushing the calloused fringe of his thumb down where you were the most sensitive. “Not until I bite every inch of you.”

Oh…it just felt too good. Those slender fingers knew exactly what they were doing, targeting the most delicate spots of your nub, until you felt all raw. 

You babble at the carnal itch of his fingerpads rolling across your clit. Smearing the dewy droplets of slick that just kept on seeping out of you. “B-but I’m so- ngh- can feel it again, Satoru…”

“That so?” Absolutely no mercy. Gojo’s starting up a synchronization between his pre-glazed tip banging your g-spot, and the toying of your honeyed clit. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. “And yet…”

You’re shivering as he whispers in your ear, rasping. Dark. Something that makes your heart race and your cunt pound. “I will still fuck you until you can’t walk out the hah- steps of this very church.” 

Another dollop of buttery pre sprays along your cervix, another kiss of his frigid piercing glueing to your walls, and yet another twitch of your useless legs. “I will still make everyone see- make everyone know. But first…”

And you knew from that delicate dimple dotting the side of his grin that the next few words won’t bode well for you.

You knew you were done for just as soon as Gojo leans back from your haphazardly dangling body, ever-so-slightly. Eyeing down your front with his superhuman sight, he still bites down on your purity ring as he grins.

“-I wish to make a statement even the heavens shall know.”

And he can see. He knows exactly where his stirrin’ cock is heading for - right towards the bullseye of your womb. Thrashing- the only carnal sensation you register before it’s all white.

Both your bleary vision and the thick, copious clumps of cum that Gojo was filling you up with.

Both hitting your highs at once - so hard that his fangs shatter the deep purity ring on your finger. Though, never once leaving even a scar on you. 

“Oh, ya really are made for me.” Gojo gasps out a sharp pant, toned hips rutting so ferally upwards at the clenching squeeze of your heated insides. And oh- saying it was good would be an understatement.

The winding lines of his veiny cock dragged out your wave of bliss until you felt like your mind was melting. Bludgeoning his Prince Albert’s against your g-spot again and again and again at the precise peaks of your high.

You almost get the feeling that he’s milking himself on your overspilling cunt, twiddling a thumb over the button of your clit just to get you to clench. “H-heh-” Gojo watches as your creamy pussy driiiips with ivory syrup. “More more take more-”

You curl your toes in euphoria, dragging him into a filthy, filthy kiss. Slurring,“M-mmm- yes. I wanna-”

“Mhmmm–?”

“Hck! wanna be yours, Toru–”

Oh.

He had such a look on his face that told you he would just kill for you. Simply say the word. 

“M’already yours, beloved.” Gojo’s meaty thighs shiver after each stringy ribbon of sap being pumped into you, and he’s sliding a thumb all over the drivelling mess of your slit. Cooing as you flinch, “Oh, you’re so fuuuuck- ripe.”

Ripe? What did that even mean-

You didn’t need to utter the question, because he’s already answering it in the next sultry instant. 

You watch as he lovingly gazes at your tummy bulge, now stuffed with the weighty knots of his cum. There’s an almost tender note in his voice as he speaks, “Should you so wish, this one’s gonna be a ngh- boy.”

Oh.

Ripe for the picking, like a pomegranate.

Ripe for him to fuck you till you were all round and glowing- and it’s almost the two of you are moving at the speed of light. Gojo barely even taking a split-second to transport himself to the edge of his humble priest’s bed and bully you down.

Cock still buried deeply near your womb, he flattens the weeping head of his shaft against your cervix. Taking a loooong, languid glide of his pierced mushroom tip-

“Y-you’re still- ngh-” You hiccup, feeling the parched twitch of his length - still so red n’ swollen that it ached him to not be stuffed between your glossy folds. 

Sheathing himself in sluggish gyrations that stir your insides, Gojo’s tearing off the rest of his holy robes. From his cassock to his roman collar- and that twinkling golden cross ends up dropped somewhere on his dampening sheets. 

“Still hard? Heh-” Gojo snickers, oh, he’s going to have fun with you for the rest of eternity. “Now, you didn’t expect a vampire to stop at only one, did you, my angel?”

Fuck. 

.

.

.

And maybe it’s been hours. Maybe it’s been days.

All you’re learning is that a vampire goes for seconds, thirds, fourths- that Gojo Satoru won’t be even the slightest bit satisfied until he’s well past the sixth round. 

Your tired hips slumped on top of his now, riding him dry- well, as best as you could when your entire body was utterly helpless. At his mercy, he’s got his large hands clawing on your waist, moving you in steady figure-eight grins.

Long, achingly probing his sensitive divot into your battered and bruised delicate spots. So far gone that you could feel the slimy second skin of his cum from hours prior pool inside. 

Gojo slaps his hip bones up to yours and lets out what sounded like a damn broken whimper, “Yeah- yeah, if this isn’t the most heavenly thing- nghhh–”

“Oh-ohhhh my god—” You whimper, the cheeks of your ass stinging as he perks a hand underneath your thighs to slam you down. Crushing your overstimulated clit against his soaked happy trail, “The sun’s coming up, Toru.”

And sure enough, tentative yellow light was seeping between the half-shuttered blinds of Gojo’s quarters.

With it, a new day. And a new victim of the vampire to be discovered - of his. 

Though, that’s the last thing on your stupidly fuzzy mind when the thickened end of his thumb is coming down to draw out a cute lil’ heart on your clit. “S’that soo–? Heh-” He gulps from his completely dry throat, looking at you through unruly white bangs. “Better make this fast then, my darling.”

You had no idea where his stamina was coming from- even for a vampire this was ridiculous, surely.

At some point he was clinging onto your hips and maneuvering you up n’ down his vein-decorated cock as if it was nothing. 

Slight sparks of power flying from his half-lidded eyes every time he’s swirling and swirling his flinching cock ‘round your walls. Each semicircle of him stretching you out gets you rewarded with the slightest geyser of milky pre- damn near cumming dry.

“Oh.” Gojo’s nostrils flare, and his flushed maw hangs wide open with a sliver of spittle. Turning into a torrent of saliva once he’s hit with that familiar candied perfume of your orgasm.

Close-

Before you can even babble out the word, you’re cumming- and not just cumming, squirting. All over Gojo’s…face?

Fuck, your hands dig into the sweaty locks of his pale hair. Half-melted mind realizing that he’d transported you with his powers just as soon as you hit your high. Moving you from his jolting cock to seat all prettily on top of his face. 

Right on top for him to lavish his swollen mouth with the splosh of your velvety sap. Creaming all over his handsome features, leaving his lower and upper body soaked.

“Mmm- fuck.” He slaps his dewy-wet lips down your dripping wet cunt; simply drunken, Gojo lets the ribbons of your thick slick drench his sharp jawline. Puddle after puddle of cloying liquid that sprays across his mouth. A fucking mess. 

“A-men…” Cum and slick bubbling down his rosy mouth n’ fangs, he babbles. Catching sight of the bleeding orange of the sun rise, “Oh, it’s time.”

Time for him to lick up the last few tingles of your orgasm. Time for him to keep pinning you down to his face as he turns his head towards your thighs and bites.

Hard.

Puncturing.

And just as soon as the hot crimson of your blood leaks into his mouth, Gojo finds himself smiling. “May God never forgive me.”

A different kind of mark, the book had claimed. And sure enough your body flashes hot- something churning inside your blood vessels. Something that makes him tenderly flip the two of you over so that you can lay across the ruined sheets-

Only for him to take sweet, sweet advantage of the crook of your neck and bite. Once more. Then twice on the other side, just to make sure. Just because he couldn’t stop himself.

Six hundred years.

Six hundred years that he had been searching for you.

You’re wheezing out weakly, “Satoru…”

Now to finally, finally find you.

“Rest. The transformation from human to vampire is quite taxing.” Gojo hushes you, ivory lashes lowered in pure loving. He plants a kiss on the bloodied bite marks at your neck, fangs peeking out just enough to tease. “We have a long eternity together, my beloved.”

.

.

[Excerpt from ‘Scripture of Shadows’: Latest published edition, author unknown.]

‘Chapter Six: The Vampyre’s Beloved

Many are unaware of the one weakness of the vampyre: their one true love. Yes, reader, the fated mate, only poetically comparable to a ‘soulmate’, is one that can induce a different kind of bite in the blood-thirsty vampyre. 

It is an unexplainable soul tie that happens merely once in eternity - one that provokes even the most blasphemous creature of the vampyre to tear down heaven and hell. One such known vampyre in search was the famed Gojo Satoru, almighty of even these shadowed beings.

But through my journeys, I have found that our despicable being has come to find his fated mate, as of late. The latest whispers within the shadowed realm speak of an atypically happy life, and an even happier bride—expectably, leaving bloodied wedding favors behind.

Some even claim an heir of the Darkness to be within reach, God have mercy.

Six hundred years of terror, and it seems that He has found even the most undeserving worthy of being loved. Being seen. 

For, perhaps even the cruelest of creatures can love.

Amen.’

A/N. Omg y’all I had to get permission from like five of my Christian friends before I could post this erm- obvi disclaimer that this isn’t a true representation of Christianity!!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[sxkura-blxssxm]

CALLING YOU HOME — SATORU GOJO

pairing — pilot!satoru gojo x air traffic controller!reader

summary — captain satoru gojo is the most infuriating pilot you've ever had the displeasure of guiding through tokyo's airspace. for months, he's turned every radio call into an opportunity to flirt, compliment your voice, and generally make your work life insufferable. you've never seen his face, but you're convinced he's exactly the kind of arrogant pilot you never want to deal with outside work. if only your heart would stop racing when you hear his voice.

word count — 16.5 k

genre/tags — aviation AU, pilot x air traffic controller, annoyance to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, workplace romance, voice kink if you squint, long distance relationship (kinda), he falls first and falls so HARD, i love him in this ugh, yearning endboss, dramatic love confessions bc we need

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, mentions of grief/loss (death of family member), strong language, aviation emergencies, and satoru gojo being criminally sweet over radio frequencies.

author's note — friendssss i really hope u like this one bc i am obsessed lol. grab your headphones, play your favorite music and prepare for takeoff <3

masterlist + support my writing + ao3 + artwork by @3-aem

“Tower, this is Flight 447 requesting permission to land.”

You didn’t even need to check the screen. You’d recognize his voice anywhere, even in your nightmares—warm, cocky, and already grinding on your nerves like nails on chalkboard.

“Miss me, honey?”

Your pen snapped in half. Around the control tower, heads turned in your direction. Maki, your longest colleague and friend, pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Even Ijichi raised an eyebrow from his station. You hated them all a little for how they all enjoyed the situation so much.

You closed your eyes, counted to three, and then hit the transmission button. “Flight 447, you do realize you’re on a public frequency, right? Everyone can hear you.”

“As long as you’re listening, Control, that’s all that matters.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered, pulling up his flight information on the screen. Scattered clouds drifted past the tower’s angled windows, casting fleeting shadows over your cluttered workstation. “Also, you’re late, Captain.”

“By two minutes. Come on, that’s hardly anything.”

“More than enough time to get on my nerves.”

“I love it when you talk to me like that.”

Behind you, someone coughed—probably trying to hide a laugh.

“And I love it when you stop talking,” you shot back.

His laugh came through the radio, warm and amused. “Someone’s feisty today. Is the coffee in the tower that bad again?”

“Coffee’s fine. It’s the pilot that’s giving me a headache.”

“Mmm. I like it when your voice gets all defensive, beautiful.”

There it was again. Beautiful.

Always beautiful. Never ‘ma’am’ or ‘tower’ or even your call sign like every other normal fucking pilot with a shred of professionalism would do. With Gojo, it was always pretty, or beautiful, or—God help you—honey. Like he was talking to a date he wanted to charm, not calling for airspace clearance on public frequency.

You’d corrected him once early on. “Use proper radio protocol,” you’d said, but all he replied was, “Sorry, Control. Slipped. Won’t happen again, pretty.” 

It had happened again. And again. And again.

You leaned back in your chair, staring up at the ceiling and entertaining the fantasy of reaching through the frequency and strangle him with your headset cord. Instead, your fingers found the stress ball on your desk and squeezed until your knuckles went white.

“You don’t even know what I look like,” you said, frustrated.

“Your voice tells me everything I need to know. And I’m betting you’re even more beautiful than you sound.”

“Is that why you like hearing yourself talk so much? Because your voice tells you how pretty you are?”

He laughed. “Ouch. You’re brutal today, Control. Permission to land before you completely break my poor heart?”

“Flight 447, you’re cleared to land, runway 24L. Wind 240 at 8 knots. Try not to crash while you’re busy thinking about how charming you are.”

“Copy that, beautiful. And for the record? I wasn’t thinking about myself.” His voice dropped lower, not caring at all that he was on public frequency. “I was thinking about you.”

Heat crept up your neck. Around the tower, a few heads turned your way once more—grinning, and you wanted to punch them in the face. 

You were silent for a few seconds and you could basically hear his grin forming on the other end of the line.

“Looks like I’ve got you blushing. Well then, see you on the ground, Control.”

More heat crept up your neck. You yanked off your headset and slammed it down on the desk, resisting the urge to scream into a stack of paperwork. Goddamn it, he made you want to quit your job. Or strangle him. Or both.

You looked out the tower’s window just in time to watch his plane break through the clouds and touch down. A fucking textbook perfect landing. Of course it was. Captain Satoru Gojo was, without question, the most infuriating pilot you’d ever had the displeasure of guiding in. And unfortunately, he was also the best.

It had started a few months ago when he began regularly flying the international routes from Japan to Central Europe—the very same routes you’d specifically requested when you transferred to Haneda. 

The 2 AM flights? The twelve hour shifts from hell? The ones that made most controllers question all their life choices and develop an unhealthy, codependent relationship with the espresso machine? 

You loved them.

These were the long flights where pilots were usually dead tired and just wanted to get home. Communication was professional and efficient. No small talk, no unnecessary chatter, just vectors, altitudes, and a few polite acknowledgments. You could guide a Boeing 777 from Tokyo to Frankfurt with maybe twenty lines of dialogue, max. That was the dream.

These pilots had been airborne for twelve hours or longer—the last thing they wanted was a chatty air traffic controller stretching out their shift with unnecessary conversation. And the last thing you wanted was to listen to their rambling. You loved those quiet and professional pilots—the ones you barely had to talk to, just guide them in and call it a day. Great. Easy work. You loved your job when it was uncomplicated.

While your colleagues dealt with the chaos of domestic flights—tight turnarounds, grumbling pilots, weather complaints, gate drama and all that shit—you got the stern and serious long-distance flyers.

Until Captain Satoru Gojo.

The first time you handled Flight 447’s approach out of Prague, you braced for the usual. Someone who’d been flying for thirteen hours straight and just wanted to land, deplane, and find the nearest bed. What you got instead was a happy voice that sounded like the man had just woken from the greatest nap of his lifetime and could easily fly for another thirteen hours.

“Tokyo Control, Flight 447 requesting descent. And might I say... what a beautiful night it is up here.”

You blinked at your radar screen. It was 2:03 AM. Cloudy skies. Visibility barely above minimum levels. Nothing about it was beautiful.

Most pilots at this hour could barely remember their own call signs. But not Gojo. Gojo sounded wide awake and relaxed—and, unfortunately, talkative. 

God, he talked so much. Always cracking jokes, always so cocky, always dragging out what should’ve been a thirty second exchange into a five minute monologue over the radio.

“Flight 447, descend and maintain flight level 240.”

“Descending to 240. Had to adjust our approach three times tonight because of wind shear. Amazing how much the atmosphere changes in just a few thousand feet. Did you know that—”

“Flight 447, contact Tokyo Aproach on 119.7.”

He sighed. “Copy that, beautiful. Always a pleasure chatting with you.”

It started professional enough—well, as professional as someone could be while constantly calling air traffic control ‘beautiful’—but overtime, he got more and more flirty. Somewhere around the fifth or seventh flight, you guided him in, he stopped sounding like a pilot and started sounding like a man leaving voicemail notes to his girlfriend. 

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

“Did you miss my voice, honey?”

“Until next time, beautiful.”

Maybe it was his personality, as if he simply couldn’t help himself—like he’d physically explode if he didn’t borderline sexual harass his ground crew and was naturally incapable of having a normal conversation. But goddamn, did it annoy you.

He’d never even seen you. Didn’t know your name, wouldn’t recognize your face if you passed him in the terminal. He probably couldn’t even point to the tower from his cockpit window. And yet, every transmission felt like he thought he was on private frequency with you, and not broadcasting on public monitored by half the airspace.

And oh my God, the rambling—the fucking rambling. And, of course, you were his favorite audience.

“You know, Control, I was reading this article about albatrosses during my layover in Warsaw and it got me thinking. Did you know they can fly for years without ever touching ground, like literally sleeping while they fly? Can you imagine? They use these tiny wind gradients over the waves to do that. Makes our fuel consumption look pretty inefficient, doesn’t it?”

You already felt your soul leaving your body.

“Although I bet you could optimize their route better than they can to save even more energy. You’ve got such a lovely voice for giving directions. Very authoritative. I like that—”

Sometimes he’d yap for minutes until you got so annoyed that you’d rip off your headset before he could finish whatever outrageous story he was about to finish and waved at Ijichi to take over. Poor Ijichi—an actual saint and unfortunately still a rookie, so he was your victim—would sigh, slid on his headset and took over the frequency to reply to Gojo’s rambling about birds in a very distinctly male, distinctly unimpressed voice.

“Flight 447, this is Tokyo Control. Please state your current altitude.”

A pause. “Oh. Um. Flight level 380. Sorry—Is the other controller… did she…?”

“Flight 447, maintain current altitude and heading. Contact Approach on 119.7.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ijichi shoot you a pained look and mouthed, “Your boyfriend’s looking for you” while you pretended to be very busy with paperwork, highlighting the same line of a weather report you’d already read four times.

You’d complained to your supervisor, of course. Marched into Yaga’s office with a list of incidents and timestamps of what you considered to be highly unprofessional behaviour that was interfering with air traffic operations.

Yaga had listened, occasionally nodding, while you explained in detail why Captain Gojo’s voice should be banned from all airspace. When you finished, he’d leaned back in his chair and given you that look—the one supervisors gave when they were about to tell you something you didn’t want to hear.

“Has he ever caused a delay?” Yaga asked.

“Well, no, but—”

“Missed a radio call?”

“No, however—”

“Failed to follow vectors or altitude assignments?”

“That’s not the point—”

“Has he ever said anything explicitly inappropriate? Sexual harassment, offensive language, anything that would violate communications protocols?”

You’d opened your mouth, then closed it. You were fighting a losing battle.

Yaga had shrugged and pointed out that Gojo never said anything explicitly inappropriate, never caused delays, and had the cleanest safety record of any pilot flying commercial routes in Japan. Zero incidents, zero violations, zero passenger complaints. He was the perfect pilot.

“The guy’s annoying but harmless,” Yaga had said at last, and slid your complaint folder back across his desk.

Harmless. Right.

Harmless if you didn’t count the fact that he was actively driving you insane and making you seriously consider changing careers. Or at least requesting a transfer to cargo flights, where the pilots were too busy dealing with departures every thirty minutes to spend time talking about stupid bird flyting techniques.

But damn it—you worked so hard for this position. You were a certified, professional air traffic controller with five years on the radar and an impeccable safety record. You’d studied for two years to pass the brutal exams, survived months in training simulations and clawed your way up from ground control to tower to approach and finally to the international routes. 

You directed aircraft worth billions of dollars, carrying hundreds of lives, through some of the most complex and congested airspace in Asia. You coordinated with air traffic controllers in twelve different countries, handled language barriers, time zones, techchnical delays, and medical emergencies—all while being always fucking calm and polite. 

Okay, scratch the polite part. But you got the job done, and that’s what mattered. And you were not about to throw it all away because one stupid, obnoxious pilot with an equally stupid, attractive voice was too dense to tell the difference between air traffic control and fucking Tinder.

Okay, forget about the calm part, too.

It didn’t help that your colleagues found the whole thing all too amusing. Your colleague Maki—who handled mostly domestic routes and therefore dealt with normal, professional pilots—had already labelled Gojo your ‘work husband’.

And every time his flight number popped up on the radar, she’d make kissy faces in your direction and sing, “Oh, your boyfriend’s calling,” to which you’d reply “He’s not my boyfriend.” Or worse, she’d lean over your shoulder while he was in the middle of yet another monologue, whispering when you’d finally ask him out. Of course, she knew he’d hear every word on the other end of the radio, prompting him to tease you with, “She’s right. When will you finally ask me?”

“Flight 447, turn left heading 090, descend to flight level 200.”

“Left 090, down to 200. And might I add that you sound particularly lovely today, Control? Did you do something different with your… well, I can’t see your hair, but I bet it looks very pretty.”

Maki would choke on her laughter like a middle schooler watching her crush talk, and you’d have to clench your fists to stop yourself from punching them both.

And it didn’t help that everyone loved him, of course. 

Everyone except you, apparently.

The ground crew basically fought over who got to service his aircraft. You’d see a swarm of orange vests crowding Gate 7 whenever Flight 447 rolled in—like teenage fangirls waiting backstage for their favourite boy band. It was ridiculous.

You’ve seen how the gate agents would always check their hair and straighten their ties. Hana from passenger services bought new lipstick “just in case” she ran into Captain Gojo during a layover. 

Even the janitors—the fucking janitors—somehow developed a sudden obsession with the floor around Gate 7. Mr. Takeshi, who’d been mopping this place since the airport was built, now took his sweet time in that exact area. Like. What the fuck.

It was like the entire airport had developed a collective crush on a man most of them had never even spoken to. All based on stories and the occasional glimpse of him walking through the terminal in his pilot uniform.

You’d never actually seen him. In the months he’d been flying your routes, your shifts always ended right before he arrived—or you were stuck up in the tower when he was on the ground. Like you existed in parallel universes. You guided his plane through the airspace, but never actually crossed paths on the ground.

Everyone said he was stupidly pretty—so damn dreamy and everything. You could’ve looked him up, googled him, stalked the airport intranet. But you didn’t. For all you knew, he was sixty with a beer belly and balding. But unfortunately, he also had an infuriatingly attractive voice over radio communication.

Which only made it worse.

── ⟢ ·⸝⸝

It was one of those days where everything had gone wrong the moment you’d stepped into the tower. The coffee machine was broken, spitting out something between coffee grounds and mud. Your computer crashed twice during the morning shift, erasing twenty minutes of logged flight data. And to top it off, Ijichi had called in sick, leaving you to handle both international and domestic flights with only Maki as backup—who was currently tied up managing a medical diversion across three different frequencies.

So when Flight 447’s call sign appeared on your radar screen a full twenty minutes ahead of schedule, you felt your eye twitch.

“Tower, this is Flight 447 requesting vectors for approach.”

You glared at the radar. Of course he was early. And of fucking course he was screwing up your carefully timed arrival window. You’d scheduled him between two other flights, and now you had to rearrange everything yet again.

“Flight 447, turn left heading 180, descend and maintain 3,000 feet.”

“Left 180, down to 3,000. You sound tense, Control. Long shift?”

Deep breath. Remember, violence is not an option.

“Just doing my job, 447.”

“Ouch. That’s definitely tension. Let me guess—computer crash? Did someone steal your lunch? Ah wait, I know—the coffee machine spat out mud again, didn’t it?”

You blinked at your screen. How could he possibly—

“Flight 447, maintain current heading and altitude.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. I brought you something from Zurich. Might help improve your mood.”

You paused, finger hovering over the radio button. “You… brought me something?”

“Mhm. You know those famous Swiss chocolatiers? Heard they make the best chocolate in Europe, so I picked some up for you.”

You stared at your screen for a beat, unsure whether to feel weirdly flattered or wildly uncomfortable. Probably both.

“You don’t even know who I am.”

“I know enough,” he said, still annoyingly casual. “I know you prefer late international routes because they’re usually quiet and professional. I know you drink your coffee black, because I’ve heard you complain—more than once—that no one washes out the cream dispenser in the break room, and that it will one day cause a biohazard. Which, judging by your mood today, I’m guessing no one’s done that in a while, so now the good machine’s off to maintenance again, and you’re stuck with that old one that just spits out grounds.”

A pause.

“And I know you stay late to help train the newbies, because I’ve heard your voice in the background on calls. I have to say, you’ve got this calm, patient tone that makes it almost sound like you’re not seconds away from strangling them. It’s kind of adorable, really.”

You sat up straighter. How did he know all that? And more importantly, why had he noticed all that?

You didn’t respond right away, unsure what to respond at all. Then, finally, you clicked your radio.

“Flight 447, turn right heading 240. Contact Approach on 119.7.”

“Wait, that’s it? No ‘thank you’ or ‘wow, you’re so thoughtful for bringing me treats form overseas’? I declared that stuff at customs, you know. It was a whole ordeal.”

Despite your awful morning, your lip twitched. “You declared chocolate at customs?”

“Had to. They were weirdly suspicious about a pilot carrying so much chocolate in his carry-on. I told them it was for someone special, and they got all sentimental and waved me through.”

“You told customs agents I was special?”

“I told them the truth. …Though I may have implied you were my girlfriend to avoid further questioning.”

“You what?”

His laugh crackled through the headset, way too pleased with himself. “Relax, beautiful. Customs agents don’t exactly hang out with air traffic controllers. Your secret identity is safe.”

“Flight 447, I’m transferring you to Approach. Stop inventing fake relationships with me at international borders.”

“So we’re not dating? Huh. That’s news to me.”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Yeah. And your job involves listening to me, technically speaking.”

“My job involves keeping you from colliding with other planes, not entertaining your delusions.”

“See? You care about my safety. Such a good girlfriend, Control.”

You could almost hear the smirk through the static. Across the tower, Maki—finally free from her emergency—was trying desperately to look anywhere but your direction. She was listening too, you realized, her face reddening as she barely held in her laughter.

“Flight 447 switch to Approach now, or I will reroute you to Osaka instead.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You’d miss me too much.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, okay, I’m switching,” he said, still laughing. “I’ll make sure the chocolate gets delivered to your gate. It’s got your name on it. Well… your call sign, anyway. Couldn’t exactly ask for your real name without sounding like a creep. Oh, and there’s a little something extra in the box, too.”

Your finger froze over the transmit button. “What kind of extra?”

“Just a little something. See you on the ground, beautiful.”

The line went silent as he switched to Approach, leaving you staring at your screen with a whole lot of annoyance, curiosity, and something dangerously close to anticipation swirling in your head.

Maki rolled her chair over without missing a beat. “Did he just say he brought you chocolate? From Switzerland?”

“Apparently.”

“And declared you his girlfriend to customs?”

“I hate him.”

“And there’s something extra waiting for you at the gate?”

You gave her a warning look. “Stop that.”

“You realize most guys don’t even text back. And he flew across eleven time zones and smuggled in fancy chocolate for you. Yeah, no one does that unless they’re into you.”

“It’s creepy.”

“Sure,” she said. “So creepy that you’re smiling about it.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You absolutely are.” She leaned closer. “And you’re totally going to check the gate during your break.”

You turned back to your screen. “I have work to do.”

“Right. Want me to cover for you while you go see what the handsome pilot brought you?”

“I’m not—” 

Your radar lit up. “Tower, this is Flight 892 requesting vectors for approach.” Saved by traffic, or whatever. You put your headset back on, thankful for the distraction, and focused on the radar. 

You were definitely not thinking about Swiss chocolate.

Or whatever extra he brought.

Not even a little.

Okay, maybe a little.

── ⟢ ·⸝⸝

You waited until Flight 447 was safely out of range and someone else’s problem before making your move. The tower had quieted into its usual evening rhythm—slower, calmer, manageable. Most of the midday traffic was gone. And you? You were definitely just walking to the gate to, you know, get your steps in. Obviously.

“Off to investigate your love offerings?” Maki called as you headed for the elevator.

“Gate operations check,” you tried, but you couldn’t fool her.

The box was sitting right there at the international gate desk—impossible to miss. It was white and elegant, wrapped with a dark green ribbon, and with your controller call sign handwritten on the tag. Hana, the gate agent on duty, lit up the moment she saw you.

“Oh! You’re Control Seven! Captain Gojo dropped that off a few hours ago. He was very specific that it had to go to ‘the controller with the most beautiful voice in aviation.’” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “He’s so romantic.”

You stared at the box. It was bigger than you’d expected with a fancy logo that suggested the box probably cost more than your monthly food budget.

“Did he… say anything else?”

“Just that you’d had a rough day and deserved something sweet.” Hana sighed. “He’s so thoughtful. And his eyes? Like a winter sky.”

Winter sky? My god. You swore everyone around here was losing their goddamn minds over this man. You were so fed up with the collective swooning, you were starting to wonder if you were the only one left immune to his bullshit.

“Right. Well. Thanks.”

Back at your console, you set it down and stared at it as if it were a ticking bomb. Maki appeared at your side, peering over your shoulder.

“Holy shit. Is that from that famous Swiss brand? Do you even know how expensive that place is?”

“It’s just chocolate.”

“Just chocolate?” Maki carefully lifted the lid. Inside, each handmade confection was perfectly nestled in its own spot. “These are, like, forty bucks each. There’s at least thirty pieces in here.”

Ijichi gave a low whistle. “Your pilot boyfriend just dropped twelve hundred dollars on chocolate for you.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” But your eyes were still glued to the box, your brain struggling to process the fact that someone had just casually spent more than your rent on Swiss truffles. Someone who’d never even seen your face.

“Oh my God, try one,” Maki said, already plucking out a champagne truffle. “Don’t be shy.”

You picked a dark chocolate filled with salted caramel and bit into it. It was... really good. Incredible, even. Probably the best thing you’d ever tasted. Which, somehow, only made this entire situation worse.

“Girl, you are so lucky,” Maki sighed, popping another piece into her mouth. “A hot pilot who brings you fancy chocolate? Where do I sign up for that kind of harassment?”

“He’s probably not even attractive. I’ve never actually seen him.”

Both Maki and Ijichi froze, their mouths full of chocolate.

“Wait,” Maki said slowly. “You’ve never seen him?”

“Our shifts don’t overlap. I’m always in the tower when his flights come in.”

“Oh my God.” Maki turned to her computer. “I’m looking him up. The airport has photos of all the regular pilots for security, right?”

“Tower, this is Flight 234 requesting vectors for approach,” crackled your headset. 

You grabbed your radio. “Flight 234, turn right heading 090, descend and maintain 4,000 feet.”

You moved quickly back to your station, eyes fixed on the radar screen. Behind you, you could feel Maki and Ijichi staring at you, clearly waiting for you to come back to them to gossip, but you waved them off without turning around. 

As you guided the aircraft in, your hand absently toyed with the ribbon around the box, and that’s when you noticed the ‘something extra’. Tucked beneath the chocolates was a postcard that showed the Swiss alps. You turned the card around.

“For the voice that always guides me home. Thank you for keeping me safe up there.” — S

You shivered.

Out of annoyance. Obviously. Not because of the note. Or the postcard. Or the very stupid, very warm feeling creeping up your neck. Nope. Pure irritation. And maybe a tiny bit of cardiac distress. From rage. Clearly.

── ⟢ ·⸝⸝

You’d barely slept the night before. Every time you closed your eyes, you’d thought about stupidly expensive Swiss chocolate, that annoyingly sincere note, and the way his voice had softened when he’d called you special. It was infuriating. You were a professional, rational adult, not someone who lost sleep over a cocky pilot with a bedroom voice that was clearly a walking red flag.

Yet here you were at 12:28 PM, exhausted and surviving on your fourth cup of awful Tower coffee because an emergency landing had turned your normal shift into a fourteen hour marathon. A passenger going into labour during a flight from Beijing had caused half the Pacific to be rerouted, and by the time the situation had been handled, the night shift was understaffed and you’d agreed—more or less voluntarily—to stay and help out.

The tower had gone still in the way airports only do at night. Just you and your collegue Kai on shift, and him busy on a separate channel, handling a delayed cargo inbound. Somewhere below, the terminal lights flickered as the cleaning crews did laps. You rested your chin in your palm and tried not to hate everything.

“Tower, this is Flight 447 requesting approach clearance.”

It took your brain a second to catch up. Flight 447. He’d just arrived from Paris. Of course. You took a breath.

“Flight 447, unable to clear for approach at this time. We have outbound traffic. Maintain current altitude and turn left heading 270 for holding.”

“Copy that. Left 270. Long night down there?”

You rubbed your eyes. “Medical emergency earlier. You’ll be in the hold for about an hour.”

“Roger. Hey—did you get the chocolates?"

Despite your exhaustion, you felt heat creep up your neck. Damn him. “Yes. Thank you. They were... unnecessary.”

“But good?”

You exhaled. “Really good.”

“Knew it. You sound tired, Control. How long you been on?”

You checked your watch. “Fourteen hours.”

“You shouldn’t be pulling shifts that long. You always look after everyone else but you’ve got to take care of yourself too, you know.”

You paused, the words hitting you sideways. Maybe it was the fatigue making you soft, or maybe it was the fact that, for once, he didn’t sound like he was trying to get a rise out of you. He sounded genuinely concerned—and it threw you off more than any flirtation ever had. You didn’t even have the energy to fight him on it.

“Someone had to cover.”

“Not at the cost of your own health. You drinking water? Eating real food? And I don’t mean the sandwiches they sell in the vending machines in the gates.”

“I did eat something a few hours ago. I’m okay. We had a pregnant passenger go into labor. Coordinated three hospitals and rerouted six aircraft, then landed them priority.”

“Is she okay?”

“Baby girl, born healthy. I heard from the flight attendant that they’ve named her Sky. It’s kinda cheesy.”

“That’s beautiful.” His voice was soft. “You helped bring a little life into the world tonight.”

“It’s just part of the job.”

“It’s not just your job, you know that,” he said gently. “It’s you being the person people count on when it really matters.”

“I don’t know…”

“You know why I always ask for this route?”

“Because you like to annoy me?”

He laughed quietly. “Because your voice is the best part of my day. Doesn’t matter what went wrong, how difficult the passengers, or how many delays we had to deal with—the moment I hear you on frequency… I know I’m okay. I know I’m home.”

You blinked. Words tangled somewhere between your chest and your mouth, but none made it out. How could they? Not with your heart thudding like it was trying to escape. Not with your lungs suddenly feeling too small. 

It was silent in the tower. Kai was still busy on the other frequency with his cargo flight, leaving you alone with nothing but Gojo’s soft breathing in your headset and the pounding of your pulse. 

You pressed your forehead to your arms on the desk, willing your heart rate to slow. Eventually, quietly, you said, “Why? Why are you being so… like this? You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough. I know you work too hard and care too much. I know you’re calm even when the tower’s on fire. I know you have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard, and you use it to keep people safe.”

You could barely breathe.

“You deserve more than what this job takes from you, you know,” he added, almost like an afterthought.

“You’re so stupid,” you whispered, the insult so soft it barely had teeth.

“You’re exhausted. Lie to me tomorrow.” A pause. “You know, the cherry blossoms along the Seine were beautiful in Paris.” His voice grew wistful, and you closed your eyes, letting the sound wash over you in the quiet tower. “I’d love to show you someday.”

“Your girlfriend probably wouldn’t appreciate you taking other women on romantic trips to Paris.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said without hesitation. “I wish you were my girlfriend.”

You took another deep breath, slower this time, but it didn’t help. Your face felt hot, your pulse wouldn’t settle, and worst of all, you couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t happening. What the fuck were you supposed to do with that information? 

Normally you would have hung up by now, would have found some cutting remark to shut down whatever this was becoming. But maybe it was the exhaustion seeping into your bones, or the way his voice had gone so unsual gentle, that made you let it happen—this slow unraveling of the careful distance you’d built between yourself and the voice that had somehow become more important to you than you wanted to admit

“You’re insane.”

“You’re beautiful.”

You pressed your forehead deeper into the crook of your arm, as if you could bury the whole situation under your sleeves. As if he couldn’t still hear every shaky breath of yours over the radio.

“What? No comeback?” he teased. “You really must be tired.”

“I hate how you say stuff like that,” you mumbled into your sleeve, “when you know I’m too tired to fight back.”

“Sounds like good timing, then.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Mhm. I like when you sound all sleepy,” he said, lower now, almost like he was smiling. “It’s really cute.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking if I have a boyfriend or something?”

“Sounds like you want me to ask you.”

“I don’t.” You exhaled slowly, turning your head so your cheek pressed against your arm. “I’m not looking for anything.”

“Good,” he said. “So no boyfriend. Because it would be really awkward for me to take you to Paris if you had one. Boyfriends tend to get weird about that sort of thing.”

A soft laugh escaped before you could stop it. “You don’t even know me. Why are you so persistent?”

It was silent for a while—so long it made your skin itch. You glanced at the console. Still active. But then his voice returned.

“Because for months, your voice has been the only thing that’s felt like home,” he said. “Every flight, every approach, every time you say my call sign... it feels like coming home. And maybe that’s stupid. Maybe I’m just a pilot who’s spent too many nights alone in hotels, wondering what it’d be like to hear you say my name—my real name—just once, but I…”

The tower felt impossibly still around you, save for the sound of his soft breathing in your ear and the heavy press of something strange in your chest.

“Flight 447—”

“Can I ask you something? And you can say no.”

“…What?”

“Do you want to switch to a private frequency?”

You shouldn’t. It was a clear breach of communication policy. You knew that. But the tower was empty, Kai was distracted, and there was something in the way he said it that made you want to say yes so terribly much.

“Frequency 121.9,” you said.

“Copy that. Switching now.”

Your heart thudded. You flipped over to the private channel, palms slightly clammy against the controls, and waited.

“Tower, this is Flight 447 on private frequency.”

“I’m here.”

You could hear the smile in his voice when he answered. “Tell me something about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Doesn’t matter. I just want to listen to your voice.”

You went quiet for a beat, still resting your head on your arms, the headset cord wrapped loosely around your fingers. Your body was heavy with exhaustion, but something warm had started to bloom low in your chest.

“That’s… I don’t know what to say.”

“Start simple. What did you have for breakfast?”

Despite everything, you almost smiled. “Coffee.”

“Just coffee?” He groaned. “That’s terrible for you. You need read food.”

“Says the man who probably only eats airplane food and orders hotel room service.”

“I make great scrambled eggs, actually,” he said, a little smug. “Secret ingredient is a little cream cheese folded in at the end.”

“You cook?”

“Mhmm. And I make the best carbonara.”

“According to who?”

“According to me. And I’m a very reliable source.”

You smiled again. “Very humble, too.”

“Absolutely. So, what about you? What do you do when you’re not busy keeping pilots from crashing into each other?”

You surprised yourself by answering. You told him about the pottery class you barely had time for on weekends, how you were trying to teach yourself guitar but could only play three chords and a more or less decent version of ‘Wonderwall’. You admitted to watch trash reality TV while folding laundry, and how your poor balcony basil plant had died three times and counting despite your best efforts. 

It just... flowed. And it felt good. Comforting, even. 

You found yourself sharing more than you meant to, your voice softer than usual in the quiet of the tower, like the distance between you made it easier to be honest. 

You hadn’t realized until now how much you’d come to like hearing his voice. Not the cocky, smug tone he usually used on open frequency—but this version. Soff and warm in a way that felt almost intimate. Like he actually cared about your answer. Like he actually saw you, even from thirty thousand feet away.

You were quiet for a moment, then asked, “Why did you become a pilot?”

A breath passed. Maybe two.

“I had a little sister. She died when she was twelve—leukemia.” He paused, and you could hear the slight hitch in his breathing. “She was obsessed with those National Geographic documentaries, always making plans about all the places she wanted to see—the Andes in Peru, hiking the Highlands in Scotland, and seeing the Northern Lights in Iceland. She had this whole notebook full of destinations she wanted to visit, with pictures cut out from magazines.”

You didn’t move, afraid even a shift might break the moment.

“She never left Japan. Never even got on a plane. But the day before she died, she made me promise I’d see the world for her. That I’d go to all the places and tell her about them.” Another shaky breath. “So I became a pilot. And every flight, every city, every sunset high above the clouds—she’s with me. I take pictures for her. Collect postcards.” His laugh barely held. “Probably sounds crazy.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy at all.” You sat up straighter in your chair and rolled your sleeves down, suddenly feeling the night air’s chill. “So the postcards from Zurich…”

“I brought one for her, and one for you. I thought... maybe you’d like it too.”

“Flight 447,” you said softly, unsure what else to do with the weight in your chest.

“She would’ve liked you,” he added. “She always said the most important people are the ones who make you feel like home—even when you’re thirty thousand feet in the air, circling your home airport at in the middle of the night because you cannot land.”

You were silent for a while, unable to find words.

“Control? Can I ask you something else?”

“…Yeah.”

“Would you like to go out with me?”

You didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t even breathe at first, hand hovering near the console, but instead of replying, you slowly set your headset down and stood—legs unsteady. You crossed the small space behind your chair, ran a hand through your hair, tried to get your lungs to work again.

You weren’t ready. Not for this. Not for him sounding that sincere. He was still up there, circling in the dark, waiting for something you weren’t sure you could give. You braced your hands on the edge of the desk, heart pounding, and finally lowered yourself back into the chair. Slipped the headset on again.

“I…” you began, but the rest of the sentence never came. Your throat tightened too much.

“You don’t have to answer now. Just think about it, okay?”

Then Kai’s voice cut through your main frequency. “Control Seven, runway’s clear for your holding traffic.”

You switched back to the private frequency, your voice steadier than you felt. 

“Flight 447, you’re cleared for approach, runway 24L. Wind 180 at 5 knots.”

“Roger, cleared for approach runway 24L.”

You hesitated, your finger trembling slightly on the radio button, then softly, “Land safe, Satoru.”

Silence stretched between you, each moment an unbearable weight as you waited for him to speak, with only the soft static of the frequency for company. When his voice finally came back, it was barely above a whisper.

“You’re so unfair, Control. How am I supposed to sleep now that I’ve finally heard you say my name like that?”

Your chest tightened, a fragile tenderness settling in your chest, and you closed your eyes, lost in the sudden intimacy of the moment.

“See you on the ground, Control… and sleep easy tonight.”

── ⟢ ·⸝⸝

After that night, everything changed.

What had once been the most frustrating part of your job had quietly become the part you looked forward to most. You told yourself it was just the routine, the familiarity. A comforting voice between the chaos. But when Flight 447’s call sign popped up on your radar, your chest would do that stupid flutter before your brain could stop it. And the professional distance you’d worked so hard to maintain began crumbling piece by fragile piece.

“Tower, this is Flight 447 requesting vectors, and good morning to my favorite controller.”

You didn’t even try to hide your smile anymore. “Good morning, Captain. Turn left heading 180, descend and maintain 4,000.”

“How’s that terrible tower coffee treating you today?”

“Still tastes like mud. But it’s keeping me awake.”

“You really need someone to bring you proper coffee sometime.”

“Flight 447, contact Approach on 119.7.”

“Will do, beautiful. Save me a cup of that mud, will you?”

You caught yourself still smiling after he’d switched frequencies. 

Your colleagues noticed the change immediately. Maki would glance over with that knowing grin the second his call sign blinked onto your screen. Sometimes she didn’t even say anything—just raised her eyebrows and took a dramatically loud sip of her green tea.

Even Ijichi who was usually so quiet and reserved, seemed to soften. Now, he’d offer a small, genuinely happy smile when Satoru’s voice came through the speakers, like a younger brother observing something inevitable unfold.

The conversations with Satoru grew longer, more personal. He’d tell you about the cities he flew to—the morning mist over Prague’s cobblestone streets, the way the late afternoon sunlight painted the Alps during his approach to Munich, the bustling markets in Vienna that smelled like roasted chestnuts and warm strudel.

“There’s this little bakery in Prague,” he said once. “Sells cinnamon sugar spirals on a stick that taste like sugar bread. I picked some up for you and will drop them by your gate when I land, though they might be a bit smushed from the flight, but I swear they’re really good.”

You imagined him standing there, maybe still in his uniform, coffee in one hand and some pastry in the other, sunlight filtering through narrow European streets. You wished you could’ve been there with him.

One Tuesday evening, he came on frequency a few minutes early. “I saw the Northern Lights last night for the first time,” he said, skipping all pretense of small talk. “Over Helsinki. It looked incredible. I took about a hundred photos, even though they don’t do it justice, but… I tried.”

“Your sister would’ve loved that.”

“Yeah. She would have.” His voice grew soft. “I wish you could have seen them too. With me.”

You hadn’t planned on any of this. You didn’t know where it was going. But every word felt a little easier than the last. Like you were building something one flight at a time, stitched together from shared late night conversations, shared silences, and a voice that had somehow made its way under your skin. And you hadn’t even seen his face.

At some point, the flirting had stopped feeling like a game. You weren’t sure when the shift happened, only that it had. One day you were rolling your eyes at his compliments, and the next… you caught yourself smiling before he even switched on the mic.

He’d compliment your voice and your hair he’d never even seen, and you’d toss something sharp right back at his ego. He’d ask about your day like it mattered, and you’d ask how the clouds looked up there in the sky. 

Somewhere between the banter and clearance codes, you stopped resisting the warmth that bloomed in your chest every time he called you beautiful. Stopped pretending it didn’t matter. Stopped pretending you didn’t wait for his call sign, or feel the flutter in your stomach when he said your call sign like it was something he’d been waiting all day to say.

“You sound tired today,” he said one afternoon, somewhere over the East China Sea, his voice laced with concern.

You stifled a yawn. “Double shift. Someone called in sick.”

“That’s the third time this month. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“When’s the last time you took a day off? And I mean not just sleeping in because you worked late, but actually doing something for yourself?”

You paused, thought about it, and realized you couldn’t remember.

“That settles it. When I get back from the Zagreb route next week, we’re going somewhere. Somewhere with decent coffee and food that doesn’t come from a vending machine.”

“Is that a request or a demand, Captain?”

“It’s a promise.”

Late night conversations on the private frequency became your favorite kind of bad habit. You told yourself you weren’t abusing the system—you just happened to monitor 121.9 a little more closely on nights when you knew he was in the air.

When the tower thinned out to near silence, leaving only the hum of the monitors, and his overnight flights aligned perfectly with your shifts, you always found a reason to switch channels.

“Can’t sleep up there?” you’d ask when his voice came through the static.

“Autopilot’s handling the boring parts. Thought I’d check on my favorite insomniac instead.”

“I’m not an insomniac,” you’d say, leaning into the console, exhausted but smiling. “I’m working.”

“It’s 3 AM. You should be in bed, curled up with a blanket and binge some Netflix.”

“Someone’s gotta guide the pretty pilots through the night sky.”

He never missed a beat. “Just one pretty pilot in particular, I hope. Otherwise I might get jealous.”

And you let him win these little exchanges. Because the truth was, the static of 121.9 had quietly become where you truly felt yourself. A place where your voice softened, where the walls came down, where you weren’t Control Seven—you were just you. Tired, overcaffeinated, sometimes frustrated with everything—but somehow still able to breathe easier when his voice filled your headset.

You didn’t have a name for what was growing between you—but it was there. Steady. Constant. Cruising at altitude and waiting for the moment one of you was brave enough to land.

Those conversations could last hours—him circling above the Pacific while you guided other aircraft, both of you stealing moments between official duties to talk about everything and nothing. He’d tell you about passengers he’d met, you’d share stories about the quirky new controller in the tower. He’d describe the view from his cockpit, you’d explain what the radar looked like from your perspective.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we’d met differently?” he asked one night.

“How do you mean?”

“If I wasn’t a pilot, and you weren’t up in a tower. If we just... bumped into each other at a grocery store or something.”

“Would you have still talked my ear off about arctic birds?”

“Probably.” He laughed. “Though I might have started with the weather like a normal person.”

“I don’t think you know how to be normal, Captain.”

You found yourself looking forward to his flights. When Flight 447 appeared on your radar, it was like a switch flipped on inside your chest. And when his route changed and he wasn’t there you caught yourself glancing at the flight board more than necessary. If his flight was delayed by weather or mechanical issues, you’d feel it settle heavy in your chest like stones until his call sign appeared on your screen.

“Miss me?” he’d tease whenever your shifts missed each other and the silence stretched too long.

“You wish.”

“I do, actually. Horribly.”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “The frequency’s been blessedly quiet without you. You wouldn’t believe how efficiently I can work without your constant interruptions.”

“Liar. You were bored as hell.”

“Flight 447, I’m transferring you to Approach before your big ego causes your plane to crash.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little to late for that, Control? It’s this big since you said my name that one time.”

You groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead, but you were smiling. Always smiling. And he knew it. You both did. And pretending otherwise had started to feel pointless.

“…I missed you.”

You leaned forward, arms crossed on the edge of your console, and hunched your shoulders, trying to shake off the shiver that traced down your spine at the sound of his voice in your ear.

“Approach is waiting, Captain.”

A few weeks had passed since that first private frequency conversation, and you still hadn’t given him a direct answer about the date. But somewhere between his stories about sunrises over the Himalayas and your chaotic work anecdotes, the question had become less about whether and more about when. Even if you didn’t have the courage to admit it yet.

“So,” he said one Thursday evening, while preparing for approach, “about that date…”

Your heart stuttered in the smallest, stupidest way.

“I know a little café in Shibuya. It’s away from the main tourist spots and makes the best matcha lattes in Tokyo. Perfect place for two hardworking colleagues to grab a coffee.”

“We are colleagues, Flight 447.”

“Colleagues who happen to enjoy each other’s company.”

“Colleagues who work together professionally.”

“Colleagues who talk on private frequencies at 2 AM about the Northern Lights and their horrible exes.” His voice carried that familiar teasing note. “Come on, what’s the worst that could happen? I promise not to talk about aircraft separation minimums the whole time.”

“The worst that could happen is that it gets complicated.”

“It’s already complicated.”

You were quiet for a moment, knowing he was right. You shifted slightly in your chair, fingers idly twirling the cable of your headset.

“Flight 447, contact Approach on 119.7.”

“The café’s called Blue Mountain,” he said before switching. “Saturday afternoon. If you’re free.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, you lay on your back in the dark, staring at the ceiling of your apartment as the last traces of twilight faded from deep purple to black outside your open window, and replayed every conversation, every laugh, every time he’d called you beautiful.

You were a grown woman. A professional. You managed emergencies, rerouted aircraft in storm systems, made decisions in mere seconds that kept hundreds of people safe every day.

And here you were. Heart in shambles over a man you’d never even seen in person.

It didn’t make sense. Pilots are arrogant. That’s a universal truth you’d learned over the years in air traffic control. They walked through airports like they owned the sky, had egos the size of their aircraft, an attention span of a goldfish when it came to relationships, and probably a different girlfriend in every city.

Satoru was a pilot. 

Therefore, by the sacred logic of the universe, he was a bad idea.

You’d learned that lesson the hard way—given your heart to people who’d seemed so sure, so persistent, so convinced they wanted forever until they didn’t. Until the reality of loving someone flawed and human became too much work, too complicated, too real.

But now here was him—persistent, charming, relentless in his pursuit of something that existed only in radio waves and imagination. All he had was your voice and whatever fantasy he’d constructed around it. And fantasies, no matter how beautiful, eventually shattered when they met reality.

You didn’t know much about him. Not his favorite movie, or if he was the type to do laundry right away or leave it on a chair for three days. You didn’t know who broke his heart last, or what he looked like when he was nervous. You didn’t even know if he wore glasses or if his hair curled when it rained.

For all you knew, he talked like this to every controller on every route. Maybe you were just one more frequency he’d tuned into. A novelty. A nice voice to pass the time.

Yet you knew he brought you gifts from cities you’d never visited. You knew he worried when you worked too many hours. You knew he talked to his dead sister through postcards and photographs, and somehow let you be a part of that grief. You knew the sound of his breathing thirty thousand feet above you, and sometimes wished you could fall asleep to it.

But this wasn’t real. Whatever this was—chemistry, attraction, some strange radio wave Stockholm syndrome—it couldn’t be real. Real relationships required proximity, shared experiences, mundane Tuesday mornings and arguments over who left the bathroom light on. Not conversations between approach vectors and weather reports in the middle of the night.

He’d never seen you laugh until your sides hurt, never witnessed you cry out of frustration. He didn’t know that you were shy in crowds, that you overthought everything, that you had trust issues wrapped around your heart like scar tissue.

This was in between. A connection built in the air, not on the ground. And you were being smart by saying no. You were being practical. Responsible. You were doing what made sense.

But why did the idea of never knowing the warmth of his hand in yours make your chest ache like you were already grieving something that hadn’t even had the chance to exist?

You rolled onto your side, pulled the covers up higher, and pressed your face into the pillow.

── ⟢ ·⸝⸝

It was one of those graveyard shifts where the world felt like it had gone still. Most of the world was asleep, save for you, a few stray cargo flights, and the quiet static of Flight 447 holding steady somewhere over the ocean. And him. Always him.

You were back on private frequency. What began, as it always did, with talk of altitudes and airspeed, soon shifted to stories of cities and people he’d met in Dublin and that little bakery he’d found in Budapest, that he’s sure of you’d love.

And then he told you about his ex-girlfriend who’d left him because she couldn’t handle the distance, the loneliness of hotel rooms. He spoke of his parents, who’d always expected him to run the family’s company, and how they still didn’t understand why he’d chosen to spend his life in the sky.

You found yourself sharing more than you probably should, as you always did in these hushed moments—your failed engagement to a man who’d wanted you to quit air traffic control because it was ‘too stressful’, your complicated relationship with your mother, and how sometimes, even now, it still felt like your worth came with conditions.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” you said softly after confessing how you’d chosen this career partly to prove you could handle something your ex-fiancé thought was too difficult for you.

“I'm glad you told me,” Satoru’s voice was soft through the headset. And despite the exhaustion, your chest gave that familiar, traitorous flutter. “I love listening to your voice, especially when you’re being honest about things that matter.”

“Satoru…” you said, without thinking—his name slipping out in a whisper that carried more weight than it should have.

“Say that again.”

“Your name?”

“Yes,” he breathed, the single word aching. “Please.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn't want to—but because speaking it aloud meant acknowledging the weight it carried.

“Satoru,” you said again, slower this time. His name felt warm on your tongue, like something meant to be spoken softly, like a confession wrapped in a name.

On the other end of the line, silence stretched long enough to make your heart stutter.

“Satoru?” you asked. “Are you there?”

“I’m here. I was just… thinking.”

“About what?”

A beat.

“About how much I want to kiss you right now.”

Your breath caught so fast it hurt. Heat flooded your face and you pulled your headset off for a moment, pressing your palms against your burning cheeks.

You stood for a second, pacing a few slow steps behind your chair, trying to shake it off, to convince yourself you hadn’t heard what you just heard. But your heart wouldn’t stop racing, a wild bird trapped in your ribs, like your body was reacting to something your mind hadn’t even begun to process, let alone given permission for.

Because part of you had desperately wanted to hear those words. And part of you didn’t know what the hell to do with them now that they were real. You stared at the headset in your lap, hesitating. Wanting. Dreading.

After a few seconds, you slipped the headset back on.

“Did I scare you with that?”

“No,” you said quietly. “It’s… it’s fine.”

“I mean it, you know. I really do want to kiss you.”

“This is insane. We’ve never even met.”

“It doesn’t feel that way to me. Feels like I’ve known you forever.”

His words settled deep, heavier than the silence that followed. Something about them felt like a confession hanging between earth and sky, between personal and professional, between safe and what if.

“Satoru…”

“I know how you take your coffee. I know how you sound when you’re tired, and what makes you laugh when you’re trying not to. I know you bite your lip when you’re concentrating—because I can hear it in your voice. And I know you put everyone else ahead of yourself even when you shouldn’t. I know enough to care. And enough to want more.” A pause. “What else do I need to know?”

“What I look like, for starters.”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“No, because it’s your voice I think about at night. That’s what drew me in. The rest… it never mattered.”

You sat there, heartbeat loud in your ears, not sure how to breathe, let alone how to respond.

“Say something,” he whispered. “Please.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll have coffee with me. Say you’ll give me a chance to see the woman I’ve fallen for.”

Your breath caught again. “Fallen for?” you repeated, like maybe saying it aloud would help you believe it.

“Yes. Completely, hopelessly fallen for.”

Your hands lifted—without thinking, almost desperate—and pressed against the headset like you could pull his voice closer—pull him closer. Part of you wanted him to say it again. Needed to hear it, to make sure it was real. And another part wished he hadn’t said it at all. Because now it was alive between you. Irrevocable.

“I…” You stopped, swallowed, tried again. “I have to—” You panicked and switched back to the main frequency. “Ijichi? Can you take over Flight 447 for me? I need to step out for a second.”

“Everything okay?” Ijichi’s voice sounded concerned.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just need a bathroom break.”

You yanked the headset off and fled to the small restroom down the hall, slammed the lock shut, and leaned back against the door as if afraid his words might follow you in.

You turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto your face. Droplets clung to your lashes and slid down your neck. Still, the heat in your skin wouldn’t go away, chest rising and falling too fast.

What is happening? 

He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t just… fall for your voice. That wasn’t how this worked. That wasn’t how any of this worked. You hadn’t even met him. You didn’t know what his laugh looked like when it reached his eyes. He didn’t know how you looked when you weren’t exhausted. And yet—

Yet here you were, breathless in a dim airport bathroom in the middle of the night, heart racing like you were the one who’d made the confession.

This is insane. He is a pilot. Probably talks like this to every other control tower from Berlin to Bangkok. But why—God, why—did you want to kiss him back so badly?

── ⟢ ·⸝⸝

You took a week off without telling him.

It was cruel—you knew that. But you needed time. Time to breathe. Time to think. Time to stop feeling like you were going to fly apart every time you heard his voice. But distance didn’t feel like space. It felt like ache.

You spent most of that week alone in your apartment, curled into corners of yourself you hadn’t visited in years. You rearranged your bookshelves. Watered your plants twice in one day. Cleaned your windows until they gleamed like they haven’t in years. 

And still, none of it helped. You ended up lying on your back in your bed, just… thinking. Wondering if he was worried. If he noticed the silence. If he regretted saying what he did.

You replayed the conversation endlessly, like a scratched record stuck on the moment his voice had dropped, tender and fragile with something like a confession. 

Completely, hopelessly fallen for. 

You could still hear it. Still feel the way your lungs had stuttered.

You hadn’t meant to fall for him. But you had.

Maybe it started the moment he told you that your voice felt like coming home to him. Or maybe it was the first time he opened up about his sister, the way his voice caught halfway through the sentence, like he was still learning how to hold that grief in his mouth. Or maybe it was even before that, when he brought you chocolate from Zurich and called you special to customs agents he’d never meet again.

You wanted to kiss him then. You want to kiss him now. And that terrified you more than anything. Not because it wasn’t real, but because you’d wanted it to be real for so long without even realizing. But wanting and admitting were two different things. 

So instead, you wrapped yourself in quiet and waited for the ache to fade. It didn’t. You thought it would. You thought time would create space, and space would give you clarity. But it didn’t, and the ache only grew stronger.

By day three, you caught yourself checking the flight tracking apps, wondering if he was flying the skies above you, if his voice was somewhere out there asking another controller for vectors. If he’d call them ‘beautiful’ too.

By day four, you were questioning whether radio silence was mature or just cowardly, and by day five, you were actively pacing your apartment, cursing yourself for disappearing and cursing him for making you feel this way in equal measures.

You heard the familiar drone of an aircraft passing overhead through your open window and stopped your pacing instantly, tilting your head toward the sound as it grew louder, then began to fade.

Was that him? His flight cutting through the darkness with some other controller guiding him home? Someone else’s voice in his headset? The thought made you sick.

Your phone buzzed against the kitchen counter. A text from Maki. “Your pilot boyfriend keeps asking where you are.”

You stared at the message for a long time. Not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t know what to say. Because how could you possibly say I miss him without it sounding like you were already halfway in love. And maybe you were.

****

You returned on day six. Not because you were ready, or because the questions had answers, or your chest had stopped aching when his name passed through your thoughts, but because Tokyo’s sky was falling apart and there was no more time left to hide.

The call came at 3:42 AM—all available controllers needed immediately. Level four emergency.

You barely had time to pull on your uniform, hair still damp from the shower, as you rushed past stranded passengers sleeping on benches and gate agents with phones pressed to both ears, while overhead an urgent announcement looped in four languages. 

A massive weather front had swept across the Pacific, turning Tokyo’s airspace into chaos. Delayed flights, emergency diversions, aircraft running low on fuel circling in holding patterns, waiting for safe corridors to open. But when you reached your workstation, you stopped.

Flowers. 

A small, beautiful arrangement of white roses and baby’s breath in a clear glass vase.

“He sends them every day,” Maki said, appearing beside you with a stack of weather reports. “Asks if someone can place them on your desk. In case you come back.”

You couldn’t speak, only stared at the petals, watching one tremble in the air conditioning draft. Something fragile inside your chest pulled taut. 

Six days. 

He’d been sending flowers to an empty chair for six days.

“You okay?” Maki asked.

“I’m good,” you managed, swallowing hard. “I need to—” But there was no time. 

“Tower, this is Flight 892, requesting immediate vectors around weather cell bearing 270.”

For the next three hours, there was no room left for feelings. You were too busy handling all the alternate airport requests, fuel emergencies, and missed approaches that required immediate rerouting.

“Flight 315, turn right heading 180, descend to 8,000. Moderate turbulence ahead, advise caution.”

“Flight 726, negative climb, maintain 12,000. Traffic conflict. Standby for alternate routing.”

Every call you answered felt like a life being tossed into your hands. You held on tight. You didn’t shake. At least, not on the outside. 

A sudden, blinding flash from outside momentarily bleached the room, then plunged it back into deeper shadow as rain lashed heavily against the tower’s windows.

And then, between the tangle of signals and storm interference, a call sign you knew like your own name lit up your screen. 

Flight 447.

“Tower, this is Flight 447 requesting vectors through weather, and—” He paused—like he’d caught the shaky breath you hadn’t meant to let slip through. “Control, is that you?”

It shouldn’t have undone you like that. But it did. Your knees went weak under your console. Relief flooded through you at the sound of his voice, alive and safe. Your throat tightened around a dozen things you wanted to say, but there was no time.

“Flight 447, turn left heading 090, descend to 6,000. There’s a gap in the storm cell at your two o’clock.”

“Roger, left 090, down to 6,000.” A beat. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

You wanted to respond, to explain, to apologize for disappearing like a coward, but four other aircraft were calling for attention at the same time and the storm was intensifying still.

“Flight 447, be advised, severe turbulence ahead. Recommend immediate deviation right, heading 130.”

“Negative, we’re already committed to this approach. We’ll ride it—”

Then nothing. The radio snapped to static, then went silent.

You stood up so fast your chair rolled backward and bumped into the console behind you. One hand clutched the headset tighter to your ear, the other braced against your desk.

“Flight 447, come in.”

No response.

“Satoru, do you copy?”

Still nothing. Only white noise.

Lightning split the sky outside, followed by a deep, rattling roar of thunder that vibrated through the control room. But all you could hear was the terrifying silence where his voice should’ve been.

Your hand trembled as you keyed the mic. “Flight 447, please respond.”

Then, finally, cutting through the noise, “Control. I’m here. Lost comms for a moment there.”

You sank back into your chair like your legs had stopped working, the adrenaline suddenly too much to hold. You rested your forearms on the edge of the console, hands trembling slightly as you leaned in, pressing your forehead against them, trying to steady the frantic beat of your heart against your ribs. 

“What’s with the silence now,” he whispered softly. “Were you worried about me, love?”

Love.

He’d never said that before. Beautiful, gorgeous, honey—but never this. Not like that. Not so soft and tender, like you’d been his love for so long that saying it was simply acknowledging what already existed, what had been waiting patiently in his chest for the right moment to slip free. And never had you been so stupidly, helplessly happy to hear a single word.

He is alive. He is safe. And he’d called you love.

“Flight 447, confirm you’re okay.” 

“We’re fine. Bumpy ride, but nothing we can’t handle.”

Neither of you said anything for a moment.

“I’ve missed you.”

Your throat tightened. Six days of silence. Six days of waiting, wondering, and avoiding the thing you were most afraid to admit. Six days of white roses waiting for your return, and here he was, relieved to hear your voide again like you were something precious he’d thought he’d lost. 

As if your absence had mattered. 

As if he’d missed you the way you’d missed him.

“Thank you,” you said. “For the flowers.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Just… don’t go quiet on me again, okay? It’s hard to feel like I’m coming home when you’re not the one guiding me there.”

You closed your eyes, the ache blooming hot behind your ribs. Coming home. How could he say things like that so easily? How could he make you feel like you were drowning and flying at the same time with just a handful of words spoken through radio static?

And the worst part was how easily he said it—like you really were his home, his anchor point in all that vast sky. Like this thing between you wasn’t just something imagined, but something real enough to miss, something worth coming back to.

“I won’t,” you said, barely above a whisper.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

And you meant it. Whatever had made you run, whatever fear had driven you to take that week off—it felt so stupidly irrelevant compared to the relief of knowing he was safe. Of knowing somewhere above the clouds, he’d been looking for your voice.

“See you on the ground, beautiful.”

And then the line went silent.

Your eyes stayed locked on his radar symbol, unwilling to look away, tracking his descent as if your gaze alone could guide him safely down. Your eyes drifted to the flowers beside your console, your chest tight with guilt because you’d been too much of a coward to face what you felt for him. 

What was holding you back when he was right there? Wanting you, missing you enough to notice your absence, calling you love so tenderly. What was so terrifying about someone who made you feel like the most important voice in his sky?

He missed you. Wanted you. And you missed him like the sky misses his stars in daylight. Now he was descending through storm clouds, almost within reach, and you still didn’t know how to say any of it.

You watched his altitude drop.

8,000 feet. 

6,000.

4,000.

Each number bringing him closer to solid ground—closer to you.

Then another violent gust tore across the runway. A sharp gasp cut through the tower, everyone suddenly stood and looked out the windows as Flight 447 broke through the storm clouds, lurching violently sideways. The plane’s wings tilted at a sickening angle, fighting against the crosswind as it dropped like a stone before catching itself.

Your heart flatlined.

“Maki, can you cover for me?” you asked, voice tight, already moving.

She looked away from the window. “What? Yeah, but—” 

You were gone. Down the tower stairs, past security who barely glanced at your badge, through the restricted access door and straight into the teeth of the storm. Didn’t matter that you were soaking wet or that this was completely against protocol. All you knew was you had to see him.

Rain hit you immediately like ice, instantly soaking through your uniform, but you didn’t slow. Across the runway, Flight 447 was coming in hard. You watched it slam onto the wet asphalt—one heavy bounce, then another, the aircraft struggling to find purchase on the waterlogged asphalt before finally coming to a halt with a loud screech of brakes.

Not a crash. But rough enough to stop your breathing.

You ran faster, shoes splashing through puddles as emergency crews rushed past you toward the plane. The aircraft had stopped crooked on the runway, passenger stairs already being rolled into position as ground crew in bright orange vests hurried around the scene.

 It was stupid, so stupid. You didn’t even know what he looked like. But then—

You saw him. For the first time in your life.

He stepped out of the cockpit door, tall and undeniably handsome even amidst the chaos. His hair was drenched form the rain, plastered back from his forehead, his pilot’s uniform soaked and wrinkled. He was looking around slowly, searching through the crowd with a furrowed brow and eyes the exact impossible blue you’d somehow always known they’d be. And then—

And then his gaze found yours. And everything stopped. No thunder. No wind. No roar of engines or shouts from the crew.

Your eyes met across the storm, and the world fell away. You had never seen this man before, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like remembering. There was no question, no doubt, no moment of uncertainty—you knew it was him the same way you knew your own heartbeat.

The voice you’d fallen for belonged to this man, this beautiful and insufferable pilot who was staring at you like he’d just found something he’d been searching for his entire life. 

And now he’d found you.

You ran toward him through the chaos, feet splashing through more puddles, rain streaming down your face. He moved toward you too, taking the metal steps down from the plane two at a time, his hand sliding along the wet railing. 

You met in the middle of the runway, both out of breath, both drenched to the bone. Rain clung to his white lashes as he stared at you—those impossible blue eyes you’d imagined a hundred times now real, locked on your face like you were the only thing in the world. And yes, they were just as blue as a winter sky. Up close, he was somehow even more beautiful than you’d let yourself believe.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, suddenly at a complete loss for words. “Would you like to go out with me?” you finally managed, having to raise your voice over the wind and rain.

Satoru blinked, his hair plastered against his forehead. A slow, handsome smile spread across his face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “I’d really like that.”

And then he was moving, one hand sliding around your waist while the other came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing away raindrops—or maybe tears, you couldn’t tell anymore. He pulled you closer, bridging the last inches like he’d been waiting forever to do it.

When he kissed you, it was like coming home after being lost for years. Desperate and tender, months of longing finally given form. His lips were impossibly soft against yours, warm despite the cold rain, and you could taste the storm on his mouth, feel the way his breath caught when you kissed him back.

Rain poured around you as you finally, finally kissed the voice that had become your everything.

When you broke apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against yours. His hands trembled slightly where they held you, like he still couldn’t believe this was real.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

Then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, pouring months of missed chances and sleepless nights into the space between your lips. His grip tightened on your waist. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted from the ground and spun once, twice, in the pouring rain like you weighed nothing at all.

Storm clouds churned overhead and emergency crews moved around you, but it felt like you were the only two people in the world—suspended in this perfect moment between earth and sky and the the feeling of finally being found.

── ⟢ ·⸝⸝

A few weeks later.

“Careful with that,” Satoru warned as you briefly touched a panel of switches, his hand catching your wrist gently. “Unless you want to explain to the airline why we accidentally activated the emergency slides in the hangar.”

You were perched in the captain’s seat of his Boeing 777, legs tucked beneath you as you took in the array of countless instruments, screens, and controls that made up his office thirty thousand feet above the ground. The cockpit was smaller than you’d imagined, more intimate, every surface covered with buttons and displays that somehow made sense to him.

“You actually understand all of this?”

“Each and every switch, gauge, and warning light.” He leaned over you from where he stood beside the captain’s seat, his chest brushing your shoulder as he pointed to different instruments. “See this? It’s the primary flight display—shows our altitude, airspeed, heading. That’s the navigation display, weather radar here…”

You could smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his body as he leaned in closer to point out the next display. You loved watching him like this—the way he lit up when talking about his aircraft, completely absorbed in every detail with that endearing kinda nerdy side of his. But being this close to him made it hard to focus on anything he was saying when all you could think about was the way his voice rumbled low near your ear.

“And this,” he continued, reaching around you to tap a small screen, his arm caging you in against the seat, “shows exactly how beautiful my air traffic controller looks in my chair.”

You turned to find his face inches from yours. His sky blue eyes caught the gentle light like glass, impossibly clear, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

“That’s not what that screen shows.”

“No? Then why can’t I look away from it?”

“You’re stupid.” But you were smiling, tilting your head back against the headrest to maintain eye contact. “Show me something else.”

“Demanding little controller.” His fingers trailed along the overhead panel, flipping switches as he spoke. “These control cabin pressure, air conditioning, electrical systems…”

You sank deeper into the chair, letting his soothing voice wash over you.

“These are the autopilot controls.” His hand moved again. “This button engages the system—basically tells the plane to fly itself according to the flight plan we’ve programmed.” His finger moved to another switch. “This one controls altitude hold, and this manages our heading.”

“But here’s the most important thing.” Satoru reached toward a small compartment near the instrument panel and pulled out a photo of the two of you from that stormy night—completely drenched, kissing in the rain. It was blurry as hell and underexposed, and absolutely perfect.

“I still can’t believe Hana managed to get this shot,” you said, taking it from him. “She really thought ‘Oh, what a perfect time for a picture’ while there was literally an emergency evacuation going on.”

Satoru laughed. “But aren’t you gald she took it?”

“We look absolutely stupid.” 

Your hair was plastered to your face, his uniform wrinkled and soaked, but you both looked happy. Really happy.

“You look perfect,” he said, leaning closer. “And you were so cute when you had that total meltdown thinking something happened to me.”

“I did not have a meltdown—”

“You ran across an active runway. In a storm.” He traced the edge of the photo with his finger, smiling. “My professional, composed controller lost her cool because she was worried about her pilot.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m just saying—” He leaned back against the instrument panel, clearly enjoying this. “For someone who spent months pretending to hate my guts, you certainly changed your mind when you thought I might be hurt.”

“I was worried about you.”

His smile softened. “You didn’t have to.” He paused, then reached out, gently cupping your face. “No matter how rough the storm or the landing, I’m never really lost—not when I know you’re there. You always guide me home safely.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Stupidly in love, yeah,” he murmured—and then he kissed you.

What started soft and slow quickly turned heated. You pulled him closer by his tie, and he braced his hand against the seat beside your head, his tongue sliding against yours as his mouth pressed hungrily to yours.

“Controller,” Satoru said between kisses, his voice already rough. “What exactly are you starting here?”

“I’m not starting anything,” you said, even though your fingers were already working his tie loose.

“Clearly.”

You rose from the chair and tugged gently at his loosened tie and he followed without resistance. With a gentle push to his chest, you guided him down into the captain’s seat. He let himself fall back into it, eyes locked on yours. Without a word, you climbed into his lap, straddling him. His hands found your waist immediately, pulling you close as his mouth met yours again like he couldn’t stand another second apart.

“My break’s over in fifteen,” you murmured against his lips. “And the plane’s grounded for another hour. No one should be around.”

He pulled back just enough to give you a look. “Wait… did you check the maintenance schedule before coming here?”

“Maybe.”

“God,” he groaned against your mouth, his hands gliding up your back. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

“I’m just making efficient use of our time, Captain,” you whispered, rolling your hips slightly and feeling him tense beneath you. “Isn’t that what good air traffic control is about? Proper scheduling and all that?”

His laugh came out breathless, strained. “Pretty sure this isn’t in any manual I’ve read.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to improvise.” You threaded your fingers through his white hair and pulled him closer. “You’re good at handling unexpected situations, aren’t you?”

Whatever he was about to say dissolved as he caught your lips again, urgency building in the small space between your bodies. One hand slipped beneath your shirt, warm fingers tracing the curve of your lower back, while the other gripped your thigh possessively.

You started undoing the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, impatience bleeding into every movement. Fabric slipped from his shoulders as you pushed it off. You pressed your hands against his bare chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your palms and traced slowly down over his abs, earning a rough groan of his against your lips.

“Why do I get the feeling this was your plan all along?” 

Satoru tugged at your shirt, easing it off your shoulders as his lips trailed along your collarbone, then down to the strap of your bra, pushing it aside to press kisses to the skin beneath.

“Says the man undressing me in his cockpit,” you managed, though your voice caught when his mouth found your neck and sucked lightly.

“I can’t believe you let me ramble about navigation systems for ten minutes straight when this was your plan.”

“You’re cute when you’re being all professional and nerdy.”

“You’re terrible.” 

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer until you could feel him hard and pressing through his uniform. A soft sound escaped your lips before you could stop it, and his mouth crashed back onto yours, like he was trying to steal every moan before it left your lips.

“Careful. Don’t want us getting caught, right?”

You barely heard him. Your hands dropped to his belt, leather unfastening fast. It didn’t take long to push aside everything that wasn’t necessary. You were both nothing if not efficient, after all. And the last threads of restraint snapped as Satoru’s hands slid up your bare thighs, fingers hooking beneath your underwear and pulling it aside.

His head tipped back against the seat, breath catching as you moved against him. “Fuck,” he whispered, hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer as you found your rhythm together. His mouth on yours again, swallowing the soft sounds neither of you could hold back.

Surrounded by the controls and countless displays, the cockpit windows slowly fogging from your heated breathing, you couldn’t help but think about how it all started. This was where it began—thirty thousand feet above the world, suspended between earth and sky in the place where his voice had first found yours. From that very first radio call, from the moment he’d called you beautiful, it had always been leading here. 

As if inevitable.

Now, with your hands mapping his skin and your name falling from his lips in soft moans, it felt like coming full circle. From air traffic control to this. From ‘Flight 447’ to ‘Satoru.’ From guiding him home to finally being home.

And that felt pretty damn good.

── ⟢ ·⸝⸝

Six months later.

“Tower, this is Flight 447 requesting permission to land and take my gorgeous girlfriend out for dinner tonight,” came the voice you loved through your headset, smooth as always despite the late hour.

You rolled your eyes, though you smiled. “Flight 447, you do realize the entire tower can hear you, right?”

“Even better. Let them all know how lucky I am.”

Around the control tower, your colleagues had long since stopped pretending to be annoyed by Satoru’s radio flirtations. Maki still teased you about how cute you both sounded over the frequency, and even Ijichi had gotten used to the intimate banter without blushing like a teenage boy who’d accidentally walked into a lingerie store.

The gifts never stopped coming. From Vilnius, he’d brought a handwritten pierogi recipe from an elderly woman he’d chatted with during his layover—and it was surprisingly good when he made it for you on the weekend. He did not lie when he told you he’s a good cook. 

From Faro came a hand painted pot for the basil plant you’d surely kill again, but it didn���t matter as he’d secretly replace it in the middle of the night so you’d think you’d finally managed to keep a plant alive and see your happy smile. Seville brought oranges he’d handpicked from the city gardens, and Barcelona brought a gorgeous Picasso art book.

And, of course, every trip came with two postcards. One for you, and one for his sister. You’d started framing the ones meant for her and hanging them throughout his apartment for him.

“You know you don’t have to bring me something from every city,” you’d told him after he’d brought more expensive chocolate from Zurich.

“Let me spoil my girl,” he’d replied simply, watching you take a bite. “Besides, all you see is that boring tower all day. You deserve a little treat.”

The radio banter had only gotten worse—or better, depending on your perspective.

“Tower, Flight 447 requesting vectors to your heart.”

“Flight 447 keep it professional or I’m diverting you to Osaka.”

“Oof. Brutal. But if you send me to Osaka, you’ll never see what I brought you from Rome.”

Your colleagues had started keeping a list of his most ridiculous radio calls. ‘Flight 447 requesting visual on the prettiest controller in the hemisphere’ was Maki’s current favorite, while Ijichi still cringed about the time Satoru had asked for ‘Requesting altitude adjustment because I just fell for you—again.’

Yeah. It was absolutely cheesy.

Moving in together happened gradually, then all at once. Your clothes moved to his closet, your coffee mugs replaced all of his ugly ones in the kitchen, and suddenly your shift schedule was magnetted to his refrigerator beside his flight rotations. One day, you realized you were planning your lives around each other without ever having had the conversation.

“Your apartment’s bigger,” you’d pointed out, when you finally made it official.

“Yours has the better balcony. But mine’s closer to the airport.”

“So, your place then. But I’m bringing my good coffee maker.”

“And won’t let me see that adorable little wince you do at my terrible coffee in the morning? You’re heartless.”

But the real adjustment wasn’t space or schedules. It was learning each other’s bodies with the same intensity you’d spent months learning each other’s voices. After all, with falling in love through radio static, there was a lot of missed physical intimacy to make up for.

Some weekends you didn’t even make it out of your shared apartment, too consumed with discovering each other all over again. Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, sheets warm beneath you as he settled over you, pressing kisses to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone like he couldn’t decide where to focus first.

“I used to fantazise about this,” he murmured between kisses.

“About what?”

“This.” His voice dropped lower, lips bruising your throat. “What you’d sound like when you weren’t trying so hard to be professional… imagining the sounds you’re making now, how you’d moan my name with that pretty voice of yours.”

You pulled him closer, lips finding his again, his tongue hot against yours.

 “Yeah?”

He smiled against your mouth. “You have no idea how many nights I imagined the taste of your skin. How many times I lay awake wondering if your thighs would shake when I fucked you hard enough.”

Your breath stuttered, hands gripping his shoulders like they were the only steady thing left. “Good thing we’ve got time now to find out.”

“Yeah. And I plan on making up for all of it,” he whispered—just before his fingers slipped between your thighs, and you forgot how to speak altogether.

And you did make up for lost time. Learning that he was somehow even more affectionate and thorough in person than over the radio. 

In the quiet of your bedroom, with the curtains drawn and the world hushed beyond the walls, you discovered each other slowly.  

How he always shivered when you traced patterns across his abs. How you had a small scar just below your ribcage from a childhood fall that he found with his lips, kissing along your skin until you arched beneath him. How your body tensed and then melted completely when his mouth worked between your legs, drawing sounds from you that made him groan against your skin.

You learned the weight of his arm draped over you, holding you close when he was moving from behind, and how soothing it felt when his fingers traced lazy patterns on your shoulder until sleep claimed you both. Discovered that lazy morning sex, followed by his surprisingly good scrambled eggs, was the perfect way to start any day.

You spent hours like this, days even, learning the language of each other’s bodies with a thoroughness that left no inch unexplored and no fantasy unfulfilled.

“You know,” he said one evening, pulling you into his lap while you tried to review approach procedures on the couch, “I spent so many nights wondering what it would be like to touch you while you worked.”

“And now?”

“Now I get to find out what happens when I do this—” His lips found that sensitive spot on your neck, making you gasp and completely forget what you’d been reading. “While you’re trying to be all professional.”

“That’s unfair.”

“That’s what makes it fun.”

The night everything changed started like any other. Weather delays had backed up traffic for hours, leaving Satoru circling above the Pacific in a holding pattern while you worked through the endless stream of aircraft. It was past midnight, the tower hushed and dim, when you finally switched to private frequency.

“Bored up there, Captain?”

“Never bored when I’m talking to you. Though I was thinking…”

“Dangerous pastime for you.”

“We’re both stuck here for the next few hours. You, managing this beautiful chaos from your tower. Me, alone with the stars at thirty thousand feet.” His voice carried that familiar warmth that always made something flutter in your chest. “Feels like the perfect date to me.”

You ended up talking for three hours, switching between official vectors and private topics, guiding other aircraft while Satoru described the city lights below and the way clouds shimmered like winter frost in the moonlight.

“Strange how this all started, don’t you think?” you mused during a quiet moment. “Two voices falling for each other over radio frequency.”

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“No. It’s just… kind of crazy, isn’t it? All of this.”

He was silent for a beat. When he spoke again, his voice was different—nervous, almost fragile.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Will you marry me?”

Your heart stopped.

“I know it’s not how this is supposed to go. I know it’s not normal. But then again, nothing about us has been. I’m thirty thousand feet in the air, you’re down there keeping the world together, and all I can think about is how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Time stretched thin in the control room as you struggled to process what he’d just asked, your heart thundering so loud you were sure he could hear it through the frequency.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word barely more than a breath as you leaned forward, elbows braced against the console. Your hands trembled as you pressed them to your face, overwhelmed by the rush of joy and disbelief.

“Yes?”

“Yes. I’ll marry you.”

He let out a heavy breath. “God, I love you. You just made me the happiest man alive. I swear, if I could pull down every star from up here and give them to you, I would.”

You blinked back tears, smiling. “Just come home safe, you idiot.”

“Always,” he said, and his voice had never sounded more sure. “Your voice guides me home, remember? It always has.”

You thought you’d mapped every corner of him after six months of living together—every habit, every sleepy morning routine, every sound he makes when he cums.

But then came the private jet revelation over scrambled eggs on a random Friday morning.

You’d known he came from money—the expensive gifts, the way he never seemed to stress about finances and had this really fancy apartment—but you hadn’t grasped the scale until he casually mentioned his father’s company owned a fleet of corporate aircraft.

“I was thinking we should take some time off and explore the world a little,” he said, like offering to fly you around the world was the same as suggesting takeout for dinner. “We could take one of the jets.”

“Wait wait wait… you have access to a private jet?”

“Technically, I have access to several.”

Your spoon slipped out of your hand and landed in your eggs.

The first time he took you somewhere—a long weekend in Kyoto for cherry blossom season—you finally understood why he’d fallen in love with flying. 

Up there, suspended between heaven and earth, everything felt different. The world spread out below like a map, cities reduced to scattered lights and rivers threading silver through green landscapes. You watched his hands move over the controls, the same hands that traced gentle patterns on your skin at night, now guiding you both through layers of cloud and sky.

“So this is what you see every day?” you asked, staring out at clouds that looked close enough to touch.

“This is what I used to see.” He glanced over at you. “Now I only see you.”

It started with short weekend trips, then longer stays overseas when both your schedules allowed it. He took you everywhere you wanted to go.

Venice, he bought you both gelato and told you stories about the Murano glass blowers. Barcelona, where you got lost in Gaudi’s wild architecture and found tiny tapas bars nestled in medieval alleyways. And Iceland, where the Northern Lights painted the sky green and purple while you kissed in a natural hot spring—finally experiencing all the places he’d described to you over radio waves. But now you experienced them together.

“Your sister would have loved this,” you said Reykjavik, wrapped in his arms under the dancing aurora.

“She would have loved you,” he replied, pulling you closer in the warm water. “She always said the best adventures were the ones you shared with someone who made you feel at home.”

“Remember when you used to tell me about this place?” you asked one evening in Prague, watching him order those cinnamon sugar spirals from the same bakery he’d told you about months ago over the radio.

He handed you the warm pastry with a smile. “I remember wishing you were here when I first tried it. I used to imagine what you’d say about the cobblestones, or if you’d laugh at my terrible pronunciation when I tried to order something local.”

You took a bite, sugar melting on your tongue. “And now?”

“Now I get to see your face when you taste it for the first time.” He pulled you close, the golden hour painting everything warm around you. “Now I get to hold your hand instead of describing how the sunset looks over the Charles Bridge. I don’t have to imagine anymore.”

Each trip revealed new layers of him—and new ways to make up for all those months of being just voices to each other. 

Somewhere over the Atlantic, you learned just how good he was at multitasking—okay, autopilot might have helped—his hands tangled in your hair, mouth on yours, while the stars streaked past the windows. Long afternoons in Parisian hotel rooms, rain drumming against the windows while you learned exactly how sensitive he gets when overstimulated. Sunset on private beaches in Thailand, where he discovered the sweet sounds you make when he uses three fingers instead of two. 

“I used to get hard just from hearing your voice,” he admitted one night in Santorini, pushing in deep while the Aegean sparkled below your terrace.

“Just from my voice?”

“Especially when you’d get that stern controller tone. ‘Flight 447, maintain current heading.’” His breath caught as you clenched around him, fingers finding yours and intertwining where he pressed them into the mattress. “You have no idea what that did to me.”

“Show me what it did to you.”

He did, thoroughly and repeatedly, until you understood exactly how much he’d wanted you during all those professional exchanges.

The wedding happened a year later, simple and perfect in a garden overlooking Tokyo Bay. Satoru insisted on writing his own vows, and when the moment came, he pulled out a piece of paper that looked suspiciously like a flight plan. 

He promised to pull down the stars for you if you ever wanted them, and you vowed to always be his voice guiding him home.

Years passed like this.

At some point, your story was known by everyone at the airport. Everyone was swooning over the perfect love story of two people who fell in love over their voices alone.

But the best parts were always the quiet moments. Morning coffee in your shared kitchen while he planned routes and you reviewed approach procedures. Afternoons when he’d surprise you at the tower with flowers and terrible jokes that made you ground and your colleagues laugh. Evenings curled up together planning the next adventure, his pilot charts spread across the coffee table next to approach manuals and takeout containers.

“Where to next?”

“Anywhere you want,” was always his answer. “As long as we’re flying together.”

And through it all, some things remained beautifully constant—the flutter in your  stomach when his call sign appeared on your screen, his voice calling from the sky, yours answering from the tower, and the way he still brought you something from every city.

“Tower, this is Flight 447 requesting permission to kiss my beautiful wife once I land. And yes, I know this is a public frequency, and yes—I want everyone to hear it.”

“Flight 447, you’re the worst.”

His laugh crackled through the radio. “I love you,” he said, still completely, hopelessly in love.

And every time he landed, every time you watched his plane touch down safely on the runway, that same warmth bloomed in your chest, just like it had from the very first day. Because no matter how many flights he took, how many cities he visited, how many years passed—he always came back to you.

After all, your voice had been the one calling him home from the very beginning.

The End

masterlist + support my writing + ao3

author's note — wait ! before you go ! if you enjoyed this story, i’d be forever grateful if you’d consider gifting me a few minutes of your time to participate in a research survey for my master’s thesis in psychology (if you haven't already) <3

here's the link.

it’s completely anonymous, but just a heads-up: the survey touches on nightmares and emotional wellbeing, so it may be sensitive for some. please feel free to stop at any point if it doesn’t feel right for you.

thank you for flying with insufferable pilot gojo airlines ! please make sure your heart is in the upright position before disembarking. hope this brought you as much joy to read as it brought me to write hehe. somehow i love this idea so much of pilot gojo being completely smitten over a voice alone :')) <3

and sorry that this got unexpectedly horny at the end, my apologies lol. until next time, this is your author signing off. safe travels !

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here.

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna @cocomanga  

@nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @sugurbo @chiyokoemilia @janbannan  

@bloopsstuff @snowsilver2000 @ihearttoru @momoewn @yokosandesu  

@90s-belladonna @fairygardenprincesss @juneslove21 @glenkiller338 @gojossugarcandy  

@wiserion @moucheslove @nanasukii28 @sugucultfollower @leuriss  

@raendarkfaerie @yeiena @rainthensun @yvesdoee @amayaaaxx  

@cristy-101 @bnbaochauuu @markliving @strawberryswtchblaxe @whytfisgojosohot  

@bloodandnix @zanayaswrld @noble-17 @soapyaya @ethereal-moonlit  

@beaniesayshi @etsuniiru @candyluvsboba @iglb12 @doobybopbop  

@kamuihz @katsukiseyebrows @ezrazra @kalulakunundrum @torusbbg  

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[sxkura-blxssxm]

• Camboy!Caleb/Wife!Reader Series •

𐙚 Camboy!Caleb/Reader ~ Newlyweds - 2.5K

𐙚 Camboy!Caleb/Reader - First Time - 2.5K ଳ

𐙚 PossessiveCamboy!Caleb/Reader - 2.4K

𐙚 Camboy!Caleb/Reader - 2.4K

𐙚 NeedyCamboy!Caleb/Reader - 2.8K

There technically isn’t a right or wrong way to read these, but I’ve listed them in timeline order in which the events have happened. Enjoy, beauties!

A/N: So many people fell in love with this couple just as much as I have and a masterlist just for them was required 🥹! More is going to be added to this, so I hope you’re exciteddd.

Creds to @/anitalenia for the butterfly & sparkles dividers and @/thecutestgrotto for the 18+ divider!

[sxkura-blxssxm]

sleepy + needy!caleb doesn’t care how clumsy he seems in the moment — he just needs you so bad. hugging your waist and pulling you close while he achingly ruts into you from behind. his morning wood grinding against the curve of your ass, desperate for some kind of friction. his face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of your shower gel from last night, still lingering on your skin. completely intoxicating. he sucks, bites and licks at the flesh, greedy for more.

you whimper at the feeling, his thick cock rubbing against you, straining through his boxers. you don’t even question his behaviour or what got him so worked up, because you’re already soaked through your panties. he doesn’t even have to try — you’re already dripping for him.

and you barely have time to register caleb flipping you over and laying you flat on your stomach, your face sinking into the soft pillow in front of you. he straddles your thighs, his heavy bulge still nestled on your ass like it belongs there. he slides his hands down each side of you, stopping at your hips, where he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties and pulls them down just enough.

he curses under his breath, seeing your pussy glisten, wet with your slick. it urges him to free himself from the confines of his clothes, which felt like it got tighter and tighter each second. his cock smacks against his lower abdomen, tip flushed red, leaking, begging to be stuffed inside you.

with one hand, he spreads you open, watching your hole clench around nothing. while the other grips his length firmly, guiding himself towards your cunt before slowly pushing himself in. you whine into the pillow, your sounds muffled as he stretches you out ever so slowly. taking him inch by inch, before he bottoms out with a needy groan.

“‘m sorry, pips, just really need you.”

✉️ masterlist !

🏷️ @lighterzom @ashirelle @littledarlingsthings @wynxoxo @dalmoonchi @sylusexual @rafascutie @colonelpantysniffer @oakimiuy @lyricelli

[sxkura-blxssxm]

I headcanon that Caleb, your fiancé, your best friend, the man you’re about to marry, spends the weeks before your wedding day steeling himself not to cry when he sees you walk down the aisle.

He’s been practicing. Imagining it over and over in his head; your silhouette behind the chapel doors, the train of your gown, your eyes locked with his from across the room. Every time, he exhales sharply and tells himself, don’t cry. keep it together. He wants to be strong for you. Wants to be composed. He even jokes with Gideon, his best man, that he’s trained himself like a soldier in battle.

But when the day comes, when the music starts and the doors finally open, he forgets everything.

Because there you are.

Bathed in soft light, wearing white like a promise, veil fluttering gently behind you. Radiant. Ethereal. Yours.

And Caleb? Caleb’s breath catches. His eyes widen. His chest rises and falls too quickly. And before he even realizes it, tears are slipping down his cheeks. No speeches in the mirror or deep breaths could have prepared him for this. For you.

He presses a hand over his mouth like that might stop the sob building in his throat. Because in that moment, he knows, he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

And no amount of practice could've ever trained him not to cry for this. For you.

He just loves you so much.

[sxkura-blxssxm]

ocean memories

synopsis. you and rafayel have lived countless lives, each one making a dent in your blessed bond, growing apart at the end of each life.

pairing. rafayel x fem! reader

warnings. angst, death, mentions of blood, LOTS of crying, betrayal (?), spoilers and/or theories surrounding rafayel's myth cards (abysswalker + god of tides) and overall lore, ooc raf (?), reader is NOT mc, mc will be in the fic and will be nameless

genres. angst, reincarnation (?), romance, SLOW BURN

status. updates twice a month on fridays ! but hopefully i can update once a week

start. 010225

end. ???

a/n. send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist ! also, ty @bakutual bc i remember your rbs from my two-shot raf x priestess!reader inspired this HAHAHAHAH ty 😜❤️‍🔥 also !! i've made a playlist that i'll sometimes update but here it is heh.

chapters.

act one. a god and his priestess

prelude's elegy. | (1) children of the sea, | (2) made to be a reflection of what each needs, | (3) and forever blessed by the sea. | (4) why, then, did thy fall?

I LOOK THROUGH YOUR EYES IN MY DREAMS.

act two. two lemurians

(5) the sea wishes your second life will be longer, | (6) that it will not end tragically like the last. | (7) the sea's wishes were not met, | chapter four.

???

act three. the abysswalkers

chapter one. | chapter two. | chapter three. | chapter four.

???

act four. an art critic, and an artist

we must confess our sins | chapter one. | chapter two. | chapter three. | chapter four.

postlude's ode.

OCEAN MEMORIES, yuansie 2024